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Armas-of-the-Lake

Lonesome - Twosome - Lovesome

Georg von Rotthausen

Published by epubli GmbH, Berlin

Copyright: ©2017 by Georg von Rotthausen

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.

Achternberg for a moment let the dipping spot of his fish-hook out of his sight and glanced at Armas. He found him to be some quite well-shaped specimen of a male. Silently he hoped, the boy wouldn’t feel conceited about it. Achternberg himself had been a good-looking lad in times past what he now covered by a grey beard and moustache. He again looked out to the lake. The sun shone ardently. The lake lay calm. Silence.

Armas rubbed over his nose with his right index. After it, he shored up backwards. He appeared completely relaxed, breathed calmly.

„Do you always take French leave and behave like a submarine?” asked Achternberg in low voice as if he was afraid the pike could overhear it.

„Nope, not always. But why like a submarine?” Armas opened eyes and glanced at Achterberg in a mixture of astonishment and being amused.

„Because you so quietly dived away and put to sea like one of our newest submarines.”

„You were so lost in thought gazing across the lake, I didn’t feel to disturbing you.”

The two glanced at each other. Achternberg nodded in approval, speechless.

„Thanks, by the way, for the bath-towel, the strawhat, the sun lotion, and the cold turkey breast. It was delicious.”

„Don’t mention it.”

After a short intermission.

„Do you find, that I do have a beautiful body?” Armas intensively faced him with his shining brown eyes. Achternberg shot back the glance. Some curious as well as understandable question.

„Were I a sculptor or painter, I’d be totally inspired.”

„And as painter with words you’re not?”

Achternberg arched his right eyebrow. What was the boy up to?

„I think, I’d have to contemplate for a while before I could properly describe you. Does that answer your question?”

„Yep. − And what do you think of my cock?”

Achternberg turned his head to the singular questioner in slow-motion and gazed at him over the edge of his glasses for some endless seeming moments. He thought, he’d misunderstood. Achternberg indeed had to compose himself for a moment and caught himself by eyeing the boy’s manhood thoroughly.

„Do you mean relaxed or as a boner?” Now perplexity was with Armas. He blushed. He gulped.

„You have …?”

„I have …”

„Oh.”

„Nothing what should be troubling you.”

„It should not?”

„No. I haven’t seen anything that wouldn’t have been completely natural.”

Armas’ facial expression showed relief.

„But tell me, though the location seemingly is appropriate to do so − why do you pursue fishing for compliments? Do you have occasion to do so?” Achternberg glanced at him with repeatedly raised right eyebrow.

Armas for the first time cleared his throat being a little embarrassed.

„Well, actually it’s very long even hanging flaccid and for two years I was nothing but being chaffed at High School. Whether I was born in the land-stud, whether my father had been a horse, some just donkey after me ,Hee-haw, hee-haw!’ And one whispered to my ear what the name of the stallion was with whom my mother had mated …”

„Well?”

Armas had blushed an inch deep but he glanced up triumphantly.

„The very one afterwards walked around with a black eye that size!” Armas with both hands indicated the size of the shiner.

Achternberg laughed.

„Just one? I’d given him two!”

„Wouldn’t do since he already had been on the run.”

„Bravo, my boy!” applauded Achternberg. „Why do you let yourself get impressed by such dogs of the manger anyhow?”

„I don’t know. I was always lacking the sweeping counter-arguments. It’s too stupid that good replies always come to oneself hours later. But then nobody is around anymore to whom I could throw it for some thinking. That’s too bad!”

Armas pressed his lips together tossing „something” in the air − without having had „something” in his hand.

„It’s just the same with me. Being confronted with impertinences, I’m mostly perplexed in a way that it makes me inarticulate − and the best answers come to me in the evening. Blooming box!”

Achternberg and Armas both laughed all over their faces − simultaneously.

„Something like that does happen to somebody who can play with words like you,” the young lad was wondering and slightly frowned.

„Oh yeah, why not?” Achternberg smiled. „Du büst doch ok ‘n plietschen Burs un hest nich alltiet dat richtige Woort op dien Tung, nich?” [„You a smart lad yourself, too, and don‘t always have the right word to slip from your tongue, do you?“]

„Yep.” Armas grinned.

„See? I once knew a general who met with the same fate. On duty a smart one, having a ready tongue, but effronteries yet flabbergasted him. That’s another form of distraction − and that is a sign of sagacity and kindness. Just dumb and vicious humans are constantly quick-witted as already François Gaston de Lévis phrased in 18th century,” Achternberg lectured. Armas looked at him quizzically.

„Oh! Who Lévis was? Um, oddly enough he’s not listed neither in Brockhaus’ nor Meyers’ Encyclopedia though he happened to have been a marshal of France and a very successful field commander during the French and Indian War in Canada. But he’s recorded in the Dictionary of Canadian Biography. You may look it up at my place if you like.”

„Oh yeah, I‘d love to. May I visit you occassionally?”

„Don‘t you do that already?” Achternberg looked at him, smiling.

„Um, I guess so, kinda.” Some roguish smile flashed over Armas’ face, and with his right index he rubbed the bridge of his nose which slightly rippled right afterwards.

„By the way, these nulls who baited you − never make the mistake to overlook them since as long as they are placed after the decimal point they’re powerful and dangerous because they puff up anything in front of them − stupid talk as well. Put them afore the comma by wit and pun and next instant everything behind them will become almost meaningless but still does provide them with considerable influence. But if you view them carefully, those nulls, you’ll find them to consist merely of a thin mantle being empty inside. That applies for those fatuous dudes who are envious of your looks and corporal qualities as well as for pompous people in education, economy and politics who look at themselves as the greatest and simply talk drivel. Stupidity always had been kicked upstairs. That always was and still is fact − and that’ll remain so for evermore until the big red sun will swallow this planet, but I’m confident of that mankind in its unlimited crowd-stupidity by then will have extinguished by itself to the advantage of the earth.”

Achternberg was about talking himself into a fury, his furrow had gained an alarming depth, but he’d decelerated himself in time.

„But we all must pay attention, in all amiable abstractedness, to fight back in time since null rules the world − and the microbe of human stupidity has not yet been found.”

Armas had been listening mesmerized. He’d gotten into a summer school of Achternberg’s but not alone it didn’t trouble him but it aroused his enormous curiousity. But first he himself was facing Achternberg’s curiosity.

„May I ask you an intimate question?“

Armas speechlessly nodded Yes − he was wondering what was to come.

„We now know already that you call some manhood your own many others are envious of, a fact they in their stupidity can only reply to by malice − but why are you circumcised? You‘re no Arab and you don’t have Jewish features either.”

„You disapprove of Jews?“ Armas asked frowning.

„No, although I object circumcision for so-called religious reasons which cannot be justified whatsoever. But that’s my private point of view. I happened to have had − according to Nuremberg Laws − a half-Jewish aunt which my family had been seeing through those brown years safe and sound. − Why with you?“

They both looked squarely into their eyes. Armas tarried for a moment before he …

„My glans is too big, beautifully chiselled, I think, but too big. When I was three years old, my foreskin had to be removed because of phimosis. Those pains belong to my first permanent memories. It was some purely medial procedure. But also on account of that I terribly was being teased in school, ,You lacking some, you lacking some!’, until some insightful teacher informed my mates about the reason why. There was still some giggling and whispering but after that calm was restored. Only in shower some wanted to have a closer look. That I allowed and with that the subject never came up again. It but started all over again when they noticed that I was passing them all by length. Truely annoying.” Armas distorted his face.

Achternberg was pleased with the intimate confession. The boy already came to trust him. Or was he just glad to finally be able to talk about it? Achternberg assumed that Armas hadn’t obtained true friends. He yet hadn’t mentioned any siblings, too. Perhaps he was all by himself.

„Don‘t you have a friend?“ Achternberg decided on sounding out the social situation of the boy.

„What do you mean by that?“ Armas inquired, and all of a sudden he appeared timid.

„Well, some good pal or even bestie with whom one can talk everything over, with whom one may go swimming and see the sauna, bitch about girls, do homework, go to the cinema, hang around in discotheques, does compare the growing of one’s pubes, how long one’s dick is, putting on competition wankings and watching first porn in the internet − things juveniles commonly do at your age.“

Armas looked at Achternberg, big-eyed. He who tolerated it, forgot about his fishing rod for a moment. In that way obviously nobody ever had been speaking to the boy before. It visibly „operated” in Armas’ inner system.

„No. But must I speak about it today?“

„Whenever you’re ready to and if you’re ready to,” Achternberg replied appreciative. Armas momentarily was overwhelmed. He had no intention to overstrain him else he most likely would „shut down”.

„What have you been doing last night?” Achternberg tryed to ease the atmosphere by change of subject.

„I’ve read something from you.“

„Well? Did you like it?” Totally modest as an author Achternberg wasn’t either.

„It was funny and stimulating as well. Be that as it may, afterwards, before putting out the light, I enjoyed a wonderful erotic soliloquy with my longer self.”

Achternberg noticed that Armas blushed under his tanned skin. He more and more was pleased by the straightforward conduct of the boy and that he was no hard case. And he was further perplexed by him.

„I love to do it with myself. It’s so hot to the touch feeling one’s own body. I can hardly imagine how it was without.” Armas smiled. He seemed to be thinking of it again.

Achternberg perceived that something was bothering him.

„Spit it out!”

„What shall I spit out?“

„What you’d love to ask me.“

„You won‘t be angry with me if I want to know something intimate?“ Armas looked concerned.

„Why should I? We’re entre nous. Let it out.”

Armas locked eyes with him.

„Did you formerly masturbate lots, I mean, prior to your first girl-friend?”

„Formerly?” Achternberg roguishly grinned. „And what do you understand by ,lots’?”

Armas was flabbergasted.

„Err, three times a day?” He arched both of his eyebrows.

„Uh-huh, good average. With love from Mister Testosterone.”

That wasn’t exactly what Armas’d expected.

„Really?”

„I once happened to have been a seventeen-year-old myself, as well as you are now.”

„How come you know how old I am?“

„Now I know.” Achternberg smiled. „And at that time my hair was dark-brown.“

„And at 50 you still fancy, I mean …” He made an unambiguous hand movement.

Achternberg uncontrollably laughed in such a way that immediately afterwards he hauled the fishing rod in. Now the pike certainly had been scared off for the rest of the day.

Armas visibly wouldn‘t know what to think of this laughing fit. Such an „old man” could hardly still have any sex.

„That‘s quite nice of you looking at me as a fifty-year-old. Well, full mane, no bald spots. Add a bit more to it. It obviously was worth while never having revealed my age in any interview − therefore also the internet does not know about it.”

„Really? And you still lust for sex?”

„As true as I‘m sitting here.” Achternberg broadly smiled.

Armas looked in disbelief. His father was 45, his mother 40 − and that up to now had been appearing kind of dubious to him. He was sort of stunned that the crotch of this grey-head wasn’t dull yet and that he could boldly speak about intimate matters with a man older than his father − with the additional difference that he never could be discussing any of that with his father, and he didn‘t want to either. For it his „old man” was far too little on the spot. And his mother was a woman! A wonderful beautiful woman − but a woman! What business would men’s secrets be to a woman − what? And the girls at his High School? They were just giggling, whispering on the quiet or were busy with their obnoxious „Look! Ain‘t he cute?” Did they mean him? He wasn’t but cute! He was a man! Well, almost, sort of. Yes, in thunder, he hadn’t yet ploughed a sweet furrow, but what them all wanted: He didn’t have a hell of a motorbike, his iPhone wasn’t the bleeding edge, he didn’t give a damn about expensive branded articles, he nilled celebrating boisterous parties where „talking” meant shouting at each other and afterwards one’s head was ringing for hours, he disapproved of booze, he didn’t smoke. He wanted to play volleyball or go swimming, do some strength training to chisel his muscles, he loved to read which he did a lot. One girl he once asked whether they could mutually read to each other. Then she equally could buy herself an audiobook was her foolish reply and ditched him. What he was wishing for, girls weren’t able to keep up with. And how they were talking about sex! He’d overheard conversation he’d blushed bright red merely by listening. What they all expected from a boy and his penis! Top performance non-stop − the entire Kama Sutra up and down.

He once looked it up. Those were studies of its own. How could one add that to one’s repertoire in such a short space of time? No, that was too much for him, too strainful. He was yearning for tenderness, not for exaggerated exercices besides school sports.

Armas in addition was facing the problem that he lost his semen unvoluntarily again and again. Because of his circumcision his glans rubbed itself at any fabric so intensively that at least once a week he creamed his jeans. At the age of fifteen it’d happened to him more than once by the public pool or at school swimming being in his tight scrimpy swim briefs. Stupid remarks and the sneering haunted him for quite a while.

He secretely feared it might happen to him while having sex with a girl. He was terrified to get laughed at.

And the boys? That was quite another subject. He’d truely had it up to here with them for certain reasons.

Armas sensed that he could trust this novelist but he wasn’t ready to reveal everything to him after two days. Nevertheless he was looking forward to tell many a things to somebody he had the feeling to being understood by and not being laughed at. Achternberg was interested in him and he was interested in Achternberg. That was a good basis.

He had no near friend with whom he during summer could be lying naked underneath a tree exchanging innermost thoughts, to be continued during winter back to back on the large widow bench in his room, enveloped in warm pullovers, talking about anything and everything. When he sat in the big bathtub he wished for a pal with whom he could sprawl out in it, listen to stirring music, wash each others hair, gossip until the water were cold and their fingers shrivelled. In the sauna he always sat alone on the bench although at all times many people were around him. Nobody was interested in him, let alone gaping at his dick. He more than once had done a runner soon dudes of different age were crowding him. Last time he’d threatened an approximate twenty-year-old with blows should he once again wipe along his penis „by accident”. Meanwhile his body height was of considerable support. „Keep your head, baby!“ the obtrusive bloke came to say before he‘d withdrawn with a last brazen final glance by his hands raised.

Armas cleared his throat.

„You still take delight in having sex, really?“

„Yes, of course, what have you been thinking?“ Achternberg laughed. „That does not stop only because a man begins losing his hair or does turn grey. I could give you quite a list of prominent persons which had begotten children having been aged over sixty and seventy, admittedly with distinctly younger women. Are you familiar with Anthony Quinn?“

Armas shrugged − along with distorted chin.

„Well, he‘s no longer with us for a couple of years. He happened to have been a world-famous Mexican-American actor. Last year he’d have turned a centenarian. That old chap begot his 13th child at 81 and passed away at 86. Quite an achievement, eh?”

One could tell by looking at Armas that inwardly his jaw dropped. His face was sheer disbelief. Wouldn’t somebody of that age live in a nursing home? Could one of that age possibly still be that vital? Wow, in that case he’d have a lot of fun ahead.

„Go and watch ,The World in His Arms‘. In this movie he plays the counterpart of Gregory Peck, in ,Lawrence of Arabia‘ he plays the part of a tribal prince conquering Akaba, and his most famous movie is ,Alexis Sorbas‘. Therein he dances a sirtaki like a born Greek couldn‘t have performed better.“

Armas contemplated.

„,Lawrence of Arabia’ I’ve seen earlier this year. Is he the one who slains a Turkish Army officer with his sabre? Impressing scene.”

Achternberg marvelled at the detailed memory of the boy. That spoke for his powers of observation. The movie runs for three hours after all.

„Yes, the very one. But in reality without the hooked nose.“

„Then I do visualize him. He still was able at 81? Cool!”

Achternberg couldn‘t escape smiling because of Armas’ amazement.

„Would you excuse me for a moment? My beloved green tea urges out.“

„Sure.”

Achterberg got up and disappeared behind the tall reeds. When he returned, he was alone again.

*

3rd day

Achternberg had been assidiously authoring in the evening until late at night − as customary with him when getting on a roll. Armas had become some true inspiration.

After the breakfast he’d again arranged everything for the boy by the jetty. This time he added a towel for drying himself off. The day promised to be a fine one. The weather forecast was promising.

Some readers’ electrographs had been piling up which Achternberg sequentially answered − that‘s good manners. Among it also was mail from his American wordsmith friend Shawna Tylerson. She again had published some nice erotic short stories. He was fond of her style. She wrote quite different from his but that made the attraction. He decided to write her in the evening so she could read in the middle of her day according to her local time.

The computer shut down and Achternberg got ready to leave the house for a couple of hours.

When he approached the lakeshore the very moment Armas alighted from the water, heavily breathing. His wet body blinked and shone sun-drenched. He shook out his hair making waterdrops sprinkle and tucked his hair − when he descried approaching Achternberg. Armas waved at him with a beaming smile he who was smiling back − and expected him.

„Hello, Herr von Achternberg.”

The writer halted before Armas who still was breathing hard, put down his folding chair and the picnic basket − both extending their hands to each other for the first time. „Moin, moin [Hello!], my boy!” It became a firm handshake about which either of them rejoiced in his own way.

„Good, that he ain’t got no flabby hand-grip. Nothing worse than shaking hands with a ‘dead fish’.”

„Cool, that some quill-driver can be that vigorous.”

„I today also put down a towel for you to dry off.”

Armas turned around letting Achternberg‘s hand go.

„Oh, thank you!” The boy took a few paces to his prepared resting-place, took the towel up and commenced drying himself off. In the meantime Achternberg proceeded to the jetty and arranged his place. Before he could sit down and cast the fishing rod, he for the first time heard the boy asking him a favour:

„Would you please lotion my back? That’d save me from straining my back.”

Achternberg turned around. Armas already stood behind him and extended the plastic bottle to him. Achternberg took it, Armas turned around, supported himself against his thighs and leaned his head forward.

The boy slightly winced when Achternberg squeezed a thick blob between his shoulder blades. The sun lotion was cool and Armas obviously sensitive.

Achternberg put the plastic bottle down onto his folding chair and commenced spreading the lotion on Armas’ back and to slather it.

„Your butt, too? It would suffice.”

„Yeah, sure, don‘t be shy! Just picture to yourself I were your son.”

Achternberg arched his eyebrows, what the boy indeed couldn‘t see. What had happened overnight? Such a leap forward in intimacy? Achternberg couldn‘t understand but there wasn’t enough time for contemplation since that much of a „behind” it was not.

„Done!” He patted the boy’s shoulder. Armas erected himself and asked for the plastic bottle. Achternberg extended it to him. The boy squeezed quite some sun lotion to his right palm and commenced slathering himself thoroughly.

Achternberg finally wanted to turn to angling …

„Would you wash me if I were ill and couldn‘t do it by myself, I mean, if I were your son?“

Armas slathered his flat belly like being lost in thought. „Most certainly I would.”

„Intimate too?” Armas carried on by slathering his penis. „I mean, arse and dick and stuff?”

He scrutinized Achternberg who held the gaze.

„If you were entrusted to my parental care, certainly. And as baby-son I‘d have changed your diapers, with everything that comes with that, including tummy-buzzer. You likewise could be my godchild or the orphan boy of perished friends. Why are you asking?“

„And you wouldn‘t look at that being gay?”

„Of course not! Just rotten brains would do that, ill philistines of our socially coldish society. Honi soi qui mal y pense!”

„Then I don‘t know why you asking whether you shall slather my behind, too, or not. Are simply my butt-cheeks, aren‘t they?“

„Normally one wouldn‘t do a thing like that being barely acquainted, would one?“

„Do we behave normally then?“ Armas quizzically looked at him with laughing eyes.

Achternberg cleared his throat and gave no answer − for the time being.

When Armas was about to turn away …

„Would you wash me if I were your sick father, uncle or a close friend?”

They both locked eyes.

„Of course. Everywhere. Anytime.“

Thus the arse-question had been resolved. A new tight bond of friendship was being built.

„In case you wanna drink some, mineral water is in the picnic basket right here. Help yourself.”

Two hours later.

Armas had been falling sound asleep but thanks to his pre-tanned skin and the high-levelled sun protection factor he hadn’t suffered any skin irritation when he woke up and lolled. He stretched out like early in the morning after some good night’s sleep. The boy got up and saw that Achternberg still sat on his folding chair, staring across the lake. He felt pressure on the bladder. He to the right stepped behind the reeds and peed. Armas felt like a piglet in the mud. When he’d cut the last drop loose he approached the wooden jetty and marvelled at Achternberg’s excellent sense of hearing. It was not until his grabbing for the mineral water in the picnic basket that he was asked …

„Did you sleep well?”

„Oh yeah, thanks. I actually had some nice dreaming.”

„Care for telling me?”

„Could be. − Any pike news?”

„Nope. He’s making a fool of me.”

Armas grinned and sat down by Achternberg, cross-legged.

„Perhaps you picked the wrong come-on?”

„With this wobbler I once before got a pike of more than one metre in length from his element, almost fifteen kilograms it had.”

„From this lake?”

„Nope, in Finland, last year.”

„Seems to be some smart fella since else a pike even snaps at a banana skin tugged through the water.” Armas acted experienced.

„Really? You might try by crossing the lake with some banana skin, huh?”

„And then comes that this rascal mistakes my dick for prey. No thanks!” Armas shuddered and protectively covered his manhood by his right palm for a moment. „Once the pike has vigorously bitten it won‘t let go. Still wanna have fun with my Monsieur Bouchon!” His face was one single reluctance.

Achternberg smiled. Armas indeed had been reading his erotica.

Soothing quietude fell for quite a while. Armas closed eyes and put back his head. He appeared completely relaxed and yet he inwardly made an attempt for a further question.

„Am I a joke because I as a seventeen-year-old hadn‘t had sex with a girl yet?”

„No, of course not. Why should you be?“ Achternberg looked at him, Armas just opened his eyes − their eyes met. „What gives you that idea?”

„For I‘m laughed out of court because of that in my class.”

„Who‘s laughing at you? Girls or boys?”

„Boys do, particularly three of them, and the others not a lot different grin pudding-headed either.”

„And you put up with that?”

„Couldn‘t arrange some fucking for show, could I?” The argument had something to be said for it.

Achternberg did some brief thinking.

„Let‘s keep up with those three especially nice guys. Do you know whether they already …?”

„However that may be, they shoot their big mouths off. But I only once observed one of them with a particularly pretty girl by the public pool.”

„That must not necessarily have been his girl-friend. One may go swimming with one‘s own sister or a cousin-girl as well.“ Armas hadn’t thought anything of it. He, as a matter of fact, hadn’t noticed Martin making out. Never before. Neither Edgar and Holger. Now he could figure, why.

„You know, those who bitch about others the loudest and most spiteful are only eager to divert suspicion from themselves and to gloss over their own deficits. Heard of often enough, believe me.”

„Do you really think so?” Armas still looked doubting.

„Oh yeah. That is a concept up to so-called high politics. Especially in weak political systems heads of state love to distract from their domestic problems by making a bogeyman out of minorities in their own country or in neighbouring states, stirring chauvinism or even going to war. Then acts of war are prosecuted against neighbours because there as minority living own fellow countrymen allegedly have to be protected not to mention that their residential areas are being annexed by landgrab of the aggressive state. That increases oftentimes almost religiously excessive nationalism and thusly some semi-dictatorial president, let alone a dictator, is able to excellently distract from problems of his own doing. In addition annual victory parades are being celebrated to commemorate so-called victories from yonks ago stirring blood of each and every chauvinist while the rest of the body does forget it’s hungry. Very simple. Works with dumb people as well as with intellectuals who ought to know better but do promise themselves advantages by their spineless aiding and abetting. Simple psychology. Those three knaves don’t do it any different with you as it seems to me. How does it manifest by them against you?”

Armas had been listening mesmerized but now he lowered his gaze and more than that − he moped.

To Achternberg it was clearly recognizable that something depressed the boy.

„Will you tell me?”

„Must I?” Armas looked at him almost as being despaired.

„You mustn‘t anything but die some day, but perhaps I can help you, in that case I just oughta simply know what these louts are carrying on with you.“

„That‘s exactly the point! They gossip, I do carry on − with boys.“

A thick teardrop trickled down his right cheek without creasing his beautiful face to weep. It touched Achterberg to the quick in such a way that he instantaneously decided to come to the wounded boy’s defence with all his might. But that very day he didn’t find an opportunity to do something since all of a sudden Armas got up, dived headlong into the lake and swam off.

Achternberg had no alternative but to follow him with his eyes. He didn’t cat-call at him, just let him leave. He’d come back.

But for three days Armas didn’t show up. The large bathing-towel Achternberg spread out daily at lakefront remained unused. The towel for dry-off remained unaffected, very neat and proper folded square as well as the turkey snack wrapped in tinfoil. The sun lotion remained untouched.

Achternberg worried about this wonderful boy and yet he did not. Armas was wounded but not fatally. His very foundations had been rocked but he hadn’t been shaken literally. Else he’d reacted on it quite differently, would possibly have committed the stupid thing to kill himself. He would come back, and Achternberg figured out first basics of a campaign against this gang. And when he approached the wooden jetty the forth day after Armas’ grief-stricken confession, the boy already sat there. He propped up himself backwards and let his long legs dangle in the cool water indulging in the sun on his naked body. One look towards the bathing-towel made Achternberg leap that his visitor had been hungry: the tinfoil was lying next to it very neat and properly folded square. The plastic bottle with the sun lotion stood right next to Armas on the wooden jetty.

„Shall I slather your back?”

„Keep butt in mind,“ Armas bantered when he turned around, smiled at Achternberg and got up. He extended the plastic bottle to him. They both looked square into each others eyes an intensive moment long. In it lay some strong non-verbal understanding as among soul-mates.

„Turn around.”

Achternberg had put down his things, opened the bottle and squeezed some thick blob between Armas’ shoulder blades, he who supported himself against his thighs again and leaned his head forward. Armas slightly winced as first time.

Achternberg slathered shoulders and neck of the boy, continued at circling movements downward his back up to his tight butt-cheeks. Armas visibly savoured the nearness. To Achternberg it became more and more obvious: the boy was truely lonesome. He soaked in any affection like a dry sponge − be it talking to him or such a harmless nearness as in slathering for sun-protection.

Well, from the boy’s view it didn’t seem to be not quite so harmless: When he turned around after Achternberg’s „Done!“ and same’s sight slap against his shoulder, he’d developped a semi-erection! Achternberg, of course, noticed it and Armas, much to his surprise, didn’t look at him in embarrassment but grinned.

„I feel fine. That often causes me some hard-on. Does it bother you?“

„No. Nothing unnatural.” Both looked at each other, smiling, and Achternberg for the first time tousled the boy’s hair as if to express to him some well-meant „You rascal!“ Withal he pulled him by his neck towards himself of what Armas on his part twisted himself free, laughing.

Achternberg recalled from his days in school and his time in military of many a overly distinct bulge in the crotch of various sporting comrades having developped when wrestling. Fighting excitement slashed its way through to the very loins. With Armas it was some deeply savoured well-being. That was no reason for concern of any kind whatsoever but for glee. The boy was doing well.

„Sit by me,” Achternberg invited him. Armas settled next to him. Achternberg didn’t cast the fishing rod. The boy was more important to him.

„What have you been doing the last days?”

Armas candidly looked at him. There was nothing left of the deeply saddened boy, au contraire.

„I did a lot of thinking, listened to my inner self, read a lot, of yours too, listened to beautiful music, did a lot of wonderful wanking − it did me awesomely good. Does it shock you that I do lots of masturbation?”

Achternberg shook his head in amusement.

„Why, my boy, should something shock me being so utterly normal, tell me that, why should it?“

„Perhaps because I speak of it so bluntly?”

„You‘re to be envied for that. When I was your age, we weren’t capable of. Many people are unable to cut it up to today, are prisoners of their uptight upbringing or their personal fears. Or they don’t have anybody with whom they can exchange views free of fear. Much too much is trumpeted abroad trusting blindly in so-called social networks which is highly dangerous.”

Armas nodded affirmative. He had been witnessing how trustfulness of a class-mate had disgracefully been abused. Kevin trustingly had been telling a pal at the public pool how he pleasured himself and if they couldn‘t arrange for some competition wanking. One day later all of it was to be read in some asocial network. The poor boy walked about with his head lowered ever since, didn’t trust to join somebody, was openly or clandestinely laughed at. The socially incompetent at school had found themselves another victim. When Armas intended to come to his defence he’d been brusquely spurned, was being told to go away, he’d be but gay. Kevin downright shoved him away. The social poison gnawed itself into. Armas was quite shocked and drew back himself furthermore.

„With you I may level with, may I not?“

Armas scrutinized Achternberg by cocking his head.

„You still have to ask?”

„No. You’re right. With you I can be frank. It wouldn’t disturb you by any means if I were gay, would it?”

„That‘s almost the last straw,“ Achternberg took a strong line with Armas. „Why are you harping on about it again and again? In case you’re secretely bi-curious then just try it out once, my goodness! But don’t cry me a river if mean guys believe you are, blooming box again! I don‘t give a damn about whether you nibble at petals or suck liquorice sticks, crazy boy.”

Armas roguishly chuckled from ear to ear.

„Can it be that you like me?” Again he cocked his head.

Achternberg shot a glance at him ranging between „I‘m about letting my hand kiss your cheek“ and „I like you a lot”.

„Of course I like you, otherwise you weren‘t permitted around” − and that he emphasized by a slap against Armas’ back part of the head making the boy „nod” − „You laddie, you! You might end up in the lake for good, you know!”

„But then you‘d have to slather me again …“ The next moment Armas jumped to his feet and dashed off a few yards in order to gain safety distance since Achternberg‘s facial expression all of a sudden was difficult to be estimated. It was ranging between a slap in the face and a great big hug. Armas was one single boyish laugh. Achternberg’s face brightened up again. He shook his head, looked down and let out some grunting laugh. Then he gazed across at Armas who was waiting in safe distance what was to happen − seeking Achternberg’s eye. Achternberg smilingly waved him nearer and got up. Armas slowly came closer, although hesitantly.

„No, I won’t drown you!”

And then something happened they both hadn’t bargained for. They suddenly were in each other’s arms. Some funny as well as odd scene. Some even though lightly dressed grey-head but still completely dressed grown-up tall man and a sun-tanned stark naked slightly taller teenager embrace each other as if they were father and son or uncle and nephew. Ignorant coincidental observers might have thought something else − honi soit qui mal y pense!

„But don‘t come up with another hard-on, you rascal!”

„Nope, sure not,“ the boy sobbed.

Achternberg moved apart but held him by his shoulders.

„I‘ve had just about enough now! What‘s the matter with you? First you laugh and now …”

Armas looked at him shamefaced, his eyes watered, and when he winked two thick tears trickled down his cheeks. The boy bit his lower lip − and gulped. With his wet eyes he looked at Achternberg like seeking help. The same suspected something.

„You haven‘t been embraced for a long time, have you?”

Armas nodded.

„Oh, dear! The boy is entirely socially neglected.”

„Come, sit by me.”

Achternberg fatherly stroked his hair. Armas wiped away his tears, inhaled deeply − and sighed lowly.

Achternberg sat himself onto his folding chair, Armas settled by his feet, cross-legged.

„Spill!”

Armas cleared his throat and briefly lowered his gaze before he locked eyes with Achternberg.

„I‘m not gay.”

„I know. But I don’t know why you repeat that again and again like an excuse. You mustn‘t, particularly not to me. You know, the days of the ill-fated section of the law 175 [§175 German penalty code made homosexuality a punishable offense until 1994] are over once and for all …!”

„And why have I been asked again and again whether I was born May 17th?”

„Oh, is it that what they did? There we have it again, distraction from one’s own latent sneaking inclination or simply viciousness, a drive to torment third parties. Well! For the simple reason that these arseholes have definitely been incited by their fathers more likely by their grandfathers should they have been using this term. That’s all inherited waste from older times. Imperial Era, Nazi era, the illiberal fifties of the Adenauer era [Dr. Konrad Adenauer, MP (*5 January 1876 Cologne, Kingdom of Prussia, 19 April 1967 Rhöndorf, Rhineland-Palatinate), legendary Lord Mayor of Cologne (1917-1933, 1945), first Chancellor of the Federal Republic of Germany (1949-1963)]. You just know it from history lessons should it be of value at your High School. Do you know, that King Charles of Wuerttemberg had been homosexual?”

Armas looked at him in amazement and shrugged with a shake of his head.

„The king lived it quite unconcealed. In liberal Wuerttemberg is was not punishable. Charles was no attractive man, big bushy beard, but he had − as being told − some immodestly beauteous American journeyman butcher for his lover whom he kept in Friedrichshafen [on Lake Constance] where he spent most of his time as well. Poor Queen Olga continued living in the Royal capital of Stuttgart …”

„He was married?” Armas threw in, amazed.

„Oh yeah, but childless as may be. His successor, William II, a nephew 2nd degree, was the son of Prince Frederic of Wuerttemberg. Without his famous Minister von Varnbueler the kingdom most likely would have been going tits up back then. Nevertheless he dismissed him in 1870 and replaced him by Mittnacht. When William I of Prussia once came for a state visit and Charles had to bother to come to Stuttgart, the Prussian monarch also asked him for buildings in the Residence. Charles wouldn’t know them. Quite embarrassing. When Wuerttemberg became part of the German Reich in 1871, Charles made himself punishable because of his sexual life since from then on the adopted Prussian legislation was in force there, too − but of course he was never harmed since as the king he was sacrosanct.” Achternberg lectured again.

„Lucky chap,“ Armas sighed. „Him blather didn‘t bother.”

„He was the king and with him it was the case. And why does it bother you?”

„Well, that‘s no bloody good. One is queerly looked at, is forced to listen to bitchy remarks, one’s being cut, one’s being ditched while team selection in sport, again and again one’s towel is being snatched off making me show my horse-hung qualities in the locker room, asking, who’s sucking it, hee-haw, hee-haw! That sucks! And some girls do have the nerve to believe that.” Armas frowned in visible aggravation.

„Silly geese. Although, actually that’s an insult to every intelligent real goose.”

Achternberg chuckled being able to conjure a smile again on Armas’ face therewith.

„And no good friend stuck by you?”

„Nope. Falcon backed out when he was asked how it’d be when we’d do the sixty-nine.”

„Chicken-hearted jackass and certainly no proper friend. He had to have issued black eyes in your defence instantaneously. Forget him! Or did you do it with him once in a while?”

Armas looked at him dismayed.

„No!”

„I’m just asking. Wouldn’t have any problem with it. That’d be just ordinary curiosity at your age. Just give it a try once.”

Armas was flabbergasted.

„Did you then?”

„No. This life experience missed me. And I don’t know whether to regret it but back then it began with HIV and Aids. We wouldn‘t have just from fear. Curious we were but precisely not for deeply anchored inclination but just for to learn how it’d be when a girl does french a boy. When girls became the real McCoy the topic was through. Did you ever think of it occassionally?”

Armas lowered his head. He had, actually.

„Mustn’t feel bad about it. You’re absolutely normal.”

„You really think so?” Armas looked at in doubt. He’d blushed.

„Would I else say it?”

It was written in Armas’ face how relieved he was. Freckled Heike had pleased him quite a lot. In her scrimpy multi-coloured bikini she’d been looking just cute, but before he’d dared to take action he’d lost her to an outspoken boy from the neighbouring class.

The other girls − more than a few very pretty and of exciting bikini-fit physique very often causing him to be lying flat face down not to let see for miles how excited he was − were beyond his powers. Whenever he attempted to start a conversation they proved themselves simply being giggling silly things which weren’t looking for a good conversation, or they teased him wherewith no young lad of his age wants to be teased with. Whether he’d be good in making out or − in full bluntness − whether he already did it once … His blushing rendered an answer redundant each and every time until news was spread by hallway gossip and SMS that he hadn’t yet.

And then the by him well-deemed friendship with Falcon who in terms of splendid build was in no way inferior to him and also matched up to those oh so „important” inches dead even. Only Falcon wasn’t circumcised.

Armas envied him that for since he found one could even better masturbate still having one’s foreskin. And when he once asked him en passant whether he unwantedly would lose his cream Falcon negated smiling. He’d do that differently. How then any different but thusly, Armas asked him showing the unambiguous hand movement. To his astonishment Falcon thereupon took his swim briefs off in his parents’ hidden from view garden, pumped himself up masturbating, stretched himself, bent forward and „embraced” his gleefully aroused Monsieur Bouchon with his lips until it went creamy. Armas had been watching fascinated and by increasing arousal, almost being in disbelief. He tried, too, but failed to his great disappointment. For the first time he’d been curious enough to „help” and himself let be helped by Falcon but he didn’t dare to ask. Henceforth it oddly rippled through his body soon he saw Falcon in the nude under the shower or walk around in his room likewise as well as when Falcon visited him and they once again checked whether their cocks had increased in length. It immensely mattered to them knowing it. Then Falcon had been asked the silly question for sixty-nine and their friendship split up. Armas was a solitaire ever since.

Not a single class-mate wanted to make friends with him − or did dare to. It even happened that some of them left the shower area the moment he entered. Withal he’d to put up with that in short distance before him tongues were stuck to cheek-pouches or boys sucked their middle finger in unambiguous manner. Once two approached him, one bent over and the other executed unequivocal humping with wagging cock. Armas could have bandied blows, and sometimes he really would’ve loved to, but he kept his temper.

Achternberg had listened to Armas’ narrative description as calm as a clock though it aggravated him how such a sensitive boy had been mobbed.

„You should‘ve asked those finger suckers whether they‘d forgotten their dummies at home or whether they‘d entered the new Dick Sucker Club of which you‘d been reading on the net. Let them do that once again and you‘ll see how they‘ll be choking on the finger.“

„Or some hot fight is being picked up!”

„Can‘t you defend yourself? Do ably clobber one of them and floor him, grab the other one − if it’s two − lightning-quick by his boo-boos and whisper to his ear in Stephen-King manner and deep voice whether he’d rather stay a man or’d prefer to die childless. Pay him some diabolic grin and let your boo-boo grip be vicelike. Believe me, he’s gonna pee himself in horror. Teach them to respect you and don’t take any shit from them. Büst doch ‘n staatschen Jung! [You‘re but an impressive boy, aren‘t you?] One successful knock-out and boo-boo action and you’re gonna have your peace. That’s gonna get around lightning-quick. For caution, walk around with a solid cane as a walking stick in order to keep inroads at bay − and when nothing happens for a couple of weeks, you’re the winner. But see that you get Mister chief Bigmouth. Most of the others are just cowardly followers.”

„You really think so?” Armas looked his doubt.

„Of course. It’s in human’s nature. A brave county commissioner in full uniform as major in East Prussia [East German province, occupied by Poland, Russia and Lithuania since 1945], together with his constable, got in position at gunpoint in front of the local synagogue in 1938 when a gang of storm-troopers came along to destroy the place of worship. The county commissioner offered in cold blood to shoot the first of them who’d approach him − and the synagogue remained unharmed until the Russians intruded in 1945. The loudest of noisy troublemakers are merely brave amidst a crowd. Threaten them to be dealing with them first, soon they’ll have their tails between their legs.”

„Too bad that you aren‘t our teacher!”

„Oh you know, I do rather write, can’t be a helping hand to all of the world, can I, on the other hand, when I do help you I kinda help the world in a way since you bring your newly acquired self-confidence into the world making it a little better thusly. I’m quite confident of that.” Achternberg smilingly tousled Armas’ full mane of hair visibly to the boy’s pleasure.

„But now tell me the names of those three main baiters who believe to have the right to defame you as being gay and were those dudes can be found.”

„Whatever are you up to?”

„To something very effective − you‘ll see.”

Achternberg whipped out a little note pad and a pen. Both items he always had on himself in order to be able to write down spontaneous thoughts. Armas hesitated another moment but then he told him their names and drescribed to him by which public pool the three of them commonly were sojourning. Two of them not yet would be on vacation within the next three weeks. He was wondering what would happen.

With a look of satisfaction in his face and giving Armas a wink the wordsmith pocketed note pad and pen again. Then he cast the fishing rod and Armas stretched out on the wooden jetty. That admittedly was a little less comfortable but obviously he wished to stay just off Achternberg. The sun was shining like honey upon the intimate togetherness. Armas relished the warmth against his skin and Achternberg enjoyed the quietude which set in now. He wanted to dwell on thoughts − and finally make that blooming pike see the shore. Good thoughts just came to him but the pike didn’t.

Behind him Armas folded arms under his head, eyes closed − and soon his manhood pointed towards his belly-button again. Achternberg didn’t observe it but it would’ve pleased him to see how incredibly comfortable the boy felt. His soul had been relieved from many a burden.

*

The next day

On the evening before Achternberg had made a phone call. He’d found himself some blitheful allies ready for action in his campaign versus Armas’ torturers. That’d be some hilarious summer spree had been answered in chorus. While replacing, Achternberg was one single broad smile. That’d become some never-to-be-forgotten lesson. His frugal light evening meal he enjoyed twice as much. Afterwards he wrote until late at night.

Midway through the morning he’d been turning out in a jovial mood, had taken a shower and been washing his hair, thereafter he’d arranged everything for Armas.

It was a given for him that the boy would come. He was looking forward to seeing him as if his son was to come home. Achternberg walked for the lakeside and arranged Armas’ resting-place. He briefly looked out for the boy who perhaps might be approaching already but he was nowhere to be seen. When he returned to his house, he experienced a pleasant surprise.

„Great! You’re at home. Had come to think, I might be alone for today. Hello, Herr von Achternberg.”

Armas got up from the sun-chair on the terrace and extended his hand to Achternberg. The man of the house wasn’t exactly surprised to see Armas being in the nude but he was astounded to meet him on his terrace. He briefly glanced around: Armas’ toggery − some light bluish shirt and jean shorts − underwear or swim briefs weren’t to be seen − was lying on top of the terrace wall, folded neat and proper. The sandals were placed below on the ground, properly juxtaposed. Right beside it he’d parked his brand spanking new bicycle. Some Ortler Lillesand 7-gear with basket. It was the lady’s version without cross bar. Achternberg eyed it thoroughly.

„Does it drive well?”

„One does come forward,“ Armas replied dryly.

„Wisely sparing crown jewels,“ Achternberg murmured, nodding his head.”

„I once terribly got my boo-boos caught, no need for a cross bar ever since − at the utmost in my pants …”

„… just in case you wear some occassionally, don’t you?”

„Exactly!”

Both laughed about the pun − and clapped high five for the first time.

Then Achternberg noticed that Armas had brought something along − his, Achternberg’s, complete works! That’s why he’d come to visit by overland route. He took the copy on top.

„You really purchased all of it …”

„... and read all of it!” Armas pulled some smiling mien in the fashion of „What’ve you been thinking?”

„And now you wish to get every copy signed?”

„That was the idea,” smiled the boy and got up. „I’ll help you carry.”

Armas took the other books off the basket and looked at Achternberg expectantly.

„Well, then just do come in,” the man of the house asked him to follow while he slid the terrace door open. It slightly seemed as if a slave would follow his master in the olden days but what created the impression simply was Armas’ out of the common nudity Achternberg wasn’t bothered about − Armas didn’t anyway. He perceived the ease of the boy as simply refreshing. It kind of dovetailed with his innocence. He in addition let him do as he liked for an entirely personal reason: Achternberg saw himself in him and would’ve loved to have been as easy at 17.

Armas not yet anticipated that by entering the house he was granted some rare privilege. Achternberg seldom if ever let somebody enter his private domain but his few close friends. Let alone some reader asking for autographs. He just hated unbidden taking pictures, and by those pestiferous modern cell phones his privacy could be violated all too fast. Achternberg wasn’t able to stand this lack of respect. Armas was nude, where would he hide a cell phone?

Achternberg aimed at his old desk, settled down and produced his stylograph with the broad pen with which he signed books − while after readings he autographed with a thick felt pen.

Armas stood still right next to the old writing-table which he inwardly marvelled at because of its beauty which had got handed down from so many years back. He was a modern boy but some aesthete. He loved beautiful old things.

„Für Armas …[To Armas …]” Achternberg began when he noticed not to know of the boy’s last name.

„What’s your name actually? I mean, what is the name of your family?”

„Moulinville.”

Armas behaved as it was a proper thing to do for a member of nobility. He didn’t lay emphasis on his „von”. It spoke for his self-confidence that the boy didn’t even bother to. And his opposite could right away cast him as descendant of the Huguenots.

When Achternberg had written his first inscription and put his forceful though distinct legible signature to it, Armas put down the rest of the books onto the desk.

„May I take a look around?” He pointed at the stuffed book shelves.

„But of course, don’t restrain yourself. The Dictionary of Canadian Biography by the way you find front right next to the red volumes of the New German Biography.”

Armas turned himself to Achternberg’s treasure of books. In his reckoning several thousand of volumes. He could hardly tire of looking at all he was seeing. He quickly found the volume in which marshall de Lévis was listed, took it out and settled down in an arm chair to read the biographical article. Achternberg noted with pleasure that Armas obviously partitioned his passion for printed books. In the period of digitalization and audio- and ebooks it wasn’t a given anymore. But printed books remained the real McCoy to him since only to them the for relish necessary sensuality adhered.

Achternberg was mightily amused when watching people which swiped on any touch-activated pocket screens or their iPhones for hours.

Any now and then he broadly grinning tried to picture what might happen if people like this were forced to read an ordinary newspaper − with an emphasis on paper. They presumedly had forgotten how it had to be opened and flipped while they desperately were trying to „swipe” the front page. Why ever does it not work? And an unread newspaper would even cause blackened fingers wherefore responsible servants and butlers iron newspapers up to the present before being served to the mastery.

While he signed Armas’ copies of his books he now and again shot a glance at the teenager, who was absorbed in his reading matter. He obviously was stuck to it. Achternberg knew that of himself. It had been the same with him when he was a child and teenager, at that time still reading fascinating comics like „Sigurd” or „Bessie”, then the volumes of Karl May. Later in his studies, up to the present − soon a read fascinated him, he stuck at it, forgot about everything around him, time and space, even eating. Solely a rendezvous with a pretty female he’d never missed. His body clock always let him look to the old wall clock in time when the appointed hour came closer without feeling the necessity of announcing each other the coming soon ten times by cell phone. These bothersome things simply didn’t exist.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he noticed that Armas had gotten up and had a look across. The boy was just about putting back the volume he’d taken out.

For an instant, Achternberg felt reminded of paintings by Henry Scott Tuke he’d seen quite some time ago. Would this painter be present, he supposedly had shouted Stop! Stay how you are! − when Armas slightly stretched to reach for the gap on the shelf. But Tuke had already died in 1929. Achternberg wasn’t aware of any contemporary painter who’d make aesthetically appealing pictures of older teenage-boys like he’d seen „Youngling at the Seaside” by Hippolyte Flandrin in the Louvre. He would „paint” Armas by words. So every reader could literally visualize his own Armas-image.

Achternberg put the last signed copy on top of the pile.

„Would you care for something to drink? In this heat you might be thirsty.”

Armas turned around, interrupting his study of titles on the back of the books.

„Oh yeah, would love to. Have you got OJ?”

„None from a bottle but I could squeeze you some fresh one.”

„That‘d be great. May I come with you?”

„Sure.”

Armas followed Achternberg to the huge kitchen of the house, visibly curious on how further areas of the domicile of the writer he admired might look like.

Each corner of the building seemed to be in use for the display and storage of books. In between were beautiful pictures of German lighthouses, North German landscapes and Navy subjects as well as framed photographs of tall ships from around the world.

Armas was missing something.

„Sit down.”

Achternberg pointed at a chair in the spacious North German kitchen which Armas turned around, took a seat and supported himself on the backrest.

Meanwhile Achternberg produced a squeezer of glass from one of the cupboards, took two oranges from a plate, cut both into half with a sharp knife and squeezed them. He poured the fresh juice into a glass by passing it through a sieve − and offered it to Armas.

„Would you care to spoon the fruit pulp?”

„Oh yeah, I‘d love to.”

Achternberg reached Armas the squashed orange halves, extended him a tea spoon letting him spoon the fruit flesh from the squeezer’s cup first before he repeated the whole procedure for himself. Then he joined the boy at the table.

„You‘re really fond of books, aren‘t you?”

„Oh yeah, I am. I do own some one hundred and twenty myself, your detective stories and erotica included.”

Armas took a good swig of the fresh juice. One could almost hear it sibilate as thirsty as he was.

„What do you especially read?“

„For entertainment especially detective stories and beautifully written erotica, else I wouldn‘t have your books, but I also like Agatha Christie, first and foremost her private investigator Hercule Poirot with his grey matter and how exaggeratedly self-opinionated he is − and Georges Simenon.”

„Do you also read other erotica?”

„At times. ,Fifty Shades of Grey’ I‘ve read in the original. Some slightly perverse narrative but kinda witty. A beautiful girl of twenty-one still being a virgin I found a little strange and forcing her to submission in order to be in ecstasy is not exactly my cup of tea, but certainly lots of things are happening out there I’m not familiar with and would never dream of. Isn’t that so?” Armas drained his glass and licked his lips, quizzically looking at Achternberg.

„You‘re right there. I myself sometimes get amazed what’s possible among two people, first and foremost among man and woman.”

Armas briefly bethought himself.

„I bought myself a book by Henry Miller a couple of months ago, at low price from a bargain table. Barely halfway through I put it aside, cloyed. The guy was just in the bobo. What a standpoint towards women he had, awful. But it’s reputed being world literature, even translated into German by women. Wonder whether they found it disgusting.“ Armas distorted his face in aversion.

„I think I know which book you refer to. Didn’t like the book either. Didn’t finish only two terribly boring detective novels and this misogynous pornography in my life.”

Achternberg took a good swig of the fresh juice.

„Care for another glass?”

„Love to, if I may have one.”

„Sure.”

Achternberg got up and repeated the procedure.

„And what else do you care for to read?”

„Um, especially biographies. It’s so thrilling what other people experienced, particularly in previous centuries.” Armas briefly bethought himself. „Sometimes I can hardly believe how people in those days could live without our current means. How poor medical care was, one could die of a bad tooth or of appendicitis − or, how weary travelling was. What sort of adventures explorers did experience. The fascinating expeditions of discovery of James Cook or the journeys of Alexander von Humboldt. I’d loved to have been part of it.”