First time

It was bound to be difficult, David wasn't expecting anything different. Gero had told him everything would go perfectly but he personally didn't felt so.

The week prior to the Christmas dinner, David had gone almost crazy trying to buy presents for every single person that was going to be at the dinner: at least two aunts, an uncle, one grandmother, one grandfather, six cousins or so, Gero's parents and his brother and sister. And the dog and the cat...

It was pure luck or maybe a stupid move that he called Gero to ask what her mother would like better, if an apron or a baking set. His husband stopped him short and told him to wait for him at a restaurant in the mall. He met him there and tried to calm him down but exactly the opposite happened.

David crumbled, crying in silence, saying he felt Gero's family would hate him. Gero told him that was not going to be the case because he happened to be an endearing guy and any person would love to meet him and chat with him,

The man answered he felt guilty for making Gero live so far from his home and for never before having meeting them. And the worst, he thought, was the fact they still had no idea they were married.

Gero answered, calmly, that they did not lived far because of any of them but because of their jobs. Besides, he said, he would go insane if he lives too close from all his relatives. He reminded David they had never met his parents because they had always had a tough time thinking of him as their gay son and that was the same reason he had chosen not to tell anyone but their best friends.

David calmed down slowly and then, he decided he was too hungry to be sad which made Gero very happy. If there was something he loved was sharing a meal with the person he loved and that was exactly what they did.

The days passed faster than expected. David had managed to stay busy, visiting friends of Gero and visiting all the places his husband had loved when he was younger: the park where he had his first kiss, the school he hated so much, the ice cream parlor he and his friends were go to dish about guys. It was like entering Gero's thoughts and that was nice, as he had decided to share his life with him. It meant the relationship was stronger than ever.

They day came and they drove early to be the first ones there. Gero had decided he only wanted his "nuclear" family to meet David first, so the shock or weirdness would be less accentuated for all involved.

Indeed, only Gero's sister had arrived to their parents house before them. For David, it was a relief to see her there. She knew everything and she was very supportive and enthusiastic. Her and her husband had given them some money as a wedding present.

Then, it came time to meet the mother and father. No other situation is more surreal or strange, and all the Christmas ornaments around the house made it even more strange.  The greeting was quite simple: David smiled and the parents did small bows and fake smiles. It was obvious they weren't thrilled about this meeting. David looked at Gero and he was smiling too, but he appeared to be honest about it.

After that dreadful scene, everything was a little bit easier as many things had to be done in order to get the dinner ready. Gero's mother had decided to make fish for dinner so Gero decided to help her with that and David was assigned to do the salad, which was dreadful for him. What if he put in something they didn't like?

But that was not possible as his mother-in-law put every vegetable that needed to be in the salad in front of him. As she did that, she only spoke to herself, reminding to get fish in the oven for the right time and things as such.

When he finished the salad, the woman thanked David with another fake smile and asked him to fill the coolers with the beers they had on the garage. Apparently, there was a small picnic cooler everywhere in the house. Gero wanted to help but David stopped him short and told him, without saying a word, to leave him do this on his own.

He went out to the garage and saw they had a lot of beer cases. "They must love their beer", he thought. Each case was really heavy but he decided to lift it to carry it inside. But he dropped it when a loud honk scared him. As he saw all the spilled beer on the floor, the garage door opened: it was a van filled with people.

As people passed by him, he cleaned the beer of the floor with a mop he found behind the beer boxes. Not one of them said "Hi" but he knew every single one had looked at him, in different ways: with pity, with disgust, with resentment and even with a smile on their faces.

All aunts and uncles and cousins were in there and they settled in the living room with Gero's father, watching TV. They were watching some repetition of an old football game from Europe or so he thought it was. David had no idea about sports.

And as the hours passed, he entered with several boxes of beers and filled the damned coolers. And people that hadn't even acknowledged his presence would ask him for a bottle, even after seeing him putting them in a cooler. He felt like a glorified waiter.

When he finally finished, dinner was ready. They all sat down at the table, which had small names written on papers, placed on each plate. As people sat down, he realized his seat was not adjacent to Gero's seat which was just next to his mother. David decided not to say a word and breath deeply. The night was not going to go on forever.

So he sat between two of Gero's youngest cousins and served himself some of the salad he had made. But when he started chewing the first bite, he noticed something he hadn't put in there. So he grabbed a napkin and put on all the food there, all chewed up. And everyone, now, was looking at him. For a moment, he couldn't speak. He looked at David who had also noticed the attention his husband had attracted.

 - I'm... I'm allergic.

And then David saw his people and realized what happened.

 - Mom, David can't eat peanuts. I thought you hated them, too.

And the mom said she had read they were good for blood pressure and that she had no idea of knowing David was allergic to them. She apologized, but it looked as she was saying it to her glass of wine and not to David.

The dinner went on. They served the fish, which David hated but ate as much as he could, and the a surprise dessert made by one of the girls there, that wanted to be a chef. Her concoction was awful but no one said a word. They all ate at least a bite of it, saying they were too full to keep going.

Midnight was less than hour away when they stood up from the people and gathered on the living room, some chatting, others watching yet another game.

David tried to talk to Gero but that was impossible. His mother was always there, talking and talking and he didn't wanted her to have a reason to kick him out or something. Anyway, there was no need.

Gero's uncle asked for a beer and one of the kids told him there weren't any left in the cooler. The looked in another one and the same thing happened. Then the guy, visibly drunk already, said something everyone heard loud and clear.

 - That faggot doesn't even know how to fill a cooler. And he's allergic to peanuts. What a pussy.

David felt the world crumble around him. Now he was sick, really sick. The stupid lights all over and Santa Claus images and reindeers. All of it made him feel sick to his stomach. He couldn't move though, he was stuck there, in his chair at the dining table, still trying to eat the awful dessert the stupid kid had thought was a dessert.

Then something else, equally awful happened. Gero's dad answered:

 - Leave it alone. Here.

And he gave his brother a beer. "IT. Leave IT alone". It all happened in seconds but it had been enough. David had never been the kind of person to shut his mouth and stay down as he was being insulted. Love wasn't enough to ignore that.

So he stood up and practically ran towards the coat closet. He grabbed his and looked at his husband's stupid family and said:

 - I might be a fucking faggot but I'm not as full of shit as you people are. Merry Christmas.

And he went out the door, the cold night. In the distance he could hear other gatherings and parties but they made him even angrier. He arrived at the car but realized it was Gero that had the keys. He got his wallet out and saw he had some money.

 - Taxi it is. - he said to himself.

He started walking again but then someone's arm stopped him. It was Gero.

 - I don't want to do this now. I want to go to the hotel, have a decent meal and sleep.
 - I'm...
 - I don't care. Just let me go. Stay here and we'll talk tomorrow.

David released himself from Gero's arm and resumed his walking. Ten minutes later, he was sitting on a bus stop waiting for a taxi to pass by but no one drove by. Everyone was with family, obviously.

He knew he had been right all along but even so, he felt bad for leaving and hating Gero's family. He did hate them but he loved him so much. And now, all that had happened.

Then another honk scared him. But this time it wasn't a van full of annoying kids. It was his husband. He lowered the window and said:

 - I'm looking to get lucky tonight. You look hot. Wanna ride?

David burst in laughter and so did Gero. They looked at each other and smiled, with pure love. So the guy on the bus stop stood up and entered the car. After all, it was their first Christmas together as a married couple.

If I couldn't write, I would go insane

I used to like being naked a lot, taking pictures. I was rather popular for it. People would ask me why I did it. Well, here's why:

First, and I think I just realized this, I loved the attention. I had tons of pictures, good quality, up on Flickr. And people would mark them as favorites and even comment and I will important somehow. People would like me and that felt nice. At least at first.

With time that attention wears out. You just stop needing it or maybe you want more or different. I have no idea. The thing is I just stopped liking the attention. I had that account for five or six years. It was an important thing in my life, as funny as that may be.

I have to clarify: not all the pictures were nudes. I would upload "urban" shots too or maybe just portraits or whatever I found was nice to look at. I guess I wanted to make others see I had talent for something. Of course, I didn't. I'm a professional photographer and my "work" on Flickr lacked any real quality. I knew that all along and never really cared about it. It wasn't the point.

I would love to post one picture per week, normally I would post at the first second of a new day so the statistics would more accurately show how much a picture was liked. When I uploaded an urban view, a building or trees or whatever, the picture was not that well received. Maybe a couple of people would say "yay, it's great". And that was it.

But me, naked, showing maybe my ass or my penis (never an erection, mind you), was always received by what I can only call "critical acclaim". Of course this acclaim came from people I had never met, mostly men. All men to be honest. And they were all horny. I mean, I should be an idiot not to see it.

I used to be more naive, more innocent if you will. When I remember those times, I don't know if it was a good way to be back then or if I should've been more intelligent, more perceptive.

Like, when I was nineteen I think, I went out with this guy. Just cute, not really a beauty or anything but you know. We went to a gay café and chatted and kissed and I felt awesome. It wasn't muy first time kissing but it felt right and beautiful and all that shit. Any way, it ended soon after and I never really understood why. Why he behaved like he did, always distant and weird.

He was fucking (or being fucked, who knows) others, kissing others while dating me. He actually kissed another guy that same night I was in the café with him. Somebody would later tell me all of this and I just understood it all. I also understood men were not to be fully trusted as, it is true, a man always acts commanded by his dick first, then his brain. And it's even more real in gay men and they know this is true.

Many people judge me saying "Hey, why haven't you been to a gay parade? Have you really never been in one?". And my answer is simply because I don't believe in it. It's not a casual walk to just show how proud we are to be who we are. That's what is SHOULD be about. But it isn't. That parade has mutated to be many people's chance to just rub in the faces of everyone what they do with their lives. Well, good news: no one gives a flying fuck.

There are homophobes. Of course there are. But there are others that just don't care. They don't think twice if someone is sleeping with a man, a woman or a horse. They don't care. And I don't think that is a reason to be pushy and annoying. I am fucking gay and the only person I need accepting me is myself. If the world doesn't, believe me, I don't care.

There's no gay marriage, that does not exists. The only thing that does exist is two people who get together to sign a paper that says they must share everything and live together. That's it. It's nothing more than that. You're not selling yourself there, in any sense, and it shouldn't matter who does it. Who cares?

But I digress. I made those pictures, the naked ones. And all that attention and it felt nice for years, yeah. I don't like discos or whatever they all them now. I just don't, I feel like an octopus in Japanese restaurant. Just like that. I've gone to a couple and that was enough for me. So I was happy to have some guys attention.

But that faded away. I got bored. To be honest I'm bored and fed up with people every second of my life now but that made me even more bored. All those empty comments and no one coming to me in real life to say "hey, you cute". And before you give me shit, I say "coming to me" because I deserve that. I won't crawl to a guy simply because I won't give an inch of myself to someone who would just expect everything.

The thing with gay guys, and all guys I guess, is that you must test them. And no, that doesn't mean annoying them and being jealous 24/7. I mean asking them things, getting to know them for real. Just being interested to get to know the person, take time.

But no. Most people fuck after 24 hours of meeting, if not before. I'm not saying people should be nuns and monks but, come one, love yourself.

And then I started having problems with the Flickr people and they ended up closing my account. You know why? Because it happens I didn't only do those pictures for the attention. I also did them because they were like therapy for me. I have hated myself for too long and that outlet made me feel good about myself. I almost fully stopped having crazy crisis every month.

And, besides that, I personally think the human body is beautiful. I don't believe in a god so I say nature is pretty smart and resourceful. Just get naked in front of a mirror and stare at yourself. Take a good look at the details, not the superficial shit of society but your actual biologic body. It's a work of art, inside and out.

So, that ended for me. It stopped existing, that outlet, that I needed so bad for so many years. To be honest, when it ended, I said "Fuck it, I have something new now: writing". So around that time I started working on some small things and it all came down to this blog with which I have a really hard relationship.

Today, for example, I had more than five ideas. I couldn't write more that ten lines for each. I felt awful, like an idiot, because this is my thing, my only thing. And if I couldn't write, I would go insane. Simple as that.

The Mark

His eyes move, a lot, still asleep. His hairs is all on one side so we can easily see, on his forehead, a big mark. Red, with lines and black dots.

The man, or boy pending on your definition, wakes up rather fast, opening his eyes as if he had been scared by the boogieman in a dream. He doesn't move, as the physical pain of his forehead comes to him and he has to relive everything again.

He finally gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom. With one hand he holds his hair and stares at his image. The red mark is centered right above the nose. Frowning hurts a bit but he has no way of doing some other facial expression. He lets his hair down again and pees and then washes his hands.

As he walks to the kitchen, he thinks that at least it's not bleeding now, as it was yesterday night. He touches his forehead with care and then watches his fingers: clean.

In the kitchen, he pours some juice into a glass and drinks half of it as if he had been walking across a dessert for years. When he's done, he goes to the living room and sits on the sofa, to watch people go by.

Have they ever done that too? Have they ever caved to their urges and fears and weaknesses?

Who knows... He just watches them as he finishes up the juice and, once again, touches his forehead.

He then remembers being in school, twelve years old or something like that and being mocked for having peed his pants. He was so afraid of speaking to anyone he had held his urge for too much time and accidents happen. No one was kind, nor nice, nor decent. They were all animals and he hated them for it. He was just a kid and from then on, he felt rejected, an outcast.

No, not the moment for that. He goes to the kitchen again and makes a sandwich. Somehow, he's starving. He must have had an awful dream or one of those were you run like crazy, not knowing why.

He goes back in the sofa and eats his breakfast as he sees a man helping a woman with some boxes. They smile and each other and are oddly kind. People are not like that, almost never

He then remembers what it was for him to turn into a teenager, parties and all. And still feeling left out. It was incredible how much he had hated everyone in school so much, and none of them knew. They had no idea he never wanted to see them again. He didn't wish them harm or anything but he didn't care about their happiness. He was too hurt and alone.

The last year of school was different. He was just himself, as he knew he would never come back again. And college was another story, with different disappointments. No, not all was bad. Friends, real ones, were there.

As he finishes his sandwich, he touches the mark again and goes back to the bathroom. He puts some cold water on it and on his hair, to flatten it so people cannot see it easily. It shames him. It's a mark of shame and despair.

He washes the glass and the plate and enjoys the feel of water on his hands. He flattens his rebel hair again and then goes back to the sofa, now with his laptop. He puts on some music and finds himself reviewing, mentally of course, his bad luck in love.

He had grown tired of going out, dates, getting to know people. They didn't even tried to know him, at least to fake interest. No. They just didn't care much. Sex was first many times and he caved as it was fun and felt good but soon that ran out and it wasn't enough.

And the world wasn't helping. He had grown up to see how he had to look and behave and he wasn't that model everyone was supposed to be. And if you weren't, you lost. And he did, or so he felt.

He changes the song, to something a little more upbeat. Starts reading an article about sea creatures with incredible strength and the people that look out for them.

And again, thoughts. His brain was his enemy, no doubt.

Now he remembered, as if he had forgotten, that he had no money, no job, nothing. He had become bored too of sending his damn CV to every single company, even to fast food restaurants and retail stores. No one wanted him. And that felt awful. It hurt a lot to feel no one needed him, or appreciated what little he could do.

He shook his head, feeling some pinches, as his brain now was trying to escape, to move away as he too had become bored with him. He closed his eyes in pain, trying to push everything inside, deep, never to come back out again.

Suddenly he heard a voice and opened his eyes. It was his mother.

 - Hi.

 - Hey.

 - How are you feeling today?

 - Better. Thanks.

 - Sure?

He doubts.

 - Yeah.

She sighs and moves on to the kitchen.

After hitting himself with the first object he could get his hand on, he stroke his head too with his fists and he had a physical strength that scared him. He had caved to his inner fears, his demons, everything that was eating his brain.

He bled alone and cried as he hadn't done in so many years, when he thought he had kept it all behind. No. The past always comes back to have a bite of your brain, to torture you slowly.

And he, fed up, had taken matters in his owns hands and almost broke his skull.

As his mother made breakfast for herself, he took a few deep breaths and calmed down. He had to be strong, as she had said. "Take control of your feeling. Don't let them control you". And he knew she was right.

He hoped, really hard, that things would change soon. But that is something no one knows, until it happens or it doesn't.

To Heal and Live

 * This piece of writing is dedicated to all young men and women that have died because of the narrow and hateful minds of others. Love and peace.

  We were never the kind to dwell on anything. It was simple really: we were officially not wanted anywhere in the world. It wasn't surprising or confusing, just a bit painful.

People in general didn't care. That had enough with the war ravaging life here and there. Human rights were not really on the top of the list of things people cared any more. They just wanted to live in peace, like before. We did too and that's how we decided to leave.

Eric had learned that Iceland was a safe haven for many people and was being overlooked. This wasn't World War II, planes didn't need to stop in the middle of the ocean as they could easily do the trip.
Besides, Iceland had signed a pact with the Confederation: they wouldn't mess with them as long as they didn't mess with Iceland. Fair enough. The Confederation wasn't really interested in them, at least not yet, as they had bigger fish to capture.

The day Eric got with the news of our future journey on the Aurora, a freight boat bound for Canada, it didn't came up as a surprise when we the news broadcasted live the invasion of West Africa by the Confederation. Horrible images of gruesome deaths and bombing were broadcasted daily and, as the country had surrendered to the confederation, they had to show it all, no editing.

We gathered the few possessions we still had, put them on one big suitcase and hugged goodbye our families. It was clear that it might be the last time we saw them, so we were sure to say it loud one last time, in case they died or we died. That was the reality of things.

For one whole day we hitchhiked to the coast. Many men and women were heading there: they thought that there was still a chance to head out of the country as the Confederation hadn't invaded yet. The government, strangely, didn't care or was sure no one would be successful. No one really knew.

I said goodbye to my city too. Bombings and rioting had left the mountains hollow at some points. It had always being a rather grayish city but now that gloomy ambiance was permanent and real.

The rest of the journey was easy: several days on the Aurora, helping the sailors and becoming sailors ourselves. We worked hard, helping with everything but we knew nothing of the sea. We didn't feel relieved when we got to Saint John: we had learned to loved the sea in just those few days and we felt the ocean might be the perfect getaway from the crumbling world around us.

But we had to go on. We were careful as the Confederation had been in control of the territory for quite some time but they still permitted life to go on as normal as it could. For three days, we avoided contact with anyone, hiding in almost destroyed buildings or in the surrounding wilderness. Finally, one night, we entered an oil tanker bound for Reykjavik and prayed for the boat to sail soon.

And it did. They discovered us but we begged for them to let us go as soon as we got to the mainland. Of course, we had to make an agreement: we were slaved for the duration of the journey. Everything from kitchen duties, to moping floors and cleaning bathrooms. I cried every night, wishing all would end. Eric couldn't infuse me with positivism as he felt exactly the same.

We we got to Iceland, we realized the journey wasn't over. The capital was filled with confederates and we needed to avoid them at all costs.

The truth is that we were part of the resistance, the one that existence for just a few weeks before the invasion of our country and the signature of the annexation treaty. A puppet president, a former president to be exact, was established and we became something less than a colony. Eric and I met for the first time after I had put a bomb on an official's car. He saved me from being arrested and I thank him for that up to this day.

We offered our work as fishermen and soon we had steady jobs, fishing herring of the coast. Our boss was a fat oppressive man, but he was fair nevertheless. He never missed a payment and even let us live on one of the boats.

Two months after arriving in Iceland, we were sent to Akureyri, a small port in the north coast. We sailed alone, the two of us in our boss's boat. I think that was when I really fell in love with Eric. The beautiful scenery, the relative calm and the fact that we could finally be open without anyone looking, pointing or eavesdropping, were all ingredients for it.

But life was a bitch with us, with all the letters. In Akureyri we met with the boss's son, who wanted us to fish in some dangerous places. We were obliged to do it as we had no papers and, officially, immigrants were banned. So we did it, we had to use explosives for fishing and I almost blew a hand off when using one.

It all ended one night, after we had arrived from our fishing trip. We were exhausted and in need of food. We didn't had much money so we shared a plate of herring and a beer. And then, again, the looks came back. It was like being in our country all over again. We finished fast and left the place.
A group of men followed us, surrounded us and beat the crap out of us, with a metal pipe and their arms and legs.

We thought that they were going to leave us there, in a dim lit street, but they decided to put us on one of their cars and rode for more than an our. I was on the edge of fainting but couldn't. Eric did faint but he was woken up when they got us out the car, by the road and the started again. They spitted us at the end and one of them peed on our heads. They laughed and threatened us and then they left. I finally fainted, wishing I was dead once again. I thought that if needed, I would kill myself if I woke up.

Sure enough, we didn't died. I woke up to a sniffing and licking dog. He was a shepherd dog. I recognized it as my grandfather had one when I was little. I could only open my eyes a bit but not talk or stand. I couldn't see Eric and I thought of his death. And I cried, with horrible pain all over.

So it happens, the dog's name was Odin, as the norse god. And his owners were farmers. They owned sheep in a small farm near Lake Logurinn. I have no idea how these two elderly people could do it but hey put both of us on the back of their car, alongside bags of manure and dog food. I fainted and had a an awful dream, of the beating and Eric dying. It seemed to go on forever until I woke up.

It was a beautiful little house, made of wood, as if it had been taken out of a fairytale. The room was small, only big enough for a double size bed and a furnishing with some drawers. After I had overcome the pain of my injuries, I noticed Eric sleeping besides me. He wasn't dead. I hugged him, hard, not caring for our physical pain. Him being there was everything.

We recovered slowly but steadily. Antonia and Carl told us we reminded them of their two sons that had left the country to fight the Confederation in Canada, some years ago. They decided to pick us up and help us as they thought of our parents.
We told them our story, nothing edited out of it and they offered us their home and kindness. They lived on the cotton they could sell and asked us for help so we learned the craft and in a few months we became farmers.

It was painful but, in order to fit in completely, I had to change my name. I became Johannes. Eric's name was just perfect, as he was after all that happened. Often alone on the hills and fields, we could really fall in love with each other. sharing every single part of our lives. And we were fine with it. Only taking his hand made me feel safe, even if this place seemed to have been forgotten by the world. The Confederation never came here, we were told by our friends, they only cared for resources and the vicinity was deprived of minerals or anything they would care to steal.

A year after our arrival in the country we were able to build a small house near our friends home. We did it ourselves with stones and wood. I think that helped us regain some trust in ourselves and makes us heal psychologically.

And that was our life. For five years, before the Big Battle, we were happy and everything was perfect. It wouldn't last forever but that wasn't important: we were given time with each other and to heal and I have always being grateful for that.