Date: Sat, 5 Apr 2003 09:57:02 EST
From: SSch191950@aol.com
Subject: Made in Heaven, chapter 2

MADE IN HEAVEN
by Stefan <ssch191950@aol.com>
http://stefan680.tripod.com/stefanstories/index2.html


Chapter 2: Come and hold my hand


Christian passed the death's sector to his right side, riding on his
motorbike. It was still a meadow, the last watch tower that once
guarded the borderline between two German countries, torn down
long ago. Detached houses came closer. Why Martin had rented
his house exactly here? Amidst the philistine? He hated it and
Philipp would hate it too. Philipp. . . .

He had said he needed to visit his parents. Probably he told them
about his newest conquest of a girlfriend, because he wasn't out
to them yet. Christian grinned grimly behind the plastic pane of
his helmet. His rebellious Philipp! The constant child in the body
of a man; always looking for fun - and probably the next man he
was all to willing to spread his ass cheeks for, was afraid of telling
his parents the truth about his feelings. Well, Christian had never
met them - naturally. But from what he had heard he knew that
Philipp's parents would never accept it. He just wasn't sure why
it was so important to Philipp what his parents thought. He lived
his own life.

Christian's hands now gripped the handles of his motorbike
so strongly that his knuckles became white. His father had never
accepted it either. But he didn't accuse him, they just never talked
about it. And his mother. . . his mother never had a chance to learn
about their boys.

The landscape became rural. Light alternated with shade
from the trees lining up the road he was driving, until it
changed into a country road and the first houses started.
Neatly trimmed gardens, white curtains behind clean windows.
Mowed lawn, rose bushes and marguerites, some garden-gnomes
draped around a pond, silvery Audi's and Mercedes cars in open
garages to show off with.

He throttled back the tempo and turned right where his
motorbike came to a halt in front of a white washed house
with a steep, green roof and little balconies at all windows
of the second floor. Christian knew a large terrace was
behind the house, overlooking the garden. The hedges were
still low and Martin must feel like being on show.

He took off his black helmet and ran his fingers through
his hair. The sun was warm, the first real summer's day of the
year and this in the middle of June. He sweated in his black
motorbike gear and swung the leather jacket over his shoulder.

He rang in front of the iron gate and had to wait a long
time before Martin - out of breath - came to open the gate.
Christian watched his brother coming from behind the house,
a tall, broad-shouldered man in light blue jeans, barefoot and
naked upper body. His cinnamon hair hung into his eyes and he
seemed to be sweaty. It was odd to look into his own spitting
image but after twenty eight years he was used to it.

Martin looked mildly surprised but smiled. He opened the gate
widely and hugged his brother briefly. It was good to feel his
body, the smooth hairless skin - very much like his own. Short
flashes of shared jacking off sessions in the bathroom raced
through his mind; or the clumsy fumbling under a shared shower.
But after both had found out they were more interested in boys
than in girls, they had stopped touching each other as if there had
been an invisible wall between them.

Concerning the lovers, they had the same taste but had never shared
their partners - at least not that  Christian knew about. Their relationship
was somewhat strange. Not as identical twins are supposed to
be: identical in clothes, identical in mind. It simply was not.

Martin took Christian's jacket and Christian rolled his motorbike
into the garden.

     "Surprise, surprise," Martin said, his voice tensed. "What a
seldom guest"

       "You know that I don't fancy this surrounding." He looked
at the single houses around. Behind hedges he saw sunshades and swing
seats. Fathers pumping up air mattresses and round plastic pools for the
kids. The sharp scent of roasted meat hung in the air.

       "I didn't know you're a philistine deep inside."

Martin didn't answer. He went ahead around the house and Christian
saw a new little Butterfly tattoo on his left shoulder blade. Surprised he
lifted his brows. Philipp had a rose on the same spot. Then his look fell
on a table, chairs, two glasses of wine, and a half full ash tray.

       "You had a guest?" he asked.

       "Oh... yes." Martin scratched his forehead. "This morning.
An editor from the publisher." He pointed to a heap of manuscripts upon
the table top. Christian read "Made in Heaven." "A manuscript in German?
I thought you'd translate English ones."

Martin sorted the chairs and wiped over the table. "Well, Claudia
has asked me to read. Could be interesting, you know. Gay stuff."

Christian examined his brother sharply. "Odd he used the same name of
the night club."

    "Night club? Ah yes, the one you and Philipp use to go to." He
didn't look Christian in the eyes. "Care for a drink? Wine?"

Christian nodded and peered at the manuscript again. Under the
title there wasn't a name. Most odd. He thought that for an author, the
most important thing was to read his name under the title of a novel.

Martin returned with two fresh glasses and an open bottle of red
wine. Christian read the label and clicked his tongue. "Just the best for
your guest, right?" It was more a statement than a question. He sat at the
table and pushed the manuscripts aside. "Who's the author? Do you know
him or her?

       "His name is Tim. He showed up at the office with his manuscript
and didn't give up until Claudia promised to read it, although it would be
better placed at a publisher for gay books. Perhaps I can do something for
him."

       "Cute?"

       "How should I know; haven't met him yet."

Christian fingered the paper sheets. Smooth surface with neatly typed letters.
He thought about Philipp who was a fervent reader and always had to finish
the last pages of a very exciting book before he could do something with him.

His head turned because he thought he heard the garden door closing. But
Martin didn't react. He poured the wine and lifted his glass. "Now what's the
reason for your visit?"

Christian clicked his glass with his brother's. "Nothing especial actually.
Philipp's with his parents."

      "So, you're bored?"

       "Sort of. Philipp wants to attend the Gay Pride next Saturday. Are
you coming too?"

Martin pondered the answer. "Don't think so. I'm not keen on parading through
the town as a tourist's attraction."

       "Tourist's attraction?" Christian echoed. "I don't think you should see
it this way."

      "Whatever. That's for the young chicks showing off their big cocks."
At the same time he thought that Philipp had gone on at him how fantastic it
would be and if he didn't want to go, it would be Christian then.


He watched his brother over the rim of his glass. How did he feel, looking
at his twin, speaking about his lover when they were lying in bed together
just ten minutes ago? The closing of the garden door had told him that Philipp
had gone. He hoped he hadn't left any trace of his presence in the house.
Martin felt nothing actually. No guilt.

       "He still isn't out to his parents? What will happen when they see
him on TV?"

       "Don't think they will watch the broadcast." Christian sighed. "No,
he isn't out. I thought with twenty-three years he should be adult enough."

       "Philipp adult?" Martin laughed.

    "Perhaps you'll meet somebody at the parade," Christian said.

       "Not interested. Nor in need of it." Martin's thoughts went other
ways. The day when they had sat at the dinner table at home, holding hands
secretly and told their father that he shouldn't speculate about any grand
children ever. The father had pretended he had never heard. He had a deaf
ear to this issue.

      "You think mother would mind?" Christian asked, interrupting
Martin's thoughts. Martin wasn't surprised that Christian had read his mind.

       "Perhaps it would have been another reason for her to try to commit
suicide," he said dryly and Christian cringed.

      "Yeah," he managed to say and poured the rest of the glasses content.
"How long is it?"

       "Yesterday was the day of her death. Twenty years
ago."

Christian closed his eyes. An anniversary and he hadn't been at her grave.

      "I wasn't at her grave. Had no time. Perhaps we can go together,"
Martin suggested.

Christian nodded.

       "Do you really think Philipp is at his parents?" Martin suddenly said
and Christian's head jerked in his direction.

      "What do you mean by this?"

       "Oh, I was just referring to your notorious jealousy." A faint smile
traced around his lips. He searched the table for his package of cigarettes.
He loved those games. Perhaps he had inherited his mother's jealousy too -
like Christian had. Perhaps not. He preferred to think the latter.

       "What jealousy?" Christian's brows had pulled together to a blond
line over his eyes. A steep wrinkle had built across the base of his nose and
Martin knew what this meant.

       "Why do you say it? Why do you always have to shit me with this?"

       "Oh, I just say 'Gregor'...." Martin blew grey smoke into
 the air.

Christian's heart made a leap and he involuntarily pulled his head between
his shoulders. Gregor had been the one he had been with before Philipp.
And Gregor had ended up in hospital. He had never heard of him again -
after the trial. Christian's fingers squeezed the glass, threatening to break
it, but he relaxed after some seconds. "Don't remind me," he said
dangerously low. "You know that this had had reasons."

       "Exactly. I wouldn't like to speak for you in court again, you know.
Especially when I had to tell a lie. You being the best brother in the world.
Innocent and shy as a lamb. You still owe me something." He squeezed out
the unfinished cigarette.

Christian glared at his brother. "I don't think Philipp is suffering. Or did he
tell you he does?

Martin shrugged. "He hasn't told me anything. I don't think we ever met
alone, you're always having an eye on him, and he can hardly go to any
place alone."

       "Sounds like an accusation. Or a complaint? Do you fancy him?"

       "Sure I do." Martin laughed. "Jesus, if looks could kill, I'd be dead
right now. Calm down, brother heart. I'm not interested. I told you before.
And in no need."

       "Your hand's still working fine, right?"

Martin leaned over the table. "Stop it. I'm not such a sex driven thing like
you." He spoke light-heartedly to soothe the mood, but deep down inside
he knew the fight was on.


Afterwards Christian wasn't sure if he should take Martin's words seriously.
He withstood the idea to follow Philipp to his parents and see if he was really
there. Showing up and let it all out: "Hello, I am Philipp's boyfriend!"

His brand new Penthouse apartment overlooked the filigree like hovering
tent roof of the Sony Centre at the rebuilt Potsdamer Platz in the heart of
Berlin. He rolled into the underground car park, placed his bike at the rented
spot and then rode the lift up to his flat under the roof, the 15th floor exactly.
He had rented this apartment at the same time Martin had rented his house.

Christian leaned against the silvery lift's wall, the helmet dangled from his
hand. Fuck the false whispering. Of course Philipp had been with his parents.
But the pictures of Gregor - Philipp's predecessor - remained in his mind,
producing pictures of hate and uncontrolableness . He always had sneaked
around the pretty boy, watching jealously each step he made. The prison's
psychiatrist had said he suffered from fear of loss and recommended a therapy.
But who wanted to lose his partner? Wasn't it just normal to watch for him -
so no harm could happen?

Philipp had no idea of the whole story. How could he explain anyway?
Listen, sweetheart: I've beaten down the man I was with before you. I raged
for jealousy, and for love. The psychiatrist called it egomania. Gregor had
stumbled and hit his head on the edge of the fire side. He hardly survived.
His parents insisted on a report. I was sentenced because of physical injury
and manslaughter and got a suspended sentence of eighteen months because
it was the first time and I was not psychologically alright. But I'm stable and
have everything under control.

Christian rolled his eyes to the silvery ceiling, stared at dead flies behind the
milky pane of the lamps and listened to the soft purring of the ropes pulling
him up. Hadn't Philipp complained recently about his closeness, his curiosity?
Hadn't he said that he would suffocate Philipp with his care?

Since Philipp had taken the job as a reception man at the gay hotel "Art-
Connection" Christian's nightmares had returned. He had begged Philipp
to never take the night shifts again. Too much allurement for him. What a
luck that he had stopped visiting the semester at the university. He had
studied communication's science, but Christian had found this crappy
and useless and suggested to stop it rather, enjoy the money that was
enough to share for more than two people. And Philipp had obeyed like
a good boy.

The door rolled noiselessly aside. Christian pulled a plastic card and put
it into the slit, typed a number and entered his flat. Philipp was there, he
sensed it instinctively - and the loud disco music coming from the living
room wasn't to be ignored.

There he lounged upon the tomato red sofa, a colour that clashed terribly
with his copper-red hair. Of course he had his nose in a book again.
Christian couldn't remember when he was buying them actually.

Silently he stepped to his boyfriend, quickly took the book from his hands
and put his lips over Philip's. His soft and surprised moan tugged at his heart.
"Hi sweetheart, back so soon?" Christian said. "I thought you would stay
much longer.

Philip smiled his self-assured smile. "And where have you been? I thought
you would eat your heart out for me."

      "Surely I did. That's why I've visited Martin." He sat upon the couch,
next to Philipp's body and shoved his hand under Philipp's shirt. He felt his
 heartbeat quicken. Philipp was searching his face for signs of anger. But it
was calm as ever. "He has a new manuscript, surprisingly in German."

Philipp pretended astonishment. "I thought you said he would translate and
not edit."

Christian nodded, still stroking Philipp's chest. "Gay Issues. Perhaps you're
interested?"

       "Why should I ? Is it any good?"

       "Perhaps. Now, how are your parents? Have you told them about
your newest conquest?"

       "Conquest?" Philipp lifted his upper body. "Yeah, I've told them
I've fucked the whole street. And I'm not getting married."

Christian's brows pulled together. "Depends on whom you fuck."

       "Well, there isn't much to fuck here, is there? Just business man,
 young yuppies like you who are just interested in money."

       "You live very well from that money."

       "Do you leave me a chance?" He reached his hands up and stroked
Christian's hair. "Don't quarrel with me again. I'm thankful you allowed me
to work in the hotel." It shouldn't sound hurt but he couldn't hide it completely.

Christian pulled his hand away and sighed. "You could have invited your
parents to see that I'm not a monster eating little boys."

      "I'm not a little boy," Philipp hissed. "You know how old-fashioned
 they are, I can't do anything about it."

      "You could simply tell them. Is it that difficult? Perhaps you
underrate them."

       "And what happened when you told your father? You aren't speaking
anymore! And don't tell me again you want to invite them to our marriage!"
 Philipp pushed Christian aside and stood up. "I'm much too young for that,"
 he muttered.

       "Right now you said you aren't a little boy. Apparently you are.
What is wrong with that? Finally the government allowed us to marry and
we all should use this opportunity."

Philipp turned. "To show what? Never ending love? I don't need it."

Christian reached out and grabbed Philipp's leg. He pulled him closer and
whirled him around so that he fell to the sofa, beneath him. "I love you," he
said and pressed his lips upon Philipp's who struggled in vain. Christian's
hands were all over him, shoving the shirt over his belly, and finally over
his head and bit into one of his nipples.

Philipp moaned and gave in. He never had been able to fight Christian's
domination. Nor did he want it seriously. Not really. Christian always
thought that he could end each quarrel with sex. He opened Philipp's
trousers, pulled out his penis and started to have a go at it.

Funny that identical twins had the same technique, Philipp thought.
 Sometimes he didn't know which of them it was. But he just needed to
open his eyes to see the blond hair to know. But he held his eyes closed.
At least he had never had so much sex in his life before.

Christian bent over his face, mouth outlined with traces of white. "I know
that I will win," he said. "You can't say no. You need me. And the whole
world shall know. That's what it's for."

Philipp said nothing. It was not. It wasn't a demonstration for all world to
see and know. It was a very private thing. The ring, Christian had given him
last year, weighed heavy on his finger. It was like a golden chain, a bond to
Christian's heart and to his will.

He knew that many men would be happy about it, but Philip didn't know how
to handle it. He was torn between a demanding love and the disinterest
Martin was showing. Martin didn't like commitments. He was happy to fuck
with him and that was that. But wasn't there something in between?

There were days when Philipp was about to give in. Like this very moment.
Seeing Christian smile in a state of complete happiness. He could be very
tender. He COULD be. But for Philipp's taste the other side of Christian's
character was much too dominating.

      "Let's go out," Christian said. "Our bar. The one where you left me
standing."

Alright, Philipp thought. Same old spot, same old story. Perhaps the piano
player would be there again. Now that he knew where he was working daily,
 he should make contact. To work in a bookshop would be a paradise for
Philipp, and perhaps he could get some good fortune out of it.

                                                     *  * * * * *

The front door bell was ringing. When Maxim opened the door he found
Joost standing in an apron that reached to his naked feet. His favourite apron
with the imprint of a cooking spoon-swinging, naked man, a gift from his
partner. His hair, usually a shining, black sea he wore straight and gelled to
his head was tousled. "Sorry, honey, to interrupt whatever exciting things
you're doing, but do you have two eggs for me?"

Maxim grinned to his ears. "Sure I have two eggs, but not for you." He laughed
out loud. "What would Rainer say?" He raised his brows in mock surprise.

Joost looked uncomprehending first, then laughed too. "Ah, you! Now, do
you have or shall I ring at Erik's?"

Maxim pulled Joost through the door and closed it behind him. Joost was
his neighbour, who  lived here with his partner for over twenty years and
Maxim liked both a great deal.

       "Not that Erik-guy!" Maxim moaned. "I surely should spare you
this!" Erik was notoriously in need for sex and fucked everything that wasn't
on a tree in the time of three seconds.

Joost looked around and sniffed. "I smell the scent of a foreign man being
here." He stood up in front of Maxim and propped his hands upon his hips.
"Now, tell me everything," he said in his best growling motherly tone.

       "Tell me first what you are needing the eggs for." Maxim went
along into the kitchen.

       "Cake of course, what do you think? That I need them for my hair?"

       "Well......" Considering that Joost's hair always looked as if treated
and straightened up with hair gel, it could be possible.

       "They say, eggs give a fine shine to the hair," Maxim mumbled,
then laughed about himself. He surely seemed to be in somewhat chirpy
mood after last night.

      "What about your new boyfriend," Joost asked curiously, waiting
in the door frame. "You haven't told me for so long all the juicy details."

       "Alright, Joost." Maxim stood in front of him. "I'll tell you when
you give me two tickets for your next performance."

Joost's plucked brows jerked up. "And I thought you'd never come, honey.
Two tickets then?"

Maxim nodded. Joost and his partner were mad about the Swedish singer,
actress and old UFA-star Zarah Leander. Their apartment was full of her
 posters and they were playing all of her songs constantly. Sometimes
Maxim could hear her deep, smoky voice sounding from one balcony to
the other and it let Maxim realize that it wasn't impossible to love women -
as long as they had such a voice.

He opened the fridge and pulled out two eggs. "Just two?"

Joost nodded. In his new revue he performed as Zarah, and Maxim was
thrilled to see how he was doing.

       "Premiere-cards?" Joost asked, receiving he eggs.

       "Really? You could manage that?"

       "Everything's for my sweetheart," Joost said in a honeyed voice.

Coco came in from the balcony where he had sat in the sun, but stopped
in his movements when he saw the guest. "Ah, still the same shy little
fellow," Joost said miffed but smiled.  Coco came slowly closer and
finally allowed Joost to stroke him.

       "I'll bring the tickets as soon as possible, hon," he said finally,
 rushing out of Maxim's flat, closing the door behind him. Maxim still
grinned. What a great way to live, he thought what he had thought so very
often. It certainly had been a good idea to find a place here amid kindred
spirits. In the whole house there were living gays, except for the lesbian
pair in the first floor and the young straight couple next to it.

He thought briefly to ring at Lars' flat if he was up for something like
enjoying the Sunday outside, but then he thought it would be nice to see
 his parents again. After all it was Sunday and he hadn't been there for
some weeks.


When Maxim saw Tim again, on Monday morning at the bookshop, he
didn't know exactly how to act. Tim was already there, talking to Nadine
to Maxim's surprise. Perhaps both would get friendly with each other
finally. Tim's cheeks were touched by a very brief red when he saw
Maxim, but he grinned from ear to ear. "How was the rest of the day?"
he asked. Nadine looked surprised but said nothing.

       "Fine. Tell you later." Maxim went into the storage room to finish
the acceptance of the new books. When it was lunch break he invited Tim
 to the bistro next-door. Tim followed him gladly and even agreed to eat a
baguette and have a cup of milk coffee.

       "I was with my family. My old granny said, I looked 'pretty
disarranged' to quote her words. No wonder after that night."

Tim smiled. "Your granny?"

       "Yes, my one and only. She's very dear to my heart," Maxim said.

Tim hesitated. "They know you're gay?"

       "Sure they know. They've always supported me. They are teachers.
Teaching Russian immigrants German if necessary."

It suddenly dawned upon Tim that perhaps they came here to Germany
because of him. Maxim said that he never had been able to find other
gays in their village.

       "We have relatives here, that was the main reason we came here."
Maxim explained.

       "And for you," Tim added and Maxim nodded. "And what about
your parents?"

Tim's white regular teeth gleamed. "I live with my father."

       "Do you?" Maxim said surprised.

       "Yeah." Tim was still grinning. "My parents divorced when Dad
realised the crush he had on a colleague. Now they are living together in
 the same house and I've never left. I have two private rooms and a separate
entrance."

       "I see. Do you get along well with her? Do you have to call her
 'mother'?"

Tim looked at him. "No. I call him Tobias."

       "Huh?"

       "The colleague is a man." Tim laughed at Maxim's face, then both
 laughed together.

       "That's cool. Your father found out he's gay?!"

       "Well, it isn't that unusual, is it?"

Maxim shrugged, still grinning. How exciting. "And that Tobias isn't after
 you?" he asked, half-seriously.

       "Nope. He treats me like a little kid that has to be looked after a
lot. Worse than my mother."

       "Since when?"

       "Oh, about five years now. The same time when I came out to my
parents. We had a mutual coming out," he snorted with laughter.

       "And your mother?"

       "She was hurt. Couldn't understand what happened. Said her life was
 wasted. She took it as a personal insult as a woman, which it is not. It hasn't
got anything to do with her in any case."

Maxim nodded.

       "I see her frequently, although she can't forgive me that I betrayed
her too in not liking girls - her own gender. Although I like them, but not
sexually."

Maxim was silent. "And why can't you get friendly with Nadine then?"

       "Oh. Well, in the first place I thought she was your girlfriend
because you're always together."

       "Nadine is something different. I can tell her everything."

       "Everything?"

      "Everything." Maxim looked at him. "How come you were jealous
 when you just 'like' me?"

Tim didn't answer. Then he said "You told her about our adventure last night?"

      "Surely not. I need some secrets." He put his hand over Tim's,
lying on the table. "It just appears we have the same taste in men, you
know. She's always fallen for the wrong man, I mean for gays, and that
leads her into tragic situations."

       "She's working in the wrong shop then."

       "That's what I tell her."

Tim really wanted to ask Maxim if he had ever slept with her, or with any
 woman at all, but of course this was impossible. Considering Maxim had
 been locked up in his home village in Russia and in need of satisfying his
sex-drive, he surely must have had some sex. But why was he so interested
Tim asked himself. Probably he just wanted to learn everything that
concerned Maxim. The more he knew him, the more he would find that he
wasn't the man he was searching for. Perhaps. Impossible. He had fallen in
love already, and he had never thought that somebody was able to fall out of
love. But how could he make Maxim fall in love with himself?

Tim had pondered the whole Sunday afternoon whether it had been a big
 mistake to stop Maxim when he wanted to find out what his trousers had
 hidden. Certainly a big and hard erection. The corners of Tim's lips curled.
 Would he ever get a second chance? Then he remembered that Maxim had
 promised Tim to go to the Gay Pride Parade with him. If both got drunk
 again......?

No, that wasn't a good idea. He didn't need sex when he was in a drunk and
horny state and only did it because of the condition.

Maxim's almond eyes rested upon him and Tim tried to smile. It seemed
as if Maxim could read his mind. Quickly he lifted his cup and drank the
last of his coffee. When had been the last time that eating and drinking had
been so pleasurable for him? Surely not since one of his lovers he had had
 a really heavy love affair with had told him that he would look like a
dumpling just because he had had two or three kilos too much weight on
 him? Perhaps he had left him for exactly this reason, Tim wasn't sure. He
 nibbled at the rest of his salami-baguette.

       "Does your father mind when you bring home your boyfriends?"
Maxim wanted to know.

      "Sometimes. Well, mostly he doesn't know." He swallowed the rest.
 Certainly he had had one-night stands his father hadn't had any knowledge
of. But the serious ones had to pass an examination of both, his father and
his lover. Tim shook his head and grimaced to himself. He wanted to introduce
 Maxim. But this would probably never happen.

       "That means you hide your one-night stands, right?" Maxim really
 read his mind. His grin was so adorable that Tim could hardly suppress the
urge to kiss him. "Right," he said completely serious.

Maxim bet he had a lot of them. No one with eyes to see would let pass an
 opportunity to spend a night with Tim. He stopped his thoughts. Except he
 himself. With astonishment he felt that this realisation hurt. Just a little bit.

       "Well, have you decided what to wear on Saturday?" he asked finally.

       "A long time ago." Tim examined him. "Have you?"

       "Well, if we're going to dress as identical Drag Queens you'll have
 to tell me and I will borrow something from Joost. That's my neighbour," he
 added.

       "No Drag Queen, I told you that's much too complicated." But he
wouldn't tell him what he had in mind. Maxim decided it was worthwhile to
wait.

                                                     *  * * * * *

Maxim leaned against the balustrade of the balcony, looked over the roofs
and sipped at his cup of coffee. He tried to make out what was happening
and indeed he could see an unusual mad rush on the streets, men in groups
 streaming to one point. Electricity and music hung in the air. It was Saturday
 noon and the formation of the floats had started already.

       "Ich weiss, es wird einmal ein Wunder gescheh'n......" [*] Zarah
Leander's smoky, erotic voice sounded from the balcony of his neighbours.
Maxim couldn't see it, which gave both parties privacy, but he could definitely
hear. Maxim got goose bumps.

The sky was a flawless blue and a cooling wind was blowing. It would be a
fabulous day he could feel it. In an hour he would meet Tim at the starting
 point of the parade. Eighty floats were scheduled and, of course, ten
 thousands of people.

>From the balcony next door Joost and Zarah sang a duet and Maxim listened
surprised. It sounded marvellous. Absentmindedly he stroked Coco's white
fur. "Time to dress," he said to him and bent his face down close to Coco's.
"Will you be all right being alone the whole day?" Coco's heaven blue eyes
stared into his own. Then Coco blinked and Maxim took it for a yes. He
smiled. "All right then."

He had decided to wear a new white shirt with more holes in it than fabric,
and one of his jeans Leon had once cut slits into, all in prominent places of
 course. Maxim held them in front of him and grinned from ear to ear.
Surely this would do along with what he would wear beneath it. It would be
 enough to make the guys goggle. No, he thought then, compared with the
almost naked guys on the trucks, he would look pretty decent, but what the
hell. He was eager to see what Tim would look like.

After giving Coco a large serving of his favourite dish, along with a bowl
of milk, he slammed the door behind him. Footsteps upon the stairs told
him that he wasn't the only one starting out early. Downstairs he almost
ran into Erik and froze in his tracks. Erik wore nothing except short red
pants and slippers. On his head was an extraordinarily tasteless baseball
cap decorated with a plastic penis.

       "Hi," he said and examined Maxim from head to toe. "You're
looking dishy," he said with a broad grin.

Erik was in his mid thirties and a little too slim for Maxim's taste. He
 stared at the centre of his body. A large bulge jutted out from his pants;
either he had a constant erection or he was wearing the same underwear
Maxim did on days like today. Both grinned at each other.

       "Isn't it a little too early to dress like that?" Maxim asked. "I mean,
the parade won't be starting yet."

       "Well....." Erik grinned slyly. Perhaps I'll change my plans and have
 some little quickies in between." His pink tongue came out and wet his
upper lip. Maxim rolled his eyes and slapped him on his naked shoulder.
Around Erik's neck hung a whistle in the shape of another penis, to match
the bad taste of his cap. Maxim said nothing about it. Some guys were really
terrible. Erik stared lecherously at him, so Maxim passed him and went out
 of the house, Erik followed him.

       "Are you meeting anyone?" he asked.

       "Yeah." Maxim quickened his steps but Erik followed him like an
 annoying insect. From all the houses streamed men heading in the same
 direction. But Maxim directly guided his steps into the Fuggerstrasse.
This street was the Mecca for gays. You could pass from one club to the
other, from the darkroom to a video performance, from one sex-shop to
another or just sit in one of the attached gardens.

The Italian restaurant Trattoria a Muntagnola was stuffed already with guys,
having a late breakfast in the little street garden, but Tim would wait for him
 in the back garden.

      "Well, enjoy the day and have fun," he said to Erik, who still followed
him. He left him standing and entered the restaurant. Mamma Angela, the
mother of the owner, was serving coffee and the marvellous tasting bread
she baked herself, her speciality. "Ciao Mamma," he cheered to her.

Though Mamma Angela was a fragile, old woman, she smiled her wrinkled
smile at him. "Ciao caro," she said and nodded approvingly. "Colazione?" she
asked and Maxim nodded. "The big one, please. I'm starving."

He reached the garden and looked around, until he located a slender young
man, with silvery skin, his hair sprayed with a silver colour. His wings, a mass
 of white down hung over the back of his chair. Maxim opened his eyes wide
 and sat beside Tim. "Hi angel," he grinned. "You look fantastic." Tim blushed
under the silver shimmer of his skin. "Wait until you see the rest," he
 managed to say.

       "If you'd told me you would go as an angel we could have dressed
 alike."

       "You look good enough yourself, thank you. And wait until you see
 the rest," he repeated.

       "What rest?" Maxim saw he was still wearing his jeans.

      "The rest of this Mamma Angela cares for."

On cue she appeared with a plate and placed it in front of Maxim. "And you,
angelo?" she asked, looking at Tim who shook his head.

Mumbling something she vanished. Tim ogled at the fresh bread, the eggs,
 the cheese, the ham and the Italian salami.

Maxim said noting, just put butter on the bread, salami and peeled one of the
eggs. Without asking he took the spoon and shoved a portion from the egg into
 Tim's mouth. "You need to eat or you'll collapse. The day will be long."

Tim struggled but chewed. Then he downed the whole bit with a large gulp of
 his coffee. "You're even worse than Tobias," he panted happily.

>From the corner of his eyes Maxim saw Erik, placing himself at a free place
under a Cinzano sunshade, grinning saucily at him. He gave Maxim a thumbs-up
referring apparently to the appearance of Tim. Maxim pulled a face at him, but
 couldn't suppress a grin.

       "Who's that?" Tim asked.

       "One of my neighbours. Beware of him, angelo. He's hot as a
heating plate." He shoved another bite of the salami bread into Tim's mouth.
 "Why don't you order something for yourself?"

Tim nodded and was served with a plate himself. Again he had the feeling
that his stomach didn't tighten up like it usually did when he was with another
 man. Perhaps Maxim was accepting him for who he was. "Is he after you?"
 he asked chewing.

      "He's after everyone."

       "What a tasteless costume," Tim muttered.

Maxim nodded. "Are your father and Tobias coming too?" he asked.

       "Surely they will. But there's no chance of finding them. They
start later."

>From the distance basses roared up. The sound check had started. And
Maxim's and Tim's heartbeat quickened when they finally hurried up.
They didn't want to miss the start. When Tim had come out of the
trattoria's dressing room, Maxim had gasped. Tim wore silver pants
with a broad girdle, reaching to his arse cheeks and feathery white
slippers, the white wings flapping on his back. "Where did you get this
 from?" he asked.

      "From my father. He has a costume rental. Both of them work
there."

Maxim raised his eyebrows. "Costume rental. Exciting. Next year you
have to provide me with something like that." He winked at Tim.

       "No, you're perfect." He looked at Maxim's dark skin, gleaming
 under the white net shirt. It was hard for him not to touch him. But
Maxim, though feeling that he liked what he saw, didn't leave the
 impression that he was hot for him.

Maxim and Tim joined the people standing lined up in rows along a broad
 street near the Kurfuerstendamm. He heard a Babel mixture of languages,
 saw whole families, including grandpa and -ma with picnics or simply
rocking their hips to the rhythm of the music which roared out of the large
loudspeakers on each truck.

They squeezed through the crowd and joined the people following a truck
where a black guy danced, his naked skin glistening in the sun, draped with
a head-dress of yellow peasant's feathers and a snake around the small string
he was wearing around his body.

Talking was impossible, but both were swept up in a crowd that was over
excited, holding hands, smooching, laughing and made their own performance.
 Some of them wore shirts with the imprint "Everybody thinks I'm straight"
or "Nobody knows I'm gay".

Behind them were groups of devils with large horns, painted all in red
with green faces. They strutted along on high boots, trying to catch Tim's
 white wings. Before Maxim could hinder it, he was pressed to a red broad
chest and his white shirt was coloured, his nose was green and he was
 laughing madly. He adored dressed up Drag Queens on high heels, boys
swinging large rainbow flags and couldn't keep his feet under control. He
wasn't walking, he was jumping and dancing along, Tim at his side suddenly
had a red rose in his hand which he stuffed into a hole in Maxim's shirt.

The sun started to burn and he knew he would get a funny pattern on his
skin, so he simply pulled it over his head and threw it upon the truck stuffed
 with sailors, but the rose he kept. The parade came to a halt but Tim dragged
 him along, squeezing them both through the crowd and now following the
float with the logo "Rosenstolz", a Berlin band whose singer was gay.

It took Maxim a while before he recognised someone shouting his name.
He looked up and detected Rainer, with a blue cloak around his naked upper
body and next to him Zarah Leander, with soft falling brown locks, lashes
that winked down on him and a red mouth to die for. Joost waved at him and
 blew him a kiss, throwing red roses at him. Maxim laughed. "What about
the tickets?" he shouted.

Joost winked at Tim. "For you and your angel here?" he shouted back. Maxim
nodded.

       "All settled. See you tomorrow." The truck started off again.

Tim felt grabbed by the arse and at the same moment felt a splash of cool
 water in his neck. He almost screamed when a Drag Queen with lilac lips
 approached his face and kissed his mouth. Maxim laughed at him. Tim's
feathery wings were wet. Nothing that wouldn't dry in a few minutes.

Both appreciated the beautiful worked out bodies, dancing to the music
like gogo-boys, swinging tight arses and slim hips. Maxim fought a starting
erection. He wondered how they all managed to stop their arousal, especially
 when everybody would see it in the tiny briefs and underpants they were
 wearing. The kissing lesbian pairs he ignored completely.

At the place of Bahnhof Zoo, Tim again pulled him along, himself more
dancing than walking. The deep beats reverberated in Maxim's chests when
 they passed the loudspeakers. Pet Shop Boys' New York City Boy roared
through the air. People lifted their arms, united in one mutual song. Maxim
hadn't known that it would be such a surprising good feeling to be joined for
 one day. Straight or gay, it didn't matter right now. They saw TV-cameras
and people being interviewed. A young man with blue Nivea-bags distributed
 men's cosmetics. Tim received two and hung them from his belt.

Maxim's eyes caught the attention of a young man, a little slouch hat upon
his head, wearing nothing except black hot pants and a long leather chain
around his neck, hanging to his belly button, with a pendant showing a sun.
His eyes were framed with kajal and his lips were lightly smeared with
lipstick. Maxim though recognised him instantly: Christian's boyfriend,
Philipp.

Involuntarily he took Tim's fingers in his. Christian was standing beside
them, hair blond, not cinnamon. Maxim wondered if he was dying it from
 time to time. But it wasn't important right now. The boy with the kajal
winked at him and said something. Maxim bent his ear to his mouth.
 "Maxim, right?" he heard, "The piano player."

Philipp peered at Maxim's naked upper body, smooth to the armpits like
 a baby's skin, and as it was all the rage among gays nowadays. And like he
did himself. But then he noticed the angel next to Maxim and Maxim was
forgotten. He adored Tim's silver skin, the colour now a little vanished
from sweat and water, but stunningly beautiful all the same.

Maxim stared still at Christian before a cry pierced his ears. "Philipp!"
Christian's company turned his head up to a truck and saw someone waving.
"Come up, there's places here still."

Before Tim could hinder it, Philipp had grabbed his arm and pulled him
with him, climbing up onto the truck, pulling him behind. For a moment
Tim's long legs hung in the air, before Philipp took him up and scrambled
up the ladder to the truck's top. Tim's head was swirling. He clung to the
balustrade that would protect him from falling, looked down, saw Maxim's
astonished face and had to grin.

How great it looked from above. And how small the people were. Tim felt
 suddenly invincible. Philipp opened a bottle of Prosecco, which wet Tim's
feathery slippers and held it under Tim's nose. He took it and drank.
Everything was easy. Maxim stood on the street, following the truck with
 a tall, blond man, dressed in jeans and a tank top. He turned. Philipp's face
 was very close to Tim's. His lips came closer and embraced Tim's. A
surprised moan came from his throat and afterwards Tim's lips were as
red as Philipp's. He didn't mind. The Prosecco did its work and after some
time Tim couldn't see either Maxim or the tall blond man, but the world
 itself had changed into a big rainbow.




       "Have you made up with him?" Maxim asked into Christian's ear.

       "I thought so." Christian growled, looking up to the truck, seeing
Philipp kissing Tim. His stomach hurt. "Bloody slut," blurted out of his
mouth before he could stop it. He felt hate building up deep inside. Maxim
followed his stare and, surprised, whistled through his teeth. Tim didn't
waste time. Probably he really just 'liked' Maxim, nothing more. Anyhow,
 now this problem was solved he directed his attention to Christian, still
walking beside him. He didn't seem to hear the screaming crowd, the
pulsating beats of Gloria Gaynor nor the Village People.

Maxim's feet danced again. He jumped around Christian to his other side
and said. "Now, let's have fun." He rushed to the truck, shouting orders for
 two paper cups of Caipiranha, and put one in Christian's hand.

Christian's glinting eyes looked at him as if they were seeing him for the
 first time this afternoon. "Was that your boyfriend?" he asked.

       "Nope. Just a colleague from work."

       "Looks cute."

       "Not as cute as you do," Maxim replied, then grinning from ear
 to ear, drank his Caipiranha and winked at the blond-haired man.
Christian seemed to relax and within half an hour and two drinks later,
 Christian was as exuberant as Maxim himself. He caught some packages
 of condoms thrown down from a truck, stuffed them into his pockets
and took Maxim's hand.

       "What are your plans for tonight?" he asked with a seductive
smile.

    "Depends."

       "Depends on what?" A wheelchair patient passed by and a scruffy
old man, pushing a supermarket trolley with an erect plastic penis in
rainbow colours. His T-shirt read "No money, no place, no work - but
horny as hell." Maxim laughed. His feet had started to hurt. They had
reached Potsdamer Platz and still the streets were crowded, the people
 as cheerful as ever. High, red buildings lined the street and Maxim
could make out the tent-shaped roof of the Sony Centre.

       "That's my place," Christian pointed to a tower block next to it.

       "Your place? That's where you live?" Maxim asked. "What do you
do for a living, or have you cracked the Lotto-jackpot?"

       "Hell, no." Christian laughed his pleasing laughter. "I have an
architect's office."

    "Ah." Maxim was impressed. Perhaps Christian would invite him
for a visit. If possible, his heartbeat became even quicker. He felt sunburn
 on his shoulders and Christian's arms were reddish as well. "What about
a break?," Christian asked as if he had read Maxim's thoughts. "I'm hungry
 and the night is long." He peered into Maxim's face.

Without more ado Maxim took Christian's hand, left the street, and fought
his way through the crowd into the streets with many restaurants and a large
shopping arcade. "I can't go like this." Maxim pointed to his naked chest.
Christian's eyes started to gleam. He pulled Maxim with him into the
shopping mall and searched for men's wear.

       "You have money?" he asked. Of course Maxim had. "I'll wait here."

Maxim rushed through the store, decided quickly for a tight fitting,
 black T-shirt with short sleeves, pulled it over his head in a try-on-room
 and paid. Christian studied the prices outside. He nodded approvingly.

Two minutes later they let themselves fall happily into the arm chairs
under sunshades belonging to a steak house. "I could eat a horse," Christian
said. "We didn't have much for breakfast. Did you?"

Maxim shook his head. Snatches of music reached where they were
seated. He watched a gay pair kissing on the curb while none of the people
 around took any notice. Christian studied the menu. Maxim pulled out
the rose from the pocket of his jeans and laid it upon the table.

       "Is that colleague a good friend of yours?" Christian asked and
gave him the menu.

      "Well, I don't know him that well. We work together at "Prinz
Eisenherz"."

    "The bookshop?" Christian remembered the pile of new books Philipp
 had placed next to their bed. "Have you seen my boyfriend lately?"

Maxim stared into his eyes. What was behind the question? Surely they had
 been together there last week. He narrowed his eyes and thought quickly
about the possibilities. Perhaps Christian had a short memory. Perhaps he
 had a look alike. . . . Perhaps he had a brother? Maxim's stomach told him
to tell a lie. He would find out later, when Tim would fill him with the news.

      "I've never seen your boyfriend before," Maxim said and started to
study the menu himself. Both decided on a large Argentine steak with a
big salad and two beers. Maxim wanted to ask him about Philipp and his
 strange behaviour, vanishing with a stranger, but Christian didn't want to
talk about it apparently. Instead, he told Maxim about his work. "I moved
my office from Dahlem to this place. It's a penthouse."

Maxim asked himself if it was wise to show off with his wealth. After
all he didn't know Maxim, but he said nothing. "Our main area is
exclusively interior fittings."

Maxim wondered what his apartment would look like then. "Do you
have many clients?"

       "Sure. That's the reason I moved here with the office. Look at
the area. What do you think you'd have to pay for an apartment in this
 place?"

       "Certainly more than I can afford," Maxim said, chewing his
tender steak.

       "So you have a real job. I thought piano playing would be
your main job."

      "I don't think I could live on that."

       "Do you have a boyfriend?"

       "Would I come with my colleague if I had one?" Maxim retorted.

Christian shrugged. He certainly had seen everything possible so far. He
 thought about Philipp. What was he doing right now there high upon the
 truck? Probably making out with the little angel. He swallowed his beer
 and ordered another.

      "What about enjoying the night at the victory column?" Maxim
suggested.

      "Listening to politicians' speeches? Do you fancy Wowereit?"

Maxim smiled. "I've seen uglier," he answered. Berlin's mayor made no
 secret about his homosexuality and went to parties with his steady
boyfriend.

       "Right," The sound of signalling whistles pierced their ears. "I
am what I am" sounded over the places and both grinned at each other.
Christian decided to forget Philipp for the rest of this day. Maxim's
black, almond eyes were promising so much. Carefully he let his eyes
wander over his body, from the flat belly to the torn jeans, the rips in
 the fabric giving his glimpses of a white brief with an unmistakable
bulge, down further to the thighs, leaving the knees out and - if Maxim
 would turn - showing parts of the round globes of his butt cheeks.
Maxim was dressed, right. But his dress revealed more than it hid and
Christian found it very erotic.

Philipp had complained that he would have dressed like a grandpa and
they had had a minor quarrel about that. Probably Philipp was too young
to understand the difference of being undressed and 'undressed'.

He looked into his beer glass. He had done Philipp wrong. He was a little
 party animal, but he was a bright young man. Not for nothing was he
reading everything that he could, and not just gay stuff. But Christian
didn't want to share him. With anybody, not with book characters, not
with living men. A burnt child like him wouldn't allow it. Not a second
 time.

He looked up into Maxim's questioning eyes. He pulled out his wallet
and paid for both, despite Maxim's protest. Together they walked into
the shopping arcade, bought ice cream and sauntered along. The parade
had gone, leaving behind empty bottles, papers, advertisements on the
streets.

In the distance they saw the last of the trucks, coloured balloons and
streamers in the air. They followed them until they'd caught up with
them at the Brandenburg Gate, the columns decorated with football
socks to remember the football world cup, seeing the golden victory
column standing out from the broad avenue. Steam hung in the air.
Steam and sex.





Philipp waved his butt high in the air, drunk with music and sprayed the
 people below with a plastic water pistol. He was a good dancer, Tim
noticed, who felt dragged along by the rhythm of the music. The
leather straps of his wings started to hurt, so he took them off.
Meanwhile he was decorated with streamers around his neck and had
sipped another bottle of Prosecco. The people below his feet waved
to him, shouted and laughed. He grabbed into a box full of sweets and
condoms and threw them down. It felt like carnival.

The truck circled the victory column and drove back on the other side
of the avenue. On both sides spread the large park of the Tiergarten. Tim
saw men in the shade of trees who couldn't wait and were making out.
Well, he assumed that was what they were doing. The sun had stopped
burning his head and skin. Tomorrow he would have a sunburn, but he
didn't care. The silvery colour had gone, washed away by sweat and
Philipp's kisses. He held Tim around his waist and was waving madly.

      "Have you anything in mind for afterwards? Are you coming
with me?" he asked into Tim's ear.

      "Where?"

       "A club? Ever been to "Connection"?"

Tim shook his head. "You need to be a member."

       "I am one."

Since the "Connection" was almost next door to Mamma Angela
and her Trattoria where he had stored his clothes, Tim nodded and took
 up his wings again. An hour later the parade had stopped. Thousands of
 people with their cameras had gathered around the base of the victory
column and the politicians on a stage. The sun was beginning to sink and
shrouded the place in a surreal colour. Tim and Philipp listened briefly,
before Philipp whispered he needed a piss. Tim followed him into the
darkness of the trees. Philipp went on until they were completely alone.

Both relieved each other, then Tim heard the unmistakable sound of
moaning men. Apparently they weren't alone. Philipp stopped Tim's
hand pulling up his zipper but started to stroke Tim's penis. He looked
at him with lustful eyes, grinned and started to kiss him. He fumbled
for Philipp's penis, moved into his black pants and was surprised to find
 no underwear, but a hard and long erection jutting out of the opening.
Philipp moaned into his mouth, leaned Tim's body against the trunk of
an oak tree and massaged his cock. Tim knew he wouldn't be able to
hold back very long, so he tried to think about something different.

Indistinctly pictures of Maxim appeared, having a go with the blond,
tall man. Maxim's face caused the opposite: Tim's penis pulsated and
he gushed all over Philipp's hand and his belly while Philipp's stroking
didn't stop. His legs trembled, like Philipp's and he almost bit into Tim's
tongue when he came. Both giggled, licked their hands and smeared the
rest upon grass.

Around them the shadows talked and moaned and someone spoke into a
 microphone. It had become even darker and blue laser finger pierced the
 air. They looked at each other and went back, Tim starting to get cold. A
cooling wind was blowing suddenly. Philipp dragged him silently into the
 avenue again, amid the people, watching the laser show when the music
started once more.

    "I'm hungry. Let's get the subway," Philipp said.

Tim followed him, stumbling in his light feathery slippers to the subway
where they received amused looks until they stepped out at the familiar
surrounding, near Fuggerstrasse. Tim wanted to pick up his clothes but
Philipp stopped him. "Stay as you are. It's hot in there."

He grinned at him, pulled out his membership card from his leather
belt and both entered the "Connection". It was next to the hotel Philipp was
working at. It was for gays only, Tim knew, so they wouldn't meet any girls,
trying to seduce them, as Philipp told him. Tim looked oddly at him, but
kept his mouth closed.

       "Was that your boyfriend?" Tim asked later, when they were
standing at the bar, filling the right side of the long room. The
"Connection" started to fill slowly, it never opened before 10 pm
and it was hardly a quarter after. The lightshow wasn't on yet, and the
video-wall behind the bar was still black. They would show the gogo
dancer from the stage, so that everybody could have a look at them,
ever-young men their bare skin painted with blue floating abstract
motifs, that would last for a week at most.

       "Who, Christian? Yes, he is."

Tim ate his sandwich silently. "And he doesn't mind when you're
here with me?"

       "Why should he." Philipp knew very well that Christian would
 have a fit when he got home, but he didn't care. Not for tonight.
"What's your name?" he asked.

      "Tim."

       "Tim what?" Philipp remembered the manuscript lying on
Martin's table. But this would surely be too much of a coincidence.

       "Tim Wendlandt."

Philipp choked on his beer. "Tim Wendlandt? Have you written a
manuscript, and sent it to the Bluebell-publisher?"

       "How do you know?"

      "Well. . . I saw the manuscript."

       "Are you working there? At the publishers?"

       "No, I just have a .... friend there." He looked at Tim. "So,
you're an author. Exciting. I love books." Philipp thought that he'd
have to read it instantly next time he was with Martin. But Martin
wouldn't give him time to read probably. They never did something
 else except have sex. Philipp wondered why and if this was the only
basis of a relationship they had. Of so, it was sad.

       "Well, not a published author. I just thought perhaps somebody
 would find of interest."

      "You could place it on some websites though," Philipp suggested.
 "Do you have your own?"

       "Website? No."

      "Why not? I can do it for you. I've studied communications and
information technology. I know how to do good websites. You do have
a computer?"

      "Sure," Tim was excited.

       "Now, what are you waiting for. Where do you live?"

      "You don't want to do it right now," Tim stated and finished his
beer. "I thought you would dance with me . . . or something."

       "Right." Philipp pulled Tim from the table and started a mad
dance. Tim joined him. He had taken off his silvery wings and was
now whirling around in his small pants that showed more of his arse
cheeks than he knew. Philipp gave it a squeeze now and again and Tim
felt light headed. Here was a man who wanted him, not Maxim with his
 steady reluctance. And he'd even had managed to finish his sandwich
 in front of him. So he couldn't be too fat, could he.

He lost his slippers and danced along without them. His father would be
 angry with him, but he didn't care.

Later, when a quieter piece of music started, he felt embraced by Philipp.
The kajal around his eyes was smeared and Tim tried to wipe it away.
Philipp had stunning mulberry blue eyes, contrasting with the copper
red of his hair. His skin felt warm on the shoulders, too warm, and Tim
realised it was a sunburn. The metal sun of his pendant was cool to his
 skin through. He felt Philipp's palms stroking his butt cheeks and
creeping higher into his pants until they rested completely on his naked
 skin. It felt great. So great that he started to get an erection. There was
 no way that Philipp couldn't notice it. And there he was already grinning
cheekily into his face. "Come into the darkrooms with me," he heard
him whisper.

Tim knew that it was really dark there but he wanted to see Philipp, not
the blurred view he had in the park, so he shook his head. "Come to my
place," he whispered back. His father wouldn't notice and he doubted that
 they were at home already.

Philipp lifted his head and looked at him. "Can I stay for breakfast?"

       "Sure."





Maxim fought the urge to drag Christian into the park under the trees. He
 didn't want to have a quick relief and tomorrow be just an adventure for
Christian that he would instantly forget.

       "I assume you won't go with me to a club?" he asked. "I mean
your ears are too old for mindless techno- and hip-hop-crap, right?" He
grinned.

      "Right. What about your work place?"

      ""Made in Heaven"?"

Christian nodded. All the better, Maxim thought. Show off with him in front
of Dario - if he was there.

He was there indeed, besieged by dozens of men, coming thirsty and hungry
 from the Gay Pride march. Maxim was surprised at the number in the crowd,
but Dario just grinned at him as he had squeezed through to the bar, shouting
 'staff'. He was dressed in a sleeveless body with a black veil that hid his butt
 cheeks and over it a silver shirt that changed with all rainbow colours.

       "Hot piece of yours," Maxim said approvingly.

       "Haven't you been to the parade?" Dario shouted and looked him
up and down. "You look boring." Although his eyes betrayed his words. He
surely noticed how the T-shirt clung to Maxim's body, giving more of it
away than Dario's silver shirt. "Come alone? Or two Sex on the beach as
always?"

Maxim nodded and pulled Christian to his side. Dario lifted his eyebrows
in surprise. They vanished almost under his bleached hair. Sourly he started
 to mix the drinks, while Christian turned and leaned his elbows upon the
bar desk. He looked over the dance floor. Perhaps Philipp would shown up
here, with his new conquest of little angel. He wouldn't dare.

Maxim thought exactly the same as he got the cocktails. His ears were
ringing and through his body rushed so much adrenaline that he could scarcely
stand still. He minced along the dance floor, concerned that he wouldn't spill
 his drinks. Christian in tow watched his arse moving to the music. Naked
skin gleamed through the fabric of his cut jeans. Christian felt the urge to
 touch it, but Maxim sat on the stool of his piano - the only free place he
could find - and pulled a chair from behind a curtain.

       "That's on me. Cheers." He clinked his glass with Christian's and
drank.

       "So, you're a rich man, right?" he started the conversation although
he would rather have danced than talked.

       "Depends on what you consider being rich."

       "Well, having so much money you have to shovel it from one
side to the other so it wouldn't rust."

Christian laughed. "I'm not hiding it in a sock."

       "I doubt a sock would be big enough." He took another gulp.
 "Or having a boat on the Wannsee and holidaying in Australia or the
 Maldives."

      "I've been to the Maldives," Christian said, "and to Ibiza. Did
you now it's the most gay friendly spot of the Balearic Islands?"

      "Sure I know. I've never been there though. Were you with
him? What's his name?"

    "Philipp."

       "Yeah. What about him? Are you leading an open relationship?"
 Christian's ring blinked in the red changing light and Maxim regretted
 his question. "No, you don't. I've never seen you both going home with
another."

       "There's for all things a first time," Christian said mysteriously.

Maxim leaned forward. "Was that an invitation?" he asked seductively
and innocently at the same time. Christian watched his dark red lips,
lifted his hand and touched them with his finger. Maxim let it happen
without moving. Then Christian's head followed and he touched Maxim's
lips with his own. A brief touch, but Maxim didn't let him go but started
 to kiss him seriously. In his stomach burned a fire line that went straight
 into his cock. He felt Christian's hands stroking his thighs, crawling into
 the slits of his knees, higher, until they found the strap that hid his
erection. Maxim moaned silently. But as abruptly as the kiss had
started, the kiss ended.

Christian finished his drink and stood up. "Thanks for the drink." He
hesitated. "When are you at the bookshop?"

Maxim's head reeled. "Monday morning," he managed to say. Christian
nodded, turned and Maxim saw him vanishing across the dance floor.
His irritated look found the bar, meeting Dario's questioning look. And
his sardonic smile.

___________________________________
[*]  I know a miracle will happen someday