Sonata for Siggi - 1. Adagio Lamentoso

“Our new oboist will start today. Do you want to come to the rehearsal and meet him?” Arnar barely let me get comfortable at the breakfast table before bombarding me with questions. It was early Saturday morning, but for some reason he was in a good mood.

“Why should I?”

“Because I know you like excuses to see us playing.” Arnar deadpanned, flashed a grin, and turned completely serious all of a sudden. “And because I know you two have a few things in common.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not allowed to tell you details, but if I say it involves a court case and facing your fears in front of a judge and a mean lawyer, you might get an idea.”

“I see.” Arsehole parents, then? Or some other kind of relationship gone horribly wrong?

“Dmitri is relatively new to the country, so I thought you could bond with him and introduce him to Iceland properly.”

“I don’t know. I’m not good at making friends.” Particularly those abruptly introduced to me with overtly professed underlying interests.

“Try it, just this once,” Arnar pleaded.

“Fine. I’ll go with you today. Introduce me to the oboist, but I won’t make any promises.” I could never say ‘no’ to him.

“Ok, that’s all I ask.”

(…)

“Dmitri, this is my son, Siggi.” Arnar found the oboist as soon as we walked into the rehearsal room. Blond. Short, spiked hair. Glasses. Charming grin. Could have been worse.

“Your son? So his name is Siggi Arnarsson?” the oboist asked in somewhat truncated English. No interest or no time to learn Icelandic, then.

“No, but I don’t want to talk about it.” It would be someday. If it depended on me, my name would have been changed already.

“Fair enough, I just wanted to test my grammar with Icelandic patronymics.” The oboist grinned. Again. Mildly unnerving. “I’m Dmitri and I’m gay.”

“Ok… Good for you.” And it was relevant to this conversation because…?

“Yes, it is. It’s good to be gay in Iceland. I can tell people and it’s no problem!” He seemed way too enthusiastic about it.

“No, I guess it isn’t.” At least for people like him. “I’m gay too.” If I was supposed to befriend him, I might as well establish our common interests.

“Wow, that’s great!” A grin. And a wink. “It really is a pleasure to meet you.” We shook hands. Arnar arbitrarily decided it was time to get ready for rehearsal and took Dmitri away from me.

For the next two hours I sat listening to the orchestra as they played through the week’s programme. Dmitri looked at me almost as often as he looked at the conductor. It was annoying at first, but his sneaky staring slowly grew on me. Oboists made the most ridiculous faces while playing. It was entertaining.

(…)

At the first break, Dmitri came straight to me. His eyes gleamed mischievously, and the way they seemed fixated on my ass told me everything I needed to know about his intentions.

“I’m sixteen. It’s perfectly legal.” This was the first time I got stared at like that. Most people were disgusted or horrified by how sickly thin I looked. I decided I liked his stare, and that I should make the most of it. I could even lie to myself that we would end up naked together in the backroom. I could pretend this oboist I had just met would be the one person I would not be scared of fucking.

“I’m twenty. Even if it’s legal, aren’t you a bit too young for me? You kind of look even younger than sixteen, to be honest.” So he was somewhat concerned about my age, but not enough to take his eyes away from my ass.

“Not really, as long as we both want something to happen.”

“So you want something to happen?” He seemed surprised, or maybe amused.

“You have no idea.” Arnar was not around. Nobody else was around. I could tell him about me and hope for the best. I could finally end years of horrible horniness. “I’ve always heard about how gay guys like to go around fucking strangers, and I have half-a-mind to try that.”

“Only half-a-mind?” One step closer, his hand dangerously close to my ass.

“The other half has… issues.” Though at the moment, every part of me wanted him to hammer his cock into my ass until the end of time. Sex with strangers was my wet dream of the week (it changed at just about that frequency). Shame I would never feel safe enough to actually do it.

“’Issues’, you say? Is it something I can help you with?” He was trying to be helpful. Likely, he was just horny as hell. And willing to fuck a sixteen year-old. What were the chances of this ever happening again? At least in a place I knew I could get his ass fired if he did the wrong thing?

I might as well see how far I could take it. “Come with me, we’ll try it out.” Just saying those words made my legs weak with fear and anticipation. Something was definitely going to happen. I just had to make sure it was what I wanted.

(…)

Deserted room. Silence. The two of us alone. “If you really want it, kiss me.” He did. Gentler than it should have been. Better than nothing.

“What do you want me to do now?”

In all truthfulness, I wanted him to bend me over the chair and fuck me senseless. But that was never going to happen. “I don’t know what I want. I’ll figure it out as we go.”

“Fine by me. Is this your first time?”

“With another guy? Yeah.” Not that I had much of a choice.

“Aw, I like you.” Dmitri kissed me again. Still gentle. “You guide me, then.”

Kiss. Grab my ass. Throw me against the wall. Open my belt. Don’t touch. Bite my neck. Leave marks. As many as you dare. “I want so much more.”

“We can do it. I’ve got condoms and lube.” Kiss my neck. Don’t touch my chest.

“That’s not the problem.” If that was all I had to worry about, he would have fucked me three times by now.

“Then what? Are you afraid of something? You can tell me anything.” How could I do that? He would never understand. He would not like it. Dmitri was a gay man. It would never work.

“I don’t want to tell you and risk all we’ve done so far.” He stopped kissing. Worried.

“What can be so bad that would make me not want to fuck you anymore?” He would never guess.

“Ignorance is bliss.”

“Tell me. You can trust me. I want to be friends with you and the people in the orchestra. I want us to walk out of here later and get to know each other properly.” Worry. Was he scared too? Disappointed? “This is my home now. I want to make the best of it.”

Trust. His hand on my hip, on my hair. Comforting. Maybe this once. Maybe I could do it. Or at least get him fired if it did not work out.

“Well, for one I’m allergic to latex, so your condoms won’t do.” He started to smile, relieved. Too bad I was not done yet. “The other thing is…” Now or never. There would be no turning back once it was out. “The other thing is… I can’t fuck today because… because I have my period.”

I watched his face contort in confusion, and hoped it would not turn to anger.

(…)

“Your… period?” Still confused. I was probably too vague. There was no way to explain this without making me feel even more humiliated and disgusted with myself.

“Yes. Period. My body bleeds once a month because apparently it was expecting me to produce a baby that never existed. Or some such.” The words left a disgusting aftertaste. My abdomen clenched painfully, like it knew I was talking shit about it. Despite all that, Dmitri was still confused.

“I don’t understand. Maybe it’s my bad English. Can you explain again?”

No. Any further explaining would turn into smelly sickness adorning his form-fitting cotton shirt. Giving even more voice to this shame was not an option.

My belt was already open. The trousers came down easily. The loose underwear was hastily shoved away, until there was no way he could misunderstand me anymore. The painful, shameful, naked truth.

“You don’t have a penis.” He stared intently. Forever. In silence. My legs wanted to collapse; give in to the fear and the self-hatred. But Dmitri kept staring, and I could not move. “But Arnar said you’re hisson. So you’re a guy without penis?”

What was this feeling? It could not be joy, but ‘relief’ sounded too much like an understatement. Dmitri had made it this far without becoming angry or disappointed. He still clung to the fact that I had been introduced to him as a guy despite what I was showing him. And he seemed almost ok with it.

Or maybe it was too much wishful thinking on my part. I should have known better by that point.

“You could say that.” He was not looking at me. His eyes still focused on that anomalous part of my body. Incomplete. Ugly. How much longer did he need to see it to realise what it was? How much longer would I have to play zoo exhibition for him?

“Is that why you don’t want to fuck? Because you look different?”

Why was he still talking like he really believed I was just another guy? How long would it take for the penny to drop and for him to set me aside like the freak I was? The longer he acted like this (while still staring), the more I dared believe it would be ok.

I should not believe it would be ok. It never would.

I nodded.

I should have known better. False hopes hurt a lot more than straightforward rejection. This should never have gone this far.

“I never saw someone like this. It’s new to me.” He finally looked at me, and confusion became worry. “Are you ok? You look very pale. Should I take you to your father?” I shook my head, despite the nausea. Arnar should never hear of this. Warm hands found my hips and my back. I was slowly made to rest on his shoulder. “You don’t look ok. I can help you dress again. Tell me when you’re ready for it.”

My legs shook uncontrollably once most of my weight settled against him. The rest of my body followed suit, and tears came out of my eyes. I was a mess. A horrible, sick, disgusting mess. Yet, Dmitri held me tightly. Patiently. Silently. Almost caringly.

A complete stranger held on to a half-naked, messed-up teenager. And all I could do was pathetically cry on him because this made no sense to me, and because it hurt to have to remind myself this would not last. Sooner or later he would come to his senses, and the false hope would hit me full force. It was not a matter of ‘if’, but ‘when’.

Or would have been, if Arnar had not found us.

“What is going on here?” Arnar was angry. He wanted to kill Dmitri with his eyes. He saw us and understood it all wrong. Dmitri panicked, but did not let go of me.

“Nothing! Nothing! I don’t know! Siggi just got like this!”

Arnar pushed Dmitri away from me. My legs stumbled, still too weak to support me properly, and so he held me up by my arms. Arnar saw my tear-stained face, my discarded trousers and underwear, and reached the worst possible conclusion. “What did you do to him?” His words hit Dmitri like a slap on the face.

“I didn’t do anything! I swear! I did what Siggi wanted and he started to cry and I held him!” Dmitri panicked even more. His choice of words did not help in the slightest. Arnar hugged me, turning my face away from Dmitri.

“I will call the police!” Arnar snarled. I tried to say something, but all I got out were tears. “What happened to you is no excuse to go after young children!”

“No, please! You don’t understand! We didn’t do anything!”

“Then why is Siggi crying? Why is he like this?” Arnar pointed to my discarded clothes. Even now, all I could do was hold on to him. Any attempt at speaking got converted to sobs. I was so useless and pathetic I could not put myself together even to help someone who had been trying to help me.

“Because he’s a guy without penis! He showed it to me, then he started crying, and I hugged him because he was sad! I didn’t do anything else!”

“Is it true, Siggi?” Arnar lifted my face. I nodded, and his anger evaporated. He hugged me again. “I’m sorry, Dmitri. I try not to assume the worst about people, but with Siggi it’s…”

“It’s ok. You care about him. Siggi is lucky to have such a good father.”

“Yes, he is.” Arnar hugged me even tighter. He knew Dmitri’s words would not settle well on me. Or he wanted to show that he had really become my new father, and that it was something to be happy about. “We should head back to rehearsal soon.” Arnar turned to me. “Should we leave you here until you are feeling better? Or should I call Ágústa to pick you up?” My head shook. I would be fine here. Or as ok as I could ever be.

“Do you want help with anything?” Why was Dmitri still being so nice? How much longer until he changed his mind?

“I think we should at least get you dressed. It’s not very hygienic to walk around like this.” And so Arnar and Dmitri helped me pull up my underwear and trousers. My body was just a limp sack in their hands. They left me in a chair, sitting alone with my thoughts, my fears, and the horrible realisation that I had just screwed up again.

Dmitri would soon enough realise I was not the kind of person gay guys fucked. His confusion and worry would not last. But the more I told myself that, the more something inside me insisted in believing he would be different. That little something dared to hope. And this hope brought the tears, the shaky legs, the inability to speak. I was not supposed to hope for things. I was not used to it. Hoping was draining. Hoping made me even more pathetic. Hoping was, ultimately, dangerous.

But still. It was Dmitri who came to check on me at his next break. It was him who kissed my forehead and assured me that, even if I did not want to fuck, he still would like to be my friend.

It was him who, eventually, convinced me that hoping might be worth it this time around.