Ugly Girl
Copyright© 2026 by Han Jansz. van Meegeren
1. The Fight You Can't Win
“Age does not protect you from love.
But love, to some extent, protects you from age.”
Anaïs Nin
There’s comfort in moving forward, even slowly. I keep walking the forest path, muddy and wet.
The damp air clings to my coat as I walk. Bare branches make the forest more open and less scary for a woman on her own. My boots sink a little into the soft earth, each step a quiet, steady rhythm. It’s not merely a sharp cold, but a familiar one, like an old acquaintance. The smell of wet bark and old leaves on the ground fills my nose—simple, honest. A few early snowdrops push through the dirt, stubborn and hopeful. The quiet wraps around me. Ever present.
Koen called me and asked to meet him here. This is what we call a forest in the Netherlands. If you’re from Norway or Sweden, you might think of this as a park. Little country, little trees. Koen’s phone call was remarkable and exceptional. It’s not that I dislike Koen, but I don’t know him the way I know my best friend. He’s part of her life, obviously, so I tolerate him—maybe even enjoy his company in small doses—but there’s an invisible line. We are polite; we engage in conversation when necessary, but don’t seek him out. If I had met him outside of this context, we might not even be friends.
I have seen him far more in the last two years than in the previous twenty. Knowing I had nearly lost contact with my best friend forever, I committed to keeping in touch with her. I promised myself that their weird way of living would not scare me away.
Koen would never say BDSM; he always said ‘the lifestyle’ or used another euphemism. Koen was the King of Genteelisms. During my initial visits, two or three times a week, I noticed they were holding back; hidden glances of understanding, sighs of unfulfilled longing, and half-finished gestures. As I kept coming to their house, the atmosphere became a little less tense, and when I didn’t lose my cool at the sight of two naked ladies slurping up their dinner out of a stainless steel dog bowl on the kitchen floor, their floodgates seemed to open. From that day on, I was just a voyeur in their strange role-plays, without comment or vocal judgment.
I was early. Punctuality is a lifelong habit of mine. Plus, it’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed the peace of the forest. I need that dose sometimes. The accumulated rain appeared to be too heavy for the clouds to hold on to, so they let it go. I pulled up my hood and walked back to the car. Koen had parked his car next to mine. My Toyota Corolla is in stark contrast to his brand-new polished BMW. They say a dog resembles its owner. My battered, 23-year-old ugly car also resembled its owner — rusty in the joints, prone to random wheezing, and desperately clinging to the glory days of the nineties.
Koen stayed in his car. To keep out of the rain, I opened his passenger door and got in, my muddy shoes making stains against his grey upholstery. The relative humidity inside was as high as outside; tears ran down Koen’s face. A strange thing to behold, he was supposed to be the strong, macho man. It’s the first time in my life I have seen him cry.
“I am going to die soon.” He got over his emotions quickly, as a real man should.
“What?”
“The doctors told me I have pancreatic cancer, stage four. Jutta told me to see the doctor because I kept losing weight and my skin was yellowish. At first, my doctor thought it was gallbladder disease. But it wasn’t. When they found out, it was inoperable and had already spread.”
“How long?” I asked businesslike. He looked at me as if he had not expected such a question from me.
“One to three months. Six months if I am lucky.” He air-quoted the last word.
“Is there no hope of treatment?”
“No. It has spread out like wildfire.” He said.
“How did Jutta and Sylvia react to that?”
“They don’t know yet. You are the first person I confide in.”
“You are not serious, I hope.” I said, appalled.
He was quiet. Through a mosaic of raindrops on the windshield, we both peered at the trees, stripped of their leaves. They could easily have reached stage 4 as well. But the trees would come to life again in the new spring and blossom. I realised Koen would probably not see that anymore.
Suddenly Koen starts talking again. “I promised more than once that I would outlive them both. And now I betray that trust. You know enough of our life that they look up to me for guidance and structure in their lives. It’s something both girls need. Not want, but need. Jutta will feel lost, but she has Ilse here to comfort her. Sandor will take care of her, I hope. For Sylvia, it’s different. Jutta has been my twin flame for three years, Sylvia for over fifteen times that long. My death is likely to have the biggest impact on her.”
Koen suddenly got out of the car. I had no other choice than to follow him. I felt raindrops on my face. Frequent drops with the potential to turn into a huge rain shower.
“We have never had a close relationship, but I know you have been Sylvia’s best friend for such a long time for a reason. You have her complete trust, more than anyone, including her beloved Jutta. And I have a monumental request, completely unwarranted, and I feel incredibly awkward even asking.”
I studied his face. He looked pale and unwell; his eyes, a disturbing shade of yellow, hinted at a serious ailment. It struck me then—I’d never actually looked at him that close.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, please, but after I’m gone, I want to give Sylvia to you.”
Somehow I understood immediately what he meant by that. I have known Sylvia for a long time. And I know some about the bizarre customs of the BDSM-lifestyle they follow religiously. This suggestion was a new low-point. Mildly I said:
“You are not Jesus of Nazareth, you know. Even with the best intentions, you cannot rule from your grave. You cannot give people to other people just like that. You will have to discuss this with Sylvia and Jutta. They are human beings with wills of their own. But first, you will have to share with them how ill you are. They both have a right to be with you, to stand by your side, to be strong for you. This is something you will have to face together. You always talk about being a team. Well, even if the team is losing a member, remain a team.”
“I know it’s hard to understand, but it doesn’t work that way. It will comfort them both in their grief. It will aid their recovery, leading to a quicker and more thorough healing process. Trust me on this one. The death of a partner is traumatic for anyone. Losing her master renders a submissive lost and rudderless. It is hard for me as well to give them away, but I have to.”
“It would never work. You know I’m not into your way of living, and definitely not in Sylvia’s. She can be pretty extreme, you know?” I said.
“I know,” he said drily. “It’s just temporary. I will ask my friend in Germany to find a new master for her. That will not be too difficult.”
“You arrogant prick,” I said, suddenly angry. “Around the globe, people often outlive their loved ones, and those who remain behind live fulfilling lives without the deceased seeking a new partner on their behalf.”
“I understand you don’t understand our way of life. But I had to try anyway.”
In silence, he walked me back to my car. Before we left, I gave Koen a big hug. “I know this is hard. I wish you strength. Talk to your wives. Let them mourn with you; allow them to feel a bit of your pain. Don’t do this all alone, please. Don’t be afraid of death. The universe always takes care of good people.”
He nodded, got into his car, and left. With a sigh, I leaned against my car, the familiar scent of rust and oil filling my nostrils, opened the door, and slid behind the wheel. My face was wet, but this time not from the rain.