In the beginning I hated England: because it had come between Michel and me.
I had studied English at school in France, but not enough to be really able to communicate. Dad hired a private teacher for all of us three kids. He was a lean and curt Londoner, about thirty years old, neither likable nor unpleasant, but very much the gentleman.
We settled in a little two-storey house not far from the Victoria and Albert Museum. On the ground floor were the sitting room, dining room and the kitchen. On the first floor were my parents', Carlo's and Enza's rooms, and the bathroom. Right up under the eaves, though it wasn't really an attic, was my bedroom. We also had a nice back garden, and in the semi-basement were cellars and a garage: my Dad had actually bought a car. He wanted Carlo to learn to drive, and me when I was old enough. It was more difficult to adapt and be accepted here in London than it had been in France. Again, what helped us was school. Carlo went to University to become a civil engineer. After some hesitation, I opted for the Superior School for Journalism. There I learned German, Spanish and Arabic, so within a few years I had a good grasp of six languages, which has been very useful both professionally and in my private life. I love languages.
But to start off it was twice as hard, because of both the change of environment, and the separation from Michel.
Again, Enza was the only one not to have her name changed; Carlo became Charles (spelled as in French, but pronounced differently), and I became Andrew. And our surname was pronounced "ny-k" and not "nee-kay" as it should be.
During the first year several things happened of which I have only a confused memory. In January, Hitler came to power in Germany. In the Summer, the Italian boxer Primo Carnera became World Champion and the Italian soccer team won the World Cup. Italians enjoyed a moment of fame, even though the majority of English people didn't care for fascism. But the rumour spread that it was through being anti-fascist that my family had been forced to emigrate, and this brought us sympathy from several people.
The journalism school was fascinating. We had amongst our teachers the top English journalists of the time, and the other teachers were all very talented. The whole course lasted five years, including our working attachments to the most famous English newspapers. Dad bought me a typewriter and I learnt to type properly and fast and to take shorthand.
I wrote to Michel often, especially in that first year, and every letter I received from him was a real treat. For the whole of the first year I had no sexual contact, nor did I seek any. But desire slowly awoke in me again, and my attempts at solitary pleasure could no longer satisfy me. I only had to see a nice boy, an attractive and well-built guy, to arouse my erotic fantasies and inflame my desire. My dreams were peopled with gorgeous men, uninhibited and compliant, with whom I made love repeatedly...
One evening after supper, deeply troubled, I went out, feeling very agitated. I thought a long walk in the cool of the evening might calm me down. At that time I didn't yet know there were places you could go to find a partner or a one-night stand. I still knew nothing about the world of homosexuals, nor I had yet fully acknowledged that I was one myself, even though I realised that I was exclusively attracted to men. I still thought that homosexual meant effeminate, and I wasn't that: I was simply attracted to men, and that's all there was to it.
I wandered aimlessly for a long time, until I found myself in Hyde Park. I pressed on in the calm and inviting darkness between the trees barely illuminated by the moon. At first it seemed as if the place was deserted, for which I was thankful. But then I gradually began to notice furtive shadows moving from the shelter of one tree trunk to another then vanishing as silently and mysteriously as they had appeared.
I didn't immediately realise who these people were and what they were doing there. On the contrary, at first I was afraid they were robbers or something, and I thought it might be wise to get out of the park. All my senses were on the alert; I felt nervous, in danger. But as I turned homewards, I noticed two of the shadows converge, approach each other... and saw them intertwine, to unite in a long, unmistakable kiss! And there was no doubt it was the silhouettes of two men!
I felt such a rush of emotion, such excitement, such a quivering heat that I stopped, utterly amazed and yet strangely drawn. Only a few seconds went by, when suddenly the faint rustle of a twig under foot made me shudder and turn. A man, probably in his thirties, was standing near me, silent, looking at me. I could see his eyes scrutinizing me in the darkness, gleaming, studying, and examining me. I didn't move a single muscle and looked back at him, asking myself if he wanted me, really me. Perhaps he wanted to kiss me, like those two shadows a few moments ago? The man came nearer, almost close enough to brush against me, and again stopped and looked me straight in the eye, giving me a ghost of a smile. I responded with an uncertain smile. Then one of his hands, daring and bold, landed between my legs and lightly groped my turgid groin. I trembled as if struck by an electric shock.
"Already excited, you lovely boy." he said.
I didn't answer, but I didn't move away nor lower my look. I was trembling from head to foot, and felt a lump in my throat.
"Let me take care of your tool. I know how to make you happy..." he added, starting to unbutton my fly.
"Here?" I managed to stammer out, excited but alarmed.
"...'course." he answered, continuing.
"But... the others...? They can see us..."
"They're all here for the same reason, don't worry."
His insistent hand already had my trousers nearly undone. There was now nothing but the thin cotton of my underpants between his inquisitive fingers and my hard and quivering member.
"Isn't there a more... secluded place?" I asked in a murmur, fidgeting. My voice could hardly get out - I was so tense with a mixture of fear and desire.
The man smiled again: "Come on, there is a place..." and, taking me by the hand, he led me into a nearby thicket of bushes.
I followed him, docile as a child; I felt strange, as if in trance. As soon as we were out of sight, he crouched in front of me and in a single purposeful move hastily lowered my trousers and underpants to my knees, and immediately started to pleasure me with his lips. My whole body trembled and quivered. I hadn't felt such powerful emotions in more than a year, and so in just a few seconds I began to discharge into his throat, shuddering violently with pleasure.
The stranger stood up, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and joked: "Tasty boy! Thanks!" then slipped swiftly away into the shadows.
For a moment I remained standing there, motionless, trying to regain my control, my breathing shallow and fast, my trousers still round my knees. I felt the cool air brushing my slowly softening member. Then, letting out a long sigh, I rearranged my clothes and, satisfied, set off briskly for home.
The following evening I went to the park again. And again the evening after: and almost every evening I could find a stranger with whom to satisfy my desires.
Once, after making love to me in the bushes, a man put some money in my hand! That was how I found out that several of the boys wandering about the park did it for money, and were called renters... For a while after that I stopped going to Hyde Park. Then one evening I went back again, this time determined to be the one making the first approach. That evening I wandered around longer than ever, until I spotted a boy, almost my own age, with a refined and delicate appearance, and an athletic and elegant gait. I started to follow him. From time to time, he would turn and look at me. He had a fine face too: soon I felt aroused. I had to make love with him! Suddenly the boy changed direction and turned into a thicket of tall bushes. I followed him, my heart in turmoil. I couldn't see him any more: where had he gone? Perhaps he didn't like me and was trying to get away... But then suddenly, he was standing right there in front of me. I shuddered from the surprise and my heart leapt into my throat.
Rather defensively, the boy asked me sharply: "What do you want?"
For a moment I didn't answer, than murmured: "You!"
He smiled slightly and asked again: "And what would you like do with me?"
I hesitated... what ought I to say? "Make love..."
"Sex, you mean."
"Yes..."
"Do you have a place?"
"No."
"Here, then?"
"If you want..."
He looked at me appreciatively from head to toe, then asked: "You a foreigner?"
"Yes, Italian."
"Your English is good. You in a hurry?"
"No, not all that much."
"Come with me, then."
"Where to?"
"A safer place. Not far."
"Good."
We set off. He introduced himself and asked my name. He asked me what was I doing in England, how I knew about that cruising ground... I answered mechanically, my excitement mounting with every step. We quickly reached a small building, an abandoned house, its doors and windows nailed up. We went round the back, where he moved a plank and slid inside. I followed him, tremendously excited. We went up a precarious staircase to the first floor, into a room with old ramshackle furniture left behind by the former tenants, and a mattress on the floor.
"It's not Buckingham Palace, but we're safe here." he said, starting to undress without further preliminaries.
I unhesitatingly did likewise and after a moment our naked bodies were rubbing against each other. He wasn't yet aroused and smiled to see that I was: "Hot blooded, you Latins!" he said, pressing his body to mine. To me it was like an electric shock. I held him tight against me and we started to kiss and caress. In a moment we slid down onto the mattress, smelling slightly of dust and mildew. But the fresh smell of his body and of his eau de cologne intoxicated me at once. We continued to kiss, to grope each other's bodies, to feverishly explore each other: in a short time the boy too was fully aroused, increasing my excitement.
When at last we were both satisfied, I asked him if we could meet again.
"Maybe, who knows? Don't you have a steady boyfriend?"
"No. Do you?"
"Yes, I have. He's away today. When he's away I come to the Park or go down Piccadilly, or to the Embankment by the Houses of Parliament, you know. But if he's home, I never go out. He's terribly jealous, you see..."
We talked a little more, caressing each other pleasurably. He explained where else in the town it was possible to have interesting encounters. We dressed and left. I met him a couple more times and we made love again in that abandoned house. I used occasionally to take my other conquests there, until it was demolished.
I went exploring in search of adventures in those other places that had been suggested to me. Sometimes someone would take me home with him, but mostly we had to take our sex hastily, still half dressed. In a few cases we saw each other several times, but then, for one reason or another, that was where the story ended.
I remember a boy who washed up in a restaurant, a gorgeous black lad I meet on the Thames Embankment. Sometimes I would wait for him, at closing time, in the blind alley behind the restaurant where he worked. He was always glad to see me. We used to go into a nearby alley where a greengrocer's lorry was parked. We climbed in the back under the tarpaulin and there we made love. With that splendid black stallion I could reach orgasm twice or even three times in an evening. He was incredibly sensual and made love with sublime energy and passion. One night the lorry's owner turned up unexpectedly for some reason and caught us. The man hurled blows and vile insults at us as we fled headlong, trying to get dressed. Afterwards the boy was so scared he asked me not to come and see him any more. Luckily I didn't have any cuts or bruises on my face, so my family never suspected anything.
For about three years I moved from one adventure to another, changing partners I don't know how many dozens of times, making love in the most unlikely places and with very different people. Three or four times I even paid to have sex with boys I liked too much, but who were renters and would only do it for money. But I soon perceived that sex bought for money didn't give me the same satisfaction as the spontaneous or conquering kind.
Another time something happened that threatened my tranquillity. In the Thames Embankment toilets near the Houses of Parliament, I picked up a seventeen-year-old boy whom I liked straightaway. There was something at the same time naïve and shameless about him, and he had a splendid body, mature, well-built and very sexy.
He took me to the attic where he lived nearby. He was extremely willing and really expert, and sex with him had been immensely enjoyable. We talked and when I asked to meet him again, he seemed happy and made a date for the following day. We met several more times and I was growing fond of him, so I took him into my confidence and began telling him all about myself, my life, my studies. The boy listened attentively and was very sweet to me, seeming more and more happy to have met me.
Everything seemed to be going well, when one evening he said to me: "Listen, Andrew, I need money..."
"How much?" I asked quietly.
He shot out the figure.
"Good heavens! That's a lot. I don't have that sort of money."
"Well, make sure you find it by tomorrow, or you'll regret it." he said arrogantly with a shrug.
He was blackmailing me: either I found the money and gave it to him, or he would tell everybody (my family, the principal of my school) I was homosexual. I gained just one concession: he would wait five days.
I went back home frightened and upset. In England, the laws against homosexuality were severe. Besides, how would my parents react? Very badly, without a doubt. What was to be done? How could I raise the money in order not to have my life destroyed? The only idea I had was to prostitute myself: after all I was a beautiful boy, young, and I knew I was attractive... The idea disgusted me, but...
So, the following evening, I went to Oxford Circus where I knew several renters used to make good money, and started to walk slowly, my heart in turmoil.
After a while, a young man in his late twenties approached me. From his glance I thought he liked me, so I attempted to pick him up. I wasn't wrong, he accepted. But when, terribly ashamed, I shyly told him that I did it for money, he gave me a strange look and said, with a shake of his head: "That's a pity. I would never have thought that of someone as refined as you seem..."
"But I wouldn't have asked for money, I have never done it for money. But I really need it..." I said in despair, and explained my problem to him.
He heard me out, then asked: "And if you hadn't had this problem, would you have made love with me all the same?"
"Yes. I like you."
"I like you as well, boy, and I want to help you. But not by giving you money. Come with me."
"Where?" I asked, hesitating and diffident.
"I've got a good friend, a homosexual like us, who I'm sure will know how to get you out of this mess. So, d'you want to come? I'll take you to meet him."
"But... who is he?"
"A policeman."
"A policeman? And what'll happen to me? Won't he arrest me?" I asked, increasingly confused and alarmed.
He answered with a smile: "Of course not! He's a good friend, I'll vouch for him!"
I followed him, unconvinced, but with a glimmer of hope.
His friend welcomed us, listened to my story, asked a lot of questions then said: "Don't worry. Go and see the boy, the day after tomorrow, and I'll come with you. You'll see, everything'll be settled. But remember, if anything like this should ever happen to you again, giving in is not a good tactic. You have to refuse absolutely to pay or you risk never being able to free yourself from him. You have to show you're not afraid of all his threats, his blackmail, and you'll find that nothing will happen. That kind of people get their power from the fear they strike into you: it is the only weapon they have..." and he explained other points to me: how to behave, how to guard against similar bad encounters.
He came with me, in uniform, and frightened the boy so much that not only did he not try anything to harm me, he literally disappeared out of circulation.
In that period I had also a short but intense relationship with a Spanish dancer. There was no love between us, just sex, but what sex! I met him one evening in a pub where I had heard that, with discretion, it was possible to pick up young and interesting people. He didn't speak English and couldn't make himself understood to the waiter, so I offered to be his interpreter and we started to chat.
From the way he was looking and smiling at me, I realised he liked me, so, overcoming my shyness, I cast the bait: "Don't you feel lonely in this foreign city, not even being able to communicate?"
"You said it! Yes, it's miserable not to have a friend to spend my free time with, to be able to relax with... A friend like you, for instance."
"Would you like to... relax... with me?" I asked.
"Yes, indeed. I'll like to know you more... intimately." he said, looking me straight in the eye and smiling at me.
"But is there no... intimacy... with the other dancers in your company?"
" Yes of course, but... You know what it's like, we artists are like sailors: we search for fresh adventure in every new port. And you are just my type... What do you think of me?"
Now the approach was unmistakable, so I asked him: "How long are you in London for?"
"Two more weeks."
"So, what are we waiting for? Time is slipping away from us. Do you have a place?"
"Yes, my hotel room."
"You think they'd let me in without any problem?"
"If you were a girl, they'd certainly stop you, it's expressly forbidden. But fortunately you are a man, so no problem. Come on!"
"Yes, let's hurry! Or I might jump on you right here in the pub!"
He laughed mischievously: "I'd love to try it just once on a bar table, in the middle of a crowd!"
I laughed too, amused at the idea: "Exhibitionist! Let's go!"
"You're in hurry, aren't you? You on heat already?"
"You bet! Why, aren't you?"
"Sure! Any more and all the buttons will burst off my fly like machine gun bullets!"
We had no sooner entered his room and locked the door than he leapt at me. He drove me wild. He could to bring me right to the limit of explosion, but then slow down, allow me to recover, and start all over again, warm, impetuous, tender, headlong, sweet, full of lust.
We met again. Each time I spent hours of intense pleasure in his bed. The moment I had a little free time, I would rush to see him.
After we had seen each other five or six times, he said that a couple of his colleagues wanted to join us. At first I felt a little hesitant, never having had sex with several people at once before, but then I decided it was worth a try. At the beginning I was shy, ashamed, but the other two were so beautiful and so passionate as well that for the whole of the time they worked in London the four of us always made love together, sometimes swapping our partners, sometimes all united in a torrid tangle. Since they had their show at night and I had my classes during the day, we met at lunch-times. I willingly forewent my lunches and had my fill of sex instead
They were years of debauchery but pleasure, when I greedily learned and experimented with all the variations of sexual acts between men.
As for religion, I had laid my conscience to rest. I continued to go to Mass when I was with my family, but privately I was happy to feel a "pagan". Now, the idea makes me smile. But at that time I really tried to convince myself about being a pagan. All things considered, the religion of Ancient Greece seemed to me a lot more comfortable and sensible than Christianity, in accepting and valuing all of Man's basic instincts. Including love between two men. In reality, claiming and believing myself a pagan was merely a way to avoid confronting my moral dilemma. I was experiencing situations as I encountered them, on a day by day basis.
Meanwhile, my brother Carlo had married an English girl and they went to live in their own home. Enza was eighteen and had turned into a beautiful girl, and the first boys were discreetly courting her. I must say I did very much like some of the boys who started to frequent our house, young people of about twenty, and I sometimes secretly regretted they were coming for Enza and not for me!
There was one in particular, Mark, a sexy young man who attracted and fascinated me a great deal. At night he often figured in my erotic dreams. But of course I couldn't dare to try anything with him, even if the temptation was sometimes really strong.
Some of my fellow students appealed to me very much as well, and I liked them. But with them too, I didn't feel I could risk an approach. So I continued in my secret forays and passed happily from adventure to adventure. Dad bought me a second-hand car, which gave me new opportunities to seek and find new adventures. Sometimes I took my occasional conquests out into the country, to consummate our union in my car, hidden in the woods.
My journalism classes proceeded smoothly and successfully, and on my 21st birthday I knew the satisfaction of having my first article printed in a London newspaper. Enza, nineteen, married a Welsh boy, George. It was a real surprise when, six months before the wedding, she brought him home and introduced him to us as her fiancé. Not only for my parents, who were not yet prepared for the idea of "their little Enza" becoming a "wife"; but primarily for George and myself. We recognized each other immediately, though we introduced ourselves in a formal way, without letting on.
George, whose name I hadn't known up till then, and I had met and made love four times, the last being just ten days before. We had met late one evening at Victoria Station toilets. The first time, he picked me up and I enjoyed that encounter very much: George was a boy with a very nice face and body, as well as being very likable. Moreover, making love with him had been really enjoyable, because he was uninhibited and expert. To find him in front of me as my sister's fiancé, my future brother-in-law...
I was dumbfounded. I didn't know what to say, how to react. So, when he next came to visit us, I managed to see him alone for a moment and said: "I need to talk to you, George."
"Yes, I've been waiting for that. But... now? immediately?" he asked, crestfallen.
"No, tonight after dinner. Same time, same place. Understood?"
"Yes..."
"And make sure you turn up." I added threateningly in a harsh tone.
"Of course." he answered dejectedly.
That same evening I went to Victoria Station. He was already there waiting for me, tense and nervous.
"Good evening, George."
"Evening, Andrew."
"So... You want to marry my sister, right?"
"Yes... I love her," he answered in a low voice "God knows what you must be thinking of me... You're bound to be against it."
"I still don't know. Do you really love her?"
"Yes, yes, yes! I swear."
"Since when?"
"Five months ago, more or less."
"So you were already... in love with her when you were having sex with me."
"Yes, that's right."
"So why, if you really are in love with Enza, did you have sex with me? And with how many other men besides me?"
"I... I like you." he stammered.
That wasn't the kind of answer I was expecting, so I asked him sarcastically: "But do you want to marry Enza, or me... or both of us, perhaps?"
"You'll never understand..."
"Of course not, if you don't explain yourself."
George then explained to me that he desired sex with both men and women. But whereas with me and other men or women he felt just a physical desire, with Enza he realized he also felt love. He talked for a long time, trying to explain, to make me understand. I had the feeling he was honest and sincere.
So I asked him: "Are you really sure you can make Enza happy?"
"Yes. It's what I want with all my heart and soul."
"Have you made love to her?"
He hesitated, then looked me right in the eye and admitted: "Yes."
"And... my sister, did she... enjoy it?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"She enjoyed it very much."
"And you?"
"Me too, very much indeed."
With a touch of malice I asked him: "More than with me?"
"It's different. How can I explain... They are different emotions, different sensations..." and he launched into another explanation.
I listened for a long time, from time to time asking him questions, which he answered without hesitation, his reticence quite gone. In the end I said to him: "Well, listen George. If you are sure you can make my sister happy, I'll keep quiet and say nothing. But watch out! If you make her unhappy, I'll make you pay dearly. If on occasion you feel you need a man, do it. But remember: never at home, and without running stupid risks. And take care that Enza does not lack for anything, either sexual fulfilment or affection. Understood?"
"Yes, of course..."
Then I asked: "Do you often find yourself needing a man?"
"Well, not that often. But it does happen, sometimes. There are times when I need it."
"Even... right now?" I asked in a low voice.
He looked at me astounded, then flashed me the ghost of a smile: "Frankly, yes. I would like to make love with you again. I've always liked you a lot, and I'm not saying that just because..."
Interrupting him with a nod and a smile, I said: "Yes, I like you too. I'm quite envious of Enza, you know? Come on, I've got the car..."
So we had sex again, and in a way it was even more exciting than the other times. I had sex with him once more before the wedding, and also a few times afterwards. He assured me that, apart from me, he had been seeing just one other boy, and not all that often, and that everything was perfect with my sister. I could tell from Enza's happiness that he was telling the truth. Anyway, I never again came across him in any of the places where men go to meet.
One last thing I like to remember from that period. As I said, I had neither a lover nor a steady sexual partner, preferring to change from adventure to adventure. The only exception was a period of two months. It was Summer 1935 and I was 20 years old. Michel, my Michel, came to London. Naturally, he stayed with us, and we put him up in my little room under the eaves, because I had moved into Carlo's old room downstairs after he got married. I was so happy and excited to see him again! Michel seemed to be happy too.
As soon as we were alone, I asked him: "You wrote to me that you had something to tell me... What is it?"
He took my hand, caressed it (that was as much as we dared do, with mother in the kitchen nearby) and said to me: "Well, you see... I'm living with a chap."
It was a blow to me. I tried not to show my hurt feelings, and trying to speak in a normal voice, I asked him: "For how long?"
"Six months, just under. I couldn't write it to you in a letter, I had to tell you in person."
"And... are you happy?"
"Yes, we get on very well together. You see, André, I'll never be able to forget you, but..."
"You don't have to apologize to me. It is logical it's happened. We've been apart for more than two years now." I said sincerely, but feeling very sad.
"Yes. Up till six months ago there was no problem, I had only you in my heart. I wasn't looking for anyone else. But then... I met Alain. At the outset our relationship was purely physical. But then I realised that I was gradually falling in love with him and he with me. So now we are together..."
I felt he was right and tried to accept the situation with serenity. I asked him: "Why didn't you bring him with you? I'd like to have met him."
Michel smiled gently: "You're so sweet, André. But Alain preferred not to come."
"But why? Oh, I understand, he knows about us and didn't want to meet me."
"Yes and no. He knows about us, that's true. I've spoken about you a great deal. When I told him I was coming to London to visit you, he utterly refused to come, because..."
"He's jealous."
"No, if that was the case, he wouldn't have liked my coming here. He just thought that perhaps we might want to be alone, you and I, and his presence would have stopped us..." He fell silent without finishing the sentence.
I stared at him amazed, unable to believe what I had heard. "You mean..." I started incredulously, then fell silent, shaking my head.
Michel nodded yes, smiling: "I mean to say that if you want to as much as I do, in these two months..."
"But won't Alain be upset? I would feel hurt, in his position."
"He probably would be jealous of someone else, but not of you. At least until I'm back with him in France and the Channel separates us."
I was silent for a long time, immersed in confused thoughts. I would have been jealous, even of someone living far away. Alain wasn't! How can you be in love and not jealous? I asked him that question.
"I asked myself the same question. If Alain had asked me not to come, however much I had wanted to see you, I would not have come. But he is deeply in love with me, and he made me realise that jealousy is a symptom of possession, not of true love. True love is donation, not possession. He knows for a fact that I love him and that, even if I come back to you for two months, I will certainly go back to him. He understood that I wanted to see you again and that it would give me great pleasure, so he encouraged me to come here, alone..."
"But are you sure he won't be hurt?" I insisted.
"Of course, because once I'm back, he will have all of my love back again. Or better still, now I love him even more than before."
"I believe you! Will you bring him one day and introduce us?"
"Yes, of course. But you... you still haven't told me if..."
I realised what he was hinting at. Of course I wanted him; he was Michel, my first, my only love. So I replied: "Tonight, don't lock the door of your room: I'll come and give you my answer."
He smiled joyfully and fleetingly kissed my hand.
That same night, once I was sure everyone was asleep, I crept noiselessly up to him, barefoot. He was already in bed, but awake and waiting for me.
"Michel?" I murmured with emotion as I entered.
"Yes, my sweet friend?"
"This is the last time for us, isn't it?"
"Yes, our last two months. As long as it's what you want too..."
"If I didn't, I wouldn't have come..."
Michel moved over in the bed and lifted the sheet in a gesture of invitation. Gazing at his gorgeous body, I slipped hastily out of my pyjamas and slid in beside him. Our bodies explored each other. It was as if the past two years had never existed. We immediately celebrated our reunion in a frenzy of caresses and kisses.
Smelling the scent of his body once again intoxicated me: I felt drunk. We made love until dawn. We were still kissing and caressing when the noise came from downstairs of Dad getting up and going to the bathroom. I jumped out of bed, put on my pyjamas and gave him one last passionate kiss. I went quietly down the stairs and tried the bathroom door handle. It wouldn't open.
From inside came Dad's voice: "I'm in here!"
"Oh, sorry Dad. Take your time." I answered, feigning a sleepy voice. I went back to my room and back to bed thinking again of Michel.
During the day we explored London and the surroundings area together, and we often had lunch out. We almost always had dinner at home, then we had the whole night to ourselves. We also devised a plan in case one of the family should come upstairs, but we never needed it.
Our nights passed, sweet and enjoyable, beautiful and passionate, tender and lively. Michel gave me the best of himself and I of myself to him. It was a strange happiness: I knew that everything was going to end, or rather, that it spelt the end of the splendid relationship that had united Michel and me. Even though two years had passed since the day we were forced to separate, I still didn't actually consider the relationship I had had with Michel was over. Not that he had acted wrongly in getting involved with Alain. It just was my not having realised that it was only sensible to regard our story as ended. And perhaps Alain, who I knew had read my letters, felt that, and was giving us the means to bring our relationship to a satisfactory close.
Anyway, the very fact that for almost a year and half my Michel hadn't wanted anyone else, pleased me enormously.
Michel had shown me pictures of Alain: he was a likable guy, and you could sense from his smile he was very sweet and kind. He had an athletic body, very strong and manly.
All things considered, I have to admit, I was glad that my Michel... that Michel (I had to accept that he was no longer mine!) had met a guy like Alain.
When Michel had to leave at the end of the two months, I wanted to send his boyfriend a present. I said to my dear friend: "I wish you every happiness with Alain, and hope you make him happy too. You both deserve it."
Michel held me very tight: "I wish you, too, all the happiness in the world. You deserve it too, André. I would've liked to have been the one to bring it to you, but destiny decided differently..."
"Don't forget me, my friend."
"I never could, my sweet friend."
We parted after one last, unforgettable exchange of love that, like our first night two months before, found us awake until dawn, each lost in the arms of the other, almost as if we both wanted to stamp the other with our seal, on that last occasion.
Afterwards, we wrote to each other again, with Alain as well. Some years later I had the pleasure of meeting him, and we became friends. They lived together until Michel's death in the war. In fact, just five years later in 1940, it was Alain who broke the sad news to me.
His letter started with the words:
"My dear André,
Unhappily, our beloved Michel has left us both..."