Sonata for Siggi - 2. Allegro ma non troppo

A knock on the door. Arnar’s head appeared in my room. “Siggi, you have a guest.” He seemed pleased. He was always pleased when I did something that most people my age took for granted, like having friends over, going to the cinema, or just talking to the shop attendant. None of those happened very often.

“A guest? Who?” I had no friends to speak of, apart from Arnar’s co-workers in the orchestra. None of them were likely to willingly spend their Sunday afternoon in my company.

“It’s Dmitri. He says he came by to check on you after what happened yesterday. Can I let him in?” Dmitri. The new oboist. The guy who wanted to have sex with me up to the point I took off my trousers and had a mental breakdown that almost landed him in jail. Not the most likely person I expected to show up in my bedroom the very next day. Just thinking about it generated strange feelings that I would rather not have to deal with.

“Ok.” Dmitri came in wearing the same grin from when he introduced himself to me. He made it look like everything that happened from that point onwards had not really taken place, and we were going to start anew.

“You play the cello?” That was a redundant question when I was sitting with said instrument between my legs practising a series of boring etudes. He unceremoniously approached my chair, stopping by my side so he could see what I was playing. “Those look pretty advanced, as far as I can tell. Have you been playing for long?”

“About ten years now.”

Dmitri was impressed. “Wow, you must be really good! I play oboe for six years.”

“Only six years? And you’re already the principal?” As far as I knew, that kind of thing was unheard of. Even Arnar had almost twenty years of playing before he joined the orchestra.

“I know. I can’t believe my luck either. Though I got my audition in special circumstances, so…” His hand found my shoulder. “Can I listen to you play something?”

“Sure, why not.” Dmitri sat on my bed and assumed the over-dramatic pose of an enthusiastic audience. I played the beginning of a Vivaldi cello sonata that I knew from memory and he listened attentively.

“Wow, that was really good! You’re very talented!” Dmitri clapped with disproportional enthusiasm and stood by my chair again. The grin returned to his face. “I bet we’ll see you join us some day!”

“That’s what I want.” It was the one thing I allowed myself to dream about; one thing to keep me going when everything else was just endless darkness.

“It’ll be really cool!” A hand on my shoulder again. “Listen, I came here today because I wanted to see if you’re ok. Are you feeling better or…?”

“That’s an unfair question to ask. I don’t feel too bad now, but someone like me can’t really feel good most of the time.”

“Is that because of the penis thing?” Was that what he was going to call it, then? Did he still not understand what it was all about, or was he just trying to be nice about it?

“It’s part of that, but not the whole thing.” Why was I telling him all of this? Why was I not feeling scared of telling him about all my failures and weaknesses? “I’m a sick person in general.” Maybe it was an unconscious plan to make him get away from me before I got too attached and hopeful. Self-preservation at its finest.

“Sick as in ‘I-fuck-dogs-and-chickens’ kind of sick or sick as in ‘hospital’ sick?” His phrasing was somewhat amusing. This kind of thing seemed to come naturally to him.

“The hospital kind. I’m allergic to just about everything humans can be allergic to, and I have asthma, and a body that seems determined to kill me.”

“That sounds bad.”

“I spent most of my early years in hospital because every week or so we discovered a new allergy. It was so troublesome my mother left me when I was four because she was tired of taking care of such a weak child.” His hand squeezed my shoulder. “I don’t think I have changed that much since then. You saw it yesterday; I’m horribly weak, pathetic, disgusting, and everything else.”

“Don’t say that! You’re not those things!” Dmitri kneeled on the ground to make our eyes level. “I still don’t understand what happened yesterday, but I think you had to have a good reason to cry like that.”

“You seriously don’t understand it?”

“I think you were sad because of something to do with not having a penis. Is that right?”

“Yes and no.” How could I explain it to him? How could I tell him how horrible it feels to be afraid that the person next to you, who seems to want you so much, will suddenly turn his back on you because of an ugly mistake in my body, will erase everything he already knows about me and remember just that imperfection? How could I let him know that every time he tried to be nice to me, it put me even more on edge because I knew the higher the climb, the worse the fall?

How could I tell him that I cried because he was being so nice that he made me fear the moment he would change his mind?

“See, I don’t understand you, Siggi.” Of course not. Dmitri had the body he wanted, and that body worked the way it was meant to. He would never understand. “But I still want to be your friend. We were having a good time yesterday before it went bad. I don’t want to forget that.”

I did not have to open my mouth. I told him none of my questions, none of my fears, yet he somehow found a way to address all of them. He could not have done it on purpose. But he did it. Somehow.

“You really want to be my friend? Despite everything that happened? Despite how my body looks?”

“Yes, that’s right. I want to be your friend, and if you want to, I’m ok with continuing where we stopped yesterday.” He grinned. Openly. Confidently. Sincerely. He spelled out his willingness to stand by someone fucked up like me. What could I say to that?

“From when I took off my clothes?”

“From when you asked me to kiss you and bite your neck, and from when you told me you wanted to do a lot more than that.” His face moved closer to mine. He kissed me. Gently. “I brought some latex-free condoms too, just in case.”

“You came in here expecting we would end up fucking?”

“I came here hoping we could be friends. There are no expectations about sex. It’s just a nice bonus.”

“Does Arnar know you want to fuck his sixteen-year-old son?” My foster father’s reaction yesterday implied he might not be too happy about it.

“No, but this is not about him. Do you want us to fuck? Or should we be just non-sex friends?” It had still not completely dawned on me that Dmitri actually wanted to fuck someone like me. He was fully aware of my anatomical limitations, but it apparently did not matter to him. The implications sunk in painfully slowly, but once it did, something began to change.

“I want to fuck. I’m scared shit, but I want to fuck.” As used as I was with feeling mostly disgusted and disappointed with myself, the anticipation, fear, and determination took a while to register.

“Then we can do it. Tell me what you want, and we’ll find a way to get it done so that you won’t get scared.” Dmitri got up and headed to the bed. I put my cello aside and followed, though with my legs turning to jelly it was no small feat.

We sat on the bed facing each other, and he asked me to take off his shirt. He wanted to do the same with mine, but I hesitated. “I think I want my shirt to stay on for now.” Just because he was not discouraged by my lack of a cock, it did not mean the unwelcomed growth on my chest (even if almost too small to be noticed) would have the same effect.

“Fair enough. Want to take my trousers off, then?” Dmitri helped me strip him until he was completely naked on my bed. His cock was about as big as my largest dildo, the kind that could have come out of a porn movie. “Are you staring at my dick, by any chance?”

“I like the size. I thought it didn’t happen in real life.”

“I think you’ll see that I like to challenge real life.” Grin. Welcoming arms inviting me to an intimate hug. “Do you want to play with me or should we take off some of your clothes too?”

“Let’s play. I’ve never had a naked man in my bed before; I want to use the opportunity.” So that, in case all his reassurances turned out to be empty words at the moment of truth, I could at least say that once in my life I had played with the real deal instead of a disembodied toy.

Dmitri insisted on putting a condom on before anything happened. He showed the package to me, asked me to make sure it was the right kind. I put it on him with my mouth, getting it halfway down before I had to finish the job with my hands. I was used to doing it with my fake cocks all the time, but the real thing was much better. It answered to everything I did, it made Dmitri’s body twitch, and it made him cry out in pleasure. He was either faking very well, or my years sucking phallic silicone had finally been put to good use.

The deeper I managed to deep-throat him, the more amusing his cries became. He was definitely swearing in Russian, and each new movement of my tongue generated a longer stream of words. If I kept this up long enough (or, I dared hope, frequently enough), I could potentially learn a whole new language.

“How does it feel now?” My mouth tasted like plastic rubber. There was saliva all over my chin and, of course, his cock. His body was sweaty. He looked too desperate to let go.

“You’re far too good for a sixteen-year-old virgin.” His answer came with sagged breaths.

“Blame my ‘training camp’. I have more sex toys than underwear.” All hidden under the bed. Ready for use at a minute’s notice. “Do you still want to fuck me?”

“I’m ready when you are!”

I got Dmitri to climb on top of me; my back was on the mattress. One hand got rid of my clothes (except the shirt), the other held on to his hair, encouraging him to bite my neck until there were bruises.

“The thing I told you yesterday about having my period, does it bother you?” His answer was to bite my neck so strongly my whole body was shaken by the pain. He tried to apologise, but I kept holding his head in place. There was no reason to stop. I grabbed his cock for the added incentive. “Fuck me in the ass. Any way you want.”

He found a bottle of lube. I turned on my stomach so that my ass was facing up. He prodded it gently with a finger. I needed more. I assured him there would be no mess (due to something I learned from being frequently horny and frequently prone to excrete solids-not-quite-solids from the back hole). He could use his whole hand if he wanted.

“Are you ready for it?” My ass was up in the air, held in place by one somewhat sticky hand.

“I’ve been ready for years. Just go already!”

It hurt more than I expected. He stopped when he sensed my body’s resistance, but I kept pushing against him. I wanted everything in, and fast.

“Are you ok? It hurts?”

“Yeah, and that’s the best part!”

He hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you. Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, I like this stuff. There’s a reason most of my fake cocks are about as big as yours. I can take it.” To prove my point, I slammed my body against him. I moved my hips to get what I wanted until he was finally persuaded to help me out.

The one good thing about being too afraid to fuck strangers was that I had had plenty of time to figure out what I liked to do with my own body. I had known what I wanted for ages. I was just never brave enough to find someone to do it with. I had always known how unlikely it was that a gay guy would want me and my disgusting body, so I learned to rely on myself.

I moaned. Grabbed the covers. Bit the pillow. He forgot his reservations after a minute or so. This was so much better than being on my own. Not being in control of the cock slamming into me was liberating. Painful. Pleasurable. It got faster and faster, until it was almost too much to bear. I touched myself. He grunted. I came with his cock inside me on wave after wave of pleasure. So many orgasms that by the time he was done my legs were shaking too much to support my body. He pulled out, let go of my hips, and I collapsed on the mattress.

“Wow, that was very cool.” Dmitri laid by my side. His back on the mattress, slippery hand caressing my hair. I barely had the strength to turn towards him, half of my face buried in a pillow. “You have lots of energy.”

“I call that ‘years of wanting to fuck, but never finding the right partner.’” He took the condom off. There was just a little bit of blood on it. “Can I see it?”

“Why do you want to see the condom?” He passed it to me, and helped me turn around so I could look at it properly. My lower body had stopped functioning already.

“Because I’ve never seen semen before.” I envied those who could squirt white jelly at will instead of bleeding from their nether regions once a month. I should have been like this. “I want to see what it feels like.” I lifted my (sweaty, sticky, damp) shirt to uncover my belly and smeared the condom’s content there. The white sticky mess was warm and clung to my fingers a little. I tasted some of it. “It’s not as horrible as I was told it would be.”

“You look sexy.” Dmitri’s eyes were on my face. My mouth. My eyes. “I had fun with you.”

“Me too.” Finally. Sex with a real cock. “I never thought I would do it. With a guy, I mean.”

“Why not?” Confused. Clueless. Was he really not getting it at all?

“Because gay guys don’t want guys without penises. I didn’t think anyone would be interested.”

“You’re sexy, penis or not. I don’t really care.”

“I can see that.” Dmitri snuggled closer to me. His hand rested on my cheek, and he inched forward for a kiss. I grabbed onto his shoulder, pulling him closer. Those were lazy kisses, spread all over our faces, just because we had nothing better to do. He thought I was sexy. He saw my body for what it was, and still kissed and touched me. Still pounded my ass mercilessly at my own request.

Dmitri wanted to be my friend.

I was just beginning to warm to those thoughts when a terribly familiar sensation burned through my body and closed my throat. I struggled to breathe as my airways closed, my tongue swelled up, and the skin on my belly and hands erupted in red swollen patches.

An allergic reaction. Of the worst kind.

Dmitri panicked as I struggled to reach my bedside table. He forgot he was completely naked and stinking of sweat and sex and ran to the door calling Arnar’s name. I found my EpiPen, but my hand had become so full of painful red blisters that I could not grab it properly. It dropped on the ground.

Arnar came rushing in. He did not notice Dmitri was naked, or that I was wearing just a shirt. He ignored the gooey, reddened mess that was staining the covers under my ass. He saw me on the edge of the bed, the EpiPen on the ground, and acted quickly; he lifted my leg, stabbing it with his own EpiPen. He helped me sit against a pile of pillows, made sure I was breathing better, and bolted out of the room to call an ambulance.

“What’s going on?” Dmitri was still standing near the door, too shocked to move. I struggled to breathe properly, even with the adrenaline injection, so I could not answer him. “Are you going to be ok? I did something to you? I hurt you?”

Arnar came back into the room, phone in hand. “The paramedics will be here soon. They know it’s you.” After sixteen years of frequent hospital visits, all medical professionals in Reykjavík knew me by name.

“Siggi will be ok, right?” Dmitri’s panicked state got worse the longer he stayed without an answer. As much as I would like to believe it meant he cared about me, it was impossible to not fear that witnessing an episode of anaphylactic shock would make him too scared to ever get close to me again.

“He will be fine when the paramedics come. They’ll take him to hospital and he will stay there until at least tomorrow.” For Arnar and I, this was as much routine as going to school every day. For Dmitri, it was like I had been sentenced to death.

“Oh, no! Why? What did I do?”

This might have been the first time Arnar stopped to look at our situation. He finally noticed Dmitri’s nakedness, the sticky mess around my ass, and the sorry state of the bedcovers. “I could ask you the same thing. What were you doing?”

And so Dmitri got another reason to be terrified. Arnar did not look particularly angry, but after he threatened to call the police when Dmitri did as much as hug me the day before, he could have sounded like sweet diabetic desserts and Dmitri would still be scared. “Nothing he didn’t want! I swear!”

“I think I can see that much.” Arnar sighed. To his credit, he was looking pointedly at Dmitri’s face instead of his cock. “But if you don’t tell me exactly what that meant, we can’t figure out what triggered him.”

Dmitri told him about our wild-ass fuck while Arnar tried to get me dressed before the ambulance arrived. He noticed the red rash on my belly and hands before Dmitri could mention my exploration of the discarded condom.

“What is this? Did you rub something here?” The rashes took over most of my exposed skin, forming a trail that corresponded exactly to where I had smeared Dmitri’s semen.

“When we were… er… done…” Dmitri struggled to tell the whole story. His linguistic skills were probably limited by his fear of what had happened to me and his fear of what Arnar could do to him. It almost made me glad I was not in his situation, but it did not last. Just the effort and concentration to get the next breath reminded me that, in fact, I would be glad to be in anyone else’s situation. “He took the condom from me and played with it. He put my… my stuff in there. Wanted to play with it.”

“You rubbed Dmitri’s semen on your stomach?” Arnar turned to me. He tried to sound as neutral as possible, but his face showed he was not very thrilled by my idea of fun. For survival reasons, I was much better at recognising subtle signs of anger than happiness. Arnar’s good intentions were not enough to mask his real emotions.

I nodded. Arnar examined my belly carefully without touching the rashes. Dmitri approached too. He did not seem aware he was still completely naked in front of his colleague.

“All this is because of me? It’s all my fault?” Dmitri was mortified. He knew me for barely a day (and a fuck), but my sorry existence and my body’s habit of over-reacting to the real world scared him and made him feel guilty. It was not his fault. My body was a failure. I was weak. He just happened to get caught in my mess.

The paramedics came just then. They all knew me, of course, so not many questions were asked. They paid little attention to naked, well-endowed Dmitri (professionals as they were), focusing instead on making sure I could breathe. Arnar told them what caused the rashes on my body and they were not impressed.

“Allergy to semen is rare, but it exists. I wouldn’t be surprised if it is what happened here.” One of the paramedics gave the diagnoses. I wanted to tell her I would not be surprised either (being a gay guy allergic to semen fit perfectly with my body’s life mission of fucking me up, after all), but speaking was still difficult. The paramedics gave me more adrenaline and moved me onto a stretcher so that they could carry me down a flight of stairs and into the ambulance.

Arnar came with me in the ambulance. Dmitri wanted to go in the ambulance to, but Arnar reminded him of his state of (un)dress. For some reason not being able to follow us all the way caused Dmitri a lot of distress (he had been given plenty of chances to get away from me, yet he was pointedly refusing to take any), so much that Arnar ended up giving him money to get a taxi to hospital.

“You know, Siggi, I was a bit weary of Dmitri and you getting together because he’s a lot older than you and because I barely know him, but it seems like he is trying really hard to be your friend.” Arnar told me this as the ambulance took off from our house, leaving naked, distressed Dmitri behind. “Are you going to let him in?”

There were many reasons for me to say ‘no’. Having a friend meant giving someone the power to hurt me. It meant being more open and vulnerable. It meant showing the worst of me, and then having to trust them on their good will to not move away.

Dmitri’s first meeting with me almost put him in jail. Our second meeting landed me in hospital. As long as the next one did not end up in my grave, it might be worth the risk.