Forums

The snow fell only quite timidly on the city, which was already completely snowed in. On my city! I stepped outside, and my gaze fell on my new, used sports car, which was parked at the side of the road. A thick layer of snow had already covered it, with only a little of the wine-red, metallic-looking paintwork showing through here and there. I stretched and took in the fresh air. Okay, as far as you could talk about fresh air in the middle of a big city with around half a million inhabitants and traffic for at least a million. Even now, after this sudden onset of winter, the traffic was still snarling across the four lanes of the road, which had been my new postal address for a good month now, as befitted a decent rush hour.
And yet, the fresh snow seemed to have really cleared the air. Only the slight smell of diesel from the countless trucks that made their way to the A2 wafted through the air, seemingly confirming the completely unjustified reputation of this city, which is that it is not really a city at all, but in fact just the largest motorway service station in the world.
This city constantly had to struggle with all kinds of prejudices. Provincial, sleepy and “nothing going on” were the most common clichés. I don't think there is a city in the world that is as underestimated as my new hometown. Once again, I held my arms up in the air and enjoyed this very unique atmosphere that had set in with the beginning of the snowfall. Dusk was slowly setting in. It was finally shortly before half past four and one week before Christmas. It wouldn't be long before it was pitch black again. Although pitch black was what it was like in the backwater where I had spent most of my life until now. Here, however, real darkness didn't come quickly due to the many shops and the street and Christmas lights.
I looked across to the light rail stop, which was located in the middle of the main street and had just been inaugurated a week ago with a new elevated platform. A huge digital display on the platform showed that the next train to the city center was expected in four minutes. So I didn't have to hurry much. At that moment, the train in the opposite direction pulled in with an elongated screech.
How do they do that, I wondered, to make such a loud squeaking noise even when the rails are wet with rain or, as they were today, with snow? It must be some kind of technology that I don't understand. Although I did understand a bit about technology; after all, I had been a freshly graduated mechanical engineer for a good six months. I also had a job, had just passed the probationary period and was now the proud owner of a permanent employment contract. A rarity in this day and age and proof that my employer was really into incalculable risk or was really satisfied with my work, or maybe both.
The loud ringing of the train starting up again pulled me out of my thoughts. As if the noise when starting up wasn't enough to warn pedestrians. Man, I thought, these things are brand new and make more noise than an old steam locomotive. Especially at night, the things could be heard constantly. But that didn't bother me in the least. Just like the flickering neon sign of the hotel across the street. It shone directly into my bedroom. It was a great idea of mine to beautify my bedroom windows with these longitudinal lamella curtains. The blackout factor was close to zero, and the first night in my new domicile taught me that a few sheets of white paper would have achieved the same success, namely none. In addition, one of the neon lamps was actually constantly broken, so part of this huge hotel advertisement always flickered in a rather unrhythmic way. This had something of a kitschy American movie about it, if the surroundings of a cheap flophouse were to be depicted.
Well, I have to vehemently deny the cheap flophouse part. After all, I had put a lot of effort into my new apartment! And the fact that I was living in the middle of nowhere, right in the middle of the city on one of the busiest main traffic arteries, was something I had deliberately chosen. So the squealing of the train and flickering neon attacks were actually quite convenient for me, as they were signs that I had finally arrived in western civilization from German West Siberia, or in other words, from my oh-so-quiet hometown.
With this thought in mind, I set off in the direction of the bus stop, passing the shops on my block, the kiosk at the end of the row of houses and continuing towards the district's indoor swimming pool and leisure center, which were directly opposite the bus stop. Man, I couldn't get enough of the big city atmosphere and was already looking forward to the hustle and bustle in the city with the Christmas gift shopping, the three Christmas markets and the it's Friday and only one week until Christmas chaos!
I could have hugged the whole world, I was so happy! All my wishes had actually come true. Okay, I had worked pretty hard for it over the last few years, and then there was a bit of luck. So to be honest, this story could actually be over by now. I wouldn't have to keep using my patented three-to-four-fingered eagle search system on my new laptop to click this story in. And you, dear esteemed readers, could do something more useful than listen to my life story. And both little and big Jan-Phillip could live happily ever after.
Well, they could! But little Jan-Phillip in particular had a completely different opinion. So how come? Well, then I'll have to go back a little. With my story, of course, I mean. But first, I think, I should probably introduce myself to the esteemed audience.
My name is Jan-Phillip Böhm, I am an only child, yes, a really spoiled one, 25 Lenze young and just on the way to my independence. My contemporaries actually consider me to be quite sociable, some even attest to a certain charm. The girls from my old gang even said that I look quite sweet with my tall and slender appearance, my honey blonde hair, my snub nose and my sky-blue eyes including the dachshund look. As if I would be interested in what the girls say, I mean. The fact that they refer to my giant nose as a snub nose disqualifies them in my opinion as a truly serious jury for questions of appearance.
Well, so much for the great Jan-Phillip. We'll get to little Jan-Phillip later. Just this much: he was one, if not the most important reason why I left my small, tranquil hometown for the big, wide world, or rather for the state capital, which is about an hour and a half's drive away. Because little Jan-Phillip had not really come into his own in our twenty-five-year forced community, with the exception of regular pats with more or less satisfactory results.
Mmh, it wasn't that easy with him either, after all, little Jan-Phillip had his preferences and they didn't fit into the preconceived world view of the people in the backwater where I came from. Here in the Expo and trade fair city, I simply hoped for a little more liberal views. What preferences do I mean? – Well, as most of you can probably already guess, I'm not only a mechanical engineer, which is bad enough in itself, I'm also gay. Really gay and what's even worse is that I'm also a virgin! I didn't choose the first thing, being gay, nor could I change it, to be honest I didn't want to either, but I didn't choose the second thing, being a virgin, either, but I definitely wanted to change that!
Not that I wanted to screw around here until the doctor came. No, that was not my thing at all, I'm really quite romantic and have been dreaming of my dream prince for life for years, or at least of a really nice guy and a long-term relationship for a nice long time. In the small town, on the other hand, where I was “out,” it was out of the question. Not to mention the scandal of having two fags in our beautiful town. It was simply a question of statistics. Assuming that only one in ten young guys with a hot ass has the same orientation as me, and then subtracting all the idiots in our area, well, then I ended up with a relationship-critical mass of 0.0000.
Okay, I've known I was gay for about ten years, thanks to the internet and its, admittedly, sometimes quite smutty pages. And so, for about exactly that time, I held out in this homoerotic diaspora. Military service wasn't really a big deal either; I quickly realized that I'd better not come out to these leisure-time rambos. Well, because of the shortened period of service, I had to start studying right away, so I had enough on my plate anyway, so I didn't get bored at all.
Then I quickly studied. Since I had chosen a fairly good university of applied sciences in the neighboring federal state just around the corner and was able to continue living at home, this saved a lot of time and money. The rather good half-orphan's pension that I received (unfortunately, my father had died when I was twelve), and the good food at Hotel Mama made a part-time job unnecessary, so I was able to get off to a flying start. However, I postponed my sex life again until later, with the exception of the already mentioned caresses in combination with the also already mentioned world-wide madness.
But that was definitely in the past and I was really keen to throw myself into the gay scene in my new city. I had no idea exactly how I would do it, but the mere fact that there was such a thing as a gay scene here made me quite euphoric and, I admit it, also a bit horny. Gosh! After ten years of living like a monk, I was allowed to be one, wasn't I?
So I did a little googling and was delighted to discover that there were quite a few locations for my type here. I quickly planned a route for tonight. Just to check it out, of course. Finding my dream guy on the first night was something you only found in those gay love stories you find on the internet. Like on “nickstories.de”, for example. I love these stories and I love this site. Man! It had really helped me a lot through my difficult time as an involuntary monk. But they were just great stories. I wanted to stay grounded. Just take a little look around, maybe dream a little. But otherwise, take it slow with the ghostly... um, young horses!
Okay, there was still something nagging in the back of my mind. What would happen if I happened to meet someone from our village? My new town wasn't that far from my old home. I was and am not a coward, but I had decided to lead a double life for the time being, especially with my mother's heart condition in mind. After all, I was still in close contact with my clique. It wasn't that I didn't feel comfortable in our village. I had a great childhood there. When my father suddenly died, my friends really gave me great support. We had all known each other almost since we were kids, and for me as an only child, my closest friends were more like family than just a couple of buddies to hang out with. Yes, that's how it is in the village. With my best buddy Stefan, I also had something like a family connection. At the weekend and during the holidays, I often stayed with him. I was something of a third child and really took part in family life, such as the big family breakfast on Sundays. I enjoyed this very much. I think my buddy Stefan was also very happy to have an ally against his big sister. Much to the annoyance of that very person. Her name was Stefanie (parents can be so funny!), she was two years older than us and was mutating into that kind of irritable, pubescent brat that unfortunately nobody understands, a state that most girls, in my opinion, never get out of in their whole life.
Be that as it may, I enjoyed that time very much! Stefan and I were inseparable. And when our hormones slowly began to stir up our beautiful, orderly rascal life, he became my first great, but unfortunately unfulfilled love.
Man! Was that torture. I was completely smitten, I craved his closeness, had many a powerful, unseemly thought, but unfortunately knew only too well that he was pretty much the most heterogeneous person in our pack.
No sooner had he realized that the thing between his legs was good for more than just standing up to pee than it was already over with the girls in the area. While I still wanted to play with Lego, he had already secretly obtained the relevant literature (yes, exactly the ones with the many instructions in a glossy format and to fold out, of course). Together we had once used the storm-free place at his house to try out our devices properly. It was just strange that I had to squint at his device the whole time. The great glossy photos namely could not really lure little Jan-Phillip. Little Stefan, on the other hand, who incidentally was no longer so little at the time, made a much more stimulating impression on my little, pampered rascal.
Okay, this experience really worried me and I had to think about it for days. At the time, our friendship almost broke up because of it. I constantly caught myself wanting to see my buddy Stefan naked at every opportunity. Since he was quite proud of his body and rarely embarrassed and I also often stayed with him, I also had a lot of opportunities to do so. However, to my great regret, we no longer looked at pictures together and then checked each other out. Nevertheless, I constantly tried to have some kind of physical contact with him. When we were alone, I started some kind of tussle, tickled him and did all the things that seemed to be harmless. The only problem was that little Jan-Phillip didn't find it so harmless and reacted bolt upright regularly. My preference for wide boxer shorts gave way to reason during this time and since then I have been squeezing into tight-fitting retro shorts. But at some point, even this model of a heterosexual found my behavior rather suspicious. As we were once again romping around and I couldn't keep my hands to myself, he pushed me aside a bit roughly, stared at me and asked: “Hey Flip, are you gay or what?”
Bam, I'm busted! It's exactly this question I've been asking myself for some time.
I was getting pretty hot. A traffic light would probably have gone into standby mode out of envy at my healthy complexion, and Stefan seemed to have noticed my good circulation, too (yes, I mean the one in the face, but really, what else?). He looked at me quite strangely.
“Are you crazy?” I tried to refute the look on my stupid face. ”Are you serious, that I'm a fag? You'd like that, wouldn't you? You're not getting any more action from the girls, you old cactus?”
Ouch, that had stung! Stefan had been having real problems with his hormones for some time. No, not the kind that could be remedied with an extensive, one-handed special treatment in the shower, but the kind for which the resourceful cosmetics industry had brought corresponding teen products onto the market. That is, ointments and creams that seemed to help mostly only the wallets of the cosmetics companies. In short, Stefan's pretty face suffered mightily from the effects of puberty-related acne. Which was pretty hard for our pretty boy, and it was pretty hard for me to bring this up as a heavy weapon.
But what the heck, said was said and it had an effect.
“Stupid asshole,” was his reply, and he sulked back to his bed in the farthest corner of his room. I then retreated to the other corner of the room, which was at least a million kilometers away. The mood was in the toilet. We then zapped through MTV and VIVA for about an hour, then I left. We hadn't said much to each other all evening. From that day on, our relationship changed fundamentally. Stefan watched me very critically, if not suspiciously, from that day on. It also seemed to me as if he always tried not to be alone with me since then. I, on the other hand, tried to avoid any physical contact as much as possible, and I finally stopped my lustful looks with a heavy heart. I haven't stayed at his place since then either.
Somehow, our relationship seemed to have suffered a major setback. We drifted apart more and more. Stefan now invested a lot of time in his constantly changing affairs. He was already a real heart-throb before, but now he literally mutated into our small-town Casanova, as if he wanted to prove that he was 100% heterosexual. Even Stefan's parents and my mother noticed this change, but attributed it to the natural development of two pubescent boys. So we went more and more separate ways. Only our village clique was still a connecting element.
It was only much later, when we had both long been active members of our local volunteer fire brigade (we had certainly avoided each other like the plague in the youth fire brigade), that our relationship improved again due to joint training courses. Today, it can actually be considered pretty normal again. Incidentally, Stefan has been in a relationship for a good four years. His girlfriend's name is Susanne, she's a year younger and a really sweet girl. Somehow the two seem made for each other.
Nevertheless, we never spoke about that evening again. It's a shame, really. Stefan would have been the first person in our town to whom I could have come out. Today I am sure that he would have understood in the end and might even have been of real help to me. How I would have liked to have had someone back then with whom I could have talked about everything. Oh well, it just wasn't meant to be.
My mother, by the way, also didn't know about me. She still believed that one day I would come home with a daughter-in-law and that our hut would soon be full of a bunch of cute little rug rats. My mother loves children, which always made me wonder why I'm an only child, since I wasn't that bad as a little boy.
My enthusiasm for these little rascals, who are always leaking out of some orifices, is pretty limited. The fact that I myself will not have any because of my sexual orientation is therefore the least of my problems, which my being gay brings with it. For my mother, on the other hand, I believed that this would certainly be the biggest shock. I was sure that she would still identify me as her son even after a possible outing, well, at least if you were to ask her clearly and explicitly.
She couldn't disinherit me, practically speaking. Strangely enough, my father had left everything to me, so she was effectively living in my house, but that wasn't so important. What was important was that she would still love me, and I was absolutely sure of that. She does have a rather rough exterior, which meant that as a child and teenager I didn't really come to her with all my problems. On the other hand, she didn't have it so easy as a young widow either, and in truth she has a rather soft core. So I didn't expect any problems from her. But why make a fuss about it now? It would be enough to tell her when I had found a real sweetheart and could introduce him to her... sigh... yes, if!
What would they say in our little town if I turned up with a sweetheart on my arm? I have to grin at the thought. The scandal would be inevitable and, of course, our local editorial team would have plenty to talk about for at least half a year. Local editorial team? I'm talking about our local bakery. You can find out the latest gossip there while you're getting your rolls or standing at the counter for a “cup of coffee”, long before you know it yourself. They are always up to date, especially bed stories were and are always presented so vividly as if the person telling them had been there himself. Well, at least with the beautiful Mrs. Bäckerin, the thought was not that far-fetched.
I was pretty curious to see what kind of sick fantasies they would come up with regarding gay sex. Maybe I could learn something, I thought, after all, my experiences up to that point were pretty limited. In any case, I shouldn't care about the talk, after all, except for occasional visits, I didn't plan on coming back. I was only a little sorry for my mother. It would probably be quite a gauntlet to run, at least at the beginning. I could already imagine the sharp-tongued chatter.
“Oh, the poor woman, what a shame. It looked like the boy would grow up to be a decent person. Well, he always was a bit strange. And what do you expect when a young lad grows up without a father...”, and so on and so forth.
Not that my mother really had much to endure. First of all, she was actually quite well-liked in the village and besides, her refreshing manner would ensure that the gossip would quickly die down. Oh dear, I felt sorry for anyone who would dare to say something stupid to her. Granny would simply eat the poor person for breakfast, and without mustard and pepper!
Well, I would probably be thrown out of the fire brigade in disgrace. Who could imagine a fag as a firefighter? I once googled something about an association of gay firefighters. I went straight to their site, but found that it hadn't been maintained in millions of years. The association probably no longer exists. It is much more likely that the gay firefighters no longer exist either. They were probably sunk during the last Oder flood to reinforce the dikes.
Well, I would actually be sorry if I were kicked out of the fire department. Somehow I had resolved to manage the balancing act between living here and staying in the fire department there. Almost all of my former clique was actively involved there. Some were even in command, Stefan was even a platoon leader and deputy fire chief. He had really made a career for himself, the little one. And I had also been a member of the command for a few years and was responsible for security. I wanted to continue doing this work, even if I couldn't regularly participate in the service anymore. Well, we'll see then. Actually, they weren't all that wrong. If only they weren't such terrible machos. And then there were always these prejudices. I could already imagine my next security briefing in front of this bunch, once it was known that I was gay. I'm sure I'd get a lot of stupid comments about safe sex and always having your back to the wall and all that. It wouldn't take long before I'd find a few condoms and lubricant in my locker, haha very funny! And of course that's just for safety reasons, of course.
But on the other hand, they're all a pretty nice bunch and I'm not a wallflower when it comes to messing with others with a few pithy sayings. So I would probably survive, because if you dish it out, you have to be able to take it. Um, I'd better not say that in front of the whole team in that context. Some joker might misunderstand it very quickly.
I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I hadn't even noticed how I had gotten on the train completely subconsciously. Thankfully in the right direction, so on line 1 towards the city. Well, I had probably already become a real city dweller, I could actually ride the subway, and even without thinking too much about it. Well, admittedly not particularly difficult with two possible directions. Monthly tickets in the annual subscription also saved me the daily hassle with the fussy ticket machines.
So, I was really looking forward to the upcoming evening. First of all, a bit of window shopping (haha, I wanted to do that figuratively all night), I wanted to shop for Christmas presents later. My Christmas principle has always been that as long as the gas stations are still open, you don't have to start thinking about Christmas until the 23rd at the earliest. My mom always drives me crazy with this. But what the heck, I only have one really stressful day and can enjoy the mulled wine at the Christmas markets during the other days. Besides, if nothing else, with the fuel prices, gas station gift certificates are worth more than the most expensive scent cocktail from one of those would-be luxury shops of those stinky water retailers. After all, I had to know what I was talking about, since I had been calling a real gas monster my own for two months. Along the lines of, what do I care about the greenhouse effect, it's way too cold here for me anyway. Nah, I'm not really that kind of idiot. But my new used one was a must. For years, first as a student, then as a federal soldier and finally as a student, reason had triumphed and I had settled for a small rice cooker. As big as a hatbox, three coke cans placed next to each other formed a cylinder-shaped engine with a performance of the brand irascibility. However, the good piece was pretty outdated and I finally craved a set of wheels that really deserved the title automobile. It suited me perfectly that two things happened shortly after I finished my studies. The first was that I found a job right away. Four applications, four invitations to an interview and I already had two offers to choose from. Not that I was that good, well, my diploma certificate was not bad and that with a degree within the standard period of study, but I think I was also just finished at the right time. Long live the economy!
And the second thing was the fifth crop rotation that befell us, that is to say, Mother and especially me. Fifth crop rotation? Okay, I'll explain that briefly. As I said, I come from the flat country (well, not that flat, it's a low mountain range after all) and in addition to our little house, I had also inherited a bit of land and even a small grove. The land was leased. I occasionally took on the small grove myself with my chainsaw. Man! A chainsaw massacre like that can be quite relaxing.
Well, and part of the land was suddenly chosen for building. It was to serve young families for their own homes. Well, and since I myself will not contribute very much to the preservation of our species, I agreed to this, of course, selflessly as I am, immediately. Anyone who knows a little about agriculture has probably heard of the four-field system with its coordinated crop rotations. Well, the most productive crop rotation is undisputedly the fifth, namely building land! Okay, so my selfless contribution to the construction of homes for hopeful families was not really so selfless after all.
The property development company also realized pretty quickly that although I occasionally look extremely stupid, I'm not really stupid at all, and suddenly I had a reasonably acceptable offer. That was a bit like winning the lottery. So after the tax office had received its more less than less more rightful part, after my mother had also received her more than deserved share, and another part had been well invested for security, there was still a nice little sum left to sweeten my start in the city of my choice. That meant I didn't need to save on the apartment. With my salary, rent shouldn't be a problem anyway, and the deposit and furnishings could easily be financed now anyway.
So, and then there was still the car. Well, I was a reasonable guy and new cars were a horror to me with the loss of value. So it should be a solid used one.
Okay, I had exaggerated a little in the end. The result was a four-year-old A6 station wagon. Wine red metallic, light leather, wood trim, snazzy V6 engine with almost 180 hp and 2.8 liters displacement, automatic climate control, automatic transmission, electric glass sunroof and a bunch of other gimmicks. Wow! After six years of a rice cooker, I finally had automotive heaven on earth. I loved this car, even though the speed orgies on the A2 were quite expensive. In terms of fuel, the engine was more of a water heater than a combustion engine. But what the heck, you only live once, “and not for much longer if you keep driving like this,” as my mother remarked acidly when she once had the opportunity to take off with me on the A2 and then fly in the direction of my new apartment.
So, now I had just exchanged my great speedster for the silver tapeworm, which noisily prepared to torture itself through the underground bowels of my city, only to release its contents, that is to say us, the enthusiastic users of public transport, at the main train station. The Christmas market at the station forecourt should then also be the first stage of my train journey through the city today. Not only did I have a hopefully eventful night ahead of me, but I also had a two-week vacation. It was my first as a recognized member of the taxpaying population. I definitely wanted to spend the first week in my city. I would spend the Christmas holidays and the time until New Year's Eve with my mother and, of course, with my friends from the old gang. On New Year's Eve itself, I wanted to take the ICE to Berlin early in the morning to take part in the pancake run and, of course, to party at the Brandenburg Gate later. Well, I admit this too: I'm not just a Masch'bauer and gay, I'm also an enthusiastic endurance runner. I haven't tried a marathon yet, but I have already done several half marathons and I really do it with growing enthusiasm. Now I just need to find a gay running group. As for motivation, nothing is better than a really hot ass in front of you from kilometer ten. The only important thing is that it is at about the same level of fitness, otherwise you either lose your footing or you have to catch a branch. Well, so much for my training concept.
Underneath the stairs that led up to the next level. When I finally reached the upper level, however, I could only shout: “Great! Half of Germany has the same idea as me again!” Well, Friday afternoon at the main train station was just gigantic. If someone had shouted, “There's free beer for everyone, but only for half an hour,” you could easily have made an educational film about the emergence and effects of mass panic. Okay, I resisted every urge, mentally bent my elbows, then brought them into position and fought my way to the exit. On a similar occasion, I had simply tried to juggle a cup of coffee from the kiosk near the subway to the main exit out of curiosity. So it was really impressive. Without even taking a sip, the cup was completely empty at the end. But many a coat and many a trouser leg was stained with a few coffee stains. It wasn't really a shame about the coffee itself. The stuff they sell here as coffee is covered by the international agreement on chemical weapons anyway.
When I arrived at the station forecourt, I looked around, overwhelmed. Wow!!! A picture book pre-Christmas feeling, standing in the fresh snow in the middle of the Christmas market, completely at peace with myself and the whole world, was spreading inside me. The market was not exactly big, as it was only the smallest of the three in the city. But the newly renovated station building was really very attractively lit and decorated. At the other end of the station forecourt, the Christmas decorations of the pedestrian zone competed with the two huge Christmas trees, which formed the conclusion of this Christmas market. In the middle of the shopping area, you could see the huge Christmas pyramid with its integral mulled wine, mulled beer and bratwurst stand. In front of me, the market stalls displayed their wares, mostly delicious food. And so a wonderful mix of the smell of roasted almonds, mulled wine, mushrooms in garlic sauce, currywurst with chips, crêpes with maple syrup, mulled wine and spit roast with coleslaw wafted over to me. Did I actually already mention the smell of delicious mulled wine?
To make the whole thing look really kitschy and postcard-like, a beautiful white layer of fresh snow had fallen on everything. That was just too much for my hopelessly romantic heart. Suddenly, the blinking frequency of my eyelids increased abruptly.
“Hey Flip, what are you doing here?” it echoed. ”Hey, are you crying?”
Damn it! I thought. This was coming at just the right time. I'm a stupid crybaby, I can smash my thumb flat with a sledgehammer (unfortunately I've actually tried that involuntarily) and not a single tear comes, but if I'm really happy and content and can embrace the whole world, then I blubber like a girl. And then in front of witnesses too!
“No, I'm not crying, I must have got a load of that frozen powder snow in my eyes,” I tried to limit the damage to my image. In front of me was Thomas, a really nice colleague who had taken me under his wing since the first day at the new company. I quickly fumbled for my handkerchief and tried to wipe away the telltale traces of my crying fit under the pretext of blowing my nose.
“Well, that's good,” he replied. ”It's great to meet you here. Were you planning on hitting the slopes today? We could do something together.”
Oh my God! Anything but that!, I thought to myself. Not that I didn't like Thomas, on the contrary, as I said, he was really nice. About five years older than me, so in his early thirties. He was quite good-looking and was known in the company both as an extremely good designer and as quite a party animal. He was still single, but, and that was the problem, absolutely not gay.
Otherwise, I wouldn't have had a problem going out on the town with him. We had already done this a few times and it always ended for me very early in the morning with a good supply of aspirin and gallons of mineral water. So I had nothing against a spontaneous binge; I was always very open-minded when it came to that (after all, I'm in the fire department, although I'd like to stress that firefighters don't drink more than anyone else, but they don't drink less either!) But today was not a good day for me. I had promised Little Jan-Phillip that I would take a little more care of his needs from now on. And dragging Thomas to the bars on my mental list would have been absurd. Besides, I wanted to wait a little while before coming out at work, well at least for the next ten to twenty years at least. Well, Mr. Double Life sends his regards.
“Oh Thomas, I don't really know,” I finally replied. ‘I also have a few things to do and then maybe I'll hit the hay,’ I lied cheekily. I saw the disappointed look on my counterpart's face. ‘But it's not that late yet and I could do with a mulled wine or two,’ I tried to take the edge off.
Apparently successfully, because Thomas immediately said: “Great, but not here, let's go to the Finnish Christmas market and have a few Glögg.”
Okay, the idea of the Glögg was not bad in itself, because it was really tasty, but the idea of the Finnish Christmas market was.
“Actually not a bad idea. But have you thought about what will be going on there today? Man, a sardine has certainly three times more space in its can!“ I tried to be diplomatic.
“Well, since you brought it up, okay then, let's go here,” he agreed to my suggestion. “Let's go to the stand at the back, towards the passage, it has a quite acceptable drop.”
Well, whether you could call sugar-coated and heated red wine from a retort a drop, I wasn't so sure. But firstly, we were in a wine-growing disaster area here in the far north, secondly, the warm stuff tasted really delicious at this time of year, and thirdly, effect always comes before taste. (Okay, so I've just outed myself as a drunk and a cultural ignoramus).
So we headed towards the mulled wine stand. Once there, Thomas ordered two mulled wines with something to drink in them and so we took up the fight against the wonderfully clear winter cold. “Last Christmas” by Wham was blaring out of the stand's speakers the whole time (I hate that song!!) and at the same time reminded me of my resolutions for today. Okay, let's step up the pace, I had a slight guilty conscience, but I really didn't want to take Thomas on the prowl with me today. At the same time, I knew that I wouldn't be able to get rid of him that quickly. At least two or three rounds of mulled wine would stand in my way. I ordered the next round right away (this time secretly without a shot, though. Man, I can fight with nasty weapons!) and downed the mug I had started in one go.
“Come on, Thomas, hurry up, we're not here for fun!” I tried to encourage him to the next mug. He didn't need to be told twice and emptied the mulled wine mug he had started in one go.
“Well, then, happy holidays,“ he toasted me with the new cup. Somehow, Christmas always seemed to start for him as soon as he opened the first mulled wine stand.
“Well, then, happy holidays,” I toasted back. In no time at all, this round was also finished and Thomas had ordered again, this time with a shot for both of us, of course.
So, I had to make a break somehow. I looked over at the pedestrian zone. Oh, the Christmas pyramid, I thought, half of the company is always hanging around there on Fridays, I could definitely park Thomas there.
“Thomas, let's go over to the pyramid right away. I have to go into town in a bit anyway, and I fancy a mulled beer today.”
Not that I really liked the stuff, it was mixed with honey, sugar, cinnamon and lemon. Even though I was from northern Germany and knew nothing about wine, I knew a lot about beer. And anyone who fiddles with beer should be hung by the wings of his ostentatious Christmas pyramid, purely as a deterrent, of course. On the other hand, I really wanted to get out of there. So I went over and gulped down a glass of the stuff.
“Sure, we can do that,” Thomas replied. ”I'm getting a bit bored here anyway.”
No sooner said than done. We quickly downed our third mug of mulled wine and set off. Oh dear, just as I was about to set in motion, I realized that I hadn't eaten anything all day. Breakfast for me traditionally consisted of a cup of coffee and a yogurt, mainly due to lack of time. I skipped lunch today because I wanted to empty my desk before my vacation. It worked out pretty well. But now I should think about a basis as soon as possible. Well, first of all a tasty portion of mushrooms with garlic sauce (and a mint afterwards, I'm not a barbarian) and later on to “La Carrosse”, a men-only bar and restaurant. The “Carrosse” was, so to speak, point one on my list.
Okay, but now I have to drink some shitty mulled beer and park Thomas, I thought to myself. When I arrived at the Pyramide, I craned my neck to look for a few familiar faces. But unfortunately, I didn't see anyone. Damn, I thought, when you rely on people, you rely on people. I quickly ordered two mulled beers and kept looking. Being 1.90m tall, I had no problem overlooking the whole crowd. Unfortunately, again without success. The outdoor speakers blasted out, oh how varied, “Last Christmas” (grrrrr, I hate this song!! George Michael wasn't a bad singer, but this song has been heard everywhere at Christmas time for years. It's getting really annoying.) Well, let's just have another mulled beer, I thought desperately. At some point, all the people from the company will start dancing.
“Man, asshole, I've already said three times that I want a mulled beer and not some kind of fuck cocoa - Oh, just leave it and go fuck yourself!”
A boy's voice as pure as a bell, which didn't seem to fit at all with the torrent of abuse, came from the drinks counter behind me. Thomas also seemed to have noticed the little scolding urchin and turned towards the counter.
“Hey man, the usual problems again. Can I buy you a mulled beer? I'm just about to get one anyway,” he suddenly said to the boy, who was ranting like a raw sparrow. So they seemed to know each other.
“Dude, but the invitation is a good idea. I'll also buy a round of shots. But you have to get them,” it resounded brightly and clearly to me again.
Man, that's a nice little fruit, I thought to myself and, while still sucking on the last of this disgusting mulled beer, turned around casually.
Oh dear! Serious mistake!, I thought for a split second, then I miserably choked on the last bit of beer that had reached my larynx. I had to swallow and at the same time wanted to articulate a completely astonished “My God”, this daring multitasking attempt by a male larynx had the consequence that a small part of the mulled beer found its way into my windpipe, which in turn triggered a terrible urge to cough. But since I was still holding my glass to my mouth as if spellbound, more mulled beer found its way into the wrong throat and so the game seemed to repeat itself endlessly until I went towards my certain death by suffocation, red in the face and streaming with tears.
What had happened? When I turned around to look at the cheeky and scolding pipe sparrow, I was almost struck by lightning. The voice somehow made me suspect a small, pimply thirteen- or fourteen-year-old. But what I got to see was really the absolute hammer. In front of me stood a picture of a boy!
Black, medium-length, wispy hair, a healthy, slightly reddish complexion, especially around the cheekbones. A snub nose that was simply to die for. And eyes that were absolutely stunning. The color was such a sexy blend of steel blue and slightly light green. The facial expression was almost indescribable. Cheeky, mega-lovable and quite challenging seemed to describe it somewhat. The whole thing was enthroned on a tall astral body. Sporty and strong, but not a gram too much on the ribs. At least as far as one could tell under the warm clothes in which he had wrapped himself. In short, a work of art. This Adonis couldn't be real, it was probably painted. The painter must have set the age of this young god at sixteen or seventeen. The voice had deceived a little. Nevertheless, it was just perfect for this appearance.
It's really strange what a gay brain can still perceive when the rest of the body is in the process of losing its supply of vital oxygen forever. I'm sure that a heterosexual's brain would have triggered some kind of emergency program, with rasping and whimpering for help and such. Not mine, though. The only thing that seemed to have priority one status in my control center was the viewing and image processing of this revelation standing before me. Okay, if I were to stand before my maker, I would be able to describe exactly the cause of my sudden and unexpected death. But did I have to? After all, this apparition could only have been sent down to earth by him in person. What was standing in front of me, meanwhile looking at me with some amazement and amusement, could only be an angel. An angel just before Christmas, well that was really stylish.
Another coughing fit brought me to my knees. Suddenly the apparition in front of me had disappeared. At the same time, I somehow sensed a very pleasant presence behind me. A slight scent, beguiling and sweet like fresh marzipan, joined it. Marzipan, where the devil... was it available here on the stand?
Wham! A hand came down flat on my back. I had to cough again, but amazingly I got a little air again. But not only that. The hand remained on my back for only a brief moment. However, that was enough to send a jolt through my body.
Wham! A second time the hand rushed down. This time the hand lingered even a little longer. Incredible electric shocks flashed through me. Okay, I seemed to get air again now, the urge to cough also eased, so apparently I shouldn't suffocate miserably so close to Christmas, but be grilled with 100,000 volts.
The hand disappeared from my back, and with it this incredible feeling. It's a shame, I thought.
Then this angel came into my field of vision again. I sat up, through my watery eyes he appeared as if in a soft focus, just like in this David Hamilton, Tender Cousins or whatever this film of his is called.
This angel looked over to where I thought Thomas might be and pointed at me, laughing.
“Tell me, do you know this joker? Does he have bird flu or has he always been so weird? Man! If I hadn't just hit him on the back, he would have croaked. Would have been a shame, and so close to Christmas.”
“Thanks for your sympathy, you sweet little devil,” I thought to myself. But honestly, it seemed that his brutal first aid had brought me back to life.
“Don't worry about it, that's Jan-Phillip, a colleague of mine, and he's all right. He must have choked on the rest of his mulled beer.”
“Oh,“ trilled this sweet, pure glockenspiel back. ‘Well, no offense.’ And turning to me, ‘So you're Jan-Phillip, that's a pretty impractical name, do you mind if I call you Flip?”
How does he know my nickname, I wondered. ’I just think it's more practical.” I nodded in agreement.
“Oh, by the way, I'm Lucas, Lucas with a 'c'! And just Lucas, nothing else, no double name, no hyphen,” he grinned at me.
Lucas, just Lucas, I thought, is there a more beautiful name in the world than just Lucas? So my Christmas angel was simply called Lucas. Just like the apostle, because of whose 2000-year-old story all this hustle and bustle is held here every year. Just Lucas, no seriously, this boy is just so unbelievably cute!
I must have looked pretty stupid, and my stomach was also starting to rumble again. I felt queasy and my legs were wobbly like old rubber. I really needed to eat something. Or could there be something else? I certainly hoped that the other two would attribute my miserable appearance to my near-death choking.
Well, I had reckoned without my cheeky Christmas angel.
“Tell me Thomas, can it talk too, or can the model just gasp and choke? Besides, it's been staring at me all the time as if it wants to eat me. Hey, it's not dangerous, is it?” A broad grin flitted across his cheeky face.
“No, no Lucas, he's really quite sweet. And normally he can even talk non-stop, especially when he's had a drop too much.”
Oops, was I really such a chatterbox? Why hadn't Thomas said anything before? And above all, what had I told him when I'd had a drop too much???? Well, I really should take better care of myself!
“I think Flip is just a bit frazzled,” Thomas continued in his plea for my defense. ‘After all, you just saved him from certain suffocation. Let him come to first. I'll get us something to drink in the meantime.’ Said it and disappeared. Thanks a lot, Mr. Lawyer, I thought.
“Okay, that's fine, and please don't forget the shots, I think Flip could really use one!” my Christmas angel called after him. And then to me: ”Well, how are you, everything okay? If you want, we can sit down over there for a moment. On the bench at the back, I mean. Old people should take it easy a bit. Especially after such a scare.”
I couldn't believe that someone was able to grin even wider and nastier than I had already had the honor of seeing a few minutes ago. But my Christmas angel managed the increase effortlessly. Man, was that a fruit.
“Nah, it's all right,” I croaked, well, admittedly, I'd sounded better before. ”No, it's really all right, I just had a pretty bad hiccup. Sometimes I really am a real scatterbrain.”
Man, it couldn't get any more camp than that! Hey! Hello Flip, what's up with you? Can someone tie my tongue, lock my mouth and throw away the key?
“But first, my sincere thanks for your somewhat brutal but apparently effective help,” I quickly tried to cover up my verbal slip and held out my hand to him.
This time I had probably hit the bull's eye. He seemed a little embarrassed by my emphasis on 'brutal'. In any case, his cheeks turned slightly red. Man, how mega cute was that again? At the same time, he grasped my outstretched hand a little shyly.
Bang! There it was again. For a split second, a surge of several thousand volts ran through my body. My Christmas angel had quickly withdrawn his hand. Did he feel the same thing? Nonsense, Flip, you're crazy. You should finally eat something and drink a lot less. Then your sense of reality will return.
At that moment, Thomas came around the corner with a tray carrying three mulled beers (yuck) and three schnapps (yuck again).
“Well, then knock off the shit,” my Christmas angel piped up, grabbing one of the shot glasses and raising it in a toast. At the same time, he put a ten-euro bill on the tray with his free hand. ”By the way, thanks for fetching, you know I always have stress with those faggy bums at the bar.”
Well, this fruit has a choice of words and a typically stupid hetero. They are always gay or faggy. Menno, always these stupid prejudices. And then drinking schnapps. If I take a close look at him, he's only sixteen at most. I'm surprised that Thomas doesn't see a problem with that. Buying booze for kids. Thomas isn't usually so careless.
“Hey, how's Moni doing, by the way? Is she in town too?” I heard Thomas ask. Meanwhile, I downed the schnapps without any accidents. It wasn't bad at all; somehow it calmed my intestines a bit. I immediately felt a little freer and more carefree, but then I reached for one of the glasses of beer to hide the afterburn of the schnapps. Thomas hadn't said cheers yet, but sometimes you have to be able to dispense with etiquette.
“Oh, my mother decided today to buy the entire city empty. I was with her earlier buying pants. Well, that really did it for me. I'd rather walk around naked than do that to myself again.”
Nice thought, I thought, and caught myself not only wishing for this announcement, but also imagining it in multicolor and HD quality. Man, flip, calm down, she's just a kid!
“I then left and came here. Well, you know the rest. So, my mother wanted to come by here in half an hour. We wanted to go out for a fancy dinner. If you want, you can come too. Moni will be happy. And after that, we'll go our separate ways anyway. I still want to go on tour, after all, I've been single again for a month. A pretty untenable situation, I have to take care of it today. After all, I don't want to be alone at home for Christmas, all alone with Lucas. Moni told me that you might want to go away together over Christmas. “A pure, casual vacation with a good friend,” she said. Well, who believes it. In any case, I wish you lots of fun. You can start digging a little tonight. Don't look like that, I know you like her. Well, you have my blessing, after all, you should have a little fun in your old age, my old lady.”
He must have taken a course somewhere to learn how to grin cheekily like that. You can't do it on your own, I thought. And Oskar is cheeky to boot. Knowing Thomas, Moni can't be that old. He's not into Methuselahs. Well, I estimate Lucas to be around sixteen, so if she was already blessed with this lad quite early on, maybe at eighteen or twenty, then she is now approaching forty. Okay, so he's a Methuselah, but Thomas should know.
What was more important was what he had said again, oh yes, that he is single. For a whole month, after all. Well, that's scandalous and, given his looks, hard to understand. Well, then I wish us both good luck for this evening. So it's every man for himself, of course! (sigh)
But damn it, I just couldn't help myself. All the time I was looking at this boy as if spellbound, as he spoke to Thomas in his casual, teasing manner. Thomas seemed to be completely charmed by the lad. I had long since mentally disengaged myself from the actual conversation, but somehow it always came back to Thomas's advances towards Moni. At first I thought I was going crazy, as this brazen guy kept giving Thomas tips on how to get with his mother, while also making fun of the two of them a little.
And what did Thomas do? He listened raptly, occasionally fetching another round of mulled beer and schnapps, and gratefully taking on board all the tips.
Well, and what did I do? I stared at my Christmas angel the whole time. About fifteen minutes ago, I had noticed that he had long dark eyelashes, almost like a girl. Ten minutes ago, I had noticed that he had beautiful white teeth. To the left, just above the upper lip, there is an unbelievably cute little mole (eight minutes ago), and now I have been looking at his lips for about five minutes, moving in sync with a conversation that I haven't followed in a long time. When Thomas had briefly disappeared, these lips had been talking to me. I'll ask what I answered next time I get the chance.
“Hello Flip! Hey, hello Mr. Jan-Phillip, Thomas, what's his last name again? Oh, Böhm. So, let's try again. Hello Mr. Jan-Phillip Böhm, is anyone still at home? I just asked what the dear gentleman is still up to tonight. My mother will surely appear in a moment and then we want to get out of this freezing cold and find something to eat. Do you want to come with us?”
Had this sweet little Christmas angel just spoken to me again? What had he asked, what I was planning to do today? Oh yes, there were a few things I had planned, or rather, what I had planned to do with him. Would I feel like it today and still come? Well, that was pretty direct. Or no, I think he just said come along. It's a shame, but no, coming wasn't necessary. Just take me here and now, on the spot. Freezing cold? Well, I would make sure that we both got really warm. Gosh, what I just thought was so dirty that even in my mind a thick, black bar appeared. Nah, that was really not G-rated.
G-rated! It hit me like a bolt of lightning: Flip, what are you doing here, anyway? He's just a kid! You're standing here like some drooling old pervert, undressing this little innocent (well, we'll cross out “innocent” right now) with your eyes. Not to mention what you were just thinking about doing to him. You tremble just thinking about him, you get a smacked wrist just touching him briefly, and you have a feeling in your stomach that has nothing to do with the meager food intake today. Well, what was that feeling really? I knew, of course, but I didn't dare admit it to myself. Butterflies! Yes, those corny butterflies in my stomach had indeed nested there quite unpleasantly and were probably already bringing forward the New Year's Eve party, at least judging by the pogo they were doing in my guts. The only thing missing is for them to ignite the first firecrackers. I just can't believe it. You live like a monk for ten years, or at least as you imagine monks live. Then you can finally get started, and what do you do, you idiot, you fall for a child. Man, you really are sick!
There was no way around it, I thought, I just had to get out of here. Slowly a real panic crept up inside me.
“Hey Flip, do you think you'll be able to come up with any coherent sentences today? Cheer up, it worked before. Or can you only do one sentence a day?” Again, this devilish Christmas angel or this angelic Christmas devil grinned at me.
“Thomas... Lucas” - panic, naked panic! - ‘I'm terribly sorry, I forgot something important, really!’ - My hands were as clammy as a towel after a shower. - ”Well... I really have to go.” Cold sweat ran down my body from openings I didn't even know I had before. ”I wish you... er, what then... oh yes, a nice evening. Greetings to mother, unknown wise one, er... I mean your Moni, of course.” - Can't a big black hole open up here somewhere? - “So I'll be off then, ... wish you a happy Easter, ... just in case we don't see each other again, I mean Christmas, of course... and have a nice time, well, don't slip, ... well, you know...” – Man, get out of here! I turned around, bang, and ran right into a bar table. The momentum I generated instantly destroyed the already chronically unstable center of mass of this ever-popular party piece of furniture. Immediately, it embarked on a journey in an arcuate path to approach the asphalt that promised a new equilibrium. Two small miracles saved my life. Firstly, the table was completely free of glasses, bottles, ashtrays or other nasty legacies. And secondly, the heavy table top missed the toes of the bull of a man standing opposite me by only a few centimeters. He would have made mincemeat out of me.
“Sorry, I'm really sorry, I just have to go urgently... I really hope that nothing happened to you, ... yes, sorry again!!” I babbled, while the cop just looked at me, slightly irritated. However, his hands were clenched in his trouser pockets. I leaped over the wreckage of the table and made sure to get some distance. I called back to Lucas and Thomas: “Well, bye guys... I hope I see you.” Well, did I really hope that?
I turned around again. On the one hand to make sure that the brawny muscle monster wasn't following me, and on the other hand to catch a last glimpse of my Christmas angel, whom I would definitely never see again after this disaster. I was absolutely sure of that.
I was also sure that Thomas and especially my little Christmas angel would laugh their heads off at me.
But what did I see?
Well, first of all, Mister Brawnyandwaytooomuchmuscle was still unable to decide how he should react appropriately, and had therefore lapsed into a state of complete lethargy as a precaution.
And Thomas? I just heard him answer a question that had been asked shortly before: “No, Lucas. He's really not always like that. He's actually a very bright and clever guy. I don't know what's wrong with him either, he was still completely normal until we got here at the pyramid. Maybe he can't stand the glow beer? Who knows?”
Well, and what was the cause of my sudden emotional emergency area, no, he wasn't grinning anymore, but, and this really took me by surprise, he looked after me very thoughtfully and, at least it seemed that way to me, extremely sadly.
Get out of here, I just thought. That look was now really absolutely subject to a weapons license. If I didn't want anything to happen that we would all regret for the rest of our lives, I had to put as much distance between us as possible. Another city occurred to me, another country maybe, no, even better another continent. I ran, I ran like crazy, but where should I go now?
Apparently I was slowly coming to myself, because the neoclassical, Christmas-decorated building of the main train station suddenly reappeared in front of me. Still driven by panic, I dashed through the smallest of the Christmas markets set up in this city towards the entrance to the train station. The seductive scent of fried mushrooms caught my nose. Should I dare it, I thought, because my empty, butterfly-freed stomach suddenly spoke up vehemently. No, screamed my still panic-stricken brain, no way! The danger that Thomas or, even worse, Lucas could come after you is much too great!
So on, I thought, first through the train station towards Cinemaxx and the high-rise. Incidentally, in this city it was perfectly normal to spend half the evening walking through the train station, after all, most of the party locations were spread out around it. And unless you had planned the evening well in advance and with military precision, you were bound to pass through the transportation hub of the city with its countless stores and fast-food restaurants one or more times. A fact that led to some evenings being just as busy in and around the station as they were during the day at rush hours. Completely unfazed by this realization, however, I hurried through the station towards the rear exit, still running away from myself, as it were.
Once there, I was greeted by the lively hustle and bustle on the large, adjoining square, which was split into two levels. This square, with its lovely and filthy 1970s romanticism, urgently needed a new investor with fresh money and even fresher ideas. Unfortunately, the old investor, a professional insolvency administrator, who, after failed attempts at maximizing profits, now had to manage himself, was forced to stop halfway. So on the one hand you had a 21st-century multiplex cinema, trendy disco, fitness temple and hip bar, and on the other, a Bhagwan disco, art house cinemas, Italian and Mexican restaurants in shabby concrete buildings with a 1970s flair. A crowd of people, bustling between Christmas and weekend fun, were coming from the second largest Christmas market in the city and were now heading for the train station and then surely on to the old town. However, I had no eye for all this. Looking straight ahead towards Hochstrasse, which closed off the square at the opposite end, I had just made a decision. I now wanted to purposefully take up my actual goal for this evening and plunge into the gay scene of this city. I was sure that I would run very little risk of running into Thomas and, of course, Lucas here. At the same time, I hoped that after years of abstinence and hiding, I would succumb to such a sensory overload that my little Christmas angel would be thoroughly washed out of my currently still rather confused brain.