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Waking up in Malmo 

The bright sun on this unusually beautiful Saturday for a Swedish autumn day did not fail to have its effect. I remember I was wearily struggling with the last corners of the duvet.

Where was I?

I opened my left eye and, besides the fact that the sun was hurting my eyes, realized I was home. Good! And by gently feeling the other side of the bed, I quickly realized that my girlfriend was home too, asleep next to me. I didn't remember how I got into bed, but at least I was there. That was good. What else could I remember?

Not particularly much.

Classic blackout.

The second I opened both eyes, the headache leaped at me from the side like a hungry tiger. As I tried to sit up, I also noticed that I was incredibly thirsty and felt like I was about to throw up.

"Holy shit," I cursed, wincing again at the sound of my own voice. I sounded like a very, very old man.

Quietly, so as not to wake my girlfriend, I crept into the bathroom. When I got there, my sea-blue eyes stared back at me in the mirror, and my normally fairly straight black hair stood in disarray. My face, which I normally considered quite good-looking, looked as bad as I felt. After running cold water over my face for the third time, I also noticed that the bathroom smelled quite strongly of vomit. I must have spent part of the evening over the toilet, I concluded sharply. At least I managed that.

I'm Liam Kennedy – and my girlfriend is Caroline Straberga. I moved to Sweden from Yorkshire about a year and a half ago, after meeting Caro while backpacking in India. She's Swedish, I'm English. We're both twenty years old. Well, each of us is twenty, of course. We settled in quickly, and after a short time, it was no problem for us to live together in the approximately forty square meters we could just about afford. I quickly got to know a few people. Even though the language was still a bit of a struggle, I was at least able to make myself understood – and everyone in Sweden speaks English anyway.

Where had I been again? I tried to recall the details of the previous evening while I continued to splash cold water on my face at rapid intervals.

Right. We had been at Kami's, a mutual friend, who had hosted a warm-up party for the celebration in Rönnen. And after that? Rönnen, of course. The party in the student dorm. We all went there together. And after that? Blackout. Damn.

Strangely, all I could think about was whether we had any milk left in the house. I always drink it when I'm feeling insecure or unwell. Milk cheers me up. Unfortunately, there was still no sound from the next room, and I didn't want to wake Caroline, so I decided to stay in the bathroom and shower. So I opened the bathroom window to get rid of the smell and undressed. As I looked at my athletic body naked in the mirror, I noticed several newly scabbed wounds on my knees.

"Great, I got a slap in the face too," I cursed – and only then noticed the five hickeys that adorned my neck, my throat, and, to my genuine horror, my chest and the area around my belly button. The fifth hickey, on my left shoulder, could have been a bruise, though. A pretty nasty one, too.

"Fuck!" I cursed. Did Caroline and I...? That wouldn't be unusual for us, because we loved these games, but I couldn't remember anything. And I couldn't really ask her; that would have been rude and—in the unlikely event—pretty stupid. But first, I needed to clear my head.

The alternating hot and cold showers did help a little. I still didn't feel particularly well, but I felt less dirty, and even my headache had subsided a bit. My eyes still hurt a little, but that would soon pass. Just a mild hangover, then. I hoped. But as soon as I opened the bathroom door and stepped out into my room, the headache returned. It was all no use: I would have to take an aspirin, for better or for worse.

“Hey,” came a tired voice from the direction of our bed as I had just put on some pants and a T-shirt and was getting ready to get the aspirin from the pantry.

"Hey," I greeted back, stepped over to the bed, and kissed Caroline on her blonde hair. As always in these situations, I wondered how she managed to smell like a summer meadow while I felt like I stinked like a garbage dump after a night of partying. "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded. "Yes, after you finally let me sleep!" She turned around, her brown eyes glancing at me mockingly.

“That bad?” I asked guiltily.

"Well, you were pretty drunk, Li. But that's okay. I should have come along after all. You can't leave alcohol and you alone." She grinned, so I knew I shouldn't take her reprimand too seriously. "But you can forget about feeling sorry for me."

I grinned and put on an exaggerated expression of suffering. "Oh come on, I have such a bad headache."

She grinned again, swung herself out of bed, and said, "You know where the pills are. I'm going to take a shower." And after glancing at the clock, she added, "It's good that you're already awake. We're invited to brunch at Evita and Robin's."

He said that and disappeared.

Robin and Evita are the couple from across the street, who are in a very similar situation to us: she's Swedish and he's German, they've been living together in the country for several years, and they, too, share a few square meters. We quickly became friends, although—typically for Swedes—I, as a foreigner, was a bit more so than Caroline, who is always a bit skeptical of strangers outside her established circle of friends. But I got along really well with them.

Preoccupied with these thoughts, I swallowed an aspirin and had just returned from the balcony to get some fresh air when there was a knock at the door.

“Yes?” I asked through the door.

“It’s me,” I heard Robin’s dark voice.

I opened the door. "Hey," I greeted him with a crooked smile. Robin laughed out loud. "God, you look like shit! But at least you're awake. Caro, too?"

I nodded.

"Great!" he said happily, "then we can actually have breakfast together. After what you did yesterday, I thought we'd have to visit you in the hospital this morning." He shook his blond curls.

“Excuse me?” I asked with mock indignation, because after all, I didn’t really know what I had done.

“Haha,” grinned my counterpart, “I’ll tell you later.”

“Vi ses snart,” I said, after confirming that we would go over to them as soon as Caroline was ready.

What did he have to tell me?

I
kissed
a
boy
Less than fifteen minutes later, Caro, Evita, Robin, and I were sitting around the round table by the window of Robin's apartment, and I watched the other three eat. The mere thought of eating something made me feel quite nauseous. The caring Evita had forced a strong coffee on me, which I also sipped more than drank. Even though it seemed to be the only thing I could consume at this stage of my hangover without immediately throwing up.

After a good hour of banter and reminiscing about the party, I felt well enough to eat a little. The headache pill hadn't failed to do its job, and after listening to my companions, I now knew that I'd spent the previous evening at a pretty good, yet apparently fairly ordinary, party. No cause for concern, I thought. Even though I didn't understand what Robin was implying. He must have something to report, because every time he spoke about the party and looked at me, I saw the mischief in his eyes. But apparently he didn't want to tell everyone about it, otherwise he would have done so long ago. He rarely missed a good point. I was perplexed.

Another half hour later, my friend suddenly looked at the clock.

“Fuck!” she cursed.

“What?” Evita asked, startled. After all, Caro is known more for her gentleness and humor than for sudden tirades.

"Systemet is about to close, and I need to get some wine for my girls' night out tonight." She jumped up. "Will you mind if I quickly hop on my bike?" Systembolaget, or Systemet for short, is one of those special stores that requires a lot of explanation to any non-Swede. In short: It's the only place to buy alcohol, and it's only open until 2 p.m. on weekends. That's why Caro had to hurry, and everyone in the room understood her haste.

"Sure, go ahead, honey," I said, giving her a sunny smile. "I can walk straight again. And think." The two hosts also nodded understandingly.

She grinned, gave me a thumbs-up, and walked out of the room. I love my girlfriend.

Shortly after my friend left the room and I had finished my third croissant, Evita started the conversation: “You could just say thank you.”

“For what?” I asked, irritated, and frowned questioningly.

"Don't tell me you really have no idea?" Robin asked, grinning from ear to ear, "I thought it was a joke earlier."

"That would indeed explain a lot," Evita replied, biting into her roll, her eyes resting on me with amusement. The situation was starting to become uncomfortable for me. "What am I supposed to be thankful for?" I asked impatiently.

"For bringing you home earlier after you puked into the bike rack from the balcony, for example. Only real friends do that."

I had to agree with her on that, though.

"Thank you," I said, meaning it very seriously. I smiled at Evita. "Was it that bad?"

Robin laughed. "Well, let's just say it was less fun going out with you this time than usual. This time it was kind of stressful. We probably shouldn't have to do it again..."

"I understand. I'm sorry," I replied contritely. I hate putting friends in awkward situations. I had no idea.

"Well, maybe you should hear the whole story before you apologize," Evita said, smiling gently. "You were hanging over the bowl and puking for a solid fifty minutes. So you should include Caro in your apology." She paused to take another bite of her roll. "We were wondering if you might need a doctor. After everything you did, we thought you might have alcohol poisoning. It wouldn't be surprising, given the amount of gin and vodka you've been consuming," Evita continued.

I was slowly getting fed up. They and I both knew that I liked to drink. I thought they could get to the point. "What have I done?"

“Do you really want to know?” Robin’s expression wavered between amusement and concern.

“I probably won’t know until later,” I replied, increasingly impatient, stirring my coffee cup with rather threatening frequency.

"Right," Robin nodded, taking a deep breath. "So, even if I ignore the fact that you spent the entire evening deliberately ruining the tour of two college friends' conquests, there's still something I don't want to know, but should tell you."

"...there's also the fact that you told every man we met how sexy you found him and that he could have you if he wanted," Evita added.

I almost spit my coffee onto the pristine white table. "I what?" That sounded about as likely as if she'd told me I'd married a horse.

"Even better...that one guy, that Iranian who was dressed as an Indian, you threw your arms around his neck and tried to kiss him. It's a good thing that me and that other German guy were there, otherwise the Indian would have probably beaten you up pretty badly, the way he pushed you into the corner and threatened you with his fist," Evita continued, grinning rather amusedly at the memory.

Suddenly, I wasn't so sure I really wanted to hear the end of the story. I had...what? Tried to kiss a guy. And apparently, I'd narrowly avoided a fight because of it. While I don't exactly have anything against gay people, I couldn't figure out how I'd gotten to the point where I wanted to make out with a guy, of all people. Or find him sexy. After all, I'd been dating one of the most beautiful girls I could imagine for almost two years. And I saw no reason to change that.

Meanwhile, Evita had already continued speaking. And what she said was no less disturbing. "I can understand that you were grateful to him. I mean, to the German. He really saved your ass," she giggled, "seriously. He saved you from a beating. But should you have immediately made out with him?" She raised her eyebrows, amused.

I felt my face briefly slip. Made out? With a guy? Me?

Absurd!

“Does anyone here have a bisexual streak?” Robin grinned.

I shook my head resolutely. Another thought had just occurred to me. Caroline! She couldn't find out under any circumstances. Now I finally understood why the two of them had so little interest in spilling the beans to her, preferring instead to wait until she was gone. Thank goodness! Apparently, I had real friends who didn't want to drag me into this.

Still, it seemed pretty unlikely to me that this story was even true. My girlfriend was probably sitting in the bathroom, listening to the whole charade, and in a few minutes everyone would be having a great time at my expense. Me and a guy making out. Pfft! I shook my head defiantly. This was completely impossible and completely improbable. "You must have been mistaken."

Evita grinned: "There's a photo of the kiss. You can take a look if you like." She grinned and seemed to be studying my face, searching for a reaction. There wasn't one. I didn't want to do her the favor, so instead of saying anything, I grabbed a piece of toast and nervously tore it into small pieces. Me and a guy making out. That was and remains completely unthinkable!

Suddenly, the smile disappeared from Evita's face: "Look, I should actually tell Caro all this. I just think it's probably too unimportant to make a scandal out of it. Because, seriously, I assume it didn't mean anything to you?"

“I don’t even remember, how could it mean anything to me?” I growled.

"True. But I wanted you to know," said Evita, "so you'd be prepared when you see the good boy again. Malmö isn't that big, after all."

I lost my temper: "Please, you can stop this shit. I'm not into guys. Either you're in love, or the guy took me by surprise. Got it?" Even as I said that, I knew my tone had come across a bit too harsh.

My counterpart didn’t let himself be provoked, but simply said: “Give me my handbag.”

„Was?“

“My purse. It’s somewhere under the table.”

That's right, there it really was. With a sigh, I handed it across the table.

“What do you want with that?”

"You'll see in a minute," she replied curtly, searching intently for something inside the bag. Women and their handbags! "Ah, here." She pulled out a digital camera neatly wrapped in a case, took the camera out, turned it on, and was obviously looking for something.

“Here,” said Evita, grinning as she looked at the monitor.

Then she handed me the camera. And if I really believed this whole story was a stupid joke or a figment of my friends' imagination, I would have had to admit by now that it was utter nonsense. The image on the monitor showed two young men, quite engrossed in each other, making out. And one of these guys, easily recognizable by his black hair and dark complexion, was definitely me. There was no getting around that realization. Unless you believe in doppelgangers or cloning. But I don't. I could also rule out the possibility that the guy he was kissing was a short-haired woman. Unless, of course, sideburns are suddenly fashionable for women too.

The guy in the photo didn't look remotely familiar to me.

"Hmm," I said, giving myself time to react appropriately, then looked indecisively from the camera monitor to my tablemates. "Looks like I've been on new ground." I attempted a grin.

Robin laughed. "Well, you were always a little more clingy than other guys when you were drunk. I guess that's what you call party gay."

"Yeah, that's probably about it. Who noticed all that?" I was actually relieved. Even though no one had ever told me so directly, there was probably something to it. I just liked cuddling when I was drunk. And then I didn't even care about gender. That's how it was! Yes!

Evita was already grinning again. "Nobody. Not even me," she replied. "I left pretty quickly after the photo, didn't want to bother you." She grinned smugly, while I was still wondering who the guy was that I had apparently kissed. But no matter how hard I tried, my brain wouldn't yield any suitable memories, no names, absolutely nothing that could have quenched my curiosity. But I couldn't ask either of them now. That would have been too obvious, I thought.

And, fuck, why was I even making such a fuss about it? Why was I even curious? I had kissed a guy while drunk. Fine. So that was the way it was. And that didn't make me gay! Not gay by a long shot!

Then I remembered the hickeys on my body, and a vague feeling came over me...what if that guy and I...? That couldn't really be happening. Suddenly, I realized how little I actually knew about gay people...I mean, I wasn't sure how I would know if I'd been with a guy the night before. Would my ass hurt?

I immediately had to shake my head at this thought. Long live prejudice!

“So I was alone with that guy?” I asked, trying somewhat successfully to keep the rising panic out of my voice.

Robin exchanged a glance with Evita, as if he needed to be sure of the answer. "Not that I know of."

Even though I should have been relieved by that answer, I couldn't get the hickeys out of my head. They were in places you couldn't reach unless you were alone together. At least not under normal circumstances.

Should I ask them more specifically about it? I hesitated, not knowing why, but I was sure I should leave it at that. Neither Evita nor Robin looked like they wanted to add anything to the matter. Quite the opposite: If I had actually disappeared into one of the rooms with the guy in front of their eyes, it would have been a godsend, and I would know by now.

I took another look at the monitor.

“Who is that guy?” I asked myself more than my table neighbors.

"I honestly have no idea what his name was. I've never seen him before. But I think he's a friend of Daniel's. German or Austrian or something. And he hasn't been here that long." Evita frowned, as if thinking hard. "I think his name is Johan. Or Julian. Or Jonathan. Something like that. He wasn't particularly sober anymore and was mumbling a lot."

“I think his name is actually Jonathan,” added Robin, who had spent the last few minutes with his roll.

Oh, fantastic! Apparently, the guy not only stuck his tongue down my throat, but also had an uncool speech impediment. I'd hit the jackpot.

"But if it makes you feel any better," Robin said with a broad smile, "he's a good guy. We had a great time at the party at Kami's."

“At Kami’s?” I asked, surprised. “He was at Kami’s too for pre-drinks?”

“Yes,” Robin nodded.

Slowly, it dawned on me. Very slowly, though. I looked at the picture again more closely. And slowly, I thought I remembered. Not the kiss, of course. But at least I remembered that I had actually met the guy, who was probably really called Jonathan and was generally just called Jona, at Kami's party. We had a pretty good chat, if I wasn't mistaken – and drank a rather disgusting mixture of gin and whiskey, which someone had declared the house drink that evening and forced on everyone.

For some reason, this realization calmed me down immensely. It meant that the guy was at least as drunk as I was. And that, in turn, meant I could safely file this incident away as a drunken story. Especially since we apparently weren't even alone together—so the hickeys had to come from somewhere else.

“Maybe you should write to him on Facebook,” Robin interrupted my thoughts.

“What, on Facebook?” I asked, interrupted in my thoughts, rather harshly.

"Well, we both know you know how to text there," Robin winked at me, "but he's there too. At least I seem to remember Facebook constantly suggesting him as a friend."

Yes. That was probably a good idea. I thought so. There was one more thing to clarify before we could move on to the agenda:

"I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell Caro about this. I'd hate to drag her into it. I mean, I was drunk and nothing really happened!"

Evita nodded, but didn't look particularly happy. And Robin shrugged.

"Sure. As far as I'm concerned, no one needs to know. So let's move on to business as usual."

Are you kidding me? Are you serious when you say that.