Date: Tue, 11 Dec 2001 15:45:45 EST
From: SSch191950@aol.com
Subject: Snowfall

Author's Note: Thanks to Michael Gouda and Andrew Alexander. I wish you
all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Please visit my website
under http://stefan680.tripod.com/stefanstories/ or try
http://mgouda0.tripod.com/


Snowfall

by Stefan



Julian looked upon the sky that had lost its bright blue. Yesterday the
world had seemed to awaken to a second Spring but now the sky had
thickened to a radiant whiteness that was cold and crispy and from
which it could start to snow any moment.

Julian drew in the air while he stood upon the stairs that led to
the Hilton Hotel, his hands deeply buried in the pockets of his coat.
He felt tired and somehow diminished. No wonder after all those nights.
His feet were hurting because he hadn't given them a rest after
yesterday's performance. Neither he himself nor his feet were
getting younger.

Julian smiled to himself. He was young and yet there was time enough
to enjoy life, to explore foreign beds and to live through many
ecstasies. Well, actually last night didn't belong exactly in those
categories, but...

A black porter in red livery with golden braids and a pretty silly
hat bowed and scraped, when a dark limousine arrived. Julian frowned.
Modern slavery. Did the hotel just have to engage a black African for
this work? Somehow his stomach reacted sensitively to it.

Undecided he still stood upon the stairs and stared blindly at the
wide place that opened in front of him. The old Gendarmenmarkt in
the heart of Berlin had covered its cool classicist wings with little
half-timbered houses with snow covered roofs, gingerbread displays and
Christmas trinkets. The scent of mulled wine and cotton candy pricked
his nose. Funny. He hadn't noticed the market yesterday when he had
crept with Karim to his hotel room. He was some actor who thought he
was something special. Well, Julian never minded a one night stand and
Karim's dark skin and his moist almond eyes had hit him somehow right
in his heart. At least in his heart was room enough and he had never
married Patrick nor made big promises.

Slowly he walked down the stairs and sauntered across the Christmas
market. It was the late morning of the 24th of December and despite
or perhaps because of this, many people shoved their way over the place
in search of last minute presents.

Yesterday evening they had had their last performance of Swan Lake and
since neither he nor Patrick had a role in the Nutcracker Suite that
would be performed over the Christmas holidays, he looked forward to a
couple of days off. They would have it easy by the fireside. Julian froze.
Did he long for coziness nowadays? For teenage fumbling under the blankets
upon the couch while they were watching 'Kevin - alone at home' or 'Little
Lord Fountleroy'? On the other hand, the baked apples Patrick cooked were
very good... Christmas was the only time he slackened his diet plan and
ate more than usual, low fat cheese and tons of fruits. Patrick envied
Julian who could eat what he wanted, he never gained a pound, he lost
enough during their performances. On stage he felt free, a complete
embodiment of the music he heard. And yesterday had been no different...


                                    * * *


A sound whirred high in the air and Julian followed with a jump upon
the stage. An orchestral flourish, and Julian landed upon the springy
planks of the stage of the State Opera House. He was light as a bird
and led Natascha, the Prima ballerina safely to her turns and pirouettes.
Her black tutu brushed his hips. Julian's gaze fell onto Patrick, who was
standing beside the sets and ignoring them both. He looked magnificent in
his red uniform, the strong legs, covered with black stockings and the
blond hair, he was wearing nowadays pretty short.

Patrick didn't smile. Assembled and concentrated he stared at a point
in the audience near the stage. Moist almond eyes and dark skin... Karim.
Natascha whirled with him across the stage; he held her slim waist tightly
and the skinny arms. He didn't like the feel of it. More he liked to knead
in the evening Patrick's muscular back and that which was beneath it. The
cutest bum he had ever seen - except his own perhaps. Not always did this
lead to what Julian wished because Patrick was often too tired and would
prefer just to cuddle. Julian almost always pulled a face. They could
cuddle enough when they were eighty. He wanted sex as much as he could
get until he couldn't go on anymore and Patrick's gentle soberness
pulled him each time back to the ground. None the less he stayed with
him...

Patrick jumped upon the stage, changed into Benno, Siegfried's gay and
jealous friend, and Siegfried soon would surrender the insinuations of
an envious soul. For a few seconds they stood side by side, panting
heavily, before the Swan Lake theme sounded and Julian/Siegfried would
be swept along again into a tumble of dust, sweat and euphoria...


Patrick stared at Julian in the mirror of their dressing room. He watched
how he removed the make up; the cotton wool pad with the white fluid
smearing the mascara around his eyes. What was left was the young, grey
eyed face with pouting, a little resorted lips, and the broken nose,
there where Patrick's foot had hit him years ago. It couldn't be seen
if one didn't know and Patrick was thankful for it. Julian was pretty
vain concerning his looks.

   "Did you notice the stares?" he asked now in a casual manner.

Their eyes met in the mirror. Julian easily pulled the hair band from
his forehead that had held his long, blond hair.

   "Which of the many?"

Patrick rolled his eyes. "All of them, man. There's nobody who isn't
fascinated by Siegfried, the prince of the swans."

   "And by Benno, his gay friend. I ask myself if anybody knows about the
deeper meaning." Julian bent down and massaged his hurting toes. "If
you mean the almond eyes in the first row, yes, I've seen them."

Patrick's eyes were lurking,, waiting for something soon to come. But
Julian lept and made little jumps. Patrick sighed. threw on his coat
and waited at the door.

   "When will you come home?"

Julian avoided his look and pretended indifference. "Later", he said
then and Patrick furiously opened the door. He almost bumped into the
almond eyes, as he cursed and ran down the tight, fusty corridor.


                                   * * *


Julian groped for a pair of twinkling stars between the display. They
had always had a Christmas tree. Each year of their seven years lasting
relationship - but this time Patrick had refused. He was sick of being
down on his knees picking up separately each of the fir needles that
had stuck into the carpet and anyway, he had to do all the work. Pah!
Patrick and his cleaning mania. Julian's hand twitched back just in
time before he crushed the filigree star. Today he would leave him
alone with his potato salad and his sausages, as he accurately wrapped
parcels, the artificial Christmas tree scent and the holiday's tie.

Julian's attractive face hardened. He squeezed shut his eyes as he saw
a figure, familiar since yesterday's night, passing the entrance of the
Hilton Hotel. The almond eyes didn't see him. He was out of his range
of vision and free again. Free for potato salad and slippers.


                             * * *


   "Why don't you come in?"

With a jump he was in and closed the door behind him. He unwrapped
the scarf from his face and seated himself upon a stool.

   "What's this masquerade about? Are you singer of the opera and have
to look after your voice?" Julian asked.

Karim studied him from head to toe. From the naked shoulders, over
the slim hips to the stocking covered legs. "You don't know who I am?"
he asked finally in a clear tenor voice.

Julian shrugged. "Am I supposed to? Are you famous from radio and TV?
Sorry, but I hardly ever watch TV." Julian returned to his mirror image.

   "All the better." Karim stood up. "Are you coming?"

   "Where to?"



The Gendarmenmarkt lay empty when they went the short distant on foot.
Just the usual night owls streaming out of the noble restaurants. One
time Julian had visited Borchard's with one of the lovers and had seen
chancellor Schroder, who had behaved himself surprisingly normal as
each one did here.

Julian asked himself what the Hilton looked like from inside but all
he cared for later was Karim;s cock, dangling in front of his face,
twitching nervously. And his backside.

   "You don't do this often, do you?" he asked him indistinctly, while
he was sucking at his tip and Karim emitted pointed cries of lust.
"What are you actually?" he asked later, as he kneeled behind Karim
and dug himself between his arse cheeks. Karim cried now from pain
but Julian didn't bother. He just waited until Karim said to move on.

   "Are you looking for some fellows to suck your dick because your wife
doesn't do it?"

   "She does it but not the right way", Karim squeezed out between his
teeth.

Julian grinned. What a poor ass.



                                  * * *


Julian bought himself a hot mulled wine and clasped his cold hands
around the cup. Karim marched across the market and passed near him.
Even though he must have seen him, he ignored him completely. Julian
sensed a very little sting. What an arse hole. Later he had wanted by
all means to prove what some guy he was, but Julian had refused. Nobody
fucked Julian except......

He swallowed the wrong way and coughed. Karim turned and their eyes met.
Strange. In the cold, white light of the Christmas morning Karim's eyes
had lost their beguiling effect. Now they examined him like an insect
and Julian turned demonstratively. He drank the last drops and strolled
along. He didn't have a Christmas gift for Patrick... Then he remembered
that he didn't want to go home tonight. Patrick bored him to death and
tonight he wanted to have something special.

But what? Did the bars remain open on this evening? In his mind he
checked all the bars he knew. Of course they had opened exactly on
this evening, ready for the ball of the lonely hearts.

Julian shivered as he left the wide place slowly in the direction of
the Friedrichstrasse. Here there was even more bustling. He barged
and was barged by smug looking women with their Gucci and Dolce &
Gabbana- bags. Perhaps he should bring Patrick something from the
Cerruti-shop then: A pair of socks or a briefcase? But the young
cheeky little monkey Hadn't worked there for a long time. What was
his name? Kay? Then he remembered that he didn't want to go home
tonight.

In front of a Swiss jewellers shop he stopped again. Patrick loved
watches....Sighing to himself he turned off to the corner of the
street which was covered by a large shop window, tastefully Christmassy
decorated. He stepped closer and examined the displays. Small pieces
of furniture, frames, paintings in a classical vein, carpets. His look
roamed through the interior and was struck by a painting. It was
painted with red and white chalk and showed the portrait of a man
with a turban.

Without hesitation he entered. A melodious bell sounded and out of
the blue a young salesman materialized with a nice but slightly
uncertain smile. His grey blue eyes sparkled while expectantly looking
at him.

Julian was aware of the catlike grace with which he moved. Everything
else would have been a shame for his profession. He stretched his broad
back and loosened his hands.

  "Are you looking for something special?"

Julian nodded and stepped to the painting at the wall.

   "Oh, good choice. It's a copy."

   "Not original?"

The young man smiled uncertain. "I meant to say, it was painted after
an original by Michelangelo."

Julian beamed. "Michelangelo! I thought he was just a sculptor."

His opposite shook his head and rummaged from his mind everything that
he had learnt recently. From a side room voices came to Julian's ears.
Carefully he peered through the door and saw a pair seated around a
table where Christmas cake was lying and steam coming from the cups.

   "Of course you might remember the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, do
you", the salesman started, but Julian didn't seem to listen. So he
left him alone. He appeared to be absorbed in his contemplation while
he was watching the painting. In reality he listened to the talk that
he could hear in the next room. Now, by appearing to stretch to see
the painting better, he peeped over and saw both men putting their
heads close together; and the older one playing with the fingers of
the younger one. It was all too clear that both were a couple,
everything was for it: the looks, the touching - and throwing a
sharp glance to the young man in the corner - he asked himself if
he belonged to them. All of a sudden, now wide awake, he examined
him, but he was busy with pushing the price tags and leafing through
a book.

   "And what's with your parents? Aren't you going to invite them for
Christmas?" the younger of both asked.

   "My parents? I haven't seen them for two years. They send the
obligatory cards and call to learn how's business."

The younger man fell silent and then said, "Aren't they interested
to meet me?" His voice sounded a little sad and Julian moved even
closer to the door, pretending to be interested in an old chest of
drawers.

The black hair of the older man was shimmering in the candle's light
standing upon the small table. He looked at the dark blond, young man.
"You know, they were never interested to meet my partners. They knew
Sebastian, and that was enough. Sebastian was the man that had messed
up their boy, and all the other perverts could get lost."

Julian saw him shudder and then he continued in a low voice, "I do
them wrong probably. Actually they came to terms with my lifestyle.
Although they don't understand they respect me and I've never heard
a reproach." He disrupted himself and approached the young man by
his side. "Would you like to meet them?"

Julian watched his reaction. First he looked undecided, then a
charming smile appeared on his face. "I'd like to see where you
got your good looks from." He grinned and placed a pretty sounding
kiss upon the lips of the older. Julian turned and looked nervously
to the salesman who was waiting patiently in the corner of the room.
He seemed to smile. Julian reciprocated but then it fell from his face.
The same discussion he had heard before..... Again he stepped in front
of the copy of Michelangelo's painting.

   "Do you wish to buy it?"

Julian pondered that it would fit well into the bedroom and that he
would have finally got the suitable gift for Patrick. At the same time
he remembered.....

The salesman took the painting carefully from the wall and carried it
to the desk. "Nick, someone wishes to buy your painting", he called
over his shoulder. Julian heard how the young man from the side room
stood up and came over.

   "Tommaso dei Cavallieri", he said and gave his partner a smile across
the room. "Good choice. It's an unique specimen." Julian smiled
absentmindedly and pulled his briefcase. This was certainly the
most expensive gift Patrick had ever received from him. "You've
painted it?" he asked and looked for the signature.

   "Take good care of it. With time the value will rise." The older
man leaned nonchalantly in the door frame, his arms folded across
his chest. Julian gave him a deep look and something stirred within
him. If he had been alone he would have turned on the old charm for
one night with him. Julian showed his teeth and nodded. But the man
didn't show any sign of interest. Bad luck today, baby, he said to
himself. The best are taken already.

At last he gave his good wishes and went. Somehow he felt sick when
he left the shop and looked back for one last time. Both stood tightly
embraced and seemed to whisper. Quickly he looked away and started to
walk down the street in the direction of the railway station. The
parcel weighed heavy under his arm.

Their mutual Christmas celebrations had always turned into little
disasters. Patrick's mother, a domineering widow of a civil servant,
didn't care much for Julian and not at all for the profession both
had chosen. Dancing was something for sissies, for weaklings and for
gays anyway. None the less she came each first Christmas day and told
them with a melancholy face about grandchildren she would have liked
to shower with presents and squinted disgruntled at Julian she couldn't
resign with as a "son-in-law". When Julian vanished - at the end of his
tether - into his room, Patrick followed soon because his mother had
gone and the foul mood spread all over the house.

Only when they danced everything was fine. In the basement of their
house that Julian had inherited from his aunt, they had sat up a dance
studio. Planks and one wall completely covered with a mirror. For
dancing Patrick's perfection was ideal; he had brought everything
from Julian, that was to be brought.

Deep in thought, Julian turned off to the Maritim hotel and took a
seat in the restaurant. Bored tourists wherever he looked who passed
the time with eating and business men who talked with hands and feet.
Actually he didn't know how he should kill the time until evening
came. He sighed and picked at his food. Just that moment Patrick
was packing the gifts in his very own pendantic manner and if he
would finally come home he would act as if nothing had happened
last night. As always. Both dreamt about having their own theatre,
or at least a place where they could make their wishes come true.
Like to turn Swan Lake into a complete gay performance. Each part
would be taken by male dancers. But this wouldn't work anyway.
Julian hadn't enough staying power for this.

Wistfully he thought about the Christmas tree that was waiting for
him at home. Patrick had enough talent to decorate it so that it
didn't look overboard nor like a tree from the discount. Then he
remembered that they wouldn't have a Christmas tree this year and
the anger about that made him gobble up his food without actually
knowing what he was eating. He paid the bill and finally left the
hotel.

If possible the sky had gotten even whiter and the air smelled like
snow. How long had it been since they had had a White Christmas in
Berlin? Ten years or more?

His view fell upon the building opposite. A high, white building
with shopping windows stuffed with books. Upon the roof the red
flag with the name of Dussmann flapped in the wind. People were
streaming in and out, laden with bags and parcels. Julian wondered
why everybody had to leave their Christmas shopping until the very
last minute. Looking at his own parcel, trapped under his arm, he
realized that he belonged to those people and he smiled. Since he
had nothing better to do he crossed the street and entered the over
dimensional house of books and music, of video and games. With that
he entered a complete new world. He sniffed the air and passed the
displays: left a pile of Harry Potter books and right 'The Lord of
the Rings', both now out in cinema. Patrick had spoken about seeing
them both but Julian had no clue about these books, for he never
read. Another pile with historical fat tomes... Patrick loved books,
the thicker the better, while Julian had never read more than 'The
Treasure Island' - required reading for the English lessons.

The cash desks wee besieged and the shop assistants seemed pretty
stressed. Christmas music floated through the four floored house.
It was a special day of the year and Julian felt a stab. Just that
special day you have to leave Patrick alone? He embraced his parcel
tighter and was about to leave when his gaze fell upon a man sitting
in a chair and reading a pretty large book. Julian recognized him
instantly although he hadn't seen him for years. While he was still
thinking what he should say, his feet had crossed the distance.

The man looked up. Still the water blue eyes and a new thin, pale
scar across his cheek - the remains of his accident. The man blinked.

   "Julian", he said then pleased. "What brings you here?" Then, looking
at the parcel under Julian's arm, "I see, you're doing your last
minute Christmas shopping?" He pulled Julian next to him upon a
chair and all the bustling people around vanished. Julian seemed
he had found a small quiet island amid the roaring ocean and suddenly
he understood what was the secret of reading.

   "Konstantin", he said and smiled at the elder man, still full in shape
as he was when he was member of the dance ensemble Julian and Patrick
still belonged to.

   "How are you doing?" he asked aloud while he wondered if Conny had
found a partner he would spend Christmas with.

   "Quite ok, thanks. Sometimes I've been to the opera house. You both
are fantastic." He shut the book and stood up. "Let me pay for this
and then I'm free for you." He looked expectantly. "Do you mind?"
Julian nodded. Actually he was glad that he had found company. He
watched him go to the cash desk where he stood patiently in line
and smiled occasionally at Julian.

Shortly after Julian had joined the ensemble of the State Opera,
Conny's car accident had happened and he had met Patrick. Conny's
injured leg forced his withdrawal, it wasn't stable enough anymore
to stand a performance. Julian wondered what he was doing now.

   "Care for a drink?" Conny stood beside him, ready to go.


                                  * * *


   "Hi hon, I didn't expect you today." The barkeeper fluttered with
his long, artificial, silvery lashes. With blood red finger nails he
stroked over his decollete and smiled seductively at Konstantin, while
at the same time throwing a jealous side glance to Julian.

   "How you doing?" Conny replied. "Ready for the final cut?" Angelina
beamed and showed his stark white teeth. "In January, darling." He
licked his lips and pushed two glasses of wine over the bar.

   "Final cut?" Julian asked while they took seats in a dimly lit corner.

Some guys sat at tables, alone, checking each other out, asking
themselves if the other would be worth spending Christmas holidays
with.

   "You know," Conny made an unmistakable movement with his hand. "He
has a lot of trouble behind him." He paused. "I really should say
'she'. Two years of testing the emergency case with the psychiatrists
if he really feels like a woman, all those tests.... and she has to
have changed her name officially then. She got the final positive
report, so the health insurance scheme will pay for the operation."

Julian felt a little taken aback. How could he be glad to get rid
of the most precious part of his body. He didn't know what to say
so he lifted his glass to Conny. "Happy Christmas. What are you
doing actually?"

Conny drank. "I'm running a ballet school. That's the only thing
I can still do. I enjoy it."

Julian eyed him and then nodded. He had learnt that Conny had been
a hard-working man but Patrick was always quiet when he had asked
about the ex-dancer.

   "As I said, you and Patrick are a great pair." Conny's eyes
flickered. "Are you a couple"

   "Of course", Julian said and forgot that Conny couldn't know it.

   "Since you've left us."

Conny took a hasty gulp. "The same once more, hon", he called to
Angelina.

   "You're with the car, Julian reminded him, but Conny shrugged.
Somehow his face seemed to be haggard. "Since seven years you're
a pair? The damn 7th year?" His grin turned a little lop-sided.
"Are you coming to my place?"

Julian poured down his wine to gain time. To what would this lead?
His heartbeat quickened. Briefly he remembered Karim, the dark
skinned actor. Wasn't that enough of adventure in 24 hours?

Conny waited and looked at him. "Come on, let's make it more
comfortable."

The guys around were still checking each other out, a pair left
the bar together and from the loud speaker Chris Rea's 'Driving
home for Christmas' sounded.

Julian put back his glass and rose.


                               * * *

One wall of Konstantin's living room was covered with a glossy
print of Rudolf Nureyev in a dance position: the arms sideways over
his head, and a leg spread apart.

   "Dancing was my life", Conny said pensively. "Now, I'm trying to
train chubby girls their first steps. Their mothers dreaming of a
career as a Prima Ballerina."

   "You said you enjoy it."

Conny sighed - "At least I haven't left the profession completely."
Julian had recognized that there weren't any signs that Conny was
living with a partner like o second razor nor a toothbrush.

   "And you and Patrick? How do you cope with this unbelievable slut?"

   "Huh?"

Conny looked at him. "Don't say he has changed. It's impossible.
When we were living together here the flat looked like a pigsty.
And so was his dancing style first: wild, uncontrolled and sluttish."

   "This flat?" Julian asked incredulously.

   "This flat. Oh", Conny examined him. "You didn't know that we
lived here together?" He scratched his head briefly and shook the
brown locks that were falling onto his forehead.

Julian couldn't believe it. Patrick had never told him that he and
Konstantin had been a couple. Why, he asked himself. And why had
Conny said Patrick was a slut?

   "I'm sorry if I said something wrong", Conny poured him another
glass of wine. His voice sounded sad but his eyes glistened dangerously.
He outlined the thin scar on his face..

   "No, you haven't, Julian hurried to reassure him. "It's just surprising
that he never told me about it. And I don't understand what you mean
with slut and pigsty."

Konstantin had opened another bottle. The central heating steamed hot
air into Julian's back and he started to sweat.

   "I don't know what you mean", Conny said. "Has he changed that
drastically?"

   "Sure, Patrick and his cleaning mania are proverbial. He's getting
on my nerves actually."

Conny raised his eyebrows. "So? Surely he didn't want to be reminded
what an arse hole he was. So he changed his habits, that's all. I was
lying in hospital when the doc informed me that I would never be a
professional dancer again. Patrick visited me but during the months
in the rehabilitation clinic, I've heard nothing from him. When I
got home he had moved out because he couldn't cope with a 'cripple'.

Julian was speechless. Patrick should be that heartless? His orderly,
loveable and quiet Patrick?

Darkness fell over the town. Julian realized it had started to snow
when he looked out of the window and his heart skipped a beat. He
tried to shake off the alcohol and the effect of Conny's tale. One
of them was lying here.

He saw Conny standing in front of him with the bottle of wine. "Some
more?" he asked. But then he pulled Julian from the couch and tried
to kiss him. "I agree, Patrick is pretty boring, and the sex...." he
sighed.

   "Gotta go home", Julian mumbled. Was it possible to have secrets
after a seven years lasting partnership? What other secrets did he
have? Suddenly he longed for the warm cosiness of their mutual home.
For potato salad and sausages, for the accurate wrapped parcels and
the holiday tie.

He took the parcel with the painting. "Why don't you stay here?"
Conny was again behind him and his voice sounded a little sharper.
"I shouldn't have told you. Probably Patrick has changed. Turned
from a slut into a cleaning apostle, how funny. Perhaps he wants
to make up for the things he did to me."

Julian turned. "No, you shouldn't have told me."


Julian hastened to the next railway stop and waited for the right
train. Snow flakes glued his blond hair. He watched old people,
laden with parcels for the grandchildren. Expectant faces, red from
frost; a scent of mandarines, baked apples and cinnamon hung in the
air. The signalman in his little cabin upon the platform lit the
candles on his artificial Christmas tree and drank a cup of tea. A
homeless pair leaned against the wall, bags scattered around and
shared a bottle of Vodka. At least they were together.

A male couple sat close together in a corner of the train. Julian
admired the long, black ponytail one was wearing. He couldn't avoid
overhearing their talk.

   "Now, talk. What did your parents say when your book arrived?" the
ponytailtailed one asked.

   "Mother called when you were out. She bawled her eyes out from
excitement!" He chortled and the dimples in his cheeks deepened.
"We've got an invitation for Sylt to their home."

   "We?"

   "Yes, we." The brown haired one pulled the other one closer. Marcus
will be pleased. Perhaps everything will be all right at the end
of this year." He fell silent.

Julian watched the pair, envious. If the world could be this easy.
His thoughts returned to Patrick. Why had he been so hard-hearted
to finish with Konstantin when he had needed him the most? It was
pretty miserable. He looked out of the window, took his parcel and
left the train.

The house lay in darkness except a dim light coming from the living
room. Julian unlocked the door and tried to decipher the watch. Half
past seven. Much too late.

   "Patrick?"

Silence.

Julian turned on the lamp on the ceiling and found Patrick in his
suit and tie slumped in an armchair. He had opened the champagne
bottle and cheered now to him. "Merry Christmas". He was drunk. He
never drank a drop because he always watched his weight.

   "Can we eat now?" Patrick stood up and swayed a little. Then he shot
into the kitchen. Julian followed him wordless.

   "Did you have fun with the almond eyes?" Patrick took the potato
salad from the fridge and lifted the cover from the bowl. "Sausages
or chicken legs?" Then he turned abruptly. "Did he fuck you good
enough? Better than I?"

   "Patrick...."

   "Don't say a word!" Patrick hissed. His glazed eyes rolled in their
sockets. "I don't want to hear."

   "Then why do you ask?"

Furiously Patrick pulled out plates and cutlery and pushed them into
Julians hands. Julian was getting angry. "I've met Konstantin."

   "Huh?"

   "Konstantin. Conny! You remember?"

   "Of course I do. Still great in bed?"

Julian nodded. "So it's true, yes? You once were a couple. He told me
interesting things. Why haven't you told me? I thought we shouldn't
have any secrets."

   "Secrets?" Patrick laughed shrilly. "Don't tell me about secrets.
What is there that others have that I don't have? Is my cock too
small for your arse?"

Julian raised his hand and hit Patrick's flushed face. The same
second he regretted it. Patrick took the bowl with potato salad
and threw its content into Julian's scared face. Then he passed
him and Julian heard the entrance door shut closed with a bang.

   "Patrick! I'm sorry!" Julian cursed, took a cloth and wiped the
salad from his face and pullover. The he ran into the corridor and
opened the door. Patrick stood in the small front garden and the
snow trickled down on him.

   "I'm sorry." Julian repeated. "Come back."

Patrick didn't move.

   "Please. Let's talk."

Slowly Patrick turned. "I was driving the car when we had the
accident", he said suddenly. "Conny made me feel very bad about it.
Constantly he told me that I am responsible for his ruined life."

'Dancing was my life'.... Conny's voice reverberated in Julian's
mind. Cautiously he took Patrick's arm and led him into the house.
There he went to the kitchen and brewed themselves a strong coffee
while he pulled his dirty pullover over his head.

Patrick hiccupped and sank upon a stool in the kitchen. "I thought
I had forgotten it. Conny had drank too much and so I was driving
the car, but he made fun and suddenly grabbed hold of the steering
wheel. The car skidded, overturned and we slid down an embankment.
His legs were penned in the wreckage and he needed a lot of surgery
afterwards. Something in his mind disengaged when the doctor said he
would never dance again."

Patrick's head sunk and Julian squatted in front of him. He took his
hand. "Why haven't you told me about it, hm? Seven years, good lord."
Julian's voice was gentle. "It wasn't your fault. He told me that you
had left him in the lurch. I couldn't believe it. Is this the reason
you changed your life so drastically?"

Patrick looked up an shrugged. "I don't know exactly. He told me I'm
a slut and I could never do him right. Everything was wrong that I did."

Julian smiled suddenly. "You did well, honey. You taught me to
dance.... You're a pretty tough teacher. But a good one."

He held the full coffee cup in front of Patrick's nose. "Now, let's
drink and then you'll tell me everything I don't know about."

Patrick smiled haltingly and went with Julian into the living room.

   "Wait a moment." Julian vanished into the corridor and brought his
gift. "Open it."

Patrick emptied his cup and unwrapped the paper carefully.

   "Michelangelo!" he said surprised.

   "You know it?"

   "Of course. This was made with love", he whispered.

   "Yes, I met the painter. A young man - and his partner."

Patrick looked up. "Closer?" he asked.

   "No, stupid, I just listened and watched." He took a deep breath.
"You mean a lot to me. After all those seven years."

They smiled at each other.

   "And besides: your cock isn't too small for my arse."