Think about post war Germany. Most of the young men either killed or injured. Injured externally so that they may suffer from pain or discomfort the rest of their lives. Or internally wounded by what they have experienced or committed. Like my father. Not able to sleep without a substantial amount of booze and then only to wake up at night screaming out for fear or mental pain.

Housing being bad, you just had to do with what was available.

And think about a lad just starting to learn what life is all about. With the women I mean. This young lad had moved to a new neighbourhood with his parents. I had finished school and was looking for some apprenticeship. So I was lacking pals and buddies to discuss matters of growing up with. In fact, with all the strange sensations and feelings inside myself, I was not just a little bit self-conscious and I very much kept to myself. You should keep in mind that kids back then were very much different from kids today - especially me. Maybe the long nights spent in fear and cold down in the basement for shelter during the bombing raids, or the lack of nutrition in the early years just after the war, had their effects on my personal development. Compared to today’s young people: more of a man than a boy on the outside, vice versa inside.

And you still should figure a world more or less devoid of public sexuality. No advertising with near to naked women. No magazines, no internet, no nothing of anything that might allure to sex. Greek statues in the museum of art or the encyclopaedia were the only thing where you could get an idea of what a naked human body looks like. And these occasions were simply not available in post war Germany. All the magazines showing monochrome pictures only, the colour of human flesh was to be seen in portraits of the celebrities of the day only. Actresses that did show a tiny bit more of cleavage or calf than was thought appropriate were considered a scandal. The word pornography did not even exist in these days. Sex education just did not happen.

And so many men missing. In the days before the pill.

Okay, I think you got it.

We had rented flats in one of the newly and hurriedly built houses, built to accommodate as many people as possible. Our house had four storeys with a staircase to go upward or down. Our family, that is my mother, my father, my younger brother and me, we were living on second floor and a few people upstairs from us. All these people had to pass by our door to get to their flats or coming down to put themselves to any task they may have had on the streets or downtown.

I was moving all amongst these people. Going down to the basement to fetch coal for the heating or going down to perform some errant I was set to do. To get the booze or cigarettes or whatever. On all my tasks people going upstairs or downstairs passed me by, some gave the young lad some words. And climbing up again to where we lived to report my errands done. Dull job.

But eventually life started to change. I got to realise, that not all the people in this flats are alike. There were old men and women who lost their sons in the war. There were former soldiers trying to accommodate to their new lives with what they called family.

But occasionally there was something different. One day, while I ascended the stairs, I noticed a light patch passing through my vision.

I had to concentrate, on what that was. Felt interesting though. Interesting enough that I followed my daily errands with renewed vigour.

I came to recognise: There is this woman living in a small apartment upstairs from us - alone - that may flash some piece of pale skin among her skirts going upstairs just passing me.

How is that? Why so near to me?

You should know about the staircase design in post war houses in Germany: To get from storey to storey was sixteen steps, of these eight were in one direction, then a landing with a U-turn and the next eight steps upward, handrails being some steel frame structure, not much of an obstacle to the eye wandering upwards. So if you went upward you frequently were of just opposing courses to the person just a few steps in front of you. And because this individual was ahead of you he or she was more elevated. Effect: If you kept going upstairs just eight steps behind the one in front of you, this one was of opposing course to you every eight steps and was elevated by eight steps so that his - or more important: her - knee was just the height of your eyes. And going downstairs offered the same opportunities, if you were in the lead. Either way, just forcing your steps or falling back you could optimise your vantage point.

And that is what I did.

It took me some time to understand that this was a female knee and shin that got my interest. The shin could be clearly seen with the calves, the knee just flashing below the hem of her skirt, coming in my direction, just the height of my eye.

Being summer, it was bare, without being covered by stockings. She would just bend her knee and lift her leg to climb the next step and her skirt would slightly unfold to display a female knee right into my eye. The muscles of her calf then tensed when they came to bear her weight, relaxing again, when this leg was lifted and put down to the next step.

Oh good God, I thought. What was so interesting about this at all? What was the attraction I felt suddenly? I had nobody that I trusted enough to discuss this issue with, least of all my parents. At school it was commonly understood, that girls were stupid and silly. I could not make head or tail from this.

I just found myself - subconsciously I swear - to improve my errands.

First I just improved my ascent or descent when accidentally hitting upon her. Just setting my pace so that my view was extended as long as possible and that the chance to see this knee increased, but on the other hand having the knee pass my eyes as near as possible.

And the timing. Was that Fräulein Judith’s door I heard going? Was she going out on some business of hers? Now, if I went out on some petty errands within the next three seconds I just might be able to time my descent to be a few steps in front of her. Knee and calves, feet stuck in some pumps with an inch of heels, just to look a little bit - well “sexy” has a different implication today. Let us say - interesting. Forcing her calves into this peculiar curve so very beautiful on a female leg, a little bit of knee and a very few fractions of inches of the thigh with muscles straining to lift her weight upwards or to lower it down.

To time my return was easy. Just get into the house a few seconds after her did it.

Summer was coming on, the dresses got lighter, the cloth less stiff and more soft and complimenting the shape of the body that was wearing it.

Here she was. Soft summer dress flowing along her figure, displaying the shape of her thighs as they move in an easy stride to climb the stairs. What a sight. Fair hair, with a hairstyle that was fashionable in the 50s, light dress, dark grey with some white pattern, moving across her body like waves of water, with her knees and calves just coming at me to pass me at eye level. Heaven.

Really, nothing more to it?

I found it was quite worthwhile to time my ascent to have those knees pass above my eyesight - in turning my head I could glimpse some more of the thigh. Being on the ascent was a little on the safe path because you tend to be more to her back than to her front and thus a little less likely to be caught. I did not know why, but I felt pretty sure that what I did was not considered the way I was expected to behave and that I should prefer not to be caught.

The vantage point was not too good if you were too deep down, the view of her calves and shins got shortened due to the perspective - but somehow this had more attraction.

I gave up just caring for her knees and calves to be level with my eye, but giving her enough lead so that I may catch a view as high on her thighs and as high up her skirt as possible. And if she wore her pleated skirt, my eyes could really wander up her skirt considerably before the view became vague in the shadows.

Wow. Imagine that flowing image of thighs moving, muscles straining and relaxing while setting the legs from one step to the next. To carry her weight and coming loose again. Amongst all of this the fabrics of her dress flowing in between just to stress the vagueness of that image, which could last for some fractions of seconds only, but nonetheless stuck to my memory to be reviewed in mind later.

And her fragrance. By today we all have learned that the natural smell of the human being has to be fought by showers every day, deodorants and perfumes. But at that time - and I pity the young of today for having lost this - the warm summer fragrance of a young woman, spiced by light perfume, not killed but highlighted, were downright intoxicating. And this came flowing to me, just as vague as this image, but one morsel of this smell was stored away forever in memory for future reference.

And I got bolder.

Just waiting longer for her to get higher upstairs to get a deeper glance up her skirt. I just stood and waited as long as possible to get my view. Just pulling on my luck.

Until I got caught.

Suddenly sending my peek upwards and focusing my gaze on what was available, I met her eyes glancing down at me - some grey blue colour, I cannot tell because I was much too embarrassed for getting caught in gaining as much access to her privacy as I could get.

I was dumbfound and shocked. She had caught me!

Remember, this was not the time where you could have naked flesh in every newspaper, most of the advertisements and many TV-shows. It was the fifties. Take a look at some James Dean films and you know what the outlook was. The most that was displayed in any “naughty” environment was a little bit of cleavage and maybe some knees. Nothing else. And here I was, caught at staring at a beautiful woman’s thighs and straining to get as near as possible to the wonders that might lay beyond in the dark of crossing thighs and flowing skirts.

She had caught me!

I felt the blood get to my ears as I met her eyes. I do not know if she said anything - the blood running through my ears was as noisy as Niagara Falls at high water drowning anything that might have been said. I saw her hands moving and her lips, not understanding what was meant. I continued my ascent behind her in a futile try in just making things not having happened by continuing on my way as before. So I put some feet of distance between us, but stopped on the next landing for to continue would have brought me nearer to her. I did not dare to continue, I sheepishly looked up to her, from a decent vantage point now.