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I knew right away that doing my best friend a favor was a completely stupid and perverse idea. Good heavens, I can really waste my time more usefully than watching guys doing stretches and kicking balls back and forth. I've rejected any form of sport with balls ever since I once got hit right in the face with a volleyball. I'm afraid of balls. My girlfriend (platonic) laughs at me for that. All the time. Just not right now. At the moment, she's gawking, rapt like a teenager, at the sweaty guys playing ring-a-roses. Of course, she fancies Ballack. She's already in her early thirties and has outgrown the two youngsters Podolski and Schweinsteiger. Besides, neither of them are particularly beautiful.
Not that anyone would think we're watching the German national team train in public. No, Tine won a meeting with the team in some stupid competition. I was simply dragged along because she was allowed to bring someone else with her and I'm probably her only friend. What do I know? In any case, she's incredibly excited because training is almost over and she'll finally get to meet the guys. Maybe she'll get Ballack to scribble an autograph right on the top of her breasts or something similarly embarrassing. I'm already ashamed! A camera crew is following us every step of the way. We're probably supposed to be on TV. Another reason to hate her and be ashamed. I don't want friends and acquaintances to see me with football idiots.
Ah...a blond guy is coming up to us. I know him...it's the coach. Klinsmann or whatever his name is. He gives us a friendly handshake and probably secretly finds it disgusting that we're bothering his team during the World Cup. But he doesn't let it show. His boys have gone to shower. Tine would certainly have loved to come along and scrub Ballack's back. Or his ass. Mr. Klinsmann refers us to his substitute coach and hastily says goodbye. He's not in the mood for us, the good man.
We're invited to the hotel. A cozy chat with... they're surely not allowed to drink alcohol, are they?! After all, they have to be fit for the next game against someone. I order myself a cocktail, though. With alcohol... and a sugar rim... and a pineapple star on the glass... and a paper umbrella! I can hardly stand it here sober. Mr. Löw is drinking water with lemon. Where are the footballers?! If they all show up here, it's going to be pretty crowded. There are at least eleven of them, if not more. Mr. Löw babbles about the World Cup and how the goal is to win. Well, if you want to lose, you probably don't even need to take part. Tine acts disgustingly interested.
Ahhhh...here they come. A few of them, anyway. Tine is beaming because Ballack is there. Podolski and Schweinsteiger too. I don't know the others. We're filmed together in various poses, Tine is allowed to ask all sorts of questions, there are autographs, two tickets for the final, and then the official part is over. Löw is already taking off. Now we could also discreetly make our escape. We could...but we don't. As soon as the film crew leaves, more players appear.
"Well, Miro...you've successfully ducked again, haven't you?" someone yells. I think it was Podolski.
The person addressed remains silent and sits down next to me because that is the only free seat.
“And this is where you always eat,” Tine notes intelligently.
I blush with embarrassment. Miro also looks a bit as if he's embarrassed, which I immediately like.
“Isn’t it terrible to be separated from your family for so long?” Tine asks the group.
Mr. Ballack says yes and talks about his children.
“Isn’t it terrible not having sex for so long?” I hear myself asking the group.
Oh dear...it's the alcohol. I'm already on my third cocktail, and the two before that were pretty heavy. My question seems to have gone down well, though, because everyone is laughing. Everyone except Miro. Maybe the lack of sex is really getting to him?!
“My best friend is my hand anyway,” giggles Poldi.
“I think your best friend is Bastian,” someone says.
“But not for that,” he coughs and makes a jerk-off gesture.
Uh...am I sitting here with the German national team and they're talking about masturbation?? I'm going crazy!
“Boys...,” warns Mr. Ballack, “we have a lady visiting, so please...”
BUAHAHAHA...Tine would certainly like to know more about his masturbation habits.
Anyway, I'm slowly starting to feel comfortable because the guys are all normal and nice. And because the alcohol is rushing through my body. Unfortunately, when I reach for my glass, something stupid happens. I knock Miro's drink over with my elbow, and a lot of it ends up on his pants.
“Damn,” he hisses.
The first word I hear from him.
“Ow, fuck...sorry,” I hiccup and wipe at his thigh.
“It’s okay, it’s just water,” he replies and flicks my hand away.
God, he has a great voice! And his fingers are...soft...mm...like cotton.
“Shouldn’t drink so much, huh?” he smiles.
"Could be," I nod, fighting back a growing bout of weakness. I think I've just fallen in love. With Miroslav Klose. This is so absurd that I start giggling uncontrollably.
“You can’t go anywhere with me,” Tine claims angrily.
If she knew that I'd just fallen in love with Miroslav Klose, she'd really shut up!
The man of my dreams stands up. "I need to change my pants," he explains.
“Yes, Miro...dry yourself off,” laughs Poldi.
"Are you coming back?" I ask, and Tine nudges me in the ribs. "What?"
“We should stop imposing ourselves.”
“But you won a whole day.”
"I won a meeting. The film people are gone, and the guys don't have to hang out with us at all anymore."
That cow! She only says that because her great Ballack keeps talking about his wife and the kids.
"But I still want Miro's autograph," I complain. "Besides, I'm going to pee."
"Then hurry up. I'll wait three minutes."
So I stagger off. But not to the bathroom. Because I don't need to! Unsteadily, I make my way through the hotel, feeling lucky. Miro comes down the hall.
“Are you lost?”
“I want your autograph,” I slur.
“We could have done that downstairs.”
"That's true." I reach into his shirt and pull him toward me. "But not this," I whisper and kiss him on the mouth.
He pushes me away roughly. "Are you drunk or something?" he hisses aggressively.
"A little, but that has nothing to do with it," I clarify, rubbing my sore arm. Miro slammed me against the wall while pushing me.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "You...what's your name anyway?"
"Daniel. Shit, I think I'm going to be sick." Yuck...a disgustingly urgent urge to vomit crawls up my throat.
"Oh man, don't puke on my feet. Can you make it to my room?"
“I'll try,” I burp.
So Miro drags me into his room, pushes me into the bathroom, where I immediately slump over the toilet bowl, bursting into the colors of the rainbow. The cocktails were very colorful! Afterward, I immediately feel better...a little. A single horrible thought flashes through my dazed head: I pooped in Miroslav Klose's toilet... while Miroslav Klose was standing right next to me! Hey, how embarrassing is that?! And to make matters worse, Miroslav Klose is now handing me a peppermint!
“Are you okay again?” he asks, slightly worried.
I nod and suck on my candy like crazy because the little devil alcohol whispers happily to me: Kiss him, you asshole!
That's not possible, I defend myself in my thoughts, he's going to hit me.
But first he sits down next to me on the bed.
“Are you actually married?”
“Yes, why?” he asks.
"Children?"
"Two."
"Injury."
“Huh?” he says, confused.
Fuck, when children are involved, things get disgusting. I'd have no qualms or moral reservations about ruining a marriage, but having sex with a family man is completely unacceptable!
“Sorry, I really didn’t want to kiss you,” I lie.
"No? Then why did you do it?"
Oh dear, when he's so close to me...and he's smiling so sweetly. "Well, I wanted to, but I shouldn't have taken you by surprise. That's not what you do."
"True," he nods, "you could have at least warned me. Or asked politely."
"You would have said no, Miro...uh...can I call you Miro?"
“Of course...you can call me that,” he grins.
My candy is licked. "May I kiss you, please?"
He takes a deep breath and exhales. "Okay."
Whatssssss?? "Really?"
"Clear."
“And what about your wife?”
He timidly tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Do you want to kiss that too?"
“I like men.”
“Yes, I noticed,” he sighs.
“Do I seem that gay?”
“No,” he laughs, “but your hand has been on my thigh the whole time.”
Homeland!! Startled, I take my fin away. But a second later, Miro grabs my hand and places it back on his leg. A little higher than before. I can almost feel his... oh my God!!! Then I kiss him. That's right, with my tongue, and all the lights go out for me. Miro is totally shy and insecure. He's probably never kissed a man before me. So I slow down, nibble tenderly on his lips, gently nudge the tip of his tongue, and stroke his soft neck.
"Miro? Hey, did you see that little drunkard? He got lost somehow..." Mr. Ballack walked into the room, "oh, there he is."
Miro jumps up in horror. "Ahem...yes, he wasn't feeling well, so I...ahem..."
“I puked,” I explain stupidly.
“I’m sorry,” replies Mr. Ballack, turning to Miro, “did you give him a peppermint?”
“Uh, yeah,” he shakes his sweet head, irritated.
"Your girlfriend didn't want to wait any longer..."
“Tine is not my girlfriend.”
“In any case, she’s gone,” Mr. Ballack informs me.
“Then I should probably go too,” I say helplessly.
“But not if you’re still feeling sick,” protests Miro, “who knows what could happen.”
“I’ve been drunk worse.”
“Jürgen wants to discuss something with us, so...” urges Mr. Ballack, whom I immediately hate with all my heart.
“I’ll be right there,” Miro replies.
When the troublemaker has left, we stand awkwardly facing each other.
"You heard...meeting. I have to go there now."
“I want to see you again,” I say firmly.
“I want that too,” he whispers.
It seems like fortune is especially on my side today! "When?"
"I don't know." He scribbles something on a piece of paper and presses it into my hand. "Call me, okay?"

---

I stir my cocoa dreamily. Tine has been babbling about Ballack and my sudden disappearance from the hotel for two hours, and...she's a little annoyed, too.
"Man, I had to throw up. This takes longer than three minutes."
"You acted like a complete idiot. You totally embarrassed me and threw water at Miroslav Klose."
I did a lot more with that, baby!! "You dragged me along even though I didn't want to, so don't complain."
“Getting you so drunk,” she hisses angrily.
“When are we going to Berlin and...will the travel costs be paid for?” I change the subject.
"Huh?"
"Well, the final. That's in Berlin."
Tine grimaces. "You don't seriously think I'm going there with you."
“With whom else?”
„Saskia.“
Her best friend, whom I can't stand. Of course, I have reasons for that. Saskia has a thing against men. Just because she keeps getting dumped, which I can understand, because Saskia is just unbearable. Is Tine crazy, going to the soccer game with that bitch? I want to see Miro, damn it! He'll definitely make the final.
“You’re not serious, are you?”
"Absolutely."
“Please, Tine...I behave very well too and...”
“No chance,” she interrupts me.
“You old puke,” I bleat, storm out of the café and leave her with the bill.

The next day the old puke cow shows up at my door.
"What do you want here?" I ask wearily. I've been trying to reach Miro all night, but he apparently turned off his phone.
"Germany vs. Argentina is coming up. And who would I rather watch a football match with than my best friend, who hates football," she laughs.
Of course I hate football...but I love Miro. So I'm sitting down with Tine in front of the TV, and I'm kind of excited. Ah, there they are marching onto the pitch, each one a
A brat by the hand...even my Miro. He sings the anthem too. Isn't he Polish?
Ethnicity? Whatever. He looks AWESOME, I'm going crazy! If I were alone, I'd jerk off right now.
The game is boring because nothing's happening. Except for a goal for Argentina. I think Miro should score the equalizer. Before I've even finished thinking...Miro scores the equalizer. Oh dear, can I influence him with the power of my thoughts?! Let me try: I think Miro should hop on one leg! Nope, it doesn't work.
Tine nudges me. "Why are you so focused? And why haven't you made a single negative asshole comment yet?"
“Well, because I know a few of those guys now and I’m happy for them to win.”
“You’re becoming more and more scary to me, Dani,” she says.
“Besides, that thing...Klose doesn’t look so bad,” I explain, trying not to blush.
"Do you think so? Hmm, no, I don't know. Something bothers me about it. It looks so...Polish."
Before I argue with her, I'd rather keep my fingers crossed during the penalty shootout.
Lehmann saves two, Germany scores all of them. Semifinal!! I'm happy...for my sweetheart. He's probably very happy now, having scored a super important goal.
After Tine and I have duly celebrated the victory, I'm tipsy enough to call Miro again.
"Yes?", you blurted out.
"Hi, sweetie...it's me."
"Who?"
“Daniel,” I say, a little annoyed, “don’t you see my number on the display?”
“Yes, but not your name.”
"You won...are you happy?"
"You're drunk?"
“Yes.”
"You can only stand me when I'm drunk, huh?" Various people are chattering in the background. Sounds like a party. "Look, I can't talk like this right now. I'll call you tomorrow."
There's no point saying goodbye because he's already hung up. Great!

---

Well... Miro didn't call, of course. So I didn't waste any time and went to the team's residence. Getting in there is practically impossible. Security guards are lurking everywhere. The footballers are better guarded than Tokio Hotel, damn it!
“Yes?” a wardrobe man in a black suit asks me.
“I would like to see Mr. Klose,” I politely state my request.
The wardrobe looks at me pityingly. "Yeah, a lot of people want to go to him. And to Mr. Ballack, Mr. Podolski, Mr...."
"Do you want to list all the players now? I want to see Miroslav Klose. I'm an...acquaintance. He knows me. Quite well, in fact."
"Watch out, little one...you're not coming in here. No matter who you know."
I cross my arms in front of my chest and adopt a smug look. "You do realize you're about to lose your job, right? So if you don't want to apply for Hartz IV by tomorrow at the latest, let me in now... MIRO!!" I yell, flailing my arms wildly.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, quite annoyed.
"You didn't call me and..."
He grabs me by the collar, gives the wardrobe an okay sign and drags me
behind him into a quiet corner.
"Daniel, you can't just come here. What if someone sees you?"
“Let’s go to your room,” I suggest.
"I don't have time. I'm...working...here!"
"Around the clock?"
He shakes his head resignedly. "Fine. But only five minutes."

As soon as he closes the door behind us, I shove myself against him. There's no other way; he looks too good in his baggy workout clothes.
“THAT’S absolutely not possible right now,” he puffs.
My hands stroke his neck and ruffle his hair while I kiss him.
I ignore the fact that he resists a little. He only resists at first. When I put my tongue in his mouth, he's immediately excited...it's clear from the reaction of a certain part of his body. Mr. Klose has quite a hard-on! Wow, I have such an effect on him...
“I missed you,” I whisper.
“We hardly know each other,” he grumbles.
I shrug my shoulders, push him onto the bed and myself right next to him. And while I'm already lying on top of him, I grope him uncontrollably. Slide my hand under his shirt and
KNOCK KNOCK. Fuck, not again!
Miro wriggles out from under me as the door opens. Mr. Ballack! I feel like I'm at a comedy show.
"Uh, Miro...you..." he glances at me, "what's he doing here?"
My sweetheart remains silent, embarrassed. I don't really know what to say either.
Mr. Ballack thinks for a moment and points to Miro, then to me. "What's going on? Are you two having an affair?"
Miro turns horribly pale around the nose. "Micha, please don't tell anyone. I...I don't know what's wrong with me."
“Okay, but...are you guys having an affair?!”
"Well, sort of. I don't know," Miro admits.
"But you never said that you...and your wife? Oh shit," Ballack babbles, plopping down in an armchair.
"If this gets around, I can pack up. Besides, I knew it myself
not...exactly," my sweetheart murmurs unhappily.
“Hmm, I won’t say anything, don’t worry.”
I light a cigarette first. The two gentlemen seem to have forgotten that someone else is in the room.
“Smoking is prohibited here,” explains Ballack.
"Surely only for World Cup participants," I reply. "Congratulations on making it to the quarterfinals, by the way. That was a very exciting game. Hardly any scoring chances, but a cool defense. And what about the defense?" I fantasize.
“Miro...is he still drunk?”
“No,” grins my sweetheart, “I’m afraid that’s his normal state.”
“You can also speak to me personally, Mr. Ballack.”
“And you don’t have to address me formally and call me ‘Sir,’” he shakes his head.
"I know."
“Okay, so...what are you going to do now?”
“We were just about to have sex.”
“No, I mean...uh...forget it,” sighs Mr. Ballack.
By the way, Miro blushed when he mentioned the word sex. God, I love him!
Finally, Ballack stands up and goes to the door. "Well, have fun then. I hope you know what you're doing, Miro."
Oh, I hope so, too. And I hope he does it right now. Unfortunately, he's not making any move, just looking dejected.
“I’m very sorry for putting you in this situation.”
"Really? I think you're not worried at all," he replies bitchy.
That's mean. I guess I'm worried! Well, I would be, if I weren't so disgustingly attracted to him.
"You just show up, make out with me even though you know I have a family, tell Michael shit like we're having sex...are you out of your mind?"
Is he just blaming everything on me?! How rude! "If I'm so annoying and embarrassing to you...why did you give me your number? And didn't you tell me you wanted to see me again?"
He nervously runs his hand through his hair. "Yes, I can...but I can't. Daniel...it's not possible. There's just too much at stake."
"I don't want to fuck around with you in public. Nobody has to know. Okay, Mr. Ballack knows now, but that's not my fault. Why does he actually
Constantly coming into your room without asking? He's into you, isn't he?" I ask jealously.
Miro shakes his head. "You're crazy. But sweet," he smiles.
Ahhh, that's a start. I pull him onto the bed with me. "Let's make out."
So we do, and the shy, insecure Miro Klose is...unfortunately still shy and insecure. I have to direct him a lot when I touch him. No matter, his hands are wonderfully soft and ultimately do everything right. My hands wander over his bare torso, stroke his cute belly, and...
“This is going too fast for me,” he huffs as I try to put my hand down his pants.
Injury!!!
"I've never had anything like this before...with a...tell me, how old are you?"
“Just turned twenty-one,” I say proudly, running my fingers over his waistband.
"And...you've probably often..."
"Well...yes, quite often," I grin. "But that's not meant to put any pressure on you. I mean, we don't have to fuck right away. I can just jerk you off if you want."
Miro's cheeks are actually turning red again. Oh my goodness, that's so sweet!!
“Are you always so direct?”
“It’s important to say what you want, otherwise you’ll go home unsatisfied.”
“Yes...that makes sense.”
“Isn’t that right,” I nod and let my hand disappear into his pants.
Miro comes pretty quickly, which is unfortunate because I find it incredibly stimulating to do things like that with him. Besides, I would have loved to give him a blowjob. Oh well, next time then. First, though, I have to tell him that I naturally want to get my money's worth a little more. I'm just wondering how best to go about it. I don't want to scare the poor guy away again. But I don't need to say anything because he's already fiddling with my jeans.
"Should...well, I would...ugh...pretty difficult with a man," he states.
I notice that although he's unsure, he's still surprisingly skilled. Honestly, I'm almost seeing stars and it takes me a few minutes to reconnect with the world.
We get dressed in silence. Silently because we know it's time to say goodbye. After all, Miro isn't here on vacation, and I don't want to get caught by Mr. Ballack again. He's already getting on my nerves.

---

The dream of a World Cup title is over! Italy won, and my sweetheart is left with third place. Of course, I couldn't care less that Tine went to Berlin with her stupid Saskia bitch. Who cared about the final anymore?! The bad thing is, I can't reach Miro. He doesn't answer his cell phone or call me. He's probably too disappointed to talk to me... oh man, I'd love to comfort him. On the other hand, what should I say to him? I hate football and I can't imagine how he feels right now. But then again, an entire nation is behind its team... that's worth something, right? They shouldn't whine, they should be happy that they're so popular.
If 180,000,000,000 people were cheering for me...well, I'd be floating in heaven and shitting on a stupid trophy! Well, at that superb reception in Berlin, the guys didn't really look sad. Why should they? After all, they got to sing alongside Xavier Dingens and Sportfreunde Stiller. I really like the latter. I really have to ask Miro if they're really as nice and funny as they seem in the interviews. That is...if I ever see Miro again. He's probably on vacation with his wife and kids while I'm dying of longing here. Fuck, did I accidentally become his lover?! Maybe I was nothing more to Miro than a quick wank in between. A way to relieve the pressure and not have to get my hands dirty. I just wish I'd known that beforehand, then I could have prepared myself. So, of course, I thought...that it meant something to him. And I can't even talk to anyone about my heartbreak because no one can know that I gave Miro a handjob. Football players and having sex with a guy... for heaven's sake! That's even worse than being in a boy band and having a crush on guys. One more reason to hate football.
Out of desperation, I went online to find out something about my sweetheart. All I knew was that he's an absolute picture-perfect cutie, apparently a pretty good soccer player, and...a really good kisser. That his hair smells really nice, his skin too, that he has the most beautiful calves in the world, and is the only one who looks indescribably sexy in shorts and knee socks. Now I know everything... but I've already forgotten half of it. What do I care how many goals he's scored in so many games?! I've kept his disgusting taste in music. And that he loves his children. Normal, right? You don't bring kids into the world just to beat them up. Okay, that happens a lot, unfortunately, but Miro is definitely a really sweet dad. It makes me sick to my stomach. He'll never give up his family for me. Or his career, either. As much as I rave about him, I'm not kidding myself. The position I find myself in is incredibly unfortunate, bad, and shitty! I'm not just a lover, I'm a football groupie. I'm like a teenager who pines over his star and also wants to find out what toilet paper he uses. This realization hits me so hard that I get completely drunk. Getting drunk only helps in the short term, but it still helps.

The next morning, I deeply regret it. A mile-long freight train is racing through my skull, and the taste on my furry tongue is so revolting that it makes me nauseous. So I brush my teeth, gargle with Listerine, and pop some paracetamol. Afterward, I feel halfway human. But only until I take a look in the mirror. I look like a zombie, freshly risen from the grave. Dark circles all the way down to my eyes, my black hair sticking up in every direction, and...oh, my phone's ringing. Yeah...Miro!!
“Hello,” I clear my throat.
“Hey,” he whispers.
“Where are you?”
"At home."
“And before that?”
“Vacation,” he answers curtly.
"Great. How are your wife and kids?"
"Daniel...let's not get mean, okay?! You knew I had a family...we can't see each other anymore. I'm sorry."
"You called specifically to tell me that? A text to break up would have been enough."
"I don't owe you anything, Daniel. We never had a relationship or anything. We just..."
"A little fooling around," I interrupt, "sure. My best wishes to your wife."
With tears in my eyes, I push him away and, disgusted, throw my phone across the room. That's a good idea, that soccer star. He just dumped me after he'd had his fun. I should schedule an interview with Bild newspaper right away. Wouldn't that make a nice headline: World Cup top scorer is having sex with men!
The fired-off cell phone rings again. Miro?! Aha...he probably wants to apologize.
“What?” I say angrily.
He breathes heavily. "Daniel...can't we talk properly?"
"Fine by me. Speak up!"
"I...it was really nice but...it was a one-time thing for me. There's no other way. If it weren't for my family and football...then...maybe..."
“I understand,” I say sadly.
"You... ahem... you don't do anything stupid, do you?"
“What kind of nonsense?”
"Well... tell someone. The... wrong people."
Oh, that's where the wind's blowing! Mr. Klose is sweet-talking to save his ass. Stupid bum! "I'd love to chat some more, but I have to go. I have an important meeting with BILD."
To prevent him from calling me again, I turn off my cell phone. Of course, I'm not selling my story to the newspaper. But he should panic a little. I won't let myself be used and then thrown away like a rag. And I swear on everything I hold sacred: he'll get to know me!

---

“Ahhhhh...” I scream in shock, “how do you know where I live?”
“Can I tell you about it inside?” asks Miro, staring around as if at least a hundred paparazzi were on his heels.
I'm so surprised that I actually let him in. He looks at my messy little living room with interest. The bottle of Bailey's I swilled yesterday is still on the table. Now he probably thinks I'm a nasty drunk. And if so...after all, he made me one! Miro staggers over a stack of books and sits down on my dark green 70s porn couch. Incidentally, there's a burn hole in the backrest since yesterday, but only a small one. Still, I'm kind of embarrassed that Miro is the one watching me go home.
"Sorry, you're used to luxury, aren't you? We don't have it here."
He shakes his head. "I don't live in a mansion either, Daniel."
“But you probably have a little more money in your account than I do.”
“Is that important?”
"I don't know. You tell me."
“That’s not why I’m here.”
"I know why," I claim. My goodness...he looks hot even in normal clothes (jeans and a black shirt). "You were afraid I'd tell everyone you're gay, weren't you?"
"You told me...that doesn't mean I'm gay."
HAHAHAHA...he can't even say that I gave him a handjob! Unfortunately, I'm not mad at him anymore. Quite the opposite. I'm glad he's here. I really missed him. His cute smile, his voice...
“Don’t you want to take off your jacket?”
He looks at me like I'm completely crazy. "I'm not wearing..."
“I meant, do you want to take off your clothes?” I explain, groping him a little.
He pushes my hands away and stands up. "Daniel...we should..."
“Come, I’ll show you the bedroom!”
My bed may not be made, but at least it's fairly freshly made. However, I didn't really need the Nutella sheets that Tine gave me when I moved in. Oh well, nothing can be done about it.
“Okay, well... I better go now.”
“I don’t believe that,” I whisper and push him onto the bed.
Poor Miro can't resist me. Unfortunately, when we're kissing, I'm constantly afraid that Mr. Ballack will barge in, which is ridiculous because he definitely doesn't know where I live.
“You’re turning my whole world upside down,” he whispers sadly.
“Sorry,” I murmur, kissing his neck, “but I can’t help it.”
My hands have long since slipped under his shirt and are stroking his stomach. I'm not really into ripped, muscular guys. I prefer something a little softer. But Miro... mmm... he can be anything. Luckily, he's not that overly muscular, but you can tell he does a lot of exercise. Oh dear... and me with my flabby, saggy body! I may be relatively thin, but that doesn't mean I have muscles. No six-pack! Not even a hint. That doesn't seem to bother Miro, because he touches me and is obviously very impressed. I'm impressed too... Miro is incredibly good at touching!!
“I want to do more than just fool around today,” I say firmly.
My poor darling is so frightened that he moves away from me and looks at me in panic. "No, I... Daniel, please don't..."
"Oh shit, Miro, I don't intend to rape you." I gently stroke his hot cheek. "I want to sleep with you and... I promise I'll stop immediately if you don't like it."
But of course he likes it. Okay, at first he's a little tense... I was the first time too. I've never had to be as careful as I was with Miro, though. But I don't want to complain about the sex with him. I'd rather complain about the fact that he still hasn't separated from his wife to live with me without a husband! I won't say that out loud, though. Why ruin the beautiful moment, right?!
"I have to go home." Miro turns to me, his face still red. Red and sweaty. "Can I take a shower?"
"I don't know, just try it. It's not that difficult," I try to be funny, even though I don't really feel like it.
Miro disappears for twenty minutes. He's probably rubbing his skin to pieces so that there won't be any telltale traces of me left when he pleasures his wife later. When he returns, he's already fully dressed. I get up and sniff him.
"Everything's okay," I explain, to which he gives me a confused look. "Well, your bitch won't notice anything if you're messing with her."
He collapses onto the bed, panting. "I don't sleep with my wife anymore... not that it's any of your business."
"Do you think I'm stupid? After all, you have two children. Did the stork perhaps bring them?"
“A desperate attempt to save our relationship.”
I sit down next to him. "It's pretty perverse... having a baby just like that when things aren't going so well anymore."
Miro nervously runs his hand through his hair. "Maybe. But I still love my children."
"Yeah, but... if things get tense between you and your chick, the kids will notice eventually."
"It's not like we're always fighting or anything. We're... um, good friends, I'd say. We still love each other, we're just not in love anymore, you know?"
“Then why don’t you get a divorce?”
“Because there’s no reason for it.”
I suddenly have a huge lump in my throat. I mean, his answer says it all.
“Until now,” he says very quietly.
"What does this mean?"
"I don't know," he sighs. "I have to come to terms with the fact that I have a crush on a guy. That doesn't happen to me that often."
I'm feeling a little warm. Miro... has a crush on me... WOW!!
“Give me a little time, okay?”
I nod, wrap my arms around him and kiss his soft lips.

---

We've been meeting regularly for two months. Well, what does Miro call "regular"? As you know, I'm basically his top priority. Football is more important, children are more important, even his wife seems more important. I keep my mouth shut and play by his rules. I don't like it. But... what can I do? I just love the guy. When he's not with me, I'm a wreck. And when he is with me... I am too, sort of, but different. Naturally, we always end up in bed pretty quickly; we don't usually have that much time. That's what's killing me. Because I feel so disgustingly comfortable with him. Because he's sweet and funny and not the stupid guy you expect from footballers. Because I want to cuddle with him for hours, which of course isn't possible because "I have to go home." And because our relationship is a secret. I've never been part of that shit. Acting straight on the outside and secretly sleeping with men. I told my parents when I was sixteen that I was into boys. It didn't exactly suit them, but they couldn't change it. By now, they've...well, accepted would be putting it too positively. My friends, in any case, never wanted to meet them. Need I say more?!
So, I've put myself in a situation with Miro that I absolutely detest, even though I can understand him. Not regarding his absurd relationship with his wife, but regarding his soccer habit. Still, I have no idea how long things will last between us. A few hours of shagging a week is definitely not enough. Today, it's all particularly pissing me off because Miro just texted me that he can't make it over. When we'll see each other... God knows.
Before I get drunk alone, I'd rather call Tine, who is immediately ready to spend the evening with me.

"Oh shit... you look like vomit," she remarks, alarmed. "Are you sick? Then you'd better tell me right away so I can get out of here. You know how easily I catch it."
“But I’m not contagious,” I grumble.
“Then there’s a guy behind this,” she decides, sipping the cocktail I mixed.
“Everything is fine.”
Tine takes off her shoes and lounges comfortably on my couch. "Nonsense. What's going on?"
“Nothing,” I assure, licking the sugar rim of my cocktail shyly.
“The guy is straight,” she speculates.
“Stop that shit.”
“Or someone who sleeps with anyone he can get.”
“Can we please talk about something else?”
"No. I can see from the tip of your nose that you want to speak out," she grins.
“Then your contact lens has probably slipped.”
Tine downs her drink. "You haven't been in touch for weeks and suddenly you want to get drunk with me again. That must mean something. Do I know him?"
“Not really.”
"Aha! So there's someone there."
Sometimes I hate Tine. She can't just let things go. "If you absolutely must know... yes."
"And?"
“I can’t tell you any more.”
"Wow, how mysterious. Should I guess or what? Okay, so... you're in love but you're not glowing like the sun, what could be the reason? Let me think... Wait, I've got it... he is... he has..."
“He is married and has two children,” I interrupt, completely exasperated.
It's quiet for a few seconds. That is, I can hear my heart beating quite loudly.
"This is a joke. Please tell me you didn't get involved with such a hypocritical family man. Daniel, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"He doesn't love his wife anymore... not the way he should."
By the way, we've since switched to tequila by mutual consent. Tine sucks on her lemon, shaking her head. "Keep your hands off it when children are involved."
“It’s too late for that,” I murmur sadly.
"You're not secretly hoping he'll break up with you, are you? He's not. They never are. I know what I'm talking about."
Tine also had a fling with a married guy. He promised her the moon and kept her waiting for months until she lost her temper and sent the bum packing. But Miro is no bum, you can't compare the two.
“Where did you pick him up?”
"I do not know."
"Secretly lurking in a faggot bar, huh? Looking for a cute young boy."
I'm afraid Tine has completely the wrong idea. When she thinks of a family man, she probably thinks of a forty-year-old with thinning hair and a mustache. Unfortunately, I can't tell her that I've landed the cute Miroslav Klose. "It wasn't like that, and he's only twenty-eight."
"End it before it's too late. There's no future in this."
That's the end of the topic for now. Over the next few rounds of tequila, we chat about all sorts of things. Tine makes a very important point about how she can forget about Ballack now because she's into Jens Lehmann.
“But he’s already taken, right?” I ask.
"So what? At least he doesn't babble about his kids all the time like Ballack."
"Well, if I absolutely had to pick one player from the national team, Lehmann certainly wouldn't be my first choice. I mean, he's so... unimpressive."
"Those are the worst, the ones who sneak in and... oh man, he always has such an incredible smile. Lehmann... well, Lehmann is a really sweet little guy," she slurs.
“I think Miro is a much cuter mouse,” I hear myself slurring and feel the blood rushing to my head.
“No,” she contradicts, “he has that Polish face.”
I'll polish yours if you don't hold on to it!! "Miro is great."
“Lehmann is better.”
"No. Miro."
Tine shakes her blonde curls wildly. "Lehmann."
"Miro", I need it.
“Cheers,” she hiccups and downs the umpteenth shot of tequila.
When we're both practically full, we cuddle together on my couch. Tine lazily ruffles my hair.
“I have to tell you something,” I begin.
“Of course you have to, Dani.”
"But I'm not actually allowed to because... well, if this got out, it could be pretty bad for Mi... my darling."
"Why?"
"Because... of his work, I think."
"What's he doing? He doesn't hold public office, does he?"
“Tine,” I snarl, “don’t ask me such difficult questions when I’m drunk.”
"But a leadership position... does he run a company?"
“He plays soccer.”
“I didn’t ask about his hobbies.”
“That’s how he makes his money.”
"Nonsense. You hate footballers," she fumes. "You don't even know any footballers."
“One of them, yes.”
Tine has pulled herself together. "Which club?" she asks triumphantly.
“Werder Bremen.”
"I don't believe a word you say. Besides, there's no one there who looks any good."
“Yes... Miro.”
"You don't mean to tell me you're having an affair with Mirsolav..." she breaks off, bursting into a fit of laughter. "Man, I almost fell for it," she giggles. "You and Miro Klose... woohoo... how did you meet, huh? Met by chance while shopping at the supermarket, huh?"
"No, on your winning day with the national team. When you thought I went to the bathroom... I was actually making out with Miro."
Her laughter dies. "You didn't throw up?"
“Yes,” I nod, “but after that I kissed Miro.”
“That’s disgusting.”
"He gave me a peppermint earlier. Tine, you can't tell anyone, okay?"
She scratches her head extensively and seems to be thinking. "If you're so close with all of them now... can't you arrange a date with Lehmann for me?"
A short time later, all the tequilas knocked us out.

---

“You have what?” Miro asks, terribly angry, incredulous, frightened, completely beside himself.
The fact that he can change his state from one moment to the next kind of impresses me. A few seconds ago, he was floating on the I-got-fucked-like-never-before cloud, and now... I just confessed to him that I told Tine about us while I was drunk.
"Don't worry. Tine is absolutely discreet."
“You’re probably out of your mind,” he bleats.
First of all, his line is almost funny in this situation and secondly... I didn't know Miro could scream.
"Do you think this is some kind of game? You know what happens when..."
“Mr. Ballack could just as easily blurt it out,” I point out.
"We have to be careful and... you should stop drinking."
"Okay, Dad."
“I mean it.”
“Me too, and now go take a shower so your bitch doesn’t notice.”
Ouch, that hit home. Miro disappears, offended. Damn, I didn't even want to argue with him.
A while later, he stands fully dressed in the doorway. "I have to go home. See you later."
"Wait, Miro..." I hold out my hand, and very slowly he comes to me. "Don't go yet, please."
“Okay,” he whispers and takes me in his arms.
I really love cuddling with Miro because he's just as cuddly as I am these days. It's just that we usually don't have time for that sort of thing. But today I'm insisting! Besides, Miro definitely needs some more practical experience in his relationship. Last week, he sadly confessed to me that he can't remember the last time he had a really long cuddle with someone. The same goes for sex, by the way... except for that one time when his two kids were conceived. No wonder he throws himself into playing soccer so much. My poor little darling! He must have been totally unhappy.
"I tried not to think about it," he replies when I ask him about it. "There were just other things that were more important."
“Life isn’t just about running after a ball for ninety minutes.”
His hand tentatively slides into mine. "I'm starting to get that, too."
“Then why don’t you just stop?”
He looks at me like I'm seriously mentally ill. "This is my job."
“Can’t you do anything else?”
“I don’t want anything else.”
"I don't understand it. Really, I even watched the Bundesliga and stuff because of you. I don't understand it. How can you, for example, be happy about Ballack at a Germany game when he was your opponent in another game two days before? Why does your team keep losing, and what the hell is all this disgusting snot? Have you ever thought about what it looks like? It makes you sick, Miro."
“I saw you throw up, it wasn’t exactly the best moment of my life.”
Ouch, I'd somehow repressed that. Still. I puked once because I couldn't handle the cocktails, but they spit all the time, and they're sober! And he actually seems remarkably happy with Ballack quite often. I wonder what goes on afterward when they shower together. They lather each other's backs, right? Ugh, that makes me sick.
“Does Ballack actually touch you like that when you haven’t scored a goal?”
Miro rolls his eyes. "Stop your damn jealousy, okay? I'm not having anything with Michael."
How familiar he calls Michael... disgusting! He certainly doesn't talk about me in that sweet tone with his football teammates.
“You probably think that’s a shame.”
“You’re probably crazy,” he replies.
Probably not. Because I'm so desperately in love.

---

I had a terrible fight with Miro. Now he's broken up with me. He says I don't pay enough attention to him and his problems. Okay, but what about me? Is it my fault that he's so rarely with me, and I get upset about it when he is?! I even told him that I now understand better how terrible it must have been to lose the World Cup. I've been watching the Summer Fairytale movie. Well, maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that I noticed Borowski and Hildebrand. But they're just really cute, what can I do?! After all, I didn't say I wanted to fuck them or anything. Miro immediately got really jealous and yelled at me... in Polish. Then I reminded him that he spends every night with his wife and God knows what he could be doing with her. So he said we should end things between us and left. The stupid thing is, I can't be mad at him. I miss him too much for that. Honestly, I'm so fed up with the world that I don't even feel like getting drunk. Being in love isn't actually any fun. If you think about it, you're maybe 35 percent happy overall. The other 65 percent you spend arguing, missing your loved one, and not being allowed to talk about the relationship. What's this crap?! I want a normal boyfriend right now! And where am I supposed to find one? Unfortunately, all guys piss me off because they're not Miro.

---

Two weeks later, a rather dejected Miroslav Klose shows up at my door. I decide not to let his joy show. Maybe he's just forgotten something or is afraid of me going public again.
“Yes?” I ask, bored, as if there were a Jehovah’s Witness standing there trying to sell me the Watchtower.
“I need to talk to you,” Miro squeaks, quieter than a damn mouse.
Cool, there's no in-between. Either he's totally shy or he's yelling Polish rudeness in my face that I don't understand.
"I'm sorry, what?"
“Will you let me in?”
Yes, but only because he spoke a little louder this time. It's a shame he's wearing that cozy black sweater... it suits him way too well. I immediately feel the urge to snuggle up to him.
“Did you want something specific?”
Miro nods and sits down on the couch.
“I spoke to my wife.”
"So, and? About what? The next vacation with the kids?"
His eyes glitter. "Above us."
Now I'm almost falling off the stem. "Uh...?!"
"We always knew that this could happen... that one of us would fall in love again. And, well, that's what happened to me. I've had a little time to think about it," he claims.
“And what conclusion did you come to?”
“That I want to be with you,” he answers, hardly daring to look at me.
My brain doesn't know how to process this information right now. First he breaks up with me, then he wants to be with me and tells his wife about it? He's definitely turned me into a Daniela.
"She knows you're not a woman," Miro smiles. "You've thought about that, haven't you?"
“What does she say about that?”
"She's shocked and obviously doesn't understand, but she won't put any obstacles in our way. We want to settle everything calmly... if only for the boys' sake."
“You don’t even know if I want you back,” I point out.
"I... hoped that if I showed you what... my relationship with you means to me..."
There's no other way. I have to sit on his lap and kiss him!
“But you still go to any public events with your bitch or alone, hmm?”
"I haven't planned that far yet. Do you really want to be on TV?"
"That would definitely be an even bigger scandal than the bitch from the boat. We don't need to announce to the whole world that we're a couple. Anyway, I think we should stop talking right now and... go to bed."
"So you take me..."
“And how,” I grin.
"... back?"
“That too.”
Mmm... Miro is really hungry. He can't get enough. And every time I think I've had enough, he whispers something in Polish into my ear and I go crazy. I have no idea what he's saying, but it sounds incredibly dirty and hot.

---

I'm feeling a little uneasy... okay, I'm VERY uneasy. I have to eat with the entire national team, including their female entourage. They probably do it at irregular intervals... along the lines of: you must be so many friends! And you can only be friends if you meet up in private. Besides, the day before yesterday was the last European Championship qualifier before the winter break and... well, that has to be celebrated, or something like that. Although there's no reason to party wildly, because they played like a bunch of losers. Why everyone's only picking on poor Hilde, though, is a mystery to me. In any case, everyone logically expects Miro to show up for dinner with his wife. But he won't. He'll come with me. I think it's great that his wife knows about us and that everything's been sorted out now, so officially hanging out with our football buddies right away wasn't really necessary, in my opinion. Miro, however, says: if you're going to do it, then do it properly! Miro also tells me not to overdo it with the alcohol. I told you... he thinks I'm a drunk.
I'm not the only one who feels uneasy. I'm especially worried that Miro will get into trouble. Let's face it... in football, you can be anything except gay. Even the most tolerant, cleverest player suddenly feels panicky about his ass. At least you cuddle on the pitch. And you shower together afterwards. Well, the little faggot is sure to get some stupid ideas and jump on his teammates. Miro says he knows his football teammates, but Miro is anything but sane at the moment. I can understand that. After I admitted to myself that I'm gay, I was so euphoric that I wanted to tell the whole world. With Miro, it's even worse because he's madly in love... but luckily he's totally press-shy, so the public probably won't find out that Miro likes guys for about twenty years. It's a good thing if you don't like being in the spotlight as much as Kahn with his wife and girlfriend. Or this chick from one footballer who hooked up with another footballer and wants to go to America with the kids.
To avoid looking stupid, I wore the black suit from my sister's wedding. I can't look completely shabby. I'm curious to see what Ballack will do... boohoo... he's definitely not expecting me. One last deep breath, a quick, encouraging kiss from Miro, and then we head to the hotel where dinner is supposed to take place. A few men and women are already there. Miro doesn't look so convinced anymore; he smiles uncertainly and lets go of my hand to wipe it on his trousers.
“You can’t be serious, Miro,” someone hisses.
“Hello, Michael... do you still know Daniel?”
Mr. Ballack looks me over. "How could I forget that little drunk? Did you lose your mind, bringing him along? Where's your wife?"
The two engage in a hissed exchange. I break down... Borowski is standing there, looking incredibly handsome!
"Well, if you think so," Ballack babbles, pissed off, "but I warned you. Don't think everyone will react as positively as I did."
"You're acting like Miro is dating a serial killer, Mr. Ballack. I wouldn't necessarily call that a positive thing," I chime in, without being asked.
"Look, I don't have anything against you, okay? Even if you still call me formal, it doesn't matter. I just don't think it's a good time to come out. But if you really want to go through with this, Miro... you have my damn support."
Hmm, maybe Ballack isn't such an asshole after all?!
“Thanks, Micha,” my sweetheart murmurs and pats his colleague on the back.
A second later, a woman snuggles up to Ballack's side... I assume it's his wife. Otherwise, there would be another scandal today.
"Good evening, Miro," she smiles, craning her neck. "Are you alone here?"
We had agreed not to say anything for now. So, no big announcement or anything. We just wanted to come clean if anyone asked. I guess that's the kind of situation we're in now.
“I’m here with Daniel,” Miro explains quietly.
"Aha?" She shakes my hand, irritated, while Mr. Ballack whispers something in her ear. Mrs. Ballack quickly lets go of my fin. "Oh my goodness... haha... well, I never... hehe," she giggles, embarrassed. "Yeah, well... well, you have taste, I'll give you that."
I could really use some alcohol right now!! Unfortunately, other players are coming along. Unfortunately, Borowski isn't among them. He just keeps staring at us like an idiot. It would be a shame if he, of all people, had something against me, against gays. Borowski isn't the only one staring, though. Actually, everyone is staring. I feel like I have that famous dream where you're standing in the middle of a crowd and suddenly realize you're completely naked...especially down there.
“I’m not even sure if that was such a good idea,” my sweet striker whispers dejectedly.
"It's too late now anyway. Now everyone's staring."
While the wives and girlfriends we brought along discreetly stay in the background, half the crew stands around us. Incidentally, Borowski is now also there, and his gaze is almost burning a hole through my gut. I down my champagne and accidentally burp. Great, that's making a great impression! Borowski twists his face... into a grin!
“Tim,” he says and extends his hand to me.
“Daniel,” I answer.
"The attraction of the evening," he smiles, making me queasy. He can laugh beautifully... my goodness.
Meanwhile, Podolski and Schweinsteiger have rumbled into the crowd of footballers.
“Is that true, Miro? Are you a gay dude these days?” Poldi brags.
If he wasn't bigger and stronger than me, I'd beat him up and send him to the hospital...you old carnival face!
Before Miro can answer, someone else takes the floor: the coach himself.
"I don't want to hear anyone using such language, understand?! If Miro decides to be with a man, that's his business. I couldn't care less what you do in bed, as long as you give your best on the pitch, and Miro always does. Maybe not the day before yesterday, but he wasn't alone there; I don't think I need to tell any of you that. If anyone has problems with Miro, we'll discuss them. And if someone thinks they have to make life difficult for him, they'll be out before they know it. We showed during the World Cup that we're a team that sticks together. And we won't stop just because the World Cup is over. Am I clear? Speech over. Enjoy your meal."
WOW!!! I'm so touched I almost start to cry. Miro, too. He tentatively puts his hand in mine.
Poldi is chatting in Polish with Miro, Tim is still smiling at me.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Absolutely,” I grin gratefully, give my sweetheart a sign, and disappear to the bar with Tim.
"I think what you did is really cool," he says, nudging his beer bottle against mine. "I would never have expected Miro to... well, but it's really okay. It's true what Jogi says, it shouldn't matter."
“But it does, doesn’t it?”
"Sure. Unfortunately."
Unfortunately? Well, look at that!
"Uh, don't assume anything wrong," Tim explains. "I can also relate to gay people as a straight man and find it annoying that not everyone feels the same way."
True. And I shouldn't idolize him so much, after all, I'm taken.
“And which of the ladies is yours?”
"None. Lena, my wife, had... ahem... other commitments today."
Oh shit, he's married too? Is that a footballer's disease or something?
"Why the hell are you all getting married so quickly? Before you can even crawl, you're already hanging out at the registry office. How old are you?"
"Twenty-six. And I got married because I was in love... am. Lena is my absolute dream woman."
How nice for him, I feel sick.

---

Well, now we really should have a big, fat happy ending. Miro's bitch knows, his footballers know, the press doesn't give a damn about his private life, his kids haven't quite realized that Dad often spends the night at my place, we're in love, we hardly argue anymore... everything's great. Except for the fact that I can't get Tim out of my head. What the hell is wrong with me? Can I secretly not stand being happy and that's why I'm looking for trouble? No, it's all Tim's fault. Because he's so darn cute. Hahaha... he told me that they call the guy with the long hair "Suckler." Cool nickname, I'll have to remember that!! In fact, he told me the right name for every player. But I've already forgotten almost all of them or got them mixed up, especially the first names... Lukas Schweinsteiger, Arne Frings, Friedrich Ballack... no, his name is Michael... Friedrich Kahn?? I don't know. Kahn wasn't there anyway. Lehmann had a bit of a sniffle, a cold, so I decided not to bother him about a date with Tine. Besides, he's married and already has THREE kids. And he doesn't even live in Germany. There's no way Tine could get anything out of it. It would definitely be better for everyone involved if I wasn't so keen on Tim. I shouldn't lie in bed with Miro thinking about another guy. You just don't do that! If Miro knew that, he'd probably go back to his wife straight away. But I want to keep him because I love him. Miro loves me too, but he's still sad. He misses his kids. It's pretty exhausting for him to find enough time between his football commitments and his boyfriend. It makes me feel like even more of an asshole. While Miro juggles things to somehow juggle everything, I secretly dream about sweet Tim. By the way, he gave me his cell phone number at dinner, and I've already called him twice, which Miro obviously doesn't know. Or rather, I didn't tell him, but Tim might. After all, they not only play for Germany, but also for the same team. Why did I even call Tim?! Well, good question. Just because he's funny and easy to chat with... definitely not. I'll admit: we flirted a bit. Even though he claims to be straight. Maybe he's lying. Or maybe he doesn't even know he's into guys. After all, Miro ignored it for years. Footballers practically inherit the denial of their sexual orientation from their mother's milk. That's probably why they're all married. So that suspicion doesn't even arise. So, if Tim really is gay or bi... then I have to help him. Not sexually, of course, but I do have to support him. That's the only reason I've arranged to meet him tomorrow. Well, and also because I don't feel like hanging around alone. Miro is with his family tomorrow.

---

Ahhhh...Tim's wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and something with long sleeves underneath. Well, what did I think? That he'd come in shorts and knee socks?! I only want to see one person like that, and that's my sweet striker! He has no idea that I'm... uh, what position does Tim play? I know two. Striker (because of Miro) and goalkeeper (because obviously). It doesn't really matter. I mean, it's none of my business.
“Hi, Daniel,” Tim beams.
“Hi, Tim,” I beam back.
What the hell am I doing here?!
We decided to meet in a club instead. One that plays music I really like, because the chances of Tim being recognized right away are very slim. Death rockers are never, ever interested in football... unless they're with you.
"Spooky," he grins. "Reminds me a bit of a Halloween party."
"Um... you didn't tell Miro that we're... in contact, did you?" I ask cautiously.
“Would I have?”
"I don't know. I mean, it's not a secret or anything, but... I don't know."
“Do you think he might get jealous?”
“On a straight woman? Never in a million years.”
“Miro was straight for years.”
However.
By the way, we've now gone to the café. It's in the lower part of the club, and the music isn't as obnoxiously loud there. Tim also seems a bit uneasy about the black figures. It's pretty empty here, because everyone's dancing upstairs. While Tim sits opposite me, I notice his beautiful hands, and the silver ring he's wearing on his finger is also very pretty. I don't give a damn that it's most likely his wedding ring. I have a strong urge... but I'd better not. Shit, his fin is lying so close on the table. I feel very provoked... and can't contain myself. My hand slowly extends, my fingers crawling over the beer mat until they lightly touch Tim's fingertips. He has his chin resting in one hand and is smiling sweetly.
"Are you trying to hold my hand, Dani?"
“No,” I reply indignantly.
“But it looks like it,” he claims, moving his fingers a little closer.
And he wants to be straight?! Oh my goodness!
“Nice ring,” I murmur, stroking it with my thumb.
"Hm-hm."
Okay, what we're doing here is... not okay. Why the hell does he let me do this?? Our fingers have long since become somewhat entwined. This is shit. I love Miro, damn it!!
"I'll go to the bathroom... if you tell me how to get there."
“Straight ahead and then left,” I answer, irritated.
Tim disappears. I'm possessed by a nasty demon and follow him after two minutes.
He (Tim, not the nasty demon!) is just drying his hands when I push him against the wall.
“What is this supposed to be?”
Yes, if I knew!
"Look, I'm not into guys, but even if I were... you're with Miro, and I still have to play soccer with him for a while. Besides, I have a wife," he explains, as if he'd just remembered.
God, what a bastard I am! "Admit it first."
He looks at me in surprise. "What?"
"That you..."
“Okay,” he sighs, “will you let me go then?”
I think he could escape me very easily, after all he is about a head taller than me and certainly much, much stronger.
"I like you. Is that what you want to hear?"
Luckily, my brain just shut down. The nasty demon just turned it off or something. I want to let go of Tim and leave, and I'm almost on the right track, but then I turn around, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him. Tim... kisses me back. And how!! My fingers greedily stroke his body and dig into his shirt. His fingers ruffle through my hair. At least, until we push each other away in shock.
“Fuck,” we stammer in unison.
"That didn't happen," Tim mutters. "That fucking didn't happen."
But it is. His kiss burns my lips and I'm completely turned on by him... oh dear!
"I swear, if it weren't for Miro...I'd fuck you to pieces," I gasp and kiss him again. Eventually, my brain starts working again. The nasty demon has pissed off. That's exactly what I'm doing.

---

“What’s wrong?” Miro asks gently, placing little kisses on my bare shoulder.
How am I supposed to explain this to him?! How am I supposed to explain to him that I see Tim in front of me when we're having sex, and I'm afraid I'll accidentally bleat Tim's name while I cum?
“Are you mad because I wasn’t with you yesterday?”
Oh my god, he's so clueless. So incredibly sweet and... I'm totally sick.
“No, it’s okay.”
"But something's not right. Daniel, what..."
“I missed you,” I murmur, snuggling into his arms.
“You too,” he smiles and holds me tightly.
I need to talk to Tine. Ask her what she thinks about everything and what I should do. It's been ages since we last talked. And drank alcohol. I need a bit of normality. It's all been far too exciting for a poor little swagger. Yesterday I was alone, and today I'm in a relationship with a world-class footballer who split up with his girlfriend and came out to the entire team. No wonder I'm freaking out and getting cold feet, right? This thing with Miro is kind of like... well, I feel like I should get married soon, if you know what I mean!

One day later, Miro is absent again, making it a good time for me to get drunk with Tine.
"I thought everything was going so well, so why do you look like vomit again?" she greets me skeptically. "Can't he divorce his wife? Does he prefer to keep you as his secret boyfriend?"
“No,” I grumble and knock back the first shot of tequila.
“But you certainly didn’t invite me for fun.”
“Do I need a reason to spend the evening with my best friend?”
“Forget it,” she laughs, “I know you too well, my sweet.”
"I... I don't know if..."
“You really love Miro, huh?” she interrupts me.
"No. Well, yes. I mean, yes, I love him. Of course I love him. It's just... tell me, when you were with your guys, did you ever... uh... think about other guys?"
Tine looks at me and knocks back her tequila. "Not really," she explains, sucking on her lemon. "Why?"
"Only this way."
“Nonsense. Speak up!”
"But it's possible to fall in love with someone and still find other people... ahem... well, attractive, right?"
“Speak plainly, please,” she snorts threateningly.
“I think about another guy during sex.”
"And white then?"
I'm afraid if I tell her that, she'll immediately lose her mind. Or think it's a joke. "Tim."
“Which Tim?”
“Borowski,” I answer quietly.
Describing Tine's facial expression is impossible. There are no words yet invented for it. "Are you kidding me? Are you trying to go through the entire national team? Or just Bremen? And if you're going to play football, why the hell not Jens Lehmann?"
“Because he’s married,” I reply stupidly.
"So, and? Since when is that an obstacle for you?"
"Seriously, Tine... what's wrong with me? I love Miro and I kissed Tim."
"Oh, that too. I thought you were just fantasizing about him. Borowski likes cocks?! My goodness... if you try a little harder, maybe a few more closeted homosexuals will come out."
"Can we please stay on topic? Thanks."
"Okay, so if you're already kissing someone else after a few weeks, that's not a very good sign. I mean, of course you're allowed to find other guys attractive and all that, but that actually happens quite rarely during the acute phase of falling in love. Normally, you only have eyes for your beloved. That means something's wrong with your feelings for Miro."
She's drunk. I love Miro!
"You should consider who's more important to you... in the long run. Are you just attracted to Borowski because he's a cute guy, or could you imagine being with him? And if so, would you miss Miro? Or rather... who would you miss more? Who would you want around you more urgently?"
These are very good questions. I'll try to find answers in the next few days.
Now I just want to get my head off!
“Isn’t Borowski married too?”
I nod unhappily.
“My dear Mr. Choral Society...” sighs Tine.

---

My sweetheart is out. Lost to Barcelona, the little mouse. Well, if I, as a complete layman, realized how badly they played... that's saying something. Miro is pretty dejected and has withdrawn a bit. That suits me perfectly, because I wanted to think about it anyway. Besides, I really need to talk to Tim. The kissing and my leaving afterwards... that can't just hang in the air. That's why I asked him to come over. He didn't sound particularly enthusiastic on the phone. I feel a little sick because I don't know what to expect. Because I have no idea what the hell I even feel for anyone. When he finally shows up and sits on my couch, I know for sure that I still find him hot.
"So?" he asks. "You wanted to talk to me?"
"I'm sorry I kissed you," I say, feeling a sense of déjà vu. Didn't I apologize to Miro too and not even mean it?!
"We should forget about it. It was a mistake."
“I agree,” I confirm, and in my mind I’m slowly undressing him.
"I really don't want to force myself into your relationship. I don't want the stress, you know? I don't know how to behave around Miro anyway."
Great, ask me! "So we pretend that didn't happen and..."
"Stop meeting secretly," he nods. "It's not like I'm in love with you, Dani. I'm just hot for you, that's all."
My speech!
“You’re not the first and you probably won’t be the last.”
"Please?"
He casually runs his hand through his hair. "Well... sometimes I feel like I'm attracted to guys. But I couldn't fall in love with one. That only works with women. I don't know why, but it's true. If we were both single, we could go to bed and have fun. Unfortunately, that's not up for debate."
I realize that him talking about going to bed shouldn't turn me on so much... oh man, I just want to pounce on him. Talking about sex with Tim is almost hotter than the idea of actually doing it with him. I can't stand it in my head!!
“Have you ever been in bed with a guy?” fuck, my throat might be dry.
"Secure."
Ah... hello, nasty demon. Back again?! And you'd like to take control of my body, eh? Equipped with a bedroom stare and a seductive smile, I slowly sit on his lap. Tim is a little... irritated. That quickly subsides, though, as I kiss him wildly and push my hands under his shirt. The first few pieces of clothing fly to the floor. His nipples are incredibly hard, I have to suck on them a little while I unzip his pants. He's got a boner, I'm going crazy! We make out for a while, touching each other until I can hardly stand it anymore. But suddenly...
"I can't do this," I wheeze, moving away from him. Miro just appeared before my eyes, looking anything but pleased. "I'm sorry... it just isn't possible."
“You thought of that pretty early,” groans Tim.
“Are you angry now?”
“No,” he gasps in pain, “just incredibly horny.”
I know exactly what he means. My heart is racing and my entire abdomen is practically on fire.
"Maybe... I could go out so you can... well..." I stutter stupidly and make an even stupider jerk-off gesture.
He gets up. "No, let's not. A cold shower will do the trick. May I?"
"Clear."
After we're both sitting next to each other in a somewhat civilized manner again, it's pretty tense.
“I’d better go,” Tim thinks, “before you try to attack me again.”
“I don’t find this funny.”
"Me neither, actually," he grins, but immediately becomes serious again. "Sorry. Are you going to tell Miro that we..."
"No," I scream in horror. "Are you going to tell your wife something?"
"No, better not. It didn't come to anything. I don't want to get into trouble over it, anyway."
Maybe me?!

---

So, now everything has gone to hell! Of course, I couldn't keep my mouth shut. How could I, when Miro keeps telling me that he loves me and is happy with me? I simply didn't want such a secret between us. Miro didn't understand why I was messing around with a guy I wasn't in love with. He couldn't understand why I was with him even though I find another man more sexually attractive. I don't think so at all, but that didn't register with Miro either. Well, it sounds pretty stupid... I love you, you turn me on, but Tim is also kind of hot... I would have probably punched myself in the face. Miro didn't do that; he left. Logically, only after he told me everything he'd risked and given up for me, and that I'd broken his heart. I couldn't feel worse! I don't want anyone to think that's all there is to it. No, no, when you're me, there's always more to it. Tim and Miro argued... and that's putting it politely. Little Miro almost jumped at big Tim's throat. The tussle even gave him a black eye. That's why Tim is angry with me now and doesn't want any more contact. So, just to jot it down: boyfriend gone, everyone hates me, they're mad at each other, Christmas is coming soon... I'm extra excited!! The stupid thing about it is, well, it's my fault. If I hadn't been so talkative... no, that's stupid. If I hadn't messed around with Tim... that's the right approach! It's not getting me anywhere, unfortunately. It's done, I can't take it back, and the fact that the old saying "You don't know what you love until you've lost it" is so true is pretty disgusting to me. "Hindsight is always 20/20" is incredibly stupid, too. What the hell are you supposed to do with that, huh? Do such smart-aleck remarks perhaps help mend your relationship with Miro? Exactly! I've been lying on my bed the whole time, sniffing like crazy at his cozy black sweater. That's all I have left. A piece of fabric with his scent. Once I've successfully sniffed that away, I'll tackle the other clothes of his that are still lying around here. Hopefully, by the time I'm done with that, I'll have kicked the bucket.

---

Some suicidal asshole is standing at my door, ringing the doorbell like a hoot, preventing me from dying. Whoever it is... has the nerve to interrupt my wasting away. I'm going to rip out their heart with my bare hands and eat it for breakfast... or let's say dinner. Ready to go on a killing spree, I stomp to the door. Great! It's my ex. And I haven't showered or freshened up in days. There's a God, and... he doesn't seem to like me!
“I just want to pick up my things,” explains Miro.
How I'm supposed to explain to him why they're all in my bed is beyond me. Well, he probably won't ask anyway.
"Great, you've already laid them out for me," he hisses. "I guess you couldn't
expect that I will finally disappear completely from your life and that you will be with Borowski..."
“Shut up!”
“Excuse me, what?” he asks, astonished.
"Look at me," I snarl, tugging at my baggy outfit, "I've been a fucking wreck since you left. I can't sleep, I can't eat, and I don't care about hygiene at all."
He stares at me in disbelief. "Should I pity you now?"
"No. You should forgive me. I made a terrible mistake, and I'm sorry. You love me, otherwise you wouldn't have tried to punch Tim in the face. I love you too, otherwise I would have slept with Tim when I had the chance. Miro, I miss you every second. I CAN'T STAND WITHOUT YOU!" I scream desperately.
"You should have thought about that sooner. Is it love if you have to sleep with another guy to know for sure?"
I hate to admit it, but the point goes to him without a doubt. There's no sugarcoating the situation with Tim.
“And who says it won’t happen again, Daniel?”
Great, he doesn't even give me the slightest chance.
"With the nearest married guy, because apparently you have a thing for that. Is that why you chose us? Me and Tim?" He shakes his head. "You just do what you want, take what you want, without thinking about the consequences, without regard for the consequences. You don't care at all if you hurt other people, as long as you have fun."
Wow! "So that's how you feel about me, huh?" I answer quietly, fighting back the tears welling up. "No wonder you dumped me. I mean, who wants to be with a disgusting person like me? But you know, maybe Tim didn't think about his wife for a second when he went to my pants. And you... you really enjoyed letting me fuck you, right?!"
“When you can’t think of anything else, you become vulgar,” he smiles sheepishly.
"You can turn off your halo, Klose. At least I'm honest. I didn't get married and have a couple of kids, even though I don't love my wife. And it's not my fault that Tim is apparently ready to cheat on his wife with some guy just months after his wedding. Your lying heterosexual image is really getting on my nerves. I hurt you, I know that, and I'm so sorry. But that whole time when no one was allowed to know about us and you barely had time for me wasn't a walk in the park either. Did you ever wonder how I was doing? No, you were just worried about your career. I think we're even."
“I should go now.”
"Sure, what else? If things get uncomfortable, you leave. But not today, Miro. We'll sort this out now, and then we'll sleep together."
“Are you crazy?” he asks cautiously.
“Madly in love with you,” I reply.
Sighing, he flops down on the couch and ruffles his hair a little. "Micha warned me what to do with you. The little guy is nothing but trouble, he said, and you're nowhere near up to him."
“Mr. Ballack should keep his opinion to himself, or I’ll dip his head in a vat of slime.”
“What kind of slime?”
“It’s just slime. It doesn’t matter,” I hiss irritably.
Miro shyly reaches for my hand. "I love you, Dani," he whispers in his soft, mousey voice. Then he kisses me so sweetly that I instantly melt. After that, he kisses me so passionately that... ahem... we push into the bedroom, stumble into bed, and spend the next few hours preoccupied with sex. Naturally, I'm a little scared of that, because I don't know what will be going through my mind. Or rather, who! After a lot of kissing, undressing, and touching, Miro wants to get into a favorable position, but I stop him. I think he should have a go today.
“It’s your turn today,” I grin, and he turns red all over when he realizes what I mean.
“Dani...I...uh...” he stammers cutely.
“I want you inside me,” I whisper as seductively as I can.
Miro is really... excited. We'd better get started, otherwise he'll be finished before... uh, yeah.

WOW!!
I think, no, I'm sure, that was the absolute hottest sex I've ever had. I'm still completely entranced, even though it's been a while. Miro smiles dreamily... innocently. The little sneak isn't fooling me anymore. Not after this! Of course, he played the shy, insecure mouse again at the beginning, but he kept moaning Polish filth in my ear the whole time, so that I went crazy. It's a shame he never says anything I actually understand. In any case, I didn't think about that bum Borowski for a single damn second.
Hallelujah!

---

Miro and Tim have made up again. Mr. Borowski still doesn't want to have anything to do with me. There's nothing he can do. My sweetheart is the fall champion (whatever that means), is constantly being invited to TV shows, is winning prizes (because of the great World Cup), and is finally on vacation, so he has plenty of time for me. Well, more time than usual, anyway.
His children are still more important, which I completely understand. He's been trying to tell me for half an hour now that he's spending Christmas with his kids. I should finally put him out of his misery, or he'll start crying.
"Miro, it's okay, really. I'm spending Christmas with Tine anyway."
“Aren’t you celebrating with your family… your parents?”
"I'd have to be on the verge of alcohol poisoning to be able to handle it. My sister will bring her spoiled kids and her boring husband, my mother will sit in front of the Christmas tree with red, puffy eyes because she secretly cried her head off in the kitchen while making potato salad and asked why her son, of all people, had to be gay. My father will tell stupid gay jokes, and in the end, we'll all pretend I'm straight. I'm going to treat myself this year and give myself this nightmare. Tine and I will go out for a cozy dinner, and then..."
“Are you getting drunk, huh?”
“That’s the plan,” I confirm.
“I feel really guilty about leaving you alone.”
"You don't have to. I'm already grown up, your children aren't. You belong there at Christmas. I'd find it pathetic if you were with me."
Miro pulls me into his arms and smiles happily. I think I should tell him what I want for Christmas.
“And what do you want for Christmas?”
First, I'm going to throw a little spit down the wrong tube. It's not easy at all... oh man, he'll think I'm crazy. "I already have the most important thing on my wish list."
"What?"
"A sweet little striker to love," I reply, immediately wanting to blow myself up. That you always have to talk such crap when you're in love. "And the other thing is a little embarrassing."
"Since when are you embarrassed by something?" he grins amusedly. "That's something completely new."
"I...", my hand strokes his stomach, "oh man, I totally love your football clothes."
Miro looks somewhat irritated.
"Your Germany jersey... or when you wear those black Werder Bremen clothes... that looks... that just looks sexy. And hot. And then I'd love to fuck you right after the game, when you're still dirty and sweaty and a little battered..." I whisper in his ear, and I'm probably the only one here who's turned on by that.
"Wow, no one ever told me that," he shakes his head. "Oh, so... you want me to... oh, my goodness during sex," he giggles. "I hope I don't have to sing the national anthem first."
Okay, the mood is ruined. I can't concentrate when he's acting so silly.
"Sorry," he murmurs, "I had no idea you liked it... but, my God, other people are into feet or latex and leather or beards..."
"Fruit?"
“And?”
"Keep your mouth shut."
He leans over me, presses my wrists to the mattress and grins dangerously.
“I want to fuck you, Dani.”
What's wrong with him? Oh... wow... when he says that, it sounds a thousand times more indecent. And he didn't even blush!

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