Date: Thu, 4 Jan 2001 04:19:42 EST
From: SSch191950@aol.com
Subject: A Promise And A Curse/Part 2

Author's note: To all who tried my website I have to apologize. Here is the
right url: http://members.aol.com/ssch191950/stefan/


A PROMISE AND A CURSE
by Stefan

Part 2 of Chapter 1


Where we last left the scene:


   "Ben! show me a big smile!"

Ben turned, grinned involuntarily and showed his white teeth.  He waved
and vanished around the corner.



THE CONTINUATION:


Ben climbed the staircase to the flat he shared with his mother,
brother and sister, turning on to the final landing he saw Simon sitting
on the floor in front of the door.

   "Simon!  Where the fuck have you been?" Ben's voice was a mixture of
anger and relief.

Simon rose and Ben gave him a light punch in his stomach area.  He
grinned over his whole face.  Simon returned Ben's welcome but Ben
recognized a deep tiredness under his smooth skin.  Simon wore a new
jacket and carried a bundle over his shoulder.  Ben ran his fingers
through Simon's soft curly brown hair.  He pulled him to his chest and
kissed him behind the ear.

   "You bugger, tell me where you have been!"

Simon stepped back, "Here and there, met some friends in other towns."
His voice sounded huskier than ever.

   "Other towns?  Why didn't you tell me?"  He eyed his friend
suspiciously.  "You look like shit."

   "Oh, thanks for that.  Must be the tablets."

   "Excuses.  Have you eaten?"

Simon shook his head.  "Want to come to my place?"

Ben nodded.  "Great, let's pick up something to eat on the way, I'm
starving."  He paused.  "We've just been talking about you -  Nick and
I."

   "Nick? How is he?"

   "Fine. You didn't ask how I am."  Ben's voice was strained and
disappointed.

   "Ok, how are YOU?  Simon sauntered down the staircase.  Ben didn't
answer.  He simply followed him like a puppy following his master.
Simon turned, waited for Ben and said low, "I missed you, you must
believe me.  I just need my freedom from time to time."

Ben watched Simon's face, from the fine brows, over the deep brown, a
bit shaded eyes, to the soft rosy flesh of his lips.  He knew whenever
Simon laughed, two dimples would appear in his cheeks.  He loved it when
Simon laughed because it happened so seldom.

   "I believe you," he said.  "But you could have said something to me!"

   "Yeah, sorry about that."  Simon's voice sounded careless again.
"Next time I'll remember."

   "I hope there won't be a next time very soon," Ben muttered.




Ben and Simon stared at the blank telly.  They had watched a boring film
before Simon simply  switched off the TV in the middle of the film.
Upon the table stood the remains of a Chinese take out-meal.

   "Too boring."

   "Ever been there?" Ben asked sleepily.

   "In the tropics?  Not that I know of."

Ben wriggled to adjust his body lying in Simon's arms on the couch.
"Would you like to go?"  His fingers wandered lightly over Simon's
exposed underarm with which he held Ben close to his chest.  Simon's
husky voice hummed at his back.  "I can't stand the heat, Ben.  And now
I have to be even more careful."

Ben kept silent.  Sometimes the memory of Simon's HIV infection and the
fact that his hours were numbered came over him like a hurricane and he
felt the pain tugging deep down inside.

Carefully he freed himself, turned and gazed into Simon's deep brown
eyes.  But instead of a kiss he said, "I spoke to Frank this morning."

Simon blinked.  "Frank?"


Frank.  Icy eyes.  Cold hands.  Restless prick . . . snapshots in his
mind, painfully clear.  The rail station Zoo, Simon's usual hangout;
most popular place in Berlin for dealing and prostitution.  Simon did
both for several months.  For almost a year, he corrected himself.

It had been drafty in the filthy toilet and Simon had taken refuge in a
corner after he had cleaned himself.

There had been this guy washing his hands as their eyes had met in the
shattered mirror over the sink.  Those cold, piercing eyes . . .



   "I thought death was in the air!"  Simon continued slowly.  "So, you
have spoken with him again?"

   "Sort of, yes."  Ben's voice seemed to come from a distance.



The man with the cold eyes began to smile and Simon returned the smile.
Quickly he sized up the fair haired man, the slender figure, the brown
leather jacket, the slow movements of his long fingers.  It didn't take
Simon long to get him on the hook with his offer for both - a fuck and
cocaine.  He had followed Frank to his home.  This money was easily
earned money - he thought.

Simon had been a bit surprised about the pictures hanging in Frank's
bedroom - leather guys with large pricks - but then he shrugged.  He had
seen it all in his short life as a hustler and he was always able to
take care of himself.

Frank didn't speak a word - after he had ordered Simon to undress
himself.  He sat in an armchair and watched with apparently rising
anticipation; his gaze clung to Simon's clean underwear.  As Simon began
to pull them down, Frank said "stop" and rose from his chair.  He
approached Simon, touched him and his fingers crept into the opening
where he pulled out Simon's limp penis.  His fingers were cold and Simon
shivered a bit.

   "Perhaps you should have a drink to warm you up" he tried to joke but
Frank didn't smile.  He traced the length of Simon's cock until he
yanked down his pants with one rush and firmly clutched Simon's balls.
"Nice," was all he said, then he began to undress himself.  Simon
watched in amazement at Frank ripping off his own clothes and tossing
them carelessly on the carpet.  His skin was white, as fair as his hair,
even around his aroused cock, standing with a left upward curve and a
bright red crown.

   "And now," Frank grinned, "where's the stuff?"

   "Huh?" Oh yes, the cocaine.  Simon took his jacket and pulled out the
little plastic bag.   "First the money," he said.

Frank still grinned and handed him the money.  Simon counted the money
before he gave him the bag.  Frank poured the white powder onto the
plate on a glass table before he shortly disappeared and returned with
two straws.

   "Now, let the fun begin."  Simon was surprised that he wanted to share
the stuff with him but didn't mind.  Frank had already sniffed the
powder through the straws and Simon did the same.

   "Oh wow," he heard Frank's voice, wandering around the room, still
sniffing and wiping the last remains from his nostrils.

Colours clashed in Simon's mind - a short explosion, then he could see
clearly again.  Frank's body was sharply outlined and began to glow
somehow.  He blinked.  It was that very moment he missed something.
Simon stood somehow motionless in the middle of the small room, sensed
the unmade bed behind his back and saw Frank go down on his knees and
start licking at his balls.

Instantly he got a raging hard on, almost painfully hard and the pain
increased as he felt Frank's teeth pulling at his ball sack.  He
flinched briefly but then the colours flashed, crashed in his mind
again.  So he obeyed Frank's demands.   He heard his muffled voice
instructing him to lay on his stomach on the bed, then to go to his
knees.  Instantly he felt the sharp pain of intruding fingers in his
asshole while the other hand fumbled with his erect prick.

Simon wanted to lend Frank the condoms he carried with him, but it was
too late for that.  Frank had gripped Simon's hips, pulled him close and
shoved his tool in one smooth motion deep into Simon's anus. Simon let
out a cry of pain.  The colours swirled in his head, the bed began to
tumble in circles and he was dragged along with it.

The pain subsided while Frank's cock glided  with increasing speed in
and out of him, he heard his grunting and growling, felt his thrusts
which shook the whole bed and Simon clutched the bedcovers with his
fingers.  But above all, he kept his raging hard on until he spasmed
onto the sheets, feeling Frank emptying himself into him at the same
time.

One last cry and Frank pulled out, leaving a weak-kneed Simon behind.

   "Heavens!" Frank said, "that was good.  Is there anything left from
your stuff?"

Simon lay spread-eagled on the bed, his eyes closed.  He heard Frank
sniffing the last remains of cocaine on the table and disappeared into
the bathroom.

Perhaps he had fallen asleep but he woke with a feverish sucking mouth
around his cock, a finger probing his hole, teeth grazing over the
sensitive skin.

   "Christ, what are you doing?" he managed to say, and heard Frank's
giggling, "Fucking you the whole night, I've paid you, remember?"

Oh yes, Simon remembered.  His head felt dizzy but the grazing teeth had
changed to a licking tongue and he didn't mind as he heard Frank's voice
again, saying "Now it's your turn, boy."  He forced Simon's head down to
his waiting cock.

Simon blinked again to scare away the memory of Frank's sneering mouth.
He felt Ben's presence, held him close in his arms and shook his head.
Tiny drops of sweat had built up on his nose.  He still seemed to feel
Frank's hard cock pumping into him - mercilessly over and over again,
until he woke sometime in the morning with Frank still in him, his own
legs over Frank's shoulders, helpless, feeling sick and dirty, watching
Frank's flushed, sweating face, smelling his sweat and the strong scent
of alcohol and cocaine emanating from their bodies.

Funny thing to learn later that this man with the unbelievable staying
power was Ben's teacher at the Academy of Arts - and he felt sorry for
Ben that he had to face him every day.  Especially as Ben had a similar
experience with his teacher.

But, wasn't there a responsibility he should have concerning the bodies
of his customers?  He knew that Frank was so stupid to fuck him without
protection and he allowed it to happen because they were both so stoned
on cocaine.  That wasn't a good excuse.  No.  It was NO excuse.  Simon
closed his eyes so painfully tight that tears wet his lashes.  Perhaps
you want to take revenge for your ruined life.  Revenge on everyone who
used his arse and will do it in the future.  They are healthy.  They
were not doomed to die young before his real life should begin.

Simon opened his eyes again, cleared his throat and looked into Ben's
waiting eyes.

   "Simon? Are you okay?"

Simon felt nausea rising - the same nausea he had felt as he vomited
into Frank's toilet.  He finally left, taking Frank's money with him.
But what about Ben?  He didn't deserve such treatment.  He deserved
something better.  Not such a cripple as he was himself.  Yes, he was a
mental cripple, a wreck, a useless object, good for a fuck and to have
the money thrown into his face after it was over.

   "I'm all right," he managed to say.  "So what did you talk about?"

   "Well, during the break, I asked him straight out about the result of
his AIDS test.  I thought he would faint!"  Ben chuckled at the memory.
"Of course it was most stupid or him to fuck you without a condom."

   "And?"

   "He said the first test was negative, but he has to repeat it of
course"

Simon grumbled something, then asked.  "And you? He's angry with you,
yes?  Or does he fancy you still?  Tried to get his big cock into you?"

Ben's hazel eyes lit up behind the thin glasses frame.  "Big cock, eh?
I scared him to death as I tried to put MY big cock into him."

Simon snorted, "Ah, show me, show me!"  He wrestled a bit until he
suddenly stopped.  Ben saw a shadow fall over Simon's face and his heart
sank.  Whenever he thought he had reached Simon's heart - or more
explicitly, his sexual interest - Simon backed away like a shy deer.

He watched Simon's closed eyes, the thick eyelashes which hid his clear
brown eyes.  He longed for those lips to kiss him, but more, he longed
for his body and if he should ever see him naked he would melt like a
drop of water on a heating plate.  Shy deer . . . . not the right
expression for what Simon was.  He wasn't shy at all.  He was cool. He
never allowed a look into his soul.

Ben placed his head near Simon's ear and whispered, "Why are you so
reluctant?  You know I don't mind."  His fingers stroked Simon's curly
hair but he sensed the tenseness in Simon's body and knew the next
second Simon would push him away.

But instead he heard Simon's low voice, "I know you don't mind, Ben, but
I can't.  I like you too much for this.  You mustn't get too involved."

   "But I AM involved!" Ben said.  "There's no turning back for me."

Simon smiled painfully and planted a coy kiss on Ben's red lips.

   "That's what I fear, honey."

It was hard for Simon not to give in and he knew deep down that he
wouldn't have much staying power to resist Ben's demands.

Somehow it was difficult to understand himself.  His life, so far, had
been ruled by his cock, but his life as a hustler had cured him in a
certain way; all the encounters with other men, all the cocks he had
had in his arse and mouth had made him feel dirty inside and there
hadn't been enough time yet to wash it away.

He still felt too dirty to give in to Ben's advances.  But would he ever
feel clean again?  A different part of his being scolded himself.
Stupid and a dickhead who wanted to get as much fun as possible - as
long as he was able to enjoy it.  There could be a few years before the
disease would turn into a real threat to his immune system so that it
couldn't fight off the slightest cold as the docs had said, and this
time he should use carefully.

Ben had buried his face in his neck; he felt the warm, firm body so
close to him that it hurt.  Then he heard himself saying, "It's Marcus'
birthday in two weeks, I've thought about a nice present."

Ben lifted his head.  "And?  I thought a man like him would have
everything."

   "Yeah."  Simon smiled, "except that screen he was after."

   "And?"  Ben's face was a question mark.  "As far as I know the screen
is still in London with this man - what was his name?"  Ben asked.

   "George."

   "George, right.  You want to fuck him for a week to get it for Marcus?"
Ben giggled.  He remembered that this had been the price for Marcus, the
relentless hunter of precious things, to get it from the owner.

   "Don't laugh.  I thought about it seriously."

   "Are you mad?"  Ben sat upright.  "Say it's a joke."

   "It's a joke."  Simon didn't bat an eye.

   "So what else?"

   "Don't know.  Usually I gave him my body as a present but then it's..."
he shrugged.  "I mean he had me every day or night, so this wasn't
an exciting present actually."

   "To me, it would be."  Ben's eyes sparkled and Simon laughed.

   "You never give up, huh?"

Ben shook his head then his eyes fell upon his watch.  "Guess I should
go now."  He threw a short glance at Simon, but he didn't seem inclined
to ask him to stay.  Ben was sad.  "So what will you do tomorrow?" he
said then.

   "No clue.  Reading I guess.  You see that pile of books?"

   "Yes, I brought them!"  He stood.  "Well then, have fun." He hesitated
for a moment.  "I suppose you will be here tomorrow?"

   "Sure I will. My urge for freedom is satisfied for now." Simon felt
the nausea returning.  His stomach cramped and heaved but he followed
Ben into the corridor.  Ignoring his sickness he grabbed Ben's arm,
pulled him closer and began to kiss him deeply.  Ben moaned and panted
for air.

   "Wow, what was that?" he said catching his breath.

   "A kiss good night," Simon grinned while he watched Ben's steamed up
glasses.

   "Well," Ben licked his lips.  "I would like to have a good morning kiss
someday."

   "We will see."  Again a heavy cramp attacked his stomach.  He bent over
and held his hand upon his belly.

   "What is it?  Feeling sick?"

Simon nodded, turned abruptly and ran into the bathroom.  A second later
Ben heard gagging sounds and something splashing.  Quickly he followed
and rushed into the bathroom, seeing Simon bent over, puking into the
tub.  Desperately he fought back the urge to do the same, stepped to
Simon's side and held out a towel.  "Christ, is this the tablets?"  He
smelled the stench of vomit.

Simon rose and took the towel to wipe his mouth.  His face was covered
with sweat but he looked somewhat relieved.  "Seems so."

Ben watched his face and took him by the elbow.  "I'll put you to bed."

Simon followed with resignation and let himself fall upon the unmade
bed.  Ben opened the window ajar and sat beside him.  "Want something to
drink?"  Without waiting for an answer he vanished into the tiny kitchen
and came back with a glass full of cold tea.  "Here.  I should make you
something warm to drink.  Wait a minute."

In the kitchen he felt the heavy burden upon his shoulders again.  What
was he into?  Would he have the strength to carry on?  What if it should
become worse and worse?

The water began to boil and Ben poured it over the little bag of
peppermint tea in the cup.  He couldn't stand this.  Yes, he could stand
it.  He wasn't sure.  He, too, began to sweat and to shiver at the same
time.

   "Thanks for this, Ben.  It will be over in a minute, I know this."

Ben didn't answer but went into the bathroom, grimacing about the
stench, turning on the shower hose and washed away the remnants of the
Chinese take out coming from Simon's bowels.

Probably a good idea to stay here the night he thought.  He went to the
living room, took the telephone and dialed his home number.  He filled
his brother in on the news and was relieved that his mother wasn't at
home because she had nightshift at the hospital.

Mother! shot through his mind.  Certainly she would know what to do in
such cases.  She knew about Simon and his disease, didn't approve much
of their relationship but she could give him some good advice - he
hoped.  Ben sighed.  Let's keep it in mind for tomorrow.

   "Are you ok?" he asked as he entered the little bedroom again.

Simon nodded with closed eyes.  "Just a little rest, in a few minutes
I'll be okay again."  He took the cup of tea and drank.  "It will
help."  He looked into Ben's eyes.  "You don't have to stay with me,
Ben.  I'm okay.  Go home.  I'll call you tomorrow."

Ben was more than disappointed.  He didn't want him around?  Why?

   "Why?" he asked.  "I don't mind sleeping here."

   "Ah, come, the couch is pretty uncomfortable to sleep on.  Please, do
me a favour, yes?  I need some time alone."  His eyes were pleading.

Pleading, really, perhaps it was the sickness Simon felt, Ben thought.
Heavy hearted he gave in.  "OK, but call me tomorrow or I will come and
ring the house down."

Simon smiled.  Ben saw the deep dimples in his cheeks and his heart
melted.  "You have my number.  Call me when you feel ill again."  He was
convinced Simon  wouldn't do that.  But perhaps . . . .

   "Thanks, Ben.  You're a good man.  I don't deserve it."

Ben could hardly hear him.  "Stop talking rubbish, Simon Langenburg.
I'll be here for you." Although I don't know if you're worth it, he
added in his mind.  Perhaps I will find out.

He gave him a smile and a long glance, then left the flat.


After Ben had gone, Simon stayed in bed a while until he felt much
better again.  He knew of these attacks, he had several when he was
on his trip last week.

He had driven northwards to the North Sea because he had remembered Nick
saying that his parents now lived at the little island named Sylt.  He
wasn't quite sure what he wanted there, just to have a look at the
house, he thought - he appeased his conscience.

Simon was given a lift by a driver crossing the Hindenburgdamm, a bridge
leading from the main land to the island.  He felt the wind blowing in
his hair, the smell of fresh salty air and heard the seagulls
screeching.  He felt strong enough to face his parents.  But strength
had vanished as he faced the reed roof house his parents owned and he
didn't ring the bell.

They had given up on their youngest son.  Likewise they never cared
about Kristian, his brother.  In fact, had they ever cared about their
children?  They were brought up by a nanny who was alienated and hard.
Just an old governess  he knew from British films.  Or in an orphanage.
Yes, that was the right term.  Both had always felt like they were in an
orphanage.  Without father or mother, without loving care, without the
teachings in what was good and what was wrong.

He was surprised that Kristian had developed into a good humoured, funny
lad.  But he, too, was sort of careless and never thought twice about
anything.  Well, perhaps he had changed since he had a steady lover,
Simon wasn't sure.

Simon rose from his bed and emptied the cup in one go.  Then he shook
his head.  This was all rubbish, Simon.  You, too, were a good humoured,
funny lad.  Think about Marcus, all the things you did together.  He did
love you.  Didn't he?  What happened to you?

Moaning, he laid his forehead against the cool window glass and closed
his eyes.  How could he get into all this shit, he asked himself.
Absentmindedly he watched the empty pavement in the arcade and the
illuminated shop windows without actually seeing them. Hadn't he
everything?  A rich, though cold upbringing, a nice brother and a lover
everybody envied him?  Marcus . . .

Slowly he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his
wallet.  He opened it and looked at the photo of a dark-haired, handsome
man.  He looked straight into the camera and Simon felt the look from
those deep dark eyes on his skin, like a long forgotten caress.  He
shivered.  Now it was too late.

The picture still in his hand, he pulled out a thick journal from a
drawer and opened it.  He looked at his handwriting.  "It's just that he
belongs to a good part of my life I will always remember."  He allowed
his gaze to return to Marcus' photo.

Marcus.  How long it seemed to be . . .

It had been a frosty Sunday as Simon and his parents were on their way
to the house of Julius Weidenbruch, his father's business partner.
Simon was sulking the entire way and envied his older brother, Kristian,
who spent this day surely in bed with his newest boyfriend.   He lived
alone in his own flat while Simon, himself, still had his room in his
parent's house.  Neither of his parents had any idea that Simon was gay
also, and Simon didn't care if they ever should find out.  It was none
of their business.

Sighing, he followed them into the house and prepared himself for a
long, boring evening.  He had always found his father's long reproaches
concerning finishing his education so tiring and it was even easier for
him to not return to school. But suddenly his mood changed abruptly as
Simon saw HIM.  A young man in an anthracite coloured jacket, a black
polo neck jumper and light blue jeans.  He looked ravishing when he
smiled, the dark brown eyes sparkling and his almost black hair shining
when it was caught by the light of the lamps.

Simon didn't know that the son of his parent's business partner would be
present and suddenly he was eager to meet this man and talk to him in
private.


Simon went over to his CD-player and turned it on.  A perfect string of
harmonic singing sounded before Freddy Mercury's dramatic voice set in.
He stood in the middle of his room and stared holes into the air.


Simon had submitted to the business blabber when they sat down and had
their dinner but had eyes only for Marcus.  The voice of his father
finally pierced his thoughts.

   "We didn't give up hope that our youngest here will make up his mind
finally and begin with a course.  I always dreamt about having a lawyer
or a doctor in the family."

Wolff - Simon's father looked questioningly at Simon, but he didn't
respond.  The ticking of regulators and mantelpiece clocks made him
nervous.

   "What did you study, Marcus?" he heard his mother's, rather shrill
voice, asking.  Marcus loosened his gaze from Simon and wiped his mouth.
"Well I had a few semesters in Arts of painting, in Ancient History,
learned Old Greek and Latin and made a trainee-ship in the department
of the University where archaeological finds would be chosen."

Julius Weidenbruch interrupted his son.  "Since his childhood he has
been familiar with antiques.  He can sort out every epoch even if he
were blind."

His voice was full of pride and Simon felt his parents exchanging
glances.  Of course they had nothing to be proud of.  Two sons living
from day to day, taking the money for granted and spending it on useless
things.  Add to this, one of them was gay.  What a shame.

His eyes met Marcus' again and Simon knew that he didn't hear the adult
conversation.  He stared in his direction, without seeing him
apparently, until his eyes again locked deeply with Simon's.  A look
from black, deep eyes - unfathomable like Loch Ness.

   "What are you interested in?" Marcus ask him finally.  "Only to have fun
with the girls?"

Simon began to grin.  "What do you think?"  He gazed intently into
Marcus' face and a wild idea rushed through his mind.  Why did he ask
those questions?

   "I think a little bit of education doesn't do any harm." Marcus
grinned again.  Was there a spark lit up in his eyes? Blood filled
Simon's groin, flashes of dancing tongues, exploring hands, enlarged
cocks passed through his mind and, against his will, a very brief blush
scurried over his face.

   "Would you like to become a doctor, a surgeon perhaps?" Marcus
continued.

   "No, can't stand the sight of blood."

   "Well, that's unfortunately the truth," Simon's mother threw in.


Simon turned up the volume when his favorite song sounded and Mercury's
voice reached its highest peak.  He loved his voice, not only because it
was "Somebody to Love" which played as Marcus had taken him home to his
house.

He couldn't quite remember the moment he had decided to accept his
invitation.  The only thing he was sure of was that he wanted Marcus'
presence, no matter what this would lead to.

   "I hate those annoying clocks all over my parent's place." Marcus said
as they stepped out of the car and both entered his house.

   "Wow," Simon exclaimed.  "Is this all yours?"

   "Sure.  Present for my 25th birthday."

   "Indeed!  Well, then I still have five years to wait for such a
present."

>From the hall he peered into the living room. "What's upstairs?"

   "Bath and bedrooms.  And my studio."

Simon turned surprised.  "Your studio?  You paint?"

Marcus nodded.  His look was speculative.  Simon felt a bit dressed down
and smiled nervously.  He couldn't quite understand what was the matter
with him.  He never had felt nervous with a new guy.  Well, Marcus
seemed to be a different calibre, older than he himself, certainly more
experienced in both life and love.

   "You know my parents chose their new domicile for living in Tenerife.  I
will now take over their business."

   "Yes, they told me. You live alone here?  Isn't it a bit large?"

   "I'm not always alone here."  A small smile twisted Marcus' lips.
"Come, why are we standing here in the hall?  Something to drink?"

Simon followed him into the living room and Marcus gave him a glass of
wine.

   "Music?"

Simon nodded.




   "Find me somebody to love ... find me..."  The harmonic vocal music
culminated to a growing crescendo and mingled with the same sound that
had filled Marcus' room.  Simon was still excited at the memory.
Really, how long it seemed to be ... when he thought it over he himself
was pretty much an asshole, only searching for his own pleasure, for
entertainment - recklessly, never caring about the feelings of his
newest conquest he had made at every occasion since the age of 16.  Just
like Kristian.  And now he had shared the company of the most exciting
man he had ever met and everything was different.  He certainly couldn't
hold a candle to Marcus but he sensed that Marcus didn't care.

He drank his second glass as Marcus asked innocently "Now, you didn't
answer my question.  How many girlfriends do you have?"  Marcus' eyes
were lurking and Simon had to burst out into laughter.  "What are you
talking about, eh?  I'm sure you know that there aren't any girls."

   "No?" Marcus raised an astonished eyebrow.  It built a perfect black bow
over his deep eyes.  Simon rose from his chair, put the glass aside and
stood in front of Marcus.  "Don't play games, honey." he said low and
then all went on very quickly.


   "Yes."  Simon sighed.  Marcus was a passionate man.  Bright, funny, full
of fantasy, tender.  He didn't leave time for Simon to think twice, took
his hand and went with him upstairs to his bedroom.


Simon threw a brief glance to his own bedroom and the disheveled
covers.  Marcus' bed was full of silky pillows which were cool to his
hot skin.  He was slowly undressed and submitted to Marcus' tender
hands.  This was a new experience for him... all the other encounters
had been fiery, steaming, short and most of all unsatisfying when he
compared it to Marcus experienced hands, his tongue sucking at his skin
downwards to the curly dark hair of his pubic area, sucking and licking
lower, followed by his warm fingers, urging him to do the same.  At one
very special point, as both couldn't hold on, he dragged Simon upon his
body to straddle him, giving him a condom to pull it over Marcus' heavy
penis until he lowered himself, feeling the intruder splitting him
almost but leaving a feeling behind he never had felt during all his
former encounters.

This must be love.  Or at least Simon got a faint idea of what love
could be - or a steady relationship.  It went on the whole night until
he was laying there in the morning with open eyes, staring at a big
painting of a sandy haired man.  He liked the expression on this face -
a bit wistful, the lips sensual, the body strong and of creamy colour.

   "It's Sebastian," he heard Marcus husky voice.

   "I thought you lived here alone."

   "I do.  He's my best friend."

Simon turned his head to Marcus.  "Best lover you want to say."

Marcus blinked a bit.  "Yes."

   "Still?"

   "No."

Simon had a feeling it was a lie but for the moment he banned the
thought.  He rolled upon Marcus' body and pressed his erection into his
thigh.  "Forget him.  If you want, I'm now your sex-slave."

Marcus laughed and pinched his ass cheeks.  "Sex-slave, eh?"  His look
was getting serious as he said, "Why not?"

This had been the very beginning of a relationship full of sex and love
and Simon had never felt that happy in his entire life.  Fuck his
parents, he never wasted a thought about them.


Simon sat in his chair and turned off all lights.  It was dark in the
room and filled with Freddy Mercury's voice.

He had met Sebastian later, not his kind or type of man but they
got along well.  Simon never could get rid of that feeling that both
were still lovers from time to time until Sebastian began to work in
Rome.

But this didn't bother Simon seriously, he had never had so much sex in
his entire life - good sex to be more explicit and he could have all
from Marcus that his heart desired.  As he moved in with him his parents
were shocked.  At least they hoped that their second son would produce
grandchildren and carry on the name after Kristian had "decided" to be
gay - but they had recovered relatively soon.  Simon didn't care anyway.

It was all too exciting:  the house, the people, the trips, the shopping
spree's they made.  It was fine except for the long time Marcus spent
abroad, wanting him to join him and to spend his hours with most boring
or over effusive persons.


Again he stared into Marcus' deep eyes.  Marcus traveled around the
world for the next work of Art he wanted to add to his already big
collection, and Simon got bored with it so much that he began to search
for his pleasure in foreign beds .... or wherever.  He had stopped
accompanying him one day but didn't know what he searched for exactly
... another mouth, another cock, an alternative to Marcus, one he had
gotten too familiar with.  But it wasn't worth it.  He knew all about
Marcus' love skills and there was hardly anybody who could compare with
him.  Simon knew now that it wasn't the "love skills" alone - no.  There
was a feeling behind, it wasn't about pure sex.  Marcus never spoke of
love, this wasn't words that came easily over his lips and Simon
actually didn't long to hear them.  Marcus was with him and this was
enough.  But now he had found another lover - Nicholas.  It wasn't
exactly pleasant to meet his successor but Nick was a lovable lad,
although he seemed to be a bit serious for his taste - well, life has
taught him that a little seriousness couldn't do any harm.

He felt again a slightly discomfort in the stomach, so he went into
the bathroom to have one of his tablets, although he wasn't sure if
it wasn't the tablets that caused his sickness.

He met his eyes in the mirror, dark and clear eyes in a small, serious
face.  Now, where is your irresistible smile?  He asked himself.  Lost
it somewhere in a foreign bed?  Or in the examination room of the
hospital?

He ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair.  Perhaps he would lose
his hair someday? Would Ben find him still attractive then?

Ben provoked a bright smile and Simon could see the two deep dimples in
his cheeks again.  Since they met in the gay club, they had been almost
inseparable, even while Simon was down with the flu last month.  He had
cared for him like a mother hen with its chicks.

Simon grinned now.  Perhaps Ben has been sent from heaven... Perhaps
there would be a future.  Perhaps he would live long enough for a better
medication.  He was young and his body had always been healthy although
he had mistreated himself with drugs and alcohol last year.

Perhaps he could fight back his low self esteem, his self destroying
being, to begin a new relationship.

The nausea subsided and Simon drank another cup of water.  He felt tired
now and decided to call it a day.  He vanished into his bedroom.  The
journal was still laying open upon the little table.  Simon dragged it
upon his knees and began hastily to write.



	"Marcus, Jo, Oliver and you, Ben.  I love you all.  Although
	in a very different way.  I've waited for Marcus to tell me
	that he loved me, but it never came.

	Jo from Hamburg - I must tell you later about him.  He was a
	sugar daddy, paid for my needs and used me for his pleasure.
	And I enjoyed it.  I'm certainly sick, man.

	Oliver... he told me he loves me but I never answered.  But I
	did love him, otherwise I wouldn't have sold my ass for him.
	I'm sure I have no idea about love.  I always mix up love with
	desire.

	And what about you, Ben?  I fear it is just pity that keeps you
	staying with me.  Is it?  If yes, I don't want it.  It was
	entirely my fault.  I was careless, careless like Frank had been.
	I couldn't stand it if you are with me because you inherited the
	urge to help the ill ones from your mother and actually don't
	give a fuck about myself, my very being. If so, you must go.
	Or I will go.  But you can't answer, Ben.  You are much too far
	away from me."



End of Chapter One. More to follow