Roma - Los Angeles





Jose and I had a very nice day yesterday. Visiting the Villa Borghese, admiring the sleeping hermaphrodite, and the David, being very private in the wide intricate gardens. Then cooking to dinner. And for the dinner Franco joined us and even my friend Pietro came after dinner for a nice little chat.


Fontana dei Trevi

José had to get up very early today. He had a music lesson.  I call now somebody at Allitalia who can procure me a flight to Los Angeles for this early evening. I will not see José again but soon we will meet each other for his holidays on my ship. And get to know his girl friend who he loves secretly and wants to invite. Now I have some time left which I use to stroll through Rome. I have visited again Santa Ignese fuori le muri and now I am sitting on a bench at the Fontana di Trevi. There are lots of tourists, young couples giving hands to each other sitting on the edge of the fountain. But now I remark a young woman with blond hair sitting on the edge of the fountain.  I am bored. I look at the cover of the newest Luchenti e Viscontini I bought in the library to read on the plane. I don't know what to do. So I begin reading in the book. But suddenly a shadow falls on my book. I look up. Two young chaps have just passed. On the edge of the fountain they cling to each other and kiss. I watch, bored. They please me quite a lot. He is black African, with the pitch black hairs combed in tresses and hanging over his shoulders. His friend has a white skin and long blond hair. Two Angels, the back and the white together, Nathaniel and Ezreel if I don't mistake But I am no connoisseur of the different types of angels. Or could it be Amor and Psyche? But then, who is Amor and who is Psyche. They both don't have wings. And now pitch black and marble white embracing each one the other. Their mouth, one small and the other large, lips, one upon the other and the tongues sweeping about them. It’s a dream just only to watch. But it's disgusting, because I don’t have anything of it. I can’t join them. What has the elegant Italian Fanullone to do here. He is one too much. I'd rather concentrate on the young female tourist, German or Swiss with blond hair and blue eyes. She probably needs somebody who guides her through Rome. And I am good guide. A fiery Italian, elegantly clothed, to show her the monuments of Rome. First Medieval Rome, then Modern Rome, and finally when it gets interesting, antique erotic Rome. Getting to know each other better on a bench on the Spanish stairs on Trinità dei Monti looking down on the traffic and the elephants in the fountain. And to finish the day in a nice Trattoria serving Pasta and good wine somewhere in Trastevere with a Garden where you can dance together. So I stroll over there to go to her, seduce her. I have to speed up because another Cicerone has got attentive and strides towards her. He is a serious competitor as he is younger. Not so elegantly clad as I am in my newest Armany vest and jeans my oyster chain José bought me in the nice Boutique around the neck, the ear clip hanging on my left earlobe, a little mandolin. But I am quite positive because often these girls from Germany prefer older men to younger ones not like these Scandinavian girls. She is looking too serious, she is certainly not Swedish. Because I don’t want one from Sweden, they are too daring and demanding. I am not so lively today. But I am just some minutes before my competitor. I profit  from my advance, look deep into her eyes and tell her the whole story of the fountain, as the rich cardinal spent it to allow the poor to have enough water, as the fat bishop drowned himself completely drunk and was seen again by Monsignore climbing out as a mermaid. As the Jews poisoned the water and were burnt alive for this. Of course it’s not what’s written in the books, all Romans know it. Telling all this I get all the time nearer to her and cuddle to her. I make good progress. I am fixedly looking into her eyes, blue they are like the sky above the sea, and sharpen my mouth to give her a kiss, caressing her thighs with my legs. But some friend of her, a plain elderly woman, wants to play the saving angel, disturbs us telling her she wants to show her a museums, she nods to me and leaves me.  I am alone again. And I go back to my book. 


But suddenly there is a loud row. I look up again. The two young chaps shout at each other and the one with the long blond hairs goes away, angry. Back remains the dark one. He sits on the edge of the basin, down in the dumps. So nice to look at, his pitch black hair hanging in tresses down his sides, his big black eyes, languidly looking into the water. Looking for Bacchus on the coins? Fie over him, don't let him go so far! A gipsy selling flowers comes along. I buy a rose to join my Amor, stride towards the basin just besides him. H doesn’t even remark me. I throw my rose in the water, say "oh my." And as I hoped he fishes for the rose. He is now bending down and I bend down too and look at his face mirrored in the pool. Smile and make a kiss hand. We get into a discussion and decide to make a walk in the town. We pass and  look intently at Trajan's big foot. But of course only I look. He approaches the foot, lies with his back on the toe nail, stretched out, and I am fascinated by the sight of his thighs in tight jeans. I try to imagine what’s between the outstretched legs. My little camera clicks while I am turning around my little love god. Am I really so interested in the Emperor's toe? None of us believes it. His nicest body part is still well packed in his tight jeans, but I hope that Trajan will have a good heart, get down and pull the curtain. But there is a couple of elderly tourist standing there watching intently at the divine emperor's foot. It annoys me. I have to act, slender towards the woman and begin to explain her everything she sees extending my palm begging towards her man. What I hoped happens. As he doesn’t want to pay an ignorant Cicerone for things he can read in a book, he goes away pulling his wife with him. Languidly she turns back to me but cannot leave her pillar of love. Thanks God at last alone! I caress Amor's thighs and soon the slit is  an open and what’s in it gets much aroused. But already the next tourists come along. A whole school class of Japanese tourists. Clicking with their cameras, chatting in high pitched voices. What did I do to the God to merit this? Now it's too much. It's no longer private, it's the Via Appia crowded with the invaders. 


We flee taking the cab to Tivoli, where we take tea under the tent and then flirt under the running water of the fountains. We dance under the running water and proceed from the entry more and more to the edge of the park. There are grottos and hidden splits behind the rocks. Amors, Bacchuses and Appollos, Aphrodites and Dianas look at us while we flirt together. We caress, embrace us kiss each other and look with the palms of our hands for hidden places on our bodies. Simply sensing what's hidden under our clothes. But our clothes get wet from the spilled water. At last, far away from the maddening crowds, on the edge of the park there is a lone Amor winking. The fountain is hidden in bushes. We are so exited kissing and feeling each other that we don’t realize we stand directly under the down pouring water. But it’s such a nice feeling sensing each other in our wet clothes. Edges and rounds can be felt much better with wet clothes. We lick the water from our faces, drenching our thirst. At last we have to shed our clothes to let them dry in the sun. We are well hidden where we are, the fountain has no  stars in the Baedeker. The weather is warm and the sun shines. The trees and bushes shed us from the uninitiated rest of the visitors. The guardians don't look in our direction and they don't like walking a lot. Maybe I simply gave the one of them  with the biggest medal on the hat a large tip and he is counting his money, Ha Ha Ha. You racist. We cuddle into each another making each other warm again. Adriano's pitch black skin is smooth like velvet and his hair feels like silk. We cuddle together.


Suddenly I look at my watch. It's one hour before the flight of my plane, I nearly missed it. It's last time to get a cab. I put my clothes on, say I have to be on my plane. We will certainly see each other again as José is in town. I give him Franco's visiting card where José is living. But Adriano is inconsolable.  My taxi is waiting, Adriano comes with me to the airport. Probably he wants to come with me to the States. And doesn't want my money. But there is no place left on the plane. I leave him kissing him good bye in the airport hall. The luggage has been sent directly to the hotel in LA by the porter of Franco's flat. During the flight I regret I didn't take leave appropriately. And I don't know he threw away Franco's visiting card as he was upset by my quick good bye. But I will encounter him all the same later on. Of course he threw away Franco's card. But he and José encountered each other without knowing each other, and instead of with his girl friend José came with Adriano on our ship. There he will tell me his adventurous trip from Cotonou where he was a little fishing boy to Paris Zurich and Rome where he is obviously a big fishing boy. You racist.    



I fly to Los Angeles to look for Koja, because I know that Koja loves the West Coast and dreams of a career in Hollywood.


When I land in Los Angeles it is  there in the middle in the night. I go to get the car I had rented when booking the journey. I lodge at the penthouse flat of my movie producer. It is situated near to the Central Park. It has large bays giving a great sight all over Los Angeles to the sea and as far as Hollywood. The next morning I awaken early and take a refreshing bath and look at the view. Down at the Park the sirens, the lights of the police cars were going. From the windows of the penthouse, I can oversea the whole territory. The police is swarming all over the territory. There seems to have been a serious thing. I fetch the binoculars and took a better view. Far away I can see a small child, running with two or three black plastic rubbish bags towards he zoo. Now there is no sense to look for Koja at the central park. With all this swarming of policemen, probably no chap without domicile would have stayed there. I consider what to do next. There is the zoo. It was there, as I heard, that Koja was picked up by the police the last time he ran away from Simon, when he had gotten high and drunk and had had this row with a pimp who had stood there. Koja had no procurer and this guy had gotten real bad. Had stabbed him and when the cops came they had punished Koja the pimp being a customer of them. So I decide to go to the zoo. It is afternoon.


I wander around the whole zoo, look intensely into every place which could be a hiding place, but I don't find Koja. Finally I join the watching flock standing before the apes' cage. They seem to be in a excited mood. One of the female Gorillas takes up a lump of some excrements  lying around and throws it at a small boy who stands there. It's the boy I saw running away from the park! And somehow he reminds me of a chap I knew when as student I was roaming the states together with Francine. Simon was already in the world and was cared for by Francine's parents. He was the son of a business relative of my father's. Like me he had run away from home. His father had written him off. It was his mother who had, furtively told me where she thought he lived, and I met him more by chance. But he was taciturn and a loner, he never trusted us and left us without telling us where he was going. He was rather on the trip to better the world but could not come up to his own moral standards. Never satisfied with himself. A loser. The more closely I look the more this boy reminds me of Jack. He has the same curved eye-lids, the same mouth, nicely-shaped with large lips, the same color of hair. And he stands there, leaning on the left foot. Exactly like Jack. But his jeans look as if they had not seen an iron for months, his tee-shirt is dirty. His shoes are worn. He is unkempt. For his clothes you could assume he also was living in the streets. But alone, on  his own, whereas otherwise these children are rather around in groups. I think: Living all on his own makes him vulnerable to pedophile tourists. I know. I have studied this pedophile tourism in Mexico-City and in other towns and  everywhere its the same. It's not probable that the conditions in the States are so much different than in other countries. Maybe a lot rougher. "Vive la globalization!" But then, I do not want to get more involved in the scene here. 

After I got the Nobel price, with the money I got and much of my private money, I have engaged street workers  who are busy setting up  a net of houses for the assistance of  rent boys living in the street. All over the world.  We also founded a caritative organization who is collecting money. And now and then I publicize articles in newspapers.  They are not enough cared for in our society. For girls more has been realized and the public is also more mobilized, but rent boys are still a flaw in our society who tries not to see them and nearly nothing has been achieved. I know it from my experience with Koja and Nicos: the step from street boy to rent boy is very small! But I know also from experience: People are not contributing largely to my caritative organization. It`s morally insane, having to do something with homosexuality. Here in the States we have a particularly difficult stand. Quite a lot of private churches are preaching against it. For the reverend Smith and his congregation, the biggest television church, I am a creature of the devil, am supporting vice and everybody who gives money to my organization goes directly to hell. It does not fit in the image our society makes of boys and girls. You would rather expect of a girl to become a whore because she supposedly has no other means.  But  a boy! You expect of him to use his fists to fight. Otherwise its rather a blame for the machos’ world view. I think and forget what’s going around me. Suddenly I shudder. There is a pair of tourists who seem quite weird, not letting him out of sight. The predators already on their way? I have to contact this boy somehow. Maybe he knows something of Koja? If he was here! When he is near of me, I try to  accost him, but as soon as he realizes somebody unknown near him, he vanishes.  With all these people around I do not dare running after him. Obviously this boy does not trust anybody. But he is a living prey for pervs, I think. He is quite small, has a very fine, nice face, long dark hair not well cared for, hanging down to his shoulders. Having come enough near to him I see he has blue eyes. Absolutely like Jack. And the profound  dimple he has on his chin shows that he is sensible. Even with his unkempt hair  he looks like an angel. And lives like a squirrel. Certainly everybody realizes he lives on his own, and his not being together with others makes him an easy prey for pervs. And this pair, man and woman, of age of retirement seem quite weird. Their faces are changed with heavy make up. What are they up to? Are they pervs looking for a prey? And they seem to trace the boy. As I am looking at them, they turn and go away. But I simply do not have the time and the energy to be a helping angel for all street children. I do not desire to become it. I have enough to do it for the 4 I have taken up. And the fifth who is no rent boy but who behaves like one. I wonder what Francine would say. Is she as much engaged with her Indian women? As I do not find Koja, I have to go on to other places to look for him. But its impossible. Finally, exhausted,  I go back to the flat I live. In the night, I think,  I will go to the zoo again, because Koja was arrested here last time and in general people come back were they were before. In the night you can rather find rent boys. But the boy remains in my head. I hope he will be somewhere else for the night. And not in reach of this funny pair.



On the sidewalk a wonderful chap with long blond hair, blue, largely cut trousers and a red shirt is selling lottery tickets. He certainly does it as a clandestine. Ever so often he looks left and right, furtively. But he does not seem to have much chance. Nobody buys. I have pity with him. I ask him for a ticket and as he grabs for it, I take a better look  at him. His shirt-collar is open. I glance down his breast, have a look at his brown nipples. I take my purse. I have to count my money, and think I don't have the amount. But I can scratch it together. He tends me his hand with the ticket. I take it and count him the money in his outstretched palm. As I touch the white skin of his wonderfully clean palm it strikes me like a blitz. I was so long without lover. I thoroughly enjoy rubbing over his palm with the nails of me fingers and my heart leaps as he looks up to me. He has wonderful blue eyes shaped like almonds. Long eyebrows. Instantly I fall in love with him. And abruptly his supple young body leans towards my body. His sensuous red lips whisper: "Let's go to your place, will you, I long for your body." I jubilate, it's my day. My lips touch his lips, we kiss and our tongues caress each other. I feel his knee against my hips and my cock gets stiff. So suddenly did it happen, we both fell in love together and I can't wait to go to a quiet place with him. As we hurry along the streets, suddenly he stops. He embraces me with his hands. "You are not American," he says.“ I can hear it at your accent.“ I’m Swiss." I say that because I still have a  Swiss passport, also I did not put one feet in Switzerland for years except flying to Zurich Kloten meeting my advisor to discuss the matter of administrating my fortune. "Are we going to a Hotel. I know some place." I answer: "What makes you think we go to a hotel? We go to a private place. A flat belonging to a friend. And nobody will ever ask anything about papers." Just now a cab drives past us, I run to the street, make signs, whistle. It stops. We enter. When I tell the driver where I want to go, he gasps. It's an area where the millionaires, the actors live. Everything heavily guarded. Nobody who does not belong to the society can get there. Everything is very discreet. The chauffeur has a thin smile on his lips, he probably thinks his part about my errand. And certainly he has experienced a lot. I'll give him a good tip, so that he keeps quiet. The last thing I want is a publicity in the newspapers like I had when I had the row with David. It would seriously hamper my search of Koja. But my love is stronger than any rational thinking. I can't distrust somebody I love and hope this is no blackmailer. But till now I was always lucky with my lovers. He is in awe. "How posh," He exclaims“ Have  you been living long here." "No, I wait for my ship to come. I live on board of a ship. Previously I used to live in Acapulco.." I whisper it into his ears, I do not want to say it in front of this noisy taxi driver. But I have of course awakened his curiosity. He kisses me and whispers in my ear: "Let's do love together. I long for it." He must think I am not convinced. He says again: "Lets do it, I want it." and then as if I had said anything: "I am more than eighteen." I didn’t doubt it. Why does he think of saying something like this. I don't care. I am doing what I want in my life, without taking head of jealous moral apostles. Nobody ever did interfere in my life and I won’t accept any interfering. 


I'm living in Bel Aire in the penthouse of my movie producer. He is for the time being in Europe. Uses my house in Saint Tropez. At his place it's discreet. Secure of Paparazzi. Paparazzi are enemies of Nobel prize winners and of movie producers all the same. Whole armies of private security men keep them away from us. At last we arrive at my place. As soon as we have entered the flat, closed the door, I feverishly  kneel before him, open his fly, take what I find in it, carefully, like an fragile egg. It's still small but so nice and clean. Everything happens in this magnificent setting. the whole town of LA and the seaside far away, which is present through the huge bay windows. In one hurry bending down he takes off his shoes. His naked toes caress me balls. Feverishly I stand up, take off my pants and my shirt. I embrace him, my finger caress over his blond silken hair and my mouth searches his mouth. My fingers caress over his whole body while I unbutton his trouser and let them fall and one by one I unbutton his shirt, I feel his fingers caressing my naked body and my buttocks. Then at last his whole, white body is before me. My fingers glide about his soft skin down his back, between his legs and to his buttocks. My fingers glide over the buttocks, into his fissure, but then I suddenly stop. I feel scars all over his buttocks, in his fissure, and suddenly a warm liquid moistens my fingers. It's blood. Obviously the scars have been opened by my caresses. But he doesn't budge. I can vividly imagine how it must look on his behind. It must hurt awfully. "You are hurt," I exclaim. "Why didn't you say anything?" I exclaim. At the next kiss I look more intensely into his eyes. The whites look red. And around the eyes he has dark rings. I realize also that his eyes have a strange glimmer, and seem fixed. Now I understand while he was always perspiring and his whole body was trembling.  "Are  you drugged?" I exclaim. take his eyelids, push them up and look into his eyes, while he is simply staring. I've suddenly lost my heat. I stop caressing him. Now he has lost his confidence. He weeps. Suddenly he goes down on his kneels before me: “Please, please take me. Don't send me away. I have no money. I do not know where to sleep tonight.”  I consider the situation. This changes it a bit. But my feelings are stronger than my immediate desires for lust. I love him, I want him, I do not want to loose him. I kneel down before him. Put both my arms around him. "Please stop crying. You are so nice. I don't want to harm you more than you have already been." On my arms I carry his light body to the bed, lay him belly down on it. "My god, such bruises. Who did that to you." He cries silently, gives no answer. "Don't panic, you can remain here. But I don't accept that you take dope here. If you want to remain, you will have to stop.” Without thinking further about his feelings, I search his clothes for narcotics. I find them, but when I turn back he looks at me in a angry fashion. Gets up, goes to me, wants to take them back from me. But I am stronger, in a few moments he is on his back, I upon him. And I get excited again. I push him a bit back until his penis gets between my legs. He is completely excited, lets fall his circumspection.  I grab his head giving him a tongue kiss. Turn myself and now suck, caressing his whole body with my fingers. He complies with his body to have it nicer. And comes into my mouth. It's such a nice feeling. We both cry of pleasure. Then I get quieter. I feel how it's bleeding. I say, while he is still lying there, panting: "Now I have to tend these terrible wounds. I will go and look for some balm."  In the toilet they have something like an pharmacy. I search it and find something which could do it. It takes some time. When I come back, he has gotten up, stands in the middle of the room and tries to put his trousers on. I feel the pain he is having when the cloth rubs.I have compassion with him. Go behind him and embrace him with both arms trying to lift his light body up and carry him back to the bed whilst he tramples. Suddenly he turns around. A knife touches my tender parts at the loins. "No noise." he hisses." Give me your purse." Taken by surprise, I obey. He gives me a blow with his fist that sends me falling back, panting. And runs away. Banging the door behind me. I hear him jumping down the stairs one by one. Then there is a noise, a banging. I am lying on the floor on my back. Everything hurts. Especially the back and the face where he knocked me. But there are no serious wounds, I feel no blood. Difficultly I stand up. I hear somebody coming up the stairs. A guardian, Over his shoulders he carries the inert body of Alec. "He tried to run away. We should tell the police." He says. "Lay him again belly down on the bed." I say. "He is my son of my first marriage. Ran away. We had some row about money for drugs. I'm am not going to denounce my own son, am I?" And I take my purse from his pants and give him a twenty dollar bill. "I thank you for your pains." He mutters: "Still, he is dangerous, he nearly killed me, we should inform the police." I find a one hundred dollar bill, put it into his palm. "Here is something if you don't say anything." He realizes he can get more. "Can I play in your movie?" He says. "Why not, the part of he soldier is vacant .I'll speak to Sharwinsky." I say and he trolls himself away  muttering something about these rotten authors. I turn back to Alec lying motionless on the bed, pull his pants away. He stirs. His body seems all right apart from some bruises. I rub the balm on  his bruises and on his buttock and into the fissure. At the same time I kiss his back and shoulders. His left hand is closed to a fist, it's holding something. I open it with force. He holds a figurine of the Egyptian collection of Sharwinsky. I tell him:“ If you do not trust me and want to run away, don't try to steal anything. As you see everything is well guarded here. First it does not belong to me and you will pull me into trouble. But then, there is nothing of value for you  around. For example nobody would pay you anything for this Egyptian figurine, as it is inscribed in a register and anybody who would buy it knows it belongs to Sharwinsky. That is the name of the owner of the flat." He leaps. The director of “Clouds”. I saw this picture three times. Money for the pictures but not for a decent place? But then its none of my concern. “Yes, "I say." He’s now making a picture of my novel “Ali”. He is the third to try. He hasn't read the novel. Looks at me interrogatively. He just stares at me, doesn't understand. I pull out my purse, take out whatever I have, 3 one hundred dollar notes, and put it together with a calling card in the palm of his hand which I push close. "Take this money. And if you should come in trouble afterwards, here is my address  and a phone number where you can always reach me." There is a silence. Later I continue: "And you will get into trouble, if you want to run out of here on your own. The guards here are instructed to shoot on everybody they do not know.” He looks bewildered. "But.." he says. " I just made a hold-up on you. And you now give me money?" I look back. The knife lies still there on the floor. "Yes. And. It was a last effort of you. But sincerely I don't think you are a great bandit. You just took me by surprise. I suppose it was just an action of despair, and I understand that in your situation...." Then I bend down and kiss him again on his neck, caress his blond sunny hair. It's so nice to have such an angels face near. I look again at his back. Again I can't refrain myself. I kiss him on his hips, my hand pets his body from up on his shoulders down to his legs and between his legs, grabs his balls, not hard,  tenderly and very carefully not to make him pains. But he recoils. He is not sure whether to confide in me. "I will forget it." I say. "And I trust you. You just acted in despair. And I love you too much. I can't make you pain." The knife is still there. He could get up and take it again. And perhaps in his despair he thinks of it. I have to act. Let him feel I love him. I kneel besides the bed am nice to him. And suddenly he makes up his mind to trust me. He gently pushes me back, goes up on his elbows on the edge of the bed, dives down with his head taking out his tongue. But I recoil. Bewildered he looks on me. By chance I have glanced on the floor and have seen an official document. I am suddenly interested, my right arm automatically reaches for it. But I stopped in midway. He asks: "Don't you like making more love." I consider what to say. I have to gain time. "Of course, I like it" I say,“ but you don't have to do it. I gave you the money but I don't ask anything in return. I have really fallen in love with you. Please don't leave me, I couldn't be without you." But the document intrigues me. With my toes I grab it and pull it across the floor, until  the document lays just before my eyes to be read. He follows my procedure and now realizes I  want to read the paper. Now he protests loudly,  tries to fetch the paper away. I push him back, rudely,  too rudely, I think. My heat has gone. He cries again. On the paper I read: Mike Anderson, somewhere in San Francisco, I don't remember. But there is a birth date. I start to say: "I'm sorry but I don't think you are of this age." But stop, look at him, he doesn't look this age. And he explodes: "But I'm not Mike, I'm Alec."  than he shuts up, as if having said too much. He weeps even more. "But I like doing love, with you, I really do like it." I don't believe it. Such an angel, such a nice name and he is like me. I would like to believe it. But I still can't believe in my luck.  He has something to hide and wants something from me. He continues: "You're so sensitive. I like it when you do it, it's so nice. And I would never run away. Why should I, I have no home, nowhere to go." That's it. I tipped on this. I always fall on the ones who have problems. But probably that’s what I want. It gives me new experience in live. Really, I do not want to lose him and for this I want to help him in his distress. I say; "Now you say you don't want to leave me, and afterwards, perhaps when the effect of the drugs lessen, you get depressed and you run away.  I have experienced this several times. If you really don't trust me and want to go, please tell it now at the beginnings. And don't let me get even more infatuated with you. I will get you wherever you want. I  do not know about your ability in sneaking away. But in this area you need it, if you don’t want to land at a police station. They have guards everywhere and they shoot when they think that somebody is around who does not belong here. But when later you are in distress, phone me in any case if you are again on your own and don't know how it goes on." He looks bewildered at me. I don't leave him the time to say anything. I simply want to get rid of my desire to help. I go on and on, telling him again and again to phone me in any case and so on. I enjoy it really get into an excitement. Finally he gets a laughing fit. I did not think he could laugh in his condition. I also burst out laughing and the spell is broken. "My name is Ramon Gandarian." I say when I come again to my breath. "Just call me Ramon. And your  name, is it really Alec?" "Yes. Alec” but he stops short. Finally I say: "Well Alec. Do you accept my condition. You can remain with me. I am remaining here looking for Koja who has run away and afterwards go on board my ship, but there is no taking dope here." And I go and throw the things into the toilet. He looks very angry makes fists with his hands, presses the lips but doesn't say anything. But I sense he needs my help and does not want to let me go.  Again he comes to me, presses his body against my body.  What does he want? He thinks he can avoid the questioning  and seduce me to helping him. Not with me. If I do not get an answer to my question, there will be no good end to all this. Gently I push him back. "I also very much long for you. But we have to clear the situation beforehand. There is this birth certificate which does not concern you. It is a Mark Anderson. Your name is Alec?"  "Marylbone." I consider. Even another family name. "Why do you have a birth certificate of somebody else on you?" He gasps, sighs. He thinks whether its worth the while confiding in me.. I want to help him taking the good decision. I tell him to trust me, that he should learn to trust somebody. if he wants to live and not simply to survive, always on the flight. I seriously want to help him, but how can I persuade him of my seriousness. There are so many people around who just want to use him, I understand that he is distrustful. It's even better for him to be distrustful. But maybe he is now so at his last issue, he trusts everybody. His moods going from laughing to crying without pause would show in that direction. He looks so distressed I feel lean to be so hard,  I want to give in, continuing to live on lies, but then I refrain. It would be a bad service for him. I think it does not need much for his walls to crumble. Therefore I say:“ Its for you to tell me if you want to remain, otherwise you can leave." He goes for putting his trousers on. But beforehand he leans forward to grab the document. But I keep it hard between my fingers. With a mock smile I prepare for fight:“ I will never give it to you as long as you are leaving like this, fight for it." He tries to give me a slap, but I halt his hand and give him a light clasp with my left hand fist. He stumbles and falls on his knees. And now its two much for him. He looses every countenance and will to fight, weeps. “Why are you so unjust to me. Why do you hate me so much!” he cries between the sobs. I kneel down before him, take his head between my hands, look him in his eyes: "Now tell me, it's your last chance or I call the police." He whispers, I have to put my ear to his mouth: "Mike is my stepbrother. Younger. Not much. But much stronger. He wanted to rape me and I slapped him. He fell on the floor, unconscious." There are now real sobs coming out. "I killed him. I had to run away. Certainly the police looks for me." That's it. He was driven in a corner. He really needs my help. The moment is good, I want also to know more: "Why did you take Mike's birth certificate. What did you think." "I was in absolute distress. Mike laid on the floor motionless, dead. I only wanted to defend myself. And now I was a murderer. Guard me when  Father or Mother would see it. They had always said I was just a jail bird. Now their wishful thinking would have materialized and they would give me to the police. And nobody would believe me if I said Mike had wanted to rape me. Because ever since he knew my penchants, father forced me to tend him my back and raped me and laughed. And Mike just only did the same to be like him. But they were not gay, they just loved to see me suffer. And sometimes mother looked on. She is my real mother, or so she says. On this day , Mike was completely high, he had taken drugs and alcohol and I sensed he did not know how far to go to injure me. And he had even taken a large screwdriver to stab it in I my ass. He was large, much larger than I am, and strong,  only muscles. His big hands held me at the neck and by grabbing me by my balls so that it ached. I tried to wind my body to get free from his steeled grip, but I could not get free and he only steadied his grip, bent my back until it hurt everywhere. He laughed. I cried, asked for pity, but he kept on saying: "It's time for you to die, you asshole, you shame of the family."  In my fear, I took the first object I found on the floor and stabbed it behind me. It was a pair of scissors I had held to cut out a piece of paper when he had assailed me from behind. It went into his belly. I did not want to hurt him, just to hit him so that he would let me free. But he fell off to the floor, just on his back, and swayed. There was a mighty lake of blood, well I thought so, didn't dare look to well. I thought he was dead, panicked, looked for my passport, but it was not in the usual place. I only found this birth certificate." I look at him, his blue eyes, the angel-like features of his face, the blond hair. It's difficult to imagine that he could have been misused in this fashion. And I have experienced that he can use weapons to threaten others. And in fact what would you expect of somebody bread up like this? And there is no boundary to people's brutality. He still weeps, sobbing, trying to get control of himself. It's not usual for boys to weep. I take him into my arms, cajole him. "OK" I say finally, when his weeping has stopped, "do you think  they give a passport to a person who is signaled  as dead? The paper is no use for you. If you go with it to the authorities, they catch you. If they find it, anywhere, on you, it will only serve as a proof for your culpability. We will destroy it." Alec gulps. So on second thoughts I keep the paper. Put it in my wallet. And I continue: "It's good that you told me all the truth. In me you have a true friend. We will think together what to do. First let's go to the  computer. I have the key to the police internet homepage where all criminal deeds are listed for the use of the authorities. All murder cases everywhere in the states have to be listed there. We will see if a murder is signaled.” But there is no murder of this Mark signaled. “Obviously, “ I remark, “your brother is not dead. And your family did not press charges against you.” For obvious reasons I think. Because they would only charge themselves. “Maybe a private detective is looking for you. Or maybe they are only happy that you have vanished. The police will probably keep the case open, when some insurance pays for the medical care. But maybe they didn't even go to a doctor for keeping the anonymity. But they do not have enough personal for all the hanging cases. So on worst case, not very probable, they will just keep the case open for two three years and if they do not find anything, they’ll close the case. There are now two possibilities open for you. Or actually three. Either you pass by the police and tell them you have injured your brother on an act of personal defending. There will be an inquest and most surly your father and brother will be punished for sexual assault.” “And you'll have to go back to live with them,” Alec cries out, anxiously. “No, certainly not. The authorities do not allow you to go back to the ones who sexually misused you. But you will be in a boarding institution for sexually misused children, in the keeping of social workers.” I think for myself that there he would probably be misused again by the comrades or even by the personal. I experienced it myself on my own body and the boys I knew have also experienced it, Kevin and also Koja.  But Alec is too upset. He shudders by the thought of being again confronted with his  tormenters. I continue: “Another possibility is that you go directly back to your parents and they will accept you with open arms happy that the case has been shut so well. Finally they are your parents and probably love you. Probably they will not harness you for the first time, but nobody can assure you that they will not fall back. Usually these perpetrators are not conscientious that they have harmed and think that it was the fault of the victim that they did wrong and will continue their misbehavior.” Now Alec weeps. He does not want to go back to his tormenters. “They are not my parents, they are my foster parents. I was abandoned by my mother who was convicted for having helped her pal, my father, to steal something or do something else. I do not remember.” Again a different story, who knows what's true? I take him in my arms, feeling his warm skin, his breath. Instinctively Alec nestles to my body. He has manners like a girl, I understand some psychotics wanted to hurt him. I dry his tears with a handkerchief. Alec says: “I don’t want to leave you. You are so good, so nice to me and I love you.” My heart leaps, but I try not to show it. I do not want to misuse my love. I say: “I do not want to chase you from me. Only if you want to take revenge on your perpetrators you should do it.” But by his looks I see that he does not have the character to think months or years on end of revenge. He is too good for it. He is no strong macho type.  “OK” I say. “I have the possibility to acquire a passport for you with a new name, so the authorities will not know you. Probably my name, Gandarian, so that you will pass as my son.” I see that he radiates at that thought. “But I want you to think about it and to tell me your decision tomorrow only. Tonight I will go out in search of Koja. I will close you in. Not because I distrust you, but because I want to protect you from all harm. Do you agree?” He nods. “But please don’t let me alone too long?” I continue:“ I will come back as soon as possible. Please remain, I will certainly be back by tomorrow and I will phone you in any case. Don’t panic. Remember, they have armed guards everywhere in this posh quarter  and they shoot on everybody they don’t know as they think that every stranger is a thief. I don’t want to bury your dead body. If you panic, telephone me on my mobile number. I will come in any case.” And I show him the rooms of the flat with the books, the television room and the swimming pool. “Just use everything, but please remember not to take anything, as it does not belong to me.” I say. Then the water of the pool tempts me. "Want to take a bath just now? Anyhow we are naked. We don't have to bother about undressing." I hug him with my arms and spring. We land together in the water. He coughs and tries to find the floor under his feet. He is no good swimmer. But I don't loosen my grip, enjoy jumping up and down in the water, feeling his body near my body, kissing and caressing him. Under water  I is so nice. And the water is agreeably warm, also the pool  is on a terrace with the whole view. Again I enjoy his warmth's, spontaneity and the softness of his skin. But I realize he is very tired. We leave the water. Now  his whole body shakes. Probably also the narcotics are running out in their effect. I take him up on my arms (he is so light) and carry him to a sofa. He does not want to let his grip on me go, so I lie down with him. We nestle together, feel each other and he sleeps in my arms. Carefully I untangle my arms, leave him and go to the Office where I write on a new crime story. It happens in the beginning of the Hyksos Civilization when they lived in Achaia, before they emigrated to Egypt. Alekis, the 8 year old crown prince, a dark-haired, nice and dreamy boy, has been brutally murdered. Nobody understands this act of brutality because he is such a peaceful creature.  Nobody can understand why he could have enemies. His body is found in the morning he should have married the princess of a befriended neighbor state in the nuptial chamber where he would have no right to access before his wedding. Never would he have accessed by his own free will to this place. It looks as he was raped and had to die slowly from the wounds inflicted by his perpetrators.


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