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The House on the Lake
Damn, nothing but work! Now, it's not that I have anything against making money, but on Friday evenings, my creative urge is limited, especially when, as in this case, a free weekend was just around the corner. As a journalist, I can only enjoy this luxury every fortnight – but then I like to do it to the full and don't just start late on Friday evenings. But sometimes things turn out differently than you expect...

Our team was in a renovated baroque villa that served as a well-known excursion destination in our region. Some kind of marketing concept was to be presented there. And for a local TV station, attendance and reporting are of course mandatory. Events like these mean a lot of local celebrities and for me they always put a smile on my face, which in this case hid the thought of a refreshing swim in the adjacent lake. No one likes to work in 30-degree weather in the shade. At least not in stuffy rooms. “Why do they have to do it in the room that's the warmest in the entire building?” Tim whispered to me. Our young 17-year-old intern was the only ray of hope for me that afternoon. His question was a perfect summary of what everyone in the room was probably thinking. I grinned: “So that everyone knows what a hot program is about to be presented here.” We laughed, and I asked him to get the laptop ready for work. After all, the text for the report had to be forwarded to the editorial team immediately in order to be included in the current news program. It was the last appointment for us, after that it was the end of the day, and I had promised him to drive him straight home so that neither of us had to go back to the office.

I went to my camerawoman to discuss the details of the planned contribution with her. In our young team, at 26 I was still one of the oldest, it was quite usual, contrary to some clichés, that women were responsible for good pictures. At some point the procedure began, and indeed the initiators managed to present their concept within an hour. After another 30 minutes, filled with questions from the attending press, the official part was over. I tried hard to write my text in a relaxed and fluffy way, in contrast to the dusty, dry atmosphere in the event room, and asked Tim to send the finished product to the editorial office by email. While he was setting up an internet connection and I was delegating the camerawoman to the station to deliver the material, the district administrator approached me. “Tom, will you stay a moment longer? We want to toast the successful project. And the press must not be missing. After all, they are a great help to us in this.” The politician, whom I knew very well from various events, winked at me. “And your station in particular. Are you coming with us to the hall?” It was important to show presence. Even after hours. ‘I'll be right there.’ The district administrator nodded contentedly and hurried off in the direction of the conference room.

I looked at Tim, shrugging, who of course now had to wait for me. ‘It'll take another moment.’ The boy didn't show much protest. “I don't have any plans for today anyway, and my parents aren't home either.” ‘Are you coming with me?’ ‘Nah, I'm not done reading this text yet, and it's not really my thing anyway. I'll stay here and wait for you.’ ‘Okay,’ I smiled at him, ”I'll hurry.”

Hurry is always such a thing in these circles. You get absorbed in this conversation, you are made aware of that appointment and pointed out errors in reporting, which of course are always fundamentally due to other colleagues. So the whole thing took much longer than I thought. But at some point I actually managed to break away from the illustrious gathering, which had long since mutated from a concept presentation conference to a weekend opening party.

So I went back from the ballroom to the room that had served as the media room. The door was open and Tim didn't even notice that I was back. He was sitting in front of the laptop, absorbed in something. I crept up and took a look at what was obviously preventing the intern from complaining about the overtime he was doing. I couldn't help but grin – Tim had landed on nickstories.de and was engrossed in one of the stories there. My waiting was in vain, the boy had immersed himself in the world of some story or other and had completely blocked out everything else; even when I cleared my throat, there was no reaction. “Do you still want to finish reading, or do you want to go?” “Do you think they'll get together?”

Tim started, he looked at me in shock, and his face began to turn bright white. He had realized that I had realized what he was reading, and began to tremble. “I... I... uh, damn, shit...” The boy ran out of the room and out of the house. I could see through the window that he fled into the reed belt by the lake. Assuming that he wouldn't leave immediately, I took the time to shut down the computer, load it into my car and stow it. Driven by a sixth sense, I bought a bit of liquid and solid food in the pub's beer garden and also went into the reeds.

I found him in a small clearing right on the water, hidden from view. He stared at the mirror-smooth lake, and there were tears in his eyes. “What do you want?” “Do you think I'll leave you sitting here in the reeds?” “Why should you care? Go ahead and tell everyone I'm gay. Nobody will understand. But leave me alone.” I sat down next to him and handed him a handkerchief. When he didn't react, I wiped the tears from his eyes, put my arm around his shoulders and told him in a few sentences the end of the story he had started reading earlier and while reading which I had disturbed him. When I was finished, he looked at me, and his fear seemed to have diminished a bit. “Man, how did you finish the story so quickly?” I smiled. ‘Not at all. I read it at home a few months ago.’

It took Tim a moment to grasp the significance of this sentence. He looked at me with wide, slightly blushing eyes and then asked me in disbelief, ‘You... you too?’ I nodded slightly. ”Yes, me too.”

He shook his head, started laughing, and I still had my arm around his shoulders. He laid his head on my shoulder and whispered softly, “I never thought I'd live to see this...” “What do you mean?” I asked him. “You may be the first person who really understands me. Do you know when the last time was that someone held me in their arms? When was the last time I was able to talk to someone, really talk, about what really moves me? My parents only have their own problems, the main thing is that I function properly.” I stroked his short blonde hair. ‘Well,’ I replied, ”at least I know that it's hard to go the way whose goal you haven't reached yet. Maybe because you haven't found the beginning yet. But I know how hard it is.” Tim looked at me questioningly: ”What about you? How did you realize you were gay?”

I thought about it and thought of Marc, with whom it had somehow all begun for me, and after a short while I started to tell him a long story. But since there was no lack of time anyway and nothing was pressing for either of us, I went back a bit further and started when I myself was a young, innocent fifth grader.

Sports accident and cuddle games
Back then, our class was a tight-knit community, with most of the members having been together since we started school. At some point during that school year, there was a newcomer named Marc who didn't know anyone and thus almost inevitably became an outsider at first.

It should be clear that an eleven-year-old cannot take this kind of thing in the long term. Soon a real feud had developed between Marc and another boy, which somehow ignited over a trivial matter and was then cultivated very stubbornly. At least once a week there was a serious fight between the two.

Anyone familiar with the structure of a GDR school knows that there was a group council in each class. (For those who don't know, it was something like a junior works council, a link between the teaching staff and the student body). In my role as a member of this institution, I initially made myself unpopular with Marc's family. The council had decided to visit his parents and ask them to exert a little more influence over their son. After all, we wanted peace and quiet in our class.

Marc's father also wanted peace and quiet when six of us (well, let's say six of us) turned up on his doorstep. We briefly described the problem from our point of view, but he somehow considered the expansion of his house, which he was currently working on, to be more important. How could he? He grumbled something about “Sort it out between yourselves and leave me alone” and continued sieving his sand. I took on the role of spokesperson. “Come on, let's go, this is pointless. Like father, like son.” He looked at me in amazement – he hadn't expected that from an eleven-year-old lad. Only when we were almost out of earshot did he yell after us: “Get lost and don't come back,” using only the singular, even though there were six of us. It was clear to us who he meant. I didn't care; I didn't plan on going back there anyway. But at that age, resolutions often don't last long.

There were many ways to make physical education more appealing to me. Handball or soccer, for example, even though I was anything but exceptionally talented. Track and field and high jump awakened my competitive spirit, and I developed the ambition to constantly perform better. But my favorite moment was when my gym teacher set up his famous “power dozen.” It included a dozen stations where we had to steel our various muscles and collect points that were later converted into grades.

This circuit literally changed my relationship with Marc in an instant. I was busy counting the number of jumps my gym class could do when there was a sudden scream at the climbing and pull-up wall. I saw that Marc was lying on the mat and was obviously out of it.

Sports teacher Jentsch, who of course couldn't be at twelve stations at once, asked what had happened. “He somehow tripped and then hit his head on the pull-up bar.”

Ouch. At least our enfant terrible had regained consciousness by now. He was bleeding slightly from the head, and Mr. Jentsch quickly switched from educator to physician and diagnosed: “It's not that bad. It won't even need stitches.” Marc tried to be strong and hide his pain at the same time: “So I can continue now?” The sports teacher protested: “No, you're going home now. And if the pain doesn't get better tonight, you're going to the doctor.” Nowadays, every teacher would probably have called an ambulance helicopter, but back then the question was: “Who will take him to his parents?”

There was silence in the forest, and the interest in bringing the accident victim back to his family was apparently limited. Although at least one lesson was lost because of it. Since no one volunteered, it was up to the gym teacher to determine a companion for the journey home, and he chose me.

I didn't bother to protest, but I sincerely hoped that Marc's father wasn't busy with construction work in front of the house again. I escorted my injured classmate to the locker room, where he first checked the severity of his injury in the mirror. “It's not that bad. I've had worse.” A short list of various minor accidents followed. “You've already experienced a bit, haven't you?” He nodded thoughtfully. ‘You're lucky that my father is not at home. Then you would experience something.’ I grinned slightly.

Marc's mother took him in without much ado. She was obviously used to minor damage from her offspring (there was a younger brother too). Since she didn't know me yet, the reception was quite friendly, and I was even offered drinks. However, the lure of class was still very strong at the time, and my plan was to quickly return to the educational institution. I stroked Marc's head again lightly and told him quietly: “Take care, unlucky guy.” He looked at me for a long time and asked almost anxiously: “Do you want to be friends?” Hm. I thought about it briefly. The boy wasn't as bad as I thought. I nodded slightly and left. The ice was broken.

The class trip that school year put a further stamp on our friendship, so to speak, finished us off. During the class soccer game on the day we arrived, Marc had once again sprained his ankle. Of course, this prevented him from taking part in the planned extended hikes. And since even our class teacher realized that he couldn't stay in the camp alone all day, she accepted my suggestion to stay in the camp as a “nurse”. “You can do something for school,” she suggested. We smiled at her and said as if from the same mouth: “Of course.”

Today, I no longer remember exactly how we passed the time back then. Only that it definitely worked without television and computer games. At some point, we came up with the idea of watching a sunset. While the others celebrated with card or board games, we snuck out of the camp onto a small hill and watched not only the glowing fixed star disappearing on the horizon. He tapped me on the shoulder and pointed towards the edge of the forest, where a herd of deer shyly emerged from the protective thicket. We watched the natural spectacle in fascination and silence. Marc had put his arm around my shoulder and snuggled up to me. Somehow it clicked for me then, or rather “plop”: Cupid's arrow had hit me for the very first time, of course without me having even the slightest idea at the time of what was going on with me.

From then on, we were actually inseparable. During the summer vacation of the following year, we were looking forward – more or less – to seventh grade, Marc and I spent a lot of our time visiting swimming pools and going on bike rides. One of these trips had taken us to the floodplains, where we decided to rest a little. We spread out our blanket, quickly took care of the destruction of the food we had brought with us, and then lay down next to each other on the blanket.

The sun was celebrating lively interplay: into the cloud – wind on, thermometer down. Out of the cloud – wind off, thermometer up, sunburn danger on. This was obviously getting too much for Marc. He relocated his position, moved under the covers. “Come down. You'll catch a cold or get a sunburn.” The thought of lying under the same blanket with this boy gave me more or less visible pleasure, so I didn't have to think twice about accepting the invitation.

Marc knew exactly what he wanted. “I'm cold,” he trembled. Now, the weather conditions were changing almost by the second, but it seemed rather unlikely to me that a healthy person should get chills at temperatures of between 20 and 30 degrees Celsius. I must have looked at him questioningly. He saw that, smiled and assured me extremely credibly: “Yes, really... Warm me,” and looked at me with big, brown Waldi eyes. I began to stroke his back. “Here, feel,” he asked me, leading my other hand to his arm.
He really seemed cold: he had goose bumps. Without thinking twice, I gave him a complete hug. And what did he do? He kissed me on the lips.

We didn't continue our bike tour that day and stayed by the river under the blanket. When other walkers approached, we disappeared completely under the wool product. A remarkable image for the passers-by: a living bundle of wool. Well, what thoughts might come to mind.

Marc definitely had similar thoughts, whose caressing hand slowly and lovingly moved up my thigh. I protested at first, but he said to me, “That's part of it. You can do it too.” He kissed me and led my hand between his legs. As if the friends of nature had known, we two remained undisturbed under our blanket for the next half hour. But maybe we just didn't notice the passers-by.

From then on, these quiet, intense moments together were part of our friendship. I also got to know another feeling besides love back then: jealousy. Marc was taking part in the pubescent partner-tree-change-you game. In our class at the time, there was a pool of about five boys and five girls who really did experience and exchange experiences in every possible male-female constellation. “My” Marc was one of the most active when it came to trying tongue kisses.

Only occasionally did one of the girls show interest in me. It never lasted longer than a week, and I didn't try to push the relationship in the direction of permanence. I only wanted one thing permanently: Marc's caresses.
Garden with a shot
The older we got, the rarer our moments of togetherness became. Meanwhile, tenderness had almost disappeared from the game; it was all about pure lust and satisfaction. For me, of course, that was less satisfying. But I had long known that Marc would probably never feel the same way I did. He was into women, with the occasional change not out of the question. My friendship with him became more casual. After German reunification, we changed schools. He went to secondary school, I went to grammar school.

For me, there was no partner in sight, and coming out was out of the question. My environment was completely hetero. If I wasn't alone back then, everyone else had perfectly disguised themselves. Just as perfectly as I did myself.

The clique, which was occasionally blessed by my presence back then, grew one day. Almost out of nowhere, two boys appeared – and stayed. Rico and Maik were a bit older than us, so they rose relatively quickly in the hierarchy. Rico seemed to like our part of town, he rented a garden with an arbor that immediately became a meeting place for the gang. A youth club in the countryside, an adult-free zone. That was of course very appealing to us 16-year-olds. So, at regular intervals that grew shorter and shorter, there were parties to celebrate. At first for the most trivial of reasons, and later just for the sake of partying.

Maik, who, to put it mildly, was anything but bright, was replaced by Andre at equally shorter and shorter regular intervals. He was a friend of Rico's from way back, considerably older than us, had a car and was gay into the bargain. He was proud of it, and nobody had any serious problems with that. At least not openly. Of course, a set of wheels was reason enough to idolize the owner and driver.

It also quickly became clear why Maik no longer showed up or why Andre was not there when Rico and Maik were drinking: He couldn't stand him at all. That was understandable: Whenever the two of them were together, there was always a bottle of alcohol nearby and, more and more often, a small bag of something, from which the two of them rolled strange-looking cigarettes.

One day, or rather one late summer evening, the two of them decided to go into the nearby forest in a completely drugged state with a blank pistol hidden in the gazebo, in order to test their aim, which was definitely no longer present.

Andre tried in vain to stop the two of them – a terrible argument broke out between him and Rico. The two shouted at each other without regard for the underage audience. “Think about what you're doing, you can't think straight anymore!” Rico's answer confirmed that. “What do you want, you only ever want to approve of me. Uh... endorse. Patronize. Let me do mine, I'm old enough.” Andre changed his tone – from loud to almost threateningly quiet. ‘You're just proving the opposite. Why do you have to go shooting in the forest with this customer in your drunken state? It's either him or me. Make up your mind. If you leave now, our friendship is over.’ Rico seemed at least to be considering. Maik called to his drinking buddy from the garden door: “Are you coming or what?” Rico brushed aside all his doubts and went.

Andre looked after him without saying a word, and although it was almost dark, I saw clearly how his eyes became sadder from step to step. He withdrew to the separate sleeping area of the arbor, which served as a kind of bedroom for long-term guests. I turned to the remaining visitors. In a nutshell: three girls, three boys. The six of them obviously had other things to do than to interfere in the conflict of three older people or even to deal with the solution of this problem. “Hey, did you just see that?” Marc, who was busy with his current flame Janina, grumbled impatiently at the interruption: ‘Yeah, so? They fight every day anyway.’ For my unreachable angel, it was nothing out of the ordinary anyway, since he, his brother and their sister were also constantly at each other's throats. Or whatever was handy at the time.

For the boys in the garden house, only the girls were now within reach, and I was, of course, the fifth, seventh or whatever wheel on the wagon, but in any case a superfluous one. I left the cuddle stronghold and wondered briefly whether I should disturb Andre, who, in contrast to the merry six, was sitting much more lonely in the neighboring room – probably infinitely sad.

I knocked and entered. He sat on an air mattress converted into a bed and had tears in his eyes. Spontaneously, I sat down with him and took him in my arms. He began to tell me the whole story. How the two had met, how the great friendship had developed. Rico knew that Andre was gay. And he knew that he himself was not. Nevertheless, the two of them had experienced one or two adult adventures, going through thick and thin together. Until Maik came along. Suddenly Rico was transformed, the two of them drank and smoked pot almost out of their minds. Andre suffered from what he called love deprivation. “It's okay if there's nothing going on between us. But then this guy comes along and ruins everything. I don't understand him."

It was hard to say anything encouraging to him. While I was still thinking, the door suddenly burst open and Rico stood before us. Something was also torn open in him, namely his eyes. His shirt was covered in blood.
TheHouseOnTheLake
Tim had stood up. “Commercial!” He grinned, and I looked at him questioningly. “It seems to be getting exciting. There's always a commercial. I'll just quickly go to the reeds for little interns.” He disappeared, only to return a few moments later and make preparations to sit down again. “You haven't washed your hands.” He looked at me, apparently to determine whether this was a serious request. I tried to hold back a smile, obviously with little success. “Falls into the water,” Tim replied. I got up and was about to throw him into the lake. He beat me to it, grabbed me and said, “Wait. Much as I would like to go swimming, I don't have a towel or any other clothes with me. I couldn't have known that this press conference would turn into a swimming trip. But we can drive to Lake Biethe, my grandparents have a garden right on the water there. And they're definitely not there because they're on vacation with my parents. In Hungary.”

At that moment, I loved Hungary. The weather was fantastic, and an equally dreamy boy had just invited me to go swimming at a secluded property. We drove past my apartment for a moment, where I quickly threw a few things into a bag and gathered provisions for us. A few kilometers later, Timmy steered me onto a lonely, almost hidden dirt road and let me stop at a property that didn't really deserve the term “garden”. A small, cozy house with a well-kept front garden and a large fenced-in lawn that led directly to the water on the lake side. A jetty was a landing stage for a rowing boat, and in the evening glow a pair of swans flew towards the setting sun over the lake water. This was paradise.

We stowed our bags in the house, took off our clothes, stormed into the cool water and did the same as the swans: we swam towards the vanishing sun. Tim knew the water and headed for a sandbank. He had ground under his feet. I stood next to him and enjoyed the spectacle of the sunset. “This is so beautiful,” I whispered. “Yes,” he replied, ‘I've never seen anything like this with another person.’ I looked into his eyes, where tears were about to form, and took him in my arms. He held me very tightly. ”Hey, Timmy, the time of loneliness is over. You know me, and not just from your internship. What connects us is at least a kindred spirit. And whatever happens between us, I'll always be there for you from now on. You're no longer alone with your problems.” He looked at me, first in disbelief, then happy. ‘Do you know what this means to me?’ His lips met mine. ‘It's time to live.’ ”Yes, you should do that. No more hiding, if you're ready for it. I've wasted too many summers myself.” ‘Oh yes, there was something else. How did the whole story with Rico continue?’ I smiled at him: ”Oh, is the courtship over? Take it easy, Timmy, first we'll swim to the shore, and then we'll have something to eat.”

No sooner said than done. We cooked ourselves a delicious packet of soup, fried a few steaks in the pan because it seemed too much effort to fire up the grill for two slices of meat, and sat down on the patio. When we had finished eating, I asked him: “Beer or wine?” We decided on a bottle of sweet red wine and made ourselves comfortable on a lounger, where Tim snuggled up to me and sent expectant glances in my direction.

Open Words
Andre and I both immediately thought of the worst case scenario. Rico, covered in blood, standing in front of us, and we knew that the two of them, completely drunk, wanted to go shooting with a blank gun. “Shit, what's going on?” “The thing went off. Maik got it in the arm.” “Where is he? Where is Maik?” “Wald is sitting on the path by the stone near Maik.” Andre clambered out of the house, grabbed his car keys and ran to the garden door. There was no need to use the car because the injured man had meanwhile dragged himself to the garden. He leaned against the gate whimpering. Andre reacted immediately and correctly, and it proved to be a great advantage that he had completed his civilian service in an ambulance. He disinfected the wound, tied a provisional bandage on it and then ordered: “Into the car, we have to go to the hospital.” “Nisch schum Arscht,” Maik protested. “Do we have to?” Rico asked. “This is about a lot more than your childish games with a stupid thing like that.” “I wouldn't call it a childish game,” Marc replied. He was the first to interfere, so far we had only watched the three of them. “You're right,” Andre replied. But it is childish when two adults, at least according to their ID, stagger into the forest at night with a weapon to shoot at metal or something else. And then in that state too. You've got a screw loose.” ‘More than just one,’ murmured Marc next to me.

Maik hadn't yet fully grasped the extent of his injury, obviously believing it was something similar to an abrasion. “I don't want to go to the hospital. I'll be fine.” “If you don't need your arm, okay. But please give me a written statement so that no one can accuse me of failing to provide assistance later.” Rico had briefly disappeared into the shed and came back. With a bottle of schnapps in his hand. The barrel overflowed. It splashed. Andre had first knocked the bottle out of Rico's hand and then wiped it lovingly across his face again. At least he seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation now. Andre was in control again. “Okay, we'll take him to the hospital now. They'll probably keep you there to sober up too,” he said, looking in the direction of Maik, ‘and you guys should go home,’ that was us. We stuck to it. Everyone went home.

Just one day later, almost everyone involved met again in the garden. Maik had been released and was recovering at home. He had also been banned from the garden for two weeks by Rico. The other two had a thorough talk that morning. Rico promised Andre to stay away from the bottle and other intoxicants. He also wanted to resume his interrupted apprenticeship. The police investigation, which had already begun, was later dropped, as it was not possible to determine exactly what had happened in the forest. Based on the injuries, the most likely scenario was that Maik had shot himself.

Rico's promise, however, did not last long. As soon as Maik was healthy again, he became a regular at the garden again. And with him, first the number of bottles of hard stuff and then the empties began to pile up.

One evening, I had left with Andre from the rest of the party people in the bedroom of the arbor. He complained: “I'm so fed up with this place.” When he did not sleep in the garden, he had shelter with his grandmother; the relationship with the rest of the family was somehow disturbed. He had told me all this in more or less detail, and now he was seriously considering getting an apartment. “I don't feel like standing in the shop all day, coming here at eight in the evening and then seeing how it's called “Hoch die Tassen” here. This stupid chatter gets on my nerves.” He cried, I caressed him, he calmed down. He caressed me, and went under my T-shirt too. “Does that bother you?” he asked me. I shook my head, I was always receptive to affection. As proof, I kissed him on his stubbly face. ‘Are you gay?’ he asked me. I flinched at first, then shrugged. I didn't want to reveal myself completely, because Andre had become a very important friend, but nothing more. I was afraid that he would have wanted more if I had said yes. And I didn't want to have sex with him. He seemed to be able to read my mind: “You don't need to be afraid. I won't do anything you don't want me to,” Andre reassured me. We just held each other. Suddenly Marc burst into the room. “Tom, do you want...” He stared at us, grinned and said, “Excuse me!” and disappeared again. Andre looked at me uncertainly: “What do you think, how will he react?” “That shouldn't be a problem.” I thought about it for a moment, but then told him that we had a special relationship. He smiled. “You would make a nice couple.” “Yes, but I don't think so, and I'm sure he doesn't either.” “At least he's single again.” ‘How do you know that?’ He grinned mischievously at me. ‘It's not like you're the only one I'm talking to here.’ I must have looked a little confused, so he clarified: ”But by far the most affectionate... So, now let's go over there.”

A good half hour later, I took Marc home, hoping that he might be in need of love again. Instead, he asked me about Andre. “What were you doing there earlier?” “What did it look like?” “Like two guys in one bed.” “And what's wrong with that? Besides, we just talked.” He didn't seem to believe me, so I added, “And we cuddled a little too.” “You didn't tell him about us?” I decided to be honest. “No, it just happened that way.” Marc swallowed, but I assured him that our little secret was in safe hands with him.

Andre did the right thing, looked for his own apartment and thus increasingly withdrew from the orbit of the garden. We used the summer vacation for occasional trips together, mostly just Andre and me, occasionally also Marc, and now and then other clique members also joined us on these trips.

I visited Andre more often in the shop where he worked, and I also distanced myself more and more from our old neighborhood, the garden at the edge of the forest, and ultimately from the clique. Most of them had finished school after tenth grade and were now starting their apprenticeships. My old circle of friends crumbled, and soon only Marc and Andre remained.

The handball clique
Of course it wasn't the case that I didn't have any friends at the grammar school. But that was limited to the school grounds or, at most, occasional meetings. There were close ties with very few people. On the other hand, I had a very close relationship with sports, and since my own performance was still not at its best, I decided to pursue a career as a referee. Our school handball team was always looking for new referees. As a side effect, which I didn't consider as such, there were some really cute guys running around on the school hall floor between the goals. The key players in the team were Benjamin and Daniel, who had also played their way into my favorites. Then there was Felix, who only played as a substitute in the team, but was one of my regulars. All three were in their prime at 15 years old and really a feast for the eyes. One of them would probably...?

I discussed this problem with Andre. He grinned. “You should probably first clarify your feelings. Which of the three do you think is cutest?” “Felix.” “Then try your luck. Maybe you'll win his friendship first.”

I threw myself into this endeavor with great enthusiasm. It wasn't that hard to get close to him either. Felix lived a hundred meters as the crow flies from me, and often enough we met in the morning to walk diagonally across the street together – because that was where our school was already located. Not exactly the best opportunity to start in-depth conversations. But long enough to fall in love really hard. I liked being around him, and I was really keen to find out if he would feel anything similar. But to come out to myself? Never.

On the evening before his 16th birthday, we went to play a round of pool and then went to my place to celebrate. His clique, which included Benjamin and Daniel, was at the movies that night. In a movie that Felix didn't want to see. Much to my pleasure. Of course, it was a great honor for me that he spent this evening with me. We put a large bottle of Coke on the table, and since it was approaching the milestone age of 16, we added a bottle of Jack Daniels. I suggested that we drink to brotherhood. We did that – with the real brotherly kiss. And not just once, but once for each glass. We must have had five or six little mixtures between us. Anyway, you only leave the 15 once.

At midnight, Felix lay briefly in my arms, then we finished drinking and I took my young and meanwhile very battered 16-year-old friend home. If I could have revealed my feelings to him, it would have been that evening. Which I didn't do, and thus missed the great opportunity to get certainty about his sexual orientation.

Andre also thought this was an unforgivable mistake in my reporting: “You're an idiot. If you don't dare to do it, I'll have to step in.” I now feared that he would approach Felix and ask him directly about my inclinations. However, his way of solving the problem looked a little more diplomatic.

From that point on, our school's handball team had a new driver. At least for some of the away games. Andre's car was used as a team transport, and Daniel, Felix and Benjamin gladly accepted this kind of luxury. Andre studied the trio for a few days before sharing his findings with me one evening. “So, I'm not sure about Felix and Benjamin. It's possible, but I tend to think they're both more likely straight. Benjamin, as you know, is the heartthrob of the group, and besides, he's already had several girlfriends. He either presents himself perfectly or, which is much more likely, he's a real little Casanova.

Andre tested further and came to the conclusion that at least this trio had no objection to his homosexuality.
Little Casanova remained the team's goal-getter and also ended up with Julia at some point. The dream couple of school handball had reduced my trio of candidates to a duo. This gave the team's chauffeur the idea of inviting Daniel and Felix for a weekend for four: He, the two athletes and me. The young handball players were thrilled by the idea: just to find a guesthouse and crash there, that sounded cool.

But it didn't work out. The weekend of truth, that was the working title of the project for Andre and me, fell victim to certain adverse circumstances. Daniel's parents refused permission, Felix called in sick on the weekend in question. To this day, we don't know whether he really had to struggle with fever attacks or whether it dawned on him what the whole thing was supposed to lead to. Not even Marc was able to step in because he had to work on Saturday. So we canceled the booked guest rooms with a heavy heart.

There was no new attempt. Daniel left our part of town, joined a new clique and very soon also a handball team that was closer by. Felix's school performance was not good enough for the Abitur, so he transferred to the Realschule at the end of the ninth grade to graduate. He also soon lost interest in handball. Our contact also gradually died down until it was just occasional chats when we happened to run into each other because of our near-neighborhood. To this day, I still don't know much about Felix.

I had the longest contact with Benjamin, now really anything but regular, but we saw each other more often. He stayed in touch with Andre and visited him at certain intervals. Sometimes with his Julia, sometimes without. At some point I met up with him again for a game of billiards and a few beers before he too disappeared from my radar: this time it was because of his training, which took place somewhere in the far north of the country.

Marc had also become scarce, or rather his parents: they had built a new house in a neighboring town, and that meant that the two of us saw each other a lot less.

A car could help: when I finally passed the 18th grade, the driver's license was on the program. The theory was not the big problem, but my examiners had two concerns about equipping me with the flea – even though I had practiced with Andre several times. Where we had driven, there were neither stop signs that could be disregarded nor traffic lights that could be run over when they were yellow. But these were exactly the offenses that led to the cancellation of my first two practical tests. Third time's the charm, and when I finally had the coveted document in my wallet, it no longer made sense to check out Marc's new house. His parents had separated, and the mother was unable to financially maintain the property on her own. For the rest of the family, this meant having to temporarily move into council housing just before Christmas: Marc had to celebrate his 18th birthday in an old prefabricated concrete tower block. He had invited a few of his supposedly closest friends, but the only guest that day was me.

We sat down in his room that evening and got to work on the alcoholic supplies. Marc became more and more sentimental, put his arm around me, cuddled his head on my shoulder and philosophized about the injustice of life. When we were absolutely sure that the rest of his family was asleep that evening, he looked at me with glassy eyes, kissed me on the mouth and said to me: “Let's do it.” At first I had some scruples because the risk of being caught in flagranti was relatively high, but the desire and the alcohol quickly dispelled my concerns. We crawled into bed, let ourselves go and enjoyed it completely. Marc was starved. Starved for love and even for tenderness. Nevertheless, caution dies last. When we finally lay in bed, completely exhausted, quite drunk and very close together, Marc said to me shortly before falling asleep: “Go to your bed, so that no one finds us here afterwards.” I kissed him again and then reluctantly obeyed, because he was of course right. What I didn't know at the time was that it would be our last tender hour of adventure.

Marc was doing his apprenticeship, and I was swotting for my A-levels – a long friendship seemed to be falling apart because we simply didn't have time for each other anymore. His training company was very close to the shop where Andre worked. It was inevitable that the two of them would become more intensively involved. While I plunged into community service after graduating from high school, Andre was ready to offer Marc to move in with him. He seemed to have finally found a replacement for Rico – but neither of them was really happy with their current situation either. When I visited Andre one day, Marc was away for a weekend on family business, he complained to me: “I'm such a good-natured sheep. Marc is a nice guy, but he doesn't contribute to the rent as discussed, just a little something towards the cost of living. And then I still stand in the kitchen, make our meals, do the dishes. I'm not his mother.” I was so naive as to consider something more than a pure living arrangement: ”Is there something going on between you?” “Oh. If we cuddle once in a blue moon, that's a lot. Kissing is out of the question.” However, Marc seemed to have thrown himself straight into the arms of a friend from the scene after a party – sex in Andre's bed without Andre, who longed for more than just that. Because he hadn't gotten THAT from Rico or from me, and not from Marc either. I just felt sorry for him. I stayed with him that night, and it almost happened. But I pulled the emergency brake at the last moment: I didn't want to be a fleeting adventure for him, not a pressure valve. Besides, he was a nice guy, but for me there was definitely no love involved for him.
Carefree summer
“Did you tell him that so clearly at the time?” Tim wanted to know from me, who had been listening carefully to my story. “I don't remember exactly. In any case, he wasn't angry, and that was the most important thing to me.” I finished my glass of wine and saw that Tim had something on his mind. “What's on your mind?” “You notice everything, huh?” With that, he left my question unanswered for the time being and asked one of his own: “Shall we go inside? It's getting cold.” I acted indignant: “Hey, haven't I warmed you up enough?” “Yes. But somehow... by the way, you do realize that we have to stay here overnight? You've been drinking, and I'm not going to let you drive back like that.” “I don't have any other plans, Timmy. Do you want to go to bed right away, are you tired?” He smiled at me. ”No, somehow I've never been more awake. The wine, your great story, you yourself... I've never experienced anything like it.”

I moved as close to him as possible and gently stroked his face. “The story's not that hot, really. It's maybe about lost years.” “Haven't you found your great happiness yet? The way you look?” “Oh Tim, it wasn't that easy. Except for Andre and Marc, I'm almost never outed. I couldn't do it. So no, I haven't found it yet.” ‘But you told me to my face earlier, didn't you?’ ‘Yes, I was absolutely sure about you too. The story on the laptop was almost a hundred percent proof. You're clearly guilty.’ ‘You mean playing hide and seek doesn't work?’ ‘No, at least not for happiness. Where are we going to sleep tonight, by the way?’ ”Come with me.”

Tim led me into the bedroom. “There are two possibilities. Either we share this double bed, or you sleep on the couch in the living room.” “I don't think I want to sleep alone tonight.” Tim's eyes sparkled. That was the answer he wanted to hear. “Shall we open another bottle of wine?” I nodded. “And then?” “We'll fall asleep eventually. And if not, I have the whole weekend off. Besides, I want to be with you. You've opened my eyes.”

We got ready for bed, snuggled up in bed and against each other, dimmed the light and clinked our glasses. “I think that today will change my life.” Tim seemed fully aware of the implications. “What would you be doing today if you had been honest and come out?” he asked me. I shook my head: “I really can't tell you that. Maybe I would be with Felix. Or with Daniel. Or with someone else? I'm not even sure if I did it right or wrong.” Tim nodded sympathetically, took a sip, looked at me with incredibly tender eyes and asked me: ‘How exactly does gay sex work?’ I swallowed, but then answered truthfully: ”I haven't experienced it to perfection myself.”

We were silent for a few minutes, then he kissed me and then expressed his complete trust in me: “Do you know how many brag about what horny studs they are and how many cherries they have already laid? And how much gelding is normally in these stallions? Or that in the vast majority of cases, the cherries can be categorized as crop failure? I don't think anyone has ever been as honest with me as you just were. Or to put it another way: no one has ever shown me so much trust.” We caressed each other, fell silent for a moment, but then I answered him: ”You know, until this afternoon you were just a colleague of mine. A nice, handsome intern who enters my life, stays for two weeks, and then disappears forever. And then there was your reaction when I caught you reading nickstories.de. When you wanted to get away from me because your big secret had been uncovered, I wanted to be with you. There was something that connected us. In this context, no one else knows the story that I then told you. And you're probably the only one who ever gets to hear it in its entirety.” Tim kissed me on the forehead: ‘You said earlier that you're out to almost no one except Marc and Andre. So there's something else – the story isn't finished yet. Who else was there, and what happened with Andre and Marc?’ He looked at me expectantly.

New Paths
A little later, Marc had the luck that Andre and I were still looking for. He found the love of his life. His relationship with Bianca grew slowly at first, but steadily and then quickly. After just three weeks, he moved out of Andre's place and into her parents' house. Later, the two of them got a flat of their own and a cat. We spoke on the phone again (me with Marc, not with the cat), then ran into each other by chance and chatted for the length of a cigarette at a bus stop. After Marc had finished his training, unemployment hit him. His father, who was now working in the area of a metropolis in Lower Saxony, got him a job. And a new apartment. Since then, Marc and Bianca have called this city, which is close to the freeway, home. Our contact consists of a few occasional text messages and even more infrequent phone calls. We had once planned a reunion, which I spoiled by suddenly calling a press conference. But we're working on it and are optimistic that it will work out in this life.

When Marc moved out, Andre's life changed abruptly as well. He swapped his sales job for a lectureship that he got because of his incredible computer skills. The building in which his apartment was located was being thoroughly renovated, which is why he had to rent a different place to live. Our contact with him also slowed down. We had email contact once, and then nothing. Unfortunately.

After my community service, I started an inter-company training program. Neither in my vocational school class nor in the group of my practical training were there any remotely interesting people with whom it would have been worthwhile to have more than just trivial and meaningless conversations. At the same time, an old acquaintance from my handball refereeing days offered me the opportunity to help design and develop a project for the local radio station. I gladly accepted, and so I plunged into an adventure that reduced all my free time to a minimum.

After I finished my training, the local television station “Local News Area” LNA offered me a permanent contract, which I of course signed. Around that time, the internet found its way into my life, and at some point I probably inevitably ended up on a well-known gay platform. My city was assigned to a district, and I could now be found regularly in its chat room. However, what was on offer there was almost even less interesting than savory from San Marino: 80 percent of those present just wanted sex, and could describe it more or less well depending on their experience, but that was just the way it was. Fifteen percent thought I was looking for a quickie myself. However, I was able to have a very good chat with the remaining five percent – when they were online at the same time as me. And that was almost never.

Nevertheless, I managed to make contact with a boy from my town, then chat with him for a while and finally even arrange a date. After endless hours of chatting, which showed me that Sandro was a bright and humorous guy, we arranged to meet in the floodplain where I had shared my first tender moments with a boy several years ago. I found myself thinking of Marc while I was waiting for him.

Sandro had been watching me for quite some time before he revealed himself to me. But then we wandered through the floodplains for almost three hours. Three hours that served only the purpose of getting to know each other. We met more often, played chess, listened to music, were happy and decided to give it a try together. Sunny, as he was called, was openly gay, but he knew that I wasn't ready for that back then and accepted it.

However, I didn't have the time for Sandro that I would have liked to have had for him. After an eight-hour day, which often turned out to be much longer, I only very sporadically felt like going to the movies or anywhere else with him. Since I also had to work on weekends, the whole thing didn't work out for more than three months. Sunny ended our relationship before I had even had sex with him. It hadn't gone beyond nights of cuddling, fiddling and kissing. It was my fault, and I knew it – I was just more in love with my work. My first boyfriend had fallen by the wayside, and the new path had turned out to be a dead end.

In any case, Sunny didn't hold it against me, and we still meet up to play chess today. Very rarely, but still. Sandro has been with a student for two years now. And since he also has a lot of time for him, the two are very happy. I continued to use chat rooms, but I never let anyone get as close to me as I did with Sunny. I was almost sure that I could live without love. Until Bastian, without any effort on his part and certainly involuntarily, convinced me otherwise.
Hofbräuhaus and clique vacation
Basti belonged to the clique of Stefan, who in turn was the son of the owner of my favorite bar, where I liked to have a beer or five after work when the atmosphere was right. The gang met up often at “Laubenpiepers Eldorado”; I knew the guys from pool and skat quite well. I only knew Bastian from hearsay, because he was doing an apprenticeship as a travel agent in Bavaria. One evening, I entered the bar completely exhausted because I just wanted to down a beer and then sneak off to bed. I saw Stefan and his friends, and the boy grinning at me made my face freeze. The thought of sleep had immediately given way to a completely different thought. I was wide awake.

We were immediately on the same wavelength and chatted away. The others were playing pool, okay, so were we, but we didn't care how. Not the others, because we played for drinks rounds. But still, both Bastian and I managed to get out of the match without paying for a round. Together with Kneipersohn Stefan – and of course his father – we were the last to leave the garden restaurant that night, long after midnight.

When he had crossed the white sausage equator again in a southerly direction, we kept in touch via ICQ. For him, this was a welcome change because he hadn't built up many contacts in the Free State. We chatted almost every evening and I was waiting for the reunion. But did he too?

In any case, there was never any talk of women when we chatted about everything and nothing via the keyboard. At some point, he asked: “Why don't you come to Munich sometime?” The city of the Olympic Stadium, the Isar and the Hofbräuhaus – I was keen on it. Even if the sights mentioned only played a minor role. I was looking forward to visiting another attraction in the Bavarian capital.

The trip, which was organized relatively quickly, was actually planned with Stefan, but since he followed the fascination of flu instead of a cosmopolitan city for some unknown reason, I had to get into the car alone and drive south. Which, of course, I wasn't really angry about. The burgeoning problem, which I became aware of on the highway, was that I had no idea where Bastian lived. Sure, I had a street name and a house number. But I had no local knowledge, no map and no navigation system. At a rest stop, I had my charming host describe the route to me. He offered to pick me up from a gas station near the city limits. I gratefully accepted. When he later guided me through the urban jungle, I knew: I would never have found it alone. I would have ended up at the ice rink in Bad Tölz rather than in this small, inconspicuous side street, which radiated rural idyll in the middle of the big city.

After our warm welcome, he showed me his apartment in the Höhner style: two rooms, kitchen, hallway, bathroom. And a balcony with a view of the countryside. He asked me: “What are you up to?” I kept my true intentions, which had a lot to do with cuddling, to myself, and replied: “Show me the city.”

A weekend for two sometimes goes by very quickly. On the first evening, we held our snooker world championship in a neighboring pool hall. I won the title by a game. When we fell into bed dead tired well after midnight, each in our own, I had every intention of engaging Basti in a stimulating conversation. However, it remained an intention because I fell asleep even faster than I had come up with a suitable beginning for a nightly talk show for two. Day two was completely taken up with a city tour and a visit to the city center. In the evening, Bastian invited me to the Hofbräuhaus – and we went by car. So while I was tasting the local everyday drinks, my driver stuck to caffeinated sodas, which earned him some skeptical looks from both the waiter and the neighboring tables. That evening, the cola drinker decided that it was time to take revenge for the snooker humiliation he had suffered the day before. Needless to say, after all the drinks I had consumed, I didn't stand a ghost of a chance and turned my previous day's victory into a clear defeat. The end of this day was almost identical to the previous day, except that this time I didn't even intend to start a conversation. Once again, I hid from myself. When I went home on Sunday afternoon, I had a wonderful weekend behind me. But nothing more. I lacked the courage to approach Bastian and confess to him that I might feel a little more than friendship for him.

My next chance was not long in coming. The clique around Stefan and Bastian had planned a very special vacation highlight for the summer. Since a large number of people had passed their A-levels that summer, or rather everyone except Basti and me, a big celebration was planned. The plan: a week's vacation at the Baltic Sea on the island of Usedom. And I was supposed to come with them – and of course I didn't need to be asked twice. I didn't even have to drive myself and so I had seven days to completely switch off and maybe finally get my feelings under control. The house in a holiday park near Zinnowitz was a dream: five bedrooms, a large shared living room and a kitchen. When it came to assigning the twin rooms, Basti immediately approached me: “Do you want to?” It started off promisingly. I screamed inside: “YES!” and answered him obediently: “Okay, if you want. I'm in.”

The trip to the Baltic Sea went exactly as you would imagine when ten guys between the ages of 18 and 24 go on vacation together. Swimming, drinking, checking out girls – well, at least the last point only applied to a large part of them. Not all of them. Occasionally, we went on one or two excursions, for example to the pier in Heringsdorf. There we instructed the staff to build us a suitable table, because there was simply no space for a group of ten. But we had a really good time on the waves of the Baltic Sea: everyone drank either a coffee, a coke or a beer. Then we left the restaurant because the beach volleyball court of our resort was calling us.

I have never enjoyed digging as much as I did this summer on this volleyball court. Blue sky, bright sun and my bare chest had made me look like an overripe tomato. A full-blown sunburn that provided me with a good argument for NOT accompanying my nine travel companions to the beach disco. Not that I had anything against the beach. But I've never been a big fan of disco, so I played the role of the guard of our holiday home while the others wanted to go back to the beach. This time, however, with music and without volleyball.

At nine in the evening, the nine disappeared, only to return at two in the morning, completely at odds with each other. Two groups had formed, and I didn't really understand what it was all about. Somehow a girl was involved, somehow a local youth gang was involved and somehow gallons of alcoholic beverages were involved in the events. Four members of our travel committee decided to set off again in the direction of the disco to solve the problem. And this quartet could not be persuaded, even with good persuasion, to go to bed or at least to continue the festivities within the bungalow. Three other guys, including Stefan, were so agitated that a walk on the beach was the only thing that would calm them down. Only Bastian and Karsten stayed behind, relieving me as the holiday home watchman and placing a bottle of vodka on the patio table as provisions. Since I had never had the pleasure of seeing the Baltic Sea at night before, I decided to take in the lapping of the waves at dawn and have the events of the evening explained to me in detail. However, no one was able to seriously describe the starting point of the dispute.

After a funny and unusual walk along the beach, we returned to our holiday home shortly after half past four, together with the dawn. Our Disco Quartet had also arrived in the meantime, and the last person to go to bed was just able to tell us that everything had gone quietly and peacefully. Quiet and peaceful was also the appropriate description for the picture that presented itself on the terrace: Basti and Karsten had significantly lowered the vodka level of the bottle, but raised their own to such an extent that it was enough to fall asleep – outdoors, mind you. And even at the height of summer, it's not advisable to spend the night in the fresh air at dawn wearing only a T-shirt.

“Then we'll play wake-up service.” I decided to take the initiative because I was starting to long for my mattress, pillow and blanket. It didn't take me long to decide whether to use harsh or gentle methods to wake them up in the morning: I didn't feel like arguing. So I gently grabbed both sleepers by the upper arms: “Hey, wake up! You have to sleep.” Everyone grinned. “I mean, it's time to go to bed!” Basti smiled at me blissfully, grinned with glassy eyes and slurred a cheerful: ‘Yes.’ In fact, he seemed full of energy, got up and immediately went from the terrace to the lawn, where he promptly decided to return to a lying position.

While Stefan Karsten took me away and everyone else had already disappeared, I still had to do hard work, which consisted of putting Bastian to bed. He was well aware of the necessity: “Shit, I'm drunk. Take me to bed?” “I won't leave you.” Arm in arm we stumbled into our room, and somehow he really managed to brush his teeth before falling into bed.

He put his arm around my upper body and turned to me and breathed: “Thanks, you're the best. You're getting a kiss from me now.” He followed up his words with action and, despite his condition, met mine with his lips. He verbally emphasized this kiss: “I feel comfortable with you. Thanks for being there.” I swallowed and started to make a confession, searched for words for a moment and then whispered, “Basti, I feel comfortable with you too.” He hummed benevolently. I continued, “I think it's even a little more... Basti, I love you. Can you imagine that there can be more between us than friendship?”

What a situation. Outside, the sun was almost up, next to me was the rather drunk Bastian, and I made him a declaration of love at 5:30 in the morning. He was silent. I stroked his head, his face... but he didn't answer. He had fallen asleep. I puzzled for a moment about what he had taken in from it and was out of order a little later.

When I saw the light of day again late that morning, my first glance was at the neighboring pillow. There lay Basti, with his eyes closed, looking sweetly dreamy – and he was already awake. When he noticed that I was moving, he opened his eyes and smiled at me: “Hey, morning. Sleep well?” “Hmm. Not enough, but fine.” “Did you put me to bed last night?” I nodded. ‘Man, was I drunk. Total blackout. Good to know you were looking after me. And now I'm thirsty.’ I grinned at him: ‘Vodka?’ He shook his head: ‘Not yet. Coffee. Nobody's up yet. Do you want one too?’ ”Oh yes – I'll see you on the terrace in a minute.”

While he disappeared in the direction of the coffee machine, I remained brooding. Did he really have amnesia or was he just playing down the situation? I decided to wait for a sign from him, but I waited in vain during this vacation. I lacked the courage to come out with my feelings and myself once again. The vacation passed, and although I was well rested, I was also completely insecure when it came to Bastian. Was there a chance?
Romantic thunderstorm
And again, there was a cute guy lying next to me, his eyes closed, and the sun was almost up. I looked at him thoughtfully, but Tim hadn't slept yet. “Hey, why don't you continue?” ‘It's almost light outside and I'm so tired. Besides, I thought you were already asleep.’ ‘I was waiting for the happy ending of the story.’ ‘Optimist. Do you think there is one?’ ‘If you don't know, who does?’ ‘Let's talk about it later, okay?’ ”Okay. If you give me another kiss.” I looked at him, took him in my arms and then looked deep into his eyes: “Do you really want this?” He didn't bother to answer with words. Our lips played with each other briefly, as did our tongues. Then we snuggled up close and sank into the realm of dreams.

I woke up around noon, and was awakened by someone gently ruffling my hair. “Good morning, big guy. I know it's almost too late. But it's beautiful weather outside, and I've made us some breakfast. Even if it's half past twelve, let's enjoy it.” And so we did, and not just breakfast. We enjoyed the sun and the warm water of the lake, fooled around and later lay on the terrace, avoiding any unnecessary movement in the afternoon heat.

Tim suddenly became serious: “Do you know how grateful I am to you? To finally have someone with whom I can be completely open. But also to have someone who trusts you one hundred percent. I've... I've never kissed a boy before you. It was so nice. Yesterday evening. The night, and whatever else happens this weekend.”

First of all, the weather changed. As we were once again plowing through the lake water, we could already see that something was coming our way. We hadn't noticed that the sun had hidden behind cumulus clouds. But we heard the soft rumbling and then noticed the darkening sky. “There's a good chance that we won't spend the night on the terrace forever.” Tim didn't seem to mind: ‘I'll spend the evening with you anywhere else.’ ”I think the house would be the most appropriate.”

So we sat by the window, watching the storm and being startled several times because there must have been a few impacts in the immediate vicinity. The violent thunderstorm captivated us, we sat close together and said only a few words. Towards evening the intensity subsided, only the rain pelted undaunted on the roof of our domicile. That made me reminisce. “Yesterday, at this time, we watched the sunset in the lake.” ‘Yes,’ replied Tim, ‘but even this weather has a certain coziness.’ We uncorked a bottle of wine, sat down in the living room and enjoyed the rain and wine by candlelight. ‘What happened to Bastian? What happened after your vacation at the Baltic Sea?’

The Red Sun of Bali
Bastian and I stayed in close contact, even though we didn't see each other much. I went back to Munich for the Oktoberfest, and after several beer mugs, I was almost ready to make a second attempt at coming out to him – in the middle of the largest folk festival in the world. Two groups of drunken youths, who just had to start a fried chicken and beer mug tossing contest in our immediate vicinity, had something against it. Since a clear winner could not be determined, the fists began to fly. We missed the opportunity to flee in time and thus had to convincingly explain to the police that we belonged to neither group A nor group B. When we had sufficiently succeeded in doing so, we had had enough and ended this day unspectacularly in bed. Each in his own, as usual.

Two or three times a week we chatted in the evenings, and one day Bastian surprised me by announcing that he wanted to go to Bali for his 20th birthday. He asked me: “What do you think of Bali?” “It's fantastically beautiful, but certainly out of reach.” “It's not that expensive. Why don't you come with me?” “I don't think I can afford it.” ”As a trainee in a travel agency, I have the chance to book such short trips up to 20 percent cheaper. You should at least check it out.”

A day later, I had the corresponding offer in my email inbox and had to admit that the whole thing sounded incredibly tempting. It smelled like a financial tightrope act, but one that could be hedged. One thing was certain: for this money, this trip would be one of a kind. Flee from Europe for the first time? Basti wanted me to come with him: “Come on, if it's possible, don't think about it too long. Wouldn't it be cool, the two of us under the red sun of Bali?” YES, DAMN IT. It would be cool. Was this offer the sign I had been waiting for from Bastian? I did the math again, and with an advance from my boss, I decided to say “Yes!” Four days in Bali, my very first flights and dream boy Basti to boot – it promised to be the most exciting vacation of my life.

I was eagerly awaiting October. The original plan was to fly to Munich in domestic German air traffic. But I didn't want to get to know the feeling of floating above the clouds without emotional and moral support. For my plane premiere, I wanted a competent companion – in the form of almost-travel agent Bastian. So I took a means of transportation that was familiar to me in the direction of the Bavarian metropolis and got to know the advantages of flying on the way. Or have you ever been stuck in traffic above the clouds?

However, we celebrated Basti's second milestone birthday before our big departure – in a pool hall. To celebrate the day, I let the birthday boy win, although he would have won on any other day, too. I just couldn't concentrate on the match. I saw him, I saw the airport and I saw a dreamlike white beach. I dreamt of four days to remember.

From the south of the republic, we first had to get a transfer to the north – the direct flight to Denpasar was from Hamburg. By taxi to the airport, where Bastian, with me in tow, calmly went through the program: baggage drop-off, all security checks, gate search, check-in. All of this was completed without a hitch – and then I was sitting in this strange bird. It was a damn strange feeling when the plane taxied to the runway. Basti next to me proved to be very caring. “Hold on tight, do whatever you want. But you don't need to be afraid. Attention, here we go. Ready for takeoff.” I grinned – no one had ever offered me ‘do anything you want.’ But first of all, I felt the need to get up safely. And at least as great was the need to land safely back on the ground. It was liberating to lose contact with the earth and dive into the clouds. Munich disappeared below us. While the captain murmured his welcome phrases and explained the details of the almost hour-long flight to us, Basti anxiously asked about my condition. I leaned against his shoulder, relieved, and confessed to him: “It's not nearly as bad as I thought.”

The brevity of the time drove us to the staff, among other things, to give the instructions for the disaster. In fact, the life jacket came up in conversation. Involuntarily, I thought Michael Mittermeier: “In a plane crash over central Germany, the last thing you need is a life jacket like that. Well, unless you hit Lake Constance.”

We didn't hit it, landed safely in Hamburg, treated ourselves to a beer and waited for the big flight to Indonesia. It was also extremely smooth, apart from a few minor turbulences. As a first-time flyer, it's always a strange feeling when the seat belt sign suddenly lights up at an altitude of 12,000 meters. What happens now? Apart from a few wobbles and a few stories from Basti about what he had experienced in such turbulence, we had a very smooth journey.

When my travel companion woke me up, we had already left the cruising altitude and were on our descent. Through the window, the sun of Bali was beaming down on us. Arrival in paradise.

At the airport, the minibus from our resort was waiting for us – heading southwest. What awaited us there exceeded my wildest expectations many times over: the “Four Seasons” in Jimbaran Bay was the destination of all dreams. Checking in went without a hitch, and our room left me speechless once again: with a view of a blue sea that is usually only seen in catalogs. With a view of the sacred Gunung Agung, not only Bali's highest elevation, but also an active volcano. During our stay, however, the holy mountain remained exemplary calm.

The same applied to Bastian: We spent the first day on the resort. The morning at the pool, the afternoon at the beach. 29 degrees, bright blue sky, but a lot of wind, and that meant: swimming in the Indian Ocean at your own risk. Nevertheless, we plunged into the waves, enjoyed the surf and forgot everything around us. Time stood still... and he was facing me in the waves. I looked at him and I really wanted to kiss him. He looked at me for a long time and seemed to understand. “I'm going out to sunbathe a bit,” he said, heading towards the beach. Had he seen through my feelings? At least from that moment on, there was a hint of ice between us – and that so close to the equator.

After the evening meal, Bastian made himself comfortable on the bed and turned on the TV – and watched: RTL-Shop via satellite! I mean, no paradise would be perfect without pots and pans from back home with a 30-year guarantee, would it? I suggested to my travel companion that he swap the teleshopping from good old Germany for a stroll through the tropical garden or a coffee at our hotel complex. He refused: “I'm still feeling the flight in my bones – I'll stay here. If you want, go.” Of course I went. While I was enjoying the sunset at the beach café and looking out over the expanse of the sea, I only lacked tenderness and human warmth. But I already suspected that I was at the wrong address with Bastian. When I came back to our room, he was fast asleep. I stroked his head, he growled and turned away.

On the second day, we took a tour around the island and I soaked up every little detail, because I sensed that this trip would remain an incredible once-in-a-lifetime experience. In the evening, we decided to immerse ourselves in the world of the capital, Denpasar. This went well for an hour, then Bastian got hungry and rushed me through the streets, In search of a “McDonald's” restaurant. The local food was too uncertain for him, and he had obviously not frequented the hotel's evening buffet sufficiently. We actually found what we were looking for and ate McChicken and hamburgers in the Asian holiday paradise – presumably prepared in cooking pots with a 30-year guarantee.

On the third day, Basti decided to visit the hotel bar and swimming pool, while I took a trip to the artists' village of Ubud, surrounded by rice fields, and got to know the simple life of the Balinese and their unique art forms. I didn't understand why Basti wasn't keen to spend every single free minute with the country and its people. Late in the evening, we turned to the beach cafe together – and talked about everyday life at home, interrupted by occasional digressions like “Man, that looks great!” or “Look at how the sea burns. Is that cool!” At least I learned that Bastian was particularly keen to find out more about his old classmate Maria. “We lost touch when I went to Munich. We could have had something. Maybe we will when I get back.”

Snap. Something broke inside me. I looked at him, looked at the blood-red sea and felt the tears well up in my eyes. The sun of Bali sank, and with it my hope that something could come of Bastian and me – nevertheless, I resolved to enjoy my last night by the sea. I sat on the beach until three in the morning and swore never to delve too deeply into the realm of feelings again.

We spent the last day at the Bali Museum in Denpasar and on a coastal tour – it is incredible how diverse dream beaches can be. In the afternoon, we already had to leave our room. Since our departure was not planned until late in the evening, we took the opportunity to sunbathe and swim in the pool. The hotel's own supervisor prevented us from diving into the ocean waves again: the increasing wind made the waves too high and therefore too dangerous. The rainy season in Bali was threateningly close – but for us, the journey home was even closer. At 10 p.m. local time, we had to leave paradise behind, and when we landed in Munich hours later, dead tired, and arrived at Basti's house a little later, I was left with only three things: a terrible sunburn, a hellish cold, and an indelible memory of a vacation that I shouldn't have to wait too long for again.

After our trip towards the equator, Basti and I stayed in loose contact, but nothing was the same again. He is a travel agent and has since moved back home from Munich, and I work as an editor-in-chief at “Local News Area” – there is no more time for friendship.
Back to everyday life
Tim looked at me thoughtfully: “Actually, a happy ending would have been appropriate at this point.” “Oh yes, that's what I said to myself back then. But as nice as it was, I was and am not lucky when it comes to love. I was not able to stand by my feelings.” Tim wanted to know more: “What would have been different?” “That's the big question.” “You see, I'm happy that you're here. And I hope that it will be anything but a one-time thing that we have such a great weekend together. I don't know if we will develop into great love. It would certainly take a lot of time. But as a friend, I won't let go of you unless you explicitly wish it. Yesterday and today you showed me the way to live. And for that I am, I think, infinitely grateful.” Tim kissed me on the forehead, and a little later we fell asleep.

Sunday morning was reserved for tidying up, and then it was already time to say goodbye because Tim's uncle had announced his visit for the afternoon. After all, someone had to occasionally check that the boy was surviving his parents' and their parents' stay in Hungary unscathed. I dropped him off at his doorstep. “See you tomorrow morning at the company.” Tim looked at me sadly: ‘Then you'll be my boss again.’ ‘No, you'll never be an intern for me again.’ ‘Have you ever considered whether any of the people in the company could be one of us?’ I thought with pleasure of our young staff: ”I haven't just considered, I know that there is at least one more.” “How did you find out?“ ‘A few weeks ago, I took a look at our apprentices’ computer. And someone visited a gay chat room with regularity.” Tim smiled. “Who is it?” “I compared the duty rosters. There are exactly three guys in question, and two of them have a girlfriend, according to their own statements. That leaves one. Suggest a candidate.” Tim laughed. “I don't need to think about that for long. By far the cutest thing that walks around with us is Florian.” Now it was my turn to smile. ”You seem to have more luck in that regard than I do. If neither of the other two is bluffing, then it really is Flo.”

On Monday morning, I entered the LNA office at the usual time and was prepared for the tiresome weekly meeting in which all appointments were discussed with all employees. I entered the conference room, wished everyone a good morning, greeted the boss with a handshake and then did the same with Tim – and received quizzical looks. It was not usual to greet interns in this way. A little later, the so-called reading marathon began, in which the editor on duty recited all the events scheduled for that week. Once these 15 minutes had passed without anyone falling asleep, the boss took over: “If no one has anything else, I have something. Tim, our intern, is getting reinforcements today. For the next four weeks, we will be taking on an intern from the Leipzig School of Journalism. Mr. Renzner, that should be your department. Please take care of it.” He had turned to me for this. I allowed myself a bit of irony towards my superior: ‘When will the thing arrive?’ There was a knock at the door. ‘Probably right now.’ Little boss had the laugh on his side. ‘Yes?’ When our new intern entered the room, my heart stopped for a moment: Benjamin, the handball god of my old school, was standing in front of me.

He, in turn, seemed to be well prepared: “Hello, my name is Benjamin.” Then he grinned at me: “Hi Renzo. Nice to see you.” Once again, I received quizzical looks. Because it is also anything but usual for apprentices or interns to address me by my nickname. After the meeting, I quickly told Tim who had joined our team. However, it was anything but a coincidence: a colleague from our editorial team had met Benjamin at journalism school. When they both mentioned me, it was obvious where Benjamin would do his internship.

During the course of a busy week, I hardly had time to take care of one of the two interns. The only thing I could do for Tim was to often assign him to external appointments with Florian. It was clear to see that working together was good for both of them.

On Thursday evening, Tim came up to me beaming with joy: “I invited Flo to Lake Biethe for the weekend – he accepted. How about you ask Benjamin if he wants to spend a weekend at the lake too? I'm sure you have a lot to talk about.” ‘I should really ask him. It's a good idea.’ Benjamin thought so too: ‘Awesome, finally some relaxation.’ So it was decided: four guys and a weekend at the lake.

Weekend with four
We were really lucky with the weather again; summer was kind to us four vacationers. At first, Florian was of course surprised to meet me at the house on the lake: “Mr. Renzner, what are you doing here?” I couldn't help but laugh: “I'll throw you into the water in a minute and won't let you out if you call me Mr. Renzner again. Don't make me older than I am. We are nothing more than four teenagers here who want to spend an undisturbed weekend. Or do you see yourself as incapable of classifying me as a teenager?” I tried to make my voice sound threatening, but Flo knew immediately how to take it. ‘Okay... you may be the grandpa among us here, but ’teenager' is just about okay. Why don't you show us how sporty you still are? First one in the lake wins.” The outcome of this sprint to the cool water is completely irrelevant to the rest of the story.

We romped around in the water – and at some point Tim whispered to me: ”I think I've fallen in love. With Florian. Are you very angry with me now?” ‘Give me one good reason why I should be angry with you.’ ‘Well, after last weekend...’ ‘We agreed that we would see what comes of it. Have you already come out to Flo, or are you even further along?’ ”Neither, but I think it's only a matter of time.”

That much was obvious. Both were flirting heart-meltingly, and at some point Benjamin sauntered over to me and cautiously asked, “Tell me, the two of them, is there something going on?” “Yes. They just don't know it yet.” “What now?” “We are witnessing the beginning of a long love story this weekend.” Benjamin smiled, “How romantic!”

We looked at the water, both standing on the same sandbank where Tim and I had enjoyed the sunset the previous weekend. The two of them now enjoyed only themselves, looking incredibly deep into each other's eyes. Tim touched Flo's shoulder very gently and then his neck. Their lips approached, and Tim took the initiative, kissing Florian shyly.

Suddenly there was a lot of commotion in the water, and the romantic mood was gone. Florian had pushed Tim quite violently away: “Are you crazy, man?” He really had, because he had been slapped. With hasty swimming movements, the man who had just been kissed so gently headed for the shore. Once there, he grabbed his towel and fled into the house.

Benjamin looked at me questioningly: “And what was that now?” I had the solution immediately: “Either way – a misunderstanding. Either Flo is not gay, or he can't yet be as open about his feelings as Tim can.” “Renzo, the way they were gazing at each other, they're not in seventh heaven, but at least in the 21st. Why the hell doesn't he let himself be kissed?”

Tim had also come out of the water, grabbed his towel and threw himself onto the lounger in tears. “Damn it, I'm doing everything wrong. I shouldn't have kissed him. Man, I ruined it before it even started.”

I went to him, sat down on the bed and gently stroked his wet hair. “I think you just overwhelmed him a bit.” Tim had a different opinion: “But why the hell do I think that a dream guy like that could be gay?” I should never have done it.” I tried to gently nudge him in the right direction: ”No, Tim. The way you think now is the way I've been thinking for the last few years. You did it, and even if he didn't like it, at least now you have clarity. But believe me, he liked it. Whatever made him react that way. I'd be very much mistaken.” ‘I hope you're right. Do you think I should talk to him?’ ”Yes, give him a little more time. Besides, Benji is with him right now.” Tim had to laugh despite his dejection: ‘Benji?’ ‘Yes, that's what Andre used to call him back then. And – besides, it's cute, isn't it?’ Tim nodded, but his thoughts were already back with Flo.

A little later, Benjamin came out of the house and pointed at me: “You go in, the problem is for you.” We both looked at him questioningly, but he just repeated, “Just go in.”

Florian was lying on the couch, looking at me with eyes red from crying, almost fearfully. “Mr. Renzner, I... I'm sorry.” “Look, we agreed. Either you tell Renzo or Tom, but I don't want to hear 'Mr. Renzner' from you anymore. And what are you sorry for?” ‘Well, that out there in the water. They must, I mean you must think that I'm gay now.’ Oh God, that's where the wind was blowing from. ‘What's so bad about that?’ came quietly from the door. Benjamin had entered the room. “Hey guys, we want to start the barbecue soon. Do you want to help us?” I nodded at him: “We'll be right there. Just a moment, okay?” Benjamin nodded, came up to me, kissed me on the cheek and went back outside.

I needed a few moments to collect myself, and then I immediately converted Benji's assist. “You see, it's not really a problem if one boy kisses another. I hope you won't have any problems with it.” He looked at me with wide eyes: ‘I thought you would have problems with it.’ He thought about it, then asked in a barely audible and anxious voice: ‘Are you gay yourself?’ ”Yes, and I suppressed it for far too long. It was only last week that Tim helped me to finally come out. You know, there will always be idiots. But it won't be as bad as it would be if I kept my feelings hidden and suppressed.” Flo immediately understood what I meant: ”I shouldn't have run away. Now Tim will think I don't want anything to do with him.” “Go out, grab Tim, sit down with him in a corner, talk to him. And I'll eat a broomstick if you don't make up with him by dinner time. Benjamin and I will take care of making sure everyone is full afterwards. After all, love makes you hungry.” Flo jumped up, kissed me on the forehead, and headed for the exit: ”Thanks, Renzo.”

There I was, sitting in the house on the lake, and each of the boys had kissed me. Two of them were just starting a relationship. The third Romeo, who had already found his Juliet years ago, was getting the barbecue going on the terrace. Once again, nothing was getting going for me, except maybe my sentimentality. I didn't want to, so I got myself going – in the direction of a delicious smell that unmistakably came from the grill.

I set the table, Benjamin took care of the meat to be grilled – and just as we were finished and about to start eating, Tim and Flo were standing in front of us. They didn't need to say anything. Happiness radiated from their eyes. I went to them and hugged them: “Guys, make the best of it and, above all, don't let it get you down.” Tim laughed: “But for that to happen, I have to be full.”

Amorous glances, a sunset over the lake and sausages sizzling on the barbecue – what could be better? Well, I could think of something. Tim and Flo obviously had their own ideas on the subject, but since they didn't want to just leave us sitting there, they suggested a game of Lügenmax. The tasks during the game were clearly distributed: While Tim and Flo proved the truth of the saying “bad luck in the game, good luck in love”, Benji and I made the dice cups glow. Something else was glowing in the eyes of the newly in love, which they only had for each other. After Flo had lost the fourth round in a row, the two decided to go to bed. Benji looked after them: “Sleep well - and don't do anything stupid.” He looked at me thoughtfully: “The first night is always supposed to be the most unforgettable.” “I've heard that too, but I don't think that the two of them will and want to experience everything tonight. They still have so much time.” Benji nodded. ‘You're right. So what do we do now?’ ‘There's still a good bottle of wine in there. Or would you prefer a beer?’ ‘Let's have a beer.’ We made ourselves comfortable on the terrace and started talking.

Benjamin talked about his vocational training and his decision to postpone his journalism training. “Do you still play handball?” He shook his head. “I was on my way into the regional league team of VfL Bad Schwartau.” I interrupted him: “It wasn't good enough for THW Kiel?” He laughed painfully. “I was at the final training session in Schwartau, and the coach would have taken me. A stupid duel, I twisted my ankle badly. Double cruciate ligament rupture. The doctor advised me to stop competitive sports. And then I decided to go back to my home country and retrain as a journalist in Leipzig so that I could at least report on handball.” “Did Julia at least help you through those difficult weeks and months? Are you still together at all?” Benji shook his head imperceptibly. ”When I went up to the coast back then, it didn't last three days, then it was over.” “I always thought you were the dream couple, who found eternal happiness at a young age.” ‘Oh, you know, Renzo, it always depends on how you paint the facade of a crumbling house. And with a fresh coat of paint, a dump is no less dilapidated.’ ‘And now? Are you single, or is there someone new?’ ”Nah, happily single ever since.”

Since we had already established that there wasn't much news from me, I continued with my questions. “Do you still have a connection to Andre?” “Yes, he still works as a lecturer for some private training academy, and he is still looking for the happiness of his life.” “That's probably the one thing he has in common with us.” Benji looked at me inquiringly: ‘So you haven't found anything either?’ I looked at him sadly: ‘I'm miles away from it.’ He took his glass, drank a sip and then said to me: ”You may be much closer than you think.”

I was a bit taken aback. “Yes, but they found their luck, and unfortunately they missed out on digging up mine at the same time.” Benjamin took the time to explain it to me in more detail: “You know, when I came into the room earlier and kissed you, I didn't just do it to nudge Flo in the right direction. I also did it because I wanted to kiss you.”

I didn't let go, not wanting to understand: “You'll have to explain that to me in a little more detail.” Benji did that too. “You know, I actually felt attracted to you back then. You were somehow different from the others. But I never dared to talk to you. I mean, you're two years older, after all. And you were even then. I thought of you from time to time during my training in Schwartau, but I never thought of calling you. Somehow I always suppressed it. Well, and when it came to this happy encounter with Claudia from the LNA editorial office in Leipzig at journalism school, I knew immediately how to re-establish contact. But it was only perfect for me after you invited me here.”

Somehow I was close to being overwhelmed. “How did you know I was gay?” “I didn't know at all until today. After you took such good care of the two of them, I suspected it and hoped for it in any case. After you took the kiss so well, I was relatively sure. And just now you have given me the hundred percent confirmation.”

I told him briefly that I had also had a crush on him and on Felix and Daniel at the time, but that his relationship with Julia quickly put me off. “You know, Julia was also a bit of a protective shield for me. I really liked her, but I never loved her. You were on my mind, but somehow I didn't think I had a chance. My first love was actually Felix, but you know: he was unapproachable. I never saw him have a real relationship.” ‘Do you know what became of him?’ ”Only that he has a job at Mercedes in Stuttgart. Nothing more. And before you ask me: Daniel lives in Cologne and has probably completed an apprenticeship as a chef there, with subsequent employment.”

I looked at him, and he looked at me. “Benji, I think we've talked enough about other people for now. Tonight is for us. Now it's our turn. You said you wanted to kiss me earlier. Do you still want to kiss me?”

He pulled me over to him and our lips met. We sank into a kiss that didn't want to end and transported us either to paradise or to cloud nine. The night of the happy couples had begun.

Past and future
In the meantime, Local News Area is firmly in “our” hands. Benji heads the sports desk, Flo will soon finish his training and then get a permanent job as a media designer, while Tim, with his A-levels in his pocket, will start a training program with a parallel course of study.

Recently, Benji, Andre and I were invited to the wedding of Marc and Bianca in Braunschweig. Sometime late in the evening, my very first love whispered softly in my ear: “What we have experienced can never be taken away from us. Be as happy as I am.” “I already am, my friend.” We hugged briefly and knew that our shared past would be unforgettable, but also unspoken. Only Andre and Tim knew about our little secret.

The house at the lake retained a very special meaning for all four of us, of course. It was there that our foursome had begun, both Tim and Florian's relationship and Benjamin and my love. It was there that we had all started to live anew. The time we had wasted no longer counted. Our happiness lay and lies in the future, inextricably linked to the house at Lake Biethe