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Armas-of-the-Lake

Lonesome - Twosome - Lovesome

Georg von Rotthausen

Published by epubli GmbH, Berlin

This work is protected by copyright. In no way it is legal to reproduce, duplicate or transmit any part of this manuscript in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission of the author. All rights reserved. Any violation will lead to civil liability and criminal prosecution, domestic and abroad, without distinction of person or institution.

The characters, locations and events portrayed in this book are entirely fictitious save for historical individuals and events. Any other similarity to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended in any way whatsoever by the author.

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24 July 2016

25 July 2016

Armas-of-the-Lake

Lonesome - Twosome - Lovesome

It was the 24th of July, an exceedingly beautiful summer-day of the year 2016. Sunday.

Christian von Achternberg sat at the stone-old desk of his grandfather in his study flooded with sunlight − contemplating.

The keyboard of his working PC and the modern flat screen weren’t exactly matching with the beautiful old furniture but the writer wanted it thusly. Almost seventy years his grandfather had been sitting at this desk with its matching hanging wall-clock, most likely a few also his father with whom he’d cut contact, before he, twenty years after the death of the old man and one year past the passing away of his father, at last got it from the estate.

Without having planned it on purpose, he took seat at the desk exactly on the anniversary of the passing away of his grandfather to take possession of it − and when he was aware of it, he felt enormously goosey.

But now he sat there, after a good night-sleep right up to early forenoon, having had his usual scarce breakfast − and nothing came to him. Even his favourite green tea was of any help. He gazed at the screen which stared back − with a scaring empty white page.

Achternberg decided upon draining his tea pot, without, as usual, replacing it with another steaming hot new one. He almost never consumed any alcohol, didn’t smoke anymore since his 10th year of life, but he’d become a chain tea drinker since he had to leave off his once most favoured coffee after having developed indigestion − must leave it off. He closed all open files, shut down the computer and went to his bedroom to get dressed.

At forenoon it had been warm to such a degree, that he, as usual during that season, had been sitting at the desk in the buff. Olaf Gulbransson used to walk around in his garden in Upper Bavaria, naked, when painting, just being dressed in a pinafore − in that case he could allow himself, also to be conserving his clothes, to be walking around in his house just as he had been born − naked.

Achternberg, by immense luck, wasn’t burdened with grousing womanhood but then again not surrounded by family since, to his heartbreak, he didn’t have any issue − not yet, as he, despite of his age, loved to emphasize. That would but come as crazy as the sentiment might be. Would one stop once not being exactly normal anymore, if not, to crown all, a little crazy, then one would be dead despite of walking among the so-called living was his credo − and putting children to this world would be as crazy as some banally normal process which life was practising on earth for millions of years without worrying about the consequences. But couldn’t − with any child − a new chance grow up again to be making this stupid world a little bit better? Even though if any now and then some nincompoop of a politician or even a future murderer were among the new-born? With genetic wild shots the world had to live up to the present and it would have to stand it thusly till the bitter end. That’s the way it is, like it or not.

But he had two goddaughters which he dearly loved. And one of them he loved a little bit more.

Achternberg decided on dressing in light linen clothes, to be putting on his casual sandals, to don a broad-rimmed strawhat against the sun − and to go to his lake, piking, without having the opportunity to bid goodbye to beautiful womanhood with a kiss and some tender „till then, deary”. The house was simply that what constitutes soleness − quiet. The queen of his heart wasn’t around.

Barely half an hour later he sat on his folding chair covered with multi-coloured fabric on his some 16 ft long wooden jetty next to the little sandy beach having cast his fishing rod − to wait and see. In addition he hoped the first line of his new book would come to him. Calm contemplation was said to be very helpful at it.

He roughly knew where in the crystal clear water the pike had its position which he for so long was going after, but the smart predator as yet never let himself be tempted to bite.

About an hour might have passed by − considering solar altitude the estimation might be about right since he had, as usual, no watch on him − when suddenly, on his right, something was moving in the water. It wasn’t the pike, much too big for it − and flesh-coloured.

Achternberg focussed on it, indignant about the disturbance, could the pike be scared off by it, but scowl out loud he couldn‘t and wouldn’t either since then the slim predator for sure would be history for the rest of the day.

He who arrived was tall and slim and naked, emerging shy of the mini beach, deeply inhaled, got on his feet, tucked his dark hair and went ashore − initially without taking notice of the disturbed angler.

Achternberg estimated the fully tanned − without „white pants” − teenage boy standing 6 ft 2, aged perhaps 17, 18 at most. According to his age, he was of some slim well-trained appearing physique and, when turning around and settling down on the sand, he conveyed the impression to be some certain subject of adoring observation by bikini belles or of girls in the nude like on the beach and target of envious glances of same-aged male adolescents.

The boy stretched himself out, folded arms under his head and closed eyes. He paid no attention to Achternberg, he who had no reason to further eye the disturbing visitor since the one obviously merely was bound to tan himself and kept quiet. So he affronted the lake again and soon was deep in thought. The pike was nowhere to be seen. The sun burned down and the lake was lying dormant.

„Hi! May I sit by you?”

For an instant, Achternberg closed his eyes, bugged, before he sighingly answered.

„You’re welcome!”

He turned around. In front of him stood the naked young lad who apparently thought nothing of it addressing some completely strange man without a stitch on. He briefly looked him over like one does eye somebody whom one does not know from a bar of soap who in addition behaved completely shameless. Or should one say dégagé, juvenilely bold? Achternberg faced the lake again − and smiled without letting the boy see it.

„We should have had the nerve to do so at this age! Unfortunately we didn’t have the courage!”

„Does it startle you that I’m in the buff?”

„Nope.”

„Good. Ain’t got anything on myself anyway. I could but cover myself with a little pudency but I unfortunately left it at home.”

The young lad sat down and let his long legs dangle in the water, propped up backwards on his hands and, by closed eyes, held his face into the sun, putting his head back.

Achternberg smiled to himself. The boy had the ability of pun.

„Where do you come from?” he asked lowly.

„Von drüben. [From the other side.]”

The boy wasn’t old enough to allude by „von drüben” [The German synonym for „behind the Iron curtain, referring to former comunist Germany] to the former GDR, i.e. Central Germany.

„From the opposite shore, from across?”

„Yep.”

„Your parents bought the old Hansen estate?”

The old reduced farm with its large garden, old stock of trees and the beautiful thatched house from the 18th century was up for sale for quite a while. The surrounding land − some 20 hectares − was leased to circumjacent farms.

„Yep.”

„And you swam the lake non-stop?”

„Yep. Discovered no island on the way.”

Achternberg noticed how foolishly he’d asked. Naturally there was no possibility „on the way” to rest, short of clinging outboard to an angler’s should one be out on the lake once in a while.

„You’re well-trained, aren’t you, huh?”

„Yep, one might say so.”

„Holidays?”

„Yep. Six glorious weeks.”

Achternberg turned around to him since he’d heard a lapping.

„Would you mind taking your legs out of the water or at least not moving them? It might scare the pike off.”

„Nope.”

The young lad tucked his legs up, shuffled his bum a little backwards, laid himself on his back and folded arms under his head as before on the sand − whereat his biceps bulged distinctly. He closed his eyes. He didn’t mind the hot sun at all. Even his manhood, perfectly matching his body size, was chocolate−coloured except for its rosy well-shaped slightly oversized tip − of course.

It was quiet by the lake. Not a breeze was stirring. Achternberg turned around. The young lad was still there. Beads of sweat were shining on his immaculate skin. He was asleep.

Achternberg noticed that his uninvited company not only was of some well-shaped physique but was also furnished with even almost beauteous features including minorly distinct cheekbones.

Spontaneously he contemplated whether an equally beautiful older sister was going along with him − only to smilingly be shaking his head with himself a moment later. Such an age difference only in fanciful novels meant no obstacle. Reality unfortunately happened to be too philistine and envious.

Although, he knew a girl who certainly wouldn’t be pleased would he be flirting with a new kid in the neighbourhood. Many a private trouble is avoidable by inaction for a change − and Achternberg did not only love this girl but also the general harmony in his life. Disharmony he handled in his stories.

It again came to him that in April 2015 news was spread on the US-musician Billy Joel who yet was aged 65 that his 32 years younger girl-friend Alexis Roderick − a former bank clerk − was expecting his baby, the first mutual issue. Joel, however, successfully begot a daughter 29 years ago what Achternberg was eluded because of the unromantic conduct of his great love in Dillsburg, Pennsylvania.

The quick-witted punny reply of the boy referring to his happy-go-lucky nudity appealed to him. He only didn’t understand why he wouldn’t amuse himself amongst age mates but sojourned with him, sun-bathing, sleeping, and as yet hadn‘t been talking very much. On the other hand, he didn’t bother him − why would he chase him away. It only aggravated him that the pike simply wouldn’t bite.

Carin! What she might be looking like nowadays crossed Achternberg’s mind. Presumably she’d grown even more beautiful than she was at 24 when he, being in company of her German grandmother Emma, unexpectedly met her. Being asked five seconds before whether he’d believe in love at first sight, he’d have declared each and everyone for being nuts, for not being quite right in his head − but then the bells of Cologne Cathedral [Kölner Dom], Freiburg Minster [Freiburger Münster], Munich Church of Our Lady [Münchner Frauenkirche], Berlin Cathedral [Berliner Dom], Vienna St. Stephen’s Cathedral [Wiener Stephansdom], Notre Dame de Paris, St. Paul’s Cathedral and Big Ben were tolling all at the same time! He stopped dead in his tracks, was left in disbelief what he’d spotted in that glassy drive-in counter of a little branch bank in this hicksville nearby Harrisburg: the most beautiful female human being he’d ever seen! Her gorgeous smile he still saw before his mental eye − just as if it’d had hypnotized him an instant before. But nothing came of it. Carin yet stuck to a dissolving engagement but still hadn’t discarded his ring. She was friendly though, beamed at him but yet refused to accept a rendezvous. Achternberg was a guest of her grandparents for just one week.

Leopold, her grandfather, whom he’d seen as historian, had been serving as an Imperial German Ensign in World War I and as a Commander during the second world catastrophe, which the victors of the first one had been evocative of by their foolish and deeply humiliating peace dictate. At the time they met he was a darling old gentleman of 85 whose Navy daggers just served as decoration on the wall of the large living room of a typical American wooden single-family home bordering on Main Street in Dillsburg, some as well typical American small community in the East of the USA which harbored this unexpected treasure of a female human being. Carin, who accent-free and fluently spoke German, he was never to see again but once. But doesn’t that suffice not to forget a human being over three decades?

Sole optical memory would be a photograph which he’d unhung in her grandparents’s and got photocopied in a little shop. Achternberg was an impecunious student, didn’t manage to travel again to the USA − his persistant courting she wouldn’t understand. Her grandparents sided with Achternberg, her father behaved decently neutral, her mother was opposed to him − she wouldn’t want to see her firstborn daughter live thousands of miles away despite next of kin in Germany. Her father wrote to him she couldn’t conceive that a man was so enthusiastic of her. Eight years later she was to marry an optical odd and considerably elder American without being in love with him − but he could serve her great passion: he owned a herd of horses. When Achternberg came to know of it he for months was out of his mind, was simply shocked, especially since she was to give birth to her first child in less than a year after her wedding. He never learned whether it was a girl or a boy.

Old Emma couldn’t comfort him when she wrote in a letter: „Wer mir so die Liebe erklärt hätte, dem wäre ich bis in die Hölle gefolgt!” [„Him who‘d have declared love upon me thusly, I‘d followed even to hell!”].

For Achternberg the hell of solitude was to follow − for many a long year. He couldn‘t get over it.

The current year Carin would turn 56. Perhaps she’d obtained divorce, perhaps she was a widow − he didn’t know. Her firstborn would be 23. Achternberg wouldn’t know why, but he hoped for a girl which could’ve inherited the incredible beauty of her mother.

And right behind him a handsome boy was lying who could be his son, as beautiful as if begotten with Carin. But he didn’t have issue with Carin, never would − that was the heartbreak of his life. And in quiet sentimental hours he mourned his children he never was to hold in his arms − ach wäret ihr doch geboren! [oh, if only you were born!]

He turned in his hip, keeping the fishing rod calm, and let his gaze travel the calmly breathing body of this beautiful young human being which was utterly strange to him − but all of a sudden kind of familiar although he wouldn’t even know his name.

Peculiar. The boy was seeking his nearness but didn’t care for introducing himself. Was he seeking his nearness? Perhaps he just accepted the fact that he’d encountered a male human being − at this quiet falsely supposed lonely place − who by age easily could be his father.

He’d displayed the dewy easy manner of an advanced teenager who frolically covered that he − without asking − had been going ashore on posted property, in addition with no stitch on. Somewhere in littoral zone one of the prohibition signs must have been rammed into the ground which distinctly designated Privatgrundstück. Betreten verboten! [Private property. No trespassing!]. Achternberg‘d lost where. The boy had been approaching diving, so easily could‘ve missed it. Achternberg was not in the scowling mood, besides that unnecessarily would’ve caused wrinkles, and the boy didn’t make the impression of an obtrusively curious enthusiast − on the wet trail of his „journey” he could’ve hardly brought along one of Achternberg’s books for signature − or of a tourist who just for curiosity wanted to see how such a well-known ink-slinger was living. Like on Rothensande manor where completely strange people formerly constantly penetrated the private rooms of the squire just to have a look where the famous three „Immenhof”-movies had been shot in the mid-fifties.

He in addition was the neighbour’s son „von drüben”. So it could happen that he’d visit more frequently during the summer − perhaps even daily. He couldn‘t get upset all over again on a daily basis particularly in view of the fact that it’d be a compliment would the boy return. For him as a person that he wouldn’t appear scaring somebody away and for his piece of land on the lake because it pleased the juvenile visitor inviting as it simply was. Who wouldn’t feel flattered if one’s home was considered beautiful by third parties!

And Achternberg felt flattered by his own contemplation he − with a beautiful woman − could’ve brought such a beautiful human being to this beautiful world which again and again conducted itself so cruelly for malicious human beings wouldn‘t appreciate it and keep on and on making it bad. But the evil in this world, the only one humans have, can only be battled by the good and beauty − and finally be defeated. That’d be a comforting idea, he found. Why should he have made a scene in front of this peaceful teenager − why?

Whilst he thought all that, eyeing his visitor, just intending to devote himself again to the placid observation of his fishing rod, the young lad commenced to move without opening his eyes. With his right he massaged his chest, played with his nipples, he yawned as if to swallow the world, stretched himself, squinted against the sun and propped up to his elbows.

„Did I sleep,“ he lowly inquired.

„Reckon so,“ Achternberg murmured and briefly turned around to him. Withal their eyes met, wherein they remained for a moment.

„Did anything bite yet?“

The boy sat up.

„Nope. − The only having come from the lake happened to be you.” Achternberg arched his right eyebrow. A faint smile played the corner of his mouth.

„Do I disturb you?“

„Nope. − What makes you think that?”

„Well, you want to be fishing here in quietude …“

„Oh well, the pike keeps me waiting for weeks, one day more or less won’t matter. You’re not bothersome at all. What’s your name?”

„Armas.”

„Achternberg.”

„I know. You’re the writer with the detective novels and erotic stories and stuff.”

„Really?“

„Yeah, I read about you on the net. One has to know whom one’s got for a neighbour. My mother is fond of reading your stuff, daddy lesser. I find your erotica cool. Causes some mighty hard-on.”

„Really?“

That explicitly, Achternberg hadn’t heard it yet from any reader. But it pleased him that his erotic stories acted so stimulating. He couldn‘t help smiling. The frank way of this Armas boy was to his liking.

„Sure. You write so beautifully vivid so that my turned on brain cinema does delightfully assist me to masturbate.”

Achternberg had to clear his throat. This boy was truely blunt. It instantly flashed through his mind, how proud he’d be having a son like him. One with whom he could straightforwardly talk about anything.

„You don’t have a girl-friend?”

„No, that is to say yes, no girl-friend.”

„Why not? You’re a bonny lad.” Achternberg scrutinized Armas.

„I don’t wanna commit myself yet. The girls do have demands I‘m not willing to fulfill.”

„Really? Do boys please you more?”

It was an indiscrete inquiry but now it had come to the world. That was rigorously and forthright beating on the bush.

Achternberg was wondering that Armas wasn’t particularly keen to experience his first with a girl and more than that. Armas locked eyes with him. His cheeks had turned rosy.

„I’m not gay, in case you think that. I just can wait.”

Instantaneously, Achternberg was convinced to be facing some extraordinary young human being.

„It wouldn’t disturb me, would it?”

„What would disturb you not? If I were gay?“

„Exactly. No one’s to blame for his preferences, would he?”

„Are you gay?” Armas piercingly glanced at him.

Achternberg answered him by a counter-question.

„How come you think that?”

„Because you pretend to being tolerant.” Armas looked at him, inquiring. „And because it doesn’t disturb you that I’m naked.”

Achternberg laughed.

„Would you have preferred me chasing you away by railing at you like hell and calling you names?”

„That at least would have been the normal reaction as I encountered it as yet.”

„Then you as yet always have been coming to the wrong address by stumbling over philistines?”

„One may say so. I always was nothing but affronted, and my parents received mean letters.”

„So, to make that clear once and for all,” Achternberg firmly glanced at Armas, „I love women although they’re sometimes a damned nuisance,” both laughed, „I don’t have any by my side for quite a while but you please me anyhow − otherwise you wouldn’t be here anymore. Does that answer your question?”

„Yep.” Armas smiled and appeared satisfied.

„And why did your parents receive mean letters?”

Achternberg became curious although he could think of one or the other certain reason.

„It always happened to be curious as well as philistine neighbours, perhaps they were simply nothing but envious. I can‘t do anything about being quite tall, I’m lucky to have a well-formed body which I, by the way, chisle by regular training, and my cock is of above-the-average size.”

„One can say so,” Achternberg nodded affirmative. He took fancy of the boy’s healthy self-consciousness which didn’t come across arrogantly. „Do you love walking around naked? I mean, how would the neighbours elsewise know that your penis suits your stature, huh? Or don’t you have any curtains in your window, and your neighbours can spy upon you how you walk around in your room? Peeping-toms are around everywhere, unfortunately.”

„I find it simply cool being free and unrestrained and that includes my being fond of walking around with no stitch on during the warm season. I already loved to go swimming naked when I was still waiting for my first pubic hair, and I love to being in the sauna. We always had a large estate around us but there are binoculars, aren’t they? I most likely was always being gaped at when strolling around in the garden or sunning myself. My parents always tolerated it but the mean letters set our teeth on edge. On the side-walk, I happened to be scolded at as shameless scamp ,If you were my son …’ and so on. Do you find that I’m shameless?” Armas briefly cast eyes before he looked at Achternberg, inquiring, whereby he slightly cocked his head.

„Of course you are, but in a very pleasing healthy way. Don’t let that trouble you. In a wonderful way, you are completely unusually normal. I indeed get acquainted with you just as of today but let me advice you to remain the way you are. Does that answer your question?”

„Yep.”

For a brief moment Armas’ face had been freezing when his shamelessness had been confirmed but then it totally brightened up. A whiff of blissfulness furtively passed over his beautiful face. With his right index he gently rubbed over the bridge of his nose which slightly rippled right afterwards.

„One can nothing but congratulate you that you are shameless the pleasing way you perform. You live some non-scrupulous body-consciousness. Most of the people do have to learn that with difficulty first. You obviously are of some natural talent. You behave casually. That certainly is due to some sound credit of your parents, too. I do hope I may meet them one day.“

„That certainly will be arrangeable soon daddy one day will be around again.”

Achternberg quizzically looked at him.

„Oh, he’s a mercantile marine captain foreign-going and seldom at home. I haven’t seen him since we moved here. Right now he’s sailing somewhere in the South China Sea.”

„Does he?”

„It already has been found that he wasn‘t at home for half a year. Afterwards Mama was short of time for me for approximately a week but that was okay. That‘s repeatedly happening. I then cook for my parents and put it before the bedroom door. When we meet again, they both always appear being more slender than before.”

Armas roguishly grinned. Achternberg too couldn‘t help smiling broad. The boy had a good sense of humor and witticism. Some fine and rare gift. He started being interested in him.

Achternberg again kept an eye to the cast fishing rod. Behind him it was falling silent. He believed Armas being stretched out in the sun again. He wasn’t disturbed, and he didn’t want to disturb. They would yet come to talk furthermore. After a while …

„Would you like to come to dinner tomorrow? We‘ll have matie and baked potatoes.“

Achternberg turned around − and found himself alone again. Armas had disappeared. He must have had completely submerged, noiseless. Achternberg found that quite OK. Despite their just brief acquaintance, he took to the boy. He was sure, he’d come back. And that’d be the case already the next day. For Achternberg had no doubt about it. He’d prepare something for Armas.

Blooming pike! It wouldn‘t bite again. The smart predator fooled him another day long. But the lake had made him another very special present instead. An interesting young human being. All of a sudden the basic idea for a new book occured to him.

Second day

Next forenoon, Achternberg was in an extremely good mood. He’d slept very well. First notes had found their way into the PC the previous evening. The first gruesome white page was history and so had lost its horror.

Past his late breakfast, as was his custom, he’d been on the lake short-time. It was lying still at most beautiful sunshine under an almost cloudless blue sky. There was not a breeze stirring. The water surface was unrippled.

Achternberg returned, did some still to be done mail and effected some transfers by phone. Then he took his fishing rod, his little picnic basket which he’d prepared since he knew he wouldn‘t come back for hours, put on his broad-brimmed straw hat and left the house.

When he arrived at the little wooden jetty, he noticed to having company already.

Armas was lying on his back upon the large bathing towel which Achternberg had been putting down for him. The broad-brimmed strawhat he’d put onto his forehead. Beads of water didn’t shine on Armas’ skin anymore, so he was around for not less than half an hour but it glistened − he’d used the sun lotion Achternberg had put onto the large towel. And right next lay − accurately folded square − the kitchen foil to which a big piece of cold turkey had been wrapped in. The boy obviously had been hungry and braced himself with it after the lake’s crossing.

Armas’ left hand lay on his chest which easefully raised and lowered. His right arm he’d put under his head. That made his right biceps bulge distinctly while beneath his right pec his rib’s xylophone slightly protruded. He offered some touching peaceful image. Achternberg couldn‘t help but come to a halt taking this aesthetic impression in for a moment. But it wasn’t as entirely peaceful as it seemed.

It attracted Achternberg’s attention that Armas’ penis had changed its relaxed position. And it was kind of „larger”. Could that possibly be an optical illusion?

It didn’t rest hanging down flaccid between Armas’ thighs in its even then remarkable length but on his belly − reaching almost up to his navel. Achternberg grinned and shook his head in amusement: Armas had an erection!

„How nice, he‘s already feeling that comfortable here he doesn‘t fight shy switching on his erotic brain cinema. Or he’s fallen asleep like yesterday and is dreaming something beautiful. … O my! If only we had been as unabashed while in his age. No one’d ever dared to develop a boner coram publico!”

Achternberg didn’t address him not to make him jump or even embarrass him. He approached the little jetty, put down his basket, arranged his folding chair, settled himself and cast the fishing rod. Achternberg viewed onto the lake and relaxed.

He wouldn‘t know how much time had been passing by when he perceived a lapping. Achternberg turned around and saw that Armas knelt in littoral shallow water washing himself. He thought something by himself but wasn’t really eager to know why and pretended as if he hadn’t noticed anything since Armas didn’t look across. The boy obviously was completely at ease.

Shortly afterwards he heard the noise of approximating bare feet on the wood. Before Armas could say something Achternberg addressed him without turning around.

„Did you sleep well?”

The footfall halted for an instant before it came nearer again only to next stop all at once. Armas stood right behind Achternberg.

„Yep, kinda.” After a short interval. „What’s the pike doing?”

„Cutting a fine figure fooling me.“

„Some predator with a good sense of humour.”

„You might say that.”

„May I sit by you?”

„Help yourself with a free snug little place.”

Armas this time didn’t settle behind Achternberg onto the jetty but on his right. And he wouldn‘t let his long legs dangle in the water but took position in tailor-fashion.

Achternberg noticed this thoughtfulness with pleasure and a chuckle. Armas propped himself up backwards on his hands. He put his head back and closed his eyes.