Maddog & The Pope (Learning to fly on Broken Wings) - 4. 4. Divided they fall....

Monday morning was his most favorite morning. While everybody sat in their car in a traffic jam on their way to work, Niki had the luxury of being able to turn over another time to sleep a bit longer. It was one advantage of working in the retail business, maybe even the only one. Its disadvantage was he had to rise early on Saturday when other people stayed in bed, but at least traffic jams were pretty rare on Saturday mornings.

He had no plans to get up this morning, but neither did he intend to go back to sleep again. Letting last night replay through his mind he stretched out his arm to grab his new-found lover, pull him to his chest and kiss him good morning.

“And then maybe a good morning fuck.” he thought, after his brain received the right signals from the appropriate body parts.

It was not to be. No matter where his fingers wandered they only touched the texture of the sheets. Lukas wasn’t next to him!

He shot up with a shock, exclaiming:

“Lukas… where are you?”

“I’m in the living room.” he heard Lukas call out in reply.

“What the hell is he doing there?” Niki murmured, utterly surprised.

He got out of bed and without bothering to dress walked to the living room stark naked. There Lukas sat fully dressed on the couch. Niki didn’t mind. He sat on Lukas’s lap, his legs straddling the boy’s, pressed his torso against Lukas’s chest and kissed him passionately. Following up with a soft:

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Let’s hope it will be,” Lukas answered somewhat cryptically.

He struggled himself free from Niki’s firm embrace, rose and walked to the kitchen:

“I made you breakfast. If you want tea, I’ll pour one in for you”.

Still floating on Cloud Nine Niki was unable to understand that the medal of bliss has two sides. He ignored the ominous signs, sat at the table and started eating his breakfast. In a minute Lukas returned with two mugs of tea and sat opposite him.

“I apologize for what happened last night,” the boy started, clearly embarrassed. “It… well, it shouldn’t have happened.”

“Don’t apologize, Lukas,” Niki protested, adding with a giggle, “you can do it any time you feel like it. I won’t object”.

There was no reaction. Niki looked up from his plate and stared into Lukas’s face. Its expression was serious, almost sad. The eyes were most definitely sad when Lukas started with:

“Don’t see this as a critique or an attack on you. You have given me lots of things, but you forgot to give me the most important thing!”

Niki continued staring at him, not getting the meaning. He expressed his incomprehension with:

“What do you mean?”

“Just like I said” Lukas shrugged, tilting his head somewhat. “You fed me, sheltered me for a week, gave me lots of clothes and things, but you forgot the most important thing! You are willing to give everything, apart from yourself. I have nothing to give but myself.”

He sighed, sweeping his hand over his brow in what seemed a distraught gesture and continued:

“Maybe I was not clear enough. Maybe I was too afraid. But I offered you my heart on a golden platter as far as I dared. You only smothered it with new clothes and goodies, never giving your own heart in return. So, to be honest, it wouldn’t work out between us. I hope you will think seriously about this, so you’ll understand the meaning of what I just said. But know I will always remember you, your kindness to me and your beautiful face.”

Again he paused, then went on talking:

“You know, Niki, like I said the other evening, I’ve become too much a rolling stone, too much a ‘home is where you put your head down-guy’. A week in one place is more than enough for me. Don’t ask me what it is but something in me compels me to move on. But I want you to know in a way I love you, but again, it could never work out. So I’ve decided I’m leaving. Maybe I’ll regret it later that I’m leaving now. Could well be that right now I throw away my biggest chance on a happy life. But not without thanking you for all you did for me!”

Only then Niki’s eyes fell on the backpack beside the door. Instinctively he sensed nothing could stop Lukas. Nothing could keep him here. However, he didn’t want to give up without stiff resistance. He looked in the sad eyes and muttered with trembling voice:

“I… I just wanted to be sweet to you. Maybe I did things wrong. But… that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“It is not about mistakes, Niki,” Lukas replied. “Everybody makes mistakes, me too. It is more than just that. It is something in your character. Something that is an important part of you as a human being. Besides, it is a typical case of ‘Better short pain than long illusions, that end in catastrophy’.”

“Can you stop talking in mysteries and simply say what you mean?” Niki asked, on the edge of crying.

Lukas took a swig of his tea and put the mug thoughtfully back on the table. Then he continued:

“I guess I am too much of a loner. Call it a lone wolf if you want. For some unclear reason I got hooked on Peter. And yes… I could get hooked on you as well. But what would it bring? After a while, maybe a year, maybe two years, I would say ‘Honey, I feel I have to move on!’ Now, that would really hurt you. I can understand you feel sad now. As a matter of fact I feel sad as well. But the pain we feel this morning is just a tiny bit when we compare it to what we would both feel if we stuck together for a long time. Then it would be unbearable.”

Niki tried frantically to find arguments to counter each of Lukas’s points, but he turned up empty-handed. There were no counter-arguments. He had bestowed item after item on the boy instead of showing he really cared with his heart, because he didn’t dare to. The only thing he dared was showing his affection by buying things. It gave him an uncomfortable feeling of recognition:

“No, don’t tell me I’m the same kind of person as…”

The thought alone was enough to make his stomach revolt. The heartburn already boiled up. He suppressed it by swallowing.

And yes, if Lukas decided to leave after a long period, the pain would only be greater and more unbearable. There was no escape. The only thing he could do was resign himself to it:

“I really hope you will find what you’re looking for and be happy!”

They rose from their chairs, embraced and kissed. Then Lukas took his newly acquired rucksack with his new donated clothes, went to the front door and opened it. Before he finally left he said:

“Yes, I steal to stay alive. But I couldn’t steal from the sweet boy who took care of me for a week. So, don’t worry, everything is still there, including your credit card which is still in your wallet. I only packed the things you gave me.”

“I wasn’t worried about that!” Niki cried out indignantly, feeling a bit insulted by the remark.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wanted to make the point.” Lukas said with a shy smile. “Have a good life, love! I really hope you will also find what you are looking for.”

“Farewell, Lukas,” Niki muttered, fighting back the tears.

Lukas gave a tender stroke over Niki’s cheek, stepped out and pulled the door shut.

 

Niki stood, staring at the door:

“Why did you have to leave? I really started to love you! I would have given you my heart. I only need more time, because I must learn how to do that. But… I guess love includes I won’t obstruct you in your search for whatever it is. That I’ll let you have your freedom. Farewell, Lukas! I’m gonna miss you!”

He had no time to dwell on it. When the dime of the meaning of Lukas’s words fell, his stomach threw its contents up. Gagging, he ran to the toilet, got on his knees with his head over the bowl and puked. When the fresh breakfast was out, he tried to organize his thoughts, still retching:

“He is right. I gave him everything, but not my heart. I’m the same person as my father. As the one who bribes me to stay in line with his plans. With eyes wide open I made the same mistake. I tried to bribe Lukas into loving me! What a goddamned dumbass I am!”

He got to his feet and took a drink of water, looking with hollow eyes in the mirror. But the fighting spirit returned very rapidly when he thought:

“Seems to be some family trait. I just have to watch my steps next time. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice! Next time I’ll give my heart first and maybe the rest later.”

He couldn’t have known how true it would turn out to be!

 

Maybe calling for an ambulance was a bit overdone. Inno opened his eyes within a few minutes.

The first thing he saw was three people intently staring down on him, their faces expressing worry. He felt intimidated by their gazing, especially since they were the faces of the school counsellor, the school nurse and last but not least, the school director. He couldn’t understand why they were all looking at him. Did that mean he was lying on the floor? He couldn’t recall having fallen or had he lain down on the tiles for some stupid reason? As a matter of fact, he couldn’t remember anything. The only thing he knew right now was that he felt miserable and he had a splitting headache.

“Do you know what happened to you, Inno?” the school nurse asked in a friendly tone.

No! Should he?

Slowly memory returned. He had been sitting on a chair, feeling extremely threatened, when he started to see black blots in front of his eyes.

The next thing he noticed were three faces studying him intently from above. The time in between was a black hole! Now, his mouth felt like cork, he only shook his head slowly so as not to increase the headache.

He tried to get up but the nurse held him down, gently, but unmistakably insisting:

“Just lay down, Inno. Maybe you hurt yourself when you fell!”

Oh, did he fall? Always nice to know. But why?

Two men in yellow and red suits entered the room. It was the ambulance crew. They started some examinations on him:

“Oxygen saturation slightly too high.”

“And what does that mean?” Inno wondered silently.

Then the man who had spoken started to discuss the situation with the school nurse, literally over Inno’s head. He heard it and stuck up his hand in a weak protest. He didn’t like people talking about him while he was present. It didn’t help much. It seemed the two were in complete agreement because the ambulance man opened a small suitcase and took some things out that looked like plasters attached to wires to Inno. Then he started to push Inno’s sweatshirt up, without asking.

Inno froze and clasped his hands spasmodically on the lower rim of the sweatshirt to keep it there:

“No! No! Don’t do that! I’m fine… I’m fine now!”

“Relax, son”, the man said reassuringly, “I just want to take an ECG, a heart film to check your heart rate, to see if your heart is OK. It won’t hurt.”

“No!” Inno exclaimed, “I’m fine. My heart is fine! Don’t do it!”

All the adults in the room looked at each other with questioning eyes. Chances were high all of them considered it plain adolescent stubbornness, but none was aware of what was at stake for Inno. If the man pushed his sweatshirt up he might also discover the wounds on his back. And that would bring him back on the torture bench for a second time within the last hour.

Ah yes… now he remembered. The counsellor’s interrogation, no matter how gently conducted, had pressed him to say what was wrong. Answers he was unable to give out of fear and shame, the panic and the blackout had followed.

“Well, I can’t force him,” the ambulance man said, slightly irritated. “There’s nothing we can do if he doesn’t cooperate. So, I guess we’ll be going. It’s best to take him home to recover and keep an eye on him when he is back at school.”

When the yellow-red duo had left, the school director said:

“I’ll bring him home. Can you walk, Inno?”

He tried to stand up but his legs were like jelly and he almost fell. If it hadn’t been for the counsellor, who just caught him in time, he would have.

“Let me handle it.” the man said to the school director.

With one smooth move he lifted Inno and carried him in his arms to the director’s car. He lay him on the back bench. It suited Inno just fine, all he wanted to do was lie down. He watched the school disappear through the rear window. The counsellor’s bleak picture of his possible future had scared him so much, he started to wonder if he would ever see the building again, prompting the thought:

“Can life really fall apart at the age of seventeen?”

 

By the time the car arrived at his apartment block Inno had regained enough strength in his legs to get out of the car and into the building without the director’s assistance. It didn’t mean all was functioning as normal. He was climbing the stairs to his mother’s apartment the same way as their old neighbor of seventy-five, but after several breaks he managed to unlock the apartment door and stagger in.

First of all, he went to the bathroom. He drank some water and splashed his face, only to dry it right away with a towel. Then he dragged himself to his room and plunged on the bed.

He felt so tired, exhausted, that he would gladly exchange a month’s paper round wages for a few hours without thoughts. But it wasn’t to be.

By now the conversation with the counsellor was firmly entrenched in his memory. In fact, it hadn’t been a real conversation at all, more a monologue with the counsellor doing all the talking. He had only kept silent, listening with a mounting apprehension. The realization as to how tight the noose of being unmasked as a queer had been around his neck sent shivers over his still painful back. He knew he had been dancing along the rim of a volcano, but he wasn’t dancing there out of his own free will. In a way he felt he was supposed to be the sacrifice, like the girl in “Le Sacre du Printemps”, although he hadn’t heard any music. And if he had heard some, it most certainly had not been Stravinsky, but more a Dante-like choir of Lucifers, directly out of hell, full of dissonances and atonal strange melodies, filled with mockery and a deeply felt aversion for such a lowly mortal being. A mortal being who wanted to be a priest, despite all his acts of evil. Absolutely ridiculous!

Although this thought did nothing to solve or alleviate his problem, he liked the allegory in it:

“Maybe I can use it in my next essay. Perhaps I should take up writing!”

It was an idea that brought a smile to his face, a smile that was wry and amused at the same time.

The amusement was short lived when he started to consider the practical consequences. It looked as if his flogging plan was too risky. He barely avoided the wounds on his back being discovered and that twice within an hour. He had to find another way to suffer in an effort to regain the Lord’s benevolence. A way that was not so conspicuous and as a result had less risk. He wanted to avoid the risk of having to skip another sports class.

He thought it over long and hard, finding no solutions in the beginning, but gradually a reasonably good idea started to form.

He knew he had a frail, almost girly physique, with hardly any noticeable masculine form. Now, what if he went to a fitness studio where he would overtax his rudimentary muscle system? At least it would result in a firm muscle strain on a regular basis. He had learned the hard way muscle strain could be damned painful if it was severe enough. He experienced it in the same sports class he skipped the day before. Nobody would notice, a lot of his classmates went to the gym. If he combined that with confessing, maybe the Almighty would turn a blind eye on his wrongdoings. It seemed to be a good compromise between what he wanted and what was realistically possible.

But where could he confess? Most certainly not in his own parish church; the risk of finding Father Lechner as his confessor would be too great. Any other church in town would do, a church where nobody knew him! With a priest who didn’t see his face but who would only hear his voice while he confessed all he had done wrong.

He didn’t get the chance to finish his thinking. Being at home all alone with his mother still at work and enjoying the complete silence in their apartment he was overtaken by weeks of accumulated lack of sleep. His eyes fell shut, his breathing became regular and in no time at all he was deep asleep!

 

He woke up with a shock when someone shook him gently and he heard his mother’s voice saying:

“Inno! Inno! Wake up, sweetie.”

“Damn, I slept too long. I forgot to make dinner for the two of us,” was his first reaction.

He shook his head to get rid of the cobwebs and started to apologize for not having dinner ready.

“I figured something like that,” his mother said, her voice devoid of any anger or disappointment. “It was all dark when I got home. I was worried, especially when you didn’t react when I knocked on your door. Were you sleeping?”

“Yeah,” was the only thing he could say.

“For how long?” she asked, switching on the bedside lamp.

“I don’t know. I guess from about three. What time is it now?”

“Half past ten,” his mother replied with a chuckle, “Were you that tired? And… by the way… were you already at home at three? Isn’t that early?”

He nodded, not knowing what to say. He decided on:

“Yes. The school principal brought me home when I got ill at school.”

“Really?” his mother asked, sudden concern in her voice, “What happened?”

“I eeeuhhh… I kind of fainted.”

“Inno, bambino, say that again!” Now concern was replaced by real worry.

“I kind of fainted, mamma,” he repeated truthfully.

“What happened, sweetie?” she wanted to know.

“I don’t know. I saw black spots in front of my eyes and next thing I knew is I was lying on the floor. I really don’t know how long I was out. They called an ambulance but they couldn’t find anything. And then the principle brought me home.”

He knew he was telling only part of the truth, the ambulance crew didn’t find anything because he didn’t allow them to examine him.

“But why didn’t you call me?” she asked.

“I…I…I didn’t want to worry you,” he replied meekly. “I’m truly sorry there is no dinner, mamma.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said with her understanding, forgiving and ever-sweet smile. “I’ll take a look what we’ve got in the freezer. There’s always the microwave. Come, get up and let us find something to eat.”

He got up from his bed and followed her to the kitchen, where she started rummaging through the freezer without further comment, leading Inno to the conclusion she wouldn’t press the matter of fainting.

However, she did. As soon as the makeshift dinner was on the table she said:

“Inno, you got me worried. I want you to go to the doctor tomorrow!”

“No, mamma,” he objected, “I’m feeling fine now after I slept. There’s no need to go to the doctor.”

“No, Inno…” she insisted, her tone changing to a kind of decisiveness Inno had never heard before. “No objections, no excuses! You go to the doctor tomorrow. Capito bene?”

He knew he would have to do as she said. He had to find another way to dodge her command.

“Si, mamma!” he capitulated, for the time being, knowing that further resistance would be useless.

The next morning after his mother had gone to work Inno’s grinned. He had said “Yes” the previous evening, but he had thought “No!” He had never considered going to the doctor and he didn’t even pick up the phone to make an appointment. Overnight he had decided to firm up his alternative plan of ‘more modern and less marked suffering’ and confession.

After some tea he got on his bike and went to the library to investigate on the computer in the corner of the reading room the availability of fitness studios in town. It didn’t take long before he found a rather cheap one, conveniently some distance away from where he lived. The studio was downtown and had a student offer at only twenty euros a month, something Inno could afford, although only at a pinch. He wrote down the address with the intention to take a look at the place next day. There was no need to rush. Even the school principal knew he was ill but nobody knew how long it would take him to recover.

Next, he investigated the causes of fainting. He could expect a cross-examination by his mother later that day about the diagnosis this imaginary doctor had given him after a ‘thorough examination.’ He settled for nothing abnormal having been found and the probable cause was due to shock. A consequent momentary lack of blood or not enough oxygen to the brain had caused him to faint. It was nothing serious. It seemed quite plausible to him.

Although he liked reading through all the medical stuff on the Wiki, he felt uncomfortable with the cunning he used to build a cover story, aimed at deceiving his mother about the real reasons of his fainting and the underlying causes. But he decided it was simply a choice between two bad things: either deceive her, or shock her to the bone and break her heart. In his judgement deception was the lesser evil!

Slowly he tucked his notebook away in his school bag and put his coat on. Equally sluggishly he walked out of the library, unlocked his bike and rode away. He had all time in the world. In a way it looked as if he wanted to postpone the next step of his plan. Because he was on his way to make his peace with his Creator, at least that is what he hoped for. He knew he had a lot to account for and it made his path to the church not exactly easy.

It took him about twenty minutes to reach the place where the negotiations for a reconciliation with God were to be conducted. Normally he would have managed it in ten, but he wasn’t in a rush, he took his time.

It was a non-descript church building, a far cry from his own old and venerable parish church, which was filled with beautiful pieces of art in every nook and cranny. When Inno entered the building he considered it some kind of re-modeled factory hall, cold and impersonal. But it didn’t matter to him. He had chosen this church randomly. It was situated at a convenient spot and most important of all, it was not his own parish church, so nobody would know him.

He looked around, found the confessional and entered it. On the dividing wall between confessor and confessant was a call button with a little shield over it that read “Ring for confessions.”

It made Inno smile. So this was the ‘Confession Call Center.’ Even the arch-conservative Catholic Church used modern marketing gimmicks to keep the clients coming and happy. He pushed the button, kneeled on the low bench as he was supposed to do and waited.

Initially nothing happened, making Inno push the button a second time. An impatient voice mumbled a:

“Yes, yes, I’m coming!”

The contours of a man became visible through the partition grille, made to avoid seeing each other’s face.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” Inno started with the prescribed traditional sentence that preceded every confession, as was taught to him at early age, “It has been… I really don’t know how long… since my last confession.”

“Then you better tell me about it!” a sonorous and kind baritone voice answered. He sounded like a man in his thirties, like Father Lechner, the chaplain in his own parish.

Inno took a deep breath: this was it! There was no longer any way back.

He started his confession somewhat reluctantly, carefully picking his words. But they came faster and faster to retell everything that had happened. Unfortunately, he made a huge mistake. He confessed the wrong version! He didn’t tell the priest what actually happened, but recounted what it had become in his mind. How he had seduced the priest and how his devilish enticements had driven the man to do the things he had done.

“Who was this priest, my son?” the confessor asked.

“Father Lechner, father.” Inno answered after some hesitation.

“Ah yes, I know him, that is… I’ve heard of him.” the priest reacted matter-of-factly, “I believe he is at the Saint Luduina cathedral.”

Inno nodded, not realizing this was invisible through the dense screen. Which turned out to be a good thing, because it robbed him of the sight of an almost happy and very satisfied grin on the confessor’s face as well.

This grin was caused by an idea that most followers of Jesus wouldn’t hold for possible to pop up in the mind of a priest. However, despite the fact that priests are expected to behave as if they were halfway on their way to sainthood and that everybody took it for granted they had an impeccable way of life as a moral example for their parishioners, priests were in the first place ordinary human beings. They were also racked by hormones and tormented by sexual desires, which they strived to restrain to maintain their celibacy, but not many of them managed to keep that up for a lifetime. Priests were also prone to the lesser evils, like hate, greed for money, power, a higher position in the hierarchy and jealousy, to name but a few. Because, in the end priests were simple mortals. And the confessor on the other side of the partition was no exception to this rule.

He listened with only one ear to the rest of Inno’s confession, noting the boy had masturbated. He had done exactly the same at the age of sixteen or seventeen and he certainly didn’t consider it a sin, quite to the contrary, it had been a great pleasure. He grinned at the memory, but his mind remained sharp as a razorblade when he thought about how he could use this other valuable piece of confidential information to his own advantage.

He had learned by chance from “well-informed sources” there was one parish which remained without a regular priest in the whole archbishopric. He had also received a tip that the archbishop would decide at short notice who would get his own parish in that church. He knew from the same sources the list of candidates was extremely short. It consisted of himself and the same Stefan Lechner, the chaplain at the cathedral.

Now, if he could find a way to leak to the archbishopric’s personnel manager as discretely as possible that Lechner was unable to keep his hands to himself and had sexually assaulted an acolyte. Then it seemed highly improbable to him that the archbishop would choose Lechner and risk another child abuse scandal after all the others which had already come to light. No, Lechner had clearly violated the unofficial and unwritten rule of the church:

“You want to fuck? No problem! But don’t fuck the flock!”

By doing exactly that Lechner was too much of a risk for himself and for the Church. Knowing about what happened would surely lead to Lechner’s elimination from the list of candidates. Which meant that he, as only remaining candidate, would get his own parish. And all this was made possible through a kid who by chance stepped into his confessional. It must be a God-wrought wonder!

The only thing left to resolve was how to get rid of this boy. Meaning how to make any future problem for the Church disappear. He could not wait for some moment when the kid would disclose his story someplace else like the local newspaper. That would be really damaging for the Church and it would prove his leaking had been a clever ploy to get the position and his own parish. But for the moment he saw no solution.

The boy was silent and he assumed he had finished his confession. He was convinced the boy had done nothing to entice Lechner, but rather Lechner had lost his self-control and indulged his own base desires. Things like that happened before. Actually, they happened for centuries. But that was beside the point and had little bearing on the way he had to play this. He needed to use a lot of his shrewdness to guarantee his own success.

“Is that all, my son?” the priest asked in a pastoral tone.

“Yes, father.” Inno answered, anxiously waiting for the verdict.

“It seems to me we have a problem here, my son.” the priest started.

Inno looked with apprehension at the mesh screen in the cubicle wall. He saw the outline of the priest’s head, but it was impossible to read his facial expression, exactly the reason for which the screen was there.

“Why… why is that, father?” he asked with a quivering voice.

“Most of the sins you confessed are ordinary sins. I can give you absolution for these right away. But there is this one sin that is really a grave mortal sin. Actually, it makes me almost think you are possessed by Evil. Not many boys your age seduce a priest.”

“But I didn’t do it on purpose, father.” Inno pleaded.

“That is not the issue, my son.” the priest said decisively, knowing full well that he was violating the theological rules, which said when the sinner sinned without full consent of his will, it was a venial sin, for which absolution could be given. But that would not serve his purpose towards getting his own parish. So he continued lecturing in a stern and serious tone:

“The fact is that you seduced Father Lechner and that is unforgivable in the eyes of the Lord. You lured him into sinning in very serious ways. Actually, you are almost as depraved as Eve, who made Adam sin by temping him to bite the apple, leading to the expulsion of mankind from Paradise. As a normal parish priest I can’t forgive you that sin. I’ll ask if the archbishop can forgive you, but I doubt it. Maybe the Pope can. But in the end, it is in the hands of the Lord, not in mine.”

Inno’s eyes grew to saucer-size from sheer agony and stuttering he exclaimed:

“So, you can’t forgive me, Father? Who can?”

“That is a hard question, my son. I’m afraid no one on this earth can. It is up to the Lord. I’m very sorry. But I can forgive you the other sins!”

“No, no…” Inno stammered, “just forget it! They’re no longer important. Oh shit… I’m doomed! I’m going to Hell!”

Stumbling over his own legs he fled the confessional and ran out of the church. He stood in front of the high wooden entrance doors, his whole body trembling, and stared around in shock, one persisting thought in his mind:

“I’m doomed. God has turned His back on me!”

The cool autumn air calmed him down somewhat and he took a deep breath. The sound of traffic brought him back to some semblance of reality.

“What have I done?” he muttered, now seeing no way out of his moral problem. He still suffered under it and besides his plans for the future had vanished into thin air. There would be no priesthood for him, not in this lifetime! He looked up to the lead-grey sky and in his mind he answered the question he had posed to himself the day before:

“Yes, life can fall apart at the age of seventeen!”

 

The anticipated cross-examination about his physical well-being came over dinner. Although severely distracted by the refusal of the reconciliation that morning, Inno managed to give a coherent and convincing answer which he had crafted from the information he found in the Wikipedia. His mother seemed to be put at ease as far as her son’s health was concerned.

“What did the doctor say you have to do now?” she asked.

“Damn, I forgot to look that up!” he thought.

“Oh, I must take a few days of rest and then I can go back to school.” he said laconically.

Although the answer was completely improvised, at least it bought him some extra time to think things over. With the drastically changed situation he saw a real need to reconsider a lot of things, as well as how to tell it all to his mamma. No, not all, just the necessary parts. What he had just told his mother was simply another half-truth or lie… but what was one lie more or less? Did it really matter?

With dinner finished he excused himself with the pretext he wanted to do some reading. He went to his room, switched on the bedside light and lay down but he didn’t touch the book that was on his nightstand. Instead, he closed his eyes and let the thoughts drift through his mind, trying hard to get some semblance of order in his head.

The longer he thought it over the more illogical and bizarre the whole situation appeared to be. It simply didn’t make sense, unless he had been fooled all his life. As long as he could remember people had told him God was merciful, God was Love with a capital L, God forgave sins because He knew that people had to be intrinsically sinful. And now, today, a priest refused to give him absolution. On whose authority? On God’s? Did the man have a direct hot line with the Almighty in some other universe?

Inno thought it unlikely the man had refused on his own initiative. Might that mean he was following Church policy? That he was only obeying directives, which may have come from the archbishop or even the Vatican? It shouldn’t be like this. If the Church followed God’s Word from the Gospels they couldn’t refuse to pardon him after he had repented his sins in a conscious way. Because God’s Word stated explicitly, God loved everyone.

Suddenly he remembered he had read something the new Pope had said, but he couldn’t recall where, when he was visited by a Mexican transsexual. He didn’t remember the exact words, but it was something like:

“God made you the way you are. And God loves you for what you are. So, the Pope loves you too.”

Could that mean the Pope followed God’s line, but the rest of the priests didn’t? Besides, Inno was not that haughty that he considered himself better than a Mexican trans, but he certainly didn’t think he was less. So the question could be, why did God love a Mexican trans and detest a boy who lived in Germany and was of part-Italian descent?

“It doesn’t make sense!” he muttered. “It is all so confusing!”

Could it be priests used another set of rules other than God’s? Did they follow their own interpretation of what was written in the Gospels?

“Now that is a pretty revolutionary, maybe even blasphemous thought.” he whispered to himself. Did it matter, one more or less?

No, the only thing that mattered was he might as well forget becoming a priest. In his eyes it was impossible to enter a seminary with an unforgiven mortal sin on his conscience. Plus all those other sins of course. Yes, the priest had refused to forgive him the mortal sin and then he had refused to accept remission of his ‘lesser’ sins. It wouldn’t make any sense. It seemed to him like a doctor trying to heal the malady of a man who had already died. But, if priesthood wasn’t to be, what then?

He was about to graduate in six months, so time was pressing. If he wasn’t thrown out of the program by the grant foundation. That was a kind of Damocles’ sword that hung over his head as well. He had to find an alternative fast… very fast!

And then there was this practical thing, did he have to go on with this fitness studio? In a way it was no use because the linchpin of his plan was torpedoed by an unwilling and uncooperative priest. What use would it be to do penance? Unless his earlier thought was right; unless the priest had refused on his own authority. Then he could still convince God he had a genuine remorse and he wanted to repent. He could still fight his way to where he wanted to be, hoping that God might be in a good mood. Yes, he decided, he would do it! He would start a fitness regime! Call it belief in the goodness of God. Call it Sicilian doggedness.

He had to do it or otherwise he might just as well hang himself.

“And that would be unique: a kid my age with two mortal sins on his mind!”

The stress of the day with all his thinking had exhausted him and he dozed off for a bit.

Until he opened his eyes when he heard a knock on the door. He realized immediately he had excused himself to do some reading, so he grabbed the book from the nightstand, flipped it open on an arbitrary page and answered:

“Yeah!”

The door opened and his mother came in. She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked tenderly through his long ginger-blond hair.

“Feeling OK, sweetie?” she asked.

He nodded with a loving, warm smile.

She seemed to study him but Inno could not find out why she did so. Did she doubt he was feeling OK? Was it obvious he was troubled? No, it couldn’t be.

After a full minute she said:

“You know, the girl that gets you is a very, very lucky girl.”

Inno laughed and protested mildly:

“Mamma, please?”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked, “You’re almost eighteen. You will find a nice girl pretty soon.”

Caught off guard by her unexpected remarks he reacted without thinking:

“I don’t want girls, mamma, but I want…”.

Just in time he noticed he was about to make a gigantic error and shut up. He had almost blurted out the whole truth!

“What do you want?” his mother inquired with a glance that was more penetrating than usual.

“I must lie again!” he thought. He did, when he gave an answer that was no longer applicable, wondering how much space his soul had left to accommodate all the black spots:

“I want to be a priest. And priests don’t have girls, mamma.”

His mother looked at him in utter surprise, exclaiming:

“Who gave you that idea?”

He shrugged and somewhat reluctantly he said:

“I’ve been thinking about it for some time now, actually for some years. I think it is beautiful work.”

He tried to take a kind of macho, indifferent stance, shrugged again and added:

“Besides, someone has to do that job!”

Sensing his reluctance his mother nodded thoughtfully and said teasingly:

“But then you miss the pleasure of having sex with a girl. Do you have any idea how beautiful it is to have sex with a girl?”

“No,”, Inno smiled somewhat mysteriously, “I don’t. But in one thing you are right: I will never have sex with a girl.”

At best it was a half-truth, but at least it was no lie for a change!

  

November had turned into December and the Christmas holidays were rapidly approaching. Niki saw no reason to enjoy the general feeling of conviviality which seemed to pervade the whole city with seasonsal decorations in all shopping malls, Musak Christmas carols from loudspeakers and the ubiquitous Christmas market with lots of Glühwein on the central square in front of the Town Hall and cathedral.

Purely practically it was a time with lots of extra working hours for him, selling cameras and the like until nine each evening.

It had been three weeks since the mysterious rolling stone-boy Lukas had departed but he was still on Niki’s mind in a very predominant way. His first thought when he opened his eyes was about Lukas. As was the last one when his eyes fell shut at night. And each morning he longed to stroke the long red-blond hair and kiss Lukas good morning, each evening he wanted to do that again, kissing him goodnight. But there was no longer any Lukas next to him in bed. He had had his opportunity and he blew it!

His ardent love for Lukas put his previous relation with Raimund into perspective for the very first time. He knew now he had only been a toy for the man, a toy that was expendable and easily replaced once it was no longer available. But he also discovered he had used Raimund to school him with his sexual knowledge and experience. A knowledge and experience he would never have been able to acquire any other way. In fact, his liaison with Raimund could be summarized in a three-word question “Who used whom?”

Then, in his youthful innocence, he thought he had loved the man Raimund. Wiser by now, he found out the sobering truth he had never cared about Raimund as a person, but had only idolized him for his inexhaustible reservoir of artistic and sexual expertise and skill. It had only been a give-and take game played to both their benefit and satisfaction.

He had lost two lovers in number but only this second time he suffered from his first real broken heart.

With the days towards Christmas counting down another depressing thought entered his mind. Like every living soul he loathed the idea of being alone at Christmas and silently he hoped someone would call him to invite him to come to Hamburg for these days. But nobody called! It seemed he was such a dislikeable ‘persona non grata’ at home he was considered a most unwelcome guest at the family table.

“Why did they actually fuck and make me?” he wondered. Was it for the sole reason his father wanted another future manager? And did his mother agree so she could continue her lavish life of extravagant pricy clothes, two sports cars and her luxurious wellness excursions with her lady friends to laughably expensive spas? Did no one ever consider him as a child, as a person, but only as a prospective company asset or an irritating nuisance? It turned his heart cold, clasped by a vise holding nothing but gloomy thoughts! The one weak flickering spark was knowing that at least Lukas had loved him like he had loved Lukas… but… Lukas was gone…!

There were evenings when he felt so depressed he could use a strong joint. He was not new to that world, he had smoked grass regularly when living in Hamburg (another one of Raimund’s lessons of life) and he knew the effects. At least it would make him forget his dejection for a short while. But he had no idea where he could score in this town, so during the following days he started discrete inquiries about where he could obtain it.

It turned out, that the Merliger Meadows, a park along the river in the city center, was a hotspot of ‘suppliers’, actually only a short walk from where he lived.

What kept him from going there, was being a big city boy and knowing the risks. Buying from an unknown ‘supplier’ might mean the guy mixed the grass with other much harder stuff like crystal, actually being a hard drug pusher. It turned their clients gradually into hard drug addicts although the customer was under the impression he was only smoking grass, even praising the good quality, getting higher than he had ever done before in his life. Some of these ‘suppliers’ sold the mixed grass at a reduced price, undercutting the dealers who sold pure stuff. They could afford to, because they would get more than double profits a little while later.

Niki had seen more than enough of the misery caused by hard drugs when he had walked the streets of Hamburg. There was a saying in his home town: “Cheap dealers lead to long time misery!” Not knowing the local scene and having no idea who could be trusted, he decided against the plan of buying grass, just as a security measure. He had problems enough of his own without getting hooked on crystal.

 

What he didn’t notice was his work suffered. He became sloppy, disinterested, didn’t pick up what a client wanted or searched for. He should have known because he felt Herr Weber’s eyes almost continuously glued on him. Those cold, impassionate eyes behind the thin-rimmed glasses, like the eyes of a nearsighted boa constrictor that was intently observing and evaluating a prospective prey. If he had had more foresight he could have expected the results.

His father called him on his cell phone, not on the usual Sunday, but on a Thursday evening. He started to give him a real dressing down, saying he wasn’t fulfilling expectations, he wasn’t performing well enough, he was a lazy and stubborn kid and he shouldn’t expect he would keep his allowance if he continued like that, etcetera, etcetera.

“But, dad,” he objected weakly, “I’m not feeling well, that is all!”

“Oh! And what is this sudden illness that has struck you?” his father asked sarcastically.

“I guess it’s the flu. It should be over in a few days.” he answered, knowing that his real ‘malady’ would take much longer to heal.

“Then why don’t you report sick?” was the next, in itself very logical question, but asked in a very offhand, almost aggressive way.

“Because I thought you would have blasted me as well if I had reported sick in the busiest time of the year. Don’t you think so?” Niki said with some triumph in his voice. He sensed very nicely how his old man had made a mistake. His father confirmed it by just grunting, without really admitting it or saying anything. After a short silence his father said:

“OK, I’ll accept that as an excuse. But you better be careful, boy. You better be up to par in a few days or you will be in deep trouble. I’m not paying you to sit on your hands, goddamn it. I hope that’s clear enough for you to understand?”

“Yeah, I do…” he sighed.

Suddenly he remembered about Christmas. Now he had a chance to find out if he was welcome at his parents’ home over the holidays. He started with a careful:

“Dad, what I wanted to ask you… what about…”

“I’ll speak to you next week about your improvement… or lack of it!” was the only reply to a question he hadn’t posed yet. With a click the call ended.

Head bent, Niki stared at his cell phone, whose only sound was a continuous dial tone.

“I guess that settles it as far as Christmas is concerned!” he thought bitterly.

He was overwhelmed by an intense sadness and it took him a lot of effort to keep from crying.

 

Niki knew he had to do something to counter his depression and he had to do it fast because his father wouldn’t wait until his heartache had disappeared. Actually, his old man wasn’t even aware of any heartache and especially not about who it concerned.

As a stopgap measure he decided to double his number of weekly gym workouts to four. Some people would regard this as ‘plain dumb reasoning’. What did physical workouts have to do with depressed feelings in the first place? But Niki had already found he felt just great when he was exercising. He could shut off all his thoughts and concentrate on the purely physical exertion of overloading his muscles with more and more weight. There were times when he overtaxed himself and it hurt like hell, especially the day after. But compared to the heartache the muscle pain was almost pleasant, feeling like a kind of blessing in disguise. Evening after evening he was in the gym, putting more strain on his body to forget about his soul. In two weeks, he increased the weights from twenty to forty kilos on some machines, grinding his teeth to get the weight up, but satisfied and happy when he managed it. Which helped in the short run, but the positive effect evaporated when he lay in bed, longing for Lukas!

Trouble was, the gym closed for Christmas so it didn’t solve his problem of how to get through those days. Especially Christmas Eve, which was rapidly approaching. Niki tried to find a solution how he would spend Christmas. He knew he would be on his own. It was not exactly an idea he fancied, especially since Christmas Eve is the main part of Christmas in Germany. It is the evening on which the family gathers for a meal, then moves to the Christmas tree to distribute and unwrap the presents. Niki didn’t have a Christmas tree not to mention presents.

The feeling made him rebellious enough to bring back to live ‘Maddog’, the street artist. On a rainy night the Sunday before Christmas he sprayed a large rainbow-colored Christmas tree on some drab downtown wall. Its decoration consisted of very peculiarly formed, silvery-colored decorations. After applying the colors for the rainbow he liberally sprinkled it with glitter powder, which stuck to the drying paint, giving an added festive effect. As he completed the artwork, he added the finishing touch, high in the tree, on the left side.

“Yeah, that’s the right spot!” he thought with a smile.

Of course, it was adorned with his trademark, the small poster which said ‘Living in your Eyes.’ Apart from that one week with Lukas, it was the first time he felt happy since the day he came to this city.

When he looked at his latest piece of art he mused with a satisfied smile:

“Now, ain’t that a nice contribution to the Merligborn Pride?”

He immediately started to wonder if there was something like a Pride in this town? Well, probably not. He would check it out when Spring came around again.

 

In the last days before the dreaded Christmas Eve a vague plan started to form how to get through that night. He remembered he had an unfinished project: it was the urbex exploration of the ruined building. The one he had abandoned when he found Lukas in the derelict barracks complex. It was an absurd way to spend Christmas Eve, but on the other hand, it had its benefits. He could do it without being disturbed. He was certain the streets would be empty. Everybody would be inside, in their own homes, enjoying their dinner and having a good time with each other around the Christmas Tree. He would be the only one on the streets, slipping along the walls like a silent black ghost and climbing over the complex wall without being noticed. He planned the shooting itself like he had done before: get in during darkness and then stay in the building until first light peeped through the dirty windows, using the filtered grey light as an extra effect. Then get the hell out of there, again without being seen. He didn’t expect early risers on Christmas morning.

As soon as he heard the church bells ring over the city, calling the faithful to Midnight Mass, he made his final preparations. He put on his lined winter shoes and strapped his photo backpack on and then waited about fifteen minutes. He left his apartment and strolled towards the old barracks.

His assumptions had been right. He saw nobody on the street, not a car passed him. Everyone was either in Midnight Mass or at home. The only living creature he encountered was a stray cat, that scurried under a parked car the second she saw him.

When he arrived, it pleased him to see that his earlier mural was still on the surrounding wall. He could only guess at the reason. Maybe people liked it or more probable nobody saw a good reason to remove it. He didn’t particularly care; it was just good to see it was still there, defying public opinion and the weather.

He got over the wall without effort and having been there before, he found his way very easily to the one unlocked door. With a smile he noticed it still creaked like hell.

He ascended the same steel stairs in an equally careful way another time, but after reaching the first floor he went right for no specific reason. His footsteps reverberated in the empty room. Aided by his torchlight, he looked around. After studying his surroundings, he shrugged; no, this part of the building was not to his liking. In a way it was boring.

He turned around and walked back towards the left, the room he was in before. As far as he could remember it gave more possibilities for some really nice early light shots.

He recalled he had tripped somewhere over here his first visit, so carefully he shuffled foot in front of foot through the rubble on the floor. He felt a cold downdraft, asking himself where it came from. It wasn’t there during the previous time as he remembered. It didn’t really matter; he pulled up his collar and made a mental note to stay out of it once he started his waiting for daylight.

Suddenly he froze! It was not because he tripped again despite his precautions. No, he heard something, a vague but nevertheless familiar sound. Holding his breath he listened carefully. He heard nothing and started to shuffle forward again.

After a few seconds he froze a second time, hearing the same sound. Anxiously he glanced around, trying hard to see through the darkness around him. The sound remained audible… yes, he knew it, but couldn’t remember what it was.

Straining his ears he listened intently. The sound continued. It sounded like a boy’s voice and he knew this boy’s voice! He dreamed of it every night. It was Lukas’s voice!

“Lukas!” he called out cautiously, starting to doubt his own sanity, “Lukas! Are you there?”

There was no reply. He pointed the flashlight in the direction from where he thought the sound had originated. The only thing he saw was a heap of junk and discarded furniture.

He shuffled slowly towards the heap and when he got there, he scrutinized it, looking for the well-known face. No matter in which direction he shone the flashlight… there was no face. But the sound, the voice… it continued.

“Lukas! Please answer me!” he cried out but there was no answer, everything remained deafeningly silent.

“Lukas, don’t do this to me!” his pleadings echoed in the dark hall, “I love you and I’ll prove it! I’ll give you my heart. I promise!”

For no particular reason he pulled an old chair from the heap in front of him and stood it on its four legs.

“I’m getting mad.” he muttered softly when he was certain he heard a soft mocking laugh.

“Really, Lukas,” he almost screamed, “I learned my lesson! Please come back!”

There was no reply…only deepest silence.

“Where are you, Lukas? Please come back! I need you… I love you!”

Inconsolable he sank down onto the chair, tears streaming over his cheeks. He bent over, put his head on his knees folding his hands behind it, while he let all the sorrow stream out in heaving crying fits. He broke. He was thoroughly fed up with his father’s grip and with Herr Weber’s snake eyes. He was no longer able to bear the burden of being alone, the feeling he was unwanted by everybody he knew. And especially by that one boy, whose importance to him had exploded within the short span of time of a week, but who was gone as well.

“Lukas,” he muttered between the sobs, “Lukas… come back…Lukas…”

It took him some time to quieten down again. He inhaled the cold air deeply, took off his protective gloves and swept away the tears from his face. He felt the draft again. He tried to find the spot where it came from. He saw something. It was a broken window pane in one of the high windows.

“It was all imagination!” he whispered. “Lukas isn’t here. It was only the modulating whistling sound of the draft and what my mind made of it.”

With a sad glance he observed the broken pane, mulling over the last months, finally ending his thoughts with:

“They say you are born for all of us, Jesus. But it sure looks like if you have skipped me.”

With a discouraged shrug he decided the second attempt at this photo expedition had failed. The camera would stay in the backpack until he was home again. He might as well forget about the whole plan. It seemed this place was cursed after Lukas left. He rose, descended the staircase and feeling despondent he left the building, walking slowly towards the wall. The climb over it on the way out took him a lot more effort than on the way in.

 

This year’s Christmas Eve was totally different from all the others Inno had experienced. In other years he had waited for it in feverish anticipation, not for the present under the Christmas Tree, provided there was money for a tree. No, his excitement was caused by the thought he could go to the Midnight Mass with his mother.

Of course, he knew the High Mass on Easter was of greater theological importance since it celebrated the Resurrection of Jesus, the cornerstone of all Christian theology and religion. But for him the Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve had always been the magical culmination of religious joy, maybe even of religious exaltation. There had been no more wonderful sight for him than a church filled to the last available place with people who all had happy faces. All the splendor of light, the priests in their most beautifully-decorated chasubles and the overwhelming sound of the organ and the choir. This was ritual at its best! As was befitting for the birth of the Savior. At least that had been his vision of everything until Christmas the year before.

This year he saw things in a very different light, provided there was any light at all. This time it promised to become a hollow farce, a fake religious stage show with lots of glitter, but devoid of any higher spiritual meaning. One thing was clear to him. No matter what unctuous words would be used from the communion table, God and the Church had turned out to be as merciless and unforgiving as any mortal on earth. Or was it only the Church? For the very first time he loathed the idea of having to go to the Midnight Mass.

He had no choice. After accompanying his mother year after year she would expect him to do it again. He never had the intention of hurting his mamma, but especially not on Christmas Eve, the evening that had so much importance to her. In other words: he went with her, but this time with great reluctance, almost dragging his feet through the light crunching snow on the sidewalk.

Once he was seated in the pew his mood didn’t improve. With the Midnight Mass being one of the most important masses in the Catholic liturgy it was conducted by three priests. One of them was Father Lechner, the same Father Lechner who, on that September Sunday, had destroyed his faith in God, the Church and, most important, his faith in himself.

With the Mass following its prescribed pattern Inno knew he faced a problem. What would he do when Communion came up? While sitting in the filled cathedral he thought of himself as the one black sheep in a flock of pure white sheep. He was the one in the congregation who carried an unforgiven mortal sin. He couldn’t ignore the feeling all the parishioners were staring at him, muttering amongst themselves, saying:

“There is that evil boy, the one who is as equally sinful as Eve!”

In what seemed a pose of reverence he bowed his head, making himself as small as possible, ducking away out of sight of everyone, pondering over the question of the Communion.

He was not able to find a satisfying reply before the moment was there and two priests positioned themselves in front of the altar, one for the left side of the aisle, one for the right side.

“Damn,” he thought, “Lechner is on our side. I don’t want to have Communion from him. I don’t want Communion at all! I’m unworthy to receive it. I’m a mortal sinner... but what about mamma? She wouldn’t understand it!”

He started to sweat profusely. Row after row in front of him rose, went to the aisle and shuffled forward to receive their wafer.

“Only two rows to go... I don’t know what to do!”

The row directly in front of them rose.

“I don’t know what to tell her! But I’m not going!”

From the corner of his eye he saw his mother, who sat to his right, directly beside the aisle, rise and step out of the pew. He followed but instead of going towards the altar he took one step back to let the other people get by, stepped back into the pew and sat down.

His mother stood as if frozen, her eyes expressing something Inno had never seen before: a mixture of disbelief, pain and… anger. But he kept his stance. Apparently not wanting to make a fuss in the overcrowded church his mother stepped in line and followed the other people in the slow procession to the altar.

“So far for a peaceful Christmas.” Inno thought, “But I did the right thing!”

 

The walk home was not exactly made in the seasonal spirit, but in icy silence, as icy as the temperature around them. This silence continued during the first fifteen minutes at home with his mother in the kitchen, making tea and preparing cakes, and Inno in the living, waiting anxiously for the coming thunderstorm. It turned out another way.

Once his mother sat down she looked at him with sad eyes. With a deep sigh she said:

“Bambino, what is wrong with you?”

He feigned surprise, although he had strong doubts that he was convincing enough:

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, sweety,” she said somewhat irritated, “you haven’t been your usual self these last few months. You faint at school, your always happy eyes have lost their sparkle and your shoulders are continuously slumped... and now you don’t want to go to Communion. What else do I have to think, apart from something is bothering you enormously?”

He wanted to avoid this talk but knew he couldn’t. Nevertheless, he assumed an indifferent pose and with a shrug he uttered:

“I don’t know, mamma!”

His mother snorted, clearly showing suspicion and disbelief.

“That won’t do, sweetie.” she said, taking his hands in hers. “As things are going these last months, I’m worried sick about you!”

“I must say something… but what?” it flashed through his mind. Instinctively he settled for:

“I’m so… confused. That is all, mamma.”

“About what, sweetie?”

He didn’t need to be named Einstein to see that question coming.

“I don’t know, mamma,” he replied, “I guess it is part of all the confusion, that I don’t even know what I’m confused about. I only know that there are thousands of things and questions in my mind.”

His mother wanted to say something, but Inno got a bright idea how he could avoid further talk on his very sensitive problem. Actually, it was the perfect lightning rod.

His present for his mother was in his room. It should have been under the tree but with money being tight again they had waived the purchase of one. Without saying a word he rose, followed by a surprised:

“Inno, where are you going?”

“One moment, mamma!” was his only curt reply.

He was back within a minute, a small package in his hand.

“I bought you a present.” he whispered with a shy smile, giving the package.

It seemed to help. His mother removed the wrapping paper, opened the small box that had been inside and exclaimed:

“Beautiful!”

Her delicate fingers took the present out. It was a necklace of blue stones, framed in filigree silver, make “Swarowski.”

“Honey, it must have cost a fortune!” she objected mildly.

As a matter of fact, it had! He had saved for it since last Christmas, determined to buy something really beautiful for his mother for the next one. He couldn’t have envisaged, the circumstances would change so drastically between those two holidays. It had to be a present but now he felt it had been reduced to an expiatory offering to wash away all guilt and shame he felt towards his mother. In itself this thought wasn’t that important at this moment. To his relief it worked perfectly to draw her attention away from his ‘confusion.’

“Put it around my neck, honey.” his mother called out excited.

He did and admired the result. The flashy blue stones glittering in the light, fitted perfectly with her Italian-style bronzed skin.

“It looks real cool, mamma.” he said with a smile.

“I have to find a mirror.” the woman cooed, almost rushing out of the room. She was back pretty soon, exclaiming:

“Really delightful! Now, honey… how about our traditional Christmas amaretto?”

It had been tradition since the first Christmas when she had allowed him to drink alcohol. And, if he was honest, although he broke the tradition of going to Communion, he saw no reason to break this tradition as well because he liked the taste of that particular liquor. It was so sweet.

Once she poured the glasses she left the room again, coming back with a package wrapped in Christmas paper.

“Of course I have something for you as well, honey.” she said with a smile, giving him the package.

He unpacked it, finding a flashy red and orange sweatshirt with hoody. His fingers stroked the texture. This was most definitely not textile discounter stuff. Now he understood where the money for the tree had gone; there was not enough money for both. He didn’t mind that there was no tree. In fact, it saved him the unpleasant annual duty of carrying the thing out after New Year. A job that always resulted in having dry needles stuck everywhere in his clothes and, for some mysterious reason, in his undies, pricking into skin and into some very sensitive parts. A new sweatshirt was a much better idea, especially such a flashy one.

“Mamma, it’s beautiful! You shouldn’t have done that. It is by far too expensive.”

“No, it isn’t, honey,” she said softly, a beaming smile on her face. “For you nothing is too expensive. Besides… we can always eat sausage and chopped meat in January. Come on, put it on and show it to me”.

He put the new sweatshirt on, ran to the mirror and admired the sight. It was indeed a beauty and it fitted him perfectly. He ran back to the living room, showing it to his mother and exclaimed:

“Wow… this is cool!”

Still smiling she said:

“I’m so glad you like it. Come on, sit with me and let us drink our amaretto.”

They sat in silence, feeling content with each other’s presence and proximity. The previous tension during Midnight Mass and the walk back home had vanished. After about an hour (and a second liquor) both became tired from the long day and somewhat drowsy from the stiff drinks.

“Come on, honey,” his mother suggested, “Let’s get some sleep”.

Feeling sleepy, Inno wholeheartedly agreed.

When he lay in his bed he felt the stress of the evening again, maybe even the stress of all the months before. By now he had found a tried and true remedy to reduce stress. He pulled his undies off and stroked his dick which reacted immediately by getting ramrod straight. He enjoyed the strokes immensely, feeling every ounce of pressure on the tense skin. When in the end his orgasm came he noticed how all the stress seemed to leave his body with the blots of sperm, as if the tension was packed in the white fluid.

After he cleaned up, he lay down, eyes closed. Funny enough he didn’t even feel guilt about his recent escapade. He felt only completely relaxed.

“Does this sin count double because I committed it on Holy Night? Oh well, I guess my soul will have some place to spare for it. I’ll make it up with the Higher Spheres later.”

With that thought he rolled over and fell asleep.