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C|Suite Letters: Sex At Auschwitz (Sex macht frei)

C|Suite is a men's magazine founded by Frank Cervi. It combines urban/office life-style articles with soft-core pornographic pictorials. In recent years, C-Suite introduced the 'letters' column in which readers send in borderline ridiculous sexcapades, resulting often in explicit and unnecessary detail.


Sex At Auschwitz

(Sex macht frei)

C|Suite Letters

Dear C|Suite: About a month ago, I visited Auschwitz for the first time in over 70 years; I am a survivor. Even though the buildings are languishing—the landscape being altered by time and weathering—I could still picture everything as if it were 1943, the year I arrived.

I could still feel the burning…feelings I had for two men: Arthur Goldbloom and a German Waffen-SS officer named, Wolfgang (‘Wolfie’ as I liked to call him). I escaped Auschwitz, both mentally and physically. I survived in a way that most others couldn’t. Today, I would like to share my story; a story like nothing you've ever heard from the hollows of history.

It was the spring of 1943 when I first met Arthur—a lowly Jew, like myself. I was nineteen at the time; a young Jewish girl full of raging hormones.

We both had that (wanting to fuck) in common. It was a matter of circumstance meeting Arthur. Being from two different ‘ghettos’ in the city of Warsaw, Arthur and I had met in-line at the train station, waiting to get our numbers.

After receiving my number from a brooding Wehrmacht soldier, I turned around and bumped into Arthur. Our eyes met and so did our souls. We both scanned each other, up and down; I looked at his big nose. Was his penis big too? Arthur starred at my supple and ample bosom, which had been blossoming for some time.

I quickly looked down at the number on my card; I couldn’t see Arthur’s number, as he had put it in the pocket of his shirt. All I could think about at the time was: I just met you…and this is crazy. So here’s my number…Auschwitz, maybe?

I was hesitant, nervous really. But, I wasn’t like most Jewish girls (who were quiet and meek from all the abuse they’d taken) in the Ghetto and on the streets of Warsaw.

So, I took the initiative.

“What’s your number?” I asked Arthur, while I fingered my card.

“8675309,” he replied with the haste of a well organized Panzergruppe officer.

“Same here,” I said with a flirty grin.

At that point in time, we both knew we were destined to be together….in Auschwitz.

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Going to Auschwitz is a lot like going to Disneyland: You get crammed on a shitty train with too many men, women and children; at the end of the day, you are exhausted… and you just want to go home.

There are just too many screaming kids getting separated from their parents.

On the train to Auschwitz, though, Arthur and I couldn’t separate ourselves from each other—mostly because we were packed in there so tightly. There was nothing to really do for the full 7- hours that it took to get there, so I let Arthur squeeze my ass; I gave him a handjob over his trousers—Young love.

When our train arrived at our destination, much like Disney, we had to stand in-line for a long time. The guards separated the men and the women from each other; Arthur was heartbroken.

I was too, for a bit.

But then, I met Wolfgang—One of the hottest, chiseled, SS Officers I had ever seen. He just looked so dapper in his dark blacks and grays; the way his red armband brought out his blue eyes and blonde hair.

Wolfgang told me, with a firm tone, to strip down to nothing; we all had to put on striped pajamas.

I listened and did what I was told. That made me so aroused.

As we were all stripping, I caught myself looking at Arthur. I remember not being too impressed—his penis was rather small and the vertical stripes on his PJ’s really amplified his rather skinny physique.

It was something I had overlooked through all of my emotions back in Warsaw; the ass-squeezing and the dick-stroking. I remember looking around at this point, taking in a panoramic view of all who'd got off the train with us.

The sun was setting at this time, it was casting an array of colors through the clouds and onto the landscape—electric reds and oranges cascading down onto everything.

All I could see though, in my view, was a sea of orange Jews—100% concentrated.

After quickly putting on my Pj’s, I turned to Wolfgang, who had something in his hand for me.

It was a gold star. Wolfgang fixed the gold star onto my Pj’s—really close to my bosom—and looked deep into my eyes.

He made me feel like I was his A+ student.

When I get horny, I get nervous. When I get nervous, sometimes I fart involuntarily. When Wolfgang looked deep into my eyes that evening, on the train tracks in front of the gate, I farted... loudly.

Like a true gentlemen, he didn’t laugh. Wolfgang calmed my nerves, instead.

Brushing my hair with his hand across my face, while running his thumb in a small circle around my cheek he said, “Don’t be embarrassed…a little gas never hurt anyone...”

The way he said it, the tone he used—how his lantern jaw moved with the strength of iron— got me all hot and bothered.

"All I could see though, in my view, was a sea of orange Jews—100% concentrated."

Weeks went by and I hadn’t seen or spoke with Wolfgang since our steamy moment outside of the main gate.

I saw Arthur though, everyday.

He was always there for me, even though a barbed wire fence (with two layers) separated us from one another. It was clear, from a lot of indicators, that I was the hottest Jew in Auschwitz at the time; burning hot beauty.

All of the men, including Arthur, would stare at me when we worked outside during the day. At night I would sneak out to the fence, because Arthur would always toss over extra rations and bread to me; he kept me well fed and nourished.

However, I was hungry in a much different way that no bread stick could satiate. I was horny and frustrated. With no attractive men around or nearby, what was a horny Jew to do?

Finally, one night during a bunk inspection, Wolfgang showed up in his best SS outfit—He looked so handsome that day, my ‘down bellows’ were burning hotter than an oven. He and a bunch of his men, searched our cabin.

As Wolfgang’s guards rummaged through our sleeping quarters, I heard something hard, metallic, and rather small hit the wood floor. Thinking it was a coin or money of some sort, I went to my knees faster than a prostitute in Amsterdam.

After hastily searching the dirty wood floor, I found what had dropped—it was an Oberst-Gruppenführer cufflink. It was one that belonged to Wolfgang. I knew this because when I had looked up, there he was, standing over me; looking like a tall statue made of rare minerals; his war medals were all symmetrically pinned to his chest.

With his dominant hand, he reached toward me—I put the cufflink in his hand. I must’ve been imagining things, but I believe I saw his ‘Kaiser roll’ through his wool, field grey trousers that looked so sharp on him. German uniforms, I must say, were very stylish—a very keen people on status.

“Sometimes, I am not very good at cuffing myself.” He said in a low tone.

“Well, I am pretty good at cuffing… as you can see.” I said, while helping him put the cufflink back into his sleeve, whilst still being on my knees.

At this point I didn’t know if Wolfgang understood what reference to the word ‘cuffing’ I was trying to convey, but our time was rather limited during the routine examination of our cabin.

When the cufflink was secured on him, I picked myself up off the floor, along with my tongue and mouth. My wet little Jew-gina at this point started to quiver; shell-shocked by Wolfgang’s explosive stares.

As fast as they came, he and his men were gone.

After their inspection was over, I went to one of the windows and followed the object of lust with my eyes; to see where Wolfgang’s office/quarters were within the camp’s grounds.

Following him, for what seemed like an eternity of staring—maybe a little bit of soft petting through my pants—Wolfgang finally retired to what I could confirm was his office: The largest building tucked at the back corner near a large guard tower, which had two guards armed with MP40’s.

Knowing that there was no way I would be able to just walk up to Wolfgang’s building, or even dare sneak through the darkness and searchlights of the night, I knew what I had to do: Dig deep.

Literally, I had to dig a long tunnel that would eventually lead me to my heartthrob, Wolfie.

Over the course of a year, every night I would painstakingly dig a hole underneath our sleeping quarters with the pick axes and shovels they made us use to dig large holes and pits outside. Then, I eventually tunneled my way in the direction of where Wolfgang's shack was.

Then, on one moonlit night, I thought I had made it (freedom). Alas, I had miscalculated my measurements for the tunnel. I had thought I was just below the middle section of Wolfgang’s building, but I was not.

Instead, I had dug a little too far.

When I dug upwards and poked my head out of the ground, all I could see was the moon shimmering through the forest tress—I was about 20 yards from Wolfgang’s building, on the other side of the camp’s boundaries.

I was so disappointed. Deflated, like the Hindenburg.

Not giving up, I quickly closed up the hole and made my corrections. When my shovel broke the earth for the second time, in my attempts to locate where Wolfgang’s building was, I felt a sense of extreme relief, joy, and intense arousal—I had finally made it. I was right underneath the space between dirt and the wood flooring of Wolfgang’s quarters.

It was a special night for me and for Wolfgang. One, because I was so close to him secretly.

The other, was due to the surprise of a rare visitor: Adolf Hitler.

I was so shocked because it was literally, Hitler.

He was apparently ‘in the neighborhood’ and wanted to swing by Wolfgang’s camp Auschwitz, to see how things were going. I laid underneath the floorboards for what seemed like hours, listening to Wolfgang and Adolf joke around, drink expensive liquor, smoke, and talk shop.


"I was so disappointed.

Deflated, like the Hindenburg."


All I remember distinctly was that at one point they were joking about how Hitler wasn't aloud to attend barbecues anymore with the Field Marshals and Officers. I am paraphrasing, but it went along the lines of:

Wolfgang: “You know Adolf…my little niece is turning 11 next month and we are throwing a barbecue for her birthday."

Adolf Hitler:” Ya, ya I know, Wolfgang….I won’t try to barbecue at your niece’s birthday… because I always burn the Franks. Anne Frankly, I really don’t care.”

*Abrupt laughter ensued

At the time, I didn’t really get the joke.

After some time, Hitler eventually had to leave. He said he had to go because he was ‘on tour’ that month, visiting all of his camps—A Nazi Rockstar.

When Hitler had left for the evening, I could hear that Wolfgang was getting ready to settle in for the night. I crawled toward the backside of the building—where the guards could not see me—and low and behold a window was open due to the balmy night.

I wasn’t thinking clearly, just with my vagina. Next thing I knew, I was head first through the window and face down on Wolfgang’s bed. He was in mid-strip, getting ready for a night’s slumber.

So he thought.

Things then took place at blitzkrieg speed. No words were exchanged; just raw, animalistic, carnal desires. As I laid on the bed, moist and nervous, Wolfgang continued his bedtime strip; first his jacket, then his shirt, and finally his pants and undies. He smirked at me, whilst flinging his red armband at my face from across the room, like a schoolboy with a crush and a rubber band in class.

When he finally got to his trousers, he slowly peeled them off of his glistening, sweaty body.

When his trousers hit the floor, so did my jaw.

What was revealed, in the dim glow of a single lantern, was the biggest penis I had ever seen; much bigger than Arthur’s. His[Wolfgang's] head was so smooth, shiny and bulbous—it looked like a brand new Stahlhelm, sent straight from the armory.

Wolfgang slowly walked up to me by the bed; I stood up to meet his gaze. He ripped my pjs off, along with my gold star.

At that moment, during that night, I was no longer a Jewish woman; just a woman and he, a man; a woman who hadn’t had sex in almost a year.

Everything happened in a blur and before I knew it, I was on the bed again, wetter than a trench in April; leaking like the engine of a Tiger tank.

Our lust was stronger than the bunkers at Normandy; our connection, sturdier than the Arnhem Bridge. Wolfgang fäusted and penetrated my female armor with his Panzershreck-of-a-dick; like a hot knife through butter.

Wolfgang was trying to conquer my body on three fronts during that fateful and unforgettable night at Auschwitz: Thumbing my tits, as if they were knobs in a control room; digging-out my pussy, like a foot soldier in a trench; stripping off my clothes faster than one could strip a Kar98k for cleaning.

He besieged me like small town in France; enveloped my body with his masculine force.

When it came to the final push, I could feel Wolfgang’s passion for victory—he was ready to cum. Like a Junkers Ju 89, Wolfgang unleashed his payload over his target—dropping white hot bombs of jizz in the valley of my navel and on the peaks of breasts, like the snow-covered mountains of Austria.

He collapsed beside me. We both laid there in bed for a while; he smoked a cigarette while I tried to clean-up the carnage he left on my chest, stomach and vagina( all the dead knuckle children)—the cum was slowly crusting, due to oxidization.

"Our lust was stronger than the bunkers at Normandy; our connection, sturdier than the Arnhem Bridge."


That night was magic. We cuddled for a while; I called him my ‘Wolfie’ for the first time; he named me his little Jew-Jube.

It was like we were already a couple; stupid nicknames and all.

Before I left that night, I made sure to give him a 'goodbye handjob'; cuffed his cock with my hand; milked out the last drops of love juice that were still in the tank.

The next day was even more magical and strange. We were all working out in the yard when it began to snow. This was strange to us all at the time, because it was late April; no clouds and sunny.

Catching the ‘snowflakes’ on my tongue reminded me of Wolfie, and how some of his love would oftentimes land in my mouth—a foul taste.

Over the course of another 6 months, I would meet Wolfgang, like that fateful and magical night, whenever I could. Wolfie would go on further: He provided rations to me because at one point Arthur had stopped throwing bread over the fence.

It was like, all of sudden Arthur just disappeared. Never to be seen again. At first I was let down by Arthur disappearing from my love life, but, to each his own.

I thought it was very rude though, at the time.

At that point, it didn't matter. I had Wolfie and he was mine.


I escaped Auschwitz through body, mind, and spirit. Sheer determination to survive based on emotions and my insane, raging hormones: Instinct.

After the war, my Wolfgang…my little Wolfie, had to go into hiding to escape his war crimes. He would send me clandestine love letters from time-to-time, addressing them to his little 'Jew-jube’.

We would often write, erotically to each other. Much like how the kids these days ‘sext’.

He was so romantic.

I would never see him again, though.

To think that two people, so wrong for each other, could come together on one hot, balmy April night, in extremely poor living conditions, to then engage in a forbidden love affair that would change a life forever (continue it), is something of a marvel.

Something so inclusive: a love story, so wrapped in diversity and tolerance, happened in 1943 of all the places in time.

Having lived all this time and now being present in the year 2019, I have never experienced or seen anything close to what happened between me and my Wolfie.

Make love, not war.

Sex will set you free, literally.

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