ENGLISH Georg Biron - Literatur aus Wien

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Finished school in 1977 and studied law at the University of Vienna.

Since 1979: Freelance writer for DIE ZEIT, DER SPIEGEL, PLAYBOY, PENTHOUSE, LUI, GEO, several german radio-stations and papers, the MANILA BULLETIN, all big Austrian newspapers and magazines, for Austrian TV, ORF, and the german ZDF.

1982/83 worked as a war correspondent in Nicaragua, El Salvador and Guatemala.

Documentary reports, literary books and cultural magazines published; also screenplays for movie- and TV-films and plays for theatre. Georg Biron has been awarded numerous literary prizes, scholarships, honours and art-awards.

Reporter for worldwide press-agency GAMMA-PARIS (France) for 45 countries all over the world.

WIENER ZEITUNG "Georg Biron ist the "american" of the literary alpine republic, a monolith in a field of boredom. No striptease of inner worlds and these are not corny tales of country boys. The stories invite smiles and yells and are unique for this part of the world, a pleasure conjuring up memories of Hemingway and Malraux und their co-fighters. The technique of Hemingway's early stories with a shot of Zola, rhetoric from the low end..."

"Then we yearn for something and then again we don't, want something of no great importance to us - yet we are right in the center of it." (Ernst Bloch)

Hitchcock was right: Blondes are perfekt ladies up to the bedroom door. Behind it they are hookers...
"I love you", Judith whispered, and pulled her dress over her head.
"I love you too", I answered and did not know whether that was right or not. Until now it had never been true when I said it. Only once, years ago, I had really been in love. With all the signs and symbols we know from books about love. But I would not have said it then.
Judith's skin was warm. There was a faint scent of rose soap on her. Carefully I touched this body: her neck, shoulders, her back, bottom, thighs. Judith mumbled her affection in French. She tore my hair and scratched my back. She screamed the neighbours out of their beds. She conducted the final movement with her right hand. Her tongue set the counterpoint. She simply swallowed what my body had to give her.
I was really amazed.
Judith belonged to another world. Where she came from people racked their brains over ways of tax evasion. They worked hard for their business so laborously established, they complained about slack business and flew to the Caribbean or to Kenia for holidays. From there they brought stuffed animals back home. They were interested in the culture of foreign countries. They had a house in the mountains and three city apartments. Politically they were liberal and had been in the Hitler Youth. They prayed for wind when they went surfing and for calm when they felt like playing tennis. They were friendly and feared poverty more than death. They had daughters whom they sent to girl's grammar schools. Schools like that had always been the breeding ground for illusions, ideals, fallings in love.
So, that was where Judith came from. She had a car and a flat of her own. Sons of factory owners climbed into her bed, sometimes even the factory owners themselves. She studied P.T. and was an active member of a dancing group. Accordingly her body was in superb condition. A man could find sensual pleasure of high quality in her arms - due to her beauty, which is often common to well-bred daughters, and the exclusive, bored sleepiness of a blonde. She was waiting for a strong tall man who would protect her in the cold life in which she was insecurely dancing up and down, her eyes lowered to the ground.
This man sometimes should also be brutal, above all during sex, since brutality was virility, power and expression of domination.
She smoked a cigarette, her cheeks red, and recalled, "Yet again my parents had good intentions for me. Just before the main film started. But my answers were insufficient, only poor success in school, and I did not even fully appreciate the small weekend house. Just because I did not want to be with them on Saturday but preferred to go to a stupid pop concert with a girl friend whom they did not like anyway."
I kissed her smooth thighs. Last night, in my bed, a sudden desire for her came over me. A sandy dryness filled my mouth, as I envisioned her as a phantastic sketch from Picasso and she became a body, blood and flesh and woman - above all woman. Tried to grab her, catch her, draw her to my wild skin; so I kissed her toes and my eager fingertips stroked the hairy tent of her thighs. I jabbed my furry tongue hard into her heavily twitching cunt, tasted and drank the oozing honey. My idle cock had risen and was stretching and growing with a bulging velvet top, burning with desire and its erectness lustfully hurting as if it had been beaten with a miniature whip.
"Whom did we build the house for? Not one holiday in six years? For whom? Not for us. We don't need that.We built it for you. And you? You don't make any use of it. Princess daughter just wants to be there without us. With her shady friends. A weekend with her family? That does not exist for you."
Judith's eyes grew hard: "My father was running around nervously in the modern landscape of our living room - and finally smashed the remote control of our colorstar 2000 against the wall. You will put your mother and me ten years earlier to the grave. When you have children of your own you will see. Ten years earlier in the grave! I disappeared into my room, packed a few things that seemed important to me into my shoulder bag and ran out of the apartment. Down the staircase. Behind me the echo of my mother's almost hysterical voice, then the slam of the safety door. Part Four of the TV series had started. A quarter past eight."
I stuck my tongue into her navel. I bent over her, and her body was shaking with a sweaty glittering excitement, washed her away from me and back to me again. In the middle of her goose-pimply trembling I pressed my flesh, shoved it bit by bit into her sinister heart. Then I let myself fall onto her skin, lay down on this southern, deserted land with its smoothly brushed hills, nibbled on the startling tops of her breasts as if they were pebbles, let my tongue dart in and out of her face which was like glass and captured me, and I saw and felt striking red fingernails softly on the root of her prey, where now the heavy flood slowly jerking set in, whilest a thousand ants were running through my thighs.
"Down in the courtyard, on the way to the passage that leads to the main road, I looked back up again to the window of my room. Up there I spent summer afternoons looking out of the window before I went to school. Down in the courtyard the children of the other tenants used to play, they were no fit company for me. I watched them, looking through the bars of my window that prevented me from falling out. The children used to paint the concrete sidewalks with chalk, then they had to wash it off again, since the janitor woman threatened them with the police. The children were the jews of that times. I used to watch them cycling and playing ball. Occasionally some of them shouted up to me, and I told them I did not want to. Come down. Into the yard. And I talked to them, sometimes read to them from my books. I already knew how to read. It was better to be able to read before going to school. Then you had an advantage over the others. And that was important. I would have liked to play with them, four floors beneath my barred window - however I was not allowed to go down. Not to them. Why should I want to? I had everything anyway: children's books, toy animals. Just everything. So, why? And all that had not been cheap - the children's books, the dolls, the animals."
I squeezed my chest between Judith's legs…
"My parents rarely hit me, but the first time they did I remember very well. I remembered when I was standing in the yard, beside the sandbox and looking up to my window, shortly after the main film had started. One day I had thrown my toys down to the children in the yard. They had promised to give them all back to me. So I let everything I could find fall through the bars of my window: the little fox, the dwarf, the red giraffe, the smiling snake, the growling bear, and of course the crying doll with its blue eyes and blond hair. Except for the doll everything had landed on the lawn, undamaged. Only Susy had been caught by a gust of wind and had noisily shattered into a thousand pieces on the concrete. Her crying had come to an end. In the evening my father hit me for that. You can't just throw your toys out of the window! You won't have it easy later on. Beaten for the first time. Isn't that mad? I stepped out onto the main road, took a few deep breaths. My parents loved me. Certainly. And I loved my parents. Probably. But none was able to show it. At least they had their authority through which they could love me. I had nothing at all. I cannot remember ever seeing my parents kiss each other. Oh, yes! Once a year there was an official kiss. On Boxing Day, after everyone had received their presents. But any other time? Sometimes it is more important to love no holds barred than to be loved. I had often been loved. Sometimes my smile was the reason, then again my legs or my hair. They always chose what they just needed. And then loved it. It had nothing to do with me. I was running around without purpose. I rang my concert - friend. Not at home. The lady is strolling around somewhere. I have no idea. Not at all, you are welcome. Is there anything I can tell her? The concert date on Saturday is okay? Which concert? I put the receiver down and leant against the pay phone, trying to think clearly, make a plan. What do I actually want? What do I want to become? I would so much like to be someone. This pay phone can save lives! Do not destroy it! This person can live. Do not kill her. I went to a pub and drank two bottles of beer. Me, a seventeen year old girl, drinking beer! Expensively dressed, I drank beer. It was a feeling of rebellion. I drank it straight from the bottle. Neon tubes, advertizing signs, a black stinking wooden floor. An old croaking musicbox. A drunk man staggering between the slot machine and the music box. Throwing coins in each of them. Randomly pushing bottoms. Love me tender. The waiter drying the glasses, holding them against the light for control. Wiping again with his tea towel. And a negro stood at the bar, no: a coloured, a black."
Judith groaned silently, I sat up and looked at her in disbelief. She was staring at the ceiling and talking monotonously to herself. From time to time she quivered when I found her zones. Perhaps she took drugs?
"A tall strong man with broad shoulders. A handsome guy in slightly faded jeans and a big, colourful shirt. He was drinking red wine in little sips and watching the waiter drying the glasses. I ordered another beer and felt the drunkenness growing in me. That big black man smiled and sat down next to me."
I hope she won't tell me now how she had it with a rastaman six years ago, I thought angrily, and dived down again between her thighs.
"Pub no good place for young Miss. Why you're alone? I had no idea. Young Miss has problems? He had a beautiful face, and suddenly I knew what Cooper meant when he wrote about skin that was like velvet. Black velvet. Adam he was called, Adam! A good name for such a guy. Even if he wasn't the first. The drunkard staggered towards me: Does it really have to be a negro? Can't it be me? Laaf me tenda. I'm myself. Landlord! A big black coffee for me, not black like him, but an espresso. Hahaha… I stood up, took my bag, went out onto the street. A beautiful man. The air was warm. Adam followed me. Can I bring young Miss home? I laughed. No, young Miss doesn't want to go home. I looked at him. Black velvet. A third eye on his front head. I was drunk. My stomach convulsed, as if I were scared. My heart grew faster. I felt it thumping in my temples. I didn't want him to notice that my heart was beating faster just because I looked at him. No, no words now. They would only sound stupid. I wiped my wet palms on my skirt. He was a beautiful, virile animal. His apartment was just beneath the roof. A small flat from where I could see the park. The gravel paths and the fenced playground. A big desk next to the window, books lying on it. We drank coffee and I gradually came to terms with the alcohol. And later, long after midnight, Adam stood in the middle of the small room under the roof and undressed slowly."
I rolled on Judith furiously and bit into her neck, my hands running through her blond mane. Our mouths locked in hungry satisfaction, I let her drink with moist lips, lick her burning face...
"I felt a needling pain in my heart. He had scars everywhere on his chest and stomach. On his upper arms. Huge scars. And a navel on his left shoulder. It looked like a navel, this shot wound. Slowly I walked up to him and touched his uneven muscular chest. I asked him, wanted to know where these wounds came from, and why."
Judith yelled when I penetrated her with a hard push. Gasping and getting quicker she went on and wrapped her legs around my hips.
"He described his country, no, please, not now, his home country, the repression over there, please, no, the soldiers and the resistance fighters, and - the tortures. Yes, the tortures. Described the shot that had barked out in that African night, the cigarettes they had burnt into his skin. The questions. The beating. The voice of the torturer."
Judith stopped resisting. She waited for my orgasm. Her eyes started to shine, her lips trembled, she was crying.
Afterwards I got up, washed myself in the basin next to the bed and got dressed. Judith, sitting naked on a chair, smiled "When will you return?"
I bent down to her, kissed her front head and looked for a note in my trouser pocket. "Next week perhaps", I said. "I really like your stories. You should write them down"
Judith shook her head "My stories remain in this room. They are prisoners of this room. Just like me".
"What will you tell me next time?" I asked.
"We'll see", she grinned, "We'll see..."

copyright by author, Vienna 1995
Georg Biron