A promise and a curse

by Stefan

@2000

Editor Andrew Alexander

Sequel to “The knife that twists within”

THE PROTAGONISTS

Benedikt Schaefer -- Young student at the Academy of Arts. Strong minded and a bit out of control sometimes. Fell in love with Simon.

Simon Langenburg -- Occasional hustler and dealer. Old lover of Marcus Weidenbruch. Dismissed by Marcus when he caught him with another man in bed. HIV infected.

Nicholas Zellner -- Young, very talented painter, student friend of Benedikt. Shy, hurt but gaining self-confidence by meeting Marcus Weidenbruch.

Marcus Weidenbruch -- Very rich and famous promoter of Art. Collector of art works and antiques. Marcus and Nicholas have been a couple for some months. Strong but a bit selfish. Scatty but loveable and tender.

Sebastian von Scheffel -- Marcus' best and eldest friend. They were once lovers. Cocky, funny and witty, after every pair of pants in town. Works in Rome for Marcus and is one of the leaders of the excavation of ancient Rome. He and Nicholas had a one night stand.

Daniel von Falkenstein -- Sebastian's cousin. Owner of a castle in Italy's South-Tyrol. Taciturn, thoughtful, loner.

Kay Kristian Langenburg -- Young sales clerk. Brother of Simon and Sebastian's lover. Cheeky, funny, carefree. Doesn't know about Sebastian's and Nicholas' affair. Lives with Sebastian in Rome now.

Frank Neumann -- Nicholas' and Ben's teacher at the Academy of Arts. He raped Nicholas and tried to do the same to Benedikt. Picked up Simon from the street and spent one night with him without protection. Emotionless, fan of S & M.

Eduard Ehlers -- Secretary of the Senator for Arts and Culture of Berlin. Fan of S & M, living it out with Frank Neumann.

Walter-Udo Leister -- Student of the Academy of Arts, nephew of Eduard, strongly supported by him. He hates gays, especially his teacher, Frank Neumann.

Rene Jankowsky -- The one by whom Simon got HIV infected and the reason Simon and Marcus broke up. A bit obscure in his intentions.

Vera and Rudolf Zellner -- Nicholas' parents. Rudolf disapproves of Nicholas' homosexuality and hates Marcus for the same reason and because of his wealth. Narrow minded. Vera is opposed to her husband and left their flat.

Matthias Barth -- Nicholas' straight friend of mutual sales clear times at a shopping center. Matthias still works there, helped Nicholas during hard times.

Johannes Voss -- Elder employee and Restorer at Marcus' working hall.

Anna Weyler -- Marcus' housekeeper. Curious, jealous, annoying sometimes. Loyally devoted to Marcus. Tried to interrupt Marcus' and Nicholas' relationship but adjusted herself now with his presence.

Alexander Karowski -- Marcus' ex-employee. Tried to kidnap and to kill Nicholas for personal reasons.

Elli Schneider -- Wife of Marcus' business partner. Owns a portrait of Kay painted by Nicholas and commissioned him to paint her family.

Carola and Wolff Langenburg -- Simon's and Kay's parents. After selling their factory, now living at the Isle of Sylt. Not caring about their sons.

George Rosenstock -- Inheritor of London's optical glass factory. Had an encounter with Marcus.

Karl -- Marcus' employee working in London.

Andrea -- Italian, one of Sebastian's ex-lovers.

Roberto -- Italian, friend of Andrea.

PRELUDE

The pair of pliers very easily turned the square bolt set in the gate lock. The man's relieved grin remained unseen because of the black stocking mask he had pulled over his head. Good old Daniel von Falkenstein, how nice he kept his castle in such good shape.

Just another easy turn on the right side and the gate snapped open. Noiselessly it swung on its hinges.

He took his toolbox and merged with the shadows of the gate arch - a black dressed silhouette on soundless sneakers.

Arriving in the paved yard, he orientated himself quickly and looked up to the walls of the inner yard. The cold light of a three quarter moon reflected in his eyes. No sound was to be heard except the soft, creepy flapping wings of a tawny owl, which flew over the stout, old fortress tower.

The man shivered a bit; South-Tyrol's mountain nights were cool and he was dressed only in a black cat suit. He dropped his gaze to the ground and turned on the torch. Thank heavens von Falkenstein didn't have a dog, crossed his mind. Actually it was pretty careless.

He entered the next open entrance, rummaged for a sheet of paper, unfolded it and studied the layout plan of the castle. He climbed the wooden staircase to the first floor without being afraid anybody could hear him. Von Falkenstein, the owner of this place, was in Meran. He hoped that his friend could hold him there long enough.

His steps creaked over old, dusty floorboards until he reached the balcony and stepped again into the open air. He could hear the little creek gurgling over moss-covered stones below the balcony. He directed his eyes into the distance until his gaze fell upon the mountains opposite. Here and there a flickering point of light showed him the place of a house; then he looked down into the warm sea of lights of the town of Meran below his feet. He saw the illuminated casino and the iron lamps, which lit up the pedestrian zone and parkways along the river.

After a while he broke himself free to study once again the ground plan. He crossed a large room the owner probably used as his living room, climbed the stairs and opened another door. Rooted to the spot he remained on the threshold, then he lifted the torch and lightened the little chapel he was standing in.

It was made completely of wood, with heavy rafters, imitation gothic carvings - he wasn't quite sure. Set into the wainscot were painted pictures of saints and a heavy Crucifix hung down from a crossbeam.

The beam of the torch searched from one wall to another. Somewhere here it had to be... The cone of light moved over a covered object. With two steps he was there and quickly removed the cloth. With some effort he suppressed a moan and bent forward. It wasn't as big as he had expected it to be, but he certainly understood now why it was so precious.

With his teeth he pulled off his thin black glove and touched very cautiously the wood carved reredos, then he made the sign of the cross - quickly and almost furtively. The carved Mother Mary with her chubby-cheeked child in her arms seemed to smile at him, as if she would encourage him to take her with him. Adoringly his eyes followed the countless arches and curves, the carved foliage, the creative ornaments. Difficult to believe that it was made of wood and was done about 400 years ago - it gave the impression of a goldsmith's work or of a painting done with a fine brush.

After a long glance he replaced the cloth over the altar again and lifted it from its place. Soon the reredos would be complete again, he thought. He unrolled the padded wardrobe suitcase, pumped a little air into it and stowed the altar pieces away. Then he left the castle in the same way he had come.

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To Ben –

"If you should ever read this, I hope I'm still among the living. I know I do not have much time. You might say there are still years to come but I feel old. Well, not exactly. When you are with me I feel like the 21 years old lad I had been the day I met Marcus. Oh God, Marcus. I know you never heard our story, only the sad ending, haven't you?

It's more difficult for me than I thought to write all this down when speaking is so much easier. I can't tell you everything; can't tell you all those tales and stay calm; keep my countenance. But it has to be out before it is too late. I lost Oliver before we could say good-bye and I don't want you to feel the same afterwards. Gosh, why am I so dreary and a drama queen all of a sudden?

I have been trying for a while to sort my memories but each of them swirls in my mind like a .... wheel of colours. Which reminds me ... I owe you Oliver's story and you have never heard about Jo.

So, where to start?"

CHAPTER ONE

"Summer was gone. I sensed it when I woke up and felt Oliver's body lying cold in my arms. I didn't have to look into his face nor into his eyes. I knew he was gone like the summer. His head was heavy on my shoulder and his small chest didn't move. I wondered if he would see it now: all the strange, foreign colours, swirling like a wheel, getting faster and faster the more they neared the center point.

I had been dragged with them. Him and his life in the fast lane. He was 19, three years younger than me. And now I'm 23 and he is still gone. I miss him. I have told you already that my memories are in turmoil. I don't know exactly how to begin. I should tell you about Oliver but this would not be the right start, you know.

At the very beginning was Marcus Weidenbruch. My first love. I fall in love easily but Marcus was different. He WAS love, he gave me love and I believe there is still something left from the feelings we have shared. There must be something left, don't you think? It can't be here today and vanished tomorrow.

When I first saw him again after a long, long time ñ you remember, Ben? He was looking for Nicholas, his new lover he abandoned like me -- I thought the earth would shake but nothing like this happened. It was still there, all closeness...

But why do I tell you this? I don't want to leave the impression I'm still in love with him. I'm not. It's just that he belongs to a good part of my life I will always remember."

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"Ben! Wait for me, I'll come with you!"

Ben turned and stopped in his tracks to wait for his friend who struggled between several young people coming out of the exercise room of the Academy of Arts. Nicholas had his jacket over his arm, the other carried his painting equipment in a bag. Ben smiled at him. "I just need a piss, mate."

"Good, we have the same need then. Heavens, this was another day of difficult work," he added.

Nick studied the milky white skin of his friend and found him a bit paler than he was generally. Even the hazel eyes behind the thin black glass frames lacked their usual sparkle.

"Marcus won't come to pick you up today?" Ben asked.

"Not yet." Nick looked at his watch. "In an hour. Since we were finished early today, I'll have to wait for him."

Once more Ben felt a little pain in his heart thinking about how well Nicholas and his lover, Marcus, were doing together.

They entered the toilet, stood in front of the urinal and unzipped their trousers. Even Ben's long black ponytail had lost its healthy shimmering, Nicholas thought. He glanced at Ben's groin. "Nice equipment, Ben. Simon doesn't know what he's missing." He grinned mischievously.

Ben blushed furiously but returned Nick's grin and blew him a kiss. But almost instantly his facial expression changed into sadness again. "Haven't heard from Simon for two weeks now. So don't remind me."

Nicholas tucked his penis back into his underwear and zipped his trousers. "Sorry for that. Thought you could do with a bit of amusement."

"Yeah," Ben signed. "I'm in need of that, really." He shook his head. "If I only knew his whereabouts. He vanished without saying a word. I only hope he isn't in deep shit."

Nicholas washed his hands, examining his face in the mirror. With his hands still wet, he wiped them over his nicely cut dark blond hair and scooped up some water in his palm to drink. Indeed, he thought. Simon seemed always to be in deep shit since he began his dealing job in gay bars and hustling around to make his living.

"You don't think he had a quarrel with a dealer? Or possibly got into a bashing and is now laying in a hospital?" He turned to Ben.

"Actually, I do. He never carries his identification card so nobody would know his name when he's unconscious."

Nick still studied Ben's face. "Honestly, I can't understand why you hung your heart on him. Don't get me wrong, buddy, I can remember very vividly the night we found him in the "Night factory" and made clear that his family and his ex-lover, Marcus, worried about him. He has vanished before, you know, so this behaviour isn't new, Ben. That time I had the impression that he's quite an asshole. He never cares about anybody. So why are you so bewitched by him?"

Ben dropped his head and looked at the stained and wet tiles upon the floor. "I can't explain. I know good looking isn't reason enough to fall in love. But he IS good looking." He stopped, bent over to pick up his bag and jacket.

"So what else?" Nick insisted. He, too, took his clothes and stepped out of the toilet. Together they went along the long corridor to the exit of the Academy. They breathed in deeply the clear air. Now and again the sun peered out of the white clouds and the chestnut trees standing in the yard were beginning to show a bit of soft green, an indication that spring was near. "Want to wait with me for Marcus?" Nicholas pointed to a bench. Ben nodded.

"He can be very nice." Ben said all of a sudden.

"Who? Simon?" Nick sighed a bit.

"I like the way he talks, you know. The way he flicks off the curl that falls on his forehead," Ben whispered. "I wish he would take me in his arms."

"Never noticed. But then I don't know him at all. Are you sure it isn't only a physical attraction?" He made a mental note to ask Marcus about his ex-lover. After all, there must have been something about Simon that Marcus had loved. Marcus was a cultivated man, rich and well educated. Simon must have been more to him than an attractive face and body. Aloud he said, "I never asked Marcus about Simon. The only thing I know is that he found Simon fucking with another man in their bed and Marcus went wild about it. He chucked him out."

"Yes, I know that. Although I find it a bit harsh and an over-reaction." Ben looked into Nicholas' violet blue eyes. "He was about to do the same when he found out about you and Sebastian, right?"

Nicks cheeks reddened briefly as he looked away. Yes, Sebastian. Marcus' best friend. He tried to dismiss the queasy feelings, but did not succeed completely. Sebastian meant a lot to him, not only as a friend. But the attraction both felt for each other had subsided since they didn't see each other anymore and after all .... the longing had been fulfilled in one night of passion and Nick didn't feel the urge to do it ever again. This was absolutely out of the question. Marcus and he himself had talked about it over several weeks, over and over again during the nights and days, trying to figure out what they meant to each other.

"That's not enough of a reason for Simon to behave so sluttish," he said. "What he's doing with his arse is his concern but, since he's HIV positive, it's a different thing." Nick's voice sounded angry.

"But why? Nobody has to fuck with him without protection!"

"So this is all you can say about this?" Nick shook his head. "That's no good. Think about Frank!"

"Frank? You think it was Simon's fault?" Ben wanted to add something but swallowed it. Frank was their teacher for painting and had picked up Simon for one night, fucking their brains out while both were high on pot. Without protection, as he added in his mind. Perhaps Nick was right. He was careless.

A lump was building in his throat. He'd never had sex with Simon so far and suddenly he wasn't sure if he wanted it. "Simon isn't as bad as you picture him," he said softly. "He must be hurt. Something has hurt him so much that he turned into a .... fish, slipping through my hands. I can't make head or tails of him." He looked into Nicholas' direction. "That's a big attraction to me. I want to push forward to the REAL Simon, you understand?"

"Even if you could find something you wouldn't like to see? The very black essence of his soul?"

"Even then."

"Phew," Nicholas' eyes pierced Ben's. "Haven't you slept with him yet?"

Ben shook his head.

"Take care of yourself. Promise me that?"

"All right, Daddy." Ben's voice was without a smile. "He's healthy, although he sometimes feels the effects of the tablets he has to take. But otherwise, everything is ok."

"Tablets to support his immune system I assume."

"Right. He's sometimes very depressed. Therefore I fear he did something silly or is simply in difficulties."

Nicholas reached out to lay his arm around Ben's shoulders. He squeezed them tightly. "He isn't gone for good. I don't believe it."

Ben laughed, unhappily. "I try to believe that."

At the curb a black Mercedes arrived and came to a halt. "Marcus is here." Nick said. "Gosh, next week I'll have my first lesson for my driver's license. I'm scared shitless!"

Ben smiled. "It isn't that bad, Nick. Youíll do fine." He stood and looked at Marcus stepping out of this car. A tall figure with shiny black hair, leaning against the car door and waving. Ben waved back and took his bag. "Anything planned?"

"Not that I know about. Perhaps take some lessons behind the steering wheel of his car."

"Don't get caught!" Ben said more happily. "Give him my regards. My car is behind the academy. See you tomorrow." He was about to go.

"Ben! Show me a big smile!"

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

*

Ben climbed the staircase to the flat he shared with his mother, brother and sister, and 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, please 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 had done 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 had begun to smile and Simon had 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 hadnít taken 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 had thought.

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

Frank hadnít spoken a word - after he had ordered Simon to undress himself. He had sat in an armchair and watched with apparently rising anticipation; his gaze had clung to Simon's clean underwear. As Simon had begun to pull them down, Frank had said, "stop" and risen from his chair. He had approached Simon, touched him and his fingers had crept into the opening where he had pulled out Simon's limp penis. His fingers had been cold and Simon had shivered.

"Perhaps you should have a drink to warm you up" he had tried to joke but Frank hadn't smiled. He had traced the length of Simon's cock until he yanked down his pants with one rush and firmly clutched Simon's balls. "Nice," had been all he had said, then he had begun to undress himself. Simon had watched in amazement at Frank ripping off his own clothes and tossing them carelessly on the carpet. His skin had been 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 had grinned, "where's the stuff?"

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

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

"Now, let the fun begin." Simon had been surprised that he had wanted to share the stuff with him but hadnít minded. Frank had already sniffed the powder through the straws and then Simon had done the same.

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

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

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

Simon had wanted to lend Frank the condoms he carried with him, but it had been 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 had let out a cry of pain. The colours had swirled in his head, the bed had begun to tumble in circles and he had been dragged along with it.

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

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

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

Perhaps he had fallen asleep but he had woken up 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 had managed to say, and heard Frank's giggling, "Fucking you the whole night, I've paid you, remember?"

Oh yes, Simon had remembered. His head had felt dizzy but the grazing teeth had changed to a licking tongue and he hadnít minded as he had heard Frank's voice again, saying, "Now it's your turn, boy." He had 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 had woken up 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 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 had been so stupid to fuck him without protection and he had allowed it to happen because they had been 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 he wanted to take revenge for his ruined life. Revenge on everyone who had used his arse and will do it in the future. They are healthy. They were not doomed to die young before their 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 had left, taking Frank's money with him. But what about Ben? He didn't deserve such a 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 for 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, isnít he? Or does he still fancy you? Tries 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 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 feared, 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 up. "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 asked 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 dialled 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 on, the couch is pretty uncomfortable to sleep on. Please, do me a favour, o.k.? 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 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 on the little island named Sylt. He wasn't quite sure what he had wanted there, just to have a look at the house, he had thought - he appeased his conscience.

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

They had given up on their youngest son. Likewise they had never cared about Kristian, his brother. In fact, had they ever cared about their children? They had been brought up by a nanny who had been alienated and hard. Just like 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 had happened to you?

Moaning, he laid his forehead against the cool window glass and closed his eyes. How had he been able to 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 had everything? A rich, though cold upbringing, a nice brother and a lover everybody envied him of? 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 ago it seemed to be . . .

It had been a frosty Sunday as Simon and his parents had been on their way to the house of Julius Weidenbruch, his father's business partner. Simon had been sulking the entire way and envied his older brother, Kristian, who had spent this day surely in bed with his newest boyfriend. He had lived alone in his own flat while Simon, himself, still had had his room in his parent's house. Neither of his parents had had any idea that Simon was gay too, and Simon hadnít cared if they ever should find out. It was none of their business.

Sighing, he had 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 had been even easier for him to not return to school. But suddenly his mood had changed abruptly as Simon had seen HIM. A young man in an anthracite coloured jacket, a black polo neck jumper and light blue jeans. He had looked ravishing when he smiled, the dark brown eyes sparkling and his almost black hair shining when it had been caught by the light of the lamps.

Simon hadnít known that the son of his parent's business partner would be present and suddenly he had been 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 had sat down and had their dinner but had had eyes only for Marcus. The voice of his father had 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 had looked questioningly at Simon, but he hadnít responded. The ticking of regulators and mantelpiece clocks had made him nervous.

"What did you study, Marcus?" he had heard his mother's rather shrill voice asking. Marcus had loosened his gaze from Simon and wiped his mouth. "Well I had a few semesters in the 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 had 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 had been full of pride and Simon had felt his parents exchanging glances. Of course they had 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 had met Marcus' again and Simon had known that he hadn’t heard the adult conversation. He had stared in his direction, without seeing him apparently, until his eyes had again locked deeply with Simon's. A look from black, deep eyes - unfathomable like Loch Ness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon turned up the volume when his favourite song sounded and Mercury's voice reached its highest peak. He loved his voice, not only because it was "Somebody to Love" which had 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 had wanted Marcus' presence, no matter what this would lead to. "I hate those annoying clocks all over my parent's place." Marcus had said as they had stepped out of the car and both entered his house.

"Wow," Simon had 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 had peered into the living room. "What's upstairs?"

"Bath and bedrooms. And my studio."

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

Marcus had nodded. His look had been speculative. Simon had felt a bit dressed down and smiled nervously. He couldn't quite understand what had been the matter with him. He never had felt nervous with a new guy. Well, Marcus had 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 had twisted Marcus' lips. "Come, why are we standing here in the hall? Something to drink?"

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

"Music?"

Simon had 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 had been 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 had been different. He certainly couldn't hold a candle to Marcus but he had sensed that Marcus hadnít cared. He had drunk his second glass as Marcus had asked innocently "Now, you didn't answer my question. How many girlfriends do you have?" Marcus' eyes had been lurking and Simon had 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 had raised an astonished eyebrow. It had built a perfect black bow over his deep eyes. Simon had risen from his chair, put the glass aside and stood in front of Marcus. "Don't play games, honey," he had said low and then all had gone on very quickly.

"Yes." Simon had sighed. Marcus was a passionate man. Bright, funny, full of fantasy, tender. He hadnít left time for Simon to think twice, had taken his hand and gone with him upstairs to his bedroom.

Simon threw a brief glance to his own bedroom and the dishevelled covers. Marcus' bed was full of silky pillows, which had been cool to his hot skin. He had been slowly undressed and submitted to Marcus' tender hands. This had been 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 ingers, urging him to do the same. At one very special point, as both couldn't hold on, he had dragged Simon upon his body to straddle him, giving him a condom to pull it over Marcus' heavy penis until he had 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 had gotten a faint idea of what love could be - or a steady relationship. It had gone on the whole night until he had been lying there in the morning with open eyes, staring at a big painting of a sandy haired man. He had liked the expression on this face - a bit wistful, the lips sensual, the body strong and of creamy colour.

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

"I thought you lived here alone."

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

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

Marcus had blinked a bit. "Yes."

"Still?"

"No."

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

Marcus had laughed and pinched his ass cheeks. "Sex-slave, eh?" His look had been 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 had never wasted a thought on them. Simon sat in his chair and turned off all lights. The room was dark 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 had never been able to get rid of that feeling that both had been still lovers from time to time until Sebastian had begun to work in Rome.

But this hadn’t bothered 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 had moved in with him his parents had been shocked. They had hoped that at least 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 had been all too exciting: the house, the people, the trips, the shopping sprees they made. It was fine except for the long time Marcus had 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 had travelled around the world for the next work of Art he had wanted to add to his already big collection, and Simon had gotten bored with it so much that he had begun to search for his pleasure in foreign beds .... or wherever. He had stopped accompanying him one day but hadn’t known what he had searched for exactly ... another mouth, another cock, an alternative to Marcus, one he had gotten too familiar with. But it hadn’t been worth it. He had known all about Marcus' love skills and there had hardly been anybody who could compare with him. Simon knew now that it hadn’t been the "love skills" alone - no. There had been a feeling behind, it hadn’t been about pure sex. Marcus had never spoken of love, this hadn’t been a word that came easily over his lips and Simon actually hadn’t longed to hear them. Marcus had been with him and this had been enough. But now he had found another lover - Nicholas. It hadn’t exactly been pleasant to meet his successor but Nick was a lovable lad, although he seemed to be a bit serious for his taste - well, life had 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 for 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 lying open upon the little table. Simon dragged it on 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."

CHAPTER TWO

"I met Oliver in a club after my return from Hamburg where I had taken refuge after Marcus and I had broken up. Again, my memories swirl in my mind like Oliver's wheel of colours . . .

Lying there under the protection of a woollen blanket under the bare, pale and dawning sky I could see his face in the clouds above me. The abundance of blond hair falling over his lovely small ears down to his shoulders, the blue eyes, later often dark ringed and at the end, glazed and without life.

But what did I care about at that time. Those happy times when I had been in love again, trying to forget Marcus' absence and substitute him with another. What did I care that Oliver was a callboy and sold his arse as often as he could. I had nothing to lose anymore. From that morning on, when a call drove me to the next hospital to have my own AIDS test to find out that I had it too. 'Have fun, Simon,' the Grim Reaper whispered. 'Take as much as you can.'

And I did. But it wasn't fun. I couldn't forget the examination room. It was always there. Always. When I drank, when I ate, when I slept, when I had sex. But life goes on. I can't get used to living without you by my side. I don't want to live alone. God knows how I will make it on my own. Oliver tried to make me forget and he succeeded to a certain extent. We lived and we loved, except for those times he was on his trips and unreachable to me."

"I don't think I can do this," Ben sighed while staring at the model of a house standing in front of a mirror. He knew that perspective drawing gave him problems. He glanced suspiciously at Frank, in his white smock, wandering slowly around the students. Then Ben looked at Nick's paper sheet and his hand moving the pencil so easily over the paper, drawing perfect, straight, lines.

Nicholas looked up and smiled at him. "Sure you can. Concentrate first on the model in the foreground. Then the mirror image. You can do it. Here, take my sharpener, your pencil is too blunt."

Walter-Udo watched both lads with a sinister look. The one with the dark blond hair with the new fashionable haircut and the other one with the black silky ponytail. ìThose fairies,î he muttered under his breath. Suddenly he sensed his teacher behind him.

"Why haven't you started your work, Walt?" Frank asked. Walt took his pencil and began to draw a pretty crooked line, which he tried to connect with another oblique line. Frank squatted beside him and Walt backed away automatically. He couldn't stand the closeness of that dirty faggot.

Frank's forefinger pointed to the line and took the pencil from Walt's hand. ëHeaven knows where that finger has been last night,í Walt thought disgusted. Frank drew perfectly straight and improved the drawing with a few lines. Then he sighed and stood up and went to the next student. Walt's gaze followed him.

"I have signed up for the sculpture class this morning." Ben whispered into Nicholas' ear.

"Yeah? That's great. By the way, Marcus told me to bring some of your drawings to his birthday party."