Eva Braun | Roee Rosen

Dear customer:

As soon as you put on the state-of-the-art headgear, body suit, and electronic sensors, you find yourself in the bunker's livingroom. Late April 1945. The subterranean quarters are comfortable and opulent, if somewhat morose. The noise of exploding bombs is dimmed by soundproof walls, but you sense the blasts by the shudders sent through rooms and up your body. Your lover is about to arrive. You head to the bathroom to tidy yourself up. You look into the mirror, leaning forward, and your own image is revealed to you for the first time. You are blond, your face is still young, your complexion pinkish-pure, your bosom ample. You seem truly good-natured. Anyone would be thrilled to be you, but for you it should merely be a given --- you are Eva Braun...

Excitement jolts through your body when you hear the steps outside. When he opens the door, you gasp at the sight of his small mustache. Because you are not only Eva, it seems menacing, almost monstrous. But everything around the moustache is so congenial. He comes toward you with such warmth, his smile tired, his arms open to embrace you. Remember --- you are Eva. When Hitler closes his arms around you, the view darkens, and you are surrounded by his presence. You are almost overwhelmed with titillation when you feel the whiskers of that famous little facial tuft tickle your ear and the back of your neck ... You realize, with some pride that you are the sanctuary of this special man, your lover.