9: Hanging off the Cliff

“I know three gay men. All three wear tight pants most of the time. However—” Dieter lifted a finger, looking at us in stern concentration “—I shouldn’t assume all the gay men in Germany wear tight pants all the time. And if I wear tight pants, it doesn’t mean all people will think I’m gay,” he summarized.

“That obviously depends on the exact tightness of the pants,” I said, nodding. Christian snickered.

“Okay, how tight are we talking?” Dieter asked, completely serious, of course, looking from me to Chris to Mattias and back, intent on inhaling all the new knowledge he could get from us.

Mattias burst out laughing, as did Christian, hiding his face in my shoulder.

“What did I say?” asked Dieter.

“Guys,” I warned. “Guys!” I repeated, louder.

“Sorry.” Mattias coughed and cleared his throat.

“What’s this gaydar thing? Explain it to me.” That was Dieter’s fifth non-sequitur in the past thirty minutes. It was like he was preparing himself for a test in queer culture trivia. Mattias took over the conversation, explaining as accurately as he could.

It was an unexpected but instant friendship. Adorkable. Christian and I kept grinning at each other as we witnessed Mattias and Dieter discussing sexual orientation versus identity, religious differences between southern and northern Germany, Donald Trump’s presidency, gay rights in former Czechoslovakia, and…the health implications of vegetarianism. Oh, no.

“No offense, dude, but I’m a doctor. There are peer studies on that. You can get all the necessary protein you need from vegetarian food. It’s a matter of balance. People don’t need meat to be healthy. On the contrary. Have you seen the statistics on colon cancer in Bavaria and the Czech Republic?”

“That’s irrelevant! It’s the combination of smoked pork and alcohol that increases the risk of colon cancer. You won’t get colon cancer from eating chicken.” Dieter waved his chili chicken wing at Mattias.

“You can’t ignore the horrifying circumstances the animals—” Mattias began, but Christian seemed to sense the danger at the same time I did and jumped in.

“Guys, do you want to order another round and talk about something less explosive, maybe?” he suggested.

Dieter grunted and chewed on his chicken wing.

“I’ll go with you,” Mattias offered and stood, leaving me alone at the table with Dieter. The pub was packed. Christian and Mattias would have to fight their way through the masses.

Dieter licked his fingers and wiped them on his gray cotton T-shirt. He pushed his plate away, in the distinct direction of where Mattias sat just a second ago, and sucked on his teeth loudly. It was like a crash course in macho-man dining etiquette. He proceeded to rinse his mouth with the last of his beer and leaned toward me. I loved how utterly unselfconscious he was.

“Are you dating Christian?”

Oh. “We’ve been friends for a long time.”

“I know. He talks about you all the time. Are you boyfriends?”

Not to be offensive, but I had Dieter for a socially awkward, mainly clueless nerd, and his line of questioning had me laughing with disbelief.

“What the hell, Dieter?”

“I like him. He’s a good friend. I’ve never had a gay friend before.”

“That’s not—”

“I know everything about you,” he continued, venturing into positively creepy territory. “The only thing he wouldn’t tell me is what kind of books you’ve published. That’s why I guess they’re porn.”

Completely stunned, I corrected him. “Gay erotica.”

“Like I said. Anyway. Christian is nice.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is this the ‘if you hurt him I’ll hurt you’ talk?”

He shrugged. Dieter couldn’t be that perceptive. He was fishing. I implemented the best strategy for any delicate negotiation around secrets: deny everything. Deny it twice and three times. And if they find out, deny it anyway.

“I agree, Christian is genuinely nice. I like him very much. He’s also twelve years my junior. Our relation—”

A fresh beer materialized in front of me, and Christian sat down by my side. It seemed natural he would sit with me, leaving Dieter and Mattias on the other side of the table. He was close. Too close. My lies stuck in my throat; I squirmed.

Dieter watched me, his face completely blank. Christian’s arm brushed mine, and he leaned into my space, the faint smell of aftershave and All Things Christian muddling my brain. He took a clean beer mat from the center of the table, and his eyes met mine. He grinned. I sat back. Swallowed. It would be my last drink for the evening. I couldn’t risk losing control with him this close.

When I looked back at Dieter, he was still watching me with exactly the same expression. That is to say, no expression at all. There was a pause. Mattias scanned the crowd and took a sip of his beer.

“I want to go to a gay club,” Dieter said.

Mattias choked but forced his beer down without spluttering. “Sure.” He sounded a little hoarse. “The 2000 is open tonight. Should be quiet this early.” He coughed, patting his chest with his palm.

“Are we sure?” Christian hinted, raising his eyebrows.

“I’ve never been before,” Dieter stated as if it were a matter of course for a straight guy to want to go to a gay club with a bunch of homos because he’d never been before.

On the other hand…it might be fun to rattle his cage. “Okay,” I said.

***

The club was half empty. Dieter scrutinized his surroundings as if we were on a tour of a museum. It was low-key—like everything in Freiburg—not a thong-clad go-go boy in sight. The music was slightly sultry, with deep, bone-vibrating beats. There were a few people dancing: a mixed group of students, both guys and girls, and then there were a few couples, too. Two of them were very close, arms slithering, hands searching. Before Dieter could unscrew his head, Mattias gripped him around his shoulders and nudged him toward the turquoise-lit bar.

The bartender’s gaze swept Dieter up and down; he recognized a tourist when he saw one. The guy had a canary-yellow sleeveless shirt and a military haircut of the exact same color. He exchanged a raised eyebrow with Mattias—of course, they knew each other, Mattias was a regular—then he leaned over the counter, focusing entirely on Dieter. His biceps bulged. “Wie kann ich dir helfen, Schätzchen?” he sang, making Mattias roll his eyes.

Dieter took a step back, sensing a trap.

“Just give him a beer, Lutz. For me, too,” said Mattias.

The bartender grinned and reached for a glass. “You guys?”

We took our seats by the bar. I was ready to order soda but Christian got there first.

“Two tequilas,” he exclaimed over the music.

I looked at him sternly, but he waved me off.

“It’s Friday,” he said.

I could handle a tequila. Just one, though.

***

Fridays were slower than Saturdays, but the club was filling up. Dieter observed the crowd from his safe spot by the bar. Mattias was subtly playing bodyguard even though the chances of anyone hitting on Dieter were slim. Our friend held his beer with both hands, like he was nursing a thermos in a snowstorm.

I’d had two tequilas. I said a firm no to the third. Christian asked me to go dancing, and, silly me, I refused. For safety reasons. My safety. Which meant he went by himself. Which meant he was now surrounded by fawning, slobbering leeches of all shapes and sizes, while I stood by the bar with Dieter and Mattias, watching the show. I needed a blanket. To hide underneath.

An extremely tall guy in a fitted black dress shirt tapped on Christian’s shoulder. Chris twirled around. The guy leaned close to his face and said something into his ear. Chris laughed and said something back. My insides knotted, and I was off the barstool, marching through the crowd toward Chris. The man’s hand landed on Christian’s arm while they talked, swaying to the rhythm, their cheeks almost touching, the man’s lips brushing Christian’s pierced ear.

And then the guy in the black shirt leaned back, patted Christian’s shoulder in a friendly gesture and disappeared into the crowd. Christian turned and saw me. He smiled brilliantly. He took my hand and tugged me closer, wrapping his arm around my waist. I hadn’t noticed the music slowing down.

“You changed your mind!” he whisper-shouted into my ear over the beat.

I was trapped.

So, we danced. His body was wriggling and sliding in my arms, too close and not nearly close enough, his sweat, sticky yet slick under my palms, the shock of blond hair, blinding bright under the strobe lights, the heavy thumping of my heart; I couldn’t… Couldn’t.

He slid closer, his hands sneaking up my arms and landing on my neck. He laid his head on my shoulder, rocking gently. The music wasn’t that slow. Was it? I couldn’t hear it over the ringing in my ears.

I rocked him in my arms and squeezed my eyes shut, inhaling the scent from the top of his head. He sagged in my embrace, leaning into me even more, his hip… Oh my god, was he…?

A palm touched my shoulder blade, and I tore away from Christian as if electrocuted.

“Dieter wants to go home,” Mattias shouted. “You guys staying?”

“No!” I said, too fast. Christian stood in front of me, watching me with drooped eyelids. “You look exhausted,” I said, scrambling for a way out.

***

My fists stuffed in my coat, I grit my teeth and marched home. The tequila soured in my stomach; I felt ill.

I’d been hard. Chris, too. I’d felt him. What if he’d felt me? He would wake up tomorrow, sober, and remember. Shit. Shit. Shit!

“Are you okay?” he asked, startling me.

Mattias had stayed at the club, and Dieter shuffled a few steps ahead, his nose on his screen, looking for the night buses to Stusie.

“Yeah. Of course,” I said, my voice too bright. I didn’t dare look at Chris to ascertain if he saw through me. Instead, I watched the tips of my black leather boots. Left, right, left, a cigarette stub, right, left…

“Thanks for tonight.” We passed Kaiser-Joseph-Strasse. Soon, I could head off to my place, leaving them to wait for the bus alone. Just fifty more meters.

“He’s had the time of his life, I’m sure,” Christian continued, discreetly pointing toward Dieter.

“I agree.”

“I’ve had a great time, too,” he said. We stopped at the corner of my street; the bus stop was farther on. Chris was looking at me expectantly. What was supposed to happen now? I blinked, focusing on his face. He smiled gently, not moving away.

Oh, my fucking… It felt like a date. Did it feel like a date? Why did it feel like a date?

“Chris, the bus leaves in four minutes!” Dieter called, walking backward.

Christian stepped closer. Before I could say “bye” or “kill me now,” he wrapped his arms around my neck and pressed a kiss to my cheek.

I flailed.

“Night,” he whispered.

And he was off. Somewhere in the background, Dieter waved. My body on autopilot, I waved back.