Magazin — Fkk

At home, he hid the magazine under his mattress, between his Asterix comics and a worn-out copy of The Neverending Story . He didn’t look at it for the reasons a boy of thirteen might be expected to. He looked at it for the wide, uncomplicated smiles. For the caption under a photo of a grandmother peeling potatoes: "Even chores are more fun in the sun!" For the classified ads in the back, where families sought other families for "nordic walking and open-air chess."

His own family was a museum of tiny, polite horrors. His mother sprayed air freshener after using the toilet. His father wore pajamas with sleeves even in July. When Lukas accidentally walked into the bathroom while his father was shaving, shirtless, the man flinched as if he'd been shot.

Herr Wegener was stacking newspapers. "The usual?" he asked. fkk magazin

His father wrapped a towel around his shoulders. "Close the door, Lukas."

And so, every Thursday, Lukas would shove his sweaty fist into the pocket of his shorts, pull out a handful of pfennigs, and place the glossy magazine on the counter. The cover always had a family: a lean, sun-bronzed father with a beard; a mother with wind-swept hair; a boy and a girl, maybe ten and twelve, playing volleyball. All of them, of course, as naked as the day they were born. At home, he hid the magazine under his

To Lukas, raised in a house where the bathroom door had three locks and his father wore a swimsuit to wash the car, these images were less pornography and more a glimpse of a parallel universe.

He bought a pack of gum instead. He walked home along the river, his bare arms swinging. He didn't need the magazine anymore. He had seen the real thing: a man tossing a child, a woman floating, the moon on his own naked skin. For the caption under a photo of a

"It's fine," Lukas whispered. "You're just a person."