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Damn, nothing but work! Not that I have anything against earning money, but on Friday mornings, my creative urges are limited, especially when, as in this case, a free weekend was just around the corner. As a journalist, I can only enjoy this luxury once every two weeks – but then I like to do it to the fullest and don't wait until late Friday evening to start. But sometimes things turn out differently than you expect...

Our team was in a renovated baroque villa, a well-known tourist destination in our region. They were supposed to present some kind of marketing concept there. And for a local television station, attendance and reporting are, of course, mandatory. Events like these mean plenty of local celebrities and, for me, always a smile on my face, which in this case was the thought of a refreshing swim in the nearby lake. Nobody likes working in 30 degrees Celsius in the shade. At least not in stuffy rooms. "Why do they have to do this in the warmest room in the entire house?" Tim whispered to me. Our young 17-year-old intern was the only bright spot for me that afternoon. His question perfectly summed up what everyone in the room was probably thinking. I grinned: "So everyone knows what a hot program is about to be presented here." We laughed, and I asked him to put the laptop in the working mood. After all, the text for the report had to be forwarded to the editorial office immediately for inclusion in the current newscast. It was our last appointment; after that, we'd be off work, and I'd promised to drive him straight home so neither of us would have to go back to the office.

I went to my camerawoman to discuss the details of the planned report. In our young team – at 26, I was still one of the oldest – it was quite common, contrary to some clichés, for women to be responsible for good images. Eventually, the process began, and the initiators actually managed to present their concept within an hour. After another 30 minutes, filled with questions from the press representatives present, the official part was over. I made a sincere effort to write my text in a light and airy manner, in contrast to the dusty, dry atmosphere of the event space, and asked Tim to email the finished product to the editor. So while he set up an internet connection and I delegated the camerawoman to the station to deliver the footage, the district administrator approached me. "Tom, would you stay a moment? We'd like to toast this successful project. And the press can't be left out. After all, they're a great help to us." The politician, whom I knew very well from various events, winked at me. "And your station especially. Will you come into the hall with me?" It was important to make your presence felt. Even after work. "I'll be right there." The district administrator nodded contentedly and hurried off toward the conference room.

I shrugged at Tim, who of course had to wait for me. "It'll take a moment." The boy didn't show much protest. "I don't have anything planned today anyway, and my parents aren't home." "Are you coming with me?" "No, the text isn't quite finished yet, and it's not for me anyway. I'll stay here and wait for you." "Okay," I smiled at him, "I'll hurry."

Hurrying is always a tricky thing in these circles. You get engrossed in this conversation, are reminded of this appointment, and are pointed out errors in the reports, which, of course, are always the fault of other colleagues. So the whole thing took much longer than I expected. But at some point, I actually managed to break away from the illustrious gathering, which had long since mutated from a concept presentation conference into a weekend opening party.

So I walked from the ballroom back to the room that had served as the media room. The door was open, and Tim didn't even notice I was back. He was sitting in front of his laptop, engrossed in something. I crept up and took a look at what was apparently preventing the intern from complaining about the accrued overtime. I couldn't help but grin – Tim had landed on nickstories.de and was engrossed in one of the stories there. My wait was in vain; the boy was immersed in the world of some story and had completely repressed everything else. Even when I cleared my throat, there was no reaction. "Do you want to finish reading, or should we go? Do you think the two of them will still get along?"

Tim jumped up, looked at me in shock, and his face quickly turned bright white. He realized I'd realized what he was reading and began to tremble. "I... I... uh, damn, shit..." The boy ran out of the room and out of the house. From the window, I could see him fleeing into the reed belt by the lake. Since I assumed he wouldn't leave immediately, I took the time to shut down the computer, load it up, and stow it in my car. Driven by a sixth sense, I bought some liquid and solid food in the pub's beer garden and also headed into the reeds.

I found him in a small clearing, hidden from view from the outside, right by the water. He was staring at the glassy lake, tears in his eyes. "What do you want?" "Do you think I'll leave you sitting here in the reeds?" "You can't care less. Go tell everyone I'm gay. No one will understand anyway. But leave me alone." I sat down next to him and handed him a tissue. When he didn't respond, I wiped the tears from his eyes, put my arm around his shoulders, and told him in a few sentences the end of the story he had started reading earlier, and which I had interrupted. When I was finished, he looked at me, and his fear seemed to have subsided a little. "Man, how did you finish that story so quickly?" I had to smile. "Not at all. I read it at home a few months ago."

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

He shook his head, started to laugh, and I still had my arm around his shoulder. He laid his head on my shoulder and whispered softly, "To be able to experience this..." "What do you mean?" I asked him. "You're perhaps the first person who truly understands me. Do you know when someone last held me in their arms? When I was able to talk to someone, properly, about what's really bothering me? My parents only have their own problems; the main thing is that I'm functioning properly." I stroked his short blond hair. "Well," I replied, "at least I know it's hard to walk the path whose goal you haven't yet reached. Maybe because you haven't found the beginning yet. But I know how hard it is." Tim looked at me questioningly: "What was it like for you back then? How did you realize you were gay?"

I thought about it all and thought about Marc, with whom it all had somehow begun for me, and after a moment's consideration, I began to tell him a long story. But since there was no shortage of time and neither of us was in a hurry, I went back a bit and started when I was a young, innocent fifth-grader myself.


Sports accident and Cuddle games

Our class was a close-knit community back then, with most members having been together since they started school. At some point during that school year, we had a new addition named Marc, who didn't know anyone and thus, almost inevitably, became an outsider at first.

It should be obvious that an eleven-year-old couldn't handle something like that in the long run. A full-blown feud soon developed between Marc and another boy, sparked by something trivial and then persisted. At least once a week, there was a full-blown fight between the two.

Anyone familiar with the structure of a GDR school knows that every class had a group council. (For everyone else, this was something like a junior works council, the link between the teaching staff and the student body, so to speak.) In my role as a member of this institution, I initially made myself unpopular with Marc's family. The council had decided to visit his parents and ask them to exert a bit more influence over their boy. After all, we wanted peace and quiet in our class.

Marc's father also wanted some peace and quiet when we showed up at his front door with six of us (well, let's say six). We briefly explained what we considered to be a world-shattering problem, but he somehow considered the renovation of his house, which he was currently working on, more important. How could he? He mumbled something like, "Sort this out between yourselves and leave me alone," and continued sifting his sand. I took over as the spokesperson. "Let's go, there's no point. Like father, like son." He looked at me in astonishment – he probably hadn't expected that from an eleven-year-old kid. Only when we were almost out of earshot did he yell after me, "Get out of here and don't let anyone see you again," although he only used the singular, even though there were six of us. We knew who he meant. I didn't care; I had no intention of going back there anyway. But at that age, resolutions often don't last long.

There were many ways to make physical education appealing to me. Handball or soccer, for example, even though I was anything but a gifted athlete. Athletics and the high jump awakened my competitive spirit, and I developed the ambition to continually improve my performance. But my physical education teacher always achieved a masterpiece when he set up his famous "Power Twelve" (strength test). A dozen stations where the goal was to strengthen various muscles and collect points, which would later lead to grades.

This power circle changed my relationship with Marc, literally, in an instant. I was busy counting jump ropes for my gymnastics group when there was a sudden, brief scream at the climbing and pull-up wall. I saw that Marc was lying on the mat, clearly not in his right mind.

Physical education teacher Jentsch, who obviously couldn't be at twelve stations at once, inquired what had happened. "He somehow tripped and then hit his head on the pull-up bar."

Ouch. At least our enfant terrible had regained consciousness by now. He was bleeding slightly from his head. Mr. Jentsch quickly switched from educator to doctor and diagnosed: "It's not that bad. It doesn't even need stitches." Marc tried to simultaneously display strength and hide his pain: "So I can continue now?" The PE teacher protested: "No, you're going home now. And if the pain doesn't get better tonight, you'll see a doctor." Nowadays, any teacher would probably have called a rescue helicopter; back then, it was just "Who's going to take him to his parents?"

Silence in the forest; interest in bringing the injured man home to his family was apparently limited. Even though it would take at least a whole class period. Since no one volunteered, it was up to the physical education teacher to choose someone to accompany him home, and his choice fell on me.

I refrained from protesting, but sincerely hoped that Marc's father wasn't busy with construction work in front of the house again. I escorted my injured classmate to the locker room, where he first checked the severity of his injury in the mirror. "It's not that bad. I've had worse." He followed up with a brief list of various minor accidents. "You've had a few experiences, haven't you?" He nodded thoughtfully. "You're lucky my father isn't home. Then you'd have had a few experiences." I grinned slightly.

Marc's mother welcomed him without much complaint. She was obviously used to minor injuries to her offspring (he had a younger brother). Since she didn't know me yet, the reception was quite friendly, and I was even offered drinks. However, the lure of class was still very strong at the time, and my plan was to return to the educational institution as quickly as possible. I gently stroked Marc's head once more and said quietly, "So long, unlucky boy." He looked at me for a long time and asked, almost fearfully, "Shall we be friends?" Hmm. I thought about it for a moment. The boy wasn't as bad as I thought. I nodded slightly and left. The ice was broken.

This school year's class trip put another stamp on our friendship, the final straw, so to speak. During the class soccer game on the day of arrival, Marc's defect struck again: he sprained his ankle. This, of course, prevented him from participating in the long hikes planned. And since even our class teacher realized that he couldn't stay at camp alone all day, she agreed to my suggestion that he stay as a "nurse." "You could do a little something for the school," she suggested. We both smiled at her and said in unison: "Sure."

I don't really remember exactly how we passed the time back then. I only remember that we definitely managed without television and computer games. At some point, we came up with the idea of watching a sunset. While the others were enjoying some kind of card or board game, we sneaked out of the camp onto a small hill and watched more than just the glowing fixed star disappearing over the horizon. He tapped me on the shoulder and pointed towards the edge of the forest, where a herd of deer shyly emerged from the protective thicket. We watched the natural spectacle in fascination and silence. Marc had put his arm around my shoulder and was snuggled up to me. Somehow, something clicked for me, or rather "pop": Cupid's arrow had hit me for the very first time, of course, without me having the slightest idea what was wrong with me at the time.

From then on, we were practically inseparable. During the summer holidays the following year, as we were more or less looking forward to seventh grade, Marc and I spent much of our time visiting the swimming pool and going on bike rides. One of these trips took us to the river meadows, where we decided to rest for a bit. We spread out our blanket, quickly took care of destroying the food we'd brought with us, and then lay down next to each other on the blanket.

The sun was playing a lively game of interplay: Into the cloud – wind on, thermometer down. Out of the cloud – wind off, thermometer up, risk of sunburn on. This was obviously too much for Marc. He shifted his position, moved under the covers. "Come down. You'll catch a cold or get sunburned." The thought of lying under a blanket with this boy gave me more or less visible pleasure, so it didn't take long to accept this invitation.

Marc knew exactly what he wanted. "I'm cold," he shivered. The weather conditions were changing almost every second, but it seemed rather unlikely that a healthy person would get chills in temperatures ranging from a minimum of 20 to a maximum of 30 degrees Celsius. I must have looked at him questioningly. He saw this, smiled, and assured me with complete conviction: "Yes, really... Warm me up," and looked at me with big, brown, forest-like eyes. I began to stroke his back. "Here, feel this," he asked, and guided my other hand to his arm.
In fact, he seemed cold: He had goosebumps. Without thinking twice, I wrapped my arms around him. And what did he do? He kissed me on the lips.

We didn't continue our bike ride that day and stayed under the blanket by the river. When other walkers approached, we disappeared completely under the woolen fabric. A remarkable sight for passersby: a living bundle of wool. I wonder what thoughts come to mind.

Marc was definitely having similar thoughts, his caressing hand slowly and lovingly moving up my thigh. I protested at first, but he told me, "That's part of it. You can do it too." He kissed me and guided my hand between his legs. As if the nature lovers had known, the two of us remained undisturbed under our blanket for the next half hour. Or maybe we simply hadn't noticed the passersby.

From then on, these quiet, intense moments together became a part of our friendship. Besides love, I also experienced another emotion: jealousy. Marc was participating in the adolescent game of musical chairs. In our class at the time, there were about five boys and five girls who were gathering and sharing experiences in every possible male-female constellation. "My" Marc was one of the most active when it came to trying French kissing.

Only occasionally did one of the girls show interest in me. It never lasted longer than a week, and I didn't make any effort to make the relationship permanent. I only wanted one thing permanently: Marc's affection.

Garden with shot

The older we got, the rarer our moments of togetherness became. By then, the tenderness had almost disappeared; it was all about pure lust and satisfaction. Of course, that was less satisfying for me. But I'd known for a long time that Marc would probably never be able to feel the same way I did. He was into women, and the occasional change of scenery wasn't out of the question. My friendship with him became more relaxed. After German reunification, we switched schools. He went to a secondary school (Realschule), I to a high school (Gymnasium).

For me, there was no partner in sight, and coming out was out of the question. My surroundings were completely heterosexual. Whenever I wasn't alone back then, everyone else was perfectly camouflaged. Just as perfectly as I was.

The clique, which at that time was delighted by my presence at irregular intervals, one day grew. Almost out of nowhere, two boys appeared – and stayed. Rico and Maik were a bit older than us, and so they rose through the hierarchy relatively quickly. Rico seemed to like our part of town; he rented a garden with a gazebo, which from then on became the meeting place for the clique. A youth meeting place in the countryside, an adult-free zone. This naturally appealed to us 16-year-olds. So at regular intervals, which became shorter and shorter, there were parties to celebrate. At first for the most trivial of reasons, later simply for the sake of the party.

Maik, who, to put it mildly, was anything but bright, was swapped out for Andre at equally decreasing intervals. He was a friend of Rico's from old times, considerably older than us, had a car, and was also gay. He was proud of it, and no one had any serious problems with it. At least not openly. Of course, a vehicle was reason enough to idolize the owner and driver.

It quickly became clear why Maik didn't show up anymore, or rather why Andre wasn't there when Rico and Maik were getting drunk: He couldn't stand him at all. This was understandable in some ways: Whenever the two were together, there was always a bottle of alcohol nearby, and increasingly, a small bag from which the two rolled strange-looking cigarettes.

One day, or rather one late summer evening, the two of them, completely stoned, decided to go into the nearby forest with a blank-firing pistol hidden in the arbor to test their definitely no longer existing aiming skills.

Andre tried in vain to stop the two of them – a nasty argument broke out between him and Rico. The two yelled at each other without any regard for their underage audience. "Think about what you're doing, you can't think straight anymore!!!" Rico's response confirmed this. "What do you want? You just want to advocate for me. Er... preface it. Patronize me. Let me do my thing, I'm old enough." Andre changed his tone – from loud to almost threateningly quiet. "You're proving the opposite. Why do you have to go into the woods with this customer to shoot in your drunken state? It's either him or me. Make up your mind. If you leave now, our friendship is over." Rico at least seemed to think it over. Maik called to his drinking buddy from the garden gate: "Are you coming now, or what?" Rico brushed aside all his doubts and left.

Andre watched him silently, and although it was almost dark, I clearly saw his eyes grow sadder with every step. He retreated to the arbor's separate bedroom, which served as a sort of bedroom for permanent guests. I turned to the remaining visitors. In brief: three girls, three boys. The six of them obviously had better things to do than interfere in the conflict between three older people, let alone try to solve this problem. "Hey, did you just hear that?" Marc, who was busy with his current crush, Janina, grumbled angrily at the interruption: "Yeah, and? They argue every day anyway." For my unattainable angel, this was nothing unusual anyway, since things regularly got heated between him, his brother, and their sister. Or whatever was available at the time.

In any case, the boys in the gazebo were now the only ones within reach of the girls, and I was, of course, the fifth, seventh, or whatever wheel on the wagon—a superfluous one in any case. I left the cuddly haven and briefly considered whether I should disturb Andre, who, in contrast to the cheerful six, was sitting considerably more alone in the next room—probably incredibly sad.

I knocked and entered. He was sitting on an air mattress that had been converted into a bed, tears in his eyes. I spontaneously sat down next to him and hugged him. He began to tell me the whole story. How the two had met, how their truly great friendship had developed. Rico knew that Andre was gay. And he knew that he himself wasn't. Nevertheless, the two had shared a few X-rated adventures, stuck together through thick and thin. Until Maik came along. Suddenly, Rico was transformed; the two were drinking and smoking weed almost to death. Andre was suffering from this love deprivation, as he called it. "It's okay if nothing's going on between us. But then this guy comes along and ruins everything. I don't understand him."

It was difficult to say anything encouraging to him. While I was still thinking, the door suddenly burst open, and Rico stood before us. He, too, had something wide open: his eyes. His shirt was smeared with blood.

The Drink am See

Tim had stood up. "Advertisement!!!" He grinned, and I looked at him questioningly. "It looks like it's getting exciting. There's always advertising. I'll quickly go into the reeds for little interns." He disappeared, returned a few moments later, and made a move to sit down again. "You didn't wash your hands." He looked at me, probably to determine if that was a serious request. I tried to suppress a smile, apparently with little success. "Falls into the water," Tim replied. I stood up and was about to throw him into the lake. He got there first, grabbed my arm, and said, "Wait. As much as I'd like to go swimming. But I don't have a towel or any other clothes with me. I couldn't have known that this press conference would turn into a swimming trip. But we can go to Lake Biethetal, where my grandparents have a garden right by the water. And they definitely won't be there because they're on vacation with my parents. In Hungary."

At that moment, I loved Hungary. The weather was gorgeous, and an equally gorgeous boy had just invited me to a secluded piece of land for a swim. We briefly drove past my apartment, where I quickly threw a few things into a bag and gathered some provisions for us. A few kilometers later, Timmy guided me down a lonely, almost hidden track and made me stop at a piece of land that didn't really deserve the name "garden." A small, cozy cottage with a well-kept front garden and a spacious fenced lawn that ran directly down to the water on the lake side. A jetty served as a mooring for a rowboat, and in the evening glow, a pair of swans glided across the lake toward the setting sun. This was paradise.

We stowed our bags in the house, undressed, rushed into the cool water, and did what the swans do: We swam toward the disappearing sun. Tim knew the water and headed for a sandbank. He had solid ground beneath his feet. I stood next to him and enjoyed the spectacle of the sunset. "This is so beautiful," I whispered. "Yes," he replied, "I've never seen anything like this with another person." I looked into his eyes, where tears were about to break out, and took him in my arms. He held me tightly. "Hey, Timmy, the time for loneliness is over. You know me, and not just from your internship. What connects us is at least a soul mate. And whatever becomes of us, I'll always be there for you from now on. You're no longer alone with your problems." He looked at me, first incredulous, then happy. "Do you know what that means to me?" His lips met mine. "It's time to live." "Yes, you should. Stop playing hide-and-seek when you're ready. I've wasted too many summers myself." "Oh yes, there was something else. So how did the whole story with Rico continue?" I smiled at him. "Oh, is the commercial over? Take it easy, Timmy. First we'll swim to shore, and then we'll have something to eat."

No sooner said than done. We cooked ourselves a delicious instant soup, fried a couple of steaks in the pan because it seemed too much effort to fire up the grill for just two slabs of meat, and sat down on the terrace. When we'd finished eating, I asked him, "Beer or wine?" We opted for a bottle of sweet red wine and settled down on a lounger, where Tim snuggled up to me, sending expectant glances my way.


Open words

Andre and I both immediately thought of a catastrophe. Rico was in front of us, covered in blood, and we knew the two of them were completely drunk, planning to go shooting with a blank gun. "Shit, what's going on?" "The thing went off. Maik got it in the arm." "Where is he? Where's Maik?" "The forest is on the path, at the edge of the stone near Maik." Andre pieced together the location, grabbed his car keys, and ran to the garden gate. Using the car wasn't necessary because the injured man with the injured arm had already dragged himself to the garden. Whimpering, he leaned against the gate. Andre reacted immediately and correctly; it proved to be a great advantage that he had completed his community service in an ambulance. He disinfected and temporarily bandaged the wound and then ordered: "Get in the car, we need to go to the hospital." "No way, asshole," protested Maik. "Does this really have to happen?" Rico asked too. "This is about a little more than your childish games with such a stupid thing." "I wouldn't call it childish games," Marc replied. He was the first to intervene; up until then we had only watched what the three of them were up to. "You're right," Andre replied. "But it's childish when two people who, at least according to their IDs, are adults, stagger into the woods at night with a gun to shoot at metal or something else. And in that state, too. You're crazy." "More than just crazy," Marc muttered next to me.

Maik hadn't quite grasped the extent of his injury yet, obviously believing it was something like a graze. "I don't want to go to the hospital. It'll be okay." "If you don't need your arm, fine. But please give me that in writing so no one can get me accused of failing to render assistance later." Rico had briefly disappeared into the arbor and came back, holding a bottle of schnapps. The keg overflowed. It splashed. Andre had first knocked the bottle out of Rico's hand and then, not very lovingly, wiped his face again. At least he now seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation. Andre was in control again. "Okay, we'll take him to the hospital now. They'll probably keep you there too to sober up," he said, looking in Maik's direction, "and please go home." That meant us. We stuck to that. Everyone really did go home.

Just one day later, almost everyone involved met again in the garden. Maik had been released and was recovering at home. Furthermore, Rico had banned him from the garden for two weeks. The other two had talked it over thoroughly that morning. Rico had promised Andre he would stay away from the bottle and other drugs. He also wanted to resume his interrupted apprenticeship. The police investigation, which had already begun, was later discontinued; it was not possible to determine exactly what had happened in the forest. Based on his injuries, the most likely scenario was that Maik had shot himself.

Rico's promises, however, didn't last long. When Maik was healthy again, he became a regular at the garden again. And with him, the number of bottles of hard liquor increased, and then the number of empties.

One evening, Andre and I had separated ourselves from the rest of the party crowd and gone into the dormitory of the arbor. He complained, "I'm so fed up with this place." When he wasn't sleeping in the garden, he was staying with his grandmother; his relationship with the rest of the family was somehow strained. He had told me all this in more or less detail, and now he was seriously considering getting an apartment. "I don't want to stand in the shop all day, come back here at eight in the evening, and then see how they say 'cheers!' This stupid chatter is so annoying." He cried, I stroked him, and he calmed down. He stroked me, even touching my T-shirt. "Does that bother you?" he asked me. I shook my head; I was always receptive to affection. As proof, I kissed him on his stubbly face. "Are you gay?" he asked me. I flinched at first, then shrugged. I didn't want to reveal myself completely, because although Andre had become a very important friend, that was all. I was afraid that he would have wanted more if I had said yes. And sex with him – I didn't want that. He seemed to be able to read my mind: "You don't have to be afraid. I won't do anything you don't want to do," Andre reassured me. We just held each other tight. Suddenly, Marc burst into the room. "Tom, shall we..." He stared at us, grinned, said, "Sorry!" and disappeared again. Andre looked at me uncertainly: "How do you think he'll react?" "That shouldn't be a problem." I thought about it for a moment, but then told him that we had a special relationship. He smiled. "You'd make a nice couple." "Yes, but I don't believe it, and he certainly doesn't either." "After all, he's single again." "How do you know that?" He grinned at me mischievously. "It's not like you're the only one I'm talking to here." I must have looked a little confused when he put it into perspective: "But by far the most affectionate... So, now let's go over there."

A good half hour later, I brought Marc home, probably hoping he might be in need of affection again. Instead, he asked me about Andre. "What were you doing back there?" "What did it look like?" "Two guys in one bed." "And what's so bad about that? Besides, we only talked." He didn't seem to believe me, so I added, "And we cuddled a little too." "But you didn't tell him anything about us?" I decided to be honest. "Yes, it just happened that way." Marc swallowed, but I assured him that our little secret was in safe hands with him.

Andre took matters into his own hands, found his own apartment, and thus increasingly withdrew from the garden. We used the summer holidays for occasional outings together, usually just Andre and me, occasionally Marc, and occasionally other clique members joined in.

I visited Andre more often at the shop where he worked, and I also grew increasingly distant from our old surroundings, the garden at the edge of the forest, and ultimately from the group. Most of them had finished school with the tenth grade and were now diving into their training. My old circle of friends crumbled, and very soon only Marc and Andre remained.


The Handball-Clique

Of course, it wasn't the case that I didn't have any friends at high school. But that was limited to the school grounds or, at most, occasional encounters. I had very few close relationships with anyone. On the other hand, I did have a very close connection to sports, and since my own performance wasn't at its best, I decided to pursue a career as a referee. Our school handball team was always looking for young referees anyway. As a side effect, which I didn't really consider a side effect, there were some really cute guys running around between the goals on the school gym floor. The team's top performers were Benjamin and Daniel, who had also become my favorites. Then there was Felix, who was only a backup player on the team but was one of my starting players. All three were in their prime at 15 and truly a feast for the eyes. Surely one of the three would...?

I discussed this problem with Andre. He grinned. "Maybe you should get clear about your feelings first. Which of the three do you find cutest?" "Felix." "Then try your luck. Maybe you'll win his friendship first."

I threw myself into this venture with enthusiasm. It wasn't all that difficult to approach him. Felix lived a hundred meters away from me, as the crow flies, and we often met in the morning to cross the street together—our school was right there. Not exactly the best opportunity for in-depth conversations. But long enough to fall deeply in love. I enjoyed being in his presence, and I was desperately eager to find out if he could feel anything like that. But outing myself? Never.

The night before his 16th birthday, we played a round of pool and then went to my place to celebrate. His group, which included Benjamin and Daniel, was at the cinema that evening. It was a film that Felix didn't want to see. Much to my delight. Of course, it was a great honor for me that he spent the evening with me. We put a large bottle of Coke on the table and, since it was almost 16, another bottle of Jack Daniels. I suggested we drink a little brotherly love. We did so – with a real brotherly kiss. And not just once, but once per glass. We must have downed five or six small concoctions. No matter, you only go off the age of 15 once.

At midnight, Felix lay briefly in my arms, then we finished our drinks, and I took my young and by now very fragile 16-year-old boyfriend home. If I could have revealed my feelings to him, it would have been that evening. I didn't, thus missing a great opportunity to find out about his sexual orientation.

Andre also considered this an unforgivable mistake in my reporting: "You're a real idiot. If you absolutely don't dare, I'll have to intervene." I was now afraid that he would cheerfully approach Felix and directly address my preferences. His approach to solving the problem, however, seemed a little more diplomatic.

From that point on, our school's handball team had a new driver. At least for some of the away games. Andre's car was used as team transport, and Daniel, Felix, and Benjamin gladly accepted this kind of luxury. Andre studied the trio and then shared his findings with me one evening. "Well, I'm not sure about Felix and Benjamin. It could be, but I'm leaning towards heterosexual in both cases. Benjamin, as you know, is the heartthrob of the team, and he's had several girlfriends. He's either a perfect disguise or, what's much more likely, he's a real little Casanova.

Andre continued testing and only came to the conclusion that at least this trio had no objections to his homosexuality.
Little Casanova remained the team's goal-scoring champion and eventually became attached to Julia. The school handball dream team had reduced my trio of candidates to a duo. This gave the team's chauffeur the idea of inviting Daniel and Felix for a weekend just for the four of us: he, the two athletes, and me. The young handball players were thrilled with the idea: Simply invading a guesthouse somewhere sounded cool.

But it didn't happen. The Weekend of Truth, the working title of this project between Andre and me, fell victim to certain adverse circumstances. Daniel's parents refused permission, and Felix called in sick that weekend. To this day, we don't know whether he was really battling a fever or whether it dawned on him what the whole thing was leading to. Not even Marc could step in because he had to work on Saturday. So, with a heavy heart, we canceled the booked rooms at the guesthouse.

There was no further attempt. Daniel left our neighborhood, joined a new clique, and very soon, a nearby handball team. Felix's academic performance wasn't good enough for the Abitur (high school diploma), so he transferred to a Realschule (secondary school) at the end of ninth grade to complete his degree. He soon lost interest in handball, too. Our contact gradually faded, until later it was just occasional chats when we happened to run into each other because of our near-neighborhood. To this day, I don't know anything about Felix.

I had the longest contact with Benjamin. It was certainly not regular, but we saw each other often. He stayed in touch with Andre and visited him periodically. Sometimes with his Julia, sometimes without. At some point, I met up with him again for a game of pool and a few beers before he, too, disappeared from my sight. This time, the reason was his training, which was taking place somewhere in the far north of Germany.

Marc had also become scarce, or rather his parents had: They had built a new house in a neighboring town, and that meant that we two also saw each other much less.

A car could help: When I finally turned 18, I was supposed to get my driver's license. The theory wasn't a big problem, but my examiners expressed reservations about giving me the license twice – even though I'd practiced several times with Andre. Where we'd driven, there were neither stop signs that could be ignored nor traffic lights that could be run while the light was yellow. But those were precisely the offenses that led to the cancellation of my first two practical exams. All good things come in threes, and when I finally had the coveted document in my wallet, it no longer made sense to inspect Marc in his new house. His parents had separated, and his mother was unable to maintain the property financially on her own. For the remaining family, this meant temporarily moving into social housing shortly before Christmas: Marc had to celebrate his 18th birthday in an old prefab building. He had invited a few of his supposedly closest friends, but the only guest that day was me.

We sat down in his room that evening and tucked into the alcoholic supplies. Punch, beer, coward. Marc became increasingly sentimental. He put his arm around me, snuggled his head against my shoulder, and philosophized about the injustice of life. That evening, when we were absolutely certain that the rest of his family was asleep, he looked at me with glazed eyes, kissed me on the mouth, and said, "Let's do it." I had some reservations at first because the risk of being caught in the act was relatively high, but the desire and the alcohol quickly dispelled my concerns. We crawled into bed, let ourselves go, and enjoyed it completely. Marc was starved. Hungry for love and even for affection. Still, caution dies last. When we were finally lying in bed, completely exhausted, quite drunk, and cuddled up together, Marc said to me just before falling asleep: "Go to your bed so no one finds us here like this later." I kissed him one more time and then reluctantly obeyed, because of course he was right. What I didn't know at the time: This would be our last tender hour of adventure.

Marc was finishing his apprenticeship, I was studying for my high school diploma – a long friendship seemed to be falling apart because we simply didn't have time for each other anymore. His training company was in close proximity to the shop where Andre worked. It was inevitable that the two would maintain close contact. While I was busy with my community service after graduating, Andre was ready to offer Marc to move in with him. He seemed to have finally found a replacement for Rico – but neither of them were truly happy with their current situation. When I visited Andre one day while Marc was away for a weekend on family business, he lamented his woes: "I'm such a good-natured sheep. Marc is a sweet, nice guy, but he's not contributing to the rent as we agreed, just enough to help with the living expenses. And then I still stand in the kitchen, making our meals, and washing up. I'm not his mother." I was naive enough to consider something more than just living together: "Is something going on between you?" "Oh. If we cuddle once in a blue moon, that's a lot. Kissing is out of the question." However, Marc seemed to have thrown himself at a friend from the scene after a party – sex in Andre's bed without Andre, who was more than just longing for it. Because he hadn't gotten THAT from Rico, or from me, or even from Marc. I actually just felt sorry for him. I stayed with him that night, and it almost happened. But I pulled the emergency brake at the last moment: I didn't want to be a fleeting fling for him, a pressure valve. Besides, he was a nice guy, but I definitely didn't see love in his eyes.

Carefree Summer

"Did you tell him that so clearly back then?" Tim, who had been following my story closely, wanted to know. "I don't remember exactly. He wasn't angry, and that was the most important thing to me." I finished my glass of wine, and I could see that Tim had something on his mind. "What's on your mind?" "You notice everything, huh?" With that, he left my question unanswered for the time being and posed one of his own: "Shall we go inside? It's getting chilly." I acted indignant: "Hey, didn't I warm you up enough?" "Yes. But somehow... you realize we have to spend the night here? You've been drinking, so I'm not letting you go back." "I don't have anything else planned, Timmy. Do you want to go to bed right away? Are you tired?" He smiled at me. "No, somehow I've never been so awake. The wine, your hot story, you yourself... I've never experienced anything like this before."

I moved as close to him as possible, gently stroking his face. "It's not really that exciting. It might be wasted years." "Haven't you found your true happiness yet? The way you look?" "Oh, Tim, it hasn't been easy. I haven't come out to anyone except Andre and Marc. I haven't been able to do it. So no, I haven't found it yet." "But you told me to my face earlier, didn't you?" "Yes, I was absolutely sure about you too. The story on the laptop was almost 100% proof. Clearly convicted." "You mean playing hide-and-seek doesn't help?" "No, no luck anyway. Where are we sleeping tonight?" "Come with me."

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

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

We were silent for a few minutes, then he kissed me and then expressed his complete trust in me: "Do you know how many people brag about what hot stallions they are and how many cherries they've already laid? And how much gelding these stallions usually have? Or that all the cherries in the vast majority of cases fall into the category of crop failure? I don't think anyone has ever been as honest with me as you just were. Or to put it another way: no one has ever placed so much trust in me." We caressed each other, were silent for a moment, but then I answered him: "You know, until this afternoon you were a work colleague to me. A nice, handsome intern who came into my life, stayed for two weeks, and then disappeared forever. And then came your reaction when I caught you reading on nickstories.de. When you wanted to get away from me because your big secret had been revealed, I wanted to be with you. There was something that connected us. The story I then told you is one that no one knows in this context. And you're probably the only one who will ever hear it in its entirety." Tim kissed me on the forehead: "You said earlier that you've hardly come out to anyone except Marc and Andre. So there's something else—the story isn't finished yet. Who else was there, and what happened next with Andre and Marc?" He looked at me expectantly.


New Ways

A little later, Marc had the luck Andre and I were still searching for. He found true love. His relationship with Bianca grew slowly but steadily, and then quickly. After just three weeks, he moved out of Andre's house and into her parents' house. Later, the two of them got an apartment together and a cat. We spoke on the phone once more (I spoke to Marc, not the cat), then ran into each other by chance and chatted for a cigarette at a bus stop. After Marc had finished his apprenticeship, unemployment struck. His father, now working near a metropolis in Lower Saxony, got him a job—and a new apartment. Since then, Marc and Bianca have called this city, close to the motorway, home. Our contact consists of a few occasional text messages and even less frequent phone calls. We once planned a reunion, but a suddenly called press conference spoiled it for me. But we're working on it and are optimistic that it will work out in this lifetime.

When Marc moved out, Andre's life also changed dramatically. He traded his sales job for a teaching position, which his incredible computer skills had earned him. The building where his apartment was located was undergoing major renovations, so he had to rent another place. Our contact also dwindled. We exchanged emails once, then it was quiet. Unfortunately.

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

After completing my training, the local TV station "Local News Area" (LNA) offered me a permanent employment contract, which I naturally signed. Around this time, the internet began to make its way into my life, and at some point, I probably inevitably ended up on a well-known gay platform. My town was part of a district, and I was now a regular visitor to its chat room. However, what was on offer there was almost less interesting than savory from San Marino: 80 percent of everyone present just wanted sex. They could more or less articulate what they meant, depending on their experience, but that was just the way it was. 15 percent thought I was just looking for a quickie. However, I was able to have a great conversation with the remaining five percent – as long as they were online at the same time as me. And that was almost never the case.

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

Sandro had been watching me for quite some time before revealing himself to me. Then we hiked through the meadows for almost three hours. Three hours that served the sole purpose of getting to know each other. We met often, played chess, listened to music, were happy, and had decided to give it a try. Sunny, his nickname, was openly gay, but he knew I wasn't ready for that at the time and accepted that.

However, I didn't have the time for Sandro that I would have liked. After an eight-hour day, which often turned out to be much longer, I only sporadically had the desire and time to go to the movies or anywhere else with him. Since I had to work on weekends too, the whole thing didn't last longer than three months. Sunny ended our relationship before I'd even had sex with him once. It didn't go beyond all-night cuddling, fondling, and making out. I was to blame, and I knew it—I was just more in love with my work. My first steady boyfriend had fallen by the wayside, and the new path had turned out to be a dead end.

Anyway, Sunny didn't hold it against me, and we still meet today to play chess. Very rarely, but still. Sandro has been dating a student for two years now. And since the student has plenty of time for him, the two are very happy. I continued to chat, but I never let anyone get as close to me as Sunny again. I was almost certain I could live without love. Until Bastian, through no fault of my own and certainly unintentionally, convinced me otherwise.

Hofbräuhaus and Clique vacation

Basti was part of Stefan's clique, who in turn was the son of the owner of my local pub, where I liked to have a nightcap beer after work. Or occasionally five, if the atmosphere was right. The clique often met at "Laubenpiepers Eldorado"; I knew the guys quite well from billiards and skat. Only Bastian was a name I had only heard of, because he was training to be a travel agent in Bavaria. One evening, I entered the bar completely exhausted, simply planning to down a beer and then sneak off to bed. I saw the group of Stefan and his friends, and the boy grinning at me made my face freeze. The thought of sleep had immediately given way to something completely different. I was wide awake.

We immediately hit it off and chatted away. The others were playing pool, okay, so were we, but we didn't care how. The others weren't, because we were playing for rounds of drinks. Nevertheless, both Bastian and I managed to leave the match without paying for a round. Along with the barman's son Stefan—and, of course, his father—we were the last to leave the garden pub that night, well after dawn.

Once he crossed the Weißwurst equator again heading south, we kept in touch via ICQ. It was a welcome change for him, as he hadn't made many contacts in the Free State. We chatted almost every evening, and I waited for the reunion. But was he?

In any case, women were never mentioned when we chatted about anything and everything on the keyboard. At some point, he asked: "Why don't you come to Munich sometime?" The city of the Olympic Stadium, the Isar River, and the Hofbräuhaus—I was definitely up for it. Even if the aforementioned sights played only a minor role. I was looking for another sight in the Bavarian capital.

The trip with Stefan, which I had organized relatively quickly, was actually planned. However, for some inexplicable reason, he was fascinated by the flu rather than by a cosmopolitan city, so I had to get into the car alone and drive south. Of course, I wasn't particularly upset about that. The looming problem, which I became aware of on the highway, was that I had no idea where Bastian lived. Sure, I did have a street name and a house number. But I had no local knowledge, no map, and no navigation system. At a rest stop, I asked my charming host to describe the route. He offered to pick me up from a gas station near the town entrance. I gratefully accepted. Later, when he had guided me through the urban jungle, I knew: I would never have found this on my own. I would have ended up at the ice rink in Bad Tölz rather than on this small, inconspicuous side street that exuded rural idyll in the middle of the big city.

After our warm greeting, he showed me his Höhner-style apartment: two rooms, a kitchen, a hallway, a bathroom, and a balcony overlooking the greenery. He asked me, "What are you planning?" I kept my true intentions, which had a lot to do with cuddling, to myself and replied, "Show me the city."

A weekend for two sometimes goes by very quickly. On the first evening, we played our Snooker World Championship in a neighboring billiards cafe. I won the title by one game. As we fell into bed, dead tired, well after midnight, each in his own room, I had every intention of engaging Basti in a stimulating conversation. However, that remained a mere intention, as I fell asleep even faster than I could think of a suitable way to start a late-night chat. The second day was entirely taken up with a city tour, including a walk through the center. In the evening, Bastian invited me to the Hofbräuhaus – and we drove. So while I sampled the local everyday drinks, my driver lingered on caffeinated sodas, earning a few skeptical glances from both the waiter and the neighboring tables. That evening, the cola drinker decided it was time to take revenge for the snooker humiliation he had suffered the previous day. Needless to say, after all the drinks I had consumed, I didn't stand a chance and turned my previous day's victory into a resounding defeat. The end of this day was almost identical to that of the day before, except that this time I didn't even intend to start a conversation. Once again, I was hiding from myself. When I drove home on Sunday afternoon, I had a wonderful weekend behind me. But nothing more. I lacked the courage to approach Bastian and confess that I might feel a little more than friendship for him.

My next opportunity didn't take long to arrive. Stefan and Bastian's group had planned a very special holiday highlight for the summer. Since most of them had passed their Abitur (high school diploma) that summer, more precisely, everyone except Basti and me, it was time to celebrate in a big way. The plan: a week's holiday on the Baltic Sea island of Usedom. And I was supposed to come along – and of course, I didn't need to be asked twice. I didn't even have to drive myself, so I had seven days to completely switch off and maybe even finally get my emotions under control. The house in a holiday park near Zinnowitz was a dream: five bedrooms, a large communal living room, and a kitchen. When it came to the allocation of beds in the twin rooms, Basti immediately approached me: "Shall we?" It started off promisingly. I mentally screamed, "YES!" and answered him dutifully: "Okay, if you want. I'm in."

The Baltic Sea trip went exactly as you'd imagine when ten guys between the ages of 18 and 24 go on vacation together. Swimming, drinking, and girl-watching—well, at least that last point only applied to a large portion. Not all of us. Occasionally, we made one or two other excursions, for example, to the pier in Heringsdorf. There, we persuaded the staff to put together a suitable table for us, because there simply wasn't enough space for a group of ten. Instead, we had a really good time basking in the Baltic Sea waves: everyone drank either a coffee, a Coke, or a beer. Then we left the restaurant because the beach volleyball court at our resort was calling us.

Never have I enjoyed flirting so much, or so thoroughly, as I did this summer at this volleyball court. Blue skies, bright sun, and my bare torso made me look like an overripe tomato. A full-blown sunburn gave me a valuable argument for NOT accompanying my nine traveling companions to the beach disco. Not that I have anything against the beach. But I've never been a fan of disco, so I acted like the guardian of our vacation home while the others wanted to go flirting again. This time, however, with music and without volleyball.

At nine o'clock in the evening, the nine disappeared, only to return at two in the morning, completely quarreling. Two groups had formed, and I really didn't understand what was going on. Somehow a girl was involved, some local youth gang was involved, and some way liters of alcohol were involved. Four members of our travel committee decided to head back to the disco to solve the problem. And even with gentle persuasion, this quartet couldn't be persuaded to calm down or at least continue the celebrations inside the bungalow. Three other boys, including Stefan, were so agitated that a walk on the beach was absolutely necessary to calm down. Only Bastian and Karsten stayed behind, relieved me as holiday home watchmen, and put a bottle of vodka on the patio table for themselves as refreshments. Since I'd never had the pleasure of observing the Baltic Sea at night before, I decided to enjoy the lapping waves at near-dawn and, at the same time, have the evening's events explained to me in detail. However, no one was able to seriously describe the origin of the dispute.

After a fun and unusual walk on the beach, we returned to our holiday home shortly after 4:30 a.m., along with the dawn. Our disco quartet had also arrived back in the meantime, and the last person to go to bed was just in time to tell us that everything had been quiet and peaceful. Quiet and peaceful was also a fitting description for the scene that greeted us on the terrace: Basti and Karsten had significantly lowered the vodka level in the bottle, but had raised their own enough to fall asleep – outdoors, mind you. And even in the height of summer, it's not advisable to spend the night in the fresh air at dawn wearing only a T-shirt.

"Then we'll play wake-up call." I decided to take the initiative because I was beginning to miss my mattress, my pillow, and my blanket. It didn't take long for me to consider whether to use harsh or gentle methods to wake them up in the morning: I wasn't in the mood for an argument. So I gently touched the upper arms of both sleepers: "Hey, wake up! You guys need to sleep." Everyone grinned. "I mean, it's time to go to bed!" Basti smiled blissfully at me, grinned with glazed eyes, and slurred a cheerful, "Yes." He certainly seemed full of energy, got up, and immediately went from the terrace to the lawn, where he promptly decided to lie down again.

While Stefan led Karsten away and everyone else had already left, I still had to do the hard work of getting Bastian into bed. He was well aware of the need: "Shit, I'm drunk. Will you put me to bed?" "I won't leave you there." Arm in arm, we stumbled into our room, and somehow he actually managed to brush his teeth before falling into bed.

He put his arm around my torso and turned to me, whispering, "Thank you, you're the best. You get a kiss from me now." He followed his words with actions and, despite his condition, met mine with his lips. He emphasized this kiss verbally: "I feel good with you. Thank you for being here." I swallowed and started to confess, searched for words for a moment, and then whispered, "Basti, I feel good with you too." He hummed sympathetically. I continued, "I think it's even a little more... Basti, I love you. Can you imagine that there could be more between us than friendship?"

What a situation. Outside, the sun was almost rising, Bastian was lying next to me, quite drunk, and I declared my love to him at 5:30 in the morning. He was silent. I stroked his head, his face... but he didn't respond. He had fallen asleep. I briefly wondered what else he had noticed, but a little later I was out of order.

When I woke up again late in the morning, my first glance went to the neighboring pillow. Basti was lying there with his eyes closed, looking incredibly sweet – and he was already awake. When he noticed me moving, he opened his eyes and smiled at me: "Hey, morning. Did you sleep well?" "Hmm. A little bit, but good." "Did you put me to bed last night?" I nodded. "Man, I was drunk. Totally blacked out. It's good to know you were looking after me. And now I'm thirsty." I grinned at him: "Vodka?" He shook his head: "Not yet. Coffee. Nobody's awake outside yet. Would you like one?" "Oh yes – see you on the terrace."

As he disappeared toward the coffee machine, I stood there, pondering. Was he really completely lost, or was he just playing it off? I decided to wait for a sign from him, but that was in vain on this vacation. I lacked the courage to reveal my feelings, and thus myself, once again. The vacation passed; I was well rested, but also completely unsure about Bastian. Was there a chance?

Romantic Thunderstorm

And again, such a sweet guy was lying next to me, his eyes closed, and outside the sun was almost rising. I looked at him thoughtfully, but Tim wasn't asleep yet. "Hey, why don't you continue?" "It's almost light outside and I'm so tired. Besides, I thought you'd be asleep already." "I was waiting for the happy ending to the story." "Optimist. Do you think there is one?" "If you don't know, who does?" "Let's talk more later, okay?" "Okay. If you give me another kiss." I looked at him, took him in my arms, and then looked deep into his eyes: "Do you really want that?" He didn't bother to answer with words. Our lips played briefly, as did our tongues. Then we cuddled tightly and sank into the realm of dreams.

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

Tim suddenly became serious: "Do you know how grateful I am to you? To finally have someone I can be completely open with. But also to have someone who trusts me 100 percent. I've... I've never kissed a boy before you. It was so beautiful. Last night. The night, and whatever else happens this weekend."

First, the weather changed. As we plowed through the lake water once more, we could see that something was coming our way. We hadn't noticed that the sun had hidden behind cumulus clouds. But we did hear the faint rumbling and then noticed the darkening sky. "There's a good chance we won't be spending the night on the terrace forever." Tim didn't seem bothered: "I'll spend the evening with you somewhere else." "I think IN the house would be the most appropriate place."

So we sat by the window, watched the thunderstorm descend, and were startled a few times because there must have been a few impacts nearby. The violent storm captivated us; we sat close together and exchanged few words. Towards evening, the intensity subsided, with only the rain continuing to patter relentlessly on the roof of our home. This made me reminisce about the past. "Yesterday at this time, we watched the sunset over the lake." "Yes," Tim replied, "but even this weather has a certain coziness to it." We uncorked a bottle of wine, sat in the living room, and enjoyed the rain and wine by candlelight. "What happened to Bastian? What happened after your Baltic Sea vacation?"


The rote Sun from Bali

Bastian and I remained in close contact, even though we didn't see each other much. I was back in Munich for Oktoberfest, and after several Maß (literally "measuring"), I was almost ready to make a second attempt at coming out to him—right in the middle of the world's biggest folk festival. Two groups of drunken teenagers objected to the idea of starting a roast chicken and beer mug throwing contest right next to us. Since there was no clear winner, fists started flying. We failed to escape in time and had to convincingly explain to the police that we belonged to neither Group A nor Party B. By the time we'd sufficiently succeeded in doing that, we'd had enough and ended the day uneventfully in bed. Everyone in their own, as usual.

We chatted two or three times a week in the evenings, and one day Bastian surprised me by announcing that he was planning a trip to Bali for his 20th birthday. He asked me: "What do you think of Bali?" "It's incredibly beautiful, but certainly unattainable." "It's not that expensive. Why don't you come with me?" "I don't think I can afford it." "As a trainee at a travel agency, I have the opportunity to book short trips like this for up to 20 percent less. You should at least check it out."

A day later, I received the offer in my email inbox, and I had to admit that the whole thing sounded incredibly tempting. It sounded like a financial balancing act, but one that was secure. One thing was certain: for this money, this trip would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Escaping Europe for the first time? Basti wanted me to accompany him: "Come, if you can, don't think twice. It would be awesome, the two of us under the red sun of Bali." YES, DAMN IT. It would be awesome. Was this offer the sign I'd been waiting for from Bastian? I rethought it, and with an advance from my boss, I decided to say "Yes!" Four days in Bali, my very first flights, and my dream boy Basti to boot—it promised to be the most exciting vacation of my life.

I was eagerly awaiting October. The plan was to fly to Munich first, using a domestic flight. But for nothing in the world did I want to experience the feeling of floating above the clouds without emotional and moral support. For my first airplane experience, I wished I had a competent companion – in the form of Bastian, the almost-traveler. So, I took a familiar means of transport to the Bavarian metropolis and learned the benefits of flying along the way. Have you ever been stuck in a traffic jam above the clouds?

However, we celebrated Basti's second birthday before our big departure – at a billiards cafe. To celebrate, I let the birthday boy win, although he would have won on any other day. I simply couldn't concentrate on the match. I saw him, I saw the airport, and I saw a dreamy white beach. I dreamed of four days that would last forever.

We first had to transfer from the south of the country to the north – the direct flight to Denpasar left from Hamburg. A taxi took us to the airport, where Bastian, with me in tow, calmly ran through the program: baggage drop-off, all the checkpoints, finding the departure gate, checking in. All of this went smoothly – and then I was sitting in this strange bird. It was a damn strange feeling as the plane taxied to the runway. Basti, sitting next to me, proved to be very caring. "Hold on tight, do whatever you want. But you don't have to be afraid. Watch out, we're about to take off. Ready for takeoff." I grinned – no one had ever offered me "do whatever you want." First, though, I felt the urge to get up safely. And at least as strong was the need to land safely back on earth. It was liberating to lose contact with the earth and dive into the clouds. Munich disappeared beneath us. While the captain murmured his greetings and explained the details of the nearly hour-long flight, Basti worriedly inquired about my condition. I leaned on his shoulder with relief and confessed, "It's not nearly as bad as I thought."

The staff filled the short time by, among other things, giving us instructions for disaster relief. The conversation actually turned to life jackets. I couldn't help but think of Michael Mittermeier: "In a plane crash over central Germany, the last thing you need is a life jacket. Good, unless you hit Lake Constance."

In any case, we didn't meet him, landed safely in Hamburg, treated ourselves to a beer, and waited for the long flight to Indonesia. That was also extremely smooth – apart from a few bouts of turbulence. As a novice pilot, it's always a strange feeling when the seatbelt display suddenly lights up at 12,000 meters. What happens now? Aside from a few bumps and a few stories from Basti about what he'd experienced during such turbulence, we had a very smooth flight.

When my traveling companion woke me, we had already left cruising altitude and were on our approach. It was shining down on us through the window: the Bali sun. Arrival in paradise.

Our resort's minibus was waiting for us at the airport, and we were off to the southwest. What awaited us exceeded my wildest expectations many times over: The "Four Seasons" in Jimbaran Bay was the destination of all our dreams. Check-in went smoothly, and our room immediately took my breath away: It overlooked a blue sea that you'd normally only see in a catalog. It also overlooked the sacred Mount Agung, not only Bali's highest peak but also an active volcano. During our stay, however, the sacred mountain remained exemplary and quiet.

The same went for Bastian: We spent the first day at the resort. The morning by the pool, the afternoon on the beach. 29 degrees, bright blue skies, but very windy, which meant: swimming in the Indian Ocean only at your own risk. Nevertheless, we threw ourselves into the waves, enjoyed the surf, and forgot everything around us. Time stood still... and he stood opposite me in the waves. I looked at him, and I would have loved to kiss him. He looked at me for a long time and seemed to understand. "I'm going out and sunbathe a bit," he said, heading towards the beach. Had he seen through my feelings? At least from that moment on, there was a hint of ice between us—and so close to the equator.

After his evening meal, Bastian made himself comfortable on the bed and turned on the television – and watched: RTL Shop via satellite! I mean, no paradise would be perfect without cooking pots from home with a 30-year guarantee, right? I suggested to my travel companion that we swap TV shopping from good old Germany for the tropical garden or a café in our hotel complex. He declined: "The flight is taking its toll on me – I'm staying here. If you want, go." Of course I went. So while I enjoyed the sunset at the beach café and looked out over the expanse of the sea, the only thing I was missing was affection and human warmth. But I already suspected that I had come to the wrong place with Bastian. When I got back to our room, he was fast asleep. I stroked his head, he growled and turned away.

On the second day, we took a tour of the island, and I absorbed every detail, because I sensed this trip would remain incredibly unique. In the evening, we decided to immerse ourselves in the world of the capital, Denpasar. That worked well for an hour, but then Bastian got hungry and chased me through the streets, looking for a McDonald's. The local food was too unreliable for him, and he had obviously not made enough use of the hotel's evening buffet. Sure enough, we found what we were looking for in this Asian holiday paradise, tucking into McChicken and hamburgers—presumably prepared in pots with a 30-year guarantee.

On the third day, Basti decided to visit the hotel bar and swimming pool, while I took a trip to the artists' town of Ubud, surrounded by rice paddies, and experienced the simple life of the Balinese people and their unique art forms. I didn't understand why Basti wasn't eager to spend every single free minute with the country and its people. Late in the evening, we went to the beach café together and talked about everyday life at home, punctuated by occasional digressions like, "Man, that looks amazing!" or "Look at the sea burning. It's awesome!" At least I learned that Bastian was particularly keen to find out more about his old classmate Maria. "We lost touch when I went to Munich. Something could have happened between us. Maybe it will when I get back."

Crack. Something broke inside me. I looked at him, looked at the blood-red sea, and felt tears welling up in my eyes. The Bali sun was setting, and with it my hope that something could happen between Bastian and me – but I still resolved to enjoy my last night by the sea. I sat on the beach until three in the morning and swore to myself never again to delve too deeply into the realm of emotions.

We spent our last day at the Bali Museum in Denpasar and on a coastal tour – it's incredible how diverse dream beaches can be. By afternoon, it was time to check out of our room. Since our flight wasn't scheduled until late in the evening, we took advantage of the opportunity to sunbathe and swim in the pool. The hotel's security guards prevented us from diving into the ocean waves again: the increasing wind made the waves too high and therefore too dangerous. The rainy season in Bali was dangerously close – but for us, the journey home was even closer. At 10 p.m. local time, we had to leave paradise behind, and when we landed in Munich hours later, dead tired, and arrived at Basti's house a short while later, I was left with only three things: a terrible sunburn, a terrible cold, and an indelible memory of a vacation that I probably won't be having again anytime soon.

After our trip toward the equator, Basti and I stayed in loose contact, but nothing was the same again. He works as a travel agent and has since moved back home from Munich. I work as editor-in-chief at "Local News Area" – there's no time for friendship anymore.

Back in it Everyday

Tim looked at me thoughtfully: "Actually, a happy ending should have been here." "Oh yes, that's what I told myself back then, too. But as beautiful as it was, I was and still am not blessed with happiness in matters of love. I wasn't able to stand by my feelings." Tim wanted to know more: "What would have been different?" "That's the big question." "You see, I'm glad you're lying here. And for my part, I hope that this is anything but a one-time thing, that the two of us have such a wonderful weekend. I don't know if true love will develop between us. That will certainly take a lot of time. But as a friend, I won't let you go unless you expressly wish it. You showed me yesterday and today where life is all about. And for that, I think I am infinitely grateful." Tim kissed me on the forehead, and a little later we fell asleep.

Sunday morning was reserved for cleanup, and then it was time to say goodbye, because Tim's uncle had announced he was visiting that afternoon. After all, someone had to check on the boy from time to time to make sure his and his parents' stay in Hungary was safe. I dropped him off at his front door. "See you tomorrow morning at the company." Tim looked at me sadly: "Then you'll be my boss again." "No, you'll never be an intern to me again." "Have you ever considered whether, of all the people at the company, one of us might be one of them?" I thought with delight of our young workforce: "I didn't just consider it; I know there's at least one more." "How?" "A few weeks ago, I took a look at our apprentices' computers. And someone has been visiting a gay chat with great regularity." Tim smiled. "Who is it?" "I compared the schedules. There are exactly three guys who fit the bill, and two of them say they have steady girlfriends. That leaves one. Suggest a candidate." Tim laughed. "I don't have to think about it for long. By far the cutest thing around here is Florian." Now it was my turn to smile. "You seem to have more luck than me in this matter. If none of the other two are bluffing, then it really is Flo."

On Monday morning, I entered the LNA office at the usual time, prepared for the tiring weekly meeting, where all the employees would go over all the deadlines. I entered the conference room, wished everyone good morning, shook hands with the boss, and then did the same with Tim – and received questioning looks. It wasn't customary to welcome interns like that. A little later, the so-called reading marathon began, in which the editor on duty recited all the events scheduled for the week. When I survived those 15 minutes without falling asleep, the boss took over: "If no one else has anything, I have something. Tim, our intern, is getting reinforcements today. For the next four weeks, we'll be hosting an intern from the Leipzig School of Journalism. Mr. Renzner, that should be your department. Please take care of this matter." With that, he turned to me. I indulged my supervisor with a bit of irony: "When will this matter arrive?" There was a knock. "Probably right now." The boss had the laughs on his side. "Yes, please?" When our new intern entered the room, my heart stopped for a moment: Standing before me was Benjamin, the handball god from my old school.

He, in turn, seemed well prepared: "Hello, my name is Benjamin." Then he grinned at me: "Hi Renzo. Nice to see you." I received more questioning looks. It's also anything but usual for trainees or interns to call me by my nickname. After the meeting was over, I briefly explained to Tim who had joined our team. However, this was anything but a coincidence; a colleague from our editorial team had met Benjamin at journalism school. When they both started talking about me, it was clear where Benjamin would be doing his internship.

During a busy week, I barely had time to look after either of the interns. The only thing I could do for Tim was to frequently schedule him on external appointments with Florian. It was obvious that the two of them thrived on their interactions.

On Thursday evening, Tim came up to me, beaming with joy: "I've invited Flo to Biethetalsee for the weekend – he accepted. How about asking Benjamin if he'd like to spend a weekend at the lake? You'll definitely have a lot to talk about." "I really should ask him. It's a good idea." Benjamin agreed: "Cool, finally some relaxation." So it was a done deal: four boys and a weekend at the lake.


weekend to celebrates

We were really lucky with the weather again; summer was kind to us four short-term vacationers. Florian was naturally surprised at first to meet me at the house by the lake: "Mr. Renzner, what are you doing here?" I couldn't suppress a laugh: "I'll throw you in the water and I won't let you out if you call me Mr. Renzner one more time. Don't make me older than I am. We're nothing more than four teenagers who want to spend an undisturbed weekend. Or do you consider yourself unable to classify me as juvenile?" My voice was meant to sound threatening, but Flo knew immediately how to take it. "Okay... you may be the grandpa among us, but juvenile is just about okay. Show us how athletic you still are. Whoever gets to the lake first?" For the rest of the story, the outcome of this sprint to the cool water is completely irrelevant.

We were frolicking in the water – and at some point Tim whispered to me: "I think I've fallen in love. With Florian. Are you really mad at me now?" "Give me one good reason why I should be mad at you." "Well, after last weekend..." "We agreed to see what happens. Have you come out to Flo yet, or are you even further along?" "Neither, but it's only a matter of time, I think."

That, however, was obvious. Both of them were flirting heartwarmingly, and at some point Benjamin strolled over to me and asked cautiously: "Tell me, is there something going on between those two?" "Yes. They just don't know it yet." "Like, what?" "This weekend we're experiencing the beginning of a long love affair." Benjamin smiled: "How romantic!"

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

Suddenly, the water was hectic; the romantic mood had been shattered, so to speak. Florian had pushed Tim away quite violently: "Are you crazy, man?" He was indeed; he had been slapped. With hasty swimming movements, the man he had just so gently kissed headed for the shore. Once there, he grabbed his towel and fled into the house.

Benjamin looked at me questioningly: "And what was that?" I immediately had the solution: "Either way – a misunderstanding. Either Flo isn't gay, or he's not yet able to embrace his feelings the way Tim can." "Renzo, the way they were adoring each other, they weren't floating on cloud nine, but at least on cloud nine. Why the hell doesn't he let me kiss him?"

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

I went over to him, sat down on the lounger, and gently stroked his wet hair. "I think you just overwhelmed him a little." Tim disagreed: "Why the hell do I think such a dream boy could be gay, why? I should never have done it." I tried to gently nudge him in the right direction: "No, Tim. The way you're thinking now is what I've been thinking for the past few years. You did it, and even if he didn't like it, at least you have clarity now. But believe me, he did. Whatever the reason he reacted that way. I would have to be very wrong." "I hope you're right. Do you think I should talk to him?" "Yes, give him a little more time. Besides, Benji is with him right now." Tim had to laugh despite his dejection: "Benji?" "Yes, that's what Andre always called him back then. And besides, it's cute, isn't it?" Tim nodded, but his thoughts were already back on Flo.

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

Florian was lying on the couch, his eyes red with tears, looking at me almost fearfully. "Mr. Renzner, I... I'm sorry." "Look, we agreed. You can either call me Renzo or Tom, but I don't want to hear from you anymore, Mr. Renzner. And what are you sorry about?" "Well, out in the water. You must, I mean, you must think I'm gay by now." Oh God, that's where the wind was blowing. "What's so bad about that?" came a quiet voice from the door. Benjamin had entered the room. "Hey guys, we want to get the grill going. Want to help us?" I nodded at him: "We'll be right there. Just a minute, okay?" Benjamin nodded, walked over to me, kissed me on the cheek, and went back outside.

It took me a few moments to collect myself before immediately converting Benji's cue. "You see, it's not really that bad when one boy kisses another. I certainly hope you don't have any problems with it." He looked at me wide-eyed: "I thought you might have problems with it." He thought for a moment, then asked, barely audibly and fearfully: "Are you gay yourself?" "Yes, and I've repressed it for far too long. Tim helped me face it just last week. You know, there will always be some jerks. But none of that will be as bad as suppressed and hidden feelings." Flo immediately understood what I meant: "I shouldn't have run away. Now Tim thinks I don't want anything to do with him." "Go outside, grab Tim, sit down in a corner with him, talk to him. And I'll eat my head if things aren't settled between you by dinnertime. Benjamin and I will make sure everyone gets fed afterward. Love makes you hungry, after all." Flo jumped up, kissed me on the forehead, and headed for the exit: "Thanks, Renzo."

So there I was, sitting in the lake house, and every one of the guys out there had kissed me. Two were just getting their relationship started. The third Romeo, who had found his Juliet years ago, was getting the grill going on the patio. But for me, nothing was getting going, except maybe my sentimentality. I gave up, getting myself going—toward a delicious aroma that was unmistakably coming from the grill.

I set the table, Benjamin took care of the sizzling meats – and just as we were ready and about to start eating, Tim and Flo stood before us. They didn't need to say anything. Happiness shone from their eyes. I went over to them and hugged them: "Guys, make the most of it and, above all, don't let it get you down." Tim laughed: "But I have to be full for that."

Loving glances, sunset on the lake, and grilled sausages—what could be better? Well, I could have thought of something. Tim and Flo obviously had their own thoughts on the topic, but since they didn't want to leave us hanging, they suggested a game of Lying Max. The roles during the game were clearly assigned: While Tim and Flo proved the truth of the saying "unlucky in games, lucky in love," Benji and I made the dice cups glow. Something else was glowing among the newly in love couple: their eyes, which they only had for each other. After Flo had lost the fourth round in a row, the two decided to go to bed. Benji watched them leave: "Sleep well—and don't do anything stupid." He looked at me thoughtfully: "The first night is always supposed to be the most unforgettable." "I've heard that too, but I don't think they'll experience or want to experience everything tonight. They still have so much time." Benji nodded. "You're right. So what do we do now?" "There's still a good bottle of wine in there. Or would you prefer a beer?" "Let's have a beer." We made ourselves comfortable on the terrace and started talking.

Benjamin talked about his vocational qualification and his decision to postpone his journalism training. "Do you still play handball?" He shook his head. "I was on the verge of joining the regional league team at VfL Bad Schwartau." I interrupted him: "I guess I wasn't good enough for THW Kiel?" He laughed in pain. "I was at the final training session in Schwartau, and the coach would have probably taken me. A stupid tackle, I twisted my ankle badly. Double cruciate ligament tear. The doctor advised me to quit competitive sports. And then I decided to return home and retrain as a journalist in Leipzig so I could at least report on handball." "Did Julia at least help you get through those difficult weeks and months? Are you even still together?" Benji shook his head imperceptibly. "When I moved up to the coast back then, it didn't take three days before it was over." "I always thought you were the dream couple who found eternal happiness at such a young age." "Oh, you know, Renzo, it all depends on how you paint the facade of a crumbling house. And a fresh coat of paint doesn't make a dump any less dilapidated." "And now? Are you single, or do you have a new partner?" "Nope, happily single ever since."

Since we'd already established that there wasn't much worth reporting from me, I continued my question session. "Are you still in touch with Andre?" "Yes, he's still working as a lecturer at some private training academy, and he's still searching for happiness." "I guess that's what he has in common with us." Benji looked at me inquisitively: "So you haven't found anything yet either?" I looked at him sadly: "I'm miles away." He picked up his glass, took a sip, and then said to me: "You might be much closer than you think."

I was a bit confused. "Yes, but they both found their happiness, and unfortunately, they failed to find mine as well." Benjamin took the time to explain it to me in a little more detail: "You know, when I came into the room earlier and kissed you, I didn't just do it to nudge Flo onto the right path. I also did it because I wanted to kiss you."

I persisted, refusing to understand: "You'll have to explain this to me in more detail." Benji did, too. "You know, I actually felt attracted to you back then. You were somehow different from the others. But I never dared to talk to you. I mean, you're two years older, after all. And you were even then. I kept thinking about you during my training in Schwartau. But I never thought about calling you. I somehow always repressed it. Well, and when I had that lucky encounter with Claudia from the LNA editorial office at the journalism school in Leipzig, I knew immediately how to reestablish contact. But it wasn't perfect for me until you invited me here."

Somehow, I was almost overwhelmed. "How did you know I was gay?" "I didn't know at all until today. After you cared for them both so lovingly and looked after them, I suspected it and definitely hoped so. After you handled the kiss so confidently, I was relatively sure. And now you've just given me 100 percent confirmation."

I briefly told him that I'd had my eye on him, as well as Felix and Daniel, back then, but that he was quickly out of the running for me because of his connection to Julia. "You know, Julia was a bit of a shield for me, too. I really liked her, but I was never in love with her. You were on my mind, but somehow I didn't think you had a chance. My childhood sweetheart back then was actually Felix, but you know: he was aloof. I never saw him have a real relationship." "Do you know what became of him?" "Just that he has a job at Mercedes in Stuttgart. Nothing more. And before you ask me: Daniel lives in Cologne and apparently completed an apprenticeship as a chef there, which was then taken on."

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

He pulled me toward him, and our lips met. We sank into a kiss that seemed never-ending, transporting us either to heaven or to cloud nine. The night of happy couples began.


Past and Future

Local News Area is now firmly in "our" hands. Benji heads the sports department, Flo will soon complete his apprenticeship and will then be offered a permanent position as a media designer, while Tim, with his high school diploma in hand, will begin an apprenticeship while simultaneously studying.

Recently, Benji, Andre, and I were invited to Marc and Bianca's wedding in Braunschweig. Late one evening, my very first love whispered softly in my ear: "What we've experienced, no one can take away from us. Be as happy as I am." "I already am, my friend." We hugged each other briefly, knowing that our shared past would be unforgettable, but also unspoken. Only Andre and Tim knew about our little secret.

The house by the lake naturally held a very special meaning for all four of us. It was there that our foursome's common bond began, both Tim and Florian's relationships and Benjamin and my love. It was there that we all began anew. The wasted time no longer counted. Our happiness lay and lies in the future, inextricably linked to the house by Lake Biethetal.

END