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It was after midnight when I entered the disco "Z." The air was already a mixture of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke. The sound hit your chest, and the three table dancers in the circling spotlights were a real eye-catcher. Founded four years ago from the ruins of an old cinema, "Z" had become the weekly meeting place for those seeking gay or lesbian love or enjoying the one they had already found. This was where people met, cultivated contacts in various ways, or showcased their respective standards of living, from ordinary to upscale. The results of days of muscle-building torture were just as openly displayed as the disappointments were tearfully revealed when the chosen one had long since moved on to someone else. Love and hate were closely intertwined, and fueled by gossip, they sometimes took on grotesque forms.
Those who came here wanted to escape their everyday lives for a few hours or were looking for their "Mr. Right." However, those who were content with hasty sexual gratification were also among them. Those who believed they had no outward chance viewed it with covetous eyes. All in all, a place of vanity, of the longing for fulfillment, with the occasional accompanying disappointment. Those who claimed a seat at the bar for hours were more likely to be here to observe the exuberant and, with each passing hour, boundlessly heated activities of the lesbians and gays. The mostly older men who occupied the bar stools to my right and left clutched their glasses, stared into space, or smoked wordlessly.
I knew the names of a few of them and maybe even a little bit of information about what they did for a living or their particular sexual preferences, but mostly only by hearsay. Only when the alcohol loosened them up and made them more courageous did they emerge from their lethargy and start talking. I didn't reject their presence, not at all. I just didn't like it when they chatted up me while drunk and tried to protect me from some kind of danger. I did believe that life was a never-ending learning process—writing and arithmetic aren't innate—but my sex life didn't require any additional lessons, or worse, in the fatherly way.
I ordered a tonic water and looked around at the dazzling group. The cheerful, relaxed atmosphere and at times drugged-up exuberance didn't rub off on me this time. I knew some of the mostly half-naked boys and guys personally, or even just from the beach, where we occasionally played volleyball together. We nodded to each other and that was it. Outwardly putting on a friendly smile, I thought of some of the boys: what weirdos, big shots, or just plain assholes. It seemed to me that some of the guys practically had season tickets to this place. Although, or perhaps precisely because of, the fact that I had avoided the "Z" for the past few months, the guys were becoming increasingly more effeminate.
The outfits were more garish and the makeup heavier. Additional fitness and, for those who could afford it, surgical interventions were supposed to slow down time and prolong their youth. The financially well-off gay men bought the affection of the boyish guys and kept them company for hours. In return, the boys sat by their sides like lapdogs, and when the morning lights went out, they drove to the older men's secluded estates, where they got their money's worth in return for the free drinks. Everything has its price, and money makes the world go round. I preferred to maintain my small but independent world.
Sipping my tonic water, I watched the wild body-shoving on the two dance floors. The sound hammered their sweaty, glistening bodies into ecstasy. I couldn't yet spot Mark and Bastian, but I was sure I'd bump into them here. Neither of them ever missed a disco. I didn't really need to look, because they found me without much luck. I'd already taken the spot at the bar earlier, and it had to be defended this evening as well. The only difference was that I used to stand here with Steffan. From here, you had a good view. New guests had to pass through here, as did those who were either already thoroughly drunk or had found their prince charming for the night. Before I met Steffan, I left the search for the prince to chance, and if he didn't turn up, I didn't mind. I firmly believed I'd never missed anything if I ended up lying alone in my bed afterwards. After all, a new day began in the morning, with new possibilities, and I didn't feel so committed to the nobility that it had to be a prince.
“Max!” Mark shouted my name with joy and hugged me.
I didn't see any sweat stains on his white, fitted shirt yet, which suggested he was more focused on his cocktails. Dancing was secondary to him; for fear of looking downright anorexic, he pointed to his already visible ribs. For Mark, socializing was more important, which I compared to boundless curiosity.
I asked about Bastian, and Mark pointed toward one of the dance floors. The loud music didn't allow for much more conversation, and we clinked our glasses to a successful night. I'd known them both since my first forays into the gay scene. While it was initially primarily a sexual adventure, over time the three of us, friends of the same age, developed a friendship that has since proven itself many times over.
The two were truly inseparable, and their long-standing partnership was generally considered too perfect. But I also knew that arguments were rare between them. Mark often said that some fights only arose because of the reconciliation, but I found that hard to believe. Certainly, there were many points of friction in their open relationship, and jealousies also came into play. Since they were hardly opposites in character, I was surprised that they always managed to get back together.
Bastian approached us, brimming with joy, holding the hand of a very young dance partner. With his picture-perfect smile, which practically justified any modeling career, and his exuberance, he was also the active partner in Mark's relationship. His friendly kiss tasted like vodka and coke.
“That’s Kevin!” and pointed to his companion.
While Mark studied the boy with striking intensity, I only gave him a brief glance. Anyone who knew me would have considered my judgment to be rather idiosyncratic. Occasionally, I even sensed it bordering on arrogance. Although not firmly established, my gaze was more drawn to children my own age. Younger ones, on the other hand, were considered at most pleasant to look at. To me, this Kevin was still such a childlike type that you had to wonder why anyone would even let him in at night. Although pleasant to approach, he certainly came from one of the villages around Rostock. Based on his appearance and apparent age, I wasn't surprised that I didn't know him. So I judged this boy with the three Bs, which meant he was a blond, pale, and inexperienced rascal. Bastian whispered something in Mark's ear, and before I knew it, all three had disappeared into the surging crowd. If I guessed correctly, they found in Kevin their “playmate” for the hours after the disco.
I ordered another tonic water and smoked a cigarette. For the next two hours, I wandered around the hall, talking to a few guys I knew, but the humid, oppressive air and the tonic water were slowly becoming too much for me. Around 3:30 a.m., I realized that the previous ten hours of work at my parents' restaurant were starting to feel like lead in my bones. Before my friends could see how tired I was, I wanted to slip away unnoticed. I deliberately didn't want to wait for Mark and Bastian. Whenever I took them home, we ended up in my bed together, and after that, they didn't leave until my fridge was empty. My car was three blocks away. It hadn't cooled down during the night, and the morning air was only pleasant for a short time. The still-young Sunday seemed set to be another very warm summer day.
I inherited the red Audi from my father when he bought a more upscale car. The car's eight-year-old registration wasn't noticeable, as my father placed great importance on care and maintenance. I started the car and drove slowly toward the main road. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Kevin appeared at the side of the road, staring directly at me. At first, I wanted to pretend I hadn't seen him and immediately dismissed any idea that the young man might interest me. Since it was no longer possible to drive any further, I pulled over to the side of the road and rolled down the side window.
"Will you give me a lift?" he asked, already holding the doorknob. His grin was a mixture of provocative challenge with a hint of naivety. I didn't think the country bumpkin was capable of such audacity—or was it cunning?
Did the kid actually think he could impress me with that?
I suspected that Mark and Bastian were behind this clumsy stunt. True to the motto, "Friends are good to share." For both of them, life was always about fun and sex. They probably told themselves, "If we couldn't have him, we'd pass him on to Max." No one in the gay community could ever say I was picking up anyone, and I preferred young things on my plate to my bed.
Before I could say anything to Kevin, he was sitting in the passenger seat with a confident smile on his face. His brazen manner made me feel defensive.
“If you think that we…” I whispered to him, but Kevin immediately dismissed it.
“No, of course… just home,” he replied, and then added, “…please.”
Did he have any sense of decency? A request was hardly part of the young people's vocabulary anymore, or it was due to his inexperience with today's give-and-take. Regardless, I didn't want to delve into all the conceivable problems at such an early hour.
I indulged myself, drove off, and turned toward the city. Kevin corrected me, saying that if he did, he should go the other way. The way he gestured with his hands was reminiscent of a baby looking forward to his morning porridge.
“Hey, I’m driving!”
He nodded silently, and I put the Rosenstolz CD into the player. The title, "The Sluts Don't Get Tired," was perfectly fitting, and I turned up the volume. Kevin didn't say a word, and I let the car roll leisurely through the still almost deserted streets. I liked driving through empty streets in the morning. In an hour at the latest, the city would truly awaken. With the start of normal tram service, the streets bustled and became more congested. I continued along Breite Straße toward Warnemünde. Kevin remained silent while I listened to the sounds of Rosenstolz - "I'm Going Up in Flames" - and occasionally hummed along to the melody. I wanted to be home as early as possible. My empty bed awaited me, and at the moment, I was fine with that. The evening at the "Z" was preceded by weeks of intense conversations with Mark and Bastian. Both of them were of the opinion that I was finally giving up my self-chosen, isolated existence. For weeks I had been avoiding the city center of Rostock, where the scene usually gathered at the “Flamingo” or “No. Seven.”
On the city highway heading north, I asked Kevin where he was going.
“Lichtenhagen.”
“Okay,” and gently increased the pace.
“Max, can I ask you something?” Kevin asked.
“If there is no other option.”
“That thing with your friend…?”
“It’s none of your business! Understood!” I interrupted him harshly.
And that too, the “greenhorn” thought, I would discuss Steffan with him.
“Mark said you…”
"He talks a lot when the day is long," I interrupted brusquely. I didn't want to have to justify myself to this snob who was at most eighteen years old.
Near Groß Klein, I stopped the car. To get to Lichtenhagen, it just had to cross the bridge. Kevin thanked me and got out. When he slammed the door shut, I didn't immediately explode, but I muttered, "Idiot, village idiot, proletarian," all that.
Kevin knocked on the side window, gave me an expectant look, and asked if he could at least call me. Stunned, I gave him a rather angry look. I immediately guessed Mark, the old washerwoman. He must have informed him about me and given him my phone number. I shrugged indifferently. Tired as I was, I really didn't care. Only with Mark or Bastian did I finally have to pluck a real 'big cock.' Kevin disappointed my indifference and turned away without a word. I drove off. In the rearview mirror, I saw Kevin still standing on the side of the road, looking around. He probably lived somewhere else entirely, I thought, and stepped on the gas. It reminded me of my old approach when I didn't want anyone to find out my address. If only to avoid anyone unexpectedly showing up at my parents' house and letting them know I was gay. But with Steffan, everything was completely different. He was allowed to ask me what he was asking for. Steffan, whom I had met long before on the beach and for whom I immediately had a crush. Steffan, four years older, impressed me with his open, natural, and still youthful manner. He was already in his second semester studying social sciences.
It was the evening after my high school graduation ball. Slightly drunk, I walked to the beach. Steffan was sitting around a campfire with a group of other students, playing his guitar. In the firelight, he held a mysterious quality for me that I was eager to explore. Perhaps fueled by the alcohol, I undressed and ran into the sea. A short time later, Steffan was beside me, took me in his arms, and under a starry sky, he carried me kissing me through the cool, salty water. Starving, I craved his mouth, and for a moment, I thought I could fly. Together with him, I confessed to my parents how I was feeling and how much I liked Steffan. They were saddened by the fact that I was shattering their dreams of a daughter-in-law and grandchildren, but there was no family uproar. Many days later, my father told me that we were still a family, despite everything. When he then tried to teach me precautions, I interrupted him and replied that I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. He nodded with relief and hasn't spoken about it again. They didn't make a big deal when I suggested they prepare the empty vacation apartment for me. Steffan and I celebrated the housewarming with Mark and Bastian, and after that, the best time of my life began. Since I was still thinking about my studies, I worked as a waiter in my parents' restaurant while Steffan went to university. Steffan and I were on cloud nine and enjoyed our time together to the fullest. I was deeply in love, and even my parents later agreed that Steffan was a real good fit for me. When I was drafted into the Bundeswehr (armed forces), Steffan and I discussed probation and how we could both prove how serious we were. Whenever I still had doubts, Steffan would take me in his arms and promise me how much he loved me.
So I believed Steffan and put my doubts aside, even when he moved into a shared apartment so he could better concentrate on his studies. Even when Mark wrote to me that Steffan was back in bars and clubs more often, hanging out, often with some pretty nasty guys. It was certainly stupid and blind of me, but I wanted to maintain my feelings of love and happiness and prove to myself that I could be faithful.
When I returned from the army, I immediately realized that our love was no longer burning and called myself a fool. One evening, Steffan wordlessly showed me a letter from the university hospital. I read only something about HIV, being positive, and his name. I felt miserable and empty. After hours of silence, Steffan got up and left without a word. The day after that, I received the news that he had driven his car down the cliffs near Heiligendamm and had not survived. Even weeks after the funeral, I lived in a state of depression, staying in bed for days and hiding from the outside world. Bastian and Mark persuaded me to finally come to my senses, but I threw them out twice. Only my father's persistent approach was able to build me up again.
When I got home, the clock already showed six o'clock on Sunday. For a moment, I looked up at the cloudless blue sky, watched the wildly circling and screeching "Emmas," and wished Steffan, who was looking down at me from somewhere up above, a nice day. After a shower, I lay down and soon fell asleep.

In the hot summer weather, no one went to the restaurant for lunch; instead, they were lying on the beach, sizzling their skin, or splashing in the sea. In the almost empty restaurant, my parents sat at the so-called 'family table.' I still had time until a few mostly older guests arrived in the afternoon for coffee or ice cream. Later, at dinnertime, the great rush of guests began for every available seat on the terrace and in the restaurant.
“Hey Max, are you up already?” Father must have noticed that I hadn’t come home until early in the morning.
"I couldn't sleep anymore, it's just too hot," I said briefly, sitting down with them with a cup of coffee. They both hated it when I started the day with a 'waiter's breakfast' consisting of coffee and a cigarette. In the summer heat, I couldn't get anything down.
"I brought your laundry," said my mother, and I thanked her. Even though I was aiming for independence by moving into the vacation home, I couldn't set up a washing machine there.
With the "Ostseeperle" restaurant, my parents had fulfilled their long-held dream, and it became the center of our lives. Nestled between the casino, the "Atlantas" hotel, and other guesthouses, the buildings shared the area around the lighthouse and "Teepott." For as long as I could remember, our lives had taken place in these spaces. As a child, I played with my building blocks here, and later, I did my homework at this table. At the "family table," I came out to my parents, thus saving myself an endless argument because they didn't discuss family matters in front of the staff. For a few months, Steffan also sat at this table.
Little by little, the other waiters arrived. Helmut, the head waiter, had been working at the "Ostseeperle" for so long that as a child, I even thought he was my uncle. The first kitchen staff members also trickled in. For me, it was a sign to prepare my territory. I preferred working on the terrace. Customer turnover was faster, and the tips were larger.
That afternoon, there was a veritable rush for ice cream sundaes and cakes. The stations were completely full, and more guests were already waiting behind some tables. As a precaution, Dad called the ice cream delivery man and placed his follow-up order. The usual banter among the waiters died down as everyone hurried back and forth between the tables. Sweat was pouring down my back, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't manage a quick break to even change my shirt.
It wasn't until evening that business calmed down, and I retreated briefly to the camp. Since there was no time for a shower, I dried myself with a towel and finally changed my clothes.
Even if it wasn't refreshing, it at least looked better and I felt more comfortable.
Father came out of his kitchen, radiating his satisfaction. He thought the business could be like this every day. I myself estimated my earnings and was already satisfied with the tip, and the fact that I had walked several kilometers between tables for it justified it.
While the last guests in my area were still eating their ice cream, I prepared the first tables for the evening business and also found a quick opportunity to smoke a cigarette.
“…was a good deal, wasn’t it?”
Father joined me. Despite the heat, he never took off his chef's hat. A cook without a hat is just a better stove helper, he used to say when the other cooks found the hat a nuisance in the summer heat.
“Yes, I can feel it in my feet.”
“Here, men, we all deserve this today.”
Mother came over, sweaty but always smiling friendly, and brought us shandy or apple spritzer.
Dad took his shandy and gave her a kiss. "You're the best."
The way the two of them treated each other was how I understood love. I never saw them argue seriously. Sure, not everything always went smoothly and problems did arise. Then they sat together thoughtfully and discussed things, but never out loud. When Father was snapping at the cooks in his kitchen, she went in and less than five minutes later there was peace again. The question wasn't how she managed it; the fact that she could was what made her popular with everyone. It made me happy and always a little proud to be her son.
I took a big sip of the apple spritzer and went back to the restaurant.

In the evening, all the tables were occupied, but things were quieter, and I always kept an eye on things. I could see the guests' satisfaction and even struck up a conversation with them while serving them. This is how I found out where they were from and how long they planned to stay in Warnemünde. They were grateful for tips on excursions, and with a bit of luck, they would come back in the next few days. There were the usual verbal sparring matches between the waiters and the kitchen staff, but they were rarely truly serious. Father calmed the tables and reeled off his wisdom about kitchen operations. Quality takes time, or the chef only has two hands; that the restaurant isn't a fast food joint, was his philosophy. When the plates were piling up at the counter, he would bring them to the guests' tables himself and gently remind the waiter to buy the chefs a shandy at the end of the day. I did think that day-to-day operations were the same, and that everything was just normal, or at least that's how it had come to be perceived over the years.
"Do you want to leave at 11 p.m.?" Mother asked me. After all these years, she had developed a sense for when the guests had stopped coming. My parents used to be more impatient at the end of the day because they would go to the beach and swim in the dark sea. Just last week, Mother and I were standing on the terrace looking out over the promenade. She said that although she had the sea on her doorstep, she had last swum in it three years ago. She looked at me with a smile and added that that wouldn't be so bad, but rather if there was no sea beyond the promenade.
“I still have six tables occupied, this might take a while,” I said apprehensively.
She looked around carefully and even suggested a bet that all the guests would have left by 11 p.m.
I agreed and put a fiver on the counter.
At the restaurant, I asked my guests if I could bring them something, but most of them just wanted the bill. Five minutes before 11 p.m., the last couple wanted to pay, and I admitted defeat. Laughing, my mother pulled the fiver from under the vase and pocketed it. She used her cash register key to get my final receipts, and I ordered a spritzer from her. Heike and Sven, both students who only worked at the restaurant during their semester break, were already sitting at the "family table."
"Max, are you coming to the student club with me?" Sven asked. I met him once at the "Z." With his leather cap and matching chest strap, I would have easily missed recognizing him. But we had nothing in common that would make him of any interest to me.
“Right now, all I want is a shower.”
Sure, I was still too wired to think about sleeping, and I certainly wouldn't meet the people I was really craving at the club.
“So, have fun, both of you, and see you tomorrow,” I said goodbye and handed the money to my mother.
“Don’t forget to bring your things,” she reminded me, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
In my living room I took off my sweaty clothes and ran into the shower.
Refreshed and with a towel wrapped around my waist, I saw that there was a text message on my cell phone. Just a cell phone number I didn't recognize, nothing more. I'd accepted the fact that this had happened several times for a while. Mark simply wanted me to open myself up to life again since Steffan's death. Gay people tend to judge everything and everyone, including me, but it was starting to annoy me that he kept posting my phone number. The clock was just after midnight and I briefly considered whether I should call back. With three question marks, I saved the unknown number and postponed the call indefinitely. Instead, I pressed Mark's number. He was the best person I could find out the name associated with it from.
“Hey, sweetie. How was your evening?” Bastian asked, and I could practically picture his broad grin.
“Pretty hot… was sweating profusely,” I tried to remain matter-of-fact.
"I believe you. Did all those guys hit on you?" he continued. "...and maybe even tug on your skirts?"
"No, they didn't! They took me to no end, but paid me well afterwards."
“Hmm, then you’re a good catch tonight!” Bastian squealed.
"Okay, Bastian... something different now," I interrupted. "Keep my phone number to yourself!"
“Yes… of course… Max,” he stammered, immediately knowing what I was referring to.
Bastian assured me that he hadn't given anyone my number in the last few days. He realized that they couldn't help me that way. But then he admitted that he had only given the number to Kevin because he asked so nicely.
“You have to admit, you can’t say no to that little cutie!” he immediately apologized.
“The child!” I exclaimed.
"We were all children once and started to have our own experiences," Mark sighed. Bastian had passed the phone on and breathed the last words longingly.
“Mark?! Let it go, we’re still young ourselves in our early twenties,” I conceded.
"Yes? Please tell me again, ... very slowly ... I especially need this right now."
“No, good night and say hello to the guy between your legs.”
I hung up immediately and corrected the three question marks in Kevin. I shook my head in disbelief and couldn't figure out what the guy wanted from me. Whether I should even call wasn't on my mind at the moment. If he contacted me in the meantime, I would give the country bumpkin a proper brush-off, like I've done so many others before.
I took a pair of panties and socks out of the laundry basket, a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt out of the closet, and minutes later I was sitting in the car.
During the drive into Rostock's city center, I hummed along to the melody of Rosenstolz's "Willkommen." Yes, I wanted to be welcome, to be desired, to live out my lust, which had developed in the shower and rapidly increased the closer I got to the city. After all, I was young, and a man who wanted to be taken by a young man. I needed hands to touch me, a greedy mouth to kiss me, and a tight ass. Even if it meant rushing it off with some anonymous guy behind a hedge. I calmed my guilty conscience in advance by saying that my last sex had been weeks ago.
I parked the Audi in the parking garage. It was less than ten minutes on foot to the Wallanlage, partly to help me get used to the darkness.
The rampart bordered the old city wall. Located in the heart of the city, it was easily accessible. A park by day, with plenty of seating for adults and a playground for children, it became a gay paradise by night.
I paused, feeling a pang of unease in my stomach about my nighttime plans. I'd repeatedly heard of attacks on the ramparts. Some teenagers or guys who seemed to hate gays would beat and bludgeon unsuspecting people. Even when charges were filed, the perpetrators were never identified.
The last doubts swirled in my head, but the closer I got to my destination, the more I wanted to turn back. I passed the old, brick-red university building and stood in the darkness of the old linden trees. Protected by the darkness, I heard more of the sinister surroundings than I saw anything. I was only aware of the rustling of the leaves, and when I looked up, I saw a starry sky between them. For a moment, I felt my heartbeat in my temples. I was still able to turn around unseen and leave the grounds in a few steps.
The cigarette calmed me down, and my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Although I could only vaguely recognize the path, the details blended with memories of previous visits.
I walked slowly along the path. My attention was on full tilt. Every sound or dark shadow that came my way was intensely registered. When I reached the fork in the path, I paused and tried again to detect any sounds from other people. I looked around again and again. Nothing. Only the nighttime outlines of the trees and the starry sky surrounded me.
I remembered being here with Steffan. We held each other tightly in our arms and walked along this path, kissing passionately. We stopped here at the fork in the road. Steffan pushed my shirt over my head, nibbled on my nipples, and greedily shoved his hand into my jeans. Even when someone stopped and watched, I let Steffan take me.
A loud rustling sound tore me from my reminiscences. I jumped and immediately jumped aside as something black, which could have been some kind of animal, disappeared under a bush next to me.
About three meters away, a cigarette ember appeared and I focused on the person present.
“It was just a cat,” said a voice.
"Yes."
I walked slowly toward the glowing embers and stopped next to the human shadow.
“Hey,” I was just able to say because my throat had gone bone dry.
If I followed the usual procedure, we would each smoke a cigarette in silence, standing next to each other. I either waited for the other person to initiate the conversation or, quite literally, took matters into my own hands. If the anonymous guy allowed me to give him a quick, inquisitive rub in his crotch, we were practically in agreement. What the other person or I really wanted emerged without words and could also mean that we would part ways immediately. This time, everything worked out.

The few hours of sleep I had were dreamless, or at least I couldn't remember any. It was almost 12:00, the alarm clock said, and I heard my cell phone ring. I ran into the living room and Bastian answered.
"Hey, my dear!" he shouted. There was street noise in the background, which could only mean that he and Mark were already in the city.
“What do you want in the middle of the night?” I growled at him, rubbing my stubbly chin.
He giggled loudly. The two of them invited me to brunch at the "Rostocker Hof."
"Can't, guys. Besides, I'm on shift soon."
"Hmm, go ahead, sweetie. We'll be at the beach this afternoon," he added, and then there was silence. Mark had no problem getting through his studies and semester breaks without a job, as he was supported quite generously by his father. Although he rarely saw him, Mark said he wanted to ease his conscience after his parents' divorce. Bastian dropped out of college years ago, was unemployed, and received social security benefits. He sometimes received job offers, but he never lasted longer than four weeks at any of them.
In the shower, I had the idea to ask Mom if I could leave before her evening routine. After all, I've been working for the past three weeks. That would give me the opportunity to spend a few hours at the beach and maybe play volleyball again.
“I was wondering how long you were going to keep this up,” she said, insisting that I take a whole day off.
She took an envelope from the counter, “...it arrived today.”
It contained mail from the university informing me of the deadline for enrolling in the Faculty of Law.
I actually had no real idea what I wanted to study, so I applied on a whim so as not to disappoint them. When I finally received the acceptance letter a few weeks ago, they were genuinely pleasantly surprised. So I avoided anything that suggested I was quite happy with my current situation.
“Well, then I’ll go.”
"Have a nice day and go to the beach. You're as brown as a chef's hat," joked Father, disappearing back into his kitchen.
After moving again, I called Bastian and arranged for me to come to the “Rostocker Hof”.
During the day, the roads were difficult to navigate, and finding a parking space was a real challenge. It took me almost an hour to walk the actually short distance to find the two of them not far from the still well-stocked buffet. There were hardly any guests, so I helped myself to fish in aspic and fried potatoes, along with remoulade sauce and salad.
“Someone is really hungry,” Mark remarked.
While I kept the letter from the university and the nighttime adventure on the wall to myself, we discussed how we wanted to spend the day. When Bastian immediately reminded me of Kevin and apologized again for sharing it, I dismissed it with an emphatic "Done!" The beach trip was already planned, but for the aftermath, we discussed whether to go to either the "Warnow" or the "Flamingo." It didn't matter to me, because you'd meet like-minded people at both places.
“It could be that a container full of young, gay tourists has arrived,” Mark crooned, and knowing him, he seemed to already be thinking about a private party for the evening.
"Yes, fresh meat," Mark continued, "... tender, hairless meat, with a spear... but at least that big!" He held his hands apart, which would have made any of us feel sorry for ourselves. I felt my regained energy, and it was good to spend a few hours with the two of them again. In the three years we knew each other, Mark, in particular, provided fun and variety.
This continued on the beach. The gay beach area was already teeming with hordes of sun-hungry, naked, promiscuous boys, men, and even grandpas. We had trouble finding a spot for ourselves. It was important that we had a good view of the gay men's parade. Since a complete inspection of the flesh was possible here, and our assessment of the hunky guys was more intense and detailed, we gave grades according to our self-defined scale. Everything that walked along the water, even if some of the boys and men didn't have room there, was inspected with the utmost detail. A special inspection took place when our candidates came out of the water. That's when the real man was revealed, and the length of the penis was assessed in both a resting and erect state.
We spread out blankets, set up camping chairs, and thus marked out our personal space, which not everyone was allowed to enter.
Based on our experience, we didn't want to be robbed or have trash thrown in our area, so I was the first to stay behind while Mark and Bastian ran to the water.
Smeared with sunscreen, I stretched out in the hot sun. Just ten minutes, I thought, and then I wanted to set up the parasol.
Next door, someone was talking loudly on the phone. Some sweetheart was calling and asking how the cell phone owner was. Anyway, the sweetheart was complaining to his sweetheart about how boring it was here and how he should have gone to Ibiza instead. I glanced cautiously at the cell phone holder and guessed he was around forty, with a bit of a belly, a shaved dick, and a shock of graying hair. To me, he was the kind of guy who'd happily offer himself as a fatherly friend. No thanks!
It's a shame, I thought, that the volleyball court was so far away. There, we would have had a better view of the toned, suntanned bodies.
“Hello my friend, do you have a light for me?” I heard the person I was calling from the left.
Oh no, was he trying to turn me on? I quickly threw my lighter over and was ready to defend my spot on the blanket.
Naturally, he walked the few steps over and gratefully handed me back the lighter. I didn't expect Mark or Bastian to come back. They were splashing around and occasionally kissing each other. It seemed to me they were trying to impress a potential additional party guest for tonight.
“Would you like one too?” he held out his pack of cigarettes to me, but I declined with thanks.
Finally he asked if he could sit next to me and I answered brusquely, no!
Doubting whether he understood correctly, he hesitantly stepped back and then remarked loudly that he seemed to be surrounded by nothing but the rabble. I ignored his further derogatory remarks.
Bastian came running and simply fell into the sand.
“Mark is waiting,” he said, drying his hair.
"Okay," I stood up, gave him another wave, and pointed at the guy next door. Bastian understood me.
Mark grabbed my hand and pulled me into the water. I pulled away from him, dove under a wave, and swam out a short distance. The water was simply refreshingly wonderful. I lay on my back and let the waves carry me. For a moment, I was reminded of Steffan. I would never want to live anywhere else, I thought.
He pointed out to Mark, who was staying near the beach, a young man sitting alone on the shore. He wanted to ask him if he was up for a party. "It only gets really exciting when there are four people, right?" I briefly told him about our neighbor, and Mark screamed when I told him about his remark about the mob and all.
The young man near the shore was named Jörg, who was vacationing here for a week and was actually from near Berlin. Without hesitation, Jörg gathered his things and followed us to our spot. Bastian had already started talking to the older man.
"Oh, sorry, Ralf..." Bastian moved out of the cross-legged position that was surely making the cellphone chatterer's penis wet. "...but I have to go over to my friends'. It's nice to see you sometime... so, see you sometime."
I noticed right away that Jörg wasn't afraid of physical contact. As we crowded onto the blankets so we could all sit under the parasol, it wasn't just our backs that touched. His spear promised great fun, and he seemed to really enjoy the fact that we kissed him one after the other to get to know each other better.
“Party time,” Mark crooned, putting on his promising look and popping the cork of a bottle of lukewarm Prosecco.
Jörg laid his head in my lap and surrendered to the exuberance between us. He let Bastian and Mark kiss away the champagne splashes that landed on his toned body.
Apparently this was too much for our elderly neighbor and he started packing his things, protesting loudly that we were excluding him.

The snoring woke me up and brought me back to reality. Jörg was lying naked next to me. It was already starting to get light outside. Mark's living room was a relative mess. Empty champagne bottles reminded me of the last few hours. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and started gathering my clothes. The used condoms lying around couldn't possibly have been either of us, but it calmed me down. I'd actually wanted to go home hours ago. Jörg, who seemed starved for physical intimacy and sex, demonstrated his pelvic skills several times, kissing me again and again so gently and all over my body that I simply couldn't resist.
But now it was high time for me to get at least a few more hours of undisturbed sleep.
I crept out almost silently and grabbed my car keys in the hallway.
No one had noticed my disappearance, and I took a deep breath in front of the apartment building. The drive home took only minutes, and five more minutes as I rolled over onto my side to sleep.
It rained around midday. The strong wind whipped the rain against the windows.
My parents sat quietly at the family table and watched people hurry past the restaurant.
“Good morning, Max,” my parents greeted me.
“If he stops, then cheers to your meal.” I pointed to the terrace and sat down with them.
"Well, we need some rain," said Dad, adding that I had plenty of sunshine yesterday. I nodded silently and swallowed my coffee.
"Are you working at the buffet today?" Mother asked. "I still have some paperwork to do."
I nodded again and silently complained about the lack of tips.
“…and Heike?” I asked into the silence.
“It’s her day off today.”
If there was no tip, then after last night I preferred the somewhat quieter job at the buffet.
Since the rain continued into the afternoon, I had time to read the local press and find out what events were happening over the weekend.
I was already worried early in the evening that Jörg would show up. Around 10 p.m., he stood at the buffet, smiled at me understandingly, and asked, embarrassed, when I was going to be off work.
"I have to go for another hour... then we can meet at the lighthouse," I told him, seeing the joy in his eyes. At the exit, he turned around, waved, and left.
So I had an hour left and had to come up with something. A holiday acquaintance couldn't last, and I certainly had to explain that to him. The last few hours together, as wonderful as they were, couldn't hide the fact that we were only fulfilling our sexual desires, leaving love out of the equation from the start. That couldn't change the bad feeling I had about it.
I arrived at the lighthouse a bit late, where Jörg was waiting for me, sitting on the wall. When he saw me, he came toward me, and his shy smile reminded me of our nighttime encounter.
“Hey,” I said, “am I late?”
“No, no, I’m happy,” he replied and gave me a warm hug.
I let him do it without saying a word and it remained quiet as we walked along the promenade.
What should I say at that moment to avoid being misunderstood? I didn't know, and nervously smoked a cigarette. Jörg had his arm around me and was furtively gazing up at the night sky.
"Max?" Jörg began hesitantly. "About last night... I haven't had such a wonderful time with a man in a long time."
“Thank you,” I said quietly and waited to hear what Jörg had to say.
„Ja … also ich muss ja übermorgen wieder nach Hause fahren … und Du lebst hier.“
Er stellte sich mir in den Weg, nahm meinen Kopf in seine warmen, gut tuenden Hände und schaute mir genau in die Augen.
„Ja, ich weiß und das lässt sich nicht ändern.“
„ … und Du bist ganz lieber … schade, dass das keine Zukunft für uns hat.“
Der Kuss ersparte mir, dass ich das bestätigen musste. Zwischen Erleichterung und Dankbarkeit, spürte ich auch so was wie Verlust und Trauer.
Es tat uns beiden gut, wie Jörg die passenden Worte gesagt hatte und als er mich aufmunternd knuffte, kam auch die Lockerheit zurück.
As we left, we exchanged phone numbers, promised to see each other again next year, and I accepted his invitation to visit him in Berlin. I drove Jörg to his hotel, resisted his obvious request to come with me, and wished him a nice last day of his vacation.

The weather remained changeable over the next few days. Work was less stressful, and I finally found time to tidy up my small apartment. It was high time I put the laundry in the closet. In the meantime, I was on the phone with either Mark or Bastian, and we planned to meet again at the disco on Saturday. Neither of them wanted or could understand why I turned Jörg down, but for me, the end had already been drawn under our one-time holiday affair. When I mentioned my acceptance to university, which would tie me to Rostock for the next few years, they took that as just another reason for us to celebrate on Saturday. Eventually, I gave up on giving any other reasons because they were no longer taking me seriously. I deleted another text from Kevin, saying that he hadn't been able to reach me several times, without calling back.
As if even the weather had a very specific rhythm, a bright sun in the sky woke me up on Saturday. I felt good and well-rested. When I saw my parents in the restaurant, I wished them a wonderful day and was delighted by their disbelieving faces.
“Good morning, my boy,” said Mother, seeming to wonder where my good mood came from.
“You’re okay, aren’t you?”
Father felt my forehead as if I might have a fever, but I was able to calm him down right away.
"Oh, what a mess you always have. The sun is shining, and my heart can tell."
“Mother, Max is in love!”
“No!” I protested, I felt good just because I was rested.
As we all noticed in the restaurant, the holidaymakers were apparently changing this weekend, because even with the wonderful weather, there was no mass coffee business in the afternoon. Even Mother shrugged in surprise when asked if a busload of guests could still arrive.
Having finished my territory so early for the evening business gave me the opportunity to go and smoke a cigarette in peace.
At 6 p.m. sharp, the first guests, who had already reserved their tables, arrived for dinner. Many of the reserved tables were reserved for guests who were already regulars. They also consistently recommended the restaurant to others. The fact that people came primarily for the food spoke volumes about my father's masterly skills. The many awards and certificates hung modestly in the kitchen.
When the blond boy named Kevin suddenly appeared in my territory with his family, I caught my breath for a moment. I was so surprised that I almost dropped a glass from the tray. I immediately calmed down and went to meet them.
"Good evening, Mümling. We reserved a table," said the man who was undoubtedly his father.
"Good evening, Mr. Mümling," I replied kindly. "May I go first?"
I led the family to their table. As I pushed Mrs. Mümling's chair over, I guessed her daughter was about the same age as me. I handed everyone the evening menu and wished them a good evening. I gave Kevin a quick look that should have made him fall to the floor. If he were to grin at me, I thought, something would surely fall on his effeminate white trousers while I was serving. The fact that I couldn't be myself showed me that I was still a long way from being truly free. That's life, this is your job, my thoughts hammered. I had myself completely under control again and immediately took the initiative.
“Would you like an aperitif?” I asked politely and took the order.
At the buffet, my mother pulled me towards her.
"Do you know who that is?" she asked, sounding important, and immediately followed up with the answer. "That's Professor Mümling, the chief physician, with his family. He operated on your father back then."
“Aha,” I simply said, and was immediately gently reminded to inform the kitchen as well.
When it came to my parents' business interests, I forbade even small jokes. Even I understood that, but I wanted to make an exception for Kevin himself. I could already see him jumping up and whining about his sissy pants.
As I was about to type another order into the cash register, my mother instructed me to bring the drinks to the table.
"Now don't make a fuss. After all, my territory is full and we're not a fast food joint."
"Oh boy, you don't know anything. If it weren't for him, I don't know if your father would be standing in the kitchen today."
I didn't want to have to understand anything either and just shook my head.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll give them an unforgettable evening, okay?” I replied irritably and reminded Mother of my other orders.
While I was serving at the other tables, I watched the Mümlings' table out of the corner of my eye. Everyone was still leafing through the menu and seemed to be quietly agreeing on the order. I was still undecided whether their presence was purely coincidental or perhaps due to the brat's help.
"Who booked the table anyway?" I asked my mother. She thought she remembered and said that the boy had called at the beginning of the week. In any case, she was certain of this, not the professor himself or his wife.
When Dad showed up at the buffet and walked to the table with a newly tied apron, I realized that my parents were very serious and important. So I forgot all my intentions and decided it was enough to just ignore Kevin. I put on my friendliest face. Surely, knowing myself well, I'd get a suitable opportunity to teach him a lesson another time.
The Mümling family chose the menu suggested by the chef, and knowing my father, he practically conjured up a magical meal for them. While I was serving at the station and Kevin's eyes met, I felt him watching me. I seriously wondered why he was interested in me. But whether it was really interest, I immediately dismissed. After all, Bastian, following his pattern, had apparently spotted him in the disco and danced with him. I remembered that Kevin had disappeared for hours with Mark and Bastian. Knowing these two friends, no one could escape their clutches that easily. I decided I was deluding myself. This brat was just having his first romantic experiences, nothing more. It was all just a coincidence, just like him stopping me to come home. I was only sure of one thing: he definitely didn't live in Lichtenhagen.
“Max?!” I heard Heike, who was in charge of the station opposite, and confused, I realized that I was still standing thoughtfully at the service table in the station.
“Everything’s fine, nothing’s wrong,” I joked and finally took the empty plates away.

The Mümling family, who thanked me again for the delicious meal and the lovely evening as they left, had already left for a while. Svenja, who was in charge of the dishes, was waiting for me in the kitchen and handed me a used napkin.
"Max, tonight at the "Z", K." it said. I couldn't believe it, but before Svenja made the rounds, I pocketed my napkin. I immediately dismissed the sudden idea of canceling on Mark and Bastian. It was already too late for that, and anyway, why did I want to back out? Telling Kevin that I wasn't interested in him shouldn't be a reason to stay away, even at the risk of hurting the boy. I called myself a fool for even thinking about it. After all, he wasn't the first person I'd turned down. I'd never let myself be taken in by anyone.
After settling the score with my mother, I quickly left.
Just under an hour later, I grabbed Mark and Bastian at the same time and dragged them to the disco.
"You won't believe this, but today that country bumpkin and his family were at the restaurant," I exclaimed indignantly. "What else did you tell him about me?"
"Hmm, let me think..." Bastian pondered aloud. "Your number, where you live, what you do, and..."
I waited impatiently and Bastian looked embarrassed at Mark, who had stubbornly looked away until then.
"Max," Mark added, "Kevin fancies you! He just wanted to know everything about you. He couldn't care less about us."
As if in confirmation, Bastian nodded vigorously.
"You idiots, you're really so crazy. I really expected more understanding from friends, and discretion as well, ... you faggots!" and immediately added: "You know, I decide for myself who I have what with and how!"
I practically screamed at them, I was so angry. The fact that people across the street were turning around to look at us didn't matter to me at that moment.
I turned away from the two of them and took a few steps. Somewhat reassured, I approached them and told them to ignore the boy from now on.
“Sorry, but we thought…” Mark said, but I covered my ears until they both disappeared into the disco entrance.
As upset as I felt, I didn't want to follow Mark and Bastian. I walked down the street, smoked, and considered how I could still salvage the evening. I could quickly end the argument with my two friends and forget it all with a few glasses of Prosecco; that was the lesser of two evils for me. It was different with Kevin. Ever since he showed up at the restaurant, I'd seen him as a spoiled boy who wanted to get his way. When I was his age, I didn't look for older boys. On the contrary, at 22, someone was already an "old fart" to me. Sure, Steffan was older than me back then, a true exception, who impressed me primarily because of his boyish ways. The fact that I thought I loved him came later. But the more I thought about Steffan, the more doubts I had about when, or even if, I had ever loved Steffan at all. Had I ever loved before? Sure, I loved my parents the way children love their parents. But I didn't consider that special. What was really so special about Steffan? With him, I felt affection, trust, and devotion, and I had my first sexual experiences. Why couldn't I say how he felt about me? I paid no attention to the gossip after his death that he had cheated on me and many others and was reckless during sex. Gossip, as it was common in the gay community, was always foreign to me.
As the thoughts in my head became increasingly complicated, I turned around and went to the "Z." In the restroom, I ran cold water over my head.
The song "Ich geh in Flammen auf" by Rosenstolz came at just the right time, and I sang along loudly. Ultimately, no one heard me, or rather, thankfully, no one.
At the bar, I ordered a tonic water and sat down. In the mirror in front of me, I unexpectedly recognized Rico, whose real name was Enrico, who seemed to be waiting behind me for his drinks.
"Hey, Rico," I greeted him, and he gave me a warm hug. We hadn't seen each other for about six months. We played a few volleyball games on the beach last year and were briefly real friends. I asked him where he was. Rico told me he'd been back in town for two days, just visiting his parents, and had found a job in Munich. Unfortunately, the music was so loud that we could only carry on a conversation by shouting. Nevertheless, I learned that he was quite happy in Munich and wouldn't be coming back anytime soon. As he paid for his drinks and headed back to his table, I wished him all the best. What a shame, I thought, as he disappeared back into the crowd.
"Calm down again?" Bastian asked me, putting his arm over my shoulders. I grinned and ordered him a glass of Prosecco.
“Honey, come quick… he’s not biting anymore!” he yelled for Mark, and I added another glass to my order from the bartender.
"Okay, guys... I had to tell you this, but enough! Party time!" I mimicked Mark.
We clinked glasses and hugged each other for a moment.
As if the DJ had a heart for me that evening, he played several Rosenstolz songs in a row. When the Marianne Rosenberg anthem, where she sang about how he belonged to me, began playing for all gay boys, the crowd couldn't contain itself. The atmosphere between the three of us was nowhere near as exuberant and harmonious. Even I got on the dance floor and tap-danced along with Mark and Bastian to Bon John Jovi's "Have a Nice Day."
Finally, we left, already among the last guests, into the Sunday morning. Bastian called for a taxi. I couldn't drive myself anymore. I left the car at home and didn't want to drive home in it at night.
“Oh man, today is all about sleeping in,” said Mark, laying his head exhaustedly on my shoulder.
“Sure,” I replied comfortingly, stroking his back, “I have another shift waiting for me.”
I listened to his steady breathing and you would have thought he was already asleep while standing.
"Honey?" Bastian trilled loudly. "Are you not feeling well?"
"Max?!" Mark whispered to me. "Don't ever tell him that I actually hate him sometimes, okay?"
I called across the street to Bastian to say everything was fine. He strolled lightly back and forth, nervously checking the taxi.
“Are you okay?”
Mark pulled away from me, and if I interpreted his look correctly, I thought I knew that Mark had already made a significant decision, but just didn't want to talk about it now.
I refrained from asking any further questions and we went over to Bastian's. The taxi turned onto Wismarsche Straße. During the ride, Bastian handed me a folded piece of paper, which I put in my pocket unread. I assumed it was from Kevin. At least the kid wasn't letting up, I thought, and I was already fantasizing about what I was going to say to him.
When I got home, I took a shower and wondered what Mark had hinted at earlier, because it sounded like there was a crisis between the two of them.
Kevin's crumpled piece of paper read:
Dear Max,
It would have been nice if we could have spoken tonight. Since you were in such a good mood with Mark and Bastian, I didn't want to intrude. Maybe we can finally talk on the phone. Please, I'll get back to you tomorrow.
mlG Kevin
It reminded me a bit of my school days, when we first started making friends this way. I threw the note away and fell into bed, exhausted.

Over the past few days, time has flown by in unison. The consistent summer weather welcomed guests to our restaurant, hungry for ice cream and fish. Despite all the exertion and sometimes stressful hours, there was still plenty of fun among colleagues. So, one evening, I went to the student club with Sven. I even met up with Heike once after work for a quick nighttime skinny dip.
Kevin called me last Sunday, of course. At first I was tight-lipped, but I refrained from dismissing him with a hearty "Fuck you!" Instead, I had to fend him off and ask him to come and visit me at home straight away. But I couldn't avoid a conversation. Shit, I thought in amazement, he can negotiate. But I postponed the appointment as long as possible. In the end, we agreed on my next day off. That gave me plenty of time, since I was still undecided. When Kevin called again two days later, just as he was in the middle of a busy ice cream business, I had to make it clear to him, harshly and unequivocally, that I had very little time until Monday at 3 p.m.
On Saturday, after work, Mark suddenly appeared at the back entrance of the restaurant. With dark circles under his eyes—at what point do men actually become adults, capable of controlling their emotions?—and shaking with fits of crying, like a complete, miserable mess, he simply said that he had thrown Bastian out.
“Hey, why?” I asked worriedly.
Sobbing heavily, he fell into my arms and stammered that Bastian had been making out with someone else for a long time.
“Come on, let’s go to my place,” and pushed him closer to my apartment.
I first made coffee, and while the water was running, I took a shower. Mark spent most of his time lying on my sofa, constantly blowing his nose. With difficulty, he regained control and was able to speak again.
“He’s been like this for a while now, haven’t you noticed anything?” he asked indignantly, gesticulating wildly.
I shook my head helplessly and put my arm around him reassuringly. I tried to find some clues about Bastian, but he didn't seem any different to me in the last few weeks.
"That filthy pig!" Mark fumed, reporting that he found Bastian in the bedroom with a rather sleazy guy. Completely furious, he confronted him. Bastian accused Mark of making their relationship boring. Then one thing led to another, and they started blaming each other. Mark accused him of being lazy and complacent, and of feeding him too much, and Bastian retorted that he was constantly calling him stupid.
"Well, honestly, Max?" Mark asked, but I remained silent. Judging that would have meant agreeing with Bastian. Mark certainly had a higher IQ, but he didn't exactly hold back on it. Sometimes it was embarrassing when he practically showed Bastian off.
"Finally, that afternoon, it all came to a head. Bastian completely lost it. He screamed that he hated me. With every sentence he said, he threw a plate against the wall and even smashed my laptop," Mark reported. "That was the last straw, and I took action. First, I packed his things in a suitcase, and when he didn't want to leave right away, I threw the suitcase out the window."
I listened to Mark without saying a word.
"I'm embarrassed all over the entrance," Mark moaned, sobbing heavily, and I handed him a new tissue. After Mark had blown his nose several times to release his pent-up grief, he regained his composure and yelled in all his despair: "That asshole!"
“It will pass, if necessary you can move.”
In the following ten minutes of silence we drank coffee.
“Oh Max, what will happen now?” he asked me tiredly.
“Mark, little Mark…” I said encouragingly, “you’ll get over it.”
As he sat next to me, his sad eyes looking at me expectantly, I felt truly sorry for him, and I hugged him. Anyone who knew Mark knew that he would moan sadly for another week or two, but after that, he would finally put the relationship behind him as a terrible experience. He wouldn't be alone for too long, I knew that much about him.
Neither of us was thinking about going to a disco, but I didn't feel like listening to him complain for hours. So I suggested to Mark that we take a walk on the beach. Fresh air was always good, and sometimes it even brightened his mood.
The light from the promenade shone across, and over time, our eyes adjusted to the darkness. The warm night breeze felt good on our skin. The brightly lit windows of the Hotel Neptun and the neighboring buildings formed a harmonious backdrop. We turned around at the hotel.
“Do you know what the worst thing is for me right now?” Mark asked me, standing in my way.
I shook my head, and when he said he hadn't eaten properly in three days, I had to laugh heartily. It was the Mark I knew again, and I pulled him away from the beach.
There were eggs and bacon in the fridge, and I also had some bread left in my kitchen. My last supply of Prosecco was worth drinking, and we toasted to a better future.
Around noon my cell phone woke me up.
“Good morning, how about breakfast?” chirped Mark from the cell phone, for whom I had prepared a bed on the couch.
“Where?” I asked briefly.
"Family-like, right next door... and... with two wonderful guys you have to meet."
That would mean he was already feeling better and had informed my parents, I concluded and hung up.
"Hello," I greeted everyone, still a bit tired. We'd been chatting until the morning. The fact that we were even talking about this Kevin didn't bother me so much. There weren't really any secrets in the scene, and it was common knowledge that Mark and Bastian liked to share their fun with others. At first, he and Bastian really thought Kevin just wanted to join in on the fun. But then he started asking them about me. Mark said I shouldn't worry so much about Kevin. His assessment of Kevin was that he was good-looking, really cute, wonderfully inexperienced and naive. In all seriousness, he even called him someone mothers-in-law would get divorced for.
“Good morning, my boy,” greeted my mother, who had come over.
Mother sat down with us, and as she patted Mark's hand, it was clear to me that she already knew about his current relationship problems. I just shook my head and lit a cigarette, registering that Father had even cooked him eggs for breakfast.
Almost two years ago, after Mark had just taken Bastian in, I introduced them as my friends. As soon as they sat down at the "family table," they started putting on a fake, effeminate act. Near despair and under my parents' strange gaze, I tried to explain that it was all just a joke. When Father tried to sneak off to his kitchen, Mark put an end to it. Mother embraced Mark in her oversized, maternal heart. Over time, there were even situations where she held him up to me as an example. The poor boy, his parents divorced, tossed about, on his own, having to make his first experiences in life. While I pointed out that Mark had taken her in and was certainly up to no good, she remained steadfast in her insistence that he was studying, which showed that, despite everything, he knew what was important in life. But a camel would sooner swim across the Baltic Sea than she would exclude him.
“Your friend is mine too,” she insisted, and I gave up.
I always wanted my time at high school to never end, and then I wavered between an apprenticeship or university. Without having made a decision, I put my high school diploma in the drawer. I let Mother talk about Mark. She didn't know the whole truth about him. Sometimes I got the feeling she saw in him the son she always wanted. But luckily, I was wrong. Steffan was important to me back then, and while I was in the army, I basically just wanted to gain time to think things over.
Afterwards, when my relationship with Steffan came to an abrupt end, I was still feeling helpless and left with nothing. Finally, I accepted my father's offer to work in the restaurant for the time being. Pursuing a proper training as a restaurant professional never crossed my mind. The vacation apartment had become my home, and it was affordable, too. But I ruled out living a life in a restaurant like my parents.
Dad's cell phone rang and shortly after he wiped his face, which meant there was trouble.
“Svenja is out,” he said, because the child has to go to the hospital because of a swimming accident.
“And that on Sunday,” added Mother.
Before I could protest my parents' usual suggestion that I step in, Mark immediately offered to help. Father rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but Mother preemptively jumped in and thanked him for his offer of help. That's how quickly the deal was sealed for her, and I turned around so Father couldn't see my grin.
"You work in the dishes. Not at the stove, not in the cold kitchen, and don't mess up the kitchen otherwise!" Father instructed him, already limiting Mark's territory.
Mark promised to do the work properly so that he could get breakfast and the other meals done right away.
“That could be expensive,” I jokingly said, but Mother immediately promised him that work has to be paid for.
Later, we occasionally heard dishes falling to the floor from the kitchen. Mark stood in front of the dishwasher, drenched in sweat, constantly wiping his face. The floor was littered with shards of plates, which he pushed together with his feet.
"Hey man, two hours' worth of wages just fell on the floor again," I joked. The piles of used dishes grew on the return table. Mark cursed and complained at the same time that it seemed unfair and that he couldn't handle it alone.
Father watched from the counter as Mark struggled, but still showed no system in his actions. Shaking his head, he explained the procedures to Mark again and what he should pay attention to.
While the cooks had long since left, he was still working on the dishwasher, "I'm exhausted!"
“Yeah, yeah, about that little dishwashing,” I joked.
Exhausted, Mark dragged himself to the "family table" and collapsed onto the chair. His sweaty clothes clung to his body. He accepted the giggles of his colleagues. My mother brought him a spritzer, which he drank without stopping. He almost begged for another glass.
“Well, together with the food and drinks… let’s think about it,” I teased, “I’ll get another 20 euros from you.”
Amidst the loud laughter at the table, my mother said that it was all right and immediately reminded everyone present, including herself, who had dropped something.
"Max, all I'm saying is... confirmation." I immediately fell silent, embarrassed, because that was really embarrassing back then. While serving the drinks, nothing fell to the floor, but I did spill beer all over a guest's back.
“Enough, enough, here is my reckoning.”
One after the other, the colleagues handed over their earnings and said goodbye.
We were still sitting together, and Mark slowly woke up again. Since Svenja wouldn't be showing up the next day either, Mark immediately agreed without much begging.
“At the moment, that’s the best distraction for me.”
"Work is the best medicine," his father told him. "It's bitter, but it's also good."
Later, when we lay down and I thought I had fallen asleep, he suddenly stood naked in front of me.
“May I come to you?” he asked and I moved a little closer to the wall.
“But only to sleep,” that was all Mark wanted.

On my days off, I used to sleep at least until noon. I had no trouble doing that. But with Mark, it was impossible. As soon as I woke up, I felt his fingers stroking me, and when I pushed them away, growling grumpily, he kissed the back of my neck.
“Get up, my little, dear Max, Kevin is waiting…” he whispered directly into my ear.
Out of nowhere, I jumped up angrily, pushed him onto the messy bed, and squeezed his wrists tightly.
"Stop that! Otherwise..." I sat on him, noticed his morning erection, and refrained from further threats, "...you better go pee, come on!"
The alarm clock read nine o'clock. Although it was bright and sunny, it was the middle of the night for me. I went to the bathroom, washed, and shaved.
I lacked the basics for a normal breakfast, with rolls and jam. Mark wasn't satisfied with a waiter's breakfast, as a proper breakfast is the best foundation for the day, so he ran straight to the discount store himself.
I cleared away his bed and drank my first coffee. I didn't want to share his bed another night. Since his shopping trip was apparently taking longer, I vacuumed and even tidied up the kitchen a bit.
I took a long time getting dressed on my own, but when Mark came back, I was already dressed and we set the table.
"What do you want to do together today?" Mark asked, his curiosity burning in his soul.
“I really have no idea.”
No matter how hard I tried, nothing came to mind. I definitely didn't want it to come across as typically gay. So, just to be on the safe side, I crossed out the idea of us going to a gay beach or to "No. Seven." I didn't want to drive into Rostock or go to Warnemünde at all, because one of the gossip types would surely see us there.
Mark was brooding to himself, already chewing on his third roll, and I wondered how he managed to stay so thin.
"Don't take it personally," he mused aloud. "You're acting like he has the plague."
"Listen," I replied sharply, "what am I supposed to do with that schoolboy? He'll probably go to high school just fine."
Mark listened patiently as I raised further concerns, starting with conflicting free time, his privileged outlook on life, and generally feeling quite old compared to him."
Mark laughed out loud and slapped his thighs.
“Max,” he said, “it sounds more like you already like him.”
"Nonsense!" I countered. "You have no idea."
I reminded Mark that we still had no idea.
"How about this... oh no, that doesn't work either. Wait, I'll have it in a minute..." he continued joking, taking a big sip of coffee.
"Zoo?" I immediately shook my head. No, we weren't getting anywhere like this, I told myself, and lit another cigarette.
"Why are you so nervous?" he asked immediately. "Well, I would..."
"But I don't do it like that," I immediately snapped at him, because I knew what that meant. Mark chose guys purely based on their looks. The most important criterion was the size of the bulge in their crotch. Only after that did looks matter. If the sex was satisfying, he was happy to overlook any potential flaws. This made it easier for him to assert his superiority.
Suddenly he asked about Sven. I looked at him, confused, as if he had already set his sights on a new companion. I simply said that Sven, as a student, was a nerd and otherwise into leather.
„Ups.“
“So, don’t distract me now and finally give me a hint!”
“Harbor tour.”
“Harbor tour?” I repeated, searching for the meaning of the word.
"Exactly. There you're among yourselves, with only older, unknown tourists. You can't run away from each other, or I'll find you here in your lazy bed two hours later."
With his grin he alluded to his genius.
“You’ll be back to yourself tonight, think of your flowers, they need water,” I decided immediately, not letting his fake pout deter me.
Actually, Mark was right. For someone who grew up in Warnemünde, a harbor tour seemed rather boring.

I sent Mark to the restaurant in good time and, almost at the point of despair, stood in front of my closet. The selection was limited, as variety in outfits wasn't as important to me as the brand. I usually wore jeans and T-shirts or sweatshirts; I was rarely seen in a regular shirt or trousers made of fine cloth. I tried on blue jeans with a red short sleeve shirt, a gray muscle shirt, or a long sleeve shirt, but I still took them off.
Sweating again, I laid the various outfits on the bed and opted for the gray linen trousers and a white short-sleeved shirt. Standing in front of the mirror, my eyes covered with sunglasses, I found myself looking even older and quite country-chic.