07-11-2025, 03:11 PM
I'm lying alone on the beach and the sun is shining on my body.
Alone? That seems to have been a mistake, because someone is snuggling up against me from the left.
Oh, that must be my girlfriend. I slowly turn to the left, keeping my eyes closed so that I can give myself completely to her caresses. Her hands gently caress my body, touching me in places that no one has ever seen on the afternoon program of the German television channel ZDF. Slowly, I begin to explore her body, gently, very gently, making my way to her most intimate spot...
But, oh my God! That doesn't feel feminine at all down there. I can clearly feel in her pants what she surely felt with me: a not-to-be-scorned bulge...
Wait a minute! A bulge?? I open my eyes jerkily and look into the smiling face... of a tanned boy!
Oh my God! A boy?! Completely confused, I look around and suddenly see the horrified faces of my family and schoolmates.
Suddenly one of them shouts: “Well, now look at this fag!”
No, it's not just anyone, it's my own father saying this. It seems to me that all these people are smiling contemptuously at me while they surround us both in a semicircle and stare at us.
I really don't understand the world anymore, how did I end up in this desperate situation? I have always tried so hard to keep my little “weakness” secret from everyone, but suddenly everyone seems to know, but what seems even more important to me is the question of where the good-looking boy next to me came from all of a sudden. I am finally so perplexed that the only thing I can still perceive is the monotonous humming of the sea.
Wait a minute! The humming of the sea?
...
I start, bathed in sweat, and look around...
The sand, the sea and everything else that could in any way convey a holiday mood has disappeared. I am back, and I almost have to sigh with relief, in my own room.
The only sound that reaches my ears is the deafening, bloodcurdling, but at the same time infinitely relieving buzzing of my alarm clock.
Phew, that was probably all just a bad, bad dream.
I need a few moments to recover, but then my thoughts are almost back in order.
“Damn it,” I think to myself, ”why the hell is this crappy alarm clock going off at seven o'clock on a Saturday morning?”
At the same time, however, I am also relieved.
Firstly, that this sentence only took place in my thoughts and my mother doesn't have to take note of my extensive repertoire of “expletives” (to use her expression for it). Oh yes, you can't joke with my mother about something like that, even my usually loud-mouthed little sister Sabine knows that.
Secondly, I am quite glad that the alarm clock has woken me up from this nightmare before anything worse could happen. Although, when I think about it, the alarm clock wouldn't have been necessary for that, because who doesn't know that you always wake up at the most terrible moment of the dream anyway.
Sighing, I decide that my need for my most dreaded fantasies to come true is covered for the next few decades and finally get up with a heavy heart.
I can't remember ever getting up so early on a day off from school, and inwardly curse myself for it, but I much prefer a certain tiredness to the danger of ending up in such a dream again.
To wake up for good, I decide to take a thorough shower first. While such a “showering” process can often take quite a long time for me because I really enjoy letting the hot water flow over my body, today I get it over with much faster, deeply immersed in thought.
All of a sudden, all my unresolved problems have come back to me. In the last few weeks, I had repeatedly tried to distract myself from all of this by doing a variety of things, but now it all seems closer than ever.
I've actually realized for some time that I'm more likely to stare at boys than girls, where “stare” can be taken quite literally, but nobody but me knows that yet. It's been hard enough for me to even admit it to myself, let alone tell anyone else.
I can already imagine what kind of words my nice classmates would have for me. You would think that tenth-grade high school students would be beyond the age when gays are simply referred to as “perverted ass-fuckers,” but somehow I doubt it when I look at some of the guys there.
Not least because I felt so completely alone in my situation, I was by far the biggest proponent of an Internet connection in my family, which we finally got last year for Christmas. Or rather, I got it, because the computer has been in my room ever since, although the other family members are also allowed to surf the Internet from time to time with my kind permission.
The other family members are my little sister, who has already been mentioned, my big brother Jonas, who is currently on a so-called study trip to Prague with his class (whereby “study trip” could just as easily be replaced by “booze trip”, but that's only a side note), and of course my parents.
It seems that even my initially skeptical mother has now become friends with the big, wide world of the Internet.
But that would probably change again abruptly if she knew what sites I usually surf when I feel unobserved. But I don't have to explain that to anyone in more detail, I guess I'm not the only one.
When I'm done dressing, there is still a heavenly silence in the house. You really appreciate something like that when you're used to constantly hearing your little sister's squeaky voice. On a sudden impulse, I decide to do my parents a favor and treat them to a first-class breakfast. Well, at least as excellent as my domestic skills allow.
Half an hour later, however, I am really pleased with the result of my efforts; the kitchen now smells wonderfully of fresh coffee and croissants. Apparently, my parents have also noticed this scent, because a little later I hear them coming down the stairs.
“Wow, what did we do to deserve this?“ That was my mother, who is visibly delighted with this surprise.
“Well, I just wanted to do something nice for you guys, since I usually cause you so much grief.” The broad grin on my face is hard to miss as I strike exactly the tone of voice my mother uses when she's scolding me again.
“All right, Marius, the show's over, no one's bought the little golden boy act for ten years anyway. What do you need money for this time?” Ah, I might have known that my father would have to pull my leg again.
“Well, Dad, if that's what you think of me, I'd better go.” I say with mock seriousness in my voice and move slowly, very slowly, towards the door. But as I expected, my father intercepts me before I get there and hugs me.
“Hey, I didn't mean any harm. Of course we are happy when our otherwise useless son finally takes care of the household. Besides, you're the only one who knows exactly what we're about to eat here if we end up in the hospital with food poisoning tomorrow.”
Infected by the laughter of my esteemed parents, I too can no longer hold back my laughter and my mood improves instantly.
For the next half hour, all my problems are forgotten, and we have breakfast together in peace, thanks in no small part to the absence of my lovely little sister.
Finally, my father leans back and groans, saying, “Man, I haven't eaten this well in ages,” which earns him an angry look from my mother, who, however, agrees with him the next moment: “I think we've discovered a real talent of yours here, and believe me, many women want a man who can also help around the house.”
Oh dear, that hit home. All of a sudden, everything is back, the dream appears clearly before my eyes, especially the horrified looks on my parents' faces. My mother seems to immediately realize that something is wrong with me and looks at me with concern: “Hey Marius, if I said something wrong, I'm sorry!”
I look up, somewhat disturbed, and stutter: “No, no, it's okay. Something just got stuck in my throat. Please excuse me, I'm going up to my room!”
I quickly leave my baffled parents in the kitchen and run upstairs. And yes, something did get stuck in my throat!
These are exactly the situations I fear most: either a reference to my later, oh-so-happy family life with at least 15 cute, cuddly children or these constant questions about whether I finally have a girlfriend.
My best friend Sascha is particularly fond of annoying me with the second point, especially since he himself turns up with “a new one” at least every few weeks. Well, he's not that bad-looking with his hazel eyes and almost black hair. Still, I could never fall in love with him, he's just my best friend and besides, he's definitely “from the other side of the tracks.”
I must have been lying on my bed for quite a long time, because suddenly the doorbell rings. At first I jump, but then I look at the clock and realize that it must be Sascha, we were supposed to meet at 11 a.m. to study math.
Well, of course, who else would ring the doorbell so insistently as if the devil himself were after him. I rush downstairs, throw open the door and look into the grinning face of my best friend.
“Well, you little all-round genius, ready to initiate an illiterate into the great secrets of mathematics?”
That had to happen again! He just can't stop teasing me about my good grades, but is it my fault that my performance is always quite good despite my laziness?
“Come in, you weirdo!” is all I can think of and run up to my room with him.
For the next half hour, we work hard on what teachers like to call “calculus.” But then what usually happens when we study together happens: We are only too happy to be distracted and eventually we end up together in front of my computer. It's strange how time always seems to pass at a snail's pace when we're studying, while it seems to fly by when we're on the computer. Suddenly I feel an eerie pressure on my bladder, which is probably a little too much coffee this morning.
When I return to my room with a relieved bladder, Sascha is critically eyeing one of my disks.
Oh my God! This is not just any disk, but THE zip disk on which I have stored the “successes” of my exploration tours through the Internet.
So I run around my room like a madman and snatch the disk out of Sascha's hand. He looks at me rather puzzled at first and then says: “Hey Marius, what's gotten into you, I didn't want to steal the disc from you.”
“It's none of your business, it's my private business!” Great, I congratulate myself inwardly, what a diplomatic and, above all, unobtrusive answer.
“What's the matter, Marius? You should know very well that I would never interfere with your private things. Come on, you've got something!”
Even while he is speaking, he looks me intensely in the eye.
Damn, if only I didn't blush so easily!
“Hey, I thought we were friends. Come on, you can tell me!”
The undertone in his voice is almost demanding, so that the request has become an order. Very slowly, I begin to speak, not without throwing a last desperate glance at the ceiling: “Um, Sascha, well, there is something that...”
Alone? That seems to have been a mistake, because someone is snuggling up against me from the left.
Oh, that must be my girlfriend. I slowly turn to the left, keeping my eyes closed so that I can give myself completely to her caresses. Her hands gently caress my body, touching me in places that no one has ever seen on the afternoon program of the German television channel ZDF. Slowly, I begin to explore her body, gently, very gently, making my way to her most intimate spot...
But, oh my God! That doesn't feel feminine at all down there. I can clearly feel in her pants what she surely felt with me: a not-to-be-scorned bulge...
Wait a minute! A bulge?? I open my eyes jerkily and look into the smiling face... of a tanned boy!
Oh my God! A boy?! Completely confused, I look around and suddenly see the horrified faces of my family and schoolmates.
Suddenly one of them shouts: “Well, now look at this fag!”
No, it's not just anyone, it's my own father saying this. It seems to me that all these people are smiling contemptuously at me while they surround us both in a semicircle and stare at us.
I really don't understand the world anymore, how did I end up in this desperate situation? I have always tried so hard to keep my little “weakness” secret from everyone, but suddenly everyone seems to know, but what seems even more important to me is the question of where the good-looking boy next to me came from all of a sudden. I am finally so perplexed that the only thing I can still perceive is the monotonous humming of the sea.
Wait a minute! The humming of the sea?
...
I start, bathed in sweat, and look around...
The sand, the sea and everything else that could in any way convey a holiday mood has disappeared. I am back, and I almost have to sigh with relief, in my own room.
The only sound that reaches my ears is the deafening, bloodcurdling, but at the same time infinitely relieving buzzing of my alarm clock.
Phew, that was probably all just a bad, bad dream.
I need a few moments to recover, but then my thoughts are almost back in order.
“Damn it,” I think to myself, ”why the hell is this crappy alarm clock going off at seven o'clock on a Saturday morning?”
At the same time, however, I am also relieved.
Firstly, that this sentence only took place in my thoughts and my mother doesn't have to take note of my extensive repertoire of “expletives” (to use her expression for it). Oh yes, you can't joke with my mother about something like that, even my usually loud-mouthed little sister Sabine knows that.
Secondly, I am quite glad that the alarm clock has woken me up from this nightmare before anything worse could happen. Although, when I think about it, the alarm clock wouldn't have been necessary for that, because who doesn't know that you always wake up at the most terrible moment of the dream anyway.
Sighing, I decide that my need for my most dreaded fantasies to come true is covered for the next few decades and finally get up with a heavy heart.
I can't remember ever getting up so early on a day off from school, and inwardly curse myself for it, but I much prefer a certain tiredness to the danger of ending up in such a dream again.
To wake up for good, I decide to take a thorough shower first. While such a “showering” process can often take quite a long time for me because I really enjoy letting the hot water flow over my body, today I get it over with much faster, deeply immersed in thought.
All of a sudden, all my unresolved problems have come back to me. In the last few weeks, I had repeatedly tried to distract myself from all of this by doing a variety of things, but now it all seems closer than ever.
I've actually realized for some time that I'm more likely to stare at boys than girls, where “stare” can be taken quite literally, but nobody but me knows that yet. It's been hard enough for me to even admit it to myself, let alone tell anyone else.
I can already imagine what kind of words my nice classmates would have for me. You would think that tenth-grade high school students would be beyond the age when gays are simply referred to as “perverted ass-fuckers,” but somehow I doubt it when I look at some of the guys there.
Not least because I felt so completely alone in my situation, I was by far the biggest proponent of an Internet connection in my family, which we finally got last year for Christmas. Or rather, I got it, because the computer has been in my room ever since, although the other family members are also allowed to surf the Internet from time to time with my kind permission.
The other family members are my little sister, who has already been mentioned, my big brother Jonas, who is currently on a so-called study trip to Prague with his class (whereby “study trip” could just as easily be replaced by “booze trip”, but that's only a side note), and of course my parents.
It seems that even my initially skeptical mother has now become friends with the big, wide world of the Internet.
But that would probably change again abruptly if she knew what sites I usually surf when I feel unobserved. But I don't have to explain that to anyone in more detail, I guess I'm not the only one.
When I'm done dressing, there is still a heavenly silence in the house. You really appreciate something like that when you're used to constantly hearing your little sister's squeaky voice. On a sudden impulse, I decide to do my parents a favor and treat them to a first-class breakfast. Well, at least as excellent as my domestic skills allow.
Half an hour later, however, I am really pleased with the result of my efforts; the kitchen now smells wonderfully of fresh coffee and croissants. Apparently, my parents have also noticed this scent, because a little later I hear them coming down the stairs.
“Wow, what did we do to deserve this?“ That was my mother, who is visibly delighted with this surprise.
“Well, I just wanted to do something nice for you guys, since I usually cause you so much grief.” The broad grin on my face is hard to miss as I strike exactly the tone of voice my mother uses when she's scolding me again.
“All right, Marius, the show's over, no one's bought the little golden boy act for ten years anyway. What do you need money for this time?” Ah, I might have known that my father would have to pull my leg again.
“Well, Dad, if that's what you think of me, I'd better go.” I say with mock seriousness in my voice and move slowly, very slowly, towards the door. But as I expected, my father intercepts me before I get there and hugs me.
“Hey, I didn't mean any harm. Of course we are happy when our otherwise useless son finally takes care of the household. Besides, you're the only one who knows exactly what we're about to eat here if we end up in the hospital with food poisoning tomorrow.”
Infected by the laughter of my esteemed parents, I too can no longer hold back my laughter and my mood improves instantly.
For the next half hour, all my problems are forgotten, and we have breakfast together in peace, thanks in no small part to the absence of my lovely little sister.
Finally, my father leans back and groans, saying, “Man, I haven't eaten this well in ages,” which earns him an angry look from my mother, who, however, agrees with him the next moment: “I think we've discovered a real talent of yours here, and believe me, many women want a man who can also help around the house.”
Oh dear, that hit home. All of a sudden, everything is back, the dream appears clearly before my eyes, especially the horrified looks on my parents' faces. My mother seems to immediately realize that something is wrong with me and looks at me with concern: “Hey Marius, if I said something wrong, I'm sorry!”
I look up, somewhat disturbed, and stutter: “No, no, it's okay. Something just got stuck in my throat. Please excuse me, I'm going up to my room!”
I quickly leave my baffled parents in the kitchen and run upstairs. And yes, something did get stuck in my throat!
These are exactly the situations I fear most: either a reference to my later, oh-so-happy family life with at least 15 cute, cuddly children or these constant questions about whether I finally have a girlfriend.
My best friend Sascha is particularly fond of annoying me with the second point, especially since he himself turns up with “a new one” at least every few weeks. Well, he's not that bad-looking with his hazel eyes and almost black hair. Still, I could never fall in love with him, he's just my best friend and besides, he's definitely “from the other side of the tracks.”
I must have been lying on my bed for quite a long time, because suddenly the doorbell rings. At first I jump, but then I look at the clock and realize that it must be Sascha, we were supposed to meet at 11 a.m. to study math.
Well, of course, who else would ring the doorbell so insistently as if the devil himself were after him. I rush downstairs, throw open the door and look into the grinning face of my best friend.
“Well, you little all-round genius, ready to initiate an illiterate into the great secrets of mathematics?”
That had to happen again! He just can't stop teasing me about my good grades, but is it my fault that my performance is always quite good despite my laziness?
“Come in, you weirdo!” is all I can think of and run up to my room with him.
For the next half hour, we work hard on what teachers like to call “calculus.” But then what usually happens when we study together happens: We are only too happy to be distracted and eventually we end up together in front of my computer. It's strange how time always seems to pass at a snail's pace when we're studying, while it seems to fly by when we're on the computer. Suddenly I feel an eerie pressure on my bladder, which is probably a little too much coffee this morning.
When I return to my room with a relieved bladder, Sascha is critically eyeing one of my disks.
Oh my God! This is not just any disk, but THE zip disk on which I have stored the “successes” of my exploration tours through the Internet.
So I run around my room like a madman and snatch the disk out of Sascha's hand. He looks at me rather puzzled at first and then says: “Hey Marius, what's gotten into you, I didn't want to steal the disc from you.”
“It's none of your business, it's my private business!” Great, I congratulate myself inwardly, what a diplomatic and, above all, unobtrusive answer.
“What's the matter, Marius? You should know very well that I would never interfere with your private things. Come on, you've got something!”
Even while he is speaking, he looks me intensely in the eye.
Damn, if only I didn't blush so easily!
“Hey, I thought we were friends. Come on, you can tell me!”
The undertone in his voice is almost demanding, so that the request has become an order. Very slowly, I begin to speak, not without throwing a last desperate glance at the ceiling: “Um, Sascha, well, there is something that...”