Makarovia? Where The Hell Is That? Freshman Year - 25. Chapter 25

We did have a nice dinner, but I watched as Georg would look over whenever Peter would…reach out…without real thought from Peter, and take my hand. You need both hands to eat, so we would break and rejoin the hands. That was just us. I smiled as Olek talked, most mostly it was to Helga. Their conversation seemed to go well. I admit I was a little jealous. I really loved Olek. Understand what I mean. I loved Olek the man, my future brother-in-law. More important, he was my good friend. The idea that someone could take his attention away…I was jealous! It was childish of me, I knew that. He deserved a friend that was just for him! If that’s Helga, fine, but she’d better appreciate if she got him. If she broke his heart, I’d kill her. Then again, Peter would, too. They seemed to be getting along well. Damn it. I kept telling myself that was a good thing.

“So what thing from your country are you ashamed of?” Georg asked me suddenly as I contemplated possibilities for Olek. He words were clear and he spoke English very well, but accented. I found out he spoke German, of course, French, Spanish and then English…in that order. It was clear to see he spoke German and English more.

I smiled as Georg brought my attention back. “There is no one thing. There are a great number of things. The most prominent and more recent atrocity that comes quickly to mind was our treatment of Japanese citizens,” I raised finger, “US citizens, mind you, but of Japanese descent during World War II. There’s still racism is rampant everywhere…KKK, Neo-Nazis, Skinheads against people with dark skin were harassed, both African descended and Latino. People we refer to as black were kept from good educations and prevented from going to school with white people. Every time they got a step up, these groups came to stop them. They were hunted like animals and got angry…and they should be! They were lynched, or just brutally murdered...many times by law enforcement that was supposed to find the very killers. Being rotten is just a human trait. It’s stupid, but unfortunately, human. There’s no one country that’s to blame really. The British knew they were very superior. They went overseas but brought England with them. China had neighborhoods that were British in construction, hired locals as servants where the British kept treating everyone native there as less than they were. The British knew they were. They also had slaves, which the United States did the same thing because we are British mostly and they brought England here where we just kept doing it the colonies. We, the United States and England, would bring people from all over Africa…we enslaved the Native American that lived there first and turned them into slaves on their own land because we were superior? We brought natives from Africa, never asking if they could come and help, but just took them and put people to work because we could. We didn’t have to pay them. We told ourselves because of the skin color, they had no soul? Why? So, we could sleep at night? We abused women, men, and children. Men it was usually physical, with women it was both physical and sexual. Children I don’t even want to know what was done to them. They were no soul slaves, just short of the cow in the barn and they couldn’t fight back, if they did, they died! I can bet you there were a number of men sexually abused. There are some very handsome men who are African.” I sighed. “Even in organized religion. I have a friend who was raised Southern Baptist when he found out why there were different Baptist Conventions, he left the church.”

“Why?” Georg asked. “What’s wrong with being Baptist?”

“Southern Baptist. The Baptist Plantation owners in the South didn’t want to give up their slaves when the North said there shouldn’t be slaves and these Southerner plantation owners formed the Southern Baptist Convention so they would get no pressure from the Baptist Convention.” I smiled as Georg seemed to be listening, but was still having trouble with something. I pressed on. “People are very nice. People are very cruel. They can be loving and warm and kind. They can also be sadistic, cold and rotten to their very core. Those men that left Germany because they were homosexual weren’t hurting anyone. They loved someone that others thought they shouldn’t, because they did things with that other person…with that other person’s happy permission,” I stressed, “because they loved that person!?”

Georg shook his head and said firmly. “But that’s just…wrong.” He leaned forward and whispered. “It’s sick.”

I wasn’t upset or angry. “We’re just talking,” I said quietly as I noticed Olek look overlooking concerned. I smiled and waved for him to continue his conversation. I looked back at Georg. “That’s all. Talking. We’re talking, but are you willing to listen? Or is your views on life that perfect and absolute?”

“You want to change my mind,” Georg said.

I nodded. “Perhaps.” I looked as Olek and Helga were now in a much deeper conversation. “Are you willing to listen?”

“Certainly,” Georg said.

“Olek,” I said bringing his eyes to me. “Do you mind if we take Georg and show him around?”

Olek looked puzzled at Georg. “Is everything alright?”

“We’re just talking.” Peter smiled with a shrug. “We promise no harm to our new friend Georg.”

“Okay?” Olek said hesitantly.

“Relax, Olek.” I chuckled. “You will be fine with just Helga.”

He chuckled and nodded. “Okay.” He looked at Peter and me as he waggled his finger at us. “Play nice.”

“We always do,” I said as we rose to walk through the palace.

“Would you like something to drink?” Peter asked going to the bar in the family room.

“Do you have Scotch?” Georg asked.

Peter grinned. “I like those, too.” He handed Georg his glass.

Georg sat, relaxed and took his drink. “Change my mind, if you can.”

“You don’t really sound ready to hear,” I said taking my own drink. “Why don’t I share…some things I found out about my own people. One of the examples we have; there are a lot of plantations in the South. One of them is a pretty famous one used often in movies and mini-series…I am a Southerner. I was born and raised in the South. I am not proud of that. There’s nothing to be proud of. I was born there and didn’t earn the right to make that claim, I’m just there.”

I continued. “Taking a tour of the place while I was in high school, the history about the South was fresh in my mind. On the tour, the guide was telling us what the various buildings were used for…one a single room. A tiny house. I asked and was told it was a family dwelling.” I laughed. “Making it sound like a single family lived there. There were more than just one family. Twenty, forty, eighty?” I shrugged. “Looking at the size of the plantation and knowing what they grew, they had to have plenty of slaves and the four buildings that were the houses for all of them. Not enough for all slaves needed and house one family for all of it. Then there was a building they said was for the children to go to school. I said to be sure to say that was the children of the main house…children that were white! No African child would be allowed. It was against the law! They were slaves and couldn’t just stop working because it was too hot or they didn’t feel well…they had to keep working! The version of history these people were trying to make me believe wasn’t true. Revised and not as harsh, is a lie.” I looked at Georg. “I’m not getting into the homosexual thing yet, but you do know there were deaths in the camps?”

Georg nodded. “There were. It was a prison camp. These people were criminals.”

“Jews?” Peter asked. “They all were criminals…millions of them?”

“The photos show horrible conditions,” I said.

“Again, they were prisoners in prison. Prison should be harsh; the photos show that. It wasn’t supposed to be pleasant.” Georg said.

“Even a convict doesn’t deserve what I know and have seen.”

“The Jews may have been guilty of things, but millions!? Children! What would a little four-year-old do to be punished like this? They often were taken alive as experiments…medically."

“No,” Georg said, but it didn’t have the attitude.

“Megenle, Goebbels…Eichmann? There is documented evidence. Evidence! What did those millions do to deserve this punishment?”

“They caused a depression because they were bankers, lawyers. They were…” Georg thought, “I am fluent in English, if I get something wrong…they were…left wing?” He waited for a nod and smiled when I nodded, telling him he was right.

“The numbers don’t reflect that,” I said. “It can be verified by computer, but the right wing…the Protestants and Catholics…Germans were guilty as well. The Jews got the blame. Most jumped on that to have a scapegoat. The right wing had bankers, lawyers, but also the Communists and Corporate. The Jewish participants did overshadow the Germans there. There were a number of rural Germans that were part of the right.” I sat back. I wanted to be sure to approach him with him feeling I was confrontational. “Who told you that all in the camps were criminals?”

“My father,” Georg said.

“How did he know?” Peter asked.

Georg sighed. “His father…my grandfather told him. He was a Nazi.”

I nodded. “So, he was there.”

“He was in the service.” Georg nodded.

“Did he serve in the camps?” Peter asked.

“No, he lied about his age to join during the last three years of the war,” Georg admitted. “He had been part of the German Youth Program. He was only sixteen. He was in battle.”

I nodded. “Is it possible he told you that they were criminals to protect you…himself and save embarrassment because no one would approve?” I asked.

“Is it possible they really were criminals?” Georg asked a little testy and his arms across his chest.

I pointed at him. “See? You’re closing up. You’re no longer receptive.”

Georg looked down at himself and sighed. “I just don’t like where this is heading.” He admitted letting his arms down.

“Where is it we are heading?” I asked.

“Where you convince me of your version of the truth.” Georg looked away.

“That isn’t true,” I said. “We’re heading for the truth. Truth is the truth, there are no versions, it simply is.” I said. “But you want me to believe your grandfather’s version of the truth is that truth. There is evidence to the contrary.”

“People lie,” Georg said.

“All of them? Thousands were liberated after the war. There are written and recorded testimonies from American Forces, British Forces and Russian Forces of the horrors they all saw. All of the accounts of survivors of the camps were the same from all the camps! Thousands and thousands said the same things! Why would all those people, I mean, the countries and freed prisoners all lie?” I leaned forward. “There is footage of some I saw in class…treatment of prisoners done by Germans themselves, for amusement later or other things. They are on the internet now. Both enemy soldiers and just prisoners. I can give you the websites addresses. If you’re willing to look.”

Georg was now less defensive. “You’re destroying what I raised to believe.”

“And if you were raised to believe the world is flat, my showing you the world from above telling you it’s round?” I asked. “Should I let you believe what isn’t true?”

Georg shook his head and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “This is history.”

“History that shouldn’t be swept under the rug.” Peter pointed out. “It is very bad.”

I smiled as I was expecting a bigger fight. “But you knew this, didn’t you?”

Georg sighed sitting up and then getting up to walk. His thoughts clearly bothered him. “Do you know why I speak English so well?” He grinned.

I shook my head. “I just assumed everyone in Europe does.”

He nodded and he laughed. “They do, but I was educated in the United States. I went to college in New York, but undergraduate and graduate school, nearly a decade in the United States.” He shook his head. “I was confronted with these histories…everyone was telling me the same things. I refused to believe it.” He shook his head. “I still don’t believe it all.”

“The world is round, Georg.” I smiled. “You’re not believing doesn’t change the truth into a lie. It’s still round. Now, back to Peter and me.”

Georg looked and shook his head, but smiled at that. “You can’t make me change my mind on that.”

“But you think what we do is wrong,” I said.

Georg shrugged. “It is!”

“Why?” I asked. “And before you answer, how open are you talking about sex?”

“I don’t want to know what you two do,” Georg said.

“Why not?” Peter asked. “Your statement saying you don’t want to know, tells me you think you do know. How can you know if we don’t talk about it?”

“We don’t have to tell you what we do specifically,” I said. “Other than that, we all have the same parts. Do you have a problem with saying what they are and what is done with them?”

Georg looked puzzled. “Words like cock, ass or fuck? No, I don’t have a problem hearing or using the terms.”

“The reason I ask, is this wonderful Ivanov family shocked me recently on how open they are with family about certain things. Some things I am the prude.” I confessed with a chuckle. “So, what is it about homosexual loving you have a problem with?”

Georg looked in disbelief. “You can’t ask me that. You know cocks aren’t to go where you put them.”

Peter grinned. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Are you married?” Peter asked.

“I don’t understand,” Georg said.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?” Peter asked more specifically.

“No! I was married, but divorced a few years ago.” Georg answered. “Nothing serious after that.”

“At first, was the sex good?” I asked.

Georg nodded. “It was.”

“I’m only asking this part…” Peter began, “to make a point. You did more than just the missionary position.” It was a statement.

“Sure.”

“Oral sex?” Peter asked. “She to you and you to her?”

“Why do you want to know this?” Georg asked.

“We want to know because you know what we do,” I said. “It’s no secret. I would hope you don’t deny yourself those wonderful things. I’ll tell you what we do. He and I suck each other’s’ cocks. You know we have sex, meaning we do put them up each other’s ass. That bothers you.”

“It’s an ass!!” He explained angrily. “Shit comes out of the ass, cocks don’t go in! Any man that lets that happen is a woman!” He said heatedly.

I smiled. “And there it is.” I got up. “And being a woman is bad.”

Georg’s eyes widened as knew what he said was…it wasn’t what he was supposed to say. “I didn’t say that.”

Peter got up also and came up behind me. “You just said if a man lets a man stick his cock in his ass is woman…does that make him less of a man?”

“It’s not what men do!”

“Yet millions of men disagree,” I said. “Not just gay men, either. Many straight men know about those nerves in a man’s ass that bring intense pleasure. They have their wives use dildos on them or alone. There are other toys like vibrators to bring them to climax. You’ve never done that with your wife or girlfriends?”

Fair skinned blondes can’t hide their expressions well. He was turning red telling truth he didn’t want to admit.

“So, you were wrong to do that?” Peter saw it, too. “It’s just sex!”

“Do you know many gay men?” I asked seeing his discomfort.

“No.” He shook his head. “I see them and avoid them.”

“You can tell just by looking,” I said.

“You two are not like them,” Georg said. “But the ones I see around town…actions…even how they dress…the others in leather…”

“But we’re not like them,” Peter said.

Georg nodded. “That’s one of the reasons I’m listening to you.”

“There are guys that are not wanting to settle down. That goes for gay and straights. The singles bars and the online invitations for dates…some are for just sex. They are everywhere on the Internet. There are people that use sex as a weapon. Not all of us are the same way in how we see and want sex.” I took Peter’s hand. “I love Peter. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him. He doesn’t hurt me. I like it. I feel closer to him when I let him top me.”

Peter smiled leaning in kissing me. “I love Eric. I feel the same way. Whatever I can give him…it doesn’t hurt.”

“But it’s the ass!!” Georg protested. “It has to stink! The few times…” he paused and then just said it, “I’ve done it…it stunk after a few minutes. That told me not to. Nothing should go in... except medication and a doctor’s finger which hurt twice!”

“You have to adjust. The doctor was just in and out for an exam.” I nodded laughing. “Sure. It can stink in the ass…if you don’t take precautions. We have normal elimination habits, but we also use things to clean us out afterward. That way we can have spontaneous sex. We also use lubes that have good scents. We love each other. We’re not cruisers or those men going from man to man. There are straight men that go from woman to woman. I want a life with Peter.” I pleaded with Georg to consider what I was saying. “Those men in those camps, some probably were the ones to go from man to man. Some…were like us. They loved each other. I have one couple I want to do research on more. I know the names, but…they were barely in their twenties! They were taken to this camp and one named Milo Weir had to watch as his lover, named Bren Schultz was raped repeatedly by a number of guards…and not just with their cocks like they started with. It was only due to a fire Milo got Bren and escaped. Bren nearly died from the injuries he got. They came to Makarovia and hid. In 1948 they married and lived together for thirty-two years! That was true love and devotion! They loved each other. Just as Peter and I do.” I looked at Peter. “I want more than thirty-two years though. I want a long and happy life with you.”

Peter kissed me gently. “So, do I.”

“I love you, Peter.”

He kissed me again. “I know.” He looked at Georg. “See? We do fit together.” He hugged me closer. “I know he loves me. There’s no one more important than he is. He makes me see I’m the most important to him. We fit.”

Georg still looked uncomfortable seeing us together. “Just…give me…a little time.”

I grinned at Georg. “We’re not going anywhere. You have to adjust.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe you can convince me to reconsider my aversion of blondes.”

“Excuse me,” Georg said. “What’s wrong with blondes?”

Peter nodded and leaned in a stage whispered. “His first love was a blonde. Chuck sort of soured all of you blondes after they broke up.”

“You came here because you wanted to,” I said to Georg.

“I did,” Georg admitted.

“But you knew what was here?” Peter asked. “Makarovia had a large population of homosexuals. You knew that.”

Georg nodded. “I did.”

I walked over closer to him. “You had doubts about the past before you even came here.”

Georg didn’t look at me. “There were all these people telling me what they knew really happened and what the truth was…but I just didn’t believe it.”

“Part of you did,” Peter said. “I’m sure there were other projects you could have chosen from.”

“You knew what was said about the men who came here and why they came here,” I said smiling at him. “You wanted someone to challenge beliefs you’ve had for decades to make admit there is a truth you didn’t believe.” I bounced a little. “Georg, I can see hope here!”

“I’d like to see some of those testimonies,” Georg said.

“I’ll send you some copies I have on file.” I nodded. “However, I will warn you…I cried through all of them. It’s pretty upsetting. It’s pretty graphic and they told the truth.”

Georg nodded a little uncertain. “I understand.”

“Okay,” I said sadly.