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When I met Erik, I was just 15 years old and my summer holidays had just begun. He and his family had moved into a house on our street. His parents had both accepted jobs at the university, so it wasn't long before they had become friends with my parents, as my mother also worked at the university. At first, I wasn't thrilled when my parents wanted me to go along to the visits to make friends with their son – not because I didn't like the Mangolds, but because I didn't think much of arranged friendships. However, it is a phenomenon that parents who are friends also assume that their children like each other. Ultimately, though, it was also my own insecurities that kept me from wanting to do it: What if we had nothing to say to each other, if we had different interests or simply didn't like each other? I would have had to make a good impression despite the bad game, or refuse to do it at all – which might ultimately have strained my parents‘ friendship. So I went along with it and went to a barbecue at the Mangolds’.
I cleaned myself up, after all I wanted to make a good impression. Besides, my parents always made a point of ensuring that their son looked decent when we were invited somewhere. It was a warm summer's day, so I opted for a pair of jeans and a matching shirt. My parents brought wine as a gift, and my father gave me two beers, which I was supposed to offer to Erik as a peer.
I already knew Erik's parents from visits to our house. They were extremely nice, very educated, but so were my parents, and obviously very funny, because my parents and they always laughed a lot.
When we arrived, we went directly to the back of the house to the garden. My parents already knew their way around and were apparently so familiar with the Mangolds that ringing the doorbell was no longer necessary. When we entered the garden, Mrs Mangold was just putting the meat on the grill. Her husband greeted my parents and then me, pointing to the two beers in my hand:
‘Hello Julius, you're not trying to seduce my son into drinking, are you?’
I looked at my father reproachfully; after all, it was his idea. But before he could react, Mr Mangold put his hand on my shoulder and let me know that it was just a joke. We greeted his wife and Mr Mangold said that Erik was a little further back in the garden and that I could go and get him as dinner would be served soon anyway.
I started looking for him in the really beautiful and quite large garden and found Erik on a lounger by the pool. He seemed to be basking in the evening sun and had his eyes closed. So as not to startle him when I suddenly stood next to him, I made myself noticeable from a distance with a ‘hello’.
He opened his eyes, put on his glasses and looked in my direction: ‘Hello. I assume you are Julius! Did they give you beer to soften me up?’
‘So to speak,’ I replied, ‘my father thought it would be a nice touch to break the ice.’
‘Arranged friendships, only parents would think of that,‘ he said, shaking his head.
’Exactly,’ I said vigorously, sitting down on a lounger next to him and handing him a beer.
We imagined how our parents sat together in conspiracy and made plans for us to become friends. We were annoyed that they would practically force us to get along well and made fun of the fact that something like that would never work. Without noticing, we became friends that evening.
Even our parents were surprised. Mine, because I usually found it very difficult to make friends, and Erik's parents, because he was usually more of a quiet type. That evening, however, we didn't stop talking. We talked about how we imagined our lives in the future, which countries we wanted to visit, told each other about things we had experienced and got lost in stories about our favourite books, comics and music. Our parents started to laugh at us, because we were still complaining loudly about how nonsensical the attempt was to establish a friendship. The evening flew by and when we went home, it was clear that I had a new friend.
We spent the following days together almost non-stop. We rode our bikes around, I showed him my favourite places, we went for ice cream. But most of the time we spent in the garden and at the pool of the Mangolds. Often we just lay on the loungers, talking or each reading a book. Sometimes one of us would read to the other and then we would talk about it.
Erik had an incredible sense of humour. He was never caustic or malicious. The way he told a story just made me laugh. We got along incredibly well, to the delight of our parents. I was actually only at home to sleep, even at mealtimes I stayed with the Mangolds. At first, my parents were still uncomfortable, but Erik's parents assured me that it was perfectly okay. After all, both sets of parents had to work, and at least we were not alone all day. However, my parents insisted on paying for our soft drinks and ice cream, so we didn't really lack for anything.
We really spent a lot of time with books. It may have been unusual to read so much at our age, but that's what connected us. We also started to read to each other more and more. For me, I can definitely say that I loved listening to him. His voice, his charisma, just his whole way had something about it that made me feel comfortable. There was a hammock in the garden and sometimes one of us would read while the other lay in the hammock, gently rocking. It was not uncommon for the other one to fall asleep. Not because the reading was boring, but because at that moment you were completely at peace with yourself and could simply switch off.
One day, we couldn't agree on who would read and who would get to sleep in the hammock. We didn't argue about it, actually we never argued – differences of opinion always led to discussions and the struggle for the best argument and usually ended with a lot of laughter at ourselves and our doggedness for some topics. The question of the hammock that day also led to one argument after another. It was enumerated who had read when and how often and who had been in it and how often. And Erik's right as the owner was weighed against my right as a guest. At some point Erik offered a compromise: he would read voluntarily if he could come with me in the hammock – it was big enough. That was a compromise I liked, after all I didn't suffer any loss from it. I didn't mind having to share the hammock; after all, I liked Erik and I didn't mind lying close to him; after all, we had touched each other several times while swimming or when applying sunscreen to each other's backs.
We both lay down in the hammock, inevitably very close. I laid my head on Erik's shoulder and listened to him reading to me. Eventually I fell asleep and Erik must have fallen asleep too. When his father found us, we were lying asleep close together, my head on his shoulder and his head laid on mine and both of us only dressed in swimming trunks. We didn't notice how he found us and saw us lying there. What we did notice, however, was the cold water from the garden hose. We jumped up and hit each other several times in shock. When we finally managed to get out of the hammock, we saw Erik's father walking towards the terrace and saying, ‘Julius, your parents will be here soon and dinner will be ready.’
We were still a bit shell-shocked, after all, we were woken up with cold water. We dried ourselves and put on something comfortable. When we came to dinner, my parents were already there. The conversations suddenly stopped and it became quiet. Without knowing why, we were the centre of attention and exposed to the broad grins on our parents' faces.
When we were sitting together, Erik and I talked and our parents talked to each other. This time, however, we were constantly asked questions: How are we? How was our day? What did we do? etc.
It was weird, but parents are often weird, so we answered. There wasn't much to tell anyway; after all, we had done what we had been doing for the last few days. After dinner, I had two beers and wanted to go back to the pool with Erik when his father said, ‘I told you he wanted to seduce my boy.’ I looked around and grinned at him because he was making the beer joke again. But it wasn't that funny, and I was surprised that my parents and Erik's mother started laughing out loud.
When my parents and I were at home, my mother took me aside. She said she wanted to talk to me briefly before I went to bed:
‘You and Erik seem to get along well,’ she said, more like a question than a statement.
"Yes we do.’
‘That's nice. I just want to know what you think of him.’ My mother sounded almost worried when she asked me that, somehow our parents were acting strangely. But I noticed that we actually hadn't talked about it since the night I met Erik. I took it to mean that my parents now wanted to know if it was really as bad as I had initially made out about meeting someone new.
‘He's funny.’ I paused. Of course he was funny, but suddenly I thought it sounded stupid to just describe him as funny. “You know,” I turned to my mother again, ’most guys my age are exhausting. They're show-offs, they always want to be the best, and they're always bragging about how great they are or they're just plain rude. Erik is different. He is smart, he is friendly, he has a sense of humour – I feel like I can just be myself with him and he seems to like me."
My mother smiled, kissed me on the forehead and wished me good night. As I lay in bed, I thought about the day and the conversation with my mother. The question she asked me and my answer to it resonated. Of course I also had other friends – from school – but we hardly did anything during the holidays. It also quickly became too much for me when the others started to outdo each other with stories, or when they talked about sports and motorbikes. I was a dreamer, lost myself in books and music, and didn't chase after every rock like the others. I constantly had the feeling that I had to prove myself, but I didn't feel like it and that was exhausting. In Erik's presence, it was different. I didn't have to prove anything to him, I could talk about things that really interested me and the things he told me interested me – he interested me. I fell asleep at some point, thinking about this.
The next day was different. I was unsure. I realised that I had thoroughly enjoyed the last few days, but I didn't know why. I didn't do anything special, I just basically lay around all day, read and spent the day with Erik. I started to observe Erik, his gestures, his facial expressions, how he talks – I was still thinking about my mother's question and now I wanted to answer it myself: What do I actually think of Erik? And why?
I found it fascinating the enthusiasm with which he talked about things that interested him. His eyes would light up and his excitement was infectious. I could listen to him for hours just looking at him. His energy and his smile inspired me. But the nicest thing was his manner. He was not fixated on himself, but always interested in my opinion. He could lose himself in stories and only now did I notice that he often sought my company. At first it was just small gestures: a hand brushing mine or sitting close to me so that our knees touched. I think it was no different the days before, but that day it just stood out to me.
We were lying in the grass and he wanted to show me a new comic that he liked. He put his head on my stomach and held the comic so that he and I could look at it at the same time. This time, though, I was less interested in what he was telling me. I just watched him: his gentle hands turning the pages, his red lips moving as he read, his ears that stood out slightly, his fuzzy hair that tickled my stomach slightly and his belly that rose when he laughed. I still didn't know exactly why I liked him – I just knew that I liked him. At some point, he realised that my mind was not on the comic. He turned his head to me and looked at me: ‘Hey, are you even listening?’
‘Er, what?’ I stammered, a little startled.
‘You seem distracted. Is everything okay?’
‘I was just thinking,’ I said, not even lying, but also somewhat evasively.
‘What about?"
I tried to avoid it again and just told him that I had another conversation with my mother yesterday. I didn't lie about that either, but I didn't mention that it was about him. I suggested jumping into the pool and got up without waiting for an answer. We romped around, splashed each other with water and were very silly overall.
The day went by quickly and at some point I had forgotten the thoughts of the morning again. It was only when I was lying alone in bed that evening that they came back to me. I let the day pass in review and thought of that moment in the grass again. His gentle hands came to mind again, his ears and his lips – I stroked my own belly where his head had been that morning and my hand inevitably moved further down.
Of course, this wasn't the first time I had pleasured myself – after all, I was fifteen – but it was the first time that my thoughts had become specific. Before that, I hadn't thought about much; I just did it because it was fun. This time was different, I thought of Erik. I traced the contours of his body in my mind, I tried to recall his scent and I thought of every inch of naked skin I had seen so far. When I was done, I fell asleep from exhaustion without even cleaning myself up. It was only when I woke up the next morning that I realised what I had done. I had thought of a boy while jerking off. My emotions were all over the place. I caught myself grinning broadly when I thought of him and what he triggered in me. But in the next moment I was panicking because I also knew that it was not normal. I hardly ever talked about this topic with friends from school, but when I did, it was always about women or girls and I also knew what it was called when you weren't interested in girls – and that it was not a compliment among teenagers.
That day, I didn't go to Erik's. I called and told him that I wasn't feeling well that day and would rather spend the day at home. I tried to distract myself, but it didn't really work. I read a book and after just one page I couldn't remember what I had just read. I watched a film, but I got restless and couldn't follow the plot. I started to feel really bad. The only thing that helped was to darken the window and to hide in bed with music on my headphones. My mother only found out that I was not over there when she got a call from Erik's parents. She came into my room after I didn't respond to the knock. I avoided her questions about what was going on. I truthfully said that I wasn't feeling well, but she wouldn't let it go. She knew me. When I was sick, I didn't hide away, but hung around in the living room on the sofa and wanted everyone to take care of me. But this? This was a new behaviour that visibly worried my mother. She sat down on the bed with me and carefully tried to find out if something had happened, and assured me that I could talk to her about anything. I just stammered incoherent sentences because I didn't want to come out with the language. But it also burned on my soul. The pressure was released when I began to weep bitterly. I sobbed like a baby on my mother's shoulder, who just held me tight and told me to let it out. When I had recovered somewhat, she offered to get me an ice cream. I wasn't nine anymore, but somehow it was exactly what I needed right now.
When my mother went downstairs again, she called Erik's parents and wanted to know if something had happened the day before and if we had had a fight. She told them that I had been crying and she didn't know why. They asked Erik, who of course had no explanation for it either, but he insisted on checking on me.
There was a knock on my door and I said ‘come in’, assuming that my mother was bringing me the ice cream, even though it had taken a very long time. When Erik suddenly stood in the room, I was shocked. I was still crying. I quickly wiped the last tears from my face and acted casual when Erik turned to me:
‘I brought us some ice cream, but I don't know if vampires eat ice cream,’ Erik said, alluding to the darkened room.
I couldn't resist his smile and had to start smiling myself, even though his face showed a hint of concern.
‘As long as it's not garlic ice cream...’ I replied meekly and held out my arm for the ice cream.
He gave it to me and sat down next to me on the bed. With our backs against the wall, we ate our ice cream in silence. At some point, Erik broke the silence: “You were crying!?” It sounded less like a question and more like a statement. I didn't know what to say, so I remained silent. His presence made me nervous and calmed me at the same time. Once again, he started a conversation: ‘Did I do something wrong?’
I looked at him in shock. Did he really think HE had done something wrong?
‘You... you didn't do anything wrong,’ I stammered. “I have, am... I don't know either.”
He put his hand on mine, obviously trying to encourage me. I looked at him and into his beautiful eyes and then...
...then I just kissed him.