You made reference to me in this post (http://damonhoux.blogspot.com/2005/05/blog-diarrhea.html), and I would like to clear things up, as I have children and you have painted me in a corner. I was born in 1933, in what was then known as Germany. My father was a devout Nazi, and he was killed in Ardennes during the battle of the bulge. My mother raised me by herself, and we struggled in strife for most of my adolescence in the wreckage that became East Germany. Fortunately our perserverence paid off, and I was quite the gymnast. By the age of 17 I was considered the East German master of the Pommel Horse, and I trained with Hans Von Stoecker, who himself had won three gold medals in 1948. I was in my prime for the 1952 Olympics, but unfortunately, my mother's radical politics kept me out. By the time 1956 rolled around my mother had recanted after spending some time in a political prison, and I was allowed on the team. Unfortunately, at 23, I was not the gymnast I was at 19, and took home a bronze.
Though the state loved me, I was bitter, for I knew I was robbed off my right place in the pantheon of Pommel Horse jockeys, and though I was offered some choice work, I ended up turning to Vodka as my solace. Though I had married into a prominent family at 20 (in part to help get my mother out of jail) and had four kids by 25, I was a broken man, Damon, a broken man.
When 1968 rolled around, there was a weird schism in our country. There was a sense of the world around us, and a world changing. Though my people were still wrecked with a sense of attrition and defeat, we watched as the world seemed to explode, and other countries tried to create rebellion. We never stood a chance, but in my circle, we experimented, and my wife and I participated in numerous group sexual encounters. We found that though the state could control everything else, they couldn't control our sex.
But after three years of fooling around, there was a sense of the party being over for some. Others moved on to more talk of revolution, some left the country, while others found solace, as I still did in alcohol. By 1974, I was 41 and fucking a student gymnast, whom I was also training. Let me tell you Damon, you have no lived until you slept with a gymnast who's also a teenager. She told some of her friends about our near Tantric sessions, and word spread. Soon enough I was known as a sex guru, and girls from all over our province were coming to (and for) me. Finally my skills at the pommel horse were redeemed!
When I turned 60, I was invited to be a part of a fictional Olympic jury, simply to keep East German jokes alive, but at 60 I was more man then you'll ever be. Even the faux-French judge said I was her best lover, as we wait around to be used as a punchline.
My point is this, Damon, don't judge. My life is more complicated then you will ever know, and you paint me in the corner for making out with a judge, you have no idea how sex has freed me from my mental anguish and prisons.