2025-07-11, 10:25 PM
"Ladies and gentlemen, as you've probably noticed, we're already on approach. We therefore ask you to fasten your seatbelts and recline your seats. We will be landing in Amsterdam in approximately 10 minutes."
Arno looked out the window, somewhat worried. Although he was almost 15, it was his first flight, so he was a little scared of the landing, but of course he didn't want to show it to the person sitting next to him.
It was his first time away from home. For three weeks. Still, he had mixed feelings, especially after some of his friends had mocked the trip the day before. They'd said it was a 'bum trip' with a bunch of kids without money, with children whose parents couldn't afford a vacation. Sure, they weren't wrong – Arno really did come from a poor family, and his father was a well-known drunk in the area – but no one was allowed to talk about him like that. So, he beat up one of his 'friends' on the way home from the soccer field, which got him into more trouble shortly before leaving for the airport when his father called his mother. Arno took it in his stride. He'd learned from his father early on what it meant to be a real man. Although he wasn't the tallest guy, he never missed a fight and usually had the last word. He was a respected guy among his friends, even though he often had the impression that many of them only followed him out of fear, which only served to build him up even more. He definitely didn't want to come across as a wimp, especially because he'd been at odds with himself emotionally over the past few months. He felt something deep inside that somehow didn't belong there, wasn't allowed to.
As Arno was pondering again, the plane landed at the airport almost unnoticed. So, there he was? Holland. The trip was actually organized by a non-profit organization that wanted to give children from socially disadvantaged families the opportunity to get to know a new country, new people, and new families.
"They're so sweet," he overheard a woman talking to his mother at the airport in Vienna, patting her chubby daughter on the head. "Melanie's already here for the third time, and it's strange that your son hasn't heard anything from his host parents yet. They usually write in advance and introduce themselves."
Arno pretended he hadn't heard. His mother always seems to be chatting up complete strangers. But it still worried him. What if no one came to pick him up? Or what if they were perverts who were trying to experiment on him? Just before boarding the plane, Arno briefly considered locking himself in the airport bathroom so he wouldn't have to fly—but now he was there.
From Amsterdam we took the bus to a meeting point where numerous parents and some children were already waiting for their guests.
The children's names were read out one by one and one child left the bus and was warmly welcomed outside.
"Great. They really forgot about me. This is off to a good start," Arno thought.
"Arno Stifter ? zur Familie de Bleeker!"
Arno grabbed his luggage, adjusted his sunglasses and climbed out of the bus.
"Hello Arno, I'm Jan. Everything okay?" Arno looked into the face of a man of about 30, who immediately took his luggage and gave him a friendly smile. "We have to drive for about 30 minutes. My wife is already waiting for you. Are you tired?"
"A little. The trip was very tiring. I'm Arno—but you probably already know that!"
The first few minutes of silence in the car were followed by Jan bombarding him with questions. What he was into, whether he liked football, what music he listened to, whether he had a girlfriend, etc.
Yes, he plays soccer himself, he likes listening to rock music, and no, he doesn't have a girlfriend. The question about his girlfriend almost made him think again, had Jan not already continued to entertain him.
"So my wife Wilma and I have a son. He just turned one!"
"Oh, nice. A little pants-shitter," Arno thought to himself, and somehow he was disappointed. What can you possibly do with a one-year-old? It was going to be a shitty three weeks. With barbecues in the garden, Sunday afternoon coffee, visiting relatives, and all that shit. When Jan finally stopped talking, Arno gazed thoughtfully at the passing, slowly darkening landscape. He almost fell asleep when the car suddenly stopped.
"So, here we are! Everyone out!"
"So you must be Arno. Welcome!" A tall, pretty woman gave him a warm hug, which Arno didn't like at all. He'd never been able to handle such affection before.
"You must be very tired. We'd better show you where to sleep right away. Then we can get to know each other better tomorrow!"
Wilma and Jan led him into the converted attic, which was small but very comfortably furnished. It even had a small refrigerator and its own television—something he didn't have at home.
After bringing him a bottle of Coke, he was wished good night. "You'll meet Thys tomorrow, he's already asleep."
Thys, that was the name of her son.
Arno quickly went to bed, thinking he'd soon fall asleep. The journey had been truly exhausting. But now he lay there—awake. As always, he brooded over this and that. So they had a son; it would have been nice if he'd been his age. They could have done something then, played soccer or whatever—and again, those strange feelings came over him: there was something else—a boy his age...
"Oh, asshole," Arno thought to himself and then fell asleep.
The first few days were relatively uneventful: sometimes Arno helped Jan in the garden, then he went shopping with Wilma, and every now and then Arno found himself playing exuberantly with little Thys, whom he had immediately taken to, whether he wanted to or not. He also found himself looking around anxiously while playing with the toddler, as if one of his friends might see him. "Arno, the wimp. Playing with little children!" But Arno was away from home, and it was good for him. He had a family around him that seemed to like him. There was no arguing, no shouting, and he fell asleep well every night. At home, he was often woken up with a start, especially when his father came home drunk from the bar.
"On Saturday we're going to an amusement park. I hope you enjoy it, and oh yes, you'll also get to meet Jeroen. He's my sister's son, and ?"
"Please, please not one year old," Arno thought.
"And he's about your age. A little younger than you," Wilma continued.
Until Friday evening, Arno could think of nothing but Jeroen. Who he was? What would he look like? He felt a little uneasy again. Why on earth was he worrying about another boy's appearance? And then completely different thoughts crossed his mind, some of which were even approved by a certain part of his body! Oh man, what was that all about? Since it was making him more and more insecure, he decided for the first time to erase that name from his mind: Jeroen. He couldn't even pronounce that name properly, and besides, he wouldn't understand it anyway, and besides, shit.
Saturday morning.
Arno stood in front of the mirror in the small attic room. He somehow wanted to impress Jeroen; after all, he couldn't come across as a complete farmer. He pulled his favorite jeans out of his bag: rather faded blue Levis (his mother had bought them at the flea market without his knowledge) – and a simple, jet-black T-shirt. He didn't need anything else; it was July and unbearably hot. So he stood in front of the mirror for a few minutes. His black, medium-length hair stuck out in all directions. It needed some gel, so he slicked it back on the left and right sides, and stuck it up in the middle. Except for a small strand that hung over his forehead, only to cover a huge pimple that had just appeared on that particular day. Actually, Arno quite liked himself: black hair, dark eyes, but fair skin (Arno hated lying in the sun). Normally built for his age, not too muscular, but quite wiry and the strongest when it came down to it.
"This is how I'll please Jeroen!" Arno heard himself say, and instantly turned as red as a turkey. There it was again, that thought. "Man, pull yourself together! You wimp!" Before he got too angry, he ran downstairs, where Wilma and Thys were already waiting in front of the car.
"Isn't Jan coming with us?" asked Arno.
"No, my sister Anne and her son are coming with us. His name is Jeroen again, you'll get along well with him."
Why did she say that? Had she heard him in the mirror? Did she see something that wasn't there? Arno was starting to feel pretty paranoid.
"We'll pick them up on the way. Come on! Get in, it's best if you sit in the back with Thys."
Off we went. About 20 minutes later, the car stopped at a farm. "Great, a farm boy?"
"My sister recently separated from her husband and moved back to my parents' house with Jeroen. They own this farm. Please wait in the car with Thys, I'll get them both, and then we'll go right away!"
Wilma seemed to understand everything he was thinking, he thought 'farmer's boy' and she immediately told him that only her parents were farmers.
Arno watched Thys, who was gurgling peacefully and playing with a stuffed lion. Damn, where were they? Arno was an extremely impatient boy, and the five minutes seemed like an hour to him.
There, footsteps. The side door opened, and to his left and the baby seat, a boy with straight, medium-length blond hair sat down, partially hidden under a black wool cap (in this heat!).
"Hello. I'm Jeroen. I speak German quite well!"
He held out his hand to Arno, who hesitantly took it. Their eyes met briefly before both shyly looked away.
Arno was struck by lightning, his heart pounding, and he was sweating. He wanted to get out and run away, to avoid having to admit that he immediately liked this boy. In a way that was becoming increasingly unnerving to him.
"Stupid peasant hat!" he thought defiantly, but his emotions must not get the upper hand.
So, at first, he tried to ignore Jeroen and acted like a big mouth for a while, just like he was used to at home. He chatted away: He would ride the roller coaster until he threw up, and he casually said to Jeroen that there would probably be a lot of women around. When he said this, he felt embarrassed again and blushed even redder than Jeroen, who seemed completely overwhelmed by this news.
"Yes, certainly a lot," he said, turning his head to the other side to look out the window. Wilma glanced in the rearview mirror a few times. Her expression toward Arno seemed to say, "Don't bother! I'm not buying the tough guy thing."
"Damn. I must have just shat on him," Arno thought to himself as Jeroen looked away. The blush on his face still hadn't faded, and he was ashamed of what he'd said. So he decided to keep his mouth shut for now—and looked out the window, too.
He was angry. At himself and at that farm boy with his stupid woolen cap. Yet, as often as he could, he looked in his direction to examine him closely. He must have been a year younger than him, almost 14, maybe even older. He could just make out his nose; the rest of his face was obscured by his seemingly freshly washed hair, the scent of which Arno inhaled. The whole car seemed to be filled with it.
Jeroen was younger than him, but about the same height, albeit a touch thinner. His knee-length pants exposed parts of his legs, which were covered by a few hairs. Arno enjoyed the sight; it warmed his heart. He had never felt anything like it before—once again, total confusion.
Suddenly, Thys began to scream. He had lost his lion.
"Now I can make up for my big mouth," Arno thought. "When Jeroen sees how lovingly I care for Thys, maybe he'll look my way again. Maybe then he'll even talk to me."
Arno immediately found the lion, held it up to Thys's face, and grumbled and repeatedly nudged his nose. It seemed to help; Thys's crying instantly turned into a contented chuckle. And indeed, it did: Jeroen turned his gaze back to him—and actually gave him a smile, a smile like he'd never received before.
"He likes this sh?.he likes this lion."
"He likes you," Jeroen replied.
"And I like you," Arno would have liked to answer, although he would have found it embarrassing at that moment.
Instead, he answered with a smile too – he never did that, the 'tough' kid he was. Jeroen seemed to have already forgotten the proletarian remark from before. Although he didn't say much, his looks signaled that he really wanted to get to know Arno. Both boys now tried to outdo each other in playing the clown for Thys. He seemed to enjoy it. When the two started tickling his stomach, their hands briefly touched. Lightning! They both pulled their hands back, looked at each other briefly – and turned back to the little one.
"Something's happening to me," Arno thought, "and Jeroen might be too."
Playing with the baby was just an excuse, because now Jeroen, too, was looking Arno up and down. He seemed to like what he saw. Finally, they both 'let go' of Thys and leaned back in silence.
Arno's heart pounded—and yet Arno felt more calm and secure than ever before. Everything else suddenly seemed so far away; he had only now truly arrived in Holland.
___________________________________________________________________________
About half an hour later, they reached their destination, a permanent amusement park similar to the Vienna Prater, where Arno often hung out. After Wilma had paid everyone's entrance fee, she slipped the boys 10 euros each and said goodbye, saying, "Okay, see you here by the car until 4 o'clock!" "Great," thought Arno, "so they're not joining us? Cool!"
At first, the two wandered around aimlessly without talking much before Arno tried to break the ice.
"How do you speak German so well?" he asked him.
"Oh, we lived in Germany for a long time - my father had a job there, so I went to school there for a few years."
"So now you're back here?"
"Yes, my father not only found a new job, but also a new wife. Great, isn't it?"
"Sounds like he's quite an asshole."
"No, he's actually a great guy, aside from that. I get along well with him and often visit him in Hamburg. And how's your family?"
"Oh, I can handle them." He didn't want to say anything more. He didn't want to say that his father regularly got drunk and then took out his anger at home—sometimes on him. He didn't want to say that his mother was too weak to do anything about it. He simply didn't want to come across as a wimp.
"My father drinks, but he's okay." That wasn't a complete lie, because Arno didn't hate his father, which he found odd, especially when his father beat him black and blue.
"Why are you wearing that woolly hat in this heat?"
"Why, do you think they're silly?"
"No, I'm just saying. It's just very unusual to wear something like that in the summer."
"It reminds me of my best friend. He gave it to me for my birthday two years ago."
"Aha? And she reminds you of him because he still lives in Germany, right?" At least, Arno wanted him to live in Germany. For some reason, he was immediately jealous of this unknown boy.
"You can't say that," Jeroen continued. "He's no longer alive. He died a year ago from a rare heart condition. Shortly afterward, we returned to the Netherlands. It wasn't easy."
Damn, with every question Arno asked him, he made him sad, first reminding him of his father, now of his dead friend.
Jeroen obviously found it difficult to talk about it; he must have loved him very much. Arno put his arm around his shoulder, surprised by the gesture himself—because he wouldn't normally dream of doing something like that.
"I'm really sorry. Sorry for asking." He took his arm away, even though he enjoyed playing the comforter.
"It doesn't matter, you can't know. He was just a damn good friend, and I still miss him. I think it's terrible when someone dies at that age. Imagine something like that happening to your best friend? You feel kind of alone."
At the words 'best friend,' Arno was struck by a shock; he realized he didn't have anything like that. Sure, he always hung out with a lot of guys, but he'd never had a best friend with whom he could talk about anything, who would listen to him. Arno suddenly felt quite lonely.
"So, the roller coaster!" Jeroen tried to distract him, immediately noticing that Arno had started to think. "Shall we go?"
"Yep, let's go!"
The two actually found room right at the front of the car. As the train jolted off to crawl up the first incline, Jeroen suddenly grabbed Arno's hand and said, "I'm always a little scared. It doesn't bother you, does it?" He gave him a friendly smile. Arno felt completely different: At home, a guy like that would have gotten a punch in the face right away, but with Jeroen, he let it happen. Not only that, he enjoyed it.
"Go ahead, I don't really feel comfortable in those things either," Arno admitted, returning the handshake. He also tried to give Jeroen his best smile, which Jeroen received with a grateful look.
"I'd love to kiss you!" Damn, where did those thoughts come from? He almost said it!
The next three minutes were mindless—the ride zoomed up and down, looped three times, and both boys screamed their hearts out. It was glorious! Arno especially enjoyed it when the ride made a sharp turn and Jeroen was completely pressed against his side. Each time this happened, Arno squeezed Jeroen's hand even tighter to say, "Don't worry, I'm here!"
After the wild ride, the boys went through all the attractions before enjoying a portion of fries around 1:00.
"You Dutch people are strange people: For breakfast you have white bread with chocolate sprinkles, you eat apple sauce with your bratwurst, and you slap mayonnaise on your fries!" Arno said to Jeroen, laughing.
"You Austrians need it: sitting all day in your lederhosen on some mountain and yodeling. Come on, yodel for me," said Jeroen, and his laughter grew even louder when Arno actually tried.
"Haha, sounds like a cow with diarrhea," said Jeroen, who couldn't stop laughing.
"Asshole," Arno replied curtly, feigning insult. But he acted so badly that Jeroen didn't believe him. In short, the two had a lot of fun and enjoyed their time together. Arno was amazed at himself: One boy reached for his hand and he did… nothing! Another laughed at him and he did… nothing! Was it the surroundings or simply this charming, blond boy who suddenly aroused feelings in him like he'd never felt before? He just felt… good! And there was no one around who knew him. No one to whom he had to prove what a tough guy he really was.
The afternoon passed quickly, and everyone had tried all the attractions once or twice when the boys suddenly found themselves in front of a carousel they had previously missed. It was a kind of roller coaster, and after a few laps, the cars closed completely, like the roof of a convertible.
"It looks boring, but okay, let's ride it," Arno said. As they queued up, Arno found it odd that only couples were waiting in front of them to board. Jeroen also suddenly became visibly nervous. Either Arno was completely confused, or he genuinely didn't know that this was a carousel for lovers, and the 'roof' closed to give the couples a chance to kiss.
After both had taken their seats, the carousel started moving, and after a few laps, the top came down. Another lap, another... and suddenly it happened: Jeroen turned to Arno and kissed him on the right cheek. Then they both finished the ride in silence! Now this Dutchman had actually done it? Arno was completely confused and didn't say a word. Jeroen didn't really know how to handle the situation either.
"Sorry," he said embarrassedly after both had gotten out. "I just thought, oh, I'm an idiot?" Jeroen was close to tears.
"It's okay, I was just surprised, honestly, it's okay."
Arno looked at Jeroen again and was now slowly beginning to understand his feelings—he was simply head over heels in love with Jeroen. The kiss showed him that he must feel the same way.
Arno now put everything on the line, saying, "Let's go again. Now it's my turn. I'll show you how to really kiss."
Jeroen looked up in surprise, initially thinking Arno was just teasing him. But after a few moments, he recognized the seriousness in his eyes—he nodded solemnly, and a few minutes later, they were sitting on the carousel again.
The top came down, and Arno began to tremble: "I'm such a loudmouth, I can't do it, why do I always have to open my mouth?" But then he looked over at Jeroen, who turned his face toward him and smiled. "How cute he looks," Arno thought to himself, "oh, screw it."
"Open your mouth halfway," he commanded Jeroen in a shaky voice. Jeroen did as he was told – and seconds later, Arno felt Jeroen's lips on his. Jeroen was breathing heavily and clutching Arno's right upper arm. There was some movement in Arno's pants as he felt Jeroen's tongue on his. He, too, was extremely aroused. Arno had kissed a girl many times before – probably only because the others expected it of him – but never before had he felt it like he did in that moment. He put his arm around Jeroen's neck and briefly stroked his hair. The smell of it, as well as the warmth of his soft skin, nearly drove him crazy; he would have loved to stay sitting there with him forever. The two were still in each other's arms long after the top was back up.
"Get out," someone said, and only now did the two look around in confusion. But no one seemed to mind; quite the opposite: A slightly older boy signaled with a wink: Congratulations, guys!
When they both got out, Arno's knees were still shaking, and Jeroen was no different. Both were speechless, and when they slowly recovered, they simply grinned at each other.
"Ice cream?" asked Jeroen, and before he could wait for an answer, he was already in line at an ice cream stand. Arno sat down in the shade, where he finally came to his senses. From there, he watched Jeroen ordering, watched the other people, and finally gazed dreamily, yet thoughtfully, up at the sky.
"Here. What's going on?" asked Jeroen, returning with two ice cream bowls, one of which he handed to Arno.
"Was what we just did right?" Arno said thoughtfully.
"Well, I liked it," Jeroen replied, now also looking up at the sky.
"But I mean, you're a boy and so am I, and now I'm sitting here in Holland and suddenly I realize that... I mean, "you?"
"And?"
"My father says it's wrong for two boys to love each other. And all that comes with that? He thinks their dicks should just be cut off. When he sees two gays on TV, he really goes ballistic. My God, does he know that?"
Arno interrupted himself. It was obvious, his father HAD to know about it, otherwise why would he talk about it so often. And looking back, Arno had given him enough 'motives': Arno enjoyed drawing, he took pride in his appearance, and often sang along to songs in the car – which always earned him reproachful looks from his father. All things that his father always described as 'gay'. And the most important clue: Arno had never brought a girl home, let alone spoken about one at home. He had kissed enough – now he realized he was only doing it to distract from the situation, to show the others: Hey, look, I'm the ultimate pick-up guy!
And then something happened that Arno had last done when he was five or six: He began to cry quietly, while the ice cream that Jeroen had brought him slowly melted in his hand.
"Shhh. Everything's okay," Jeroen said comfortingly, pulling Arno's head to his chest. Now Arno cried even harder: Never before had anyone been so kind to him, so concerned about him—he couldn't even remember the last time his mother had held him like that. "Except my T-shirt, you just smeared it with ice," Jeroen continued, smiling at Arno, who suddenly started laughing, just like little Thys had a few hours earlier when he comforted him with the rediscovered stuffed lion—it was a total confusion of emotions.
Arno lifted his head from Jeroen's chest and wiped his eyes. Jeroen put his arm around his shoulder as Arno looked at him, no longer crying, but still sad.
Jeroen had also become thoughtful. His face, which had previously seemed childlike, now had serious, adult features. "I would tell your father something. You're his son, after all; he must realize he's hurting you. I hope you have friends you can talk to about this."
"Yes, I did? you! I have to confess that I've never been able to talk to anyone the way I talk to you. When you told me about your best friend earlier, I realized that there had never been anyone like him for me. For a moment, I was even angry at him, before you said that it was... well..."
"Now you have someone like that. You can trust me; with me, you don't have to pretend to be someone you're not. I like you the way you are."
Jeroen hugged him again and kissed him on the cheek.
"But the big surprise is yet to come," Arno continued, "because I think that I...that I...well, I think you're great and that kiss earlier...that was the best thing I've ever experienced and I think, I think I've...fallen in love with you." Arno briefly hesitated to say that word; it sounded too much like a Hollywood romance movie to him, but: It was the truth.
"When I got into the car, I first thought: what a jerk," Jeroen replied. "Honestly, you were talking a lot of rubbish, but somehow I already noticed there was more to it. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside, is that what you say? And now? I'm glad you're here. Since we've been living back in Holland, well, I haven't been able to connect with other people anymore. My mother has already considered taking me to some weird psychologist. At least that's what she told Wilma. I overheard them both. She's worried I might lose touch. Whatever she means by that? Well, and I—like you—have to come to terms with this whole thing first. But again: I'm glad you're here."
Arno swallowed, looked around briefly, and also blew a kiss on Jeroen's cheek. "Thanks for the ice cream! Another ride on the roller coaster?"
"Fuck it, okay!"
"Yep, screw it!"
They stood up and joined the queue for the roller coaster again.
It was already almost four.
As soon as Arno got back into the car, he fell asleep; the day with all its events had made him tired. He had a strange dream: He was at home in Vienna, playing soccer with his friends, or rather, they were playing. No matter how much he shouted, he couldn't get a ball. What was even weirder was that he only saw everyone from behind. One of the players resembled Jeroen, so he shouted his name—the boy didn't turn around. He said he was there for him. "You asshole!" he screamed. Then he suddenly saw the red card in front of his face. "You have no business being here anymore!" said the referee, and when he looked at his face, he recognized his father.
Arno jumped up. Everything was fine, Thys was playing with his toes, and Jeroen was looking at him mischievously.
"You have dreams. Who did you mean by 'asshole'?" he asked. Great, now he was talking in his sleep too. Arno didn't answer and stared out the window, while Jeroen seemed to be peppering his mother with questions. Since they were speaking Dutch, Arno tuned out pretty quickly; apart from a few scraps of words, he didn't understand anything. His name was mentioned several times, which didn't seem to bother him because of his tiredness. Sadness had caught up with him again, this time for a different reason: What would happen after this day? Would he see Jeroen again?
Now Anne and Wilma were talking to each other, both of them seeming to be having a great time. Jeroen blushed a few times.
"Well, as far as I'm concerned, that would be fine, and I don't think Jan would mind either. But have you actually asked Arno what he thinks about it?" he heard Wilma speaking—in German again.
Jeroen's mother seemed very happy; the day seemed to have done her son good. He hadn't been this cheerful in a long time, especially since they returned to Holland from Germany.
"Go on, ask him! He's just awake, quickly, before he falls asleep again!" Anne urged.
Jeroen cleared his throat, turned to Arno, and began to speak solemnly: "Hey, Arno! I had an idea and would like to know what you think. You're still here for two weeks, and I'm on vacation too. So, I asked Wilma if she would mind if I came to you, to Wilma and Jan. Oh, and to you, of course. Then we could do a lot of things together. What do you think?"
He didn't seem to want to wait for an answer - Jeroen was visibly nervous. And Arno? If Thys hadn't been there, he would have thrown his arms around him immediately. The day couldn't have ended better. Yes, yes, yes, of course he did. He wanted to spend every free minute of the next two weeks with Jeroen. Savor every hour - because he knew only too well that after these weeks it would all be over. But he quickly pushed these gloomy thoughts aside. Instead of a hug, he gave Jeroen a look full of gratitude and he had to pull himself together to avoid crying again - this time with joy.
Soon after, they arrived back at the farm—Jeroen's home. Anne had promised Wilma a cup of coffee, and Wilma also wanted to call Jan to inform him that they would now have two guests to look after. Meanwhile, Jeroen showed Arno his room. It was clean and tidy—a guitar was leaning in the corner, which Jeroen immediately grabbed and brought into the hallway. It absolutely had to come along. A cat purred over, which he immediately lovingly picked up, stroked, kissed on the head, and put back down. "Mina," he said casually to Arno, who had taken a seat at Jeroen's desk. "Go ahead and look around, I'll pack my things in the meantime."
There were a few photos lying around on Jeroen's desk: one showed him and his family, including his father, a not unfriendly-looking guy. Another photo showed him with another boy, who must have been his friend.
"What was his name?" Arno asked into the silence, taking the photo in his hand.
"Patrik," Jeroen answered briefly.
"Was he... I mean, were you?"
"Together? Nah, I don't think he knew. I don't even know if I was even aware of it at the time. You forget so quickly."
He stopped packing for a moment, took the photo from Arno's hand and sat on Arno's knee.
Arno thought for a moment about what to do next: He decided to put his arms around Jeroen's waist and rest his head on his shoulders from behind.
"He looks very nice - I think he would have understood you!" said Arno.
"100%!" Jeroen said curtly and put the photo back in its place. Nevertheless, he stayed seated for a while, enjoying the hug and the closeness of his new friend. Finally, though, he had to continue packing. Man, the amount of stuff he packed, he had incredible things. Arno felt like his suitcase had been the lightest of all when he checked in in Vienna, given the few rags he had with him.
Arno glanced over a DVD shelf (Jeroen seemed to be a Steven Spielberg fan) and a bookshelf before turning abruptly towards Jeroen. Jeroen had just decided to change his T-shirt and was standing in the room shirtless. It was also the first time Arno had seen him without his woolly hat; his blond hair reached well below his ears. Unfortunately, Arno only saw his back, but he liked that too. As mentioned, Jeroen was slight, but not scrawny; his upper arms seemed strong; it was clear that he must have just gone through a growth spurt. Arno desperately tried to see if he had any armpit hair, but he had already put on a new T-shirt. Jeroen decided to change his trousers too; again, Arno only saw his back. He was wearing tight-fitting white shorts through which a well-shaped bottom was visible. Arno, of course, immediately got a hard-on and seriously considered going to the bathroom. But by that moment, Jeroen was already done.
"Let's go downstairs," he said, deliberately brushing against Arno's crotch as he passed. "I knew it," he giggled. So the little guy knew exactly what he was doing and seemed to enjoy keeping Arno on tenterhooks. "You owe me one," Jeroen whispered in his ear, and he was already out the door. Arno took a moment—then he followed.
"Hello Jan, we're back!" Arno shouted, jumping out of the car. "This is Jeroen!"
"I know? We know each other!" Jan replied, while Wilma freed Thys from his baby seat and Jeroen also got out.
"Oh yeah, I'm a stupid ass. Of course, you're related," Arno laughed, slapped his hand against his forehead, and grabbed Jeroen's bag to take it to the attic.
"What's wrong with him?" Jan asked Wilma in surprise, who shrugged with a smile and pointed unnoticed toward Jeroen. Jan gave him an "Ah, I see" look and smiled as well. Jeroen immediately galloped into the room, where Jan had already laid out an air mattress and bedding.
"You can have my bed, I'll sleep here," said Arno, who was just about to jump into the shower. Now Jeroen got to see him in almost all his glory. There stood one, wearing only his underwear; there stood the other, his mouth wide open.
"See you later," Arno whispered to him and disappeared into the shower.
Jeroen looked around curiously - Arno didn't seem to be as tidy as he was. In some cases, Arno hadn't even unpacked all of his clothes: they were still lying in his bag or scattered on the floor. For a moment, Jeroen considered snooping around in Arno's backpack, but ultimately decided against it - he had too much respect for him to do something like that. But then he had to smile - the ears of a crumpled stuffed rabbit were peeking out from under the pile of clothes. No, this cool, tough guy had another stuffed animal. Jeroen sniffed the rabbit and put it on Arno's pillow. We'll see what he'd say, he thought mischievously. Then he started unpacking his clothes. There was plenty of room in the small wardrobe since Arno didn't seem to be using it. Jeroen had to smile again and it became clear to him: he, too, had fallen in love with the boy. The only thing that displeased him was the constantly sad look in Arno's beautiful dark eyes - It made him sad too. What must this boy have experienced, he asked himself thoughtfully.
"I hope I can distract him while we're together," thought Jeroen, whistling as he skipped down the stairs to help set the table.
The shower refreshed Arno and breathed new life into him. Upon entering the room, he had to smile when he saw his bunny sitting on the cushion, even though he blushed slightly, feeling caught out. He put on his AC/DC T-shirt and looked at himself in the mirror again, but quickly wanted to go downstairs. Jeroen absolutely had to see him with wet hair – because Arno himself was in love with that dark, wet, messy head. "It's a shame it always sticks out like that when it's dry. If only it could be wet all the time," he thought, and had to laugh at his own vanity.
They ate in the garden—and when Arno looked at his plate, he had to laugh: It was bratwurst with fried potatoes and applesauce. Jeroen understood immediately and laughed along, only Jan and Wilma looked surprised again, especially when Arno started yodeling for a bit! Arno was very hungry: he had thrown away half of the fries at the amusement park, and, as we all know, the ice cream ended up in Jeroen's T-shirt.
After dinner, everyone sat together in the garden. Even though Wilma didn't like it, Arno and Jeroen were allowed to share a bottle of beer. "They're not little kids anymore," said Jan with a wink. Afterward, the boys talked about their day, leaving aside the kissing scene and other emotional turmoil, of course. As it got dark, Wilma lit some candles after putting Thys to bed. Jeroen got his guitar – not only could he play brilliantly, he also sang beautifully. He had a pleasant, still-developing, deep voice, but tried to sound as smoky as possible. Arno listened attentively, especially when Jeroen sang 'Patience' by Guns 'n' Roses, one of Arno's favorite songs. It sent goosebumps down his spine. Unfortunately, he was sitting right next to Jeroen, who was staring reverently into the candlelight – He would have loved to lose himself in his eyes while singing this song. Jeroen noticed this and, toward the end of the song, gave him a look so deep and full of love. Arno looked away shyly, afraid Jan or Wilma might have seen it.
Jeroen immediately took advantage of this brief moment of tension and started singing 'Hey Baby' terribly off-key.
"This DJ Otzi is Austrian, isn't he?" he said, laughing at Arno.
"Spare me, you asshole!" Arno shouted, giving him a loving poke in the side. Jeroen had already gotten used to Arno's cursing; he didn't mean it like that, did he? It was just his way. Wilma and Jan always punished him for such words with a (feigned) stern look.
"Brush your teeth, bedtime!" Wilma finally said – it was almost midnight. A few minutes later, Arno was lying on his air mattress and Jeroen was in bed. Arno was nervous – he really wanted to lie with Jeroen, but didn't dare ask. Jeroen was staring at the ceiling – he felt the same way. He kept thinking about the afternoon when he 'accidentally' brushed against Arno and briefly felt the bulge in his pants. He swallowed and looked over at Arno.
"Arno? Are you asleep yet?" And without waiting for an answer, he asked, "Isn't this air thing terribly uncomfortable?"
"It's okay. I hope it doesn't run out of air," Arno replied, shaking his head at this stupid answer.
"Well, if you want," Jeroen continued, "if you want, you can sleep here in the bed. It's wide enough!" The last words were forced out in view of his friend's expected proximity, his voice sounding almost boyishly high.
Arno didn't need to be told twice, and a few seconds later, he was lying in bed next to Jeroen. It was still very warm, so neither of them was wearing anything more than their boxer shorts. The first few minutes dragged on, both of them barely daring to breathe, so aroused.
Arno looked out the window, somewhat worried. Although he was almost 15, it was his first flight, so he was a little scared of the landing, but of course he didn't want to show it to the person sitting next to him.
It was his first time away from home. For three weeks. Still, he had mixed feelings, especially after some of his friends had mocked the trip the day before. They'd said it was a 'bum trip' with a bunch of kids without money, with children whose parents couldn't afford a vacation. Sure, they weren't wrong – Arno really did come from a poor family, and his father was a well-known drunk in the area – but no one was allowed to talk about him like that. So, he beat up one of his 'friends' on the way home from the soccer field, which got him into more trouble shortly before leaving for the airport when his father called his mother. Arno took it in his stride. He'd learned from his father early on what it meant to be a real man. Although he wasn't the tallest guy, he never missed a fight and usually had the last word. He was a respected guy among his friends, even though he often had the impression that many of them only followed him out of fear, which only served to build him up even more. He definitely didn't want to come across as a wimp, especially because he'd been at odds with himself emotionally over the past few months. He felt something deep inside that somehow didn't belong there, wasn't allowed to.
As Arno was pondering again, the plane landed at the airport almost unnoticed. So, there he was? Holland. The trip was actually organized by a non-profit organization that wanted to give children from socially disadvantaged families the opportunity to get to know a new country, new people, and new families.
"They're so sweet," he overheard a woman talking to his mother at the airport in Vienna, patting her chubby daughter on the head. "Melanie's already here for the third time, and it's strange that your son hasn't heard anything from his host parents yet. They usually write in advance and introduce themselves."
Arno pretended he hadn't heard. His mother always seems to be chatting up complete strangers. But it still worried him. What if no one came to pick him up? Or what if they were perverts who were trying to experiment on him? Just before boarding the plane, Arno briefly considered locking himself in the airport bathroom so he wouldn't have to fly—but now he was there.
From Amsterdam we took the bus to a meeting point where numerous parents and some children were already waiting for their guests.
The children's names were read out one by one and one child left the bus and was warmly welcomed outside.
"Great. They really forgot about me. This is off to a good start," Arno thought.
"Arno Stifter ? zur Familie de Bleeker!"
Arno grabbed his luggage, adjusted his sunglasses and climbed out of the bus.
"Hello Arno, I'm Jan. Everything okay?" Arno looked into the face of a man of about 30, who immediately took his luggage and gave him a friendly smile. "We have to drive for about 30 minutes. My wife is already waiting for you. Are you tired?"
"A little. The trip was very tiring. I'm Arno—but you probably already know that!"
The first few minutes of silence in the car were followed by Jan bombarding him with questions. What he was into, whether he liked football, what music he listened to, whether he had a girlfriend, etc.
Yes, he plays soccer himself, he likes listening to rock music, and no, he doesn't have a girlfriend. The question about his girlfriend almost made him think again, had Jan not already continued to entertain him.
"So my wife Wilma and I have a son. He just turned one!"
"Oh, nice. A little pants-shitter," Arno thought to himself, and somehow he was disappointed. What can you possibly do with a one-year-old? It was going to be a shitty three weeks. With barbecues in the garden, Sunday afternoon coffee, visiting relatives, and all that shit. When Jan finally stopped talking, Arno gazed thoughtfully at the passing, slowly darkening landscape. He almost fell asleep when the car suddenly stopped.
"So, here we are! Everyone out!"
"So you must be Arno. Welcome!" A tall, pretty woman gave him a warm hug, which Arno didn't like at all. He'd never been able to handle such affection before.
"You must be very tired. We'd better show you where to sleep right away. Then we can get to know each other better tomorrow!"
Wilma and Jan led him into the converted attic, which was small but very comfortably furnished. It even had a small refrigerator and its own television—something he didn't have at home.
After bringing him a bottle of Coke, he was wished good night. "You'll meet Thys tomorrow, he's already asleep."
Thys, that was the name of her son.
Arno quickly went to bed, thinking he'd soon fall asleep. The journey had been truly exhausting. But now he lay there—awake. As always, he brooded over this and that. So they had a son; it would have been nice if he'd been his age. They could have done something then, played soccer or whatever—and again, those strange feelings came over him: there was something else—a boy his age...
"Oh, asshole," Arno thought to himself and then fell asleep.
The first few days were relatively uneventful: sometimes Arno helped Jan in the garden, then he went shopping with Wilma, and every now and then Arno found himself playing exuberantly with little Thys, whom he had immediately taken to, whether he wanted to or not. He also found himself looking around anxiously while playing with the toddler, as if one of his friends might see him. "Arno, the wimp. Playing with little children!" But Arno was away from home, and it was good for him. He had a family around him that seemed to like him. There was no arguing, no shouting, and he fell asleep well every night. At home, he was often woken up with a start, especially when his father came home drunk from the bar.
"On Saturday we're going to an amusement park. I hope you enjoy it, and oh yes, you'll also get to meet Jeroen. He's my sister's son, and ?"
"Please, please not one year old," Arno thought.
"And he's about your age. A little younger than you," Wilma continued.
Until Friday evening, Arno could think of nothing but Jeroen. Who he was? What would he look like? He felt a little uneasy again. Why on earth was he worrying about another boy's appearance? And then completely different thoughts crossed his mind, some of which were even approved by a certain part of his body! Oh man, what was that all about? Since it was making him more and more insecure, he decided for the first time to erase that name from his mind: Jeroen. He couldn't even pronounce that name properly, and besides, he wouldn't understand it anyway, and besides, shit.
Saturday morning.
Arno stood in front of the mirror in the small attic room. He somehow wanted to impress Jeroen; after all, he couldn't come across as a complete farmer. He pulled his favorite jeans out of his bag: rather faded blue Levis (his mother had bought them at the flea market without his knowledge) – and a simple, jet-black T-shirt. He didn't need anything else; it was July and unbearably hot. So he stood in front of the mirror for a few minutes. His black, medium-length hair stuck out in all directions. It needed some gel, so he slicked it back on the left and right sides, and stuck it up in the middle. Except for a small strand that hung over his forehead, only to cover a huge pimple that had just appeared on that particular day. Actually, Arno quite liked himself: black hair, dark eyes, but fair skin (Arno hated lying in the sun). Normally built for his age, not too muscular, but quite wiry and the strongest when it came down to it.
"This is how I'll please Jeroen!" Arno heard himself say, and instantly turned as red as a turkey. There it was again, that thought. "Man, pull yourself together! You wimp!" Before he got too angry, he ran downstairs, where Wilma and Thys were already waiting in front of the car.
"Isn't Jan coming with us?" asked Arno.
"No, my sister Anne and her son are coming with us. His name is Jeroen again, you'll get along well with him."
Why did she say that? Had she heard him in the mirror? Did she see something that wasn't there? Arno was starting to feel pretty paranoid.
"We'll pick them up on the way. Come on! Get in, it's best if you sit in the back with Thys."
Off we went. About 20 minutes later, the car stopped at a farm. "Great, a farm boy?"
"My sister recently separated from her husband and moved back to my parents' house with Jeroen. They own this farm. Please wait in the car with Thys, I'll get them both, and then we'll go right away!"
Wilma seemed to understand everything he was thinking, he thought 'farmer's boy' and she immediately told him that only her parents were farmers.
Arno watched Thys, who was gurgling peacefully and playing with a stuffed lion. Damn, where were they? Arno was an extremely impatient boy, and the five minutes seemed like an hour to him.
There, footsteps. The side door opened, and to his left and the baby seat, a boy with straight, medium-length blond hair sat down, partially hidden under a black wool cap (in this heat!).
"Hello. I'm Jeroen. I speak German quite well!"
He held out his hand to Arno, who hesitantly took it. Their eyes met briefly before both shyly looked away.
Arno was struck by lightning, his heart pounding, and he was sweating. He wanted to get out and run away, to avoid having to admit that he immediately liked this boy. In a way that was becoming increasingly unnerving to him.
"Stupid peasant hat!" he thought defiantly, but his emotions must not get the upper hand.
So, at first, he tried to ignore Jeroen and acted like a big mouth for a while, just like he was used to at home. He chatted away: He would ride the roller coaster until he threw up, and he casually said to Jeroen that there would probably be a lot of women around. When he said this, he felt embarrassed again and blushed even redder than Jeroen, who seemed completely overwhelmed by this news.
"Yes, certainly a lot," he said, turning his head to the other side to look out the window. Wilma glanced in the rearview mirror a few times. Her expression toward Arno seemed to say, "Don't bother! I'm not buying the tough guy thing."
"Damn. I must have just shat on him," Arno thought to himself as Jeroen looked away. The blush on his face still hadn't faded, and he was ashamed of what he'd said. So he decided to keep his mouth shut for now—and looked out the window, too.
He was angry. At himself and at that farm boy with his stupid woolen cap. Yet, as often as he could, he looked in his direction to examine him closely. He must have been a year younger than him, almost 14, maybe even older. He could just make out his nose; the rest of his face was obscured by his seemingly freshly washed hair, the scent of which Arno inhaled. The whole car seemed to be filled with it.
Jeroen was younger than him, but about the same height, albeit a touch thinner. His knee-length pants exposed parts of his legs, which were covered by a few hairs. Arno enjoyed the sight; it warmed his heart. He had never felt anything like it before—once again, total confusion.
Suddenly, Thys began to scream. He had lost his lion.
"Now I can make up for my big mouth," Arno thought. "When Jeroen sees how lovingly I care for Thys, maybe he'll look my way again. Maybe then he'll even talk to me."
Arno immediately found the lion, held it up to Thys's face, and grumbled and repeatedly nudged his nose. It seemed to help; Thys's crying instantly turned into a contented chuckle. And indeed, it did: Jeroen turned his gaze back to him—and actually gave him a smile, a smile like he'd never received before.
"He likes this sh?.he likes this lion."
"He likes you," Jeroen replied.
"And I like you," Arno would have liked to answer, although he would have found it embarrassing at that moment.
Instead, he answered with a smile too – he never did that, the 'tough' kid he was. Jeroen seemed to have already forgotten the proletarian remark from before. Although he didn't say much, his looks signaled that he really wanted to get to know Arno. Both boys now tried to outdo each other in playing the clown for Thys. He seemed to enjoy it. When the two started tickling his stomach, their hands briefly touched. Lightning! They both pulled their hands back, looked at each other briefly – and turned back to the little one.
"Something's happening to me," Arno thought, "and Jeroen might be too."
Playing with the baby was just an excuse, because now Jeroen, too, was looking Arno up and down. He seemed to like what he saw. Finally, they both 'let go' of Thys and leaned back in silence.
Arno's heart pounded—and yet Arno felt more calm and secure than ever before. Everything else suddenly seemed so far away; he had only now truly arrived in Holland.
___________________________________________________________________________
About half an hour later, they reached their destination, a permanent amusement park similar to the Vienna Prater, where Arno often hung out. After Wilma had paid everyone's entrance fee, she slipped the boys 10 euros each and said goodbye, saying, "Okay, see you here by the car until 4 o'clock!" "Great," thought Arno, "so they're not joining us? Cool!"
At first, the two wandered around aimlessly without talking much before Arno tried to break the ice.
"How do you speak German so well?" he asked him.
"Oh, we lived in Germany for a long time - my father had a job there, so I went to school there for a few years."
"So now you're back here?"
"Yes, my father not only found a new job, but also a new wife. Great, isn't it?"
"Sounds like he's quite an asshole."
"No, he's actually a great guy, aside from that. I get along well with him and often visit him in Hamburg. And how's your family?"
"Oh, I can handle them." He didn't want to say anything more. He didn't want to say that his father regularly got drunk and then took out his anger at home—sometimes on him. He didn't want to say that his mother was too weak to do anything about it. He simply didn't want to come across as a wimp.
"My father drinks, but he's okay." That wasn't a complete lie, because Arno didn't hate his father, which he found odd, especially when his father beat him black and blue.
"Why are you wearing that woolly hat in this heat?"
"Why, do you think they're silly?"
"No, I'm just saying. It's just very unusual to wear something like that in the summer."
"It reminds me of my best friend. He gave it to me for my birthday two years ago."
"Aha? And she reminds you of him because he still lives in Germany, right?" At least, Arno wanted him to live in Germany. For some reason, he was immediately jealous of this unknown boy.
"You can't say that," Jeroen continued. "He's no longer alive. He died a year ago from a rare heart condition. Shortly afterward, we returned to the Netherlands. It wasn't easy."
Damn, with every question Arno asked him, he made him sad, first reminding him of his father, now of his dead friend.
Jeroen obviously found it difficult to talk about it; he must have loved him very much. Arno put his arm around his shoulder, surprised by the gesture himself—because he wouldn't normally dream of doing something like that.
"I'm really sorry. Sorry for asking." He took his arm away, even though he enjoyed playing the comforter.
"It doesn't matter, you can't know. He was just a damn good friend, and I still miss him. I think it's terrible when someone dies at that age. Imagine something like that happening to your best friend? You feel kind of alone."
At the words 'best friend,' Arno was struck by a shock; he realized he didn't have anything like that. Sure, he always hung out with a lot of guys, but he'd never had a best friend with whom he could talk about anything, who would listen to him. Arno suddenly felt quite lonely.
"So, the roller coaster!" Jeroen tried to distract him, immediately noticing that Arno had started to think. "Shall we go?"
"Yep, let's go!"
The two actually found room right at the front of the car. As the train jolted off to crawl up the first incline, Jeroen suddenly grabbed Arno's hand and said, "I'm always a little scared. It doesn't bother you, does it?" He gave him a friendly smile. Arno felt completely different: At home, a guy like that would have gotten a punch in the face right away, but with Jeroen, he let it happen. Not only that, he enjoyed it.
"Go ahead, I don't really feel comfortable in those things either," Arno admitted, returning the handshake. He also tried to give Jeroen his best smile, which Jeroen received with a grateful look.
"I'd love to kiss you!" Damn, where did those thoughts come from? He almost said it!
The next three minutes were mindless—the ride zoomed up and down, looped three times, and both boys screamed their hearts out. It was glorious! Arno especially enjoyed it when the ride made a sharp turn and Jeroen was completely pressed against his side. Each time this happened, Arno squeezed Jeroen's hand even tighter to say, "Don't worry, I'm here!"
After the wild ride, the boys went through all the attractions before enjoying a portion of fries around 1:00.
"You Dutch people are strange people: For breakfast you have white bread with chocolate sprinkles, you eat apple sauce with your bratwurst, and you slap mayonnaise on your fries!" Arno said to Jeroen, laughing.
"You Austrians need it: sitting all day in your lederhosen on some mountain and yodeling. Come on, yodel for me," said Jeroen, and his laughter grew even louder when Arno actually tried.
"Haha, sounds like a cow with diarrhea," said Jeroen, who couldn't stop laughing.
"Asshole," Arno replied curtly, feigning insult. But he acted so badly that Jeroen didn't believe him. In short, the two had a lot of fun and enjoyed their time together. Arno was amazed at himself: One boy reached for his hand and he did… nothing! Another laughed at him and he did… nothing! Was it the surroundings or simply this charming, blond boy who suddenly aroused feelings in him like he'd never felt before? He just felt… good! And there was no one around who knew him. No one to whom he had to prove what a tough guy he really was.
The afternoon passed quickly, and everyone had tried all the attractions once or twice when the boys suddenly found themselves in front of a carousel they had previously missed. It was a kind of roller coaster, and after a few laps, the cars closed completely, like the roof of a convertible.
"It looks boring, but okay, let's ride it," Arno said. As they queued up, Arno found it odd that only couples were waiting in front of them to board. Jeroen also suddenly became visibly nervous. Either Arno was completely confused, or he genuinely didn't know that this was a carousel for lovers, and the 'roof' closed to give the couples a chance to kiss.
After both had taken their seats, the carousel started moving, and after a few laps, the top came down. Another lap, another... and suddenly it happened: Jeroen turned to Arno and kissed him on the right cheek. Then they both finished the ride in silence! Now this Dutchman had actually done it? Arno was completely confused and didn't say a word. Jeroen didn't really know how to handle the situation either.
"Sorry," he said embarrassedly after both had gotten out. "I just thought, oh, I'm an idiot?" Jeroen was close to tears.
"It's okay, I was just surprised, honestly, it's okay."
Arno looked at Jeroen again and was now slowly beginning to understand his feelings—he was simply head over heels in love with Jeroen. The kiss showed him that he must feel the same way.
Arno now put everything on the line, saying, "Let's go again. Now it's my turn. I'll show you how to really kiss."
Jeroen looked up in surprise, initially thinking Arno was just teasing him. But after a few moments, he recognized the seriousness in his eyes—he nodded solemnly, and a few minutes later, they were sitting on the carousel again.
The top came down, and Arno began to tremble: "I'm such a loudmouth, I can't do it, why do I always have to open my mouth?" But then he looked over at Jeroen, who turned his face toward him and smiled. "How cute he looks," Arno thought to himself, "oh, screw it."
"Open your mouth halfway," he commanded Jeroen in a shaky voice. Jeroen did as he was told – and seconds later, Arno felt Jeroen's lips on his. Jeroen was breathing heavily and clutching Arno's right upper arm. There was some movement in Arno's pants as he felt Jeroen's tongue on his. He, too, was extremely aroused. Arno had kissed a girl many times before – probably only because the others expected it of him – but never before had he felt it like he did in that moment. He put his arm around Jeroen's neck and briefly stroked his hair. The smell of it, as well as the warmth of his soft skin, nearly drove him crazy; he would have loved to stay sitting there with him forever. The two were still in each other's arms long after the top was back up.
"Get out," someone said, and only now did the two look around in confusion. But no one seemed to mind; quite the opposite: A slightly older boy signaled with a wink: Congratulations, guys!
When they both got out, Arno's knees were still shaking, and Jeroen was no different. Both were speechless, and when they slowly recovered, they simply grinned at each other.
"Ice cream?" asked Jeroen, and before he could wait for an answer, he was already in line at an ice cream stand. Arno sat down in the shade, where he finally came to his senses. From there, he watched Jeroen ordering, watched the other people, and finally gazed dreamily, yet thoughtfully, up at the sky.
"Here. What's going on?" asked Jeroen, returning with two ice cream bowls, one of which he handed to Arno.
"Was what we just did right?" Arno said thoughtfully.
"Well, I liked it," Jeroen replied, now also looking up at the sky.
"But I mean, you're a boy and so am I, and now I'm sitting here in Holland and suddenly I realize that... I mean, "you?"
"And?"
"My father says it's wrong for two boys to love each other. And all that comes with that? He thinks their dicks should just be cut off. When he sees two gays on TV, he really goes ballistic. My God, does he know that?"
Arno interrupted himself. It was obvious, his father HAD to know about it, otherwise why would he talk about it so often. And looking back, Arno had given him enough 'motives': Arno enjoyed drawing, he took pride in his appearance, and often sang along to songs in the car – which always earned him reproachful looks from his father. All things that his father always described as 'gay'. And the most important clue: Arno had never brought a girl home, let alone spoken about one at home. He had kissed enough – now he realized he was only doing it to distract from the situation, to show the others: Hey, look, I'm the ultimate pick-up guy!
And then something happened that Arno had last done when he was five or six: He began to cry quietly, while the ice cream that Jeroen had brought him slowly melted in his hand.
"Shhh. Everything's okay," Jeroen said comfortingly, pulling Arno's head to his chest. Now Arno cried even harder: Never before had anyone been so kind to him, so concerned about him—he couldn't even remember the last time his mother had held him like that. "Except my T-shirt, you just smeared it with ice," Jeroen continued, smiling at Arno, who suddenly started laughing, just like little Thys had a few hours earlier when he comforted him with the rediscovered stuffed lion—it was a total confusion of emotions.
Arno lifted his head from Jeroen's chest and wiped his eyes. Jeroen put his arm around his shoulder as Arno looked at him, no longer crying, but still sad.
Jeroen had also become thoughtful. His face, which had previously seemed childlike, now had serious, adult features. "I would tell your father something. You're his son, after all; he must realize he's hurting you. I hope you have friends you can talk to about this."
"Yes, I did? you! I have to confess that I've never been able to talk to anyone the way I talk to you. When you told me about your best friend earlier, I realized that there had never been anyone like him for me. For a moment, I was even angry at him, before you said that it was... well..."
"Now you have someone like that. You can trust me; with me, you don't have to pretend to be someone you're not. I like you the way you are."
Jeroen hugged him again and kissed him on the cheek.
"But the big surprise is yet to come," Arno continued, "because I think that I...that I...well, I think you're great and that kiss earlier...that was the best thing I've ever experienced and I think, I think I've...fallen in love with you." Arno briefly hesitated to say that word; it sounded too much like a Hollywood romance movie to him, but: It was the truth.
"When I got into the car, I first thought: what a jerk," Jeroen replied. "Honestly, you were talking a lot of rubbish, but somehow I already noticed there was more to it. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside, is that what you say? And now? I'm glad you're here. Since we've been living back in Holland, well, I haven't been able to connect with other people anymore. My mother has already considered taking me to some weird psychologist. At least that's what she told Wilma. I overheard them both. She's worried I might lose touch. Whatever she means by that? Well, and I—like you—have to come to terms with this whole thing first. But again: I'm glad you're here."
Arno swallowed, looked around briefly, and also blew a kiss on Jeroen's cheek. "Thanks for the ice cream! Another ride on the roller coaster?"
"Fuck it, okay!"
"Yep, screw it!"
They stood up and joined the queue for the roller coaster again.
It was already almost four.
As soon as Arno got back into the car, he fell asleep; the day with all its events had made him tired. He had a strange dream: He was at home in Vienna, playing soccer with his friends, or rather, they were playing. No matter how much he shouted, he couldn't get a ball. What was even weirder was that he only saw everyone from behind. One of the players resembled Jeroen, so he shouted his name—the boy didn't turn around. He said he was there for him. "You asshole!" he screamed. Then he suddenly saw the red card in front of his face. "You have no business being here anymore!" said the referee, and when he looked at his face, he recognized his father.
Arno jumped up. Everything was fine, Thys was playing with his toes, and Jeroen was looking at him mischievously.
"You have dreams. Who did you mean by 'asshole'?" he asked. Great, now he was talking in his sleep too. Arno didn't answer and stared out the window, while Jeroen seemed to be peppering his mother with questions. Since they were speaking Dutch, Arno tuned out pretty quickly; apart from a few scraps of words, he didn't understand anything. His name was mentioned several times, which didn't seem to bother him because of his tiredness. Sadness had caught up with him again, this time for a different reason: What would happen after this day? Would he see Jeroen again?
Now Anne and Wilma were talking to each other, both of them seeming to be having a great time. Jeroen blushed a few times.
"Well, as far as I'm concerned, that would be fine, and I don't think Jan would mind either. But have you actually asked Arno what he thinks about it?" he heard Wilma speaking—in German again.
Jeroen's mother seemed very happy; the day seemed to have done her son good. He hadn't been this cheerful in a long time, especially since they returned to Holland from Germany.
"Go on, ask him! He's just awake, quickly, before he falls asleep again!" Anne urged.
Jeroen cleared his throat, turned to Arno, and began to speak solemnly: "Hey, Arno! I had an idea and would like to know what you think. You're still here for two weeks, and I'm on vacation too. So, I asked Wilma if she would mind if I came to you, to Wilma and Jan. Oh, and to you, of course. Then we could do a lot of things together. What do you think?"
He didn't seem to want to wait for an answer - Jeroen was visibly nervous. And Arno? If Thys hadn't been there, he would have thrown his arms around him immediately. The day couldn't have ended better. Yes, yes, yes, of course he did. He wanted to spend every free minute of the next two weeks with Jeroen. Savor every hour - because he knew only too well that after these weeks it would all be over. But he quickly pushed these gloomy thoughts aside. Instead of a hug, he gave Jeroen a look full of gratitude and he had to pull himself together to avoid crying again - this time with joy.
Soon after, they arrived back at the farm—Jeroen's home. Anne had promised Wilma a cup of coffee, and Wilma also wanted to call Jan to inform him that they would now have two guests to look after. Meanwhile, Jeroen showed Arno his room. It was clean and tidy—a guitar was leaning in the corner, which Jeroen immediately grabbed and brought into the hallway. It absolutely had to come along. A cat purred over, which he immediately lovingly picked up, stroked, kissed on the head, and put back down. "Mina," he said casually to Arno, who had taken a seat at Jeroen's desk. "Go ahead and look around, I'll pack my things in the meantime."
There were a few photos lying around on Jeroen's desk: one showed him and his family, including his father, a not unfriendly-looking guy. Another photo showed him with another boy, who must have been his friend.
"What was his name?" Arno asked into the silence, taking the photo in his hand.
"Patrik," Jeroen answered briefly.
"Was he... I mean, were you?"
"Together? Nah, I don't think he knew. I don't even know if I was even aware of it at the time. You forget so quickly."
He stopped packing for a moment, took the photo from Arno's hand and sat on Arno's knee.
Arno thought for a moment about what to do next: He decided to put his arms around Jeroen's waist and rest his head on his shoulders from behind.
"He looks very nice - I think he would have understood you!" said Arno.
"100%!" Jeroen said curtly and put the photo back in its place. Nevertheless, he stayed seated for a while, enjoying the hug and the closeness of his new friend. Finally, though, he had to continue packing. Man, the amount of stuff he packed, he had incredible things. Arno felt like his suitcase had been the lightest of all when he checked in in Vienna, given the few rags he had with him.
Arno glanced over a DVD shelf (Jeroen seemed to be a Steven Spielberg fan) and a bookshelf before turning abruptly towards Jeroen. Jeroen had just decided to change his T-shirt and was standing in the room shirtless. It was also the first time Arno had seen him without his woolly hat; his blond hair reached well below his ears. Unfortunately, Arno only saw his back, but he liked that too. As mentioned, Jeroen was slight, but not scrawny; his upper arms seemed strong; it was clear that he must have just gone through a growth spurt. Arno desperately tried to see if he had any armpit hair, but he had already put on a new T-shirt. Jeroen decided to change his trousers too; again, Arno only saw his back. He was wearing tight-fitting white shorts through which a well-shaped bottom was visible. Arno, of course, immediately got a hard-on and seriously considered going to the bathroom. But by that moment, Jeroen was already done.
"Let's go downstairs," he said, deliberately brushing against Arno's crotch as he passed. "I knew it," he giggled. So the little guy knew exactly what he was doing and seemed to enjoy keeping Arno on tenterhooks. "You owe me one," Jeroen whispered in his ear, and he was already out the door. Arno took a moment—then he followed.
"Hello Jan, we're back!" Arno shouted, jumping out of the car. "This is Jeroen!"
"I know? We know each other!" Jan replied, while Wilma freed Thys from his baby seat and Jeroen also got out.
"Oh yeah, I'm a stupid ass. Of course, you're related," Arno laughed, slapped his hand against his forehead, and grabbed Jeroen's bag to take it to the attic.
"What's wrong with him?" Jan asked Wilma in surprise, who shrugged with a smile and pointed unnoticed toward Jeroen. Jan gave him an "Ah, I see" look and smiled as well. Jeroen immediately galloped into the room, where Jan had already laid out an air mattress and bedding.
"You can have my bed, I'll sleep here," said Arno, who was just about to jump into the shower. Now Jeroen got to see him in almost all his glory. There stood one, wearing only his underwear; there stood the other, his mouth wide open.
"See you later," Arno whispered to him and disappeared into the shower.
Jeroen looked around curiously - Arno didn't seem to be as tidy as he was. In some cases, Arno hadn't even unpacked all of his clothes: they were still lying in his bag or scattered on the floor. For a moment, Jeroen considered snooping around in Arno's backpack, but ultimately decided against it - he had too much respect for him to do something like that. But then he had to smile - the ears of a crumpled stuffed rabbit were peeking out from under the pile of clothes. No, this cool, tough guy had another stuffed animal. Jeroen sniffed the rabbit and put it on Arno's pillow. We'll see what he'd say, he thought mischievously. Then he started unpacking his clothes. There was plenty of room in the small wardrobe since Arno didn't seem to be using it. Jeroen had to smile again and it became clear to him: he, too, had fallen in love with the boy. The only thing that displeased him was the constantly sad look in Arno's beautiful dark eyes - It made him sad too. What must this boy have experienced, he asked himself thoughtfully.
"I hope I can distract him while we're together," thought Jeroen, whistling as he skipped down the stairs to help set the table.
The shower refreshed Arno and breathed new life into him. Upon entering the room, he had to smile when he saw his bunny sitting on the cushion, even though he blushed slightly, feeling caught out. He put on his AC/DC T-shirt and looked at himself in the mirror again, but quickly wanted to go downstairs. Jeroen absolutely had to see him with wet hair – because Arno himself was in love with that dark, wet, messy head. "It's a shame it always sticks out like that when it's dry. If only it could be wet all the time," he thought, and had to laugh at his own vanity.
They ate in the garden—and when Arno looked at his plate, he had to laugh: It was bratwurst with fried potatoes and applesauce. Jeroen understood immediately and laughed along, only Jan and Wilma looked surprised again, especially when Arno started yodeling for a bit! Arno was very hungry: he had thrown away half of the fries at the amusement park, and, as we all know, the ice cream ended up in Jeroen's T-shirt.
After dinner, everyone sat together in the garden. Even though Wilma didn't like it, Arno and Jeroen were allowed to share a bottle of beer. "They're not little kids anymore," said Jan with a wink. Afterward, the boys talked about their day, leaving aside the kissing scene and other emotional turmoil, of course. As it got dark, Wilma lit some candles after putting Thys to bed. Jeroen got his guitar – not only could he play brilliantly, he also sang beautifully. He had a pleasant, still-developing, deep voice, but tried to sound as smoky as possible. Arno listened attentively, especially when Jeroen sang 'Patience' by Guns 'n' Roses, one of Arno's favorite songs. It sent goosebumps down his spine. Unfortunately, he was sitting right next to Jeroen, who was staring reverently into the candlelight – He would have loved to lose himself in his eyes while singing this song. Jeroen noticed this and, toward the end of the song, gave him a look so deep and full of love. Arno looked away shyly, afraid Jan or Wilma might have seen it.
Jeroen immediately took advantage of this brief moment of tension and started singing 'Hey Baby' terribly off-key.
"This DJ Otzi is Austrian, isn't he?" he said, laughing at Arno.
"Spare me, you asshole!" Arno shouted, giving him a loving poke in the side. Jeroen had already gotten used to Arno's cursing; he didn't mean it like that, did he? It was just his way. Wilma and Jan always punished him for such words with a (feigned) stern look.
"Brush your teeth, bedtime!" Wilma finally said – it was almost midnight. A few minutes later, Arno was lying on his air mattress and Jeroen was in bed. Arno was nervous – he really wanted to lie with Jeroen, but didn't dare ask. Jeroen was staring at the ceiling – he felt the same way. He kept thinking about the afternoon when he 'accidentally' brushed against Arno and briefly felt the bulge in his pants. He swallowed and looked over at Arno.
"Arno? Are you asleep yet?" And without waiting for an answer, he asked, "Isn't this air thing terribly uncomfortable?"
"It's okay. I hope it doesn't run out of air," Arno replied, shaking his head at this stupid answer.
"Well, if you want," Jeroen continued, "if you want, you can sleep here in the bed. It's wide enough!" The last words were forced out in view of his friend's expected proximity, his voice sounding almost boyishly high.
Arno didn't need to be told twice, and a few seconds later, he was lying in bed next to Jeroen. It was still very warm, so neither of them was wearing anything more than their boxer shorts. The first few minutes dragged on, both of them barely daring to breathe, so aroused.