Thierry Lachaux's Life

(Everything is freely invented in this story and there are no relations to really living persons.)

I, Thierry Lachaux, was born in a small boring town near Paris known for its immense Gothic cathedral. Lots of French Kings were crowned in this cathedral. Only one of them is publicly known as having had the same decease as I have. And he knew he had it some time before I realized it. Which decease? "A  filthy impeachment" the scientolgists call it and .... no I won't tell you now. I am not taking the suspense away. And I will tell the story from the beginning. I have still roots here in this all too narrow-minded town and am a respectable citizen, belonging to the merchants' guild and to different associations of citizens. My  clever and beautiful wife who is chairman of different social organizations and two nice children, a boy, Yves and a girl, Rosalie live here. Everybody still considers me as a normal happily married men. Only a few know of the crisis I had and why I walked away with David. And pulled Yves too after me into the precipice. He is now living with us and my wife is very anxious! 

I too thought I was happy and without further wishes, chauffeuring my children to school, working as my boss at the selling spectables and cameras in a shop I had inherited from my father, eating lunch  and dinner at home together with the whole family , both cooked perfectly by my wife, and sometimes exercising in bed with my wife.  Both my shop and my lodgings  are in the same red brick house of the last century in the row of little brick houses opposite the cathedral. All my forebears lived, worked and dreamt about their secret wishes, known or unknown, here. Its very conveniable and it smells of the agreeable lives of my family. And till now, no one has come back as ghost because of the terrible perversity of me. Before our house there is a lot of green space, where we can walk, sprint or simply crouch down on the grass to read or sleep. My wife is sexy and nice, my two children lovable.

But then, two or three years ago, an internal change has taken place in me. First this life began to be pretty boring. Still I thought that it had to be so, as we are not gods. We felt happy together, I and Gabrielle. But I began to think that I was not living out all my sides of my personality. And this was probably the beginning of the end, the first steps into a sinful life. Sinful but nice, and I would never go back again to the old one. Not that this one was not so nice, both had its lovable and less lovable sides. But the new one corresponds more to my personality as you will see from what follows. Considerable time ago when I decided to settle down, marry and have children I had had also a similar crisis but this disappeared as Gabrielle stepped into my life and I got enamorated like a normal straight citizen. Well, now I suppose you know what happened to me. My innocent familylife happiness endured till David came into my shop and bought himself a film for his Leica. Since then it as as if angels wings had crackled, nothing is as it was before. I have to write it down to work up my feelings.  

An innocent dream

Now as I am standing in the second half century of my life, I look at pictures of my childhood. My school photograph when I was about 11 or 12 years in the midst of a lot of girls (The boys wouldn't accept me in their kingly ranks),  and when I was 15 years old on a school outing, eating my lunch in the woods. I think I was such a lovely boy, even if the Pope considers such thinking as a sin. With my unkempt dark hair, my great ears, dreaming eyes and such a heartbreaking smile on my big lips. My parents had many difficulties to understand my impossible character. Did they suspect there was something not all right with me? I was left handed but I don't think they knew Freud’s Theory that left-handedness is linked to queerness. I don't know. Anyway, they never showed it and never spoke about it. They complained about what they called my daydreaming. And as I did not marry with 20 they even got suspicious that there  is something not all right with me.

In fact, I wanted to  get away from the reality which was for me boring and gloomy. I loved to read. I devoured one book after the other. I liked Jules Verne of course and science fiction, thinking that the future must be better then the cornered present, but I read also a lot of historic books from Scot to Victor Hugo. At my grandparents I discovered the duchess of Segur, "Les malheurs de Sophie", "Le general Durakine" were read several times. But I  also loved books about Indians, Karl May was my favorite, I shed hot tears for Winnetou, especially when he was  bound to a stick and tortured, but a book about the history of the Hudson Bay Company also greatly impressed me.  Looking at the photograph I can't stop loving myself when I was small. I never thought much about the religious scriptures also I think I was much more religious than today. I suppose I will anyway land somewhere were these religious people would say it is hell, but it must not necessarily be bad there. Especially as it is hell to live with most religious people, I think the kind who always has to remind you that he is religious what you assumedly are not. I look again at a class picture of my fifth or sixth term. Had to sit with the girls because the boys wouldn't have me. But the girls weren't too happy either. Also I had made myself up, was even wearing a fly and a jacket my parents thought elegant. I wanted to be as nice as possible. Did not want to look like one of those other real "down to earth" boys. And of course the girls had eyes for the others only. And, to be honest, I had no real interest for girls. Only uncomprehending grown ups, like my parents, thought I was in for frocks, something like a Don Juan. Only they never took any pain to understand me. Or maybe they did not want to understand.

It was only after I had this dream that I had an affair with Cousin Frederic after which they got suspicious.   I can't understand. Because it only happened in my fantasy. I must not have been enough secretive or I spoke during my dreams. But I will tell you about this later on. 

Did I want to be a girl? Honestly, I don't know. Three years after my birth a small brother was born. He was in any way smarter then I was, was realist and trained to get muscles already before going to school, in order not to be thrashed by his comrades as I was. If I had wanted not to be beat by my schoolmates, I would have had to fight. But I didn't want to fight. This was too boring. And it was even more boring  to make myself muscles! So I crept into a corner and read books. I never tried to explain this to my parents. They were too dull, they would never understand it. But they loved my brother because he knew what the others wanted from him. And they said I had always wanted a sister and was jealous of my brother. But I didn't want a sister, I wanted to be the sister, not to be somebody "down to earth" and self defensive like my brother, thinking always about who was the better at school, who the bigger one at the hunt for food. He could have lived with water and bread, or at least of fried potatoes (I didn't like meat) if only they had let me read my books. Anyway, the difference between my masculine brother and me was too great. It got all the time bigger as I tried to resemble girls to avoid resembling my brother. I simply resented beginning a fight, to spoil my clothes and even get injured, to get God forbid an ugly scar, only to be considered as a boy and to be like my brother! But then I could not do any harm to anybody even if he was hurting me. I know this sounds as if I were embellishing myself and trying to look like a saint. It's not, I despise myself because of this. (Not seriously, don't got anxious.) I simply tell my story, I don't take heed of your opinions. If it does not please you, you can stop reading it. Copies of it you can burn in the chimney, so that it's of some use!  At least to heat up your dwellings. But this is what I remember from these awful days of early childhood which are no happy remembrance for me.

I look and look at my school photography  and then pull out a second one. The second one represents me at 15 years. I glance alternatively at both pictures and suddenly Thierry, the 15 year old one, comes out of the picture and sits here before me. Not in the woods.  In the street. In the evening after school strolling home. He now is changed in Alain and sees far away from him  Pascal who in fact is Thierry the 12 years old boy, running before a whole lot of unkempt untidy and unwashed boys who chase him. Pascal was on his way home and the others called him a fag. He realized it was becoming dangerous and ran for his life. They always chased him, because he had once written a love letter to his colleague Simon he was in love with and who made fun of him and told everybody about it. But he never escapes his tormentors. They keep up with him, seize him, beat him  and throw him down on the pavement. And now, just when Alain comes along, whistling nonchalantly, Pascal lies in tears on his back on the pavement, and the others are tearing at his clothes to uncover the most sacred piece of his body. 

(Shit. Stop it. Children never do such bad sexual things. They are innocent. Never think of anything like this. - But if I experienced just what I say. There were always lot of foul sexy jokes they told each other. We used to piss together looking each at  other how long the other one was. - Forget it. You didn't. Everybody will hammer it into you till you will no longer know how it was. There will be used drugs and psychic treatments, cold showers and electroshocks and at last you will become innocent too. So if you don't want to become a ruin, just keep quiet about what you really experienced with this bunch of macho brutes who behaved only like their fathers did. Admit, you didn't like it either. - Yes, but I was abnorm. - Oh shut up and suffer in silence. Don't disturb the good christians!) 

And now, as his Angel Gabriel, the one with the flaming sword, Alain, appears  and, Pascal beaten, in tears and lying outspread on the pavement in this shameful way

 (And doesn't yet know that he is not yet in the age of thinking of such a shameful thing. He should be ashamed of himself he realizes, now, as his writes this, at his advanced age. But God didn't smite this perverse boy with his bolt from the blue of the sky. Is there a God looking for the decent moral people on this world? You wonder. I don't any longer because I know that it's only a inventions of the priests.) 

But of course he only had a nebulous knowing of what men do together. It was just a feeling. He just simply wanted to be near his beloved Alain. He stands up on tip toe and tends his head. But he doesn't come up to Alain's mouth.  Alain is taken by surprise. He recoils. He  loves somebody, also a comrade, but only secretly, having learned not to tell the others of his secret loves as they would only make fun of him. He doesn't love to be made fun of.   And he has not come out yet. Probably he will even never come out. That Pascal loves him is new to him. Such a small one! Too small for him! But he can't resist. He finds him nice, also  somehow clumsy and to direct. And what does he want of him? Since he once went to the public library and worked himself through a staple of books which he shouldn’t have been allowed to read at this age, he knows what you do if you love another masculine being. But he has not yet been initiated. He pulls Pascal up to his height but he can't kiss him on his mouth just on the street in front of the others. He does not want to be the laughing stock of his comrades. He gently puts him down on the pavement again. "Can we go home to me." he says. "my parents are not at home." Pascal is so happy and proudly walks besides his new friend, to spend a nice evening together.

They go into his room and there they kiss and caress each other. The first time for both. They're lying in each others arms. And they both wake up in their appropriate beds. It was only a bad dream they dreamed both at the same time!

Ha Ha Zeus laughs in his Olymp . He can laugh because he got Ganymed and thinks nothing bad of it. He, the father of all Gods. Leave out the unspeakable vice of the Greek, aunt Liza scolds, looking up from her patchwork fixing me through her spectacles. Ashamed I look down, continue to read my newspaper. I'm only a masculine being and haven't yet understood that culture is  an abomination! 

But in fact Pascal was Thierry as also Alain was Thierry. There was actually an Alain in Thierry's life. And of course it never worked like this. Alain never knew that Thierry had even taken notice of him. Thierry was in love with him because he was so beautiful and older and cleverer than he was. He had these Nick Knatterton comics and gave these on to him to read. Thierry had no comics, his parents thought that such a lecture was bad for him. And what he did not know was that Alain gave them only grudgingly to him, because he thought him too small and uninteresting. He was interested in a boy older than him who passed on to him Mickey Mouse Comics. Pascal was so shy, he would never have dared even to look persistently at him. He simply imagined to be together with Alain, but if he happened to cross his way, he ran like a first or second grader past him or if he saw him,   soon enough he would take another way not to cross him on his way. It is to assume that if  Alain would have seen him beaten by other school kids he would simply have walked past him  leaving him to the others. As if he had  seen nothing.

Later on, when Thierry was of the same age Alain had been when he had come to Pascal's rescue, there was again a beautiful boy in his class and he sensed again that same prickling of happiness looking at Patrick he had sensed when seeing Alain. But by then he had had his dream that he loved Cousin Frederic and his parents had found out and he knew if you did not want to get troubles with your parents, and didn't want to have to explain your feelings to people who didn't want to understand them, you kept your dreams of boys for yourself. Because else there was the threat that your parents sent you to all kind of psychiatrist, only because they thought that such feelings could be changed. 

Think of David and Absalom, to be hanged by your hairs at a tree by the will of God! No, thank God!

He got out of Patrick's way and tried to forget him . Years later, when he came back from his sojourn in a foreign country, he would at last take up contact with Patrick and there developed a deep friendship. But he never dared saying anything about his feelings and till now Patrick doesn't know that Thierry once fell  in love with him because he found him so beautiful.  

Fréderic the imagined saviour

Little Thierry was such a queer person.  He would not want to be ridiculous before the other comrades, but he did not realize that this was already the case. He had no normal pleasure in sports and tussling with the other. Always his nose in books and laughing about things nobody understood. Did not notice what happened around him in the class between the pupils. Nobody of his age understood young Thierry's longing. He thought that Frederic his older cousin was about the same as he was.    At the  family receptions he too was sitting in a distant corner far away from the others and reading a fairy tale. Thierry wanted to come into closer relation with his cousin but this was difficult because both were closed into themselves and didn't disclose as they had realized that nobody understood them.  There was also the uncertainty. You had to release something of your inner feelings and what was when the other did make fun of you. It is not that Thierry thought he was the only one who had such feelings for the same sex. His mother had told him there were "these others". And that they were people to make fun of. That they were all trying to show off. And there was one thing young Thierry wanted not to be; ridiculous. Because of his special manners he was already being teased and even being beaten from his colleagues at school.

But as I am old Thierry writing about the young one, I should at last begin speaking in the first person. I sat at this family happening probably near a Christmas tree. There had been much good things to eat and drink. I sat near Frederic to find out  if my assumptions that Frederic was like me were right. They were. Frederic was looking at a picture featuring Zeus taking Ganymed in his arms, and so intently I could sense it for him. What should I do? How could I seduce him though he was seriously holding back. But I succeeded, the temptation was too great. Nobody quite realized that I disappeared more than one hour in a closed room with Cousin Fréderic. Cousin Fréderic was much older, was enrolled at a catholic institute in the mountains, living there during the week. He  was tall and had brown eyes and fair hair like his mother who was never at our family meetings because she found them boring. Uncle Frederic was a stout middle aged man with a bald head. He seemed terribly important and used to discuss at whole length with my father about the evolution of the economy and the prices of the shares. I found this terribly boring. As I said I had disappeared into the bath room. Nobody was to go there for some time. I closed the door. We embraced and kissed each other. And did all this unspeakable horror you think in your perverse fantasy. But it was only a dream.  I woke up sitting in the bath tube alone with wet underpants. It was terrifying but I had loved it. 

Later on Frederic asked me whether I would come with him to Greece. There his father had a cottage. On the island where Ganymede had been picked up by Zeus! Later on, when it became known that Cousin Frederic had as they said "swam in bad waters", and been thrown out of the convent school, because of his bad manners, and this was shortly after my stay with him in Greece, my parents got suspicious, and tried to get a confession from me. I never told them anything about my dream in the bathtub, as it had been too important for me. Of course they thought the big bad older had seduced the small one. I have to confess, I, the small, so nice and withdrawn little chap, would have liked to have driven my cousin mad till he could not do otherwise. I was a perv when you should not yet be one! It's terrible! Small children are not as innocent as grown ups think! but it was so nice and I knew the moment that I would lay in his arms, I would like it. I would stand to it, but there was a longing in me for something else. I couldn't have expressed it as I was not clear about all my feelings. But I longed for somebody of my age. Frederic was in an age where he had almost finished with school, had a deep voice, had stubbles in his face and also on his chest and at other places usually hidden and his skin was rude. I would have liked to do it with somebody with smooth skin and no hair at all on the breast. But I loved Fréderic as a beautiful person. His blue eyes, his razed fair head which made him look like Jules Bryner. He told me they had been dark when he was small and had turned too fair. 

The cottage of my uncle, the father of Frédéric, beautifully situated near a spring on a  fairy island in Greece. But not far from the sea, nothing is never far from the sea on these Greek islands. I still possess a picture of me standing on board a small fishing boat. I really love me how I was standing there, long trousers, sunburnt breast, brown hair and brown eyes. I felt so at home. I had holidays and felt so much at home there where the Gods had ravished. There was a fisherman who took me out for fishing. And also Georgiou took part. He was a Greek boy of about my age. But had green blue eyes and fair brown hair. We had met at the vineyard of a friend of Frederic. There was also Nikos who was really nice. I sensed, he  loved me, but he did not come out to me. Did he have scruples? I couldn't speak Greek, only some words I had picked up. But as young boys we understood each other all the same. Mostly without words. Georgious' father was the friend of Frederic's family who owned the vineyard. We were helping at the vine crop. I has have a picture of him he gave me as souvenir. It's a picture of when he was younger the only one he had at hand. I would have liked to have a more recent one, but I had no camera and I didn't dare ask his father. Georgiou was nicer now than at this young age, I could not help looking at him. I always thought he would get upset or do anything to show me he had realized that I always was looking at him. And I feared he would make fun of me, as had the boys at school. But he seemed to take no notice of me. And, in the late afternoon, when we had finished collecting the grapes and were standing in a tub, stamping the grapes with our bare feet, in short trousers, I couldn't stop staring at him, as he just stood on the edge of the tub where we were stamping and smiled, looking at me. I was despairing. I so longed after Georgiou. Till my uncle, the father of Frederic, laughed and told me: "You have worked enough, go and play with Georgiou."  We understood each other perfectly. Georgiou waved to me to follow him and soon disappeared in the hills. I ran after him, till we were far away and had lost the others. I halted, panting, completely out of breath. I was completely lost . Georgiou was far away waving with his hands. I hoped to know him better and did as if I were getting feeble, stopped and did not make a move. I hope he would came back and do .. well I didn't know exactly. I simply longed for something which I thought was beautiful but which I didn't know yet. But he only waved at me, didn't come back. I had to get up and run after him and my whole plan went astray.  I had wished he would care for me. But the whole romantisme had gone. He did not understand that I had such a great desire I nearly couldn't hold back. I did not have the courage to let him run away. How I longed that he put both his arms round me and would give me a kiss. But nothing happened only my fantasy in the night dreams played foul tricks with me.  Unfortunately nothing ever happened between us. 

And aunt Liza is relieved and can continue knitting in God's chastity. 

So boring.  Afterwards we walked together hiding and seeking. The day had gone, the stars were flunking in the sky when I got home to Frederic. I even saw a falling star and wished something.  I leave it to your fantasy what it was. My uncle said nothing. They had kept for me a nice evening meal, some spaghetti with tomato and meat I like so much.

The following day Georgiou invited me on the fishing boat of his father.  During the day he did not fish and we had it to our entire disposal.

OK, aunt Liza, I was a spoilt child. But don't tell me I have daydreams. I know exactly how I felt then!

 We went on the sea and I learned to sail. But there were long stretches without wind and we had plenty of time to lie on the deck of the small boat. In  a wonderful bay, completely desert we stopped and slept clinging together. But of course nothing happend then to. Only, ....

OK, you don't want to hear it again! 

From the land you could hear the song of the crickets, all day long. And the sun  burning down. I spent a whole hot summer month on this small island, more with Geogiou than with Frédéric. It passed all too quickly. And it was an endless longing for something which did never happen. But I got burnt brown all over. As I now know, it was a sample to know how I will get in hell. But I don't care. I will be all the nicer. It was the nicest holidays I ever had. 

But when I got home, my parents perceived at my happy behavior that there must have been something happening which they could not control. And with their adult perverse thinking they assumed there had been some affair they did not like. Frédéric didn't come back from Greece.  But they had their suspicions. They didn't like him much. Too much of an artist they thought. He would only encourage me to develop my bad sides. They tried to sound me out. It was a very hard interview and it went very far into the remotest corners of my personality. But I managed to keep back and said nothing. At last they let go. But there was an attempt of my father to put me into an institute if it hadn't been for my mother who had been in a monastery school and who abhorred it. Nevertheless my father was not inclined to take counsels from a woman. He kept saying that I had been too much in my mothers frocks.  I kept back saying anything, I knew all to well that would I have said anything they would have done the contrary of what I needed. But I nearly lost all hope, my father was just about to take me to a brother Anselme who was monk at a cloister just outside the town where there was such a school. But then I was rescued as my mother remembered that brother Anselme had been the very tutor of Frederic. I was relieved  but gave attention not to show it, because otherwise they would certainly have turned both against me. My father gave up his idea of giving me away, maybe also because he suddenly realized what it would cost him. He now had a reason not to do it. But, in order to keep up his face, he just simply said he didn't believe it but had to check it and Brother Anselme was never mentioned again. But from that moment on they kept me under close watch and even charged my brother to help them controlling me, and he was all to happy to do it. He  was happy to see that my parents now disavowed me openly. But from then on I closed every feeling in me. I wanted to keep my happiness and knew all too well that my parents would destroy it if they knew about it. I had the photo of Georgiou and kept it hidden from them. I also had a photo of me on Georgiou's boat. I sensed that they had a natural aversion against my sexual identity and would attempt to reeducate me. I had had enough reeducations, beginning by their forcing me to write with the right hand instead of the left, and did not want to change myself. Certainly not to assimilate me more with them. But nevertheless, I never saw Frédéric again. As I heard later, he became very ill. But my parents never took me to him and he died and I had never seen him again. I shed tears, but in a remote corner of the house. I never found Georgiou again, never even tried to look for him. But years later when I was on this island again, on holiday on my own, I met Nikos again. I had finished my years of studying and wandering about, as Goethe liked to call it, and had now definitely decided to take over my fathers business and could no longer stand to my natural sexual identity. Nikos now had finished studies of medicines. And now he told me how he had always been in love with me but I had not realized it. I had had eyes only for Georgiou. But nevertheless, we took it up and became friends, I passed several holidays in Greece and knew his family. We now are close friends. But since then I got an own family too and we somehow lost each other. It would interest me to find him since I have found at last again my natural identity and met David. But he no longer lives at the old address. And much has changed in Greece since then. I will have to go once more  to Greece for a longer time and look for him. If I now reconsider this episode, I realize I so much buried it into me, I seriously doubt it ever happened outside of my dreams and illusions. But I have the photographs to remind me that something must have happened.  But from this moment I became very secretive, never let anybody see any of my natural feelings again, although they still had enough to criticize my dreamy behavior as they called it. From that moment on I exercised in covering and succeeded in stifling my natural feelings.  

As long as I think back in my childhood, I don't remember of ever having been innocent. Even in my first schooldays, when I was in holyday at the house of my grandfather. He owned such a nice house near the big Romanic cathedral of Tournus, far in the campaign in Burgundy. There was a big garden. He was the country doctor. It's there I keep the nicest remembrances. My godmother, liked to invite me on holydays  because she had no children. When I stood in the nice bathroom in the tube and she washed me before going to bed, she used to tell me to wash my prick very well. And I did it with such a fervor, rubbing it meticulously especially under the small foreskin. "Wash it very good," she used to say, "with soap and cloth and rub it very good" And I did rub it intensively and very soon not only because of the cleanliness. Because I soon felt something which made me happy. But of course I was innocent. And then I had another experience shortly after my tenth birthday. My grandfather kept books about art, and one about the works of the Dutch artist Memling. And I discovered this book and everybody was happy I liked the works of Memling, too. Till my aunt by chance realized what I did like in these paintings. The book was open on the page featuring the painting "The martyrdom of Saint Sebastian.". The saint was depicted, with his breast naked, his one hand bound above his head at a branch and the other one at the trunk. Down on the floor were the shirt and the jacket they had taken off him and thrown down. When you looked very good you could see the nipples exactly painted and looking like mines. You could see the how deep the ropes bit into the flesh of his wrists. At a distance of some feet were standing soldiers with arches and he had arrows stinking in his flesh, one in the upper right arm which was bound by ropes around his wrists. One arrow was sticking in his right upper thigh, one in his left calf. The lower part of the body was duly clad in trousers. It was awful to look at. And the man was so nice, a nice face maybe a bit old when I thought, I with my ten years, his curly brown hair, his breast without much black hair on it like my father had it. I liked the man. And I shuddered thinking of the pain he endured.  But soon I sensed that to look at this pain, it aroused my thing between the legs and when I was sensing with the hand that even got greater. When my aunt discovered it, I was sitting on the floor, on the side, the legs bent and under me, looking intently at the saint and holding my right hand just over a certain place between the legs. At the innocent age of ten! My aunt was terrified. She closed the book away and for the remaining of these holidays I could look everywhere, I did not find it. But there were lots of other ones, and also another painter named Mantegna had painted such a Saint Sebastian, and this one, also he did not please me so much because his body was much more muscular, was nearly completely naked wearing only a loin cloth. You could fully appreciate his feet and legs how God had created them. It only aroused me but did not go further. And I did not know what my Godmother as a good catholic knew, that even this arousing and the accompanying thoughts were a heavy sin. Especially as  the men did arouse me, not the women. At home I found a dictionary were a painting of Zeus abducting Ganymede very much interested me. Only one or two years later I first ejaculated in bed. And afterwards I tried it in bed lying there thinking of the nice Sebastian or Ganymede and came, till my Godmother once spied me and ran in my room suddenly, threw back the cloth and beheld that my hands were there on the place they should never be. From then  on I never did it in bed, in an unclosed room, only in a closed toilet.

After this episode of my holidays at the Greek house of Cousin Frederic, everything turned to normal. Everybody in our small town was openly homophobic, jokes about fags were told, and I dared not become the scapegoat of my colleagues at school. I satisfied myself in the toilette with photos of men smoking special brands of cigarettes in public swimming pools to impress on the girls in their society, or the men photographed on the packages for underwear. These were the only possibilities to see naked men, but of course the parts which actually interested me were not shown.  Were they like mine or maybe much better shaped? Did I have nice buttocks and was my John big enough? It troubled me. I thought it was too small. My buttocks when I could make the exercises to be able to see them in a mirror together with a second mirror and without anybody asking me awkward questions about why I had changed the place of the mirror. But on all photos of men these interesting parts were hidden by their underpants.

In addition, I developed a great religious feeling, went to church all the time. My parents even feared I would become too religious and would want to study theology. And forget all about the holy family duty to provide for somebody to keep on the business, let alone the lot of money that would cost them. They never imagined why I went there! I went there to ponder about the paintings of the saints, especially Saint Sebastian being pierced in all possible places of his body by arrows. Of course he also wore a tight loin cloth, but much of his body was free. The priest was so happy to know a boy being so religious and did not realize that I always went to the toilets afterwards. As schoolboy and student, I had not much money and could not afford to buy sex pictures. Anyway men making love to each other were not to find. You had to take a couple of man and woman and to look at the man and cover the woman with something. But anyhow even if I had had money I dared not buy these pictures because I feared what the woman in the newspaper shop, which of course knew me and both my parents, would say. I did not know where to hide them once I possessed them, too. Sometimes I wondered if there were others who felt like me. I looked around. But in this small town where I lived I couldn't find anybody. Later on I knew that the gay people used to go to Paris over the weekends to find matching people. And because there you were anonymous. 

So it was only when I was much older, more than 18 years, staying at the college that I had the second experience with a men. It was at a schooltrip. I was quite an unsocial person, used to take my lunch far away from the others reading a book and so nobody realized what terrible thing I did. I was sitting on a trunk, eating some lard and bread I liked so much. My left knee held up, the left shoe taken off. Suddenly, he stood before me. The one I had always looked for. All the way in the train he had been sitting besides us. Furtively I had squinted to him and thought he had not seen it. A beautiful young man of about 25 with short and curly fair hair  and blue eyes. He was reading "Si le grain ne meure" of Gide (a title full of hidden allusions and it’s exactly what you think it must be) I already had read at this age. How I had longed all the time for a new adventure, after all this time I had been living without a pleasure after Frederic and Georgiou. I even affronted this Adonis, when I met him before the toilets of the train I managed to slip a billet into his pockets had written on it: "Are you Apollo on a pleasure trip? If only such a god could rapt me?" He did not show he had seen it. And now he was before me. Had followed me all the way. His short trousers showed his perfect legs without knots and hairs and he had a ring in his left ear and a necklace. Also an ankle lace. That was what I had had to stare at all the time in the train. At this time masculine types were not yet wearing piercings at all places of the body like today. I had never seen men wearing such rings and it was so nice. And again it was a special feeling for me. He came strolling around and looked at me. I nervously looked around. The others were far away. And I had two souls in my body. For one I longed to experience again the nice contact with men, which I had been missing. On the other side I dared not have again problems with the society represented by my parents. I could have run away, especially as I now heard that my colleagues were playing some game of cricketts or feather balls. But I looked upon the man. He was just pulling his shirt away over his head. Vow! such a nice breast. Wide, muscular and without a hair. Just unlike Frederic who had been all black of hair on his body. And the nipples, red and big. And on the right nipple a ring. What should I do, I could run away, shouting. But then I was making a fool of myself, because until the others were here, the man would be gone. And all would be laughing about me. Thierry with his whimsicals! And otherwise this was now an opportunity I had been dreaming of for months. A fair friend! To run away from my chance? No, definitely, that was a possibility I would not let drop. I looked around, nobody around except we two and probably the others were now engaged playing their childish game for a long time. I looked up to the man, smiling. He bent over me and my lips locked for his lips and I gave him such a long kiss! He went on his knees. His hands caressed my left knee, which I kept cornered, then he took off my thick wool socks and his tongue licked me down to the toes. He took the big toe of my left foot into his mouth and sucked on it. Than his tongue went over my other toes like over a mouth organ. I felt so aroused and a quick look showed me he was also on his way. But vow! This big thing. Would it split me? Certainly not.  Frederic's one had done me pleasure and not hurt me.  And soon my whole body was panting and I came. Everything was as I had imagined it in my dreams. Then he gently lifted me and kissed my hands licking my fingers one by one and told me: "Your fingers are smelling so nice of lard. Will you ride on me?"  I looked at him. His wide muscular breast, his muscular arms and legs. I couldn't believe my eyes. His body without visible hair!  How did he do it? Suddenly we heard my comrades coming back. We stood up at once, he put on his trousers, embraced me and kissed me again, took his T-shirt and was off. 

Later on I wondered: Was this encounter real? Again nowadays when I am of an age you are skeptical I think it was a dream. But when I look at the photograph I got from him later on, its again in my memory. I never threw it away. It showed him in shorts, long socks nearly up to the knees and with a tropical hat standing before a souvenir shop. It was funny, him standing there in a military pose with this funny dress and head before a lot of summer hats. Behind there was written: "Greetings from Luc Myers" and a phone number. Somewhere in a town of Switzerland. Fortunately my parents had not seen the envelope. I put it into the breast pocket of the jacket I wore and went to my room. I looked all the time at the picture. And carried it everywhere around. I found out the phone number was of a Swiss town. I was always so alone. I longed for Luc as I knew nobody else who was as I was. One evening my parents had gone out. My brother was at school. I was at home. Did not want to go to school. How they had thrashed on Geoffrey, this nice fair first classer, crying "fagot", bending him on his knees  and forcing him to do insulting things. What innocent children are supposed never to do. He looked up to me his nice big blue eyes full of tears hoping I would come at his rescue. Because he instinctively knew that I was like him. But I was together with Patrique and Ludo I had now gained as comrades, I did not want to loose their esteem. I even made fun of him and threw some remark about these fags and we all laughed heartily. But they made some remark about me which touched me. I got ill and persuaded my parents to let me remain at home. And I hate them now both. 

Now as I have gained some overview I feel like a looser. I hate myself and do not know how to excuse for my behavior towards Geoffrey. I am not understood at home, have no real friend. But there is still Luc. I decide to run away and to seek him. And suddenly I pack everything. I have some saved money. And in the drawers of the dresser where I look for my passport I find some money belonging to my mother. I take it together with the identity card. I go off to the station and with the next train to Paris and from there with the next City train to Switzerland. Nobody takes heed of it, I am of an age who are considered to travel freely.

In the town where Luc lives I get off, It's  already night. I try to phone but nobody answers at the number. I decide to pass the night on a bench in the  station. In the middle of the night I suddenly wake up. There is a loud shouting and running around. I realize that they clear the station because they are closing it for the night. I go out into the street and wander around in the neighborhood. I don't dare sleep because there are funny people walking around which I don't trust. Suddenly I cross somebody I think I know the face. But it is quite dark, raining finely and I am not sure. I keep going on. But then suddenly I get an inspiration. This face was Luc's! I turn round and walk back. But Luc has done the same! Such a coincidence. It's only possible in novels. But we run into each other. And such a welcome. He gives me lodging in his room at a students' house. I say I don't want to go back to my parents. I wanted to remain with him because I love him. He doesn't say more than that he feels the same.  But nevertheless he wants to persuade me to go back! Not with me. Now I have at last what I want I won't renounce and go back to unhappiness. During this night I know what happiness is. I crave for his desires. At first we lay down. He gives me the place on his bed and settles to sleep on the floor. So ridiculous after what had happened in the forest! I say: "Can't you sleep together with me on the bed. I so longed for it?" But he needs a  lot of pressing before he at last comes under my sheet, sighing. My hands feel his body and tear at  his clothes. Anyway he doesn't seem at ease sleeping with his pajamas. And it would be a pity. I so long to feel his soft, smooth skin. First he keeps back, visibly embarrassed, but soon he gets excited, we are again holding each other fast and caressing us with. I kiss him, take his pajamas away and lick his body down to where you know the most interesting item of a man is.. That's what fascinates me. I feel how he gets aroused. I say: "Do you still remember your wish there in the woods. We were interrupted." He blushes. "It's not good what we did. You will be corrupted by me." he answers. I laugh. I am corrupted since my birth, not by him. I continue: "I so much longed to continue with you. I'll do it now." And I ask him why he is so like a woman. He says he had always desired to be a woman. I exclaim: "Maybe that's why you are naked everywhere so you look like a pig!" But now I am being nasty. The moment it gets out of my mouth I regret it. In fact I like him as he is. I'm angry because he behaves so queerly. And tell him so. I say I would not like him if he were a woman, prefer him with a john like all men, because it's so nice to suck. But he wants to be the one who is penetrated. I couldn't, my prick is so small. I think. But it's not true. And so I ride stuck on him. My legs crossed behind his back. He kisses me all the time on the mouth. Then he whispers into my ears: "I need to be severely punished for this. I will kneel before you. Will you  stick your nice fingers in my ass and hold my arms behind my back so that I cannot touch myself." I laugh. In fact in Greece Frederic gave me furtively the Juliette of Sade to read. He had taken it from his father’s library who had not realized it. It aroused me terribly and I never thought that to read this must be bad. I never tought it was a filthy stuff which tells books about my spoilt nature. I even thought that was the divine marquis was saying openly was what most people did furtively playing as if they never could be so bad. He says it anxiously, as if begging for something. But why? If he likes it really! I own him so much, I love him so much, and am grateful that I can stay with him, I will do it. He says that his father used to punish him so he needs it. I don't believe it. The time  my colleagues used to beat me for being how I was is still vividly present to me. But I was small and no wrestler. But anyhow, it's a small punishment for me, in fact more a pleasure and I will grant it to him. You could also say he looks like a Greek God instead of like a pig and you don't refuse anything to a Greek God. And I had already seen it done in pictures I shouldn't have seen. Frederic had magazines hidden in a drawer and I just read them till he realized it. He showed me that there was written on it they should not be showed to persons under 18 years of age. I didn't blush. We both laughed heartily. I was sorry for him when he made me reprobations. I explained to him I had thought this didn't apply to me and said it with such a sad mine that we both had to laugh. Because in fact I had known I shouldn't look at the pictures but I was just simply too interested. I wanted to know how you did it. And nobody had told me. It did no harm to me, but this is because I am such a rotten perverse monster. My Greek God now had  tears in his eyes and caressed me while gently putting me down. He asked me to assfuck him behind with an immense dildo he pulled out of his knapsack. "Bind my arms on my back!" He ordered me. "And do it brutally." But I did it gently, could not do it otherwise, while kissing his buttocks. I really love him and cannot be brutal to somebody I love. But I was a bit sorry for him, that he had so ridiculous desires.

In the end we got into trouble anyway. My parents were looking for me. And the police got involved. Some people had seen me entering Luc's room. And told the police. We were arrested and were questioned. I did tell them  a lie, anything which came in my mind, that I had come here to this town to look at the paintings of Miro and that Luc had just seen me and given me shelter. But they didn't believe me. And i thought I was old enough to decide for myself what I did. But I was wrong about this last issue. My father came to fetch me. But Luc was questioned by the police, got remorses and took himself his life. I am so saddened to think about this. It's a small satisfaction to think that I could not be corrupted because I was already the most perverse monster before meeting him. But anyway my father asked of me to do as if I was harmed for my whole life because of this outing and I do not know whether I could have resisted his wish when he would exercise pressure because I could never resist the reproaches he made.

Back with my parents, I was very sad for a long time but I couldn't change me in that age. Then I automatically got enamored of an (imaginative) beautiful, dreaming chap and imagined coming along. I kept myself always away from the others and dreamt of my Patrick whom I never even dared to accost. I could have seduced him maybe somewhere in the streets in a dark corner. But of course I was neither fair, nor muscularly built. I could never have raped anybody. For me these were years of thirst for something I didn't even know exactly what it was. In a way I am my own savior. The Jesus I was so much looking for in the churches now came in flesh and blood to seduce me. I know my religious feeling is no good for young boys in their pubertarian age, it will entice them to think of things which they should not yet feel. But I nevertheless sometimes think that if my dream would have come through and Patrick had come out to me in a dark corner, it would have been good for such a queer being as I was. Already in my young age I was completely spoilt. Imagine, I had escapes with Frederic, Georgiou, Luc, and I even touched my body. What if I had been a normal boy, his clothes dirty and full of patches because of having wrestled and crept in the mud with other normal boys? I would  have had no energies left to do these spoilt things. And I would have listened to the grown ups. Not just reading books and looking at paintings of saints in the churches. Learning to do serious and realistic things. But would I really? Still, when I think back, I enjoyed life. Much later, I was nearly out of school, I had remorses and became interested in what made me so different from the others. I thought that it was because I loved men. Why should I be so special comparatively to the others. I lent a book about sexuality in the library. And there I read that the love I felt about men was an illness. People who did what I liked to do had either been sexually abused by their parents or had been so much in love with their mother and hated their father. Or it could be coupled to mental illness. But I was relieved to read that not all these homosexuals were mentally ill. But it was clear that these fagots only thought about sex, all day long nothing then about sex. What a pity. Especially as I myself only thought about sex all day long. And that's why there were no persons under eighteen who were homosexuals. They could be cured from their mental illness by a psychiatrist, I read.

But I rejected these assumptions for me because they did not suit me. I found I did not match these stereotypes, besides and did not hate my father then and was not in love with my mother, I thought, because she was to me like a block of ice. And I had loved persons of my own gender well below the age of eighteen and not especially because of their pricks which I never saw anyway. But, above all, I had no desire to be cured from something I did not consider to be an illness and especially by a psychiatrist. I thought I must be an incurable monster, the son of Satan. And this idea did suit me. And since then I devoured books about Satan. I preferred being the son of Satan than somebody who could be cured by a psychiatrist.  A Psychiatrist should be able to cure or rather change me? I shuddered.  

I expected to be able to live a normal life as I was like the others and not having to hide my feelings all the time. I persuaded myself that I had no reason to love men. Succeeded in forgetting everything I had done with Frederic, Georgiou and Luc and which had made me such a pleasure. Especially what Luc had made of it, and had even committed suicide for something he was not guilty of, had given me shudders. I felt guilty, thought I would have to follow him. But then I thought that it would not help him any longer. With time I forgot this episode and dismissed the thoughts from my mind. I was good at forgetting things I did not like. But they were always luring like ghosts, and would come up when I needed them least and I had to act to ignore them. I even succeeded to feel that what these fagots did brought me to vomit. I forgot all my affinities whatsoever with men. Now I never went to church and did not look at the saints. Never dared even look at beautiful men so as not to be tempted. I persuaded myself that I liked pictures of naked women and satisfied myself on the toilets with photographs of the Playboy. In the beginning I shuddered thinking of these awful big breasts but with time I got accustomed and even liked these. I got to like only round feminine arses and hated these straight hairy masculine asses which had attracted me before. I this was my state of mind when I finished school.

Before I could take it over, his optical shop on the Place de la Cathedrale, my father wanted me to go abroad to learn English, because we had many English tourists. I was not against, because it had always been my hope to escape this small atmosphere. I made the lower Cambridge Diploma in England, worked some time as sales employee at a PhotoShop. But there I lost my principle not to look at beautiful men. I had no longer parents to watch my moral behavior and got carefree about my religious soul. I went to the museum. The naked Apollo throwing a lance, especially pleased me and I even bought a photo of it, took it out of the drawer I had closed it into at night and looked at it. One day there came Cyril in our shop. He had long curly red hair and green eyes and I fell at once in love with him. He had always been something like a legend among our clientele. The whole shop spoke about him and said he was a gifted photograph who would become famous. He wanted to buy a camera. And wanted to test it before. And he wanted to test it making photos of me. He made lots of pictures of me standing in the street. He bought the camera. Next day he came again to let develop his photos. There were lots of photos of naked masculine photo models and I looked at them dispite my principle not to look anymore at men. I thought they were all of them not so nice as I was. I took a Polaroid camera and photographed myself at home. And when he came to get his photos, I slipped a Polaroid photo, the nicest I had, between the others and wrote my address on it. We spoke together and I managed to slip into the conversation that I would be at home the next evening. The next evening he came along. He so much resembled my Apollo. Even with his American slang and coming from New Orleans I loved him. I loved him because he was so beautiful and we went out together hunting for girls. We never had much chance with the girls. I so desired him but I did not have the courage to tell him so. Each time he made advances, I crept back and it came to nothing. I regret it now. Years later I was told that the first Polaroid picture I had given him was always standing on his bedstead. His buddy, Billy, whom I contacted after he had left for New Orleans, told me he had been in love with me and only did as if he wanted to hunt for girls to be in my company. I never realized it, I only had eyes for women. Later on in New Orleans I looked for Cyril and found Jimmy. Cyril  had died of aids and I seriously regret not having accepted his advances. Because there, far away from the healthy atmosphere of my father's home, I fell again into my old vice. That was probably why my father went there personally to bring me back. But lets tell everything from the beginning.

From London I went directly to the States. With an American boy I had known in London. Billy was fair and had blue eyes and I fell in love with him the first time I saw him. It was in the train. Early in the morning. I was going to work. Looking into the compartment I saw a young man of me age, with fair brown lying rather than sitting on the bench. I entered this compartment. Sat opposite of him. I couldn't stop looking at his slender hips and the space between his long  extended legs. I completely forgot my resolution not to look at men any longer. My mouth watered, I imagined kissing his slender white hands with the long fingers and sensed them petting my thighs going over my whole body. I stared fixedly, went over to him. Knelt between his outspread legs and smelt at his fly hole. He slept deeply. I kissed his hands and lost all restrain. I opened his trousers. Went inside with me head and licked his thighs. Then I seized his prick with my  mouth, carefully with the lips not to bite him and licked. Did he still sleep? Suddenly there was a whistle. Startled I stiffened and woke. I was still sitting on the same place opposite of him. It had only been a dream. He was looking at me through half opened lids. I drew back  and quickly looked away. He hesitated, sighed and asked with a clear voice. "I slept, where are we now." I looked at him, into his wonderful blue eyes at his white face. He had a finely cut big nose, finely cut mouth with small lips. Looked down my pants, at the hill and the little stain. I felt ashamed and was at a loss, I had been sleeping myself. He watched me. I must have looked quite frightened out of my still sleeping eyes. Because he then suddenly broke out in laugh. Such a frustration. "If only you had the same longing as I have." I thought. And suddenly he said. "Don't we both know what we want?" He slid towards me, neared himself to my face, sharpened his mouth. And even with my utter shame, looking the other way, I couldn't resist this temptation, especially as his hand now took me under the kin and turned my face towards him. I only resisted pro forma at the first, with a sigh I gave in and we kissed each other! We became great lovers. He told me his stay was soon finished and he would go back to his beloved Savannah as soon as his stage at London University was finished. I was so in love that I quit from where I worked and followed him.

This was a wonderful time. The climate, the chaps, a quiet work as model of Billy and of his friends. Savannah is such a wonderful town. It's houses, it's green spaces, it's museums. It's no wonder it was Julien Greens best loved town. With Billy I knew everything, especially  its gay circles and culture. In Europe you can't find so much as there where it's even sometimes prohibited by law. Billy knew some very good restaurants and even in the country of the McBeefy and of coke you ate fish wonderfully prepared with a native wine. And the discos where the gays can amuse themselves. Anyway, the affair with Billy didn't last forever. When he began dating a colored with biceps and muscles I left him. I decided to disappear and leave a long distance between him and me. I went to New Orleans. At first I earned my way as a porter as which I was good paid because of my languages. But at the same time I looked for sessions as model and got even a job in a small porn film producer firm. I got quite a name. Everything was how I wanted it. First I looked  for Cyril. But then I got to know Jimmy who could have been his twin brother. And I didn't do the same mistake as with Cyril. We slept together just the night after having met at the disco and remained together for a long time. I wrote my father that I was happy in New Orleans and would never come back. This was the end of my stage. My father came personally to New Orleans to fetch me. Anyway I was happy to get a possibility to get away from  the states. The authorities had found out about me. they tried to enroll me for their adventure in Vietnam and the affair with Jimmy came to an end.

The first days back in my home town living with my family and working with my father was the sheer horror. It was winter. Of course I had not dreamt in New Orleans. I had earned well in New Orleans and put a lot of money aside. That was the reason, why I took the shop over from my father, sent him to pension why I married Christine, my wife, and soon a boy and a girl were born. I was now a good Christian family father. I church, which is just two steps opposite over the Cathedral place, and in all clubs of my town.

I had to wait the coming of David in my life to find at last my real self. And to free myself from a wrong wrapping I had put round my personality.

The first few months I was back in my native town I felt chilled down down to my bones. Having come back from the warm chilling climate of New Orleans where my heart and my love(s) still lay. I still dreamt of the warm evening on the terrace of my preferred bar, a jazz cellar where they played new orleans presumably for tourists, but as we thought especially for the two of us, me and Jimmy, I resting with my hot head in Jimmy's lap reverberating with the music. And afterwards laying besides Jimmy on the bed in our room in an old house in the center of the old town, all windows wide open, hearing the people singing and shouting outside and feeling Jimmy besides me. And the day after kneeling in the shallow water of the bay feeling each others warm flesh and the fish swimming around our ankles. And here in this small town it was always cold, raining, dizzling or even snowing. I not even noticed it when the sun was shining and it was nice. Opposite the dark and oppressive cathedral where they preached that my love with Jimmy was a sin. I couldn't believe in it because I couldn't just ignore the most beautiful moments of my life. But as a good citizen, having become thanks to my father a member of guildes and the church, I sat just in the middle of these good christians, feeling like a pervert sinner who destroying all their good deeds. But I soon got accustomed to this feeling. It must be the feeling most people live in.  I quite well adapted myself to the strange conventions of a rural country town.

One evening a wonderful youth was sitting on a bench in the park of the cathedral. I closed the shop, walked over and sat behind him on the bench, introduced myself to him. He was a brother of a girl which had been in class with me. I fell in love with him on first sight. I must know him better. One of the next days I went to with my parents to make a visit to his parents who were also belonging to the shopkeeper citizen of our town.   It was still like this in our time. Even grown up children went with their parents, my children would laugh about us if they were interested to know this. I tied a good relation to the whole family. Alain had a sister and my parents thought it would be good if we got acquainted. Maybe there would result a marriage and it would be a gain for both families! Therefore I was always a well seen guest. Nobody realized that I made my visits mainly for the purpose of seeing Alain. Unfortunately I did not even dare to inform Alain about my love, but I always thought that he enjoyed my presence. I always finged to want to visit his sister, Helene which really was beautiful, and I fear he never realised the real reasons of my visits. I say unfortunately because he was a fervent motor bike fan. And we went often on tours. One day I couldn't join him and then he got involved into an accident and died. I regretted that I had lost him before even having told him of my love for him. But I got all the more involved with Helene who resembled him very much and whom I sincerely tried to help coming over her grief. I also made myself many reproaches  that it had been because of my sinful love for him that  God had punished us with Alain's death. David doesn't understand this thinking, but he has not grown up in this terrible catholic atmosphere I had. I decided to change my life. To live a normal straight life, becoming a good padre familias. Having children. I my feeling was genuine. I loved Helene and still love her. But Alain remained always present besides her and I think she realised it. And we lived a happy time together.

But as I said, the clock struck again, I met David and he so much resembled Alain and now I have left Helene for an uncertain gay life with Alain.  I am such an abbyss for myself, don't understand myself but have to stay to my feelings.

The story will be continued

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