Now I Know I Am Not Alone

Several emails expressed confusion and dislike for part 5A. Hopefully, after reading 5B, readers will understand why it took almost two years to face writing this last chapter. There will be no more stories. Joe Xenakis

Now I Now I Am not Alone -- Part 5B

"Gyres"

I got up, turned off the satellite and TV, and went to the kitchen to get some sodas and chips. I knew that this would be a long night; I could feel my stomach tightening into a knot. I had to re-live the nightmare with Dimi. I had to re-live it for my son's sake, hoping that he would learn, as I had, from it. When I returned with glasses, a litre of Coke, chips, dip, and napkins, Alan was slouched in a chair next to the reading table; He had his legs out straight and he was masturbating. He hesitated for a second when I walked into the room. I told him to keep going and he just looked at me and smiled sheepishly. I sat down in the chair near his. I could not avoid watching him as his rhythmic strokes grew faster. He tightened his legs, his muscles bulging, and lifted them off the floor slightly. His strokes became very fast as he arched his back; he placed his other hand over but away from his dick to block the cum that was about to erupt. He held his breath, quivered, shook all over, and moaned as his cum exploded from him into his hand and poured down onto his boxers and leg. It seemed like a never-ending stream flowing from him. Finally, he moaned as he exhaled a very deep, slow breath, and collapsed in complete relaxation.

"Here's some napkins," I said quietly. "Clean yourself and your boxers off. Otherwise they will be like cardboard in the morning."

"OK," he said as he began wiping the puddles of cum from his leg, boxers, and belly button. "I thought you would be upset that I did it right in front of you."

"No, Alan. More than ever, now you need it."

Without saying a word, he got up from the chair, his semi-erect dick, wet with cum, still sticking out from his boxers. He walked over to me and sat on my lap, hugged me real tightly, kissed me on the lips and said, "Dad, I love you!"

I reached over, picked up another napkin, and wiped the rest of his cum from his dick, saying jokingly, "I don't want you to drip all over my boxers too!"Alan sat there for quite a while in my lap, holding me closely, crying a little, and occasionally kissing me and telling me that he loved me.

"I think it is time to tell you about the dark times."

Without saying anything Alan got up and pulled his chair close to mine and I breathed deeply and said, "Alan, you have to remember that this is very difficult for me!"

"After I called Dimi, I was delighted! I thought he was lost for sure and that I would never see him again. My father wired me some money and told me to get an apartment off campus so that Dimi and I could be together before we came home. I went right out and found a place in the old city that would be perfect for us. I moved all my stuff from the dorm; summer school was over and everyone was just hanging around for exam results before heading home. I waited expectantly for August 5th to arrive.

I was at the airport two hours before his plane was scheduled to arrive. I was nervous with excitement as I checked the arrivals board for his flight every few minutes. Back and forth I paced, walked up to the board, looked and then walked away. People waiting must have thought that I was crazy, behaving the way I did. Finally, it happened; I saw the word ARRIVED' next to his flight. I clenched my fist and punched it up in the air and screamed YES.' Everyone around me looked at me with bewildered looks as I bounded off to be first at the exit gate. I wait ed and waited as waves of people cleared Customs and flowed toward the gate. I never realized how many people a 747 held. I began worrying, asking myself if Dimi was really on the flight. Then I noticed someone! I saw what looked like a kid, walking alone with a large backpack on his back. He walked slowly toward the exit with his shoulders hunched forward and his eyes looking down, almost as if he were ashamed. He was tall, pale, and very lanky. I could see a mojo bag hanging from his neck! I knew it was Dimi. I screamed his n ame but I got no reaction. I screamed ever louder, so much louder that people around me gave me a funny look, but again I got no reaction. Finally, he crossed through the gate, still looking down, almost as if he were afraid to look up. I ran right up to him, my arms outstretched and said:

`Hey, Dimi Dude, wazzup?'

There was still no reaction. Finally he looked up. Tears were running down his cheeks. He tried to smile, but it was only a half-hearted attempt at a smile. Behind his eyes wet with tears, I could see pain-- a pain that I would soon come to know all too well."

"What was wrong with him, Dad? Why wasn't he happy to be with you again?" asked Alan.

"That was my same reaction, Alan," I answered and then continued, "I walked slowly with him to the outside exit and hailed a taxi to take us to the apartment. Finally, he spoke,

`Hi, Joey. It's. . . it's... good ... to see you.' He said falteringly

I was pleased and disappointed at the same time. He knew me but he seemed to be distant. His mother had said that he was doing real well in therapy and that the doctor approved his flying to Greece to be with me because it would be good therapy for him. Maybe he just need some time to open up. My father and mother had not given me many details about the eight months that he was missing other than he had gotten lured into a porn ring and that he had gotten addicted to drugs and was HIV positive. But I had read part four of "Now I Know I am Not Alone" that his psychiatrist had him write as therapy, but I always felt that after he vanished, the story closed too quick ly, almost as if he were racing through that part intentionally. He had compressed eight months in just a few pages.

When we got to the apartment, he took off his pack and sat on the futan. I sat down next to him and tried to put my arm around him, but he pulled away.

`Dimi, what's wrong? Aren't you glad to seem me?' I begged.

`Yeah, I am, but I'm not the same. I'm dirty now, trash . . .'

`No! You are not! You're my mate. Remember? We promised to stick together no matter what, helping each other! I still wear your ring. Here it is!'

For a brief moment, he smiled, and then reach up and clenched his mojo bag. My ring was not on his finger; I knew it was in the bag with that lock of my blonde hair.. I got up and went to the refrigerator.

`Ena Fix, Dimi?' I said in Greek, asking him if he wanted a Fix beer.

`Yeah, sure. Why not.' He answered as he shugged his shoulders.

Several beers later, he had loosened up quite a bit. He began to cry and rock on the futan, saying,

`Joey, you have no idea the things that I did, the things I had done to me, no idea. Remember when Costas taught me that lesson about porn pictures? I have been on the other side, the side no one sees. It's much worse, worse than any nightmare you have ever had. Just remembering it terrifies me and tears at my soul."

It was getting dark so I got up and turned on the fluorescent lights and he reacted almost immediately by curling himself violently into a fetal position on the futan.

Turn them off. Please! I can't stand bright lights. They scare me. They make me remember . . .

I turned them off immediately and then turned on a small table lamp by the futan. I told him that no matter what, I still loved him.

No, you don't know what's happened to me, Dimi said angrily.

He stood up, took off his T shirt, and I gasped in disbelief. I could see round burn scars all over his breasts. Other scars around his nipples appeared to be scars from numerous bite marks. The burn scars wandered here and there down to the belt line of his pants. He turned away from me, opened his pants, dropped them, and then pulled down his underpants. What had one been a beautiful butt, smooth and soft, was now a criss-crossed mass of herringbone scars inflicted perhaps with some sort of woven belt. The herring-bone scars continued down the back of his legs to below his k nees. I could feel my stomach begin to heave. I thought I was going to throw up.

`Would you like to carress this ass and legs? He hissed. "Wanna put your dick in there? I've had a lot in there: dicks, both human and animal; screw driver handles, dowels, lady-finger firecrackers, bottles, ears of corn, and a lot of other stuff I can't remember. I just can't remember! I can't remember because I was so high on drugs. The scars inside me in my brain are worse than any on the outside!'

I was crying as he continued.

`How about this?' And he turned around, revealing his dick. He paused, took another drink and then continued.

`Wanna suck on this? How would you like this in your ass?' he sobbed and gasped for air as he began to cry.

I had been standing a few feet from him. I was crying, but when I saw what they had done to his dick, I dropped to my knees and then fell back on my haunches and sobbed uncontrollably. The cigarette burns continued down into his pubic hair--what was left of it. Hair cannot grow where there are scars. He had been circumcised, but it looked like a butcher job, not because of unskilled doctors but because they had to remove skin that was seriously and irreparably infected. On one side the circumcision scar was about an inch below his head; on the other side it dropped much further down. The head of his dick too bore scars fr om cigarette burns. Dimi had been butchered by these animals for their own perverse pleasures and profit. When he became useless they abandoned him, hoping that he would die just as so many others before him! I couldn't take it any more. I could feel my stomach heaving and I had that feeling in the back of my mouth. I ran to the sink and threw up but continued crying and sobbing between gags on vomit."

I looked up at my son, Alan. The whole time I had been speaking I was either staring away from him, almost in a trace as I spoke or I was staring at the floor. He was visibly shaken. I could see tears in eyes. I got up from the chair and moved to the couch and he followed immediately and curled up as close to me as he could, trying to get as much of himself in contact with me as possible, and then he placed his head on my shoulders. I could feel his tears dripping on me.

"Do you want me to continue? This is only the beginning. It gets worse. You're pretty upset right now." I whispered every so softly in his ear and he whispered back that he had to know everything and that I should continue.

"By the time I had stopped throwing up, Dimi had fallen to his knees, and then back on his haunches. He was leaning forward with his head on his hands, crying and sobbing. Sometimes, between sobs, he would call out for his mama and papa. I walked over to him and knelt by him and rubbed his head. He did not pull away. Instead, he sat up, still crying and sobbed,

`Joey, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. . .I didn't want to do those things" over and over he kept saying it.

I moved closer to him. I put my hand on his neck. He did not pull away. I moved right up next to him and put my arms around him. He sobbed and trembled, still repeating that he was sorry. I put both my hands around his face and leaned down to kiss him. He pulled back sorta smiled and said,

`Are you sure you want to put your tongue in the same place where dog cock and cum have been?'

I looked at him, wiped his tears from under his eyes, smiled and said "woof." I pulled his face toward mine, placed my mouth over his, and then thrust my tongue into his mouth. Instantly, our tongues twisted around each other, exploring, remembering our love. After what felt like an eternity of exploration, we stopped kissing, hugged each other as tightly as we could, and kept rocking back and forth in each other's embrace.

By then it was well after midnight, and I decided that it was time for bed and announced that I only had one bed. Exhausted emotionally, we both kicked off our clothes and climbed into the opened futan. I kissed Dimi one more time, and we held each other tightly, as if we never would let go again. As I felt my love's body next to me, I began to drift toward sleep, content for the first time in eight months. The next morning, things went right back the way they had been. Aft er breakfast, we decided that we would spend the day, walking about the city. I knew of several places in the Plaka where I could get ouzo easily.

As we sat by The Tower of the Winds, which is acutally an ancient water clock, for some reason, Dimi became very philosophical as he stared at the water running into the fountain.

`Wow! You know, Joey, I really used to look forward in a sick way to when they gave me LSD. Leary was right. It does help you think in ways you would normally not do. Life is all about avoiding pain. The Epicurean philsophers had it right -- the goal of life is not pleasure in itself; it is--what did they call it-- yeah, ataraxia, the absence of pain.'

`This sounds like it is gonna be really, really deep!' I said.

`When we were little, we didn't like our parents to yell at us; it caused us pain, so we tried to be good to avoid the pain. I remember one time when I was seven. I was under the porch with this little girl. I don't know why but we had both pulled our pants down. I was shocked as I looked at her; she didn't have a do-do, which is what I called a dick when I was little. I remember kneeling in front of her and I was feeling around that crack where I thought her do-do should be. I was really upset because I could not find it, but at the same time I was feeling around, my own do- do started getting hard and standing straight up by itself and I didn't understand why. The little girl felt mine and asked why she did not have one too. Just then her mother called her. We pulled up our pants and came out from under the porch. Her mother scowled at her and asked her what was she doing under the porch with that boy. The woman glared at me and I was afraid -- I was in pain and I ran away, thinking I would never do that again.

Later, why I can't remember, I was in the shed in my back yard. I was in there with a boy my own age and we had our pants down. I squeezed his do-do three times and it got real hard and stood up. He did the same thing to me and the same thing happened. We were fascinated. We hung things from the shed on us to see how much it would take to pull our do-dos down. They were toys. My mother called me. We pulled up our pants and walked out of the shed. She did not yell and ask me why I was in the shed with another boy. I could not understand why it was ok to be in the shed and do these fun things with a boy but it was bad and caused pain when I was under a porch with a little girl doing things. Somehow I came to the conclusion that it is safe -- no pain--to do it with boys and not girls. Maybe this is where it all started.Think about it; we spend our entire lives avoiding pain, doing things that will not cause pain. Remember that first night at the festival. We could have walked out of that diving shed, drunk, and nobody would have said much. If either of us walked out with a girl we would have been castrated on the spot. I think all little kids think that way. When the hormones switch in at puberty, some of us miss the switch-over to girls and still listen to that little voice inside that whispers that it is safer to do this stuff with boys than girls. Besides, no boy has ever gotten another boy pregnant.'

With that Dimi walked over to fountain, put his hand in and spun it around quickly, forming a minature whirlpool.

`The little whirlpool, a gyre, is where the turbulence is--all the bad stuff. The water around it in the pool is peaceful and tranquil. Life is like that. The trick is to stay where the water is calm and peaceful; there you achieve ataraxia. If you are sucked into the gyre, currents, cross currents--all elements working against themselves--will create strife as they spin.'

Pretty neat, eh?" he laughed. I got the whirlpool bit from Costas when we were chatting on Casperson beach years ago.'

I agreed with Dimi, partially because I understood some of what he was saying, but also because I didn't want to drive him back into his shell. Anyway, it was an interesting theory about why some boys are gay. After Dimi's deep thoughts, we went to a small taverna and picked up a bottle of ouzo. At Dimi's suggestion, I went into one of the pharmacies frequented by tourists and bought several boxes of condoms. That was a very good idea.

That night, we ate a light dinner, and then opened the bottle of ouzo. Dimi was delighted; he had not tasted ouzo for many, many months. After four shots, he became very melancholic and started talking about the nightmare he had lived through.

`Joey, you know what a snuff film is?' he asked drunkenly and I answered that I did.

`I was in snuff films a couple of times. Once with a Russian kid who got fucked up the ass by a big, black dog. I was so frightened. I don't think I will ever forget his face -- his eyes, yes, especially his eyes. The terror, the pain they showed. I could feel his blood spattering all over my face and chest. The poor kid couldn't even scream because they held his mouth open and kept shoving my dick in it. I still can't remember everything. All I could think of was that I was next and that I wanted enough drugs so I would not fe el the pain...See, there it is again. All I wanted was not to be in pain and I would do anything for it. The other one I was in was really bad. I know I was tripping at the time on LSD. In the other one, the dog did the deed. In this one, I did it. I had sex in every possible way with this Mexican kid. He was maybe eleven...didn't have any dick hair. He did everything to me. Then I,' here Dimi's voice broke and he began to cry,' shoved a red hot poker up his ass. I will never forget the scream, the absolute scream of terror and pain befo re he fell dead to the floor. I killed the kid! I killed him! I didn't even know his name! Look, look at my wrists. See the scars on them. I tried to kill myself with a ball-point pen after I realized what I had done. All those bastards did was laugh and then they poured whiskey on the gashes and taped them tightly with adhesive tape to stop the bleeding so they could make another video.'

Do you know what it is like to fuck a nine year old boy up the ass, hearing him scream in pain, begging you to stop, but you know you can't because they will whip you with belts and withold your painkiller' -- your drugs? How would you like to chew on a little boy's foreskin until he bleeds? Have you ever fucked English bulldog in heat? ...Sucked a mastiff's cock and swallowed his cum until you gag and can't swallow any more, but you know that there is a lot more and you have to do it? Have you ever had horse piss all over you? A horse's cock is the most disgusting thing in the world to suck on and lick, but you have to do it or they beat you and withhold your painkiller! Have you ever had someone push his whole hand up your ass? I have. I have-- I really have. I have done all these things and more. Do you how often I prayed to die in my sleep? Shame! Disgust! Perversion! Fear! I knew them all. They were my constant companions. I imagined constantly putting a gun to my head to end it all. One boy drove a pencil into his brain to end it all. Another drank anitfreeze. But they were usually very cautious about their performers; they rarely if ever slipped up and left anything around that could be used in a suicide attempt. My nightmares are always with me, awake or asleep. Even now when I see a dog, I am terrified. They never, never, never go away!'

I put down my glass of ouzo and put my arms around Dimi. I assured him that the nightmare was over. I pulled his head toward me and kissed him and began to undo his belt. Responding immediately, he finished undoing his own belt, hiked himself up and pulled his pants and underpants off. He asked me to be gentle because his penis hurt anytime he had an erection especially when some one touched it. He also reminded me that I would be absolutely necessary to always use a condom. I got up, walked to the counter, picked up two, and a tube of KY, and walked back and gave him one while I undressed. I laid down between his legs a nd gently began to lick his inner thighs, working my way up to his balls. Eventually, I carefully placed his dick in my mouth and sucked him ever so lightly, lubricating him with my spit and then generously covered his shaft with KY. I got up and then laid down on my stomach and spread my legs wide, positioned the tube of KY just inside my asshole and then squeezed until I could feel my rectal cavity filling with its coolness. I got up on all fours, and Dimi positioned himself behind me and thrust into me with one violent thrust. I gasped in pain but this was only the beginning. He thrust violently in and out of me. He held me so that I could not roll away. I begged him to stop because he was hurting me. His thrusts became more violent, as he dug his nails into my hips where he was holding me. With one violent thrust that actually pushed me along the floor, then he cumed. When he withdrew, I collapsed on the floor, the pain was incredible. Realizing what he had done, Dimi screamed, jumped up, and picked up a carving knife from the kitchen as he ran and locked himself in the bathroom.

I was terrified! I knew what he wanted to do. The other times he had failed because he really did not have a weapon. This time, though, he did and he was on a painkiller -- ouzo! I was at the bathroom door in an instant. I begged him not to do it.

`No! I don't deserve to live. I hurt you just like I hurt all the others. I'm an animal. I deserve to die. Mama, papa, why? I hurt Joey. Why did this have to happen to me. I'm a good boy. I dived for the cross on Epiphany. Why? Why am I being punished like this. Please, tell me. Please!'

Dimi went on like this for a half hour. I could not reason with him. If I kicked the door in, he might just do it this time. I tried to talk to him, reminding him of all the good times that we had had -- Anclote Key, the trip to Patagonia, Universal Studios, Sea World. I tried everything, but he kept going back to back to that one idea -- that he deserved to die. I knew I could not call the police. Finally I decided to take a gamble."

`Dimi, if you kill yourself, I want you to know that I will kill myself too. I can't lose you a second time. Believe me, if you do it, I will do it right after you with the same knife!'

There was silence and then I heard the barrel bolt open and the door creeked as it opened. It had worked. My threat had brought Dimi back to reality. I was scared and really never realized how unstable he was, but this time I was able to pull him back from the edge. I hoped that I would never have to do it again.

Joey," Dimi sobbed with his condom still hanging from his now limp dick, Im sorry. The darkness, the nightmares came over me. I don't know how to love anymore. I only know how to hurt, how to make pain, and worse. Look what I`ve done to you. Look at the blood on your legs."

Dimi insisted on cleaning the scratches on both my hips, apologizing over and over for what he had done. Finally I said, `Look Dimi, get something straight; you are not in your nightmare world anymore. It is over. We are together again. Our parents have accepted us for what we are. Let's just look at it as one of those bad things that we said we would accept. You made love to me, and I really would like to make love to you now. Still crying a little, Dimi took my hand as I led him over to the rug by the futan. He laid down on the floor and spread his legs very wide. I picked up the tube of KY and knelt between his legs. I could see scars even around his asshole as I carefully applied the rest of the tube of KY to him. He said he had no right to ask but he begged me to be careful and not hurt him. I worked the KY in slowly, one finger, then two, and finally three. Then I put my condomed dick in ever so slowly and then took it out and put it in a little further and took it out again. I repeated this until I was in completely. My thrusts were so gentle and slow that his body barely moved beneath me, and when I cumed even that lacked the spasms and twitching I normally experienced. I would do nothing to hurt him. Afterwards, I laid there, kissing and licking the back of his neck.

We both fell asleep on the floor. My dick was still somewhat hard and still in Dimi when we fell asleep. When we awoke the next morning, our hard-ons were gone, but our condoms were still on. We carefully removed them, and Dimi took mine and poured my sperm into his condom and then squeezed the contents into his mouth. It was the best he could do, given his positive HIV. I smiled. I felt that I had my Dimi back."

I stopped my story and told Alan that I could use a glass of soda because my throat was getting dry. He quickly got it for me and then resumed his position curled up in my lap. He took my hand and placed it on his boxers. I could feel his hard penis beneath. I instinctively started to pull away, but he begged me to leave it there because he felt safe that way. I half-heartedly agreed, and left it there. Before I could begin again I found myself feeling that throbbing warmth beneath Alan's boxers, and I began stroking it instinctively because I was drawn to this boy. Maybe Alan, like Dimi, was lost and really needed to feel love rather than just lust.

"Please, Dad, keep doing it. Please!" moaned Alan.

I continued stroking him softly. He reached down and popped his dick out from within his boxers.

"Do you want me to take them off to get them out of the way, Dad?" he whispered and I said "yes."

He hiked up quicky and in an instant they were on the floor. He was beautiful, lying there in my lap in the glow from the one lamp. He was completely smooth, hairless except for the small circle of brown hair around his penis.

"Dad, why don't you take off your boxers too?" he asked.

I knew what was coming. I welcomed it because I knew that Alan was alone now more than ever and needed to be really loved. I told him to get up and I slipped my boxers from me. He sat right back down in my lap. He postioned himself so that my dick was between his legs, standing up right against his balls.

"That feels perfect, just the way I have always wanted it." He giggled.

I took his long, thin dick in my hand and slowly began an up and down motion while I caressed his head with my other hand. Shortly, I could feel his butt cheeks tighten, and see his legs stiffen. He started to place his hand as he had done before, but I told him not to do it. At the moment I felt him begin to come, I put my mouth down almost over his dick and took his cum into my mouth. He gasped and said thank you to me. I asked if he would like it back and he nodded his head so I kissed him and gave him back some of his cum and the rest I swallowed. He jumped from my lap and took my dick in his mouth and began sucking. As he sucked, I told him to stop. I stood him up and laid him belly down on the plushly padded arm of the sofa. He knew what I was going to do. Like Dimi had, he only asked that I be gentle because of my size. I lubed his hole for several minutes with both my tongue and spit. When I was able to get three fingers in easily, I stood between his legs and told him to push like he was taking a shit. As he did that, I slid my penis slowly into him in one smooth motion.

"So that's the secret," squealed Alan as he looked back at me over his shoulder. " None of my friends could ever figure out how to stop it from hurting so much. I barely felt it go in!"

I gently pushed his head back down over the arm of the sofa and began thrusting. Alan grunted with each thrust, asking me to push harder, and I did. He reached behind with his hands and tried to pull me deeper into him. My thrusts became faster, more violent as my dick swelled to maximum size before cuming. Alan's grunts of pleasure had become slight sounds of pain, but he kept asking for deeper thrusts. With my knees, I spread his legs wider so that his bony, skinny, snow-white ass was right up against my dick hair. I could go no deeper. His whole body was riding on my penis as I picked him up in the air and cumed. After I withdrew, he turned around, dropped to his knees and continued to suck my still hard dick, milking all the residual cum that he could from it. He stood up and kissed me, and I tasted that familiar salty taste. Yes, he had give part back to me and the rest he swallowed.

"Now Dad, I am really an your son. Part of you is in me and part of me is in you!" Alan declared proudly.

We stood there naked, and we kissed again. I then told Alan that this would never happen again, but I would always be there for him and that if he ever doubted anything he was about to do that I would never give him bad advice and that I expected him to asked me about it. I looked at the clock and it was already 4 AM. I suggested that we put our underwear back on and continue the story of Dimi's trip to Greece.

With Alan cuddled in my lap again, contented in his love, I again began telling the story:

"When we awoke the next morning, Dimi was still apologetic about the events of the night before. After some breakfast we decided to do a walking tour of Athens. Actually it was more fun to watch the tourists as they meandered about and listen to their guides telling them all the stories, usually not true. We first visited the Acropolis, crawling with waves of sightseers, slipping on the ever-so-smooth stones of its time-worn courtyard. The Pnyx was next. We ended up at Syntagma Square and had our lunch in one of the sunken outdoor restaurants there. Several tourists glanced at Dimi because he seemed out of place with a long-sleeve shirt and long pants when the temp erature was in the 90's and very humid. I asked him if he had checked into having some kind of plastic surgery to remove the more visible scars from his body, so he could enjoy a more normal summer life in Florida. He told me that his parents had, but it was so expensive that they could not afford it. What he said next, to be honest, made me kinda nervous:

`Besides, the scars are part of my punishment for being so evil . . .'

His obsession with being punished for the bad things he did worried me. It was not his fault. None of what he did was intentional and of his own free will. He was in an altered state of consciousness most of the time. I hoped that his psychiatrist would eventually make him understand that. Guilt is a terrible, terrible thing. It can eat away at a person, destroying him mentally and physically. I resolved to be very careful with anything I said to Dimi. I did not what to push him over the edge.

We spent most of the afternoon in the National Museum; unfortunately, I met several of members of my soccer team there, and I just introduced Dimi as a cousin from the States and blew them off. They were annoyed, but I did not think Dimi was ready to deal with their snob attitudes. When we returned to the apartment, there was a letter in the mailbox with a return address that I did not recognize. I opened it, and it was from Dimi's aunt Calandra who lived near Nafpaktos; she gave me her phone number so Dimi could call, and he did without a moment's hesitation.

It felt real good to talk to her, Joey. She asked how I was and I told her that I was getting better little by little. I told her all about you and about us. I was surprised to find out that I have some cousins who are also gay. She told me that my happiness is the most important thing and that I should not worry about what others think. . .It will only cause hurt.' He smiled and then added: See! There it is again, that happiness thing!'

`She lives in a village named Asprias. Everyone knows everyone else. It is like a giant family. If someone is in trouble, everyone else pitches in and helps out. I was there when I was little and I loved it so much. I cried when we had to leave. Someday I would like to go back there to stay.'

Soon, our time together in Greece came to an end and it was time for both of us to return to Florida. I was excited, but Dimi was apprehensive about starting at USF next Spring. I told him to to worry, that everything would be fine. After all, were together again. We were "married" and our parents knew about it and accepted it. Everything bad that had happened was yesterday and we have a lifetime of tomorrows to look forward to.

When we cleared Customs, our parents were waiting for us. We could both feel a wave of delight fill us when we saw them. There were hugs, kisses, and handshakes; they could not wait to see what their sons had brought for them from Greece. Most importantly, there was also a wave of relief and satisfaction because they knew that we were gay, and most importantly, they accepted us as we were. Our parents had gotten us a little apartment in town so we could be together on our own. But, we were told in no uncertain terms that Sunday dinner at home was not optional, alternating between Dimi's parents and mine.

I got a job in Publix to pay our daily expenses. That was where I met your mother, Alan. Dimi, though, could not work; he spent most of his time studying and writing, or going to his psychiatrist for individual counseling or group counseling. His counselor said it would take years of therapy to undo the damage done to him. All was well; we made love frequently, always taking the correct precautions because of his HIV status. Actually, it was a very casual, laid-back lifestyle we were leading. The months sped past, and soon the snow birds had returned. Than ksgiving, then Christmas, and finally New Years. Each holiday brought us closer to our Spring goal at USF. We delighted in watching Achilleas, Theo's friend, dive and retrieve the crosss on Epiphany in Spring Bayou. Both our familes were going to attend the St. Nicholas Greek Festival in February. Everything was going so well. Then things began to fall apart.

We were sitting in MacDonald's having lunch on Saturday when a group of high school kids came in. They snickered when they went past us. They sat on the other side, where we could see them. They keep looking over and laughing and pointing in our direction. One of them traced the Greek letter "P" in the air and laughed. I knew what they were talking about and it upset me, but it enraged Dimi. He got up and went over to them, and they laughed with delight when he did. They were baiting him and he took the bait!

`You got a problem, kid?' Dimi belligerently said to the one young boy who had traced the "P."

With that, another boy, perhaps seventeen or eighteen and a varsity wrestler, stood up and took over:

`You're the one who'se got the problem! Suck any dog cock lately, Pretty Boy?' He defiantly replied, looking for a fight.

I watched Dimi emotionally collapse in an instant. His head dropped; his hands fell from their defiant position on his hips to his side. I could see the back of his neck turned deep red. I could onliy imagine how red his face got. He had been psychologically kicked right in the balls. Another varsity wrestler got up to continue the taunts:

"Hey, Pretty Boy, I hear you're good with horses too. My uncle has some on his farm. Wanna go out there and get it on with them?"

I grabbed Dimi by the arm and pulled him out of there; he was emotionally comatose. As we left, the taunting continued and I looked back over my shoulder and yelled,

`Nefas scata!' [Eat shit].

Now a new nightmare appeared to be beginning. Everyone at that table knew who we were. They were wrestlers and were on the same team that we had been on. Our pictures, if school had not removed them to be morally correct, hung in the wrestling trophy cases next to the trophies that we had won. As we sat in the apartment, Dimi, still emotionally crushed, shaking with tears in his eyes said,

`How'd they know . . . I can't understand how they know that I was called Pretty Boy? How do they know about the horse? What else do they know?'

`Well, the only thing I can think of is that they got ahold of one of the tapes that those creeps made of you. It makes sense. Those guys made those tapes to make money not just for fun. Those kids don't care that you were, for all practical purposes, kidnapped, drugged, and made to do those things.'

Matters became worse very quickly later that afternoon when the mail arrived. There was a brown manila envelope addressed to Dimi. He opened it and fell back on the couch, screaming, No! No! No!' It contained an 8x10 color picture of him naked, masturbating himself and sucking a big dog's dick. He screamed Why?' and ran out the front door.

I called his psychiatrist, his mother, my parents right away. The doctor advised us to find him right away. We drove all over town for three days looking for him, but he was gone. He had vanished into thin air. I knew that he was over the edge that I had always feared after the episode in Greece. Each night when I went to bed and prayed that he would return safely, I dreamed I would be awakened by the police, asking me to come and identify his body. For two weeks, I waited. Everyday when I came home from work, I hoped he would be there, but he wasn't. I had all but given up hope when I came home from Sunday dinner at my parents' home and found him asleep on the couch. I was overjoyed, but I was worried. He looked terrible. His clothes were filthy and mud-stained, and he looked as though he had not eaten for some time. I tried to wake him up but I couldn't. As I shook him, I saw something on the inside of his forearm -- numerous red welts. I knew what they were; I had seen pictures of them in health class -- they were needle tracks. Dimi had started shooting himself up with some drug, probably heroin.

I sat by the couch all night as he slept. I was going to call his parents but then I decided that it would be best that they didn't know right now. I cried a little and worried a lot. The next morning when he woke, he was a different person: nasty, angry, and violent. He was still high on whatever he had injected himself with:

`You little shit. This is all your fuckin' fault. If I hadn't got drunk with you that night at the festival none of this would have happened. Now because of you I am all fucked up; I have no friends. I'm a freak and everybody knows it! Even my parents don't love . . .'

`Hold on! You don't know what your talking about! I love . . .'

You fuckin' little queer!' Dimi interrupted angrily, I should never have let you do those things to me in the shed that night! It's your fault. You fucked up my life with . . .'

I fucked up your life! I did it!' I came right back at him, I was the one who passed out in the shed. I woke up and you were frenching me and holding my balls; you're the one who put me in fuckin' hospital for three months. I was the one who stayed when we got caught and I faced the music, but you ran away. Me? Queer? Hey you're the one who fucked dogs and sucked them off!'

With that Dimi, in a rage, kicked the coffee table across the room, tore the mojo bag from his neck and threw it at me, and then stormed out of the apartment.

I lived in the apartment for a month. I prayed that Dimi would return. I regretted the terrible things that I had said to my him in anger, but he never returned. At the end of the month, I moved back with my family, and a month later I started dating your mother, Alan. She was the one who helped me emotionally after Dimi left. She knows the whole story about me and Dimi, and she loves me very much in spite of my gay background. She feels as does my psychiatrist that I am more probably bisexual than homosexual. She said it made no difference, she still loves me. She is a very wonderful woman and I would never do anything to hurt her. I think you should be that way with her too, if you know what I mean."

"Dad,' Alan said solemnly, "I will never ever do anything that will hurt you, mom or anybody else. Did you ever see Dimi again?"

"No," I answered hesitantly. "There are things that I still have great difficulty dealing with, but he is is Asprias with his relatives. I promised Anne, my mother, and his family that I would go make my peace with him while we are here in Greece."

Alan hugged and thanked me for sharing the story of the dark times with him and for loving him. He said that he would try not to make any mistakes in dealing with being gay. Matt, who just woke up, wandered into the library, rubbing his eyes. He had his favorite "Joe's" on, the yellow ones with the eyes, mouth and tongue.

"What's goin' on?" he asked sleepily.

"Oh, not much." I decided to be blunt. "Alan and I just had a very long, heart-to-heart talk about what you told me the other day."

"Matt,' Alan added right away, "Look, I'm sorry that I sucked you and humped you and did those things to you when you didn't want me to. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry, and I'll never do it again to you or any of your friends or mine who don't want to do it!"

Matter-of-factly, as only an eleven-year-old can do, Matt simply said, "OK" and poured himself a glass of soda and picked up some chips.

When everyone came down for breakfast later on, we were exhausted. I had stayed up all night telling Alan about what I called the dark time, and I knew that I would not last the day. I made my apologies to everyone, telling them that the two of us had stayed up all night watching old war movies and that the we really needed some sack time. Aldo said that he would take Anne and the baby to see the archaeological sites in Athens and then to lunch at a roof-top taverna in the Plaka. Matt didn't want to go so Aldo offered to take him snorkeling for the day. It was kind of Costas and Aldo to make these offers. I promised that tomorrow we would venture out of Athens to Delphi and perhaps Meteora, and then on to Asprias and Dimi.

I awoke the next morning to the sound of little Dimi's crying. It was six in the morning. Anne had just gotten up to feed him. I must have been exhausted because I never hear the little fella cry for his earlier meals. By nine we were all packed and ready to go. I made some telephone calls confirming our hotel reservations in Delphi and Meteora. We said our goodbyes to Costas and Aldo and we were off on the traveling part of our trip, even though I dreaded our final destination, Asprias.

The drive from Athens to Delphi took about four hours. As usual, we had the traditional fights about whose CD's belonged to whom. Ownership of the CD player was again hotly disputed. The boys were fascinated by how the road in the mountains zigzags madly. In the distance they looked like scratches cut into the terrain. Anne was not pleased at all, sitting in the passenger seat, as she look out the window and noticed that we were ever so close to the edge. She really got spooked a few times when tour buses passed us with an inch to spare. When we arrived, we checked into the hotel and then immediately went to Delphi. The boys were amazed how the whole shrine had been cut into a cliff, and Alan took a lot of pictures because he was studying Greek mythology in school. Matt was completely disinterested; he had found another tourist his age and they passed the time jumping from tier to tier in the amphitheatre, first from bottom to top and then from top to bottom. Anne's observation was somewhat different.

"Is everything in Greece like this. If I climb one more steep hill, I'm gonna go on strike. My feet are killing me!"

When we returned to the hotel, we had an early dinner and then went out to enjoy the folk music of the village. Little Dimi, loved the music and the dancers. And he was a hit with them. One of them observed that he must have music in his soul. The boys, not interested in such pursuit, spent their time trying to make friends with the sheep that were grazing in a pasture behind the hotel. The walls in the hotel room were paper thin, and the boys had quite a problem sleeping at first. Alan came into our room to complain. I walked in to see what they were talking about. The room next to theirs was occupied by a young, unmarried couple. Their sounds of love making could be heard loud and clear; they certainly were not being quiet. I smiled and suppressed a laugh. Alan looked at me. He knew what was going on, but just wanted to bust my chops. Matt, however, shocked the both of us when he matter-of-factly said,

"Oh, they're just humping each other."

I could not contain my laughter, I roared and Alan roared with me. Matt looked at the two of us and smiled. Finally, I told them that it would stop soon and that they had to get to sleep because we had a longer drive to Meteora tomorrow.

After an early continental breakfast, we were on the road again. Yesderday repeated itself with the bickering in the van. By now Anne and I had given up, and just ignored it, not even attempting to settle disputes. The terrain changed a little as we moved north and eventually arrive at Meteora. As we pulled up to the hotel Alan stared in disbelief.

"See way up there. See that little hole cut in the side of that mountain that looks like a giant, long potato, that's where a hermit lived his whole life praying. When he was hungry, he lowered down a rope and a basket and people put food in it and and then he pulled it up."

"Where did they poop?" Matt asked, very practically and I answered "You'll see."

We drove to the Vaarlam, the crowing jewel of Meteora.

When we reached the Vaarlam, the kids were delighted. The only way in was by a hand operated hoist. Anne was annoyed because she had to put a long sleeve shirt on and a scarf over her head because she was going into a monastery. As we were hoisted to the entrance, the boys giggled and looked all around. Anne clutched little Dimi tightly; I thought she what kinda scared. The first place I took everyone was the ossurion, where the bones of all the dead monks were kept. I didn't tell the kids where we were going. As we walked down this long dark corridor, Alan commented that the place looked real spooky. As the boys walked past the door to the bone room, I told them to look in. Both of them jumped, and Alan screamed, "Holy shit!" While I was explaining to them what it was, a very low base note sounded; It was like standing right next a very low sounding base drum. Anne and the boys jumped, and I glibly said, "oh, that's the simantron, it's a wooden bell that calls the monks to prayer. As we walked further down the corridor, Matt found out where they pooped. There was an overwhelming smell of poop. It was coming from the monastery's open pit latrine. As we rounded a corner, the boys jumped. They ran smack into one of the monks, robed in black and sporting the traditional long beard. I introduced the family to him and Greek. He was particularly interested in little Dimi. He said that he was "an old soul." Surprisingly, he blessed the whole family. I took him aside and spoke to him in Greek about my fears of facing Dimi and he assured me that I had already been forgiven for my ill-spoken words.

From Meteora we made the last part of the drive, the part that I had dreaded since I first promised Anne, my mother, and Dimi's family that I would make my peace with him. We checked into the hotel in Nafpaktos and then drove the short distance to Asprias. From the time we left the hotel, I trembled, I wondered how I would handle everything.

When we reached Asprias, we went directly to the cottage. Calandra welcomed us. In traditional fashion, she blessed little Dimi and placed a charm around his neck, containing salt, charcoal, garlic, and an old coin. In the country, the old ways are quite strong. I knew it was time; I could feel the fear scream in me when Calandra said,

"Dimi is out in the olive grove behind the stone fence. I told him that you are coming."

As we walked the short distance to the grove, I could feel the fear growing even stronger by the second. Tears ran down my face, and I could feel the muscles in my legs trembling. As we turned behind the stone wall, I heard Alan gasp. I began to cry and sob as I fell to my knees in front of Dimi'sgravestone. I crawled up to it and kissed his picture on it, saying "giasou Dimi."

As I knelt on Dimi's grave, crying and shaking, Anne came up beside me and handed me little Dimi and put her arm on my shoulder. Alan walked up too and placed his hand on my other shoulder. Matt followed and did what his brother had done. I took little Dimi and held him close to me.

"Dimi," I sobbed, " Here is my son, you namesake. Part of me is in you; part of you is in me, and we are both in little Dimi, please look over and protect him always," I sobbed as I laid the baby on the grave in front of me.

"When you left, I said terrible things, evil things that should never have been said. They were said in anger. I loved you then and I still love you now. Please forgive me! We were married; we shared love. You will always be my mate" I begged, as I took his mojo bag from my pocket, scooped some dirt from the grave, and buried it there."

"My ring and hair are with you again forever, just as my love is with you forever."

"This is my family now. Anne, the woman who saved me when you killed yourself. These are my other sons, Alan and Matthew. Look over all of us and protect us."

We all prayed for my lost love, and then I kissed Dimi's picture one last time and we left. A weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It was time to move on. I resolved to always seek happiness and avoid strife. My final, silent vow to Dimi before we left was that I would protect Alan at all costs and help him understand what it meant to be gay. Hopefully, I thought, he would grow up in a world where the devils who tortured you will no longer exist and there will be no children who will trace a "P" in the air.

As we walked back to the cottage where Calandra had prepared lunch, Alan asked why I had not told him what happened. I told him that to the very second I saw Dimi's grave I could not face the fact that he had killed himself. I blocked in out. It became a repressed memory, and that his mother and my psychiatrist helped me face the terror of what I thought I was solely responsible for. Making my peace with Dimi was my final absolution.

Calandra met us at the back door of the cottage, she hugged me and said,

"Now both of you are at peace."

The End

January 21, 2004

Joe Xenakis

Venice, Florida

*****to be continued