"Can I get you anything else? A sweet dessert or a hot espresso?" the waiter croons and if I didn't know better I would think he was doing it on purpose. His hand rests casually on Alexander's shoulder and before I can say anything he has already removed it. Nevertheless, dark fantasies form into brightly shining images in my head. The meal passed quietly and yet it was not unpleasant. I am still surprised and deeply touched by Alexander's attention. Again and again we looked at each other, carrying on a silent conversation only through the power of each other's gazes. Not once did the waiter come and disturb our intimacy. But now, when we have finished our meal and a conversation can be reignited, he suddenly stands there and once again ensnares my date. Because his looks speak a clear language. And I don't like them at all. I can read him like an open book and already on page one he has freed Alexander from the blue linen shirt and his trousers. Page two begins with a game of tongues around heated flesh, ends in ecstatic waves and before I can delve further into page three, Alexander grabs my hand and slams the book noisily shut in front of me.

Gone are the thoughts of the interplay between two bodies and the raging jealousy that seethes tirelessly inside me. I try to cover it up as best I can. However, I doubt that I will succeed. I am a bad liar and my emotions are often exposed for all to see.
"What do you think Magnus?" asks Alexander, smiling lovingly at me.
"Do you fancy some dessert?" And how I do. His thumb caresses the back of my hand, tiny little pulses of sparks and electrifying lightning shoot through my body. Alexander's bright eyes capture me and a wish forms in my head that I would be his dessert.

"Why not?", I reply harshly and clear my throat. As his eyes leave mine I feel lonely and alone. Alexander's attention turns to the waiter and the swirl of fiery jealousy is already stirring again.
"What can you recommend Sebastian?" he turns to the waiter and this sight does not please me at all. Curious and cautious, I watch every reaction and even the smallest facial expression. The waiter's glittering eyes make me gag slightly. Also his tongue that first draws a shiny trail, teasing, teasing. It's disgusting as puke.
"Well, there's baked apple tiramisu with almond brittle, for one. A warm chocolate tart with liquid caramel centre and chocolate chilli sauce, or delicious plum and cinnamon ice cream with caramelised plums and gingerbread sauce."

"That all sounds very good. What do you think Magnus? What are you in the mood for?", Alexander asks me. His fingers glide ceaselessly over my skin, everything in me is in turmoil as warm fingertips slowly travel under the sleeve hem of my shirt. The hairs immediately stand up, stretching towards the touch of this beautiful man. I stare at wonderful pink lips, wine-soaked, and I want nothing more than to taste them. I have already forgotten the enumeration of the different kinds of sweet sin.
"Magnus?"
"Yes. What?", I ask, slightly confused, and gingerly shake my head. It's unspeakably hot in this restaurant and right now I want nothing more than a little cooling down. Maybe a gentle snowfall, white innocent stars. I can almost feel the cold and taste the purity of the glittering snow. Alexander clouds my senses. Yet I need them to not seem quite as inexperienced and insecure as I really am. He doesn't need to know that this smart handsome man is dating a virgin.
"You decide." I have no idea what's on the menu anyway.

"All right, then. Then I'll have the tiramisu and for the most handsome man in the world, the chocolate tart." Embarrassed, I avert my gaze from Alexander and smile beatifically. He thinks I'm beautiful. Me. A frustrated growl shatters the moment and the soft blush on my cheeks gives way to glowing red anger in my eyes. Furious, I spark at the waiter and he at me. We engage in an eye duel, the moment is brief and yet I feel like the secret victor. Because the greasy waiter turns around swinging and if he had hair as blond and long as Rapunzel's, it would land loudly clapping in my face at this exit. Grinning triumphantly, I feel euphoric. Alexander is here with me, I'm his date and I can unabashedly hold his hand and slobber all over him.

"Shall we play a game Magnus? To shorten the waiting time?", Alexander interrupts my stare. I wonder at the question. A game? He wants to play a game? Which one?
"Which one?", I ask cautiously.
"Nothing bad," he replies with a laugh, dispelling the rising tense atmosphere.
"I want to get to know you even more. Preferably, I'd like to know everything about you. So, are you in?" I nod and listen to his rules, which are very simple. We each ask a question and we both have to answer.
"You go first," I say and I could swear the grin on his face is something he stole from Lucifer. Suddenly I'm overcome with fear. What if he asks sexual questions?

"Let's start harmlessly. What's your favourite colour?" Relieved, I exhale. This is easy. There is no such thing.
"None. What about you?", I reply with a shrug, earning a confused look.
"How none? That's impossible. Everyone has one."
"I don't. I like all colours. Even black. Dark black as a fellow student so poetically described my hair colour recently."
"I see. Do you know him well?" asks Alexander, eyeing me intently. Is he jealous now? Is this what jealousy looks like? Lips pressed together into a thin line, jaw grinding and blue eyes flickering restlessly back and forth? I don't ask him about it.
"Not so good. We had a project work together last semester. But that was about it. Do you have any pets?", I immediately follow up. The wheels in his head are still turning.

"No. I always wanted a cat when I was a kid. But my parents were against it."
"Why?", I ask with interest.
"The same reason they didn't send me to school. They were constantly afraid I would catch germs and bacteria. After the operation I had to stay at home for a few weeks and since the school year had already started, I got private lessons. And it stayed that way until my twelfth birthday. I was fine, I took my medication and finally wanted to have friends. Just a normal teenage life. Not just my sister and this stone-old teacher who smelled of garlic and was always philosophising about volumes of poetry and unsolvable staples. It's not forbidden to have a pet when you're a transplant. But the doctors advise against it. What about you?" And once again, his open and honest nature surprises me.
"Um... Yes. No. Actually, yes," I stem, sorting through my thoughts for a moment.
"My grandparents had a dog. A big black dog with bright eyes and a disposition as gentle as a flock of sheep. He didn't have a proper name. We called him 'pelindung'. That means protector. My family always lived in poor circumstances. There was nothing to get. But his size and deep growl alone kept many a scoundrel at bay. Hence pelindung, protector."

"That's nice. My favourite colour is blue," Alexander says, and now it strikes me. He hadn't even answered that question yet.
"Blue suits you very well. It brings out the colour of your eyes. I have never seen such a blue on a man," I breathe.
"Says the man with the mesmerising eyes and a unique beauty. I'm sure you've turned countless men's heads." No I haven't. At least not consciously. Excited, my heart beats, wanting to tell him everything. Every longing, every dream, no matter how small, and not to start our acquaintance with a lie. But the devil in my head screams at me, bares his teeth and buries razor-sharp claws deep in my flesh. Alexander surely expects an experienced man who knows what he's doing and doesn't come immediately at every little touch. Pretty sure an Indonesian male virgin is the last thing he wants. My gay sex life was limited to first experiences in the silence of the night and porn with forbidden hot guys. I know the feeling of ecstatic waves that flood my body when my mind takes a journey into the land of erotic fantasies. Early on, I realised that it's not enough for me to simply give satisfaction with my hand. Simple masturbation, a quick rub of my hand over the hard cock and a hot porn actor in front of my eyes are not what brings me the feeling of absolute satisfaction.

Indonesia is not one of the most tolerant countries on our beautiful planet. The fear of discrimination and exclusion, even imprisonment and beatings, has always been there and even a country like the United States of America, are not always as free as their country motto says. How I would have loved to let a man with strong arms fuck me into unconsciousness and take me away to a better free future. But this was not so. My imagination was the only thing I had left, and so in the sheltered darkness of the night I went on a regular journey. I had images in my head of various tall men with dark hair, faceless, because their bodies were the most important thing. Every time I closed my eyes and hands moved over my skin, I imagined that they belonged to the chosen man in my fantasy. I felt the touches as if they were real and not just a dream, an erotic fantasy from the deepest levels of my mind. My heavy breathing pierced the silence of the night, my fingertips teased hard nipples and I touched my cock only when it was almost unbearable.

I first came to enjoy sex toys and their special appeal almost two years ago. Sexuality is something Indonesians do not talk about. Prostitution is a crime against morals and customs. Although it is widespread, tolerated and part of everyday life in the alleys of Jakarta. Prostitution is illegal and the police are happy to overlook it. Not altruistically, of course. Brothels, street prostitution, erotic massages. Young girls and boys in women's clothes. Everything the heart of the western man and the locals desires. Only it's not what I desire. I never wanted a foreign man to take my virginity in some backyard of a dirty alley. You look in vain for a sex shop in Jakarta and the rest of Indonesia. Instead, I did what many men in my situation do. They help themselves and use objects like a pen or the handle of a brush to experience the pleasures of penetration.

It is a secret I carry deep inside me. Shame and fear accompany me that my actions are immoral and that people will judge me for what I do. The first time I entered a sex shop, the sun was burning hot on the New York asphalt and intensified all the smells of the city. It was stiflingly humid, hardly any air to breathe and although I was used to some of the heat, it felt different. With a wildly beating heart, I stood in front of a nondescript shop, which only revealed its enormous potential after crossing the threshold. 'Rainbow Passion' and my gay self was in seventh heaven. A friendly older gentleman with still full blonde hair and a deep grating voice welcomed me with glee. I looked around hesitantly, greeted him silently and my eyes could hardly keep up from all the impressions. A small rainbow flag in the shop window was the only indication from the outside that it was predominantly male gay patrons pushing their hard-earned money across the counter here. And the name of the shop. Actually, it was obvious. Still, uncharted territory for me.

In one corner of the shop hung all sorts of combinations of leather with and without studs and zips to reveal important details for erotic lovemaking. Leather masks and striking tools for the playroom. After a brief but interested look, I went further into the depths of Rainbow Passion. Excited tingles accompanied me from the moment I entered the shop and as I stood in front of the lavish selection of dildos, plugs and prostate stimulators, I thought I heard angels singing. I had always dreamed of this. Unlimited possibilities opened up and yet I was kneading my hands in embarrassment when the owner of the shop suddenly and unexpectedly appeared next to me. He was very friendly and seemed to sense my uncertainty.

"Your first visit to a sex shop?" he asked and I nodded. His smile drove away all my worries and thoughts.
"Do you want anything in particular or just to look around first?" I knew what I wanted. Only I didn't know how to use it. My decision to face him openly and honestly was the best decision of the day. Steven took his time, explaining to me the different toys in his range and how to use them. He told me right at the beginning that I could ask him any questions I had. He had already experienced a lot in his twenty-three years as the owner of one of the oldest gay sex shops in New York. The variety was overwhelming. Dildos with and without vibration, plugs in different sizes and materials, penis rings and lubricants. There was something for every taste. His friendly manner, the open look and a casual saying on his lips made it easy to trust him. Light-hearted and with a head full of answers, I left Rainbow Passion hours later and have returned there more often since. A satisfied smile on my face and an unassuming bag in my hand. That was the beginning of new experiences and no matter how much the vibro egg in my butt or the not-so-small dildo pleases me, they are no substitute for a real man's penis.

"Magnus," Alec says softly and I blink a few times.
"Where have your mind been?" he asks me, chuckling. Pretty far away. I still don't know what to answer him. For one thing, I don't want to keep secrets from him. For another, I'm uncomfortable being a virgin at the age of twenty-two. You don't talk about such things on a first date, do you? Do you? I don't. My head feels strangely empty and I feel so stupid.
"That bad?"
"No. Not really," I counter, shaking my head. Alexander grew up in a different culture. After all, his parents didn't disown him after he came out. Did they even know?
"Did your parents know you liked men?", I ask cautiously. From what I've learned, they were close. But not all parents are as tolerant as one might think.

"Yes. They knew. I had my coming out at 16, so with my parents. For me, it was clear early on. I was coming from a date and he hadn't exactly been squeamish. My neck lit up like a Christmas tree and I couldn't hide it. It was summer and my parents were sitting in the garden on the terrace when I tried to get into my room silently. Well, my mother always had good ears and an excellent sense of smell. My father was laughing his head off when he saw me and I was so uncomfortable. It was so embarrassing and I cursed Simon so much at that moment. Of course they wanted to know everything about my lady of the heart and I chewed nervously on my lower lip. I remember clearly, Mum pulled me to her on the bench and Dad switched to the other side. It didn't take two seconds and she was looking at me thoughtfully. I will never forget her words. "No girl Robert." That was all. Nothing more. I looked at my mother and there was so much love in her gaze. All concerns and doubts were blown away from one second to the next. The huge boulder still lies in the garden of my parents' house. At some point, my father understood what his wife was trying to tell him and all he replied was: "I hope he likes to go fishing."

"And? Did he like to go fishing?", I asked.
"Yes. Simon liked to go fishing. That went on with us for a while, but didn't make it through high school. I wouldn't want to miss that time and the experiences that came out of it. He was my first boyfriend and I had my first time with him too."
"I don't need to know that much," I relent.
"Sorry. What about you? How did your parents react?" It's now or never. Truth or lie. I swallow dryly and my throat tightens. All sounds around us have stopped, it's quiet and you can hear a pin drop. Nervously I look around. No, it's noisy and the other guests' conversations are not about my sex life. They are caught up in their own world and pay no attention to us.
"Not at all. I'm not out of the closet. And you're the first man I've dated since I've lived in New York." I exhale in relief. It only feels half as bad as I thought it would.
"Yeah, I can imagine it wasn't easy for you to always pretend to be someone else. Not all countries are so tolerant and believe me when I tell you, you are not the only gay man in Indonesia and you are not alone." Alexander squeezes my hand tightly and smiles at me lovingly. This gesture is worth a thousand words and it means an infinite amount to me.

"I know."
"On our trip through Indonesia I met a man and got very close to him. He told me his story and at the end of the day we ended up in my hotel room fucking all night. A week later he married a woman he didn't love and his parents had chosen for him. I know, Magnus. It's okay if you're not ready to come out. But you should know that I find you incredibly fascinating and hot."
"You surprise me. How casual you are about it."
"What, that at worst you're going to deny me for life in front of your family? The thought isn't pretty. But no one can force you to take that step. And it's worth a try. Because only when we try do we know if it works. Or if we fail."
"Alexander... I..." Deep breath Magnus. He is so understanding and would prefer a carefree life with an outed man to an uncertain one laden with doubts with me. This is all too much and I decide to trust Alexander.
"I think you're hot too and you're smart and loving and beautiful. I can totally imagine what it would be like to live with you. But I don't know if I could bear to lie to my parents for the rest of their lives," I answer honestly. And this honesty is rewarded with a gentle smile.

"You don't have to walk this path alone. We are just getting to know each other. Who knows where the wind will take us?"
"Me to your bedroom soon, I hope," the waiter suddenly interjects without being asked and Alexander chokes on the wine he was about to drink. Coughing, he waves his hand and I finally burst my collar. Furious, I jump up, my thighs slamming against the edge of the table. Hissing, I suppress a curse and the bottle of red wine in front of Alexander thuds dully on the table. Blood-red liquid stains pure white and I can no longer ignore the blazing hot jealousy in my veins.
"Enough," I say in a firm loud voice. But that's as far as I get. With my mouth open, I stare at the scenery before me. The contents of the expensive wine run ripplingly over the table. The fabric of the table linen cannot absorb the quantity. So it is the fabric of Alexander's trousers that greedily soaks up the grape juice. His reaction is too slow, the grey fabric turns dark. I suppress a loud curse as the waiter grabs my napkin and starts rubbing the fabric of Alexander's trousers.