<div class="floatleft">(http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/69/Bundesarchiv_Bild_146-1989-072-16%2C_Matthias_Erzberger.jpg)</div><strong>NAME:</strong>Wilhelm Bohlm<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>Die Weisse Amsel – Willkommenraum<br/><strong>TIME OF DAY:</strong>Early Evening<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>None<br/><hr/>From the outside, Die Weisse Amsel looked like a three-star pension at best, thus Bolhm was surprised that the inside had such a themed opulence. A feeling of relief came over him when he realized he had not been deceived about the establishment. Two of his friends from the Reichstag had discovered this place a few months earlier, and the fact that it was only a short walk from the Reichschancellery made it both convenient and efficient. Bolhm, a German, was drawn to both of those aspects in any enterprise.<br/><br/>As best he could Bohlm pushed thoughts of his family back home aside as he approached the main counter where an old auntie was perched behind the desk; doubtful if she was ever part of the profession proper. The entrance fee was four marks for an hour, and included up to three drinks and a meal. It did not include sex. She handed him a menu, which to his surprise included not only the food available, but also the names of the girls working that day, and a few words about each one.<br/><br/>The auntie, making up for her dour appearance with a soft and welcoming manner, sympathized with this being Bohlm’s first time in a brothel, and she sat him down at a sumptuous three-quarter circular bench upholstered in embroidered silk that surrounded a small wooden circular table. She ordered schnapps aperitifs for them, and sat with him for a few minutes until he felt a little more comfortable. She then asked if any of the girls on the ‘hauskarte’ as she called it, appealed to him. The auntie smiled, asked him to trust her, and promised to send an appropriate special lady down to join him presently.<br/><br/>As he waited, Bohlm found the anticipation exciting. He downed the rest of his aperitif, and waited with a certain spring in his hips for the girl to be brought down. He pushed the menu away from his body, and removed the pince-nez from his nose and slipped them into his breast pocket. The soles of his shoes tapped against the floor. His heart was pounding, and his body was flooding with endorphins. The rush was a thrill in itself.