According to Herr O.Gothe of Condomi, the manufacturers of condoms in Germany get a lot of complaints - the Europe-wide standard Trojan format (EN-600) is too, er, big for up to 50% of their customers. "People ring up and tell us our prophylactic fell off".

The problem seems to be widespread, especially amongst younger men. A feverish net search provides me with the measurements in question: the minimum length of a EuroCondom is set at 6.63 inches (170mm), width should be 1.72 - 2.18 inches (44 -56mm). And according to a Commission official, "One millimeter either way can make all the difference." True indeed...

So, if fifty percent of Germany's condom users are of smaller build, we finally have the explanation for my country's martial misbehavior in the first half of the 20th century...(yes, that's martial, not marital.)

Penis envy - kudos, Sigmund

		The collective dream of the BEA forum regulars

Jockel even refuses to talk to me on the phone, he turned out to be a partisan of my ex-wife - he's always disliked Teresa - so over the last months traX and I had to either...
     (a) stay alone on our jour fixe...
     (b) take Hella and Teresa with us, or...
     (c) find a third musketeer.

We opted for alternative (c), and after some fiascoes traX turned up with a project-manager of his firm. He's a cutey, a little fatter than me and a little smarter than traX. He wants us to call him Hardy, which is why we constantly use the old-fashioned "Gerhard".

Like Jockel, his predecessor at our little Stammtisch, he's a little more into the ultraslim side of the female kind.

	Hella's grown to still more favorable dimensions

We're tolerant, after all, traX is recovering from an acute attack of elephantiasis, and Teresa, now off the pill, is back to her original B-cups. Had to do a lot of bra-shopping these days...

traX, too, but for another reason: Hella's grown to still more favorable dimensions... she needs H-cups by now, and still no land in sight.

Lucky man...

Gerhard is presently between owners, but he prefers the term single. As M.Houellebecq remarked in "Elementary Particles", that's usually a nicer-sounding definition of wanker. At first sight it looks like our Gerhard is part of the lonely majority. His compensation is a Lancia Lybra, a boy's toy with more monitors in the cockpit than I have in my whole apartment. The car is such a hi-tech Wunder, you have to be wary of electromagnetic pulse effects. I wonder how long it will take to develop an EMP-gun for the narrow-minded automobilista who prefers overloading the delicate circuitry of a BMW to being overtaken.

traX claims BE's a matter of training...	...and training...	...and still more training.

I mean, everything's possible with all those teenagers on the net advertising "shematics for elektromagnetic computer death rays" for about $5.00 cash U$...

But back to Gerhard - his car's satellite navigation system brings us safe & sound to our destination, da Luigi in Hamburg-Barmbek. An absolute insider tip, according to our friend. Well, I don't know: Barmbek has an uncanny resemblance to those Californian retiree enclaves one sometimes reads about. A region where they inevitably address me, age 53, as "young man". Shudder. But Luigi is a darling, a good cook, and the only Voluptuous and SCORE subscriber I've personally met.

The news is, he spent the better part of last week downloading 1.3 gigabytes of data from Scoreland. The heavy-duty mouse action reactivated his tennis-arm, he claims, while Mona, his spouse, maneuvers our dishes through the obstacle course of tiny but crowded tables. "Can't lift the right arm any more." And I had hoped to avoid still another discussion on Austria's Herr Haider. Peace, friends, peace in our time.

		Inevitably waitresses in Italian restaurants we visit are built to stimulate our fantasies...

Not when Mona's around. She is, well, just a little short of Hella's dimensions, and twenty years younger. Dark-tanned, raven-haired, and proud bearer of the two most perfectly shaped ovaloids, if you excuse the technical, object-like approach.

(Yes, I've read Nicklaus on Chloe, and I envy his clear emotions. Envy is a pure form of admiration, and the only form suitable for a bald, fat and near-sighted cynic like me.)

But those geometric wonders are not the only magnets that draw us to Little Geriatrica: there are also her nipples...

They poke through whatever she wears. traX suspects some weird prosthetics, Gerhard still shudders - size ain't his slice of pie - at the sheer succulence, and hasn't registered the details yet; me, I just like it. Reminds me of Teresa... she said she'd be back from Cracow next week or so.

As a part-time -widower I accept Gerhard's offer to go "some place where there's still more action" - after all, we can't spend all evening waiting for the fabric of Mona's blouse to wear out over those pinpoint nipples. traX is excused - we all approve the result of Hella's workouts, or obscure hi-tech XYZ-rays, on her rack.

	A scene I remember from ancient Russ Meyer films, and doesn't Kitten Natividad mean "Pussy X-mas?"

We end up in an exotic establishment where girls dance around a rod (to avoid the ambivalent expression pole - first, not to vex Teresa. Second, to avert the wrath of St Stephan, who will read & correct this before it goes HTML. Third, it's bad style to tell the same joke, good or bad, twice. And fourth, pole and Pole ain't the same.)

A scene I remember from ancient Russ Meyer films, Kitten Natividad doing the "black sock gimmick" at the rod pole vertical bar (was it "Ultravixens"?).

Anyway, talented employees, great atmosphere, and it would've been a really fine evening, if only we had left after that blonde spread her cheeks against that vertical thingy we've been talking about.

I'd really have preferred not to have seen Teresa's gig... So that's what she does when she's visiting "Aunt Krystina"...

Life is so unfair.

PS: My usual, yet deeply felt, thanks to St Stephan, who'll scribble odd remarks in red ink throughout the text, and all the time streamlines my utterances till they fit BEhavior's standards...

PPS: Turns out StS is playing up his supposed aristocratic origins again, and made his corrections in blue this time.