--- When I rest my face on his stomach, feel his breath, everything is like water – jump in!

When I say that, he opens his arms, takes me like a child in a crib that gives it’s father a good night
kiss; but there’s no kiss in that moment, and he’s no child and I’m no father.
Jimmy says that he could lay like this forever, - his head pressed against mine. Our breathing.

„I know nothing-“, he murmurs.

„You have so many feelings..“ - He even turned off the lights when we felt how new this day
is.*See me, feel me, touch me, heal me – See me, feel me touch me, heal me..

*from ‘Tommy’ by ‚The WHO‘

After dinner with Jimmy… Our lips attract each other’s like magnets, we lay so close to each other
as two can lay who are both each other’s child; I didn’t know that something like this exists. Three
times he makes an advance downwards, gives it up, it’s simply not within the feeling, feels forced.
We both have dry, sticky, sniffy lips, for a long time I have his between my own, he pushes his
tongue between my teeth; I feel the strong part of the roof of his mouth from the inside, his teeth are
like warm stones –
Three times someone comes into the room (K and P), turns the lights on – obviously irritating, but
we’re both still inside of each other (even if we quickly made ourselves normal on the outside); we
must have seemed like nocturnal animals that freeze in place when the light of a flashlight hits their
eyes. I don’t care what they think; - once they’re gone again, then we come back together, so clear,
so light and so pure –
His stomach, his body – his skin everywhere: you can’t get in; that’s cruel. With every moment it
becomes clearer how you can’t get into somebody else, – we remain apart..
And still it works. Sometimes it works. It’s the Carmina Burana play, and it only works with very
few, I think. A dance. I know I’m going to learn so much with Jimmy. Without naturalness you’re
never going to get into somebody. Going to be close to somebody. Fucking doesn’t help with that.
That’s not really being close yet. Not necessarily, and not that alone –
What we always do, only with our tongues..
And then, when I reach underneath his sweater, he pulls it over my head, puts his own inside of it.
We don’t say anything. What could we have even said?!
amore sucrescente, pariter e medio propulso procul tedio, fit ludus ineffabilis membris, lacertis,
labiis.*
With which density he always achieves what he wants, how he always maneuvers his face towards
mine over and over again; how we first always just lay next to each other, one breathes from the
other. In – out –
Kissing isn’t easy either, it really doesn’t work from the get-go!

Always the ear on the door, undoing everything in three moves, being presentable again in three
seconds.. - but where should we go?

I’m never going to ask Jimmy to come up to my room. I always want it to be his decision –
especially sex.
He’s virtuoso through and through, rythmically, harmonically – when he dances to the most cheap
music, his entire body becomes music; do I only feel like that because I’m… because I’m in love
with him? His dancing is primal - comes from inside of him – is miles away from the broken,
spastic movements that these deodorized, central european bodies bring about.
Jim dances like Alexis Sorbas… - that’s how I imagine him.

Why don’t I give a shit what men my age think of me, why do I almost never try to explain
anything to them? Eighteen year olds, twenty year olds – It’s like they’re from a different planet,
but older men too (is it because of the experiences I made with my father?)
After the christmas vacation..
Krümel wants to come up (to my room), he announced. He likes me, I like him... He is like a shy
(frightened?) rabbit and yet, there is something very special in him; he has a quiet and unbreakable
sense of humor, like a babbling brook - he seems to be so vulnerable, but somehow I don't quite
believe him. He has himself, despite everything.

Then he's with me. Suddenly, Kosta is standing in the middle of the room, making demands:
Krümel should play monopoly with his roommates, as if it were "comradeship".
A long dispute between the two; it becomes increasingly clear that Kosta is jealous.
When it is clear that Krümel will not be coming along, he gives up the personal insults and just sits
around being annoying. Later
he leaves, not without talking at length about my character and my
character traits. Measured reproachfully like an
orthodox monk his last glances come from the door...
So now Kosta had fought Krümel free from Jo - just to have him for himself.
With a crooked back and hunched shoulders Krümel squats with me - then Kosta yells from
downstairs through the stairwell: "are you coming or not?!!"
Krümel gets up, goes to the door; - quietly, with half a voice he calls down, and his voice vibrates
with courage: "No. "

He is then with me until half past nine, with tea and candles (of course he is a tea-drinker),
philosophizing and discovering books (of course he's a bookworm); - he listens to stories and tells
them, is delighted with sarah, the twelve year old girl from Kirchheim, when he sees her photo on
the wall (gets her address, wants to write to her); all the time we compliment each other and talk
fast...
It seems that most people have a quite enormous sensitivity
(so also male beings!).You just don't notice it in every day live, not by themselves, - unfortunately;
and because of this, the people probably mostly forget
themselves, what is inside of them!