Author: admin

June 2018

A young man, in his mid-twenties, sauntered over the Suq El Qatanin in Jerusalem and passed the Western Wall, the holy place for Orthodox Jews, who were doing their prayers there.

In a way he was always fascinated when he observed the praying men. Contrary to himself, who was dressed like a westerner, in faded jeans and a t-shirt, these men always seemed uniformed to him. They all wore long black coats, black trousers, white shirts without tie and broad-brimmed black hats. But what amazed him the most, were the continuous for- and rearward movements they made with their upper body, which, as a trained doctor, reminded him always to the persistent behavior made by mentally-retarded people. He always felt somewhat guilty, when he thought that, knowing that it was part of the ritual and as such he respected it. But…there was some undeniable resemblance.

David had no connection to the Orthodox whatsoever. He was born and raised in the worldly city of Tel Aviv and had only come to Jerusalem, because the military wanted him there after he finished his medical studies. And even then, when he wasn’t on duty, his father, a merchant of means, had rented a small apartment for him, granting him a welcome change from everyday barracks life. Since he was on leave at the moment, he could afford a nice stroll in the old inner city of Jerusalem in civvies, trying to get more acquainted with this hotspot of Christian, Jewish and Muslim culture. Although he was very well aware of the fact, that it was also the hotspot of the Jewish-Palestinian conflict. He had seen enough casualties coming in at the barracks medical post after another riot.

He had been raised in a much more liberal Jewish tradition, where there was room for blossoming. Of course, he knew things about the Torah, he had done his Bar Mitzwa and from child on he had lived by the rules of the Sabbath and had celebrated Yom Kippur, but both the Sabbath and Yom Kippur had always been celebrated in a more liberal, western way, a bit like Americans celebrated Christmas or the 4th of July. Actually, he couldn’t remember the day when he had visited a synagogue during services.

At leisure he walked north in the Barquq Street and went left in the narrow Sha’ar ha Barzal. The sun shone on him. He was a slim man with a fit, trim body, not surprisingly at the end of his two-and-a-half year of national service. But he was no paratrooper materiel, who tend to look as if part of their brain tissue had been transformed into muscle volume. His short, black hair shone in the sun and his shrewd, inquisitive eyes, black and gleaming like charcoals on a barbecue, continuously looked around, taking in each and every detail of the intriguing city.

He knew his father adored him. The man was an immigrant from the Ukraine and, despite his limited schooling as a child, had risen to a wealthy merchant, purely by determination and intelligence that surpassed his schools. And now, with his son a real doctor and a military doctor on top of that made the old man immensely proud. To make that possible he had raised his son in the liberal Jewish ways and had given him all the freedom in the world to develop into what he had become. Maybe it was a good thing, that the old man didn’t know, that he had given his son too much freedom, because David’s life had transformed in a way which his father had not anticipated and which, because of his being Jewish and with his Ukrainian roots, would have abhorred him if he knew.

When David went to the Tel Aviv beach in summer from teenager on, he discovered he could completely ignore the most beautiful, desirable girls, instead intensely studying boys. And with the passing of years a component of sexual attraction was added more and more. It gave him an immense conflict! Apart from some frolicking around he kept away from these boys, because he didn’t want to disappoint his father. It grew into the proverbial inextricable Gordian knot in his mind with on one side his love for and loyalty to his father and on the other side his love for and physical attraction to boys. But now, at the age of twenty-five, he knew he had to cut that knot. Either he betrayed himself or he betrayed his father. One of them had to suffer! He couldn’t think of any way to avoid that.

It didn’t make it any easier, that he knew that he would depend on his father’s wealth after his conscription would end. Yes, he was a doctor, but he wanted to return to the university to specialize as a psychiatrist. As long as he could remember he was captivated by the vagaries and the incredible twists of the human mind and he wanted to know all about it that was humanly possible. But, knowing what he knew now, aware that he would hurt his father deeply when his love for boys came out, the idea, that he would draw more cash out of the man’s pocket, seemed almost obscene to him.

Despite his sad line of thought, his eyes kept looking around, partly drinking in all the unfamiliar sights of this strange city, but at the same time alert for any danger, that might be lurking at each corner in this place, especially for a boy whose appearances betrayed he was a soldier. However, his eyes didn’t pick it up, his ears did.

It was a kind of howling and yelling up front, farther down the street, interspersed with dull thumps.

“Oh shit…”, he thought, “A riot!”

Only then he saw it: how the Israeli security troops fell back in his direction, how a group of black-clad youngsters followed them, throwing stones, bottles and everything else available that could be flung at them and how clouds of tear gas rose against the walls into the air.

Things developed with the speed of a hurricane. All of a sudden he found himself between the withdrawing Israeli troops and the rioting mob.

“Have to do something!” the thought flashed through his mind, but what could he do?

He wished he had his helmet with him and his armor vest. But the only armor vest he wore was his t-shirt and it didn’t need a university degree to understand that t-shirts have a notoriously bad reputation when it came to stopping a lost submachine gun-bullet. So, he simply did, what his instructor at basic training had taught him: he took cover!

In a low crouch he ran in an alley and ducked behind a pile of crates, making himself as low and inconspicuous as he could. He simply wanted to sit it out, until the riot was dispersed or the mob had passed the alley and had moved to a safe distance, so he could sneak out.  

Fate had other plans!

After lying down in the dust for a few minutes a boy in black clothes came in the alley, dragging another boy with him. Once both were completely in the narrow street, he lowered the other boy on the ground, fell on his knees and started tugging at him frantically, calling out in Arab with a desperate voice. There was no reaction!

David saw it happen. For a moment he was in conflict: these were Palestinian boys who had just thrown stones to his fellow-troopers. But…was that of any importance any longer? He was a doctor, the boy was clearly hurt, so his medical oath overruled his oath to the State. He had his obligation as a doctor.

He jumped up and ran to the two boys, falling on his knees beside the lying boy, who was unconscious. The other boy kept tugging and yelling at him.

“Ho ho…”, David exclaimed, “Slow down, boy, let me handle it. I’m a doctor!”

The sitting boy looked in his eyes, his shock somewhat diminishing and making place for relief, rose and stepped back to give room to work.

Expertly and gingerly he examined the still unconscious boy. Blood was flowing from the lower part of his face, but he ignored it initially. First, he checked the larynx to make sure that the airways were unobstructed and with relief found it just fine. Then he carefully opened the closed eyes to check the pupil reaction, searching for possible brain- or skull damage, but again there was none. Only then he started to examine the lower part of the face. His fingers softly followed the jaw- and cheek bone lines and he noticed at least one fracture. It looked as if the boy had been accidentally hit by a tear gas grenade in his lower face.

After he had laid the wounded in a stabile position, David took his cellular, made himself known as a doctor and ordered an ambulance. The other boy stared at him with questioning eyes full of fear.

“Will…”, he asked with difficulty, “Will he live, doctor?”

David laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder in a comforting gesture and nodded with:

“Yes, he’ll be fine. I’m not saying he will be at home tonight, because his jaw needs surgery and I think he lost a number of teeth. But hey, I’m a doctor, not a dentist, you know”.

The boy let out a relieved sigh, tears filling his eyes.

After the still unconscious boy was loaded in the ambulance, which left for the hospital after receiving the medical status from David, he and the unhurt boy just stood there. David noticed, that the area was calm again, so he wanted to walk home. But when he looked at the boy beside him, he knew that he couldn’t just let him stand there. The boy was clearly in shock, trembling from his feet to his crown. David took him by the arm and gently said:

“I live nearby. Come with me and stay there for a while with a nice hot tea, so you can recover. OK?”

The boy nodded like some kind of absent-minded zombie and David led him by his arm to his apartment.

They sat opposite one another in David’s small living room. As he knew well, hot beverages tend to diminish the effects of shock and the boy visibly recovered after a while. The shaking disappeared and the panic, that was still in his eyes when they had entered the apartment, had vanished, revealing warm and gentle dark brown eyes. Although this panic flared up with new strength when they entered David’s place. When the boy saw his Army jacket hanging at the coat rack, his eyes widened with fear and he had hissed:

“Are you in the Army?”

Not realizing what was wrong with that right away David had answered:

“Yes!”

“But you said you are a doctor!” the boy had asked sharply.

“I am a doctor, I’m an Army doctor”, David had replied in all honesty, “Come, sit down and I’ll make us a tea”

While sipping at his tea the boy asked:

“How come you are an Army doctor?”

“That is very simple”, David laughed, “I got an official letter, that wrote that my presence was indispensable for the security of the State and as a result I had to report at a certain place, at a certain date and a certain time. Of course, it threatened with the most severe consequences if I wouldn’t. In other words: I’m a conscript doctor, at least in the Army”.

“So…”, the boy asked thoughtfully, “You don’t fight?”

David shook his head and answered somewhat sad:

“No, I don’t fight. I’m just the guy who patches up the ones, who do the fighting and get hurt while doing so. I would be perfectly happy to stay at the university and do my specialization”.

The boy looked at him, clearly not comprehending what was meant.

“I’m just a general doctor now”, David explained, “But I want to do one specific field as a doctor, so I have to specialize as they call it”.

“In what?” the boy asked curious.

“As a psychiatrist!” David replied.

For a second the boy seemed to think it over, but then he asked:

“What is that?”

“It’s a doctor who treats mental diseases”.

A scornful smile came over the boy’s face. He took another sip from his tea, looked somewhat sad out of the window and then said calmly:

“That’s a great idea. Maybe you could treat both our politicians! And please start with the Hamas leadership. Maybe it would solve this mess”.

“But eeuhhh…”, David said, “I’m David. What is your name? Makes it a bit more…personal when we talk”.

The boy looked with glistening eyes in his and answered without hesitation:

“I’m Kamal”.

David liked Kamal’s eyes, but it gave him a question as well. The eyes were too soft, too kind for a stone-throwing rioter. So, he asked:

“Why were you throwing stones at the troops? On one hand I can understand, that you do, seeing them as oppressors. But on the other hand: you seem a sensible boy to me, who knows that he is going to lose it anyway”.

“We weren’t throwing stones”, Kamal answered, “We were more or less caught up in it”.

“What were you doing then?” David asked, not really understanding.

“I was just delivering some goods to a client of my father. Saïd just went with me, so that we could chat a little. And then we accidentally came in this riot. We were just asking ourselves how to get away from it when Saïd was hit by something. So, I dragged him in that alley, where you were. You know the rest”.

“But…the both of you were dressed in black as well”, David objected.

“Yeah”, Kamal said, “Only because it is considered cool to dress that way. And for no other reason. Hey, I’m just a simple carpenter and not a stone thrower”.

For another time David looked in his eyes and knew the boy was telling the truth. Somehow, he liked the boy. He had a certain kind of innocence, honesty and cuteness. And he saw something else, something he couldn’t figure out, at least not yet. Besides, it genuinely shocked him, that exactly two innocent bystanders got in the crossfire during the riot, one of them ending up in hospital.

But he kept a bit aloof. It was clear that Kamal was too young and David was not certain yet if his blossoming feelings were just an impulse out of pure horniness or that there was more involved.

So, they just drank their tea, chatting a bit, frantically trying to avoid hot political issues. Kamal visibly recovered and relaxed, his eyes gleaming in the light of the setting sun, that fell through the open window.

When the tea was finished he rose. David accompanied him to the apartment door and let him out. Just before he was about to close that door, Kamal turned around in the corridor, looked him straight in the eyes and said softly:

“Thank you very much, David. For what you did for Saïd, helping him, I mean. And then for the chance you gave me to recover”.

A shy smile played around his lips when he continued:

“I think you are a very sweet man!”

Kamal fumbled a bit with the lower hem of his sweatshirt as if he was in doubt. Furtively he glanced around, bent over and gave David a single kiss on his cheek, adding:

“May I come and visit you more often?”

David was taken aback but despite that he held his wits and answered:

“Of course, you may. I would really like that!”

“OK”, Kamal said with glistening eyes, “Then I’ll do that!”

Then he simply turned around and walked to the elevator without looking back, leaving David in his open door in a roaring storm of confused emotions.

Kamal walked home whistling and with high hopes and beautiful daydreams. He was that elated, that he had totally forgotten about Saïd.

It felt as if he had found what he was looking for, so there was no reason to tame the Arab spring butterflies, that were dancing in his belly.

From his fifteenth he had been looking for someone, who was not in the inner circle of the well-trodden paths of oppressive Islamic culture and who had nothing to do with the one-sided Palestinian political opinions in the ever-continuing conflict with the Jews. Despite the fact that he was only schooled as a carpenter, Kamal had intelligence, that exceeded his formal schooling by far and he thought for himself, so he reached the conclusion, that he wanted to spread his wings in his own, unique way with a person whom he could love and not by some way, that was accepted by the imams, his father and the political leadership of the Palestinian Authority. His was an independent, somewhat stubborn and wayward spirit.

But Kamal was also a realist: as long as he hadn’t found his way out, he had to conform to their ways, like a chameleon blended his colors with his environment. Everything else would be sheer foolishness. So he kept his love for boys a secret, did his prayers each day and obeyed his father.

Oh yes, his father…it was not that the man was a brute or a dictator. It was just that he was a typical product of the Arab paternalistic tradition of ages, that when father speaks it is the law, no discussions or negotiations possible. And Kamal was very well aware of the fact, that his father was a devote Muslim as well, who was unable to find respect, not to mention love, for “the wrong kind of boys”.

But the truth was, that Kamal always like other boys more than girls. The reality was, that he dreamed about school mates, when he was alone in his bed in his small room in the apartment over his father’s small shop. It was not always easy to hide it for his father, but somehow he managed.

And as far as the imam and the Islam were concerned: Kamal had found his own justification for his being gay by shrewdly constructing a very liberal explanation of the 305th Ahadith of the Koran, that said:

“If any of you commits an immorality, it is better that it stays hidden behind Allah’s curtain, but if He chooses to reveal it to us, we will apply His laws on the culprit with all severity”.

So, Kamal reasoned, as long as Allah kept it behind His curtain, it might be explained as that He agreed with his genuine love for another boy and nothing could happen to him. And if this Divine cover was blown for some reason, he had to find other solutions to avoid the consequences. Besides, if Allah had gifted him with a love for boys, who could object? And who would he be, a mortal carpenter boy, to resist Allah’s wishes. So, he trusted, that it would kept behind the curtain, Inshallah.  

Kamal was not only shrewd and smart, he was also very sensitive. His miraculous and infallible sixth sense had already told him, that this cute Israeli Army doctor was gay, that he was a very sweet guy and that he was already fighting with exploding emotions of falling in love.

One look in his black eyes was enough to find that out.

Kamal just smiled at the thought: he loved the tickling feeling in his belly and he had all reasons in the world to whistle while on his way home. And since he had nothing better to do when he got there, he would just check out if his father had any other errands to run or chores to be done. Because like almost all Palestinian youngsters in Jerusalem, he had no job, simply for the reason that there were not enough jobs to go around. It was another thing, that hindered him in spreading his wings in his own way. Apart from that question, that haunted his mind: if he was satisfied with being a carpenter or that he wanted to achieve something more?

After he had closed the apartment door, David felt the urge to run to the small loggia to look at the boy called Kamal as long as was possible. He hung over the railing and saw the black-clad figure exit the building’s main entrance, where he mixed in the hordes of pedestrians in the busy, narrow street.

Even his baggy clothes couldn’t hide, that Kamal was a slim boy and, compared to David, was quite small as well. But he emitted a kind of attraction. David’s thoughts slid back to the warm but nevertheless forceful brown eyes, smoldering with strength and determination. And now, looking at the disappearing boy, he saw the short black hair with the small cocky crest and the self-assured, easy-going gait.

David still felt a bit overwhelmed by his meeting with the Palestinian boy. Initially the boy had been scared and in a panic. That was not surprising: David knew, that he would have reacted the same at that age, being caught up in a riot, having his friend hurt, not knowing what was going on. But then, once Kamal was recovering with a cup of tea, he transformed to the contrary. David had seen it happen, almost second by second. The boy turned into a self-assured person, leaving no uncertainties of what he thought and wanted. He became a bastion of strength, radiating willpower. It was not cheap conceit, it was as real as the stars on the sky in the night. And Kamal was very clear as well about his sexual preference. The question about visiting more often, not to mention the kiss on his cheek, had said it all. There was no hesitation in it, just an unmistakable “That’s what I want!”.

David could only admire it. He knew, he was by far more wavering than Kamal, about his love for men, about his fear for hurting his father, about his anxiety of becoming the laughing stock of the whole barracks, when it came out what his real feelings were. Somehow Kamal had conquered his fears at a younger age and seemed to feel perfectly comfortable with what he really was.

“What an amazing boy you are”, he whispered, seeing the last bits of Kamal disappear in the street, swallowed by the tourist groups, the street vendors and all other people around.

And then there was this ominous feeling, that David had, a feeling that made his neck hairs tickle. It was as if Kamal knew what went on in his mind. It felt as if the boy’s dark, inquisitive and penetrating eyes had x-rayed his mind and that he could read every thought and feeling that rambled on in it, diagnosing expertly and correctly that David was rapidly falling in love.

He laughed at his own stupid idea. It was scientifically simply impossible…or was it?

He casted a last glance in the direction where Kamal had vanished and without a sound his lips formed:

“I want to see you again!”

Whistling some tune, that buzzed in his heart, he went in, in a confused state of mind.

It had been a slow, boring day at the barracks aid station. It looked, as if there had been no riots, so there was no patching up of wounded. The only casualty coming in was a soldier, who had been bitten by a dog. After a few stitches in the hand and a tetanus shot he was fit for duty again. Even this bit of stitching required all David’s efforts to concentrate, because his thoughts wandered off in all directions at all moments of the day. For the rest David had plenty of time to think and for daydreaming.

It had been two weeks now that he met Kamal and since then it was total silence. He had never seen the boy again.

In a way it relieved him. It made life a lot easier. There was no need to cover his private spheres up for no matter who, not for his fellow officers, not for the neighbors and especially not for his father. Because the meeting with Kamal had not only been something wonderful, but it had also brought home his old fear, that he would hurt his father deeply once the old man knew about his homosexuality. And it was still unclear to him if he wanted to pay that price! Anyway, despite promises of visiting him more often, it seemed as if Kamal had forgotten all about him so in a way his fear started to subside again.

But it had another side as well: he felt disappointed! The meeting had ignited his heart and kindled his hopes, totally indifferent to what his mind thought about it. But mind and heart were not always synchronous or fully compatible. So, he had basked in these budding feelings and was continuously persecuted by the image of the warm, smoldering forceful eyes whenever his mind drifted off or when he closed his own eyes. Maybe he hadn’t heard anything from the boy, but the image of the brown eyes refused to give him peace of mind ever since. However, when the silence continued, first for days, then for weeks, hopes and dreams diminished until only a small flicker of them remained, the kind of flicker that refuses to go out, despite all the gusts around it.

He didn’t feel like cooking this evening, so he decided to eat in the Officer’s Mess and go home after that, just to read or watch tv. Coincidentally he had found something on internet, that interested him: it was a scientific thesis on the subject “Mental diseases with Palestinian refugee adolescents”. Or…wasn’t it coincidental?

Once he got home, he kicked out his Army boots, pulled out his uniform and changed in a thin cotton, baggy trousers and an old t-shirt. On his bare feet he walked to the living room and started his laptop. Yes, he had decided: he would read the thesis. He didn’t want to see the news, being annoyed by some bloated minister. He put on his reading glasses and started reading.

He had just read the first lines of the introduction when the doorbell rang.

“Damned, no”, he muttered annoyed.

But being raised as a polite boy he rose, walked to the door and opened it. In front of him stood Kamal!

David’s mouth stood open in surprise and it costed him a few seconds before he could utter:

“Kamal! I didn’t expect you!”

“OK, were you expecting the Big Bird of Sesame Street?” Kamal asked with a mock disappointed face and a cute pout.

“No, no”, David stammered, flushing red, “Come on in!”

“I told you I would visit you!” Kamal said grinning.

“Yes…but….”, David kept stuttering, “I…well, I…I kind of missed you, to be honest”

“That’s a cute thing to say”, the boy said with a charming smile, just to go to a neutral tone when he asked:

“You’re wearing glasses?”

“Only when I’m reading at night”

“Ah, were you reading then?” Kamal asked.

“I just started”, David grinned, “Until someone rang the doorbell”.

“What are you reading?” came the next curious question.

David thought it over for a second. Was it a good idea to give the complete, honest reply? Kamal could understand it, as that he was being certified as a Palestine madman. And David knew the only madman of the two of them was he himself: he was mad with love. He was only unable to find a way to express it, but his heart felt like a forest fire, that was completely beyond control.

“Something medical, something scientific”, David answered with the half-truth, not very convincing.

“What is it about?” Kamal’s question machine kept spewing.

“You little pit bull”, David laughed, “OK, it’s about mental diseases with Palestinian refugee kids. Satisfied, Tommie?”

“OK!” Kamal mumbled, visibly impressed, but he stopped pressing the matter…that is: for the time being. Then he asked:

“Who is Tommie?”

“The dog from Sesame Street”, David grinned, “Now, you want a tea? Or you prefer a beer?”

Kamal shook his head and with rolling eyes, expressing comic despair, he said:

“No, no, no beer. I’m a Muslim, remember? It’s not that I wouldn’t like a beer, but if I come home and my father smells it, it’ll cost me half a night of sleep before the homily is finished. So, tea is just fine”.

When David had put the tea glasses on the table Kamal sat on the couch, his knees propped up against his chest. With a cheeky gesture he patted on the free place beside him and David sat down. Immediately Kamal snuggled up and asked softly:

“So…you missed me?”

“Yes”, David giggled embarrassed, “Actually, I became scared. I became afraid I wouldn’t see you again!”

“I promised you”, Kamal only said in a re-assuring tone, “But I admit, it is not always easy. First of all: I don’t know when you’re at home, I can’t call you up, and then I have to be careful back home”.

“How did you know I was home now then?” David asked curious.

“I didn’t”, Kamal said with a beaming smile, “But I had nothing better to do today, so I just got me a nice spot on the other side of the street to keep an eye on your main entrance. And when I saw you going in, I knew you were at home”.

“How long have you been waiting then?” David inquired astonished.

“Don’t know exactly. I guess about four hours”, was the casual reply.

“Don’t you have a cellular?” David asked. It seemed a logical question to him, but Kamal broke in laughter:

“No! Hey…I’m just another Palestinian boy without a job. Can’t afford me a cellular”.

David rose abruptly and with a “Just a second” he went to the bedroom. He was back within minutes with a cellular in his hand.

“It’s my old one. Have to charge it first”, he said, “I’ll buy you a new one, but can’t do that right away. But at least we can stay in touch then and you can ask me when I’ll be at home”.

“Great!” Kamal exclaimed.

When David sat down again the boy gave him another chaste kiss on his cheek and with gleaming eyes he whispered:

“Thank you! That’s very sweet of you!”

David just shrugged it off, feeling more than a bit embarrassed. He felt he was behaving like some flapper.

“But eeeuuhhh…”, Kamal added, “Don’t call me. It might get me in trouble!”

“How that?” David wanted to know puzzled. Lots of people used cell phones without getting in trouble.

“My father”, was the reply, “First he will want to know where I got it, if I had stolen it. And then he will no doubt want to know who is calling me”.

“Is he that bad?” David asked. 

Kamal shook his head and replied:

“Bad is not the right word. I think he is a very good and kind man. But his Islamic fanatism stifles me. Don’t get me wrong…he’s no extremist, he’s no killer. There are only days he makes me feel as if I can’t breathe free. He really is a stickler to all the rules in the Koran. And I can assure you there are a lot of rules in the Koran”.

He sighed softly and continued:

“Sometimes I think he is trying to compensate for his frustration by his fanatic religious devotion. As if his religion is his only hold in life by lack of something else. But he can’t understand that I’m young, that I want to choose my own way of living and that the way he sees Islam is not my way of seeing it. You understand what I mean?”

David nodded. Having no detailed knowledge of Islam, he didn’t understand it all, but enough to feel the despair of his young friend.

“How is that with you guys…I mean: in the Jewish religion?” Kamal asked.

“The way you describe it makes me think of the Orthodox Jews”, David said, “But I guess I was lucky. My parents were liberal Jews and I was raised as any European or American boy. But of course: even liberal Jewish have their limit in tolerance and acceptance”.

Kamal said nothing. It were only his eyes that fired the question:

“What do you mean?”

“Well…”, David said, “Let us say that I hope, that something beautiful will blossom between you and me, but it will overtax the tolerance and acceptance of even a liberal Jew”.

“Aaaaahhhh”, was Kamal’s only reaction.

For some minutes the boy stared in the vapor, that came off the tea cup, as if it was a magical medium, that would provide all answers. Then he said with a deep sigh:

“Same with us. But that is exactly what I mean! I have the right to shape my own life, I have the right to love who I want. Be it a man…so what? Be it a Jew? My problem! But I don’t want to live as my father orders me or how the imam dictates. They have nothing to do with how I live my life!”

“So true”, David thought, “So goddamn true!”

“So every now and then”, Kamal continued, “I feel like going away from this godforsaken city. Which is pretty peculiar: it is a holy city to Jews, Muslims and Christians and still I feel it is godforsaken! Go somewhere, where being gay is not condemned. Sweden or the Netherlands or Germany”.

With a laugh he added:

“Well, Sweden may be somewhat too cold, I guess”.

“But…”, David tried, “Is it really impossible to talk about it with your father?”

He regretted the question immediately. Why should he expect something of Kamal, that he himself didn’t dare to do?

Kamal looked at him in utter surprise and then broke in roaring laughter.

“You’re a comic as well, doctor!” he managed to exclaim between gasps for air, “My old man will literally drag me to the imam for a severe tongue lashing!”

But his laughing died down pretty fast and with sad eyes he looked at some point on the wall, when he said:

“No matter what grows between us: we will have to cover it up some way. And to be frankly: the fact, that I have to hide who I really am, annoys me beyond reason!”

With saddened eyes he looked at his watch, drained his tea glass and sighed:

“I’d better be going before I am subjected to a cross examination where I’ve been, what I’ve done and if I said my evening prayers”.

Then he looked in David’s eyes, his eyes changing as by magic from gloom to the warm and forceful cheerfulness and said with an enticing smile:

“But I’ll be back, eazizaa! At least I can call you now to find out when you’re at home”.

“What does eazizaa means?” David asked carefully. He didn’t want to break the spell of this short moment.

Kamal only giggled, but then replied:

“It’s time you learn some Arabic. Eazizaa means my darling”.

David felt the blushes come on his cheeks. Kamal simply ignored them, bent over and kissed him softly on one of them. Then he rose and walked to the apartment door.

Just before he was about to leave David took both his hands and whispered:

“Please, come back!”

“I will”, Kamal said, emphatically nodding, “I sure will. I’ll call you when I can”.

Another soft kiss on the cheek followed and then Kamal disappeared in the dimly lighted lobby, leaving David for a second time with a huricane of emotions blowing through his head and heart.

As he had expected Kamal got his cross examination, but apparently all questions were answered satisfactory, because his father decided the matter closed. It only served to give Kamal the very clear warning, that he had to be extremely careful. Stubborn as he was, he decided it was worth the risk, so he simply took it.

But not at each price. Risk was one thing, recklessness another. So, it took a little over a week before he called David on his newly acquired cellular to fix a day and time to see each other. But then David’s schedule ruined it all: he was on night duty that week, so it took another week before they finally met. It was something, that Kamal considered almost as hardship!

But at the agreed evening this hardship ended. They did some shopping in the Garden of Eden Bazar and took a long walk on the many foot paths of the Sacker Park, where they chatted animatedly and just drank in the love in each other’s eyes.

When darkness fell and the park became more and more empty, they dared to walk hand in hand. They sat on a bench, hands still clenched, and after anxiously looking around, making sure for the full six hundred percent they were alone, they kissed. Then it was time for Kamal to go home, no doubt for another round of questioning.

July 2018

The weeks passed. Summer was at its peak, giving plenty of opportunity to take walks together during the still warm evenings in one of the many parks Jerusalem had. So every now and then there was some secretive kissing.

But somehow it was this kissing, that gave David feelings of guilt towards several persons and for different reasons.

In the first place he felt guilty to Kamal. As passionate and warm the boy kissed, so reticent and almost cold-blooded he returned them. Initially Kamal had looked at him disappointed but when the moment came, that he asked: “Don’t you love me, eazizaa?”, David felt it was time to at least try to explain it.

It was not that David didn’t want to kiss Kamal as passionately, it was just that he was scared to death that, if he did that, he would lose control, wanting more than only kissing. That was the other guilt he felt.

Being not religious he was not afraid of being hit by some flaming lightning bolt, that came out of blue sky as the punishment God sent to him. It was not, that he feared legal problems: Israeli law was very clear on non-discrimination of same-sex relations, which did not necessarily mean, that there was a large social acceptance. But he could handle dejection.

No, it was the old fear he would disappoint his father, especially when it became clear, that he had fallen in love with a Palestinian boy. And that was not for political reasons, but reasons of a much more personal nature. Each time he craved to return Kamal’s kiss with equal passion, his father’s disapproving face popped up in his mind.

He tried to explain it several times, but each time he just ended in some incoherent stammering. After his last clumsy attempt Kamal looked at him with a warm understanding in his eyes and had whispered:

“Confused, aren’t you? Doesn’t matter, I’ve been there as well! You’ll get over it”.

Giggling he added:

“I make damned sure you get over it!”

David shook his head somewhat in disbelief at the remark. The boy, who called himself a “simple carpenter” seemed to understand more as he himself did, despite his university degree.

Halfway the month David had three full days of glorious leave. When he discussed it with Kamal in one of their phone calls, the boy had exclaimed:

“Great! Let’s make a day trip to the Dead Sea!”

“But,”, David had objected, “Isn’t that Palestinian territory?”

“Yes”, the excited reply came, “It is. But at least I can show you around. And don’t worry, I’m with you. They won’t stone you for being there”.

Laughing he added:

“Of course, you shouldn’t come in uniform!”

On the agreed day David picked Kamal up, at a safe distance from his parental home to avoid awkward questions and problems, and then drove his old and small Toyota out of the city to the east. At a certain point, when they were nearing the Dead Sea, Kamal told him to turn north and follow Route 90 towards Jericho, driving through the Judean Desert.  

Being a typical city boy David had never seen anything like what he saw now. All around them were low, brown hills. Here and there he saw some low scrub and yellowish grass, but for the rest it was the same murky brown stone formations. A single tree could be seen, but David was certain it must be the strongest of his species in order to survive in this environment. Heat vibrations hung over the asphalt and the sun burned merciless in a steel blue sky.

“What are we doing in this wasteland?” he asked after a while.

“I just wanted to show you the wilderness of Palestine, eazizaa”, Kamal answered with a mysterious smile, “Don’t you like it?”

“Well, I admit it looks great, but after a while also…somewhat monotonous, maybe even boring”, David replied.

The smile on Kamal’s face reached a new, higher level of mystery when he said:

“Your boredom will pass!”

They drove on. David felt the sweat running over his back and got into something like a torpor, losing track of time and even direction, which was not too hazardous since there was no other vehicle on the road. He just saw the endless black tarmac stripe between mile after mile of brown hills, disappearing in a shimmer of heat on the horizon.

After a while he almost startled from his daze, when Kamal said:

“Slow down a bit. We don’t want to miss it!”

“Miss what?” David asked in surprise.

“The trail we need to get on”, was the casual reply.

Only after a few minutes Kamal called out excited:

“Yes, there it is! Turn left here!”

David did as was told, ending up on a dirt trail, that passed between two hilltops, so that they lost sight of the main road. But that was all the difference: the black stripe was gone, the brown and greyish hills remained.

The trail was rough and seemed endless. They bounced over the many small rocks and pot holes, but finally Kamal said:

“There it is!”

David looked in the indicated direction, but all he saw was a clump of four or five trees. With a broad grin he said:

“Wow, more than one tree at a time! How do you guys call that, a forest?”

Kamal just looked at him with a glance in his eyes, whose meaning was lost to David so he just kept quiet and stopped.

Before David realized it, Kamal got out of the car with a “Come on!” and he simply followed the boy. Hand in hand they walked under the trees. Their branches were such intertwingled, that they formed a canopy under which it was pleasantly shady and relatively cool. In the middle of the trees was a mud hut, that looked as it had been there since the days that Jesus had travelled around these areas. It was a small, square building with a second floor and, as often, flat roofed.

“Come on in!” Kamal said, more ordering than inviting.

David found himself in an almost dark room, that was agreeably cool, despite the stifling outer temperature. He only saw Kamal as a dim shape in the dark and he smelled some penetrating odor.

“Do I smell…” he hesitantly asked, “Goats?”

“Yes”, Kamal laughed, “That is right. This is the goat shed”.

“Whose is it?” David inquired.

“It belongs to my uncle Abdullah. He just abandoned it some years ago, sold the goats and went to Jerusalem, where he lives now someplace, does some odd jobs here and there and generally makes a nuisance of himself with the rest of the family”, Kamal answered, “But…I used to spend a lot of time here as a kid during summer holidays. I loved it over here. It was so peaceful. There was no Intifadah, no riots, no violence. It was just a place, where life simply rippled on”.

“Why didn’t he sell it, the shed and the ground, I mean”, David asked.

Kamal laughed and with a somewhat taunting voice he said:

“Who wants to buy this, in this area?”

“But why is he a nuisance?” David wanted to know.

“Well, uncle Abdullah is, what you might call, somewhat independent. He lives his life as he sees fit, he thinks what he wants to think and he doesn’t care a damn what the rest says about it”.

“Sounds pretty familiar!” David chuckled.

Kamal giggled shyly and answered:

“Yeah, he had great influence on me. You know, when my father ordered me to become a carpenter, uncle Abdullah said that it wasn’t good enough for me. He always said: “Grab for the stars, boy, grab for the stars! That is why Allah hung them there in the first place!”

Despite the darkness David saw Kamal’s eyes glow with a fond feeling of memory and his white teeth were clearly visible when he smiled. Then he continued:

“Uncle Abdullah is the only living soul who knows, that I’m…well…you know what I mean. Apart from you, that is”.

David looked at him in astonishment and almost gasped:

“How did he find it out?”

“I told him one evening”, was the casual reply, “I felt I could trust him”.

“And could you?” David asked.

“He never told anybody, not even my father”, Kamal answered.

“What did he say about it?” David curiously whispered.

With another soft snicker Kamal said:

“He just looked at me with an incredulous smile, stared up to the stars in the night sky for a few seconds as if he was thinking it over and then just said “Grab for the stars, boy, grab for the stars”.

There was a short silence between them. Only the hot winds could be heard, whistling through the tree leaves outside and above them. Then Kamal stuck out his free hand and whispered:

“Come here, eazizaa!”

David took the hand and came nearer, feeling how Kamal pushed his body against his and he heard the desiring whisper:

“I want you! I just need you!”

David felt confusion coming up: he would love to but…wasn’t Kamal still a minor? It seemed as if the boy read his mind, one might almost say: read it again, because he said:

“Eazizaa, I’m old enough to know if I want you to love me. Besides, according to Israeli law I have passed the age of consent, so…don’t fear!”

“How old are you then?” David asked.

“Does that really matter?” came the reaction in the form of another question.

„Come on“, David cried out somewhat despaired, “Don’t do that to me! We’re already breaking all the rules. I’m Israeli, you Palestinian, I’m Jewish, you Muslim. We’re both gay, not something that will be greeted with applause by both our families and communities. So, don’t do it to me, that you are underage and me twenty-five!”

Kamal just laughed, his eyes sparkling in the filtered sunlight, that fell through the door opening

“You know”, he said teasingly, “For a moralist you look very cute! I always thought, moralists were grey, old men with long, white beards and very serious and stern eyes, like our imams and your rabbi’s. Seems I was mistaken”.

David shrugged and muttered:

“I’m not a rabbi, I’m a doctor”.

Kamal laid his arms around David’s neck and stared in his eyes with a defiant look. After cupping his hands behind David’s head, he drew it nearer and whispered:

“And I’m no imam! But…this is not about religion, it is not about politics, it is not even about gender or age. This, eazizaa, is love and love is exclusively something between two hearts! And as a doctor you should know, that hearts don’t know a thing about politics, religion or age”. 

Kamal’s nose tip touched his. David was struggling to keep control: he craved to kiss the boy, but was unsure if that would be appreciated. He knew the general Muslim attitude to homosexuality. It was as unrelenting as the Orthodox Jewish opinion and…as his father’s opinion! His heart thumped in his chest, from fear and uncertainty but most of all: from love!

Kamal solved his dilemma in a most convincing way. With eyes burning with desire, he whispered:

“So, you better take care of our hearts first, as a good doctor ought to!”

Then his lips touched David’s. It felt…incredible! Although it actually took maybe five seconds, it seemed to last ages of delight.

When their lips parted, Kamal kept staring with naughtily twinkling eyes and giggled:

“Does the doctor orders intensive care now?”

“You cute, little shaytan!” David laughed.

“Hm, your Arabic is getting pretty good”, Kamal smiled, “But eeeuhhh…this patient is really in need of intensive care, doctor. You might almost call him…how do you doctors call that?…in critical condition!”

David was lost! He took the boy in his arms and they kissed long and intense. After they stopped, Kamal snickered:

“But his condition is steadily improving! Actually, his condition is improving so rapidly that he feels like giving the doctor some lessons in Arabic!”

David looked at him, thinking:

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Do you know what ‘iinaa ahbk” means?” Kamal asked with a puzzling smile.

David thought it over, but failed to find an answer in his limited vocabulary of Arabic.

Kamal just smiled, no….it became more and more a titter.

“And, of course”, he continued, “we have to work on your pronunciation as well. So, just say after me “‘iinaa ahbk””.

David tried, but the guttural sounds in the second part made it almost impossible to do for him. Kamal repeated it a couple of times, David repeating it each and every time, until Kamal’s eyes gleamed in satisfaction when he whispered:

“Yeah, that’ll do for the first lesson!”

“But”, David wanted to know, burning with curiosity, “I still don’t know what it means!”

With a soft kiss on David’s nose tip Kamal whispered:

“It means: I love you!”

It touched David deeply. With a loving smile he took the boy in his arms and softly said:

“The doctor thinks, it is time to put you back on the monitor again!”

The diagnosis was followed by a long and tender kiss…no…it was followed by a soft summer rain of kisses, a very local and extremely rare thing in this arid desert wasteland.

“Come with me”, Kamal whispered urgently and climbed an old ladder, that stood in the rear of the goat shed.

Willingly but still not sure what to expect David climbed the old creaking, wooden ladder. When he got on the upper floor, he saw it had one window, filling the room with a dim light but felt that the chamber was also pleasantly cool. On the floor were some old mattresses and an old chair, covered with layers of dust and dirt, stood in a corner. Kamal stood there, having already pulled his t-shirt off, showing his smooth chest and belly and, not to be forgotten, an enchanting smile full of longing, that David’s eyes simply couldn’t ignore.

But Kamal was not satisfied: clearly in seduction mood he opened his jeans and let them slip off his hips, showing small red underpants, his aroused dick tip sticking out of the waistband.

“Come here, eazizaa”, he whispered full of lust.

For a moment David was at a loss, torn apart between his fears and his desires. The stern, disapproving face of his father popped up in his mind but after some struggling he ignored it, his desire clearly fed by his own arousal in his groin. He took Kamal in his arms, kissed him ardently and stroked the small dick tip, feeling its gorgeous slickness. David’s hands seemed to start a life of their own: they investigated Kamal’s whole phallus, then slid over the hips to the young, soft haunches, marveling at the soft tissue the fingertips felt. Kamal reacted with a single encouraging moan, fiercely kissing with wide open mouth, his tongue starting a ballet with David’s tongue.

The nirvana-state of mind seemed to take an eternity, but then Kamal freed himself from David’s embracing arms, let his jeans and undies slip from his hips and lied down on the mattresses, patting with his hand on them.

“Lie with me”, his soft voice filled the silent room.

“First I want to look at you”, David panted, “You are so beautiful, the way you lie there”.

Yes, he was: the lean slim, boy-like body, the smooth chest and abdomen, the strong legs and the medium-sized manhood, sticking up as a clear sign of Kamal’s feelings and intentions. And all that packed in the light-tanned, almost creamy brown skin and covered by neatly trimmed black hair.

“You really think so?” Kamal asked shy, blushing a bit, “I think that, compared to most boys my age, I’m just a scarecrow”.

“No, you aren’t”, David softly said, “Unless you are a very desirable and beautiful scarecrow, of course”.

Kamal giggled at the compliment, but gave no indication, that he would let slip the magic of the moment away, because with a hoarse voice he just said:

“Undress, eazizaa, and lie with me so you can love your scarecrow!”

For a few seconds David was in doubt, but another look on the gorgeous boy, lying on the mattress with legs spread, was enough to overcome any hesitancy left and he rapidly undressed. When he let his undies slide off him, Kamal licked his lips and crawled up again, sitting on his knees in front of David.

“Mmmmmm….”, the boy moaned, “He’s large! Much larger than mine”.

“I don’t care how long it is”, David objected mildly, “I’m not interested in only your dick’s length. I’m in love with the boy who is affixed to it”!”

Kamal softly and shyly stroked over David’s long shaft, his eyes gleaming. Suddenly he asked:

“May I kiss it, eazizaa?”

David nodded with sparkling eyes and felt the soft touch of the lips on his tip. It sent shivers over his spine! He couldn’t have known, that the shivers would only get worse.

They did, especially when he felt, how Kamal took his tip in his mouth and licked over the pee slit.

“Mmmmmm, it tastes great! Almost creamy!” the boy moaned, only to double his efforts by starting to suck the already sensitive pedigree. It was David’s turn to start moaning, fighting back the urge to cum right away.

“Wait, my dear!” he panted, “Not too soon, please!”

Kamal stopped sucking and giggled defiantly.

“Is it going too fast, eazizaa?” he asked teasing.

David nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed but then he lay down beside the boy and pushed him down on his belly. Tenderly he started kissing him in the neck, then the shoulders, licking down the boy’s spine, until his lips ended at the soft, beautiful formed tanned haunches. His tongue slid over the butt crack, causing a deep moaning of delight. Kamal’s hand grasped David’s, keeping it in a firm but loving grip.

“Doctor…”, Kamal groaned, “Please, I beg you…do an internal examination on me! I want you so much!”

Again, David wavered. For a second time the image of his father’s face popped up, but he pushed it away, giving in to the loving bliss he felt and he allowed himself to succumb to Kamal’s searing feelings, almost consciously letting himself fall without any reservations. Now it was the time to do, what he wanted to do for years now, without a way back!

He pushed his rod between the warm haunches, ending up with his tip against the narrow hole and tried to get in. It didn’t work!

“Don’t you want me, my dear?” he asked desperate, kissing Kamal in his neck.

“Yes…just push it in, eazizaa, just take me!” was the reply.

David did but he found it hard to accomplish.

“Be careful”, Kamal said with clenched teeth, suppressing an outcry of pain, “It hurts!”

“Sorry, my dear”, David immediately apologized, “I want you to love it, not to be in pain”.

He thought it over for a few seconds, rose and with a “Just a minute!” went down the ladder again. He didn’t bother to dress: there was not a living soul in kilometers around, so nobody would see him when he walked stark naked to his car.

He opened the rear door, grabbed for his medical emergency bag, that he always had with him, opened it and took an Army-green vial out of it. He took it with him, ascended the ladder again and said:

“This will solve the problem, my dear”.

“What is it?” Kamal asked curious.

“Vaseline”, David said with a smile, “I hope you don’t mind the bottle is army-green?”

“I don’t care which color it has, as long as it makes sure you can take me!” the boy said with feverishly burning eyes.

David applied a liberal dose of vaseline on Kamal’s cute hole and tenderly massaged it in, not only on the outside, but also inside the sphincter. It caused lots of moaning and spasmodic moves in the boy’s body, giving clear proof of his pleasure.

Then David maneuvered himself back in position, pushed his dick tip in and this time it worked miraculously.

“Oh God…”, he moaned, “How beautiful it is inside you!”

He felt the narrow corridor all around his tip and shaft, experienced the warmth and softness and enjoyed the slight pushing up of Kamal’s ass against his slow and deliberate thrusting. He had no words left, he was only able to kiss and lick Kamal’s neck and shoulders while doing so.

“Nem! Nem!” Kamal cried out, fighting for breath.

David had no idea what “Nem” meant, but he didn’t bother too much with it. It was exclaimed in a way, that encouraged him to enter the tight channel deeper and deeper. He thrusted on, lazy and relaxed, feeling himself getting deeper with each move. He sank through his arms, licking Kamal’s ear, kissing his cheek. Kamal looked up to him, his brown eyes glistening with warmth and desire. A short kiss on the lips with wide open mouths followed. The soft skin of Kamal’s buttocks felt tantalizing against him and David just lost all control!

He felt how the semen started to boil and how their release was imminent. He fought it…he wanted to stay inside Kamal for as long as possible. But it was a fight, for which his medical studies didn’t prepare him, the fight between his will to continue and his body for release. This time the body won!

With a deep sigh and a whispered “I love you!” he released all he had in Kamal, his semen, his emotions and his love. Kamal received it with an elongated “Neeeemmmmm!” muttered under his breath.

David fell down on the boy under him, skin to skin. The kissing continued as if both were trying to achieve a second time of lovemaking. But with the first desires quenched they just lay and kept stroking, caressing and kissing.

Only after a while David rolled off Kamal, who immediately snuggled up against him and then whispered with a soft giggle:

“Now I’m really your eazizaa”.

“Yes, you are”, David confirmed, still more or less breathless, “And, did you like it?”

“No”, Kamal said with a glamorous smile, “I loved it! I loved every second of it!”

“So did I, my dear”, David softly said, pushing another kiss on one of the brown eyes, that kept staring in his.

“Kamal…”, David carefully asked, “What does “Nem” mean?”

The boy looked at him with surprise in his eyes, as if he didn’t understand the background of the question.

“I mean”, David explained, “That is what you muttered almost continuously while we were making love”.

Kamal blushed, which made him look very cute and stammered:

“Did I? I wasn’t aware I had been doing that”.

“Doesn’t matter” David smiled, “But what does it mean?”

Kamal laughed somewhat uncertain and ashamed and uttered:

“It means “yes!”

David just embraced him and pulled the boy’s head on his chest. Then he said:

“Oh my dear, I hope we can do this more often”.

“Why not?” Kamal asked, “We love each other, so…we can do it as often as we want!”

“Hmm”, David thought out loud, “I know I’m gay, but the rest of the world doesn’t. Let us call it, that I’m still in the closet and that the closet door is still locked with twelve padlocks. It takes courage to unlock them all and open that door, but it is a courage I haven’t found yet. So, I guess I need time to get out of it. I hope, no…I pray you are willing to give me that time!”

Kamal lifted his head off David’s chest, looked him straight in the eyes and with a self-assured, naughty twinkle in his eyes he said:

“Eleven padlocks, eazizaa. You just unlocked the twelfth. Now…let’s plan we get one padlock per month off that door. How does that sound to you?”

David rolled his eyes in mock despair and murmured:

“That is a murderous tempo. I don’t mean only the lovemaking, but the whole getting out”.

Kamal shrugged and replied:
“Then we’ll do a lock per three months. I don’t care. You know, we’ll manage to get them all off as long as we stick together. I’m not going to chase you on the tempo”.

He looked at the ceiling for a short moment and then continued:

“I already noticed it. It was the way you kissed…it was so restrained. Well, until this afternoon, that is”.

He laughed and added:

“I knew I had achieved a small victory this afternoon because of your passionate kissing. And I was elated with that small victory. Hihi, you know…it has become a big victory now. You surpassed expectations!”

“Expectations?” David asked puzzled, “Do you mean you planned this?”

With shining eyes Kamal nodded in confirmation.

“Yes…”, he said, “That is: I planned to get you here to get you over your restraint in kissing. What happened after that, was not planned, but an enormous bonus!”

He lay his head back on David’s chest, kissed one of the nipples and sighed in delight:

“And I would do it a second time right away!”

David was amazed: what kind of boy was this, that he had fallen in love with and that he simply adored by now?

“What are you, Kamal?” he asked in admiration, “Are you some prophet?”

Kamal just shook his head smiling and said:

“But…be careful to say that here in Palestine. That is something they might stone you for!”

Then he looked at his watch and sighed:

“Pity, we have to go back”.

They rose, dressed and went back to the car.

Once they drove back to the highway Kamal started to laugh without any reasonable explanation. David looked at him with questioning eyes. Between laughing salvos Kamal managed to say:

“I don’t know what you feel, but I feel a whole lot of critters running over my skin and it itches like hell!”

“Hmm…”, David confirmed, “I didn’t want to mention it, but I feel the same”.

“Oh man”, Kamal said, “What do we do about that?”

“Pretty easy”, David said, “We go to my place and take a long, hot shower. That’ll do, I guess”.

“Mmmmmm”, Kamal moaned, licking his lips, “Under the shower with you…what a great idea. There goes another padlock from your door!”

“So be it!” David said with a resigned smile, “The sooner, the better!”

The shower took a long time. It was not, that they needed all this time to get rid of the many small black creatures on their skins, but let us say, that the showering process was prolonged by several activities of a more skittish nature.

Now they sat side by side on the couch. Kamal had propped his knees up to his chest, his hands around the warm tea glass and his head was drawn on David’s upper arm, who had his over the boy’s shoulder, stroking the soft black hair with his fingers. Kamal just enjoyed it tremendously with closed eyes. It made his struggle to get down from that pink cloud, that floated over the arid Palestinian surface, pretty hard.

“My dear”, David said softly, “I hate to see you leave, but aren’t you forgetting the time? It is already dark outside”.

With an over the moon smile on his face Kamal said:

“No, I’m not forgetting it. If I forget something, I do it unconsciously. Now I’m just postponing my leave on purpose, because it is too beautiful being here with you. And to hell with the consequences!”

“Yeah…”, David said thoughtfully, “Without knowing the guy: this sounds like your uncle Abdullah!”

Kamal grinned, took the last sips of tea from his glass and said:

“Yeap, but even he knew when to be wise so every now and then. So, eazizaa, I guess I’m on my way now!”

They embraced and kissed their goodbyes, promising to be together again very, very soon. Then Kamal left.

He sauntered home through the by now almost empty streets, whistling and singing. He simply felt elated by all he had experienced this very day. The pink cloud, on which he floated, remained intact and he truly hoped to see David very soon again, Inshallah. So every now and then he just stood, staring at the full moon over the city and smiled in the knowledge that the two of them were united in heart by this moon, despite their physical separation.

With all this dreaming stops it took him a lot longer to walk the distance to get home. It was shortly after midnight, when he closed the door of his father’s small shop behind him and ascended the stairs to the actual living spaces.

He entered the living room, where his father sat, clearly waiting for him, a steaming glass of tea on the table and with an extremely angry look on his face. There was not the usual “salaam”, just one, sharply asked question in a low, threatening tone:

“Where have you been all day?”

“I’ve been to the Dead Sea with a friend of mine. And then we drank some tea”, Kamal answered as casually as possible.

“What can be interesting to the Dead Sea? It’s all dead water and desert!” his father snorted.

“I know”, Kamal said, “But he didn’t. He had never been there, so I showed him around”.

“What is this friend’s name, that he doesn’t know the Dead Sea?” his father asked.

Kamal was tired of the long day and in a way he was still on his cloud, although that started to evaporate pretty fast under his father’s prying questioning. So, he wasn’t wary enough. Without thinking he answered:

“David”.

There was a short ominous silence, but then his father cried out:

“A Jew?”, almost vomiting the word out.

“Yes!” Kamal said matter-of-factly.

His father took a deep breath, as if he wanted some pause to consider his next move. But then he said:

“Has anyone told you, that the Jews are our enemy? Just look around in the streets, boy! You don’t become friends with Jews!”

Kamal just shrugged and objected:

“Maybe more Palestinians should become friends with Jews and more Jews with Palestinians. It might help both of us out of this hopeless stalemate of about seventy years”.

“Don’t try to explain politics to me, boy!” his father roared. The last word was spoken with a kind of disgust, “You’re still my son and not adult yet, so…you’ll just do as I tell you as long as you live under my roof. Is that clear?”

Kamal said nothing, nor did he nod. He cleverly left his understanding a matter of conjecture.

“And I tell you”, his father continued, fully enraged now, “that you will stop seeing this boy!”

Somehow Kamal felt he was beyond taking it all. Yes, he was underage; yes, the man in the room was his father and yes: father’s words were law in his culture! But he was not prepared to sacrifice David for some culture and religion, that in his views had barely developed beyond a somewhat enlightened version of medieval morality. And he had no intention to split up with David because of some unsolvable conflict, that had started before he had been born, actually even before his father had been born. No, he was a boy of the 21st century and as such he was about to stand up and fight for what he deemed valuable to him. He looked his father straight in his angry eyes and simply said:

“No! I won’t do that!”

His father looked at him with open mouth and eyes, large with disbelief. He saw something happening that in his conservative mind set was impossible: a full-scale rebellion against his parental authority.

“And why won’t you do that, if I may ask?” he uttered sarcastically.

“Because I love him!” Kamal said, sounding more determined than he felt. Because in reality he felt scared! He was about to burst in tears, but knew he couldn’t. He had chosen to take the confrontation head on as a man and if he started to cry now, he would have lost. So, he fought back the tears. It was all for David. The thought of losing him was the most scary of all the other premonitions, that tumbled through his mind.

In a way he found it absurd what he was doing: he just gave his biggest secret away for free. It was even almost hilarious: it was not that Allah had let it slip from behind His curtain. It was so foolish, that he had stepped behind Allah’s curtain himself, had grabbed the secret and took it out to be exposed for all to be looked at.

“Boy…how dumb can you get?” he muttered soundlessly.

He ripped himself away from his thoughts and looked at his father, waiting for further verbal abuse. But he was shocked to see how the man looked: his face was pale as a corpse, his eyes were bulging in his sockets and he fought for breath with open mouth. It looked as if the man was suffering from a heart attack. But he gradually recovered and growled:

“Do you mean to say that you are a shadh, a homosexual?”

For a second Kamal considered what he should answer, but since most of it was already out, he simply answered without any sign of shame:

“Yes!”

His father looked at him bewildered, took a deep breath and then said:

“What wrong have I done, that Allah bestows this fate on me? I, who have tried to raise you according to the Koran? Oh yes…I know what I have done wrong! I have allowed you to spend too much time with that good-for-nothing uncle Abdullah during the summer holidays. I have always sensed, that that would spell trouble! And I was right. Because, what has it brought me?”

Kamal’s father rubbed his eyes with his hands and continued in a menacing tone:

“A son, that tramples on the Koran and who violates all the laws and rules the Prophet has given to us! A son, that is a disgrace to his family, his people and his religion! I should punish you, if I only knew how!”

“You can’t punish me for being gay, father”, Kamal said defiantly, “The Koran says, that no man can punish another man for what Allah gave to the man to be punished. I don’t know why I am gay. I didn’t ask for it. So, I must assume that Allah gave me this wonderful loving feeling. In other words…, you can’t punish me! Allah didn’t give you the right to punish me…unless you place yourself over him, of course!”

“Don’t you dare to lecture me on what is written in the Koran, you infidel whipster”, his father screamed in another flurry of anger.

“Why am I an infidel?” Kamal blew up indignantly, “Because I don’t follow your ancient rigid rules? Because I see Islam my own way and live like that? Does that make me an infidel?”

Totally consumed by rage his father kicked out his shoes, took them in the hands and threw them at his son, the worst insult that an Arab can make to any other living person. Then he cried out:

“Leave my house! Leave it and never return, before Allah chooses to plunge it and all under its roof into disgrace and disaster”.

The man simply turned around, showing his son his back. All, that had to be said, was said!

Kamal took a last look at his father’s slumped shoulders. There was nothing that could be done about it, so he took some shopping bags in the kitchen and went to his small room, where he stuffed as much clothes as possible in them and some small items, that were precious to him. He made sure he had his saving book and his only leather jacket. He glanced through his room for the very last time, the room, that he had lived in since he could remember and the room where he had dreamed his adolescent dreams, slowly discovering he was homosexual, since he always dreamed about boys. It costed him all strength he could muster to hold his tears back.

He ran down the stairs and was just about to start to descend the stairs to the shop at the ground floor when he saw his mother standing. She just stood there without saying a word. Being a good conservative Muslima and faithful wife, she wouldn’t argue or contradict her husband’s commandments. But the look in her eyes told Kamal more than words could possibly say. It broke his heart.

He gave her a dejected smile and ran down the last stairs. He opened the shop door and stepped on the street, hearing the shop bell ring for the last time. Only then the tears started rolling over his cheeks.

Kamal walked through the street, dragging the bags with him, and rounded the corner. He knew he had to find control over himself and over his sad feelings, so when he saw a dustbin standing at the curb, he just sat on it with his few remaining belongings at his feet.

He strained to get back his dignity: he had no idea, what these Western weaklings did, but good Arab boys are not supposed to cry. They bear their sorrow with pride!

“Yeah…”, he thought with a sad smile, “Good Arab boys aren’t supposed to love other boys as well, but I guess there are always exceptions to that rule!”

Somehow, he managed to restore control and allowed the centuries old cultural conditioning to force him to stop crying. It was only a partial success, because he felt the tears still lingering directly under the surface, but for the time being it was OK.

A stray dog walked at leisure through the silent, dark street and stopped in front of him. The animal curiously sniffed at his shoes.

“Hi boy”, Kamal softly said, “Did they kick you out on the street as well?”

The dog wagged his tail a couple of times and then walked on to the next dustbin to search for something edible.

Kamal watched him go and a thought came up, that he initially considered funny:

“So, here I am, degraded to another stray dog on the street in the middle of the night!”

But the funny aspect of the thought soon disappeared and it started to depress him so much, that the thin defenses of culture soon gave in to another free flow of tears.

“Why am I sitting here?” he muttered to himself, softly sobbing.

The only thing he could think of was, that he sat there in the vain hope that his father would realize he had made a terrible mistake and would come after him to take him back home again. Yes, he knew it was a naïve thought. He knew, that his father would never admit he had made a mistake, especially not to a shadh like his son. And the fact, that the man had used this word, caused Kamal to have doubts if he ever wanted to live with his father under one roof again. Because the word shadh means anomaly. His deepest feelings of love for David were unfeelingly and coldly reduced to a mere anomaly. With homosexuality being considered as such in Islam, the word was also used as the Arabic equivalent for the English words “fagot” or “queer”.

His father didn’t come after him and if he didn’t want to live there any longer, he had to find another place to live. First, he thought about going to uncle Abdullah. Problem was, that he had no idea where he could find the man in Jerusalem, assuming he was still living there. Abdullah was Abdullah, free and independent as always which might mean he just travelled on to another place without letting anyone know. At least it looked that way, Kamal hadn’t seen him in a long time.

But where could he go then? His other uncles and aunts would simply refuse him if his father told them, he was kicked out of the house, because it would be immediately clear to them that something was seriously wrong with him.

“Think, boy!” he cried out with a suppressed cry. The solution was so easy!

“David!”, he whispered.

He could go to David…if he would accept an extra mouth to feed. But that was something beyond Kamal’s control. That was strictly up to Allah.

He took the cellular from his pocket and pushed the pre-select button with David’s number.

A sleepy voice answered it with a yawned “Yeeahhhh”.

“Hi, eazizaa, it’s me!” he softly said.

“Kamal?” he heard David say, “What is happening? You sound so…depressed. You sound if you have been crying. What is going on?”

“Too much to tell you now!” he replied with a deep sigh, “Can I come to you? Please?”

”Yeah, sure!” was the brief reply.

“It will take some time to get there”, Kamal said, “I have a lot to take with me”.

“Where are you then?” David wanted to know.

Without really thinking Kamal gave him the street where he was.

“Stay there”, David almost ordered, “I’ll be coming right away to pick you up. Just stay there!”

“OK”, Kamal whispered with relief in his voice, “I’ll be waiting for you!”

A click and the connection was gone. Only now it dawned on Kamal, that David’s trip might be pretty dangerous: a car with an Israeli license number in the Palestinian neighborhoods in the middle of the night was asking for trouble. Kamal did the only thing he could do. He prayed:

“Please, Allah, protect David, even if he is no Muslim. Will you do that for me? Please?”

David laid down the cell phone on his night stand and forcefully shook his head to wake up. Normally he belonged to the group of people who need at least an hour before they realize they are still alive after they wake up. But he knew he couldn’t spend an hour now. Kamal seemed to be in big time trouble and needed help. So, he had to hurry! There would be no opportunity for a hot, strong black coffee this time.

He rose and started dressing, considering the risks he was taking. It might be somewhat dangerous to enter Palestinian residential areas in the dead of night. Some gang of thugs might find a lone Israeli a tempting target to beat the shit out of. But he would take his precautions for that eventuality.

While finishing a hurried dressing a more nagging concern popped up in his mind as well. It was a thought he really loathed, but it was there, whether he liked it or not. Suppose Kamal was just a bait in some ploy to capture some young Israeli officer to be used to put political pressure on the government. That all the love was just acting, all for the purposes of the Fatah or maybe even Hamas?

“God no!”, he moaned, “Don’t do that to me!”

He fought to push the thought out of his mind. Kamal was too sweet, too innocent and as a matter of fact too a-political to be a bait…was he?

David walked to the hall and looked in the large mirror. With a deep sigh he said:

“Come on, wanna-be psychiatrist, stop acting paranoid!”

Nevertheless, he opened the small drawer in a cabinet, took his service pistol out and loaded the magazine. He fervently hoped he wouldn’t need it: it would ruin all his dreams and besides, he had no intention to kill anybody. It was more some kind of life insurance. He put on his civvy jacket, put the pistol in his inner pocket and went out.

He drove fast, he drove too fast, but despite that he was carefully watching the mirrors for any sign of peril. There wasn’t! All streets were totally empty. There were no other cars, no people walking on the sidewalks. He relaxed somewhat and followed the instructions the navigation gave him on his cellular. Finally, he entered the street Kamal had mentioned. Tension tightened his throat, his heart thumped. It felt like the moment of truth for him: was Kamal really who he said he was or was it a trap? Instinctively his fingers checked the pistol.

Then he saw Kamal in his headlights: a lonely, desolate boy with bowed head and slumped shoulders sitting on a dustbin, some shopping bags at his feet. A careful scan of the area made clear, that there was nobody around. He stopped in front of the sitting figure and jumped out of his car. Kamal saw him, his eyes more or less in some kind of thankful smile.

“You came!” he cried out, only to fall in David’s arms.

“Of course I came”, David said quiet, embracing him tight shortly, “You sounded like you were in deep shit. So, I had to come!”

Kamal wanted to start to explain what had happened, but David stopped him:

“No, not now. Get in the car and we’ll talk when we’re safe at home. OK?”

Kamal just nodded. David grabbed the bags and threw them on the back seat. When Kamal sat, he jumped in the car as well and within less than a minute they were gone again.

“Pfffff”, David let out in relief, feeling the stress leaving his body.

“Sorry”, Kamal said softly, “I didn’t want to bother you”.

“You didn’t bother me, my dear”, David smiled, “That is what we are lovers for, ain’t we?”

They drove back, actually they drove back too fast again. David hoped that he wasn’t spotted by some police car. It would save him a speeding ticket. But while driving he felt incredibly guilty about the thought, that Kamal might have been a bait for a kidnapping complot. He was more or less disgusted with himself for even thinking of such betrayal, of considering Kamal capable of such a thing. But the thought had been there, whether he liked it or not. It was no use to pretend he had never considered it. With each of them pre-occupied with their own thoughts the whole drive was in complete silence.

Silence was broken very fast after they had arrived in David’s apartment. First, he put Kamal on the couch and excused himself for a minute. He went to the hall, where he secretively took the loaded magazine out of his pistol, laid both back in the drawer, locking it. But then he went back right away, sat next to Kamal and took the still sad boy in his arms.

“Tell me about it”, were the only words he said.

Kamal didn’t need much urging. With tears flowing freely he told all that had happened. It shocked David, but some part of him felt the old fear coming up what might happen to him when he told his father about his sexual preferences.

“So”, Kamal concluded his story, still sniffing and sobbing, “It looks I’m an orphan by choice. My parents don’t want me any longer!”

“Such a sad thing to say”, David whispered.

Kamal nodded and said toneless:

“Yes, it is. But it is true nevertheless”.

Kamal fell silent, clearing nodding off. David could appreciate that: he was tired himself after the long day at the Dead Sea and when he could go to bed, Kamal had to endure the worst thing that had happened to him in his life. After a few minutes the boy was sound asleep, his head on David’s shoulder.

David marveled at what he saw: the gentle, sweet face, the closed eyes with the short dark eyelashes, the short, black and soft hair, the regular breathing. But after a short while of admiration, he found it wiser to rise carefully. He took the sleeping boy in his arms and lifted him up, surprised at how light he was. It could at the most be fifty kilos. He carried Kamal to the bedroom, lay him on the bed and carefully undressed him. He decided to leave the undies on, although the temptation was there to pull them off as well. Clearly the boy was too exhausted for sex and David felt it inappropriate to expect that now, considering it as taking advantage. As last he draped the sheet over the still sleeping boy.

He undressed as well and lay down next to Kamal, ready to continue a disturbed night of sleep. A glance at his watch, which read 02.45, made it clear to him, that he could be happy with the fact, that he was still on leave the next day. Because it promised to be a very short night of sleep. Finally, he switched off the bed light and closed his eyes.

It didn’t take two minutes before he felt how Kamal pushed his body against his and a soft voice whispered:

“David?”

“Hey”, he said equally soft, “I thought you were asleep”.

“I was, but I woke up when I felt the warmth of your body”.

“Sorry”, David said, “I really didn’t want to wake you up”.

“Doesn’t matter”, came the soft reply.

For a second time there was silence, making David think that Kamal had fallen asleep again. But after another minute he heard:

“David?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” he said.

“I need you!” came the imploring words.

“Now?” David asked in surprise, “Sweetheart, you’re exhausted. I can’t do that to you right now”.

“You can! And you must!” Kamal almost begged, “I need it! I need to feel that at least you still love me. So, please, love me in any way you can think of! Please, I need you right now!”

In a way Kamal became what he really was. He was no longer the keen observer, the witty and razorblade-sharp commentator and the smart guy. He was now a small, lonely and fragile kid, craving for validation for what he really was, a sensitive, sweet boy who happened to love other boys and who was desperately searching for warmth and love.

David was in doubt: he would love to honor the plea, but somehow he felt it almost inhuman to make love to his extremely tired bed mate. It looked as if Kamal had anticipated this doubt, because David felt how soft fingertips tickled over his chest and abdomen like the wings of a butterfly, in such a gentle, sweet but also enticing and seducing way, that his dick started to rise.

He took Kamal in his arms and gently pushed him on his back on the bed. His lips searched Kamal’s earlobe, kissing it, and then slid down over the cheek, the throat, the breast and the abdomen, lavishly leaving behind kisses and small licks.

It was inevitable, that his lips ended where he wanted them to end: at Kamal’s aroused medium size cock, that stuck up invitingly. At first David avoided its tip, slipping his lips over the shaft and sucking softly on the hard, full balls. But then his lips went up again and as soon as his tongue tip touched the circumcised jerk he noticed the first signs of Kamal’s physical love, when he licked up the droplets of precum, savoring them. Again, he heard Kamal’s urging:

“Nem!”

He gladly accepted the invitation. His lips slid around the tip and he more or less gulped down the whole lance, pushing his nose in the thick, black pubic hair, and started to suck it. Boys of Kamal’s age don’t need hours to reach their culmination so within minutes the boy started to moan and groan and started to empty his balls shortly thereafter with a deep sigh of delight. Delight was David’s reward as well: he relished the pulsing, vibrating feeling between his lips and smacked when the hot, white gold entered his mouth. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.

But Kamal made it very clear he was not satisfied. He rolled on his left side and pushed his bum against David’s groin. David felt his crown jewels react almost violently when the warm, soft skin touched them and was filled with a sudden urge to penetrate the boy deep and tender. This seemed to be Kamal’s objective as well because he rolled on his back and lifted his left leg in the air, thereby removing all obstructions to his tight sanctum, offering his lover unlimited and free access.

David grabbed the opportunity and entered his lover carefully. But carefulness was short-lived once he was in. His senses ordered him to take what was offered and he did it with a vengeance. It did not mean all tenderness was gone, kissing was plentiful. But to make it even abundant David rolled to the side of Kamal without leaving him, where he started to lick the boy’s nipples and throat. The word, he knew so well by now, was uttered repeatedly:

“Nem! Nem!”

The urge to cum increased by the second. Suddenly David kissed Kamal, laid his lips beside the boy’s ear and whispered the words his heart prompted to his lips:

“I want to give you my baby!”

“What kind of bullshit is this?” David’s scientific mind screamed in silence.

But he ignored his mind, he just followed the passionate screams of his heart.

Kamal felt the loving torch entering him. No, he felt no pain, he only felt the radiating of warm love inside him. While David started his wild thrusting, he heard the whispered words:

“I want to give you my baby!”

“Nem, and we will call him Shalom!” he replied in a state of rapture.

Kamal heard a short grunt of pleasure. It was not clear to him, if this was caused by the activity in which David was fully absorbed by now or by the satisfaction about the name of their child, which would never be born since it was impossible. But at least, the two of them could always strive for it, since it was the emotion that mattered, not the reality.

David ejaculated deep in Kamal with a growling sound, filling Kamal with a beautiful enjoyment when the hot juices propelled in him and spread themselves. He started wanking his own dick and pretty soon squirted the remaining juices over his abdomen, where David immediately licked them away.

After a last tender tongue kiss there was only one thing left to do: it was an almost eternal look, deep in each other’s eyes, a look abundant with love, that only expressed, that both were simply feeling fulfilled by and happy with each other!

They woke up, when the muezzin started his calls for the morning prayer from the minaret of the Al Aqsa mosque. The singing fluttered in through the open window and was joined by the bells of the Saint James Cathedral, announcing the beginning of another Christian day.

During the past night they had expressed their feelings in a funny mixture of Hebrew and Arabic. And they had exchanged their deepest longings in the language, that each human being seems to understand instinctively, a language that had no need for words.  But it had been a very short night of sleep indeed.

“Oh no”, David grumbled, “Can’t you do that a little later…just for today?”

He heard Kamal grin and looked to where the boy was, only to see that Kamal’s face was inches from his. His soft lips touched David’s in their first good morning kiss ever and he whispered:

“Salaam, eazizaa, iinaa ahbk”.

David stared at him with sleepy eyes.

“Hm”, Kamal muttered with a mock pout, “Already forgot it, did you?”

“No…I remember”, David said, “I’m not awake yet, that’s all”.

He kissed Kamal and to prove he remembered he said softly:

“I love you too”.

Kamal lay his head on David’s chest, caressing the curly hair on it.

“Shit…”, David moaned, stroking Kamal’s black hair at the same time, “That was a short night! How about if we just turn over and add some hours of sleep?”

“Great idea!” Kamal concurred with a beaming smile.

Slowly they slumbered away again, laying in each other’s arms and David stroking Kamal’s hair as long as he was conscious of. Then both left Jerusalem to its own devices. No…, they left the whole world to chance. With their breathing synchronized, they were perfectly happy in their own tiny cosmos in that bedroom.

February 2019

In the months since Kamal was thrown out by his father not that much had changed. They just lived together in David’s apartment. One could look at it from the negative point of view, that Kamal simply had no other place to go. But the whole equation was, that both felt happy with each other and with living together.

The only real changes were, that David had finished his term of national service and was now working in a hospital in Jerusalem and that Kamal had decided to go back to school. It was largely by David’s urging, who felt that his young lover was too smart to stay an unemployed carpenter and that everything else than studying was a waste of these intellectual capacities. Initially Kamal had reluctantly opposed the idea, but when he finally agreed, he had done it with a large smile when he said:

“Grab for the stars, isn’t it?”

However, once Kamal started going back to school again, he absorbed all that was taught to him like a greedy sponge, always asking for more new subjects to study.

David had his own share of thinking to do and had to make decisions. There was no doubt in his mind, that he still wanted to specialize as a psychiatrist. But he had his questions if he wanted to do that in Israel.

It was not because Israeli universities were worse than others. The real issue was, he didn’t like it any longer to live in this country. In a way he felt guilty about it, for him it was almost a case of betrayal.

He was born in this country and as a kid he had loved the always abundantly shining sun and the beaches at Tel Aviv. During his adolescence he liked the Tel Aviv beaches even more. He loved to observe the beautiful, well-built and tanned young mans walking around in their skimpy swimming shorts. But now, at an adult age, his perceptions and opinions started to change.

Now he saw the country as it really was or, in any case, the way it had become: the deeply rooted mistrust, the clear-cut hate, the intolerance: Israelis being suspicious of anything Palestinian, Palestinians who hated the guts of everything that seemed Jewish, irreconcilability between competing and even feuding political factions, the sheer polarization in the Israeli society, the spirals of destructiveness and not to forget the always present fear of imminent violence by riots, terrorist attacks, rocket attacks and not in the last place an all-out war. Somehow the country lost more and more of the attractions it had for him as a youth. So, he started to think about doing his specialization at a foreign university in some nice, quiet and peaceful country.

But the days were gone that he could decide all by his own. He had Kamal’s feelings to consider as well and, afraid as he was to lose his boyfriend because he might prefer to stay here, he feared to bring up the subject, instead mulling over it in silence for weeks, postponing the inevitable moment that he had to discuss it with his lover.

The time of postponing was over at an unplanned moment and in an unexpected way. It was at a February day, when David got home after a long and arduous day at the hospital. He had worked two shifts at the Emergency, treating casualties of the umpteenth riot.

He found Kamal sitting on the couch, knees propped up against his chest and gloom all over his face.

“Hi, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked carefully.

Kamal looked at him, snorted and answered:

“Didn’t you hear it on the news, this riot in Sheikh Jarrah?”

“No”, David said, stroking his hand over his face in a tired gesture, “I didn’t hear it on the news, but I certainly know about it. Being the nearest hospital, we were flooded with wounded from it”.

“I guess Israeli wounded only?” Kamal asked sarcastically.

“No, wounded”, David replied, too exhausted to grasp the meaning of Kamal’s words, “We’re a Red Cross hospital, so we treat everybody”.

Kamal nodded and fired his next angry question:

“I guess most were Palestinian then?”

David nodded, considered it briefly and then thought loud:

“I never understood why most wounded are Palestinian?”

Kamal looked at him in horror, jumped from the couch and cried out:

“Are you that naïve? Or is it something you don’t want to see in the first place?”

Genuinely shocked David looked at him. He had never experienced such an outburst from the always gentle Kamal.

“Then I’ll enlighten you on how this is caused”, Kamal continued in his angry way of speaking, “Yes, we throw stones and shoes. Some of your cops will get hurt by the stones but not by the shoes. But then they open fire with bullets, rubber and real. And they do it indiscriminately. And I can tell you, no matter which kind of bullet you are hit by, you won’t get away unharmed!”

“Are you implying that our police use excessive violence?” David asked in disbelief.

A cynical smile came on Kamal’s face when he said:

“That is what I’m implying, yes. And not only to adult men, they do it to women and kids as well. And I will tell you something else: they do it on orders from someone in your government! They wouldn’t do it out of their own initiative”.

David shook his head, not willing to accept it. In a weak attempt to defend his country he uttered:

“Then maybe you will be so kind to explain to me as well, why you are always rioting?”

“Oh, come on, David, where have you been?” Kamal sighed, “Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not attacking you, I’m not even attacking every Israeli or Jewish, where ever they live in the world. And I’m not attacking the Jewish religion. I really have no quarrel with each Jewish in the world. I’m only attacking your government, the government of the State of Israel”.

The gloom in his eyes was replaced by determination when he continued:

“You have been occupying us since 1967. And over the years you behave more and more as occupiers. You have taken all the rights and leave us rightless in our own country. You kick Palestinians off their own land because apparently the ground is needed for your settlements. You forcefully throw Palestinians out of their houses because someone deems these houses are needed for Israelis. So, yes…we get angry. We will not sit on our hands, doing nothing and just wait for what the next step will be. We do what we can do: we demonstrate, we riot, we throw stones. Oh yes, there are idiots among us who would love to start shooting as well if they had guns. Which we haven’t, Mashallah. Because then it wouldn’t be a riot any longer but a full war in the streets”.

He paused for a moment, took a deep breath and went on:

“And your government plays the game very shrewd. First, they change the law to their advantage with the support of their right wing and Orthodox henchmen. Then they start applying this law on us, leaving us without any rights. The homeless and landless are forced to go by necessity in some enclaves on the West Bank or in Gazah Strip where they become one of the many lingering rightless Palestinian refugees. And when the fanatics of Hamas start firing some rockets on Israel, your government retaliates. Yes, I know: these rocket attacks cause wounded, even dead and I don’t approve of them. But, although I consider myself a kind and peaceful person, even I get mad when your government unleashes your air force to bomb the people of Gazah to Kingdom Come, causing many more victims than there were from the rocket attacks in the first place”.

Kamal’s eyes turned into a coldness, that David had never seen before in the boy’s eyes, when he asked:

“Don’t you recognize the pattern, David?”

David looked at him with questioning eyes. He had no idea what Kamal meant with the question.

“Have you only closed your eyes for it or can’t you really recognize it?” Kamal softly said.

“Sweetheart, I can’t understand what you are talking about”, David said, feeling somewhat hopeless, “What pattern?”

Kamal turned his back on him and stared out of the window. David heard another deep sigh and then, with a choked voice, the boy explained:

“When the Nazis came to power in 1933, they first changed the law to their own purposes and then they applied this wicked, lawless law ruthlessly against Jewish people. They kicked them out of their houses, expropriated them without compensation, stole everything the poor sods possessed and pushed them in over-crowded ghettos. And in the end…they sent them all to their deaths”.

With a sigh, filled with anger and despair, Kamal ended with:

“I really can’t help it, but when I look back to the recent history, I can only conclude that Netanyahu has learned the tricks of the trade very well from the Nazi’s!!”

David didn’t recognize it for what it was, an unthoughtful, emotional expression of frustration and impotence and he exploded in a sudden surge of anger, crying out:

“Shut up, damned! Goddamn, shut up, Kamal!”

He calmed down somewhat and continued in an accusing tone with a voice still hoarse with anger:

“Don’t you know how much we have suffered in these days? Six million of us were killed! Did nobody ever tell you that?”

Kamal turned around, looked at him with sad eyes and replied:

“Sorry, I guess that was a bit… over the top! Yes, they have told me. It shocked me to the bone when they did so. And I don’t ignore it and I certainly don’t disavow it. I’m not one of those neo-Nazis, who choose to behave as if Auschwitz and Treblinka were never there. And I know the suffering of your people didn’t end in 1945, but continued by the machinations of these treacherous British, when you wanted to establish your own state, your own safe haven. But, eazizaa, it is not only about numbers, how terrible they might be! My people lost “only” about fifteen thousand dead. As a young man, when my grandfather died, I tried to imagine what dying meant, how it would feel to see all dreams, all hopes, all expectations and not to forget all love fade away in oblivion. But it was simply incomprehensible to me, I couldn’t grasp it. So, if I even can’t comprehend the death of one person, how will I ever be able to imagine the fifteen thousand-fold, not to mention the six million-fold of it?

Each of these fifteen thousand was somebody, who loved and cared for others, such as each of your six million had been. And besides: the Jewish suffering took fifteen years. The suffering of my people has taken about seventy years and is still continuing. Our ghettos are not in Warsaw or Krakow, but on the West Bank, the Gazah Strip and in the refugee camps in Jordan. But again, it is not about the numbers of killed or the number of years. It is about the anguish of each individual of these numbers. That bothers me!”

He sighed deeply, looked with somewhat forlorn eyes out of the window and continued:

“But…there was no need to push us out of our Palestine and reduce us to refugees and pariahs! We could have lived together! Have you ever considered how much differences there actually are between Jews and Palestinians?”

“That is quite simple”, David said, “We are Jewish and you are Muslim!”

“Makes no difference”, Kamal answered, slightly triumphal, “Our religions are almost the same, apart from some small differences. We both believe in one God, but you call him Yahweh and we call him Allah. We both have a fair number of prophets, one of ours, Isa Ibn Maryam, who you see as a false prophet, actually having made a career as the source for Christianity as Jesus Christ. We both have the same food regulations and never touch pork meat, although you call it “kosher” and we call it “halal”, but we do it for the same reasons. We both are circumcised for the same reasons. The most common greeting with us is “Salaam”, with you “Shalom”. And both religions hate the guts of us homosexuals. Because…religion is a condensed form of the culture, where it grows. And the cultural background for both the Jewish and the Islam is the Near East. So…where’s the problem to live together in peace in this country?”

David shrugged; he had no idea! But he admired the deep insight, his young lover had, more and more.

“I’ll tell you!” Kamal said, “It is not about the people, neither yours or mine. It has nothing to do with religion. It’s politics! Both our politicians take the small differences, blow them up to very important, principal proportions, put a religious sauce over them and use them then to mobilize the people against each other. The only reason they do that, is to satisfy their greed and their quest for power. It is all about fertile agricultural land, about fancy urban development projects like expensive hotels and even more expensive apartment buildings. And we, the people, we buy their stories, so we young Palestinian hotheads let inspire ourselves to throw stones at Israeli troops, who respond by firing rubber- and real bullets. Our politicians make us notorious rioters and your politicians transform each kind and friendly young man, like yourself, into killers. And you’ve seen where that can lead to!”.

He chuckled as if he thought of something and said with a wry smile:

“Suppose we all stayed home, just watching television, both Palestinians and Israeli’s. And that we put Netanyahu and Abbas in a boxing ring to fight it out. You know what would happen?”

David shook his head.

“Nothing would happen. There wouldn’t be any fight. Because both would shit their pants at the thought of it and would excuse themselves for reasons of urgent government business!” Kamal said.

Despite the seriousness of the discussion David broke in loud laughter. He mentally pictured how Netanyahu would be standing in the ring, his big belly over his shorts and diarrhea streaming from his legs, while Abbas ran in panic in search for the nearest toilet. But the laughter died down pretty fast when Kamal said with sad eyes:

“You know, David…we’re both young. But I can’t help wondering if we will live to see the end of this struggle. Or that we will only witness the mourning of more dead in our time to come!”

He reached for his glass of cold tea on the table, took a sip and continued:

“And the absurd thing of it all is: the Prophet has told us, that Islam is a religion of peace, tolerance and hospitality. And now look what it has become? A bunch of lunatics and fanatics with doubtful agendas has taken a complete religion hostage, making each real believer a terror suspect”.

“Well”, David said, “it seems to me, that it is going the same way with us more or less. Our country is incredibly divided and polarized. We got it all: extreme-right wing nationalists to peace movement. And let me tell you, there is no love lost between them”.

Kamal nodded and thoughtfully said:

“Although it has become a nightmare for us, I can understand that your people saw the establishment of the State of Israel as the fulfillment of a dream. Honest, I really can, after all your people had been gone through! But mind you: this dream has long gone by now. Now it is just another Near East state with a corrupt government and its share of insolvable problems of hate and intolerance among yourselves. And I fear, that this hate and intolerance will become the death knell for Israel”.

“That is a sobering thought”, David murmured.

Kamal nodded again and said:

“I’m tired of trying to understand the incomprehensible. I’m fed up with trying to find the meaning in the meaningless. I can only cry about the violence and the counter-violence, that evokes only more vehement violence. I don’t think I want to live any longer in this part of the world. How about starting to consider seriously about going some place else, just the two of us? A place where we only have to listen to our hearts and can establish and live in our own personal peace?”

He wiped some tears out of his eyes when he said these last words.

David smiled shyly, took Kamal in his arms and whispered:

“That thought had already crossed my mind. But I wanted to wait until you came up with the idea!”

The die was cast. Kamal looked at him with sparkling eyes and the implicit decision was sealed with a fiery kiss.

David had one last thing to settle, that is: apart from finding a foreign university that would accept him to specialize. But that was something practical. This “last thing” was to talk with his father.

Oh yes, he could simply send the old man a mail, saying that he left abroad to study, leaving open to conjecture if he had gone alone or with someone else and if so, with whom. But in a way he felt obliged to talk to the man and to make a clean sweep. No matter how he looked at it, he had a lot to be grateful for what his father had done for him. Of course, he had made mistakes in raising him, but who can truly say that he had the ideal father? He knew it would be a tough talk, so he brooded on it for weeks before he decided to make an appointment with his always busy father.

In these weeks he discussed his problem with Kamal. But this didn’t make it any easier for him, because Kamal asked bluntly:

“Would you sacrifice me for your father?”

“What kind of silly question is that?” David reacted somewhat irritated.

“It is the ultimate question”, Kamal answered, “The question where it all comes down to! Now, would you, eazizaa?”

David thought it over. No, that was not true…he simply didn’t know what to answer so he searched for some non-committal way of avoiding a firm decision. But Kamal didn’t give up and just looked him in the eyes continuously, his dark eyes demanding a reply. David could only reach the conclusion, that talking it over with Kamal hadn’t been one of his brightest ideas. And he knew he had to make up his mind or risk his relationship, that meant so incredibly much to him.

“It is the kind of dilemma I don’t want to think about”, he said without too much persuasion, “It must be possible to keep the both of you! Only problem is: I don’t know how”.

Kamal did what he always did when he sought David’s intimate close proximity: he sat down beside him, pressed his body against him and laid his head on David’s shoulder. Then he whispered with dreamy eyes:

“I gave up my family for you, eazizaa. I’m not sure if it was a conscious decision. Part of me was afraid of losing them. But some other part, deep in me, made me disobey my father’s order to stop seeing you and I was very certain that it would cause this final rift. And now…after all these months, I’m glad I did it. Because I feel happy with you. You opened the horizons which I could only dream of before I met you”.

He giggled a bit when he said:

“No, I’m not trying to put pressure on you, although I’m aware it very much looks that way. But it frightens me that you actually might break up with me as a favor to your father. It would break my heart”.

“I haven’t said I would do that, did I?” David asked.

Kamal shook his head and said:

“No, you didn’t. But even the vague threat of it makes me uncertain and frightened”.

It shocked David and he started to think it over. The last thing he wanted to do was to frighten Kamal.

“I’m a big boy now”, he reasoned, “I have the right on my own life. And my own life is a life with Kamal, from here to eternity and back again as far as I am concerned. So…why the fuzz? If father doesn’t like it than it is not my problem. I only have to take the consequences”.

He stroked over Kamal’s hair and whispered:

“Don’t fear, my love. I think I can stand up against him!”

Kamal looked him in the eyes with a warm smile and murmured under his breath:

“Then it is OK with me!”

He finished off his final remark on the matter with a soft kiss.

March 2019

On the agreed day David drove the short hop from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv. Israel was only a small country and normally the about seventy kilometers could have been driven in under an hour. But due to the many checkpoints it took him a lot longer to reach his destination.

Anyway, he had time to spare, as he had planned. He felt it might be the last possibility to walk along the sea shore, the place where he had been so happy as a kid and as an adolescent, although the happiness was caused by totally different incentives in each of these two phases of his life.

Now he strolled over an almost empty beach, sniffing in and enjoying the salt air, that was blown in from the west by a strong wind. But while walking through the soft sand he realized it was his second idea, that was not too bright. Because it only seemed to prolong the time of anxiety for the meeting with his father. His nervousness grew with every step and each second. The walk, that he had intended to be for fun, became more and more a walk of anguish, so after about fifteen minutes he decided to stop, go to his father’s place and face the music, no matter which tune would be played.

After he rang the door bell of his father’s mansion in one of the upper-class neighborhoods of Tel Aviv the door was opened by Ahmed, his father’s always present caretaker.

Ah yes, Ahmed… David knew him from toddler on. Ahmed was simply always there, be it in the house or in the garden. But David had never noticed that Ahmed was as Arabic as Kamal, Ahmed was simply Ahmed. As a kid David had no knowledge of the word “discrimination” and once he had learned it at secondary school it escaped his notice that such an ugly thing could be something real in his country. For him the world was as it was, having no second thoughts.

But now, after all these years and after meeting Kamal, having heard about the real situation, he finally noticed the peculiar phenomenon, that all rich real estate owners in his old neighborhood were Jewish and that all their household staff were Arab, his father being no exception to this rule.

“Ah, young mister David, what a pleasure to see you again!” the man greeted him with a warm smile, “It has been such a long time since I saw you”.

“I know, Ahmed”, David answered, “That is what happens when small boys grow up”.

He studied the man for a short moment. Yes, he had grown older but somehow Ahmed simply stayed as familiar and trusty as he had always been, no matter at what age.

“How are you, Ahmed?” David inquired.

“Very well, mister David. Older I guess”, the man smiled, “But still alive and kicking”.

It only took a few minutes before he sat in his father’s working room. After the first cordial greeting and some idle chit chat his father said:

“Well, it’s nice you found your way back to Tel Aviv, my son. So, what is it you wanted to discuss?”

David started his prepared story. First of all, he told his old man he wanted to specialize in psychiatry. It didn’t surprise the man, the topic had been discussed before. The surprise on his face came when David told him, that he wanted to do his specialization at a university abroad. The question, that followed, was to be expected:

“Why do you want to do that?”

David considered it for a brief moment, not what he wanted to say but how he would say it, and decided on:

“I don’t want to live any longer in this land, where there is so much division, polarization, violence and hate: hate with our neighbors and hate among ourselves. I don’t know if we will be coming back. We’ll decide that when my study is finished and it depends on the situation in this country”.

David was very well aware, that he used the word “we”, but he was not certain if he had done it on purpose or by accident. Anyway, how explosive the situation would develop now solely depended if his father had picked up this little “we”.

And he did, because with an amused smile on his face he asked:

“We? Oh, and may I ask who the lovely lady is?”

“Shit!” a flashing thought went through David’s head. There was no turning back, he just had to spit it out.

He saw how his father took the tea glass from his desk and how he took a large sip. Then he said:

“There is no lovely lady. But there is a lovely boy!”

His father looked at him in shock. He started to cough violently, tea spraying all over his desk from his mouth. David just sat, being as inconspicuous as was possible.

Once his father had recovered, he looked at his son with penetrating eyes and only hissed:

“Say that again!”

David swallowed a couple of times, took a deep breath and repeated it:

“There is a lovely boy!”

His father rose and started pacing up and down the room with frowned forehead, clearly thinking, so David kept silent. After a few minutes the old man stood still, looked him right in the eyes and said:

“So, you are having a relationship with a boy?”

“I’m afraid I can’t change that”, David replied, “I love him just as much as he loves me, whether you like it or not!”

“Is this crunch on a boy not just a whim? I mean, did you have feelings for boys earlier?”

“Yes, I did”, David answered truthfully, “I guess I was born with it. But as long as I can remember, so let us say from my thirteenth or fourteenth, I loved looking at boys when I was on the beach”.

“You never mentioned something like that!” his father said sternly.

David shook his head. What else could he possibly do?

“Because?” his father wanted to know.

“Because I was afraid!” David sighed.

“I understand!” his father said, “I’m just wondering how I should deal with it. Should I follow the old laws and reject you? Should I sacrifice my last remaining son like Abram was prepared to sacrifice his son Yishak because God wanted him to do so?”

David recognized the remark for what it was: a cleverly disguised way to get out of the quandary without losing face.

“That is up to you”, he said calm, “But if you read that story well, you will know that God sent an angel to stop Abram from killing Yishak at the very last moment. If my memory serves me well on that story, the angel wept while he executed his task and one of his tear drops fell on Abram’s eyes, making him blind”.

His father grinned somewhat tense and said:

“Meaning, I can’t sacrifice you. If I did, I would place myself equal to or even higher than God, which would make me an even bigger sinner than you are. I guess I will have to stick to the more liberal Jewish ways”.

The man rose his hand and added:

“But it does not mean I’m happy with it. I guess it is my Ukrainian roots. You know how people think about your kind of men in Eastern Europe”.

David knew about that, so he only nodded.

“Besides…”, his father said with a sad smile, “I just lost my last chance on having a grandson”.

“Sorry about that!”, David said, “But…I guess life goes as it goes. And my life took this turn”.

“Yes”, his father sighed, “I am very well aware it is your life. Let me put it this way: if the two of you are certain, that your love is strong enough to overcome all difficulties, then go for it! Don’t let an old man stand in the way. I guess, that in time, I’ll accept it and get used to the idea, although without too much enthusiasm. But if you are happy with him, so be it”.

“As far as the difficulties are concerned”, David quietly said, “Kamal always says: it’s only a matter of hearts”.

“What is his name?” his father asked shocked.

“His name is Kamal”, David said casually, not aware that this might pose a problem.

“Does not sound very Jewish”, his father stated sharply.

“No”, David said, “He’s Palestinian”.

David’s father turned to the window and stared out of it, rubbing his eyes with his hands. David just sat there, not knowing what was going on or what to say. After some minutes David’s father said with a mournful voice:

“Do I have to remind you who killed your brother Shlomo?”

David didn’t need any reminder about that black evening seven years ago. He knew full well, that his older brother had been killed by a Palestinian bullet in the Lebanon. But he saw no connection with his having a relationship with Kamal, so he said:

“I can’t understand what Shlomo’s death has to do with Kamal”.

His father looked angry at him and replied:

“A lot, I guess. Your boyfriend is one of those who killed my first-born son and your brother”.

“Oh come on, father”, David objected, “How can you hold Kamal responsible for Shlomo’s death? When Shlomo was killed, Kamal was a ten years old kid and he was far away from the Lebanon, living in Jerusalem. You can’t hold every Palestinian responsible for the pain, that one of them has caused you!”

“He is one of the people who killed my son!” his father pressed on, “Never trust an Arab!”

“Oh,” David said, “How about Ahmed?”

Somehow his father’s face made clear, that he knew he had said something wrong, so now it was David’s turn to tighten the thumbscrews and somewhat in triumph he said:

“Ahmed is Arab. And he has been in this house since I was a little kid and you trusted him enough to keep an eye on me”.

“He is an exception to the rule: Ahmed is completely trustworthy”, his father tried to find a way out.

David felt anger coming up and with a cold voice he said:

“Are you implying that…no, let me rephrase that: who gave you the right to say, that Kamal is not trustworthy?”

His father said nothing, so David continued:

“If you hold Kamal responsible for Shlomo’s death, then maybe you will be so kind to explain to me why you keep selling fruits to Germany”.

“What has that got to do with it?” his father asked angry.

“A lot”, David answered, “If you hold every young Palestinian, that lives now, responsible for all that has happened in the past, you should hold the present generation of Germans also responsible for the crimes their grandfathers and great-grandfathers have committed against our people, since they also are the same people, as you call it. But then suddenly you seem to forget history, you just supply them with fresh fruits and you shake hands with them, as if nothing has happened. So don’t come with the crap, that Kamal is in some way partly responsible for Shlomo’s death. I won’t buy it!”

“Maybe it is a good thing to know, that selling fruits to Germany paid for your study”, his father cried out in rage.

David’s eyes became even colder when he sarcastically said:

“Ah yes, so you made me your involuntary accomplice. And now you are blackmailing me to play your game of revenge with you by making me split up with Kamal, only to sooth your pain and for some dumb prejudice about each and every Arab”.

He thought for a second and then added:

“Did you know, that the Nazis spread the same preconception about the Jews?”

He knew the final schism between him and his father was imminent and dangerously close, but he was not willing to surrender to blackmail, especially if it would cost him Kamal. Maybe he would negotiate over any other price, but not this one!

But his father only reacted with a short grunt, causing a smile on David’s face: he knew he had won this battle! His father was not the type of guy who would say “Sorry” or “You are right”, no…he always admitted his defeat by this one short, grumpy grunt.

Apparently, his father seemed to consider the subject closed, because he changed it with:

“Where are the two of you going to?”

“We don’t know yet”, David replied, “I’ve applied for specialization postings in Norway, Sweden and the Netherlands. So, it depends on who wants me”.

The elderly man nodded and said:

“OK. Will you join me for lunch?”

David looked at his watch, being somewhat in doubt.

“That is”, his father said with his typical lopsided smile, “if you two lovers can bear it to be separated for so long”.

David felt himself blush and quickly answered:

“I guess we can. He knows it might become a long talk”.

“Then give him a call”, his father said while he walked to the door, “I’ll even withdraw myself for a few minutes. I assume you still know where the dining room is”.

With his father out of the room David pressed the pre-select button and he immediately heard Kamal’s cheerful voice, as if the boy had been waiting for the call:

“Hi, eazizaa, still alive?”

David laughed. It was the only thing he could do because of the funny way Kamal asked it but also out of relief.

“Yeap”, he answered, “Actually, it was easier than I expected. He asked me to stay for lunch, so I’ll be later than I thought”.

“Doesn’t matter”, came the reply, “I’ll throw something in the microwave for myself. See you later and kiss”.

“You bet you’ll see me later”, he said softly, hearing the disconnect click.

For a moment he thought over the talk with his father. It was the talk he had feared for years, actually giving him nightmares at some times. But it had resulted in a talk, that proved the old saying for another time: “one often suffers most from the suffering he fears”. And he had stand his ground for his lover and hadn’t sacrificed him on the altar of a son’s loyalty to his father.

With a sigh of heartfelt relaxation he walked out towards the dining room.

October 2019

After all the paperwork for visa was settled, David and Kamal walked out of the Amsterdam Airport arrivals hall, pulling their suitcases with them. Neither of them was shocked by the amount of traffic or people; both were city boys, so they were used to that.

Since they had no idea, where they had to go, they strolled towards the line of waiting taxis. A big, somewhat thickset Dutchman with wild blonde hair laughed at them and asked jovially:

“Zo jongens, waar moeten jullie heen?”

“Sorry sir”, David muttered, “We don’t understand Dutch…at least not yet!”

“Ah, English”, the man smiled, “Well, boys, where do you want to go to?”

David gave him the note with the address of their new apartment David’s father had organized through his business channels. The man nodded and said:

“Then give me your luggage and hop in, boys!”

They sat down on the back bench of the taxi, while the driver stowed their luggage in the trunk. After a few minutes they experienced their first kilometers of Dutch territory.

While rolling on the motorway between the airport and the city of Amsterdam, Kamal lay his head on David’s shoulder and stared out to the passing landscapes with dreamy eyes. Neither of them said a word, only absorbing the sights. After about ten minutes Kamal said:

“It is so different as where we come from. It is all so astonishingly green. In the past ten minutes I’ve seen every shade and tint of green passing by. Great to know we will live here. And even greater to know that we will live here together, in peace”.

David just hummed, too impressed by the landscape passing by.

Kamal softly and tenderly stroked with a finger over David’s cheek. Then he kissed it with glistening eyes and whispered:

“I told you before, eazizaa, it’s only a matter of hearts!”

David looked to the taxi’s roof as if he was thinking and then asked:

“Kamal, did you read as well, that we can marry here in the Netherlands?”

Kamal looked at him with beaming eyes and with a beautiful smile replied with another question:

“Eazizaa, are you proposing to me?”

David blushed and with a shy smile he stammered:

“Well…in..in…in a way: you could call it that way”.

He pushed a tender kiss on the boy’s lips and added:

“You just said it yourself: it’s only a matter of hearts!”

Coincidentally the taxi driver glanced in the rearview mirror and saw it happen.

“Well, well,” the man mused with a discrete, silent grin, “Isn’t that cute: two gay boys and deeply in love with each other. Oh well, I had funnier things in my taxi!”

And that was it: no questions asked, no mocking or aggressive homophobe remarks. That was really it.

Welcome in the Netherlands! Welcome in Amsterdam!

A number of years ago, I was in my mid 30’s and traveled very frequently for work. Returning home to Newark airport after a work trip to a northern England, I was greeted by my limo driver, Jose, nearby baggage claim. Jose was HOT in his uniform. Maybe a fraction shorter than my 6”, he filled his uniform very nicely. Dark brown wavy hair, goatee, he exuded masculinity, and I was staring, as I couldn’t keep my eyes off this stud of a man. I did notice he wore a gold wedding band, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t look.

Once we retrieved my luggage and made our way to his vehicle, he invited me to sit up front with him. The ride would be almost an hour. As we drove away from the airport, he started some small talk with me about my trip and the weather. Then he began telling me about his wife being 9-months pregnant, and he wasn’t getting any at home. And as he said this, he turned his head to look at me and my reaction.

I said, well, I’m so pleased for you about becoming a father, that must be very exciting. And I’m sorry you’re not getting any action at home. And I took the risk and blurted out, “if there’s something I can do to help, please tell me”. Never thinking he’d take this offer seriously, his next sentence surprised me, “well, there is a rest area coming up in a couple of minutes. Do you mind if we stop?”, as he groped his cock through his pants. It was dark, so I couldn’t really see what he was packing, but I wasn’t going to say no.

We exited at the rest area and found a dark area to park where there were no other cars, and just one very dim light.  As he put the car in park and turned off the ignition he turned to me and said, “you were practically undressing me with your eyes at the airport, weren’t you faggot”? His voice changed from sweet and calm to forceful and commanding. I was stunned by his directness, but he wasn’t incorrect. I admitted, “yes, I was. You’re hot”.

He said, “let’s get out the car”. He opened his car door, got out and began to remove his jacket, tie, shirt, and t-shirt and threw them onto the back seat. Then he walked over to the  hood. I watched him disrobe from the passenger side of the vehicle. His torso was breathtaking. This man definitely worked out, and his chest hair was thick and curly up top and narrowed down the treasure trail and fanned out at the navel. I could spot dark patches of hair under his arm. I was licking my lips and drooling. Fucking hot!

Then he said, “get over here faggot”, and I walked over to him. I couldn’t stop staring at him. “Like what you see faggot?” I nodded. And then I just went for it and dove in with my face planted right in the middle of his pecs rubbing into his thick chest hair, and then I began to work his nipples over with my tongue and mouth. He held my head down as I suckled on his nips. I could smell the musk of his pits in the air, so I went in and began to lick his sweaty pits and inhaled deeply to savor the taste and the smell. I was delirious from the natural man smell.

He reached down and began to undo his belt buckle and unzip his pants. While cleaning his pits and sucking on his bicep, I reached my hand into his pants to find his cock. It was hairy down there, but in my hand was a fat uncut cock of about 7.5”, it was so far I couldn’t fit my entire hand around it. It was already leaking precum. 

I knew I wanted to suck this dick. I asked him how long it had been since he shot his nut and he told me 11 days! Holy crap, that would be a lot of spunk brewing up inside those hairy balls, and I wanted every drop of it! He pushed my shoulders down so now my knees were on the concrete of the parking lot. I opened wide, and I began sucking on his fat, Latino, uncut cockmeat. “Mmmmmm” I mumbled. It smelled so musky and it was so hot inside my mouth. I worked his cock using only my mouth and tongue as when I tried to use my hands he shoved them away. He said, “only your mouth faggot”. I keep my hands behind my back and leaned forward. He took the back of my head in his hand and pushed me down so now his hairy balls were hitting my chin, and his pubes were in my nose. He began a slow, steady thrusting of his thick cock down my throat. Because he was gentle, it was easy to adjust and take him all the way down my throat, and back, without gagging. 

His precum was flowing and constant. It tasted sweet. While working my magic with my mouth and throat, he asked “you wanna take my dick up your ass faggot”? I did, but I hadn’t planned to be fucked that night, and didn’t have time to prepare and clean out. He said he didn’t care, he just really needed to nut and wanted a warm hole to fill. So I got up from the concrete and began to undo my pants and pulled them down, then I pulled down my white Jockey low-rise briefs. “Let me see that ass”, he said. So I spun around and he cupped my cheeks in his hands and said, “nice firm ass. Bend over the hood for me faggot”.

Once bent over the hood, he pried my ass apart with his hands and began to spit into my crack. My chest was flush against the hood, my hands spread eagle, my feet planted firmly on the group, feet spread apart. His cock was very thick. I knew it would hurt going in. I had been experienced enough at this point to know taking a few deep breaths and exhaling deeply does relax one’s anus. He lined up his cock and pushed inside. We both let out an “oh fuck”, but probably for different reasons. He said, “oh fuck, faggot, this feels so good. You’re so tight”. While I was thinking to myself, “oh fuck, he ripped me in two, and my asshole is on fire”! He sank all the way in and held it there for a few minutes as the pain of the initial penetration subsided.

With his hands pushing my back down, he began to thrust his hips. He was a deep stroker, he seemed to prefer a slow withdrawal back to the tip, and then as fast jut back inside. He did this for several minutes, and it felt wonderful. I could feel my hole stretch wider with every push back inside, and it became much easier to take him. He grunted as I moaned. And just before I thought he was about to shoot, he pulled out. When I spun around, he was pulling down his balls, and said, “I’m not ready to shoot yet”.

He had me pull my pants completely off and lie flat on the hood of the car my ass at the edge of the hood, holding my legs up to expose my ass, and he plunged inside. The view of watching this beautiful Latin hunk fuck me is forever ingrained in my brain. We weren’t really in a position for me to rest my legs on his shoulders so my hands could explore his back and his chest, but it was my privilege to open my hole to him. I begged, “please fuck me. Fuck me”, and continued to beg and moan as he watched my face enjoy what his cock was doing to me.

Finally, he took one last deep plunge and his 11-day load gushed out from his balls and into my belly. He was panting uncontrollably, and he collapsed on my chest. I hugged him and then I was able to feel the muscles in his back and shoulders. A strong man that throws a strong fuck. His cock still somewhat hard inside me, he began to slowly move his hips. His head resting on my upper chest, I began to ruby hand through is hair. And I lightly moaned as he continued to churn his load inside me.

Instead of deflating, I felt his cock engorging. The speed of his gyrating hips increased. It sounded so wet down there, I could only imagine how much seed he deposited inside me. Jose lifted his head up and began to bite down on my exposed nipple causing me to yelp, but when his tongue flicked the tip of my nip that was held between his teeth, my cock jumped to attention. Jose was glued to me, his chest hair and skin sticking to my chest hair and skin. I wanted to stroke my cock, but couldn’t reach. It was growing harder between our bodies, and it rubbed between us as he thrusted.

He was so horny and pent up, it was maybe 5 minutes after his first load that he pumped his second load deep inside me. Then leaving his half-hard cock inside me, he rose up and I began to jerk my own cock off. He thrusted and I pumped until my own hot seed was flying outside of my cock spraying everywhere, on his chest, on mine, on the hood of the car. I can shoot like a fire hose when I haven’t cum for a few days and I’ve got something shoved up my ass! I was hyperventilating!

Jose scooped up some of my cum from my chest and fed to to me, and then I reached my head forward to lick my cum off his chest. Then, he finally pulled out. A puddle of cum leaked out of my chute. His cock glistened from his two loads of cum. He said, “clean off my cock, faggot”, so I took my place at his cock and began to lick, hungrily, getting every drop. When I stood up, he pushed my face into the puddle of cum on the hood and rubbed it in. My forehead, nose, cheeks and chin were soaked. He removed his hand and said, “clean it up faggot so we can get out of here”.

He stood with his arms crossed and watched me lick the hood of the car. My face was a cummy mess. I loved it!  He reached into the car and threw his white wifebeater at me and said “you can use it clean yourself up and keep it as a souvenir”. Then he put his white dress shirt back on, but left it unbuttoned and zipped up his pants and buckled them, and we both got in the car to drive to my house.

Interestingly, I sat in the back of the car on the way back. He walked around the car to open the back passenger door. And I got inside. Now I did feel a little awkward at this point, a little humiliated, but I didn’t care. At that time, I was embracing my faggot status, so it didn’t bother me that much. I liked watching him from the back seat, in the rear view mirror I could make out his exposed chest, still heaving. He didn’t say much of anything for the remaining ride home.

When we pulled up to my house he said, “I’ll pop the trunk for you fucking faggot”. I got out and removed my luggage on my own, and he sped off. Probably feeling bad about himself that he used a faggot to get off, twice, and maybe a little guilty. It’s amazing the decisions straight men make when they haven’t cum in awhile. Lucky for me, I’m the willing faggot that will take advantage of that situation!

Needless to say, once home, I dropped my bags at the door and ran up to my bedroom with his wifebeater in my hand. I laid down in bed and held it to my nose. It smelled like him, and like cum, and it was still a little wet and sticky, so I began to lick it. Stroking my cock like a fiend, when I was close to shooting, I shot right into it, adding my own load to the mix. I would not be washing that…ever!

I forget when and where this happened. It was long ago and “the only one.”

I was cruising a men’s room on a muggy summer day. It might have been in a local department store. One guy was sitting in the next to the last stall. The stalls had doors, but I could see his pants were down to his ankles, white briefs bunched together, showing a pair of slender, muscular legs dark with hair. He wore sandals. Italian, I thought.

I entered the last stall, bolted the door, and lowered my khakis and boxers. I was looking forward to some quick action. But as soon as my bare bottom settled on the rim, I cut a loud and unexpected fart, a blast my neighbor easily heard. Then, again to my surprise, my bowels began moving and I let a soft snakelike grunt plop into the toilet. I was embarrassed as hell, my ears burning and anus twitching.

The Italian would never guess I was gay now. I wiped my bare bottom and waited, shifted my foot, stared at his feet. Silence, stillness. Then, gradually, he strained and gasped and then three heavy bombs splashed from his bum into the bowl. He was “doing grunties” too! Wow. I hoped he’d do a “gassie,” but his crack was completely quiet. He emitted a big sigh and spun the roll of toilet paper, gave himself a very inadequate wiping. More silence.

Side-by-side, we sat–bare, with our unflushed grunts floating. Then, slowly, his belt buckle began scraping the file floor; he squirmed on the seat; he moaned; the shadows told a lot. He was jacking off.  

I tapped my foot. In a flash, he knelt under the partition, exposing his thick, hard “hog.” I followed, boner wagging. We pushed our bodies together so that my tightening balls rested on his solid, hairy thigh. He jacked my hog and my hole opened and I wanted him to finger my rectum, deep–the way I wanted to finger his–but we’d just done grunties and both our bummies were rank, dirty.

I shot a hot ropy load onto the cold bathroom floor and coaxed a puddle just as big out of him. “Thanks,” I panted. I think he fled before I ever saw his face. It was the only spontaneous buddy dump/JO I ever had.

Now I have a name for this. I call it “gruntiebumlove.”

END

Chip is a handsome black man that lives in our neighborhood. I never really thought twice about him, not in a sexual way. He’s not my type. Being dark skinned and Italian, blond guys with blue eyes are my preference. I met my partner, a blonde and we were a handsome, perfect match. Besides all his charm, intelligence and wit, he has a really nice cock and im happy to suck it as often as I can. I love cum and he really has the best tasting cum I’ve had, sweet and creamy. Trust me, I’m an expert, for sure. 

Calvin and I are so compatible, I suck, occasionally get fucked and everything is right in the world. One day at a party, and a little more than drunk, Chip came over and we talked. I watched as he payed more attention to Calvin. I could tell sexual energy was building. Black guys love Calvin. Although Cal was happy getting sucked off, I have watched him gag on a few big cocks when we occasionally have a threesome. I find it hot and exciting watching my more dominant partner be submissive but not with a black guy, yet. As I watched Chip talk softer and more sensually to Calvin, I couldn’t help but notice the huge bulge in Chip’s pants and a cock resting on his legs just inches from his knee! Wow. That turned me on. I really wanted to have sex with this black man but the thought of my top guy, Calvin being dominated by him turned me on even more.

I asked them if they wanted to smoke a joint. They agreed and followed me to a downstairs bathroom that was rarely used. As I shut the door and before I could spark up the joint, Chip grabbed Calvin and kissed him deeply. Calvin turned to me, almost for permission. My answer was an action. I pushed him to the floor. Once down, Calvin greedily pulled at Chips pants and revealed a huge black uncut cock with a roadmap of strong vanes. It was the biggest darkest most beautiful cock I ever saw. As Calvin tried to suck him, I watched and attempted to touch Chip and join in. Chip was into Calvin though. I was happy to watch even if Calvin wasn’t the best cocksucker.

Calvin not being a pro at this, pulled me down to help. I got down and rewarded Chip by taking every inch so deep he was shocked. He said no one has ever been able to do this to him. That just motivated me to be the first and the best. As I worked my throat on his meat, I was overcome by the hot musky aroma of his crotch and balls. This was different and that aroma drove me wild. I liked it. He then pulled Calvin up and sensually made out as I sucked both of their cocks, giving Chip most of my attention. I was happy to watch but now in this position, I was in my glory doing what I loved to do. Soon, Chip grabbed Calvin, bent him over the toilet and tried to fuck him. I knelt back to watch in real excitement of the idea of seeing that monster cock in him. Calvin protested but Chip didn’t care. He tried and tried but Calvin just wasn’t into it. He finally turned to me and said “Chip, fuck him. He loves cock up his ass.” As chip contemplated the offer of my ass, he closed the deal by saying he’d kiss him until he cums all over my ass and back, maybe my face. I grew so hard at the thought!

Calvin sat on the toilet as Chip roughly bent me over and pushed that big black cock all the way into my ass. As I struggled to accommodate his size, I could hear the kissing, wet, deep and noisy. That’s all I needed as Chip just used my ass to get off. He didn’t give a shit about me and as the fuck got more and more rough, almost brutal, I was more and more turned on. The detachment was thrilling. Filled and pounded, no need to please or do anything but provide a tight wet hole. We were both getting what we needed. Suddenly with little warning for me or what I wanted, I heard him moan and start slapping my ass as he came deep inside me. I felt the sting and growing wetness overflowing and splashing on the floor. Calvin tried to push him away, out of me but I was locked and so turned on, I was shootIng globs of cum  all over Calvin and the floor. Nothing else mattered at that moment. We shot our loads selfishly for our own pleasure. When it stopped, Calvin refused to kiss Chip and Chip pulled his pants up and left angry with no small talk or good byes.

Calvin turned me around to examine my used up asshole. I was a little embarrassed at my animal reaction. He said I was dripping cum and my hole remained stretched open, I looked so used but ready for more, his. He said he wanted to cum inside me right now. My dripping ass turned him on. He said “parties over. Let’s go home so I can fill you up, if I can feel anything.” We laughed. 

That night, he fucked me twice. He pulled my pants down and bent me over the sofa as roughly as Chip. I felt his tongue probe my hole and lick up my sloppy mess. He moaned as he said how hot my hole smelled and tasted like Chips big black cock. Then he tried to fist me. As he got four fingers in and pushed, I said “enough. Your cock is more than I want.” So he gave it to me with such force I fell over. As he fucked me hard he described how hot it was to watch me take such a big cock. He said my hole felt stretched and sloppy so he had to fuck me extra hard to feel anything. He said it was so hot when I moan and whimper and give myself so easily and submissively like a hungry whore. I could feel my load build until we both exploded and fell to the floor. Once again Calvin lapped at my ass  but now we kissed. He wanted me to taste and smell our bodies and juices. That taste and aroma, musk, lead to another session. By now, I was in pain but it was worth it. 

Over the next few months Chip tried to approach Calvin. Calvin wasn’t into it. I was happy on one hand and disappointed on the other. Chip didn’t want me but I would have let him use me again one more time, anytime. This night has brought us more pleasure as we talk about it during sex or I fantasize alone when I jerk off. My ass went back to normal but Cal says that it has never been so stretched out in the entire time we were together…. So far!

There were pricks everywhere not just in the bed next to mine. I used Saturday afternoon to get ahead with my homework. My roommate worked at his desk. When I got back to the room this morning, he was dressed and at his desk.

“Hey,” I said. “You doing OK today?”

“Sure,” he said as though nothing had happened the day before.

“You need to talk about anything? You’re OK with yesterday.”

He turned and looked at me. “What are talking about? I’m fine.”

I nodded and sat down at my desk and began working. At lunchtime, I changed into regular shorts and went down to eat. I didn’t ask him to join me. He was gone when I came back. I focused on my work, but occasionally, I did have the urge to ask him if his father would really kill him if I told on him. Had it just been a story to get me to screw him? Could he have been that manipulative? Or was he just another cold-hearted piece of shit?

Dinnertime arrived, and I changed my shirt. I stood looking at myself in the mirror. Part of me wanted to eat at a different dining hall to see if I could pick up another cute piece of ass, but another part of me realized how empty today had been. Tonight would be just as empty. Unless…

I grabbed a couple of condoms and some packets of lube and stuffed them in my pocket. I put my phone in the other pocket and I headed across campus. As I walked to what was called ‘The Old Mess Hall,’ I noticed for the first time how unattractive the campus was. Every building was in a different style with different colors of stones or bricks. I didn’t come here for the architecture, I reminded myself. I came here for the men. Two more weeks until midterms, and you still haven’t found love.

I heard a motorcycle go by with some grey-bearded man riding it. I’m not here for love, I told myself. I’m looking for a good time, like the one I had this morning. I caught myself smiling; he was all over me, wasn’t he? I wanted more of that. I hurried along to the cafeteria.

I was surprised by the oldest dining hall. It was rather stately with stained glass windows and nice clean tables. I got some turkey, mashed potatoes, Brussel sprouts, and iced tea. I also grabbed some pie. I picked a table where I could see people as they sat and ate. I had finished my dessert without spotting anyone who noticed me, and I wondered whether I should search for someone with my phone app.

A worker came by and took my dishes and silverware. I stretched and looked at the intricate designs in the ceiling. The metal panels reflected the lights from the chandeliers, and the shadows formed by the raised areas resulted in a mix of light, medium, and dark shadows. Some of the shadows seemed to dance a two-step. I was intrigued to the point that I didn’t notice the tall graduate student walk up until he began to sit across from me.

“Joseph?”

I looked at him. “I’m Mark.”

“No,” he raised an eyebrow. “I’m Joseph.”

I smiled. “OK.”

“Are you ready?”

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “For what?”

“Aren’t you the guy I was chatting with?” he asked.

“No.” I shook my head, and I saw his cheeks get red. H glanced around. “Are you OK?” I asked.

“Yeah.” The way he said it, I knew he wasn’t.

I chuckled. “What’d you do? Try to hire someone to rub your feet, help you with your homework?” I smiled at him.

I saw his Adam’s apple move up and down.

“Was it a hook-up?” I whispered.

His whole face went flush.

And I got the checkered flag. Except that Joseph stood up and walked out of the room. I didn’t want to chase after him; the guy was petrified.

I pulled out my phone and opened the gay hook-up app. I know it wasn’t called that, but that’s what it was. I looked at the map; there were at least twenty active guys within half a mile. One of them was less than a hundred feet. I clicked on him. “Is this J? This is Mark.”

I waited almost thirty seconds before a message came back. “Who is this?”

“Weren’t we just talking at the table in the dining hall?”

“How’d you find me?”

“You’re less than one hundred feet away. I think you’re attractive. I wish you hadn’t left.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’m interested in knowing what you’re looking for.”

“I need a top.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes. No kissing; just that.”

“OK. Whatever you want.”

“I’m outside the door,” said Joseph. “Can you come with me now?”

“On my way.” I rose immediately and stepped over to the doors. I saw him standing in the vestibule; he looked nervous. I walked up to him. “What’s the matter, Joseph? Are you worried that someone will find out?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s our secret.”

“I’m across the street,” he said. “Module A, Room 137.” He glanced around. “Wait a few minutes, then… you know.” He walked away.

I wondered what his story was. Could this be a setup? Was he planning to do me in? I didn’t want to, but I sent a text to Jackson. “Wondering if I’m about to die. If I disappear, I went to Module A, 137.” Then I turned my phone off. I was being silly. I knew he was just a horny guy who was worried that people would think differently about him if they knew he liked taking dick up the ass.

I took my time walking out and onto the sidewalk. I looked toward the housing Joseph lived in. At least, I assumed he lived there. I thought I saw him crossing the street. I did my best not to hurry, maybe he wanted to clean up before I got there. I paused and sat down at a bench next to the sidewalk. He was meeting someone in the dining hall. Wouldn’t he have already cleaned up his place? Maybe he was planning to go to the other guy’s place. What the hell am I thinking? I’ve got the guy cleaning his place before he does me in. What if he’s spreading plastic to catch the blood and reduce the splatter? Shit. Maybe I should go back to my room, tie Hawk up and fuck him until I have no more energy. No. I was being stupid. I stood up and walked to Joseph’s apartment.

A light rap at the door was answered quickly. “Sorry if I seem weird,” Joseph told me right away. “I’m just stressed and anxious. Fucking my girlfriend just makes me more stressed. She so demanding, and I thought I could get on all fours and jerk off while someone fucks me and fucks the stress away.”

“OK. Sounds good.” I did think it was strange, but when he mentioned getting fucked, my dick responded.

“I’ve got condoms.”

“I have my own.”

Joseph pulled his pants and underwear halfway down to his thighs and positioned himself on the couch with his knees at the end of the cushion and his hands on the back. “How big are you?”

I slid my pants down and pulled my dick out. “Just average,” I said as I slipped the condom on and slathered it with lube.

I saw Joseph begin to jerk his dick, and I stepped up behind him and began to push inside him. He made no sounds. I moved in and out until I was able to penetrate him completely. I placed my hands on his hips and began to fuck him in earnest. He still said nothing. At some point, he twitched and then released his dick.

He didn’t move at all after that. I continued to screw him, but I felt no excitement, and even the pressure of his ass gripping my dick was not that great. At that point, he said, “Are you almost done? I’ve already come. You can stop.”

I pulled my dick out and slid the condom off, forcing it inside out as I did. I zipped up my pants and took the used rubber with me as I walked out. I’d never felt lonelier, emptier, or lost. I almost stepped in front of a car as I made my way back to the dorm.

Why did I do that? I kept asking myself. I realized I was still holding the condom, and I threw it into the nearest trash can. I ran to the dorm and took the stairs to my room. The room was empty when I got there, and I was glad. I stripped my clothes and took a shower.

I let the water run over me. I didn’t like what was happening. The emptiness was grander than the loneliness. Fucking felt good while I was fucking. But there was such emptiness after. My tears mixed with the water and swirled down the drain. I imagined myself slipping down the drain as well, being knocked around in the pipe and landing in the sewer. Is that where I was now, or did I have time to save myself?

I stepped out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror. I didn’t like the person I saw. Instead of looking at men as possible life partners and the possibility of the happiness that we might have, I only saw them as someone to have sex with. Had I lost the person I used to be, the one who looked for love?

I was in bed just a little bit later. There was a tightness in the back of my head. I got up and grabbed my phone and then slid back under the covers. I turned it on.

My phone blew up with messages from Jackson. “Are you OK?” “You don’t sound OK.” “Where are you now?” “I’m worried.” “Are you OK?” “?” “??” “???” I heard a hard knocking at the door. I got up and grabbed fresh underwear.

“Who is it?”

There was a muffled sound. I opened the door, and Jackson pushed in. “Where the fuck have you been?” He closed the door behind him then turned around and punched me. “What the hell have you been doing?”

“I went with a guy to his apartment. It was a disaster.”

“You fucking told me that you might disappear. You fucking bastard. I was so scared.”

I looked at Jackson; he was trembling. His eyes were filled with tears.

“Jackson, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re just a selfish asshole. Where’s the Mark I fell in love with? Where did he go, you self-centered piece of shit?”

“Oh, Jackson. That guy couldn’t find love, so he started to think of sex as intimacy and he lost his way. He got buried inside me, but he’s screaming to get out. I want to get out. Help me.”

“I tried. I tried to let you know that I had started caring about you in a way that was deeper than friends. But you didn’t notice.”

“Tell me I didn’t fuck it up.” Now tears filled my eyes. “Tell me it’s not too late.”

Jackson stepped closer.

“Tell me what to do.” I paused for a second. “No, you don’t need to tell me. I know. You’ve become my best friend, and I care about you. You’re more dear to me than any other person. I’m an idiot for not seeing it.”

Jackson threw his arms around me. “Apology accepted.” He pulled me closer, and I felt the caring love I had always wanted.

After a beautiful and warm Sunday, evening twilight fell over the forest, making shadows between the many trees grow to enormous proportions. It was the kind of forest where gay men tend to go, when they feel, that the quantity of hormones in their blood surpasses the red blood cells and they only come here to find solace for this blissful imbalance. Of course, straight men tried their luck as well, but mostly left disappointed, since female companionship was hard to find between the trees. At best they might find a t-girl, mistakenly thinking they had found what they were looking for, only to find out that the body structure was somewhat else than expected in the intimate regions.

Michael was certainly not looking for any female attention. He was as gay as gay can get. And he was in the already described condition. If any physician would take a blood test of him and would evaluate the results afterwards, chances were big that the man might cry out:

“My friend, you are desperately in need of having sexual contact!”

Michael was halfway his thirties, but still in good shape. His belly was flat, his chest and shoulders muscled and he had the legs of a marathon runner, although his lungs would probably stop him after five hundred meters. He didn’t complain about that. First of all, he had done this to himself by smoking too much. And secondly: for distances of 42 kilometers they had invented cars and busses.

He had decided to follow the imaginary doctor’s advice and as a result he found himself within a clump of trees, observing the men passing him over the small trail. Most were ignored, not being his type or even far off his search pattern. Others were interesting, but then he himself was not deemed appealing enough to give a second glance. And since sex was at a minimum a two men game it didn’t bring the facilitation he was looking for.

Michael glanced at his watch. Time was passing, darkness was falling and it didn’t look as if something worthwhile was going to happen. He considered going home, watch a nice, juicy porn and help himself for the time being for another time.

“Oh, what does it matter?” he murmured, “I’ll just hang around for another fifteen minutes. Maybe something shows up”.

And something showed up. A young man walked at leisure over the trail. It was the kind of boy, that made every gay man turn his head immediately: slim, supple gait, shoulder-long dark hair and, as far as was visible in the fading light, with the face of an angel. Michael’s heart skipped a beat when the boy stood still in front of him, looked at him intensely and then just walked straight towards him, stopping at a safe distance, out of Michael’s reach.

“Hi”, the boy softly said with an alluring voice.

“Hi, gorgeous!” Michael replied, feeling his hormones almost burning through his skin.

The boy just kept staring at him for a short while and then said:

“You wanna play a little game?”

“You bet!” Michael chuckled, “With a boy like you I’d like to play a lot of games”.

“Not so fast”, the boy said with a hoarse voice, “First, I just want to play my little game to find out if you are the perfect guy to play your kind of games with me”.

Michael stared at him, not fully understanding what the boy meant. He was no newcomer to cruise spots, had experienced a lot of funny and even weird things, but this one? No, this one was new: something like this had never happened to him before.

“Bit confused, are we?” the boy asked with a beaming smile, his white teeth flickering in the by now almost complete darkness.

“Yes…I am”, Michael admitted.

“I just ask you a few questions to find out which role you want to play in the game and then we play it”, the boy quietly explained, “So, what kind of animal do you want to be?”

Michael thought it over, still not knowing what to expect and answered spontaneously:

“I want to be a tomcat”.

“And what is this tomcat doing?”

“At this moment, you mean?” Michael asked puzzled.

The boy nodded so Michael hastily added:

“For the moment this tomcat is on the prowl”.

“For what?”.

When the question came Michael thought he saw a slight flickering in the eyes.

“For mouses”, he answered with a smile.

“Yuk”, the boy said in mock disgust, “Only for mouses?”

“Well, could be for birds as well”, Michael smiled.

“Birds as in girls, in women?” the boy asked softly.

“No, male birds, they’re more juicy than females. Haven’t you ever noticed that in the bird world the males are more beautiful than the females?”

“Hmmmm”, the boy smiled, again showing his flickering teeth, “I like that answer!”

The boy looked into the tree canopies overhead of them as if he was thinking and then he softly said:

“And…how about butterflies?”

Michael still had no idea where this was leading to, but he started to enjoy this almost literal cat- and -mouse game, so he answered:

“A tomcat that is chasing butterflies is just frolicking, just playing around. There is not that much to eat on a butterfly”.

“But does this tomcat know how to catch butterflies with his hands?” the boy asked.

“Claws”, Michael said.

The boy looked at him with quizzing eyes, clearly taken aback for a short moment.

“Tomcats don’t have hands, but claws”, Michael explained smiling.

“Yeah…you’re right. Well, as long as you don’t use your nails, it is fine with me”.

The boy looked at him with some kind of stare Michael could not discern because of the rapidly increasing darkness and then he said:

“Does this tomcat know how to capture butterflies with his hands…eeeuhh, sorry: claws?”

Michael shook his head. In fact, he thought he knew, but he felt that the required answer would be more elaborate than just the normal procedure.

“I’ll explain it to you”, the boy said, “So, listen carefully. Most people, and tomcats, are too rough when they want to catch a butterfly with their hands. They just swap around and if they catch the little thing, they do it too forcefully, too uncontrolled and too wild. So, they will crush the soft wings and the little thing dies in between the flats of their hands. Then there is the group, that is careless. Yes, they capture the butterfly, but then they open their hands to look at the treasure they have caught. Only thing that will happen is, that the butterfly will flit away, maybe being caught by someone else. Now, wouldn’t that be a pity?”

The boy fell silent for a few seconds. Then he dropped his voice and in a seducing, hoarse tone he continued:

“Only the one, who does it into perfection, will experience the soft tickling of the fragile wings on his skin”.

Michael thought it over briefly. What did this mysterious boy mean? But the boy made it clear right away when he asked:

“So, do you think this tomcat can do it in the perfect way?”

“I can always try”, Michael said.

Again, he saw the flickering white teeth and he heard the boy whisper in a clear challenge:

“Then come and get this butterfly…if you can, that is!”

“Won’t take long”, Michael growled good-humored.

But was he wrong! He jumped at the boy and reached to where his shoulders should be, only to grab in thin air. In surprise he looked around, searching for the boy, who stood about two or three meters from him with a mocking smile, having jumped out of reach with the speed of lightning.

“You can’t”, Michael said flabbergasted, “You can’t just jump away to that distance in such short time!”

The boy just stood, grinning, clearly enjoying it.

“Try again”, he just said.

Michael concentrated, jumped and…had the same result with the boy again chuckling about three meters from where he had stand before.

“How come you are so fast?” Michael uttered astonished.

“Butterflies are always fast”, the boy said, laughing teasingly, “Come on, don’t give up. But one tip: you do it too wild. Slow down, concentrate!”

Another attempt followed, but again the boy flashed away, out of reach as if a beam of light just moved from one spot to another.

No matter what he tried, Michael couldn’t grab the boy. They more or less danced around in the dark forest for about an hour. Some men passed by, looking on in bewilderment, shaking their heads and wondering what had gone into the heads of these two. But Michael was beyond caring if it might look ridiculous what he was doing. He was bent on grabbing the boy or the butterfly or no matter what. He just wanted him and he wanted him badly. Only problem was: his lungs told him he came at about the end of his five hundred meters endurance limit, while the boy just stayed as fit as he had been in the beginning. He showed no sign of tiring what so ever.

Michael knew he had to find a solution, otherwise this evening might end in a most frustrating way. Here he was, the most gorgeous, desirable boy, he had ever seen, in front of him, almost within reach…but unfortunately only “almost”! How could he catch this butterfly?

It was not only the problem of catching it, but then of keeping it. Because Michael started to get the feeling, that his interest in this boy was meant for longer than the coming night.

“First things first, man” he muttered softly, “First catch the little bugger”.

The idea he needed popped up in his head. He tried hard to think back to the time when he was a kid, observing how the family cat was hunting for birds. No, that was only partly true. Their family cat hunted everything that moved, including butterflies.

He tried hard to imagine how the animal did it. Somehow, he saw the whole movie passing through his head, frame by frame: how the cat slid with infinite patience to his prey, how any forward progress could be hardly noticed, how no sound could be heard and how it was constantly fixated on its game. And then, at short distance from the quarry, that was kept unaware about its imminent fate, the final jump and the ultimate success.

“So, little butterfly, let’s try it that way!” he whispered.

He started his deliberate and slow stalking approach, almost like their old cat did, centimeter by centimeter. The boy just stood, his back turned towards him. Michael felt it almost took the best part of another hour, but finally he stood about fifteen centimeters from the boy, who hadn’t moved. And then…the final jump!

“Got you!” he cried out in triumph.

The boy laughed and said:

“Man, I really thought you would never get that idea!”

He turned around and pushed his body against Michael’s.

“Well,” Michael asked, “Did I pass my exams?”

The boy nodded and whispered:

“Yeap, and with honors!”

“Hey”, Michael wanted to know, “How did they call this beautiful butterfly?”

With a giggle the boy replied:

“They called him Vincent. But now you mention it: how did your master call this sweet tomcat?”

“My master called me Michael”, was the reply, “And now?”

“That’s up to you”, Vincent said in that same enticing hoarse voice, “Your place, I presume?”

“Vincent”, Michael asked, knowing he was pushing his luck, “What will the butterfly do tomorrow morning? Will it still flutter away?”

Somehow the boy had set his heart ablaze and he simply felt compelled to ask it.

“Depends on how sweet this cute tomcat is tonight”, was the straightforward reply, “If he is really considerate and tender for his butterfly, then this butterfly might become very faithful and stick to the same flower, since its nectar is always at its best”.

The boy called Vincent brought his face closer and gave Michael the first kiss. Then he giggled and said:

“Mmmmm, I believe this little tomcat has already started purring!”

Michael felt himself blushing and softly said:

“Come on, let’s go to my place”.

They walked back to the trail and once they arrived there Michael took Vincent’s hand. Hand in hand they sauntered to the parking lot. It was simply a precaution: Michael had to keep the boy’s hand, it was no use to let the butterfly flutter away again. Not after all his efforts to catch it in the first place.

With apologies to Joecable and his ‘Interview with a Cocksucker’

---

Thanks for agreeing to be interviewed.

Happy to help.

How does a faggot differ from an ordinary gay guy? After all, most gays take dick.

Sure they do. But for most homos, taking cock is just part of making love with another guy and they like to get sucked or pump ass as much as they like the flipside. For fags, it’s a bit different.

How is that?

Well, I think it’s like this. Most cocksuckers like getting a blow job, what man doesn’t, after all? But for someone like me, sucking a man’s cock till he cums–servicing him, in other words–without reciprocation is the ultimate in sexual satisfaction. A faggot doesn’t need to cum when he services, for in a very real sense the pleasure of the man he takes care of is his pleasure too. The more the top guy enjoys the encounter, the more his faggot enjoys giving it, the more fulfilled he feels in his role as fag, the more sexually satisfied he is. And sex is often not just about pleasure. It’s also about satisfaction.

So a faggot likes to be used sexually?

Exactly. And, curiously, the less sexual interest the guy using us has in us, the better. A man using a faggot is using him to get his rocks off and to have his manhood worshiped, plain and simple. That’s what the faggot is there for, on his knees for, to be used. So if the guy is straight or thinks homos are the lowest of the sexual low, that’s fine. That just makes it even more of a privilege to get him off and makes his dick that much more exciting to worship.

You see, let’s be honest, a true faggot needs another man’s dick more than he needs his own. That’s just a fact. So the more sexually potent the other man seems, the more masculine, the better, the more wonderful it is to suck his dick for him.

How long have you been taking dick?

Since I was fourteen. But I’d been thinking about dick and about taking it ever since I started jerking off when I was around twelve. I guess I already knew I was a fag, but hadn’t come to grips with it yet.

How’d you get started?

My best friend had found one of his older brother’s porno tapes and we were watching it on the VCR in the den of his house one afternoon when no one else was home. We’d been jerk-off buddies for awhile, so we both just pulled out our dicks and started stroking.

This was a straight porn tape?

Oh, yeah, his brother’s straight. So is he, for that matter. So anyway, we’re stroking and he’s watching the tape and I’m more or less watching him. He noticed that I was looking at his dick more than at the slut getting porked on the tape.

“You like my dick?” he asked.

I said, “yeah, you got a nice dick.” He did too, it’s about seven inches, cut, with a smooth upward curve. That’s still my favorite kind of meat to play with.

What’s your dick like?

Well, not to boast, but like a surprising number of fags, I’ve got pretty big meat myself, a little bigger than Luke’s, maybe half an inch longer, even a little fatter.

Luke’s your buddy?

Yeah. He started showing off his dick to me and he asked if I wanted to play with it. I immediately forgot about my own dick and reached over and started stroking his for him. It felt like magic in my hand. After a minute or so he just said, “go ahead if you want to, I won’t tell anyone.”

I don’t know how, but somehow he knew I wanted to suck it. I knew I could trust him–we’d been buddies since kindergarten–so I just leaned over and took it in my mouth.

What was your first reaction to having a dick in your mouth?

That I was in heaven. It was by far the most exciting moment in my young life. It was like his dick was electric, except in a wholly good way. I’ll never forget how it felt. I guess I wanted cock as long as I could remember but it had never really clicked in my head that I could actually have the source of my desires.

Did he cum in your mouth?

No, not that time. He told me he was about to cum and took it out of my mouth and stroked it a couple of times and then came in quarts. Boy, did he make a mess. I went to the bathroom and got a towel and wiped him up.

Did you get to cum?

Yeah, I jerked off and wiped myself up but he seemed grossed out by it. Then we put the tape back where he found it so his brother wouldn’t know we’d seen it.

What did he say afterwards?

Nothing. His mother came home about twenty minutes later and asked me to stay for dinner, but I had to go home.

What happened when you got home?

I jerked off about four times that night thinking about what had happened. But I also remembered how repulsed he seemed when I was jerking my cock. I was scared he’d not want to be friends with me any more since he’d proved that I was a fag. That was about the worst word you could call someone in our crowd, although most of the guys probably didn’t think about what it really meant.

Is that what happened?

No, not at all. We hooked up in school the next day and he acted like nothing had happened. Then when we were walking home that afternoon, he asked me if I had liked it the day before. I knew what “it” was, of course, and said yeah, I had, and he said he had too. Then he asked me if I wanted to suck him off again. I said yeah, I did, and that was that. I was his faggot all through high school and that was just fine with me. And with him.

He ever suck you?

God no. He asked how I felt about giving him blow jobs while he didn’t give me any and I told him that it was OK, I really enjoyed sucking him. And that was the truth. I just felt so alive when I had Luke’s dick, when he was sharing his manhood with me so I could get him off. But it was clear from the first moment that this was a one-sided thing.

He didn’t care that his best friend had turned out to be queer?

Nope, he didn’t, thank God. I wasn’t a sissy or anything, but a hundred percent regular guy-guy and popular with others at school. No one in a million years would have thought I was a fag by how I acted. I just liked taking his cock when he needed it, being the instrument of his sexual pleasure while I fed my hunger for sperm. Some might have said he was taking advantage of me but I always knew I was taking advantage of him. But, no, I’m still a regular kind of guy except for being totally queer for a dude’s baby batter. In fact, he got off on the idea of what a normal jock type I was and would bait me occasionally by asking how I’d feel if some random member of our school sports teams found out how much I needed cum.

Did he ever fuck you?

God, yes. He got that idea in about a week. I’d never done it before but it just seemed like a natural progression between us. I mean, I love sucking cock and swallowing a tangy load but what sort of self-respecting faggot doesn’t hunger to have a dude pump him hard and shoot his load deep inside?

We stayed best friends and he took me two-three times a week. He’d joke with me that he was the only guy in school who never had to jerk off, because he had his very own, personal, private fag.

He’d ask for it or he’d just give me that look that told me he was horny and I’d get on my knees and service him. Sometimes at school he’d whisper to me, “Guess what I want,” and I could hardly wait for school to get out. After he came he’d let me nurse on his dick while I JO’d, and then we’d go play tennis or whatever, just like two normal, teenage, male friends. I could usually beat his ass in tennis, too. I’m a better athlete than he is.

Could you ask to have sex with him if you were horny?

Oh, sure, and sometimes he would let me. But it wasn’t all that unusual for him to just say ‘no’ because he wasn’t horny that day, or that moment. That was when I first learned that being a faggot meant for a very unequal relationship. I took care of him when he needed it but otherwise I needed to wait or just jerking myself off if I couldn’t stand it until he was ready. Like I said, we were buddies but in bed I was there for his purposes and mine were my own private joy.

How soon before he came in your ass the first time?

The third or fourth time.

You like it?

I liked making him feel good, so it was heaven. But I’ve never liked a cock that much. I know a lot of faggots live for a big cock, but for me, it’s the sperm I crave. It’s being on my knees, ass up for a man, giving him pleasure while he gives me cum that I love. That’s why I hate condoms. Sure, often that is the safe approach but I crave having a buddy like Luke where we can dispense with the condom and I can accept his baby gravy entirely, with no barrier between him and me. Cock’s are nice but receiving a man’s spooge is the only respectable goal for a faggot.

So, you don’t like a cock?

A man’s cock is just the delivery device for his cum, and pleasuring his cock is just part of the job, so to speak. But it’s an important part. And any fag is going to be drawn like a magnet to any male part: chest, abs, a tight butt, a low hanging set of balls. But none is as important as shooting a load. There’s a reason we call it “breeding.” A guy using a fag has every right to expect his cum to be accepted, and with fucking gratitude. I just try to be able to taste his sperm when he pops. Or to have his cock all the way up my ass. Then, I’ll moan with delight, knowing his little swimmers are filling me with proof of his superiority, his ultimate manhood, his final mark of domination. Or when I’m sucking, it’s then I look up at him and thank him with my eyes. Guys usually love that. Most aren’t going to get that kind of unreserved appreciation, tribute really, from a girl.

Your buddy the only guy you sucked in high school?

Oh, no. There was one other straight friend I serviced, and there were two other guys in our class who turned out to be fags too and I fooled around with them a lot once we found out that we batted for the same team. But that wasn’t giving service–that was gay sex. None of us were out, of course.

A lot of guys fooled around together when they were horny, mostly mutual jack off, and the occasional sixty-nine. But being openly queer was way uncool and it was never, and I mean never, talked about. So it was great having a couple of friends I could be completely myself with, guys who knew I was a homo and who were homos themselves so they understood why I needed dick so much.

How’d you connect with the other straight guy?

We got kind of drunk one night at a party and I was staying at his house for the weekend. After we got home, we piled into bed together–he had a queen size bed in his room, so I always slept in it with him to save messing up a guest room–and pretty soon he was asleep and his dick was hanging out of his boxers so I started feeling him up. I figured I could always do the old boy-was-I-drunk-last-night-I-don’t-remember-a-thing routine if necessary.

He got hard as I felt him up so I started sucking it. I guess he woke up because I felt him put his hand on the back of my head to indicate it was alright and he was enjoying it. He was a talker: suck me off, called me a queer, moaned about how much he loved getting sucked. So I continued sucking till he popped and then he just rolled over and went back to sleep and I jerked off, fagging out, feeling up his hot body.

He call you a queer the next day?

No, it turned out I wasn’t the first guy he’d given access to his cock. He told me his older cousin had seduced him when he was thirteen and was still giving him head now and then. He was surprised to find out I liked sucking dick, but it was cool with him because his cousin had taught him to enjoy a good BJ. So it became a sort of regular thing. Not as often as with Luke, but at least a couple of times a month. I was happy, he was a jock and pretty beefy for a high school kid. And I know I just said I wasn’t all that into cocks themselves but his was a work of art: fat — tumescent — with a big head and maybe a full eight inches. But, he had a pretty hot and heavy girl friend at that time, so he was getting plenty in the pussy department, but she wouldn’t suck his dick.

Did Luke know you were servicing him too?

Not at first, but he found out a couple of months later.

Did you tell him?

No. I always made a point of keeping the various parts of my sex life completely separate. I never told Luke about my fooling around with the other queer guys, or even that those guys were queer. And I didn’t tell him about sucking off Kyle.

How’d he find out?

[Laughs] That’s a bit of a story. It was after school was out in our junior year and I had gone over to Luke’s house one morning to play tennis with him. His family had a court.

I guess his family was pretty well off.

Yeah, his father’s a big-deal lawyer in the city. But we were all spoiled-rotten-rich-kids, I guess. My dad’s a doctor, a cardiologist. Everyone in the neighborhood’s pretty well off. Anyway, I walked into the house without knocking, like we always did. I walked into Luke’s bedroom, and found Luke still asleep, the lazy prick. I woke him up and he started stretching his arms and legs. God, he was so gorgeous when he did that. He looked at me and said, “How about a nice wake-up blow job, cocksucker?”

He called you “cocksucker?”

When we were alone he would sometimes. More often, he called me faggot But it was always meant–and taken–as a term of endearment. I was his faggot as well as his best friend, and he was my feeder as well as my best friend, and that fact meant a lot to both of us.

So you just blew him right there?

He stripped off his boxers and swung his legs off the side of the bed and I got down on my knees between them and started servicing him. We were really getting into it when the door to his bedroom suddenly opened. We both just about shat peach pits. Our little secret thing was going to be all over school! we were going to be revealed as queers! our lives were ruined!

But thank God it was Kyle. He didn’t know I sucked off Luke, but he already knew I was a cocksucker and I knew he wouldn’t tell anyone because he was sharing his dick with me too. Luke was frantically reaching for his boxers, but I told him to calm down, it was alright.

Kyle helped by saying “Don’t stop, guys,” and taking his own dick out of his tennis shorts and starting to stroke it. So I just went back down on Luke, who’d lost his hard-on to put it mildly–so had I, of course, but I still had my shorts on. Pretty soon he was back in business and I took his load for him. After Luke popped, Kyle said, “OK, it’s my turn,” and Luke got off the bed and he took his place and I sucked him while Luke went and took a shower and brushed his teeth and stuff.

Did you suck them off together after that?

Not as a usual thing, but several times.

Who had the nicer dick?

They were both real nice. Luke’s even a little longer, but Kylehas a nice fat one and low hangers that I loved to lick. But then Luke could shoot way more cum, which is after all what I was hungry for.

How did things change after you went to college?

In some ways not at all, in other ways a lot. Luke went to a different college so I didn’t get to see him nearly as much as when we were in school together. But he still wanted to be serviced when we were home on vacation. The first day I was back for Christmas vacation our freshman year, he called and said to come on over. No one was there besides Luke and pretty soon he gave me that horny look of his and asked me, “are you still my faggot?”

I just said, “always, you know that.”

“Then come and get it,” he said, I stood up and walked over to where I was laying on his bed. I undid my belt, shook off my jeans, flipped my boxers off, and climbed onto his cock, after I took a nice red ribbon tied in a bow off him. “Merry Christmas, faggot,” he said, laughing as I plunged down on his cock with a single take. He fucked me three or four times that morning. Luke is just the coolest straight guy I know.

How soon before you got some dick in college?

[Laughs] About a week. I guess it was instinct, but I found the john in the library that had a glory hole. I had never sucked dick through a glory hole, or ever sucked stranger dick for that matter. But I knew instantly what it was for and I just sat there for a while. Pretty soon someone came in and took the next stall and sat down on the john. I could see through the hole that he was playing with his meat and he could see me looking at him. So he just stood up and stuck it through and I serviced him. When he popped, he just said, “thanks, faggot,” zipped up and left.

Didn’t you get upset by him calling you a faggot? It’s not like he was your friend, like Luke.

[Laughs] Hell, no. I am a faggot. And a damn good one at that. By the grace of God.

But isn’t that word demeaning?

For some gays. But a fag relishes words like that.

Why?

Because in a world filled with lies, deception, it tells the truth. I am a fucking faggot. Proud to be. A fag was created to lust after cocks and cum, to appreciate real men, in more carnal ways no woman ever could. Unlike most gays, a faggot lusts after straight men — breeders — precisely because they are straight, because they are the progenitors of the human race. Literally, “fuckers”. It’s their role in life to fuck holes, to penetrate, to hold bitches and fags down and to shoot their cum up into them. I know that sounds crude but where would the world be without them? A faggot submits to them because they are who they are and he is who he is. It’s the way of the world. Only then does a faggot fully accept his place. Only when he is on his knees taking cock, only when he is being fucked up his ass, is he whole.

You don’t feel shame?

Actually, yes, I feel quite a lot of shame. That is a core part of the thrill of it. Life as a faggot can be hard. I really do wish that I could be a straight stud like them – king of the hill – so to speak. Many times. But I am not. But if I let the shame of taking their cocks stop me, how would I ever get their cum? [Laugh] In fact, that is a basic reason a faggot prefers a straight dude – because there is shame in serving his needs, to being subservient. But any time I am feeling so much shame that I hesitate, I look at their balls and think of how much sperm I can get and that snaps me out of it. To exist for no reason other than to sexually pleasure another at their whim is shameful but it sure does have its benefits! After awhile, a faggot must learn to fetishize his shameful desire for a real man’s cum.

It sounds a bit unnatural, at least to some.

One thing I learned in my Introduction to Evolution class, is that homosexuality has to have some purpose, otherwise it would cease to exist. If it doesn’t further procreation, it isn’t tolerated.

And what’s the evolutionary purpose of homosexuality?

Well, there are many different theories about that, for sure. But a common one is that gays in general help provide release for straight men, a way of getting their rocks off without having to fight over women all the time. After all, how much conflict in human history has come from that? Another is that gay men provide extra brawn to work, to fight, to help the community, asking almost nothing in return – other than the chance to get fucked by a meaty cock [laughs]. If that means taking your cousin’s load so he doesn’t have to go without where’s the problem with that? Win-win.

So you’re saying, gays are an evolutionary response to this? But then why aren’t all homosexuals like you?

Like me?

You know, a cocksucker, a faggot?

Who knows for certain? Maybe most gays are defective versions of guys like me. Maybe they are supposed to be faggots too. Maybe they just need to learn to submit. In my opinion, if they try it, they’ll never be satisfied with a homo cock again.

Hmmmm. So you started going to the library regularly?

Sure did. [Laughs] And that’s where I met the other faggots on campus. You’d be surprised how many guys like to take cock. Pretty soon I was friends with them. We formed a sort of secret underground sex club, taking care of each other and telling each other about hot cruisy spots. That’s how I learned about Rick’s.

What’s Rick’s?

Rick’s was a gay bar downtown that had a backroom. I guess the owner was the police chief’s brother-in-law or something because it was always full of college-age kids using fake ID’s but there was never any trouble, even with all the sex going on, let alone the drinking.

What was the backroom like?

It was half open to the front, so you could see if there was any action going on. Dark, but not too dark to see. Along one side there was a built-in bench where the cocksuckers would sit and service the guys who came in needing blow jobs. On occasion, a guy wanted more and would pass a note through the hole asking if we could go to one of the side rooms with a cot. Some nights it could get wild with maybe twenty guys in there fucking and sucking at the same time.

You liked it?

I loved it. It was a faggy dream. I had no idea such a place existed. I mean I know whorehouses existed, that guys could pay for sex with women, but where guys would take cock — for free? [Laughs] But Eddie, another cocksucker at college, took me there one night and we sat on the bench together and we each just did one guy after another and even shared a couple of nice cocks. I was hooked.

How’d you meet Eddie?

In the library john at school. We encountered each other there one night when we cruised each other. But it was soon obvious that we were both fags and we became friends. He was more experienced than I–he was a class ahead of me–and he showed me the hot spots and introduced me to some of the other faggots on campus. He introduced me to David.

Who was David?

He taught both Eddie and me how to be legitimate fags. Not just the physical act of bringing another guy to climax with your mouth or ass. Eddie and I were both pretty good at that by that point. But the psychological aspects of coveting not another man’s sperm but the load of a man otherwise straight looking and straight acting, to pine for such a stud’s load every moment outside of the ten seconds after receiving it. And all that comes with that. How to truly give service and submit to a man when he shares his dick with you, so the experience is at its best for both of you. As David told us, although taking cock is about a male giving sexual pleasure to another male, like all sex it’s really about both guys getting mutual satisfaction.

Except there is something unique about one seeking cum as a purpose and the other just being horny and seeking to dominate another toward that end. David pointed out that the world could only be in harmony when both males were freely following their own nature, each to its appropriate conclusion: one being the aggressor, the penetrator, and the other submitting, being penetrated. One filling the other with his seed, the other wasting his into the air or on the floor, one’s load hitting the target and being taken in, the other blocked and destined to be wiped up and thrown away. You might say, one load treasured by both men as the highlight of both of their days while the other’s is shamefully removed as waste, almost impotent. Get it? One begged for and one discarded. In fact, some men are even repulsed by a fag’s cum although most take some pleasure in the consummate proof that the faggot is getting off by being dominated by a real man.

Most gays who aren’t faggots get a glimpse of this, maybe preferring one role over the other, but in some ways it’s more like play acting, not being prisoner to one’s created purpose, not seeking one’s actual sexual destiny in life to the exclusion of all other distractions. In fact, David claimed that all males were exclusively tops or bottoms. Those who claimed otherwise were just confused sexual tourists.

Why aren’t most straight men willing to make use of another man?

Hard to say. Maybe they’re not fully men. [Laughs] No real man would turn down taking advantage of an opportunity to unload, at least if he was horny. My guess is that society’s attitude of dismissal, its misunderstanding, is what leads most men to not consider it, or at least not act on it. They probably are just thinking of gays in general, that they’ll want a relationship or something. Faggots aren’t after that, at least a romantic attachment. [Laugh] There’s little romance in spreading your hole so a man can fuck it uncontrollably, or to line up his cock with your mouth to skull fuck you. Romance is the last thing on his mind but then again it isn’t for us fags either. To be sure, it can be great to find a guy like Luke, who you can be friends with — when he’s not fucking you — if only to increase the odds that he’ll fuck you again. Believe me, the first thought on a faggot’s mind after he takes a stud’s load is where and when he can find the next one.

But, trust me, after I’ve shown a stud the possibilities, I’ve never met one that didn’t go back for more, at least from time to time. After all, they’re focused on the jackpot – a woman to fuck – and for all but the real studs, that’s quite a lift. Life is more than the pursuit of a piece of fickle tail, a madonna. At least that’s what David tended to think.

Was he another student?

No. He was older, about thirty. Really hot. He was a lawyer and a born top, just like Eddie and I are born fags.

Tell me some of the things he taught you.

I guess the most important was that if you’re a faggot you have to learn to accept yourself as a faggot, accept your sexual destiny so to speak: That your sexual pleasure comes from the pleasure you can give other men, that it’s their dick that’s important not your own. I’ll never forget the first thing he told Eddie and me when we went to his apartment that first time.

What was that?

That “most guys need only their own dick to get sexual pleasure. But a faggot needs someone else’s dick and that has consequences.”

Explain that a little.

What he meant was that the guy who owns the dick you’re both enjoying is the guy who calls the shots, that he’s the sexually superior of the two and what he says goes. You’re on your knees to take care of him, not yourself.

Is that what you meant by being a faggot?

Hell, yes. A faggot by nature submits. He gets on his knees, or he bends over, or he spreads his legs wide to allow access to a man. You think most men want to waste time with some gay guy pretending he has any other purpose? [snort] In my experience, most men really appreciate a good fag.

Did that bother you at first?

Yeah, it did at first. I’m a faggot, but I’m still a man. I didn’t like to think of myself as inferior to other men just because I want to suck their dicks. But he explained that it’s only during sex that a faggot must accept, indeed he must learn to relish, his sexual inferiority to the man using him so they both can get the most out of it sexually. The rest of the time you can just be friends and equals, like Luke and I were equals as friends, even though I was his cocksucker. A faggot isn’t an inferior person. He is just created to be inferior sexually to a man, a heterosexual man. That’s the way both have been designed. It’s like questioning black and white, up and down. Any guy is designed so he could get physical pleasure from being fucked and homosexuals are designed to have the instinct to want that. A faggot is a special type of homo that bridges the gap and makes this design make sense.

I soon figured out that he was right. After all, I’m on my knees and the other guy is standing up, using me sexually because I’m a cocksucker and I want to be used. Of course I’m his sexual inferior in those circumstances. When I find a man who is receptive, I would say I hunger after him. Lust, to be sure, but it is stronger than that, almost painful. I would do almost anything to be able to touch him, to touch his cock, lick his balls, all in the service of getting his cum for myself, to giving him pleasure.

So you’re content to be a faggot?

Totally. Enthusiastic, actually. I’m proud to be a faggot through and through. I relish elevating a virile man and his manhood, even if it is at my expense, whether he’s demanding, calls me a faggot, whatever, although the best is when they’re like Luke – confident, knows their role at the top of the sexual pecking order, appreciative of me, not so timid as to be too polite and avoid calling me as a cocksucker – even while I am sucking his cock![rolls eyes] – to tell the truth by naming me properly – faggot For a brief time, their faggot, born to give them pleasure and to let them fulfill their own evolutionary role. I’m proud I can give so much sexual pleasure to other guys while they give me the sexiest thing in the world in exchange.

What’s that?

[He smiles] A dick swollen with cum.

We left one city for another. Our vacation home was in Montreal. John and I were high visibility people in our community. So when we wanted a little play time, we’d head north. 

Our place was smack dab in the center of the gay village, Villa Marie. We were in our 30s, handsome, muscular, in love and horny. We had come to an understanding. We had a great sex life but we still wanted some variety. What worked for us was fooling around with others together, one time only and no sleep overs. Living so close to the clubs and strip joints, we sometimes had a series of guys in and out of our place on a Saturday night. Montreal men are beautiful, tall and dark but always hung. Really weird but everyone has a good sized cock. Maybe they are all physically fit and they just looked big but Montreal is hung.

One night we did our usual. We went to Sky bar and danced shirtless with a tall black man. As we danced more and more seductively, he started playing with my nipples as the three of us, drunk high and in a chain gang, rubbed and tugged at each other. I was in the front, Jean Claude, in the middle, John on the end, all grinding and humping as the French Dj interrupted our music, I motioned it was time to leave. 

It was a short walk to our condo. There was a lot of touching and grabbing as we all figured out our roles in the encounter about to happen. John and I were both horny cocksuckers. We always welcomed our guest by immediately dropping to our knees and pulling out their cock. This night was no exception. Our shirts were already off and as the door opened I went down and unbuckled Jeans pants. John, now on his knees waited for the big reveal. We weren’t disappointed. Before us stood a tall naked muscular and slim black man with a huge, hard, fat 9 inch cock. As we teased and licked each side, his dick started to leak strings of clear sticky precum. We didn’t waste it. We would catch it and wildly kiss as we shared his juices greedily sucked his dick. With our pants at our ankles, we jerked our cocks as we slobbered and deep throated his big cock. We were something else together as we tag teamed a guy. Sometimes we’d take turns and sit back to watch each other gag and try to get the pearly prize in our mouths. We were both drawn to cum. The power it gave us to please a man while he watches two horny guys fight over who gets more cum down their throat. Jean blasted on Johns face as I slobbered up more shots in my mouth and throat. When it stopped we would make out and share the load we worked for. I licked the cum off John’s face and kept kissing him as I fed him more and more cum, not unusual at all, Jean Claude was getting hard again. We headed for the bedroom where we took what was left of our clothes off and Jean Claude made his intentions clear. He wanted to fuck and that meant I was up. John was happy to watch and get sucked. John fucks, I get fucked. Truth is, John said watching was like having his own personal porno movie. I wish I could say I was as selfless as John. When he fucked a guy, I was cool with it but it was hard for me to stay back. I’d have to fuck him too or cum on his face. I couldn’t just watch. 

As I said, John and I fooled around together but he sometimes sat back or even left the room. He loved seeing me happy and if being uninhibited as possible at the hands of someone else was what he sensed I wanted, he’d give me that.

Here’s what happened later that night. John announced that he was getting condoms and smokes. “Don’t start until I get back.” I thought yea right. I’m naked on our bed with a beautiful French black man spooning me from behind and we’d wait. Okay. John left. Jean Claude lost all his inhibitions when we were alone. He started telling me how he was going to fuck me and how I was going to beg him to. He was very oral. He licked and sucked on my neck, ears and my back. His cock was hot, hard and sticky as he pumped between my legs, ass crack and balls. As he talked about how good I felt he played with my nipples, first softly as I moaned a bit, then rougher as my breath and moans deepened. I was totally letting go as I felt his cock rubbing my crack and approaching my asshole. As I moaned he started sucking on my back, then biting softly. I knew my ass was wet and ready but where was John? Around the time I was contemplating how long I could wait, I noticed John at our bedroom window looking in. He nodded at me. Permission? So as Jean Claude’s cock started pushing on my hole, he said “let me just stick the head in and he’ll never know. I know you want it. Beg me for it.” So I did. Then he sucked my back hard and chewed on my skin. As I moaned, I let him inside me. “Oh baby, you’re so wet. You feel so good. How’s your husband going to feel if he walks in and finds me inside you?” He pumped my hole softly, just his head inside. As he sucked, bit and tweak my nipples, I pushed back more and more. His cock felt so amazing. So big, hot. Burning my hole as he pumped me gently. As gently as he was inside me. He was so rough on my back, biting and chewing on my skin. He said he needed to be inside of me all the way now. “Fuck John? Where is he” Jean Claude said as I watched John through the blinds in our back parking lot. I said no as he bit me hard now and did the exact opposite of my word. With no self control, I push all the way back on his fat cock. I heard him gasp and moan as I rocked on his meet. He asked me to stop or he’d explode. He held my hips tight as he sucked on my back. Our body’s were connected and on fire down below and we were silent like that for 5 minutes. 5 minutes of his hard cock inside me full of blood and heat to its maximum girth. Finally he started rocking gently again. He sucked and bit me as he spoke in French, soft, whimpering. I was so satisfied in my own head as I occasionally watched John touch himself through the window. A few minutes later he said he couldn’t wai….and bit down hard as he dumped his thick load inside of me. I barely touched myself before I came all over the bed as he nibbled, tweaked and finished Cumming in my hole. He pulled out just as John came in the room. “Sorry I took so long.” Jean Claude nervously announced it was late and he had to go. As he rushed out, John got undressed and replaced Jean Claude in the same position. As he fucked me, you could hear sounds of juices and wetness between us. John looked at what appeared to be, then proved to be later, bite marks and big deep purple love bites on my back and neck. He was shocked I wasn’t hurting but he smelled them and licked them and bit them as he fucked me harder than Jean. John almost proving I was his as he pumped his load inside of me and called me his pig.  He wouldn’t let me cum. He asked me questions about how I felt having Jean fuck me alone. As we talked about what we both experienced, he fucked me again, on top this time, looking in my eyes. He was excited by how overcome by passion I get that I so easily lose all control and allow someone to use me anyway they want to. He said he was going to sell tickets to fuck me someday and see how many loads I will take before I’d had enough. As I thought about how hot that would be, totally used up with cum gushing from me, John pushed my legs up over my head as I jerked off, he pulled out and we both came on my face. We ended the night sharing our cum together in deep kisses. Do you think Johns fantasy of a gang bang ever happened?  

That night was with us for at least a month, when the marks on my back finally healed. Then Jean Claude was just a memory.

The strict Covid restrictions have caused many problems but for me an unintended benefit. I found out recently that my son was gay but not by him coming out to me in the usual way. I am a divorced father who before was sexually active with both women and men. My son knew that I swung both ways and I had suspicions that he was gay but he wasn’t ready to come out to me yet and I didn’t force the issue.

I must admit I was getting tired of jacking off, before Covid I at least could be guaranteed a blow job from various partners since I have a 10 inch uncut cock, but since Convid all sex has come to a complete stop. My son noticed my frustration and since he and I are very open he said something that surprised to no end. At first he was very hesitant and finally blurted out that if I was open to it that he would help me out by sucking me off. I told him that I was pleased he was so open and confirmed that he was gay. I told him there was a line between a father and son that once crossed would change everything.

I told him I would think about it and told him thanks for coming out to me and that he sincerely wanted to help me out . It had been a week since his offer and my balls were full of cum. I finally went to his room early one morning waking up with a hardon which needed servicing. As I entered his room, I stood at the side of his bed looking down at him wondering whether I should accept his offer.

As I was pondering this he opened his eyes and stared at my thick  hairy cock already dripping precum. Without saying anything he slid his body to the side of the bed close to where I was standing and I knew the decision had been made by him and I. I waited anticipating what was going to happen and felt his lips encircle the head of my cock with his lips and felt his tongue seeking out the slit where my precum was as I started to slide my cock farther within his mouth. I knew how this was going to end and as he started to suck me off he pulled off the covers and exposed his stiff cock. I watched as he started to jack off his cock while sucking me off. I asked him whether he liked my cock and since his mouth was full he could only tell me with a moan of pleasure. I asked if he wanted my load of cum and this made him suck faster like a newborn calf thirsty for his mother’s milk. The milk I was going to give him as a reward was a huge load of cum still waiting in my balls.

I started to feed my shaft in and out telling him he would have my cum soon and if he wanted to stop this was the time to stop but the way he sucked my cock I knew the decision was made. I withdrew my cock til only the head was within his mouth and told him to use his tongue on the swollen head of my cock. I felt the pressure in my balls release its contents and warned him it was on its way. Just as my cum reached his mouth he started to jack his cock in a fever pitch. I could only grunt as each spurt filled his mouth quickly to be swallowed. As my orgasm subsided he said he was ready to shoot his load and I knew what he wanted. I quickly got on my knees and engulfed his cock just as the first shot of hot cum left his cock. I found out he was a big cummer also and soon had a belly full of his cum.

After both of us were satiated I thanked him for what turned out to be the most intense blow job I had ever had. I was worried he and I would have regrets but on my part there was none and after receiving many more blow jobs from with the same eagerness, he didn’t regret it either.

Preface

Several years ago, during a visit from a friend who had just returned from being awed by the gem collection in Washington’s Smithsonian Institution, the subject came up that marvelous settings of gemstones, when worn appropriately, acquired meaning unique to the occasion. For example, it is one thing to see a precious tiara, matching necklace, and earrings in an exhibit case but altogether something else when worn by Princess Diana or Queen Elizabeth.

The idea stuck peculiarly in my head. That night, after reading until midnight when my eyes were tired, I reached to turn out my bedside lamp – and spotted nearby, on the floor, a yellow legal pad. Picked it up, leaned against my pillows, started writing automatically. Not a conscious thought in my mind. By 2 AM, the story had played itself onto those lined pages.

Next day, when I read it, my eyes bugged. As I typed it into my computer, I needed only to correct a few verb tenses and some prepositions. It was complete, as it appears below. Disbelieving the purity of its few pages, I forwarded the story, now dubbed a ‘fable,’ to seven friends. Their reactions were staggeringly different from each other.

Several took it at face value. Others saw it as implying sublimated sexuality behind Ugo’s behavior. I was accused of letting the story front for my own desires. All wondered at the ending’s ambiguity. Only two readers thought that wonder-full because it allows for multiple interpretations.

By posting here, where many have indulged my explicit tales with understanding and appreciation to one degree or another, I invite you to conclude as you may. Be mindful, however, that I do claim any real authorship. No tale as ineffably sweet as this ever occurred to me.

I tell you: It wrote itself.

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It befell upon a particularly sparkling Spring day, as his court was arrayed to celebrate the 25th anniversary of Good King Wilfrido’s ascent to the throne, that every chamber of his storied castle had its full complement of residents and guests, every adjacency its quota of persons-in-waiting, retainers, squires, and servants, all the stalls in its grand stables the household horses and those of the visitors. Kitchens bustled with preparations for the feast. Fresh fish and fowl were shorn of their outer and inner inedibles. Spitted pigs already turned over tended flames. Kettles boiled to spew their steam like volcanoes. Hubbub throughout, orderly and happy.

Good King Wilfrido himself was happy and orderly. He and his advisors thought ahead, made plans accordingly, and oversaw their being carried out smoothly. Theirs was a peaceable kingdom off the path of crusading or marauding armies (much the same for the damage they could do). The small kingdom’s farmlands produced what Nature’s generosity allowed. Owing to location and policies, farm workers and villagers led reasonable lives, reared their young safely, and honored their king. They, too, flocked the castle to marvel at its breeze-rustled garlands and wind-blown banners. The promise of free food and drink was lost on no one, from youngest to eldest. And entertainment – mummers, jesters, minstrels from far and wide! What could go wrong? The air brimmed with merriment.

Word reached the heralds, with appetites as ready as embouchures, to mount the drawbridge towers. A signal, the release of a dozen white doves from the King’s balcony, would trigger the processional with its flourishes. The entire, if small, court in elegant array would pass through the hundreds accepting the gift of a single flower from each person present. An already old tradition, started decades before by the King’s revered father, that of presents for the monarch’s accession day, presents which cost nothing, each of which was natural and lovely.

Oohs and aahs soared as the birds flew into the azure sky. Trumpets, sackbuts, and drums echoed from the stone ramparts to the firmament as the keep’s great, arched doors flung wide to reveal Good King Wilfrido dressed splendidly in robes of crimson and purple. A simple gold coronet glittered about this noble head. With a pause to smile, the King stepped forward with his followers, wearing their own family colors, to cheers and began greeting his people.

First to hand flowers to the King were a small boy and girl chosen for their good behavior. With murmured thanks and a touch of their heads, he moved on, passing the blossoms to the man behind. Like clockwork, the group progressed. Each flower handed along the rank of court members until it could be returned to the person who had presented it. Such blossoms then went into hair, buttonholes, pockets, or over ears so that the revelers who had given had also received. A symbolic continuity of good will appropriate to the royal family’s benevolent monarchy.

The merest stable boy – an orphan with a gimpy leg, a slight harelip, and a tendency to illnesses of the chest – after mucking horses all morning, had managed to bathe from water in the troughs and to wash his homespun shift before trying to find a flower. Alas, none was to be had within the battlements, nor had his work allowed him time to cross the lowered drawbridge in search of one before the festivity. He stood forlorn at the back of the crowd hoping to spot a flower someone may have dropped or to see someone with two, one of which might be begged. He had never been allowed near the King. Poor lad that he was, turning this way and that, he noticed through the open gateway a figure on horseback approaching from a great distance.

A foot on the bridge and a hand on the portcullis’ chain, he looked harder and blinked at what he saw. The horse, pure white and of some lineage the boy had not seen in the King’s stables, galloped fast. Astride, a knight in armor more brilliant than the boy’s mind could grasp, its metals flashing tones of silver, copper, and gold in the sunny day’s glaring light.

Instinct should have told the boy to call the drawbridge guards but they were nowhere to be seen. This mirage – it could only be a mirage – exercised a magnetic draw upon the simple boy. Perhaps a miracle. He had heard about those. One of God’s angels it could be. The rider’s white cloak fluttered out like wings in flight. As horse and rider neared, the boy found himself limping over the moat’s bridge in awe. He had looked back. There was no one to greet this stranger, no one but he, in his elation, to witness the glorious sight.

Encouraged despite his sorry state not to retreat but to look up and wave with both arms, the boy stood at the tip of the bridge smiling from ear to ear.

Dust settled where the rider drew his great snorting steed to a halt.

“What is this place?” his bold voice asked.

Somehow, instead of cowering as the boy usually did in the stables when confronted, he bowed low. “Sir,” he looked up, “it is the castle of Good King Wilfrido. Today is the Festival of Flowers.”

“And have you a name, boy?”

“Ugo, sir. I am the stable boy,” he replied clearly and without fear.

“Good. Help me alight.”

When he stood, a tower of strength made taller by the white and gold lance he held, the knight’s blue eyes looked down at the boy’s bare arms. “Are those arms of yours strong enough to bear my lance?”

Ugo shivered at the question. “I can try, sir.”

“It must be carried exactly as I do. Straight and proud.”

“I will do it for you, sir.”

“Then do it well and walk ahead of me to your King.”

“Sir, I do not have a flower. Everyone must have a flower to approach the King.”

A moment’s reflection and the knight’s commanding voice grew gentle. “Then you shall have mine.” With those words, he unclasped from his sinewy neck a golden chain, its medallion a ruby-centered flower with teardrop-shaped pearls for petals. This he fastened over the boy’s freshly cleaned if threadbare shift and around his slender neck and said, looking across, “Now hold my lance steady.” Then he nodded.

Ugo did not question the strange apparition nor dare say another word. His steps at first were slow but grew more certain as he felt the lance balance perfectly when held erect. It was lighter than he imagined. The toes of Ugo’s bad leg were strong and compensated as never before for its shortness. He did not limp, could not limp, because the lance was such a source of pride. He breathed easily for the first time in days.

Their procession, stately in its formal tread, crossed the bridge, passed under the ramparts’ heavy portcullis, and entered the castle grounds where, as the populace became aware, a path appeared piecemeal in the direction of the King’s party which was in progress toward the outbuildings.

Stillness spread through the assembly until it reached an old lady near the last courtier. She tapped his arm not for the flower he thought she wanted but to point silently, eyes wide, mouth open, back toward the gateway. Constable Augustino gaped and tugged the sleeve of Baron Enrico who poked Lord Lazaro who nudged Chamberlain Augusto, the Constable’s aged father, who reached for the King who had stepped just out of reach. “Sire,” he called with some urgency.

Good King Wilfrido in annoy turned to admonish the interruption of his converse with the miller’s pretty daughter. “What,” he started to ask, “is… – but stopped at the rows of heads looking back. The music had ceased. Jugglers dropped their balls. No one was moving except for two unlikely figures, a ragged boy with unkempt hair and high-held lance who preceded a splendid knight, helmet in his left hand and, in his right, gemstone-set reins leading an equally bridled steed of heroic, nay legendary proportions.

This was no etiquette ever seen, an event with no precedence, a shocking contradiction of protocol. No one knew what it meant. No one did anything. The Knight, his horse, and Ugo stopped some feet away from the royal party.

“Tip my lance forward,” the Knight instructed Ugo, “until it parallels the ground, then lift it and place its hilt beside your foot. You do me proud.” This in a voice which commanded attention and respect no less than his appearance.

Stymied by a circumstance for which there was no plan, Good King Wilfrido and his Court made not a move but regarded their unexpected, and thus far unannounced, visitor with rising curiosity.

“He spoke to that boy before addressing the King,” it was whispered.

Ugo was recognized by the stables’ boss whose open mouth was stuffed by a dirty hand. The sight of so fabulous a jewel around the miserable waif’s scrawny neck caused him almost to choke. Nothing could explain this!

At that instant, one of the occasion’s white doves circled the pair of arrivals, alit for an instant in the space separating the parties involved, and flew away, causing general astonishment at what seemed a message perhaps from Heaven.

One of the tower guards, having edged his way forward, caught the Knight’s eye. To that man, he handed his reins, saying, “Hold these for me.” Numbly, the guard obeyed.

With a few steps, the Knight asked Ugo for his lance and said aloud, “Present your flower.”

Little Ugo needed a moment to remember the necklace. He drew it over his head, walked carefully to his King and, by extending the priceless adornment, offered it to Good King Wilfrido. Astonished all the more by the object’s fineness, now that he held it, Good King Wilfrido thought briefly of keeping the jewel but could not bring himself to break tradition, so passed it to his Chamberlain, who passed it to Lord Lazaro, who examined it closely (his nature suspected trickery) but handed it to his friend Enrico who in turn, if reluctantly, passed it to the Constable.

Everyone waited. Tradition held that a flower, once gifted on this special day, must be returned. Constable Augustino squared his shoulders. Nothing so luxurious had ever been in his manicured hands. He looked at it with never-to-be-forgotten admiration, righted himself fully, and strode toward the watchful Knight.

The Knight looked at Ugo. “Kneel my boy. Your flower is being returned with, I believe,” his rising voice broke the silence decisively, “with appreciation for all you have done here.”

Augustino could not but believe he was meant to replace the necklace – literally – from whence it had come, the stable boy’s neck. Yet, from the intent of the Knight’s expressive authority, there was no doubt. He must sully his own knees in the dirt to accomplish the task!

Ugo had trouble realizing the flower was really his. But he stood and beamed unselfconsciously as the crowd broke into applause.

The Knight spoke, “With your leave, Good King Wilfrido, this brave and honest lad will journey with me for my land where he will serve as my squire. I have chosen him.”

With a gesture of his right hand and a slight nod of his crowned head, the dumbstruck King, who had not moved, saw the Knight don his finely worked helmet, hand his lance back to Ugo, mount the white stallion with singular ease, reach for his lance to secure its place by saddle-straps, extend a hand to the boy, lift him as though he weighed nothing, sit him behind the fantastically designed saddle, take up his reins, turn the horse, and ride in great quiet out of the castle and into the distance.

* * *

It was the morning after the Festival of Flowers that clean-up began while guests took their leave expressing fondness for so many pleasures. With the departure of many horses, the King’s stables returned to normal except that no one saw the stable boy. They did note that none of his work had been done.

“Where’s that kid?” demanded the chief stable hand. The other hands looked about and shrugged. “Well, find him and remind him where he belongs.”

“Hey! He’s over there sleeping,” one called, pointing toward the muck heap.

They saw that he was not sleeping and that on his face was a relaxed smile. They had no idea why.