September 19, 2010:
Sultan told me that last night he stayed in the park very late and he saw six men fucking in a line and an Albanian boy sucking a man’s ass for half an hour before fucking him for two hours.
September 29, 2010:
Nashwan is very unhappy. He spent twenty-five euros on beer yesterday and got so drunk he failed to come home. I couldn’t reach him by cell phone or SMS but I needed his key to get into the house. So, I went and found him in a bar. I tried everything to gain his attention but he was beyond reach, so I went into the bar and said, ‘give me your key’ and deliberately talked to the man next to him in case anybody thought we were acquainted. Nashwan is refusing to acknowledge me in the street in case people think he is a ‘Pousti Gay.’
Nashwan came home later very angry. He shouted, ‘I have ten mobiles and you come and find me in a bar’ and he threw all ten mobiles on to his bed. When angry and making a demonstration, he seems to avoid damaging anything. Nashwan told me the reason for his anguish ‘In that bar one asked me if I have gone over to the other side’ then he searched for his knife so he could go and defend his manly honor. He took a kitchen knife to slash the perpetrator of his humiliation. He returned in silence and after half an hour went to bed. I heard a little voice say ‘I love you Sebastian but no more sex. I am not Pousti.’
September 30, 2010:
Winter is coming and the nights are getting cooler. Sultan has asked to come and live with me, Nashwan wants to leave and I must return to England soon. Of my two boyfriends, Sultan is preferable but Nashwan and I have a very enjoyable relationship with easy communication. I can tell Nashwan that I love him but I feel I could never say the same to Sultan. I do not understand what this means, but I do know that I could spend my life with Sultan even without easy communication. When I visit England, I must give Nashwan an allowance of ten euros a day so I can afford to give him six hundred euros to leave thus solving two problems.
October 5, 2010:
Nashwan is leaving but he changes his mind completely many times a day. We have come to an agreement that if he leaves for Italy with six hundred euros and fails to establish a life, he will return to Iraq. My heart aches for Nashwan not Sultan. I find it difficult to understand my fascination and devotion to this boy but I know it will be a relief when he’s gone. For nearly one year I have lived with the daily confusion of my life with Nashwan. I watch him with fascination and I suffered every time he was late. His life of prostitution, alcohol and illegal immigration was an endless source of concern. His confusion and constant denial of his sexuality did little to help me enjoy a brief period of sexual bliss before I die. Though happy I felt and looked stressed.
The Syrian rent boy left with all his mobiles for the airport, (the black boy’s steel them and the Paki’s buy them to use as currency) he was booked on a flight for Rome but on the information panel it said the flight was for Milan. Nashwan cannot be seen on the airport. The Syrian boy saw many police, lost his nerve and did not take his flight.
Savas asked me if Sultan drinks, I said, “Not to my knowledge” and Savas said, “He’s a good choice.” Nashwan wants to go to Switzerland from Italy. This is not a wise choice, but he wants to return to Switzerland. I asked Sultan if he wants to be my boyfriend and I asked if he could cook, clean and did he want ‘to sleep in my bed?’ He looked doubtful about the cooking and told me that it would be my decision where he sleeps. ‘What about sex?’ I asked, and he replied, ‘Sometimes.’
Today I met a group of immigrants from North Africa. They were very upset and Nashwan told me in secret, ‘The agency has no money because the brother lost two thousand euros in the Casino.’ Nashwan could do nothing for them and I think they are trapped on the Island.
SHAHZAD, A PAKISTANI WHO WANTS TO BE A MODEL
October: 7. 2010.
Nashwan left today and Sultan is arrived tonight, I have made a bed on the floor for him using a mattress this time. It has been a very expensive month with Nashwan leaving; Panni borrowed five hundred Euros and will pay it off in court appearances and translations. Sultan came with his bag. He has some money and he sleeps fully clothed. I am missing Nashwan’s lively interaction; he was intelligent with eager eyes and an open smile. His spontaneous gestures of affection pleased me and I miss his muffled ‘I love you Sebastian’ from under his covers as he fell asleep. He had a childish self-assurance that I found rare and appealing.
October 8, 2010:
Today I took Sultan to the Hamam after a disastrous haircut. His hair is as strong and coarse as steel wool. I spent a leisurely time soaping and massaging him and he relaxed because the Hamam was empty. He is submissive, he liked his ass being massaged more than his dick and he was happy. I am happy allowing Sultan to discover his own sexuality because we have a long time ahead of us. His hands and feet are long and slender, Sultan is the epitome of aristocratic breeding and I detect nothing of his village origins. We have very little to talk about; him being shy but we have an easy bond of understanding and trust. There was little evidence of sexual arousal and I was moved by his beauty and dignity.
October 9, 2010:
Sultan has gone to try and get the fifty euros owed, for washing vegetables. We sit or walk together and he imitates everybody we pass; he is particularly fond of the American ‘Oh my Gaaad.’ and the Greek ‘tee ka ness.’ We discuss good looking boys and he wants me to do the cooking. Any mention of food makes his eyes light up and he says ‘tasty’ it seems to be his favorite word. My landlord had a shock this morning, yesterday I had breakfast with a small Kurdish boy and today I shared my breakfast with a tall slender very handsome, in the Bollywood style, Paki boy. It will be a relief cooking for Sultan because I can exercise my cooking skills but I am upset about my lack of insight. Why didn’t I find a way to nourish and fill Nashwan, without making him throw up?
October 11, 2010:
Sultan cleans the house, washes the pots and he set about washing his cloths and mine. I bought him some new trainers and socks. I find these eastern boys are very capable and domesticated, also polite and considerate. It intrigues me that, they are from a culture where male and female roles are supposedly distinct, but these boys seem to find housework normal. In the west, we have supposedly stopped thinking in stereotypes, but some female activities are still taboo for men. In my childhood, the taboo was total and absolute. If a man did anything in a house normally done by women, it was viewed as a declaration of gender confusion and a preference.
October 12, 2010:
Nashwan needed more money. He claimed that he had to buy a false visa for Greece, giving him the right to travel in Europe for holidays. The visa cost him two hundred and fifty euros and he also had to buy a return flight to Rome that cost him three hundred and fifty euros. He asked me for two hundred so I sent two hundred and fifty.
Sultan is interesting; he was sent to Europe to avoid going to jail in Pakistan for six months. One cousin was jailed for six years. Shahzad’s grandfather died without making a will and there is a family feud over land. So far three cousins and one brother have been shot dead. At home Sultan is not allowed to leave his house unaccompanied. Sultan is hoping to become a male model. He is remarkable but unfortunately he has Indian legs, too thin and bowed. He was laughing and I notice that he has full set of thirty-two perfect teeth with plenty of space. This is the origin of his beauty, unlike Europeans he has a fully develop jaw to complement his excellent cheeks bones, level browse, fine nose and full lips. Sultan told me a very curious, even amusing story, “A woman threw the Quran on a fire, probably accidently, but she promptly turned into a monkey.” I am not sure if this is supposed to prove or disprove Darwin’s theory of evolution, but it made sense to him.
October 13, 2010:
Nashwan is now on his way to Switzerland. He says that he has no money left. Sultan likes making love but only when it involves his ass, having his dick sucked seems to worry him. One day, we were alone in the Hamam for two hours. He was ver
y relaxed and likes me to caress his ass with my soapy body. I knelt above him, one knee each side of his body and for the first time picked his ass up and licked his anus, biting his ass while holding his dick and balls and he had a very powerful orgasm. He gripped his dick hard preventing ejaculation. He likes me to pretend I am fucking him, but my dick remains indifferent.
Last night, I saw a very good Greek film; I was surprised, because I had no idea that there was such a thing. It was in black and white, very sensitively done and fortunately it had English subtitles. The film caught something of the politics and power games involved in gay relationships. A professional respectable man from the town loved a slouching country boy, dressed in jeans and leather. The country boy was curious about playing games involving cross dressing, because he claimed to be straight. The urban man once applied lipstick and asked, “Does this help.” The country boy was macho but totally passive, surly and arrogant until it came to the act of penetration only then did he become active and demanding. He also became very demanding when he wanted money. The urban man loved him and spent all his money. “Love costs in more ways than money” he once remarked.
I missed a lot of the film because I was cooking, but the outcome seemed to be that the county boy was no better off and his urbane friend got an empty bank account, plus a broken heart. Love should be of mutual benefit but this film seemed to touch a fundamental truth regarding some homosexual relationships.
Novak has gone and I am relieved. Novak, Alexander, Nijinsky and I, all have the same birth sign and we are born with in a few days of each other. He is my soul mate but still irritating and seems to think that I need entertaining. His latest game was to tell stories calling us conk and trunk, referring to my nose and his dick and it became very tiresome. His constant farting is supposed to symbolize our intimate bond but it has the opposite effect. Catherine’s grandmother once told her “You don’t know a man until you can fart in his company.” I am sure that this is a fundamental truth but the horse must precede the cart, farting will not instigate an intimate relationship. Sultan has a touch of cystitis but he assures me that he has not being fucking.
October 15, 2010:
Sultan has recovered overnight from his cystitis, after one pill. We have just made love in the Hamam. He picked his legs up and wrapped them tightly around my body and he became very aroused. Holding me tightly with his arms and legs he presses his face to mine as I caressed his anus with soapy fingers. He grabbed hold of my dick and then had an immediate orgasm. Once again he squeezed his dick so tightly he prevented ejaculation. He believes that if he ejaculates he will lose his energy and the power to make love to his wife when he eventually marries. He told me, “last night one man put his hand on my ass and asked me, how much? I nearly hit him.” Like Nashwan, there seems to be a lot of ignorance and denial.
October 16, 2010:
Nashwan has arrived in Belgium. I got an SMS ‘Please call me.’ and I got another SMS ‘Sebastian Belgium is shit, there is no God.’ and later I got an SMS ‘Please send ticket.’ So, I sent a message, ‘Nashwan you have no future in Europe, go home.’
Tonight, Sultan forced his anus onto my fingers. His happiest position is lying on his back, his ass resting on my thighs near my dick and his legs around my body. In this position, he lies with his eyes closed and his lips parted as I caress his face, body and thighs. He is now letting me caress his dick and balls. To finish, he turns over and offers his ass to be caressed. I kiss his anus but he is still unhappy about orgasm.
October 18, 2010:
I took Sultan to the cinema. He has never seen 3D movies. It was a terrible film something about Piranhas being released from an underground lake after thirty million years. They had been surviving on cannibalism. I don’t think the mathematics would work. Sultan likes bad films and we both found it funny. Tonight, we made love for a long time but Sultan then asked, ‘Please Sebastian, no more sex.’
October 19, 2010:
For reasons, I fail to understand, Ivan (who is now in Sweden) felt that it was his duty to tell Greta his wife about his affair with Eleni. He was expecting sympathy and understanding. What he got was a psychotic jealous woman who pursues Eleni night and day screaming such gems as “Greek whore” and “How dare you borrow my husband” also details about the shape of Eleni breasts without a bra and how her cunt works. Apparently, Eleni’s nipples point downwards.
Ivan asked me to telephone Eleni in England and advise her, not to answer any telephone calls from Sweden. The telephone call was a disaster no matter what I said all I got was ‘How very kind of you to telephone me, how are you Sebastian.’ She didn’t have a clue what I was trying to tell her. Ivan once told Eleni to avoid passing a certain coffee bar frequented by Greta, but Eleni made a point of passing that coffee bar. That’s when Greta started following Eleni shouting abuse. Eleni is obviously stupid.
Nashwan has arrived in Sweden. He has found relatives but they are out of work and he cannot stay. He plans to find his way to Norway and even Iceland. He still believes that England would be a possibility and the answer to all his dreams.
October 22, 2010:
I have asked Sultan if he had ever had blood in his urine before. He said, ‘Not since I was thirteen and fucking the girls.’ I told Sultan, ‘If you find a boy that you like, you can bring him home, it is safer and you can relax and use a condom.’ Tonight, I sucked Sultan dick while massaging his prostate and he held me very tight and had an easy orgasm. He was relaxed and happy about it. One night I said, ‘I don’t suppose you feel like sex’ his eyes shining, he said, ‘Yes, I do’ and climbed into my bed. He seems to want sex about every three days and he is more eager, if I don’t ask.
October 23, 2010:
Sultan stays in bed late; he makes very few demands and is aware of my sensitivity regarding beat music. He walks miles every night and visits the park. Now that he has the security of a home he enjoys exploring the west, he is not looking for anything specific because he is a young man driven by curiosity and unspecified needs. I know. I spent my life in pursuit of unspecified needs.
In London as a young man I preferred the anonymity of Oxford Circus to the Coleherne (a famous gay bar). I was in search of a chance encounter not the specific purpose of seeking sex in a gay bar. The Coleherne was frequented by the Guards. Those men chosen for their appearance went to the Coleherne for uncomplicated sex and they got a tip. I never met a member of the Guards, it would have been very much to my taste but to them I was just another young man and they wanted the services of an older expert, preferably with money. Only now do I begin to understand the so called ‘Gay scene.’ I find it strange that my straight friends like Henry understood these scenarios.
Sultan reminds me of Sylvan, both obliging and beautiful and they like to say ‘Yes’ to everybody. They both have a quality of waiting for life to unfold, as if the answer to their future is in the hands of other people. They seem to have few needs or expectations of their own. I checked Claire’s library because she has a lot of books about sex and astrology. Sultan’s birthday is March and that makes him Pisces the same as Sylvan. I checked one book called, ‘Sextrology.’ It explained my mother more accurate than any other book. It says that Sylvan and Sultan have a plan for life but are happy to wait for it to come to them. They happily leave their fate in other people’s hands and their plans materialized.
I don’t believe in astrology, especially regarding the future, but I am disturbed by how accurate the assessments are regarding personality. But why not, the stuff we are made of was manufactured in the hearts of stars and the whole universe is subject to gravity. We are the children of the universe.
October 24, 2010:
I sent Jussi an SMS asking about Nashwan going to Finland and he messaged me, ‘It is not easy and it depends on his papers.’ I was hoping for an invitation but he added, ‘We talk tomorrow’ I guessed he must be arriving on the island but I have heard nothing from him.
November 2, 2010:
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br /> During the week Sultan put twenty euros into my draw where I keep the change. I remember he looked quite pleased with himself. In conversation Sultan was telling me about a teacher from Finland. He told me that he met a teacher in the park who liked his dick and wanted to be fucked, but he only had twenty euros. Sultan told him, “Give me the money and go and wait down there.” It seems that Sultan kept the money and came home. I asked about the teacher and he said, he was of mid-height, mid-fifties and handsome. ‘Was he called Jussi?’ I asked ‘Yes I think so.’
Jussi must be on the Island but not finding Novak has not bothered to contact me. I find this very upsetting because if I had such a thing as an astral twin it would be Jussi. But now I have the answer to something I have always known. Jussi makes no secret of being in love with Novak and he has occasionally dropped hints about, “Having needs.” I know that Nice Niko knows Jussi. It is now very clear that Jussi comes to the island to get fucked by young Greeks.
Jussi is a happily married man with a house full of his own and adopted children. He owns a farm and lots of Reindeers and once adopted a Gypsy. He is very nicely put together, sensitive, aware, loves music and is a gifted and caring teacher. He has an adopted boy called Billy who he brings to the island. Jussi also invites Greeks home for the winter. I am hurt that he could not be bothered to find me; he is the only person I have ever met who resemblance me; a gay teacher.
November 3, 2010:
I was writing in the park when a large black man joined me and got his dick out. I realized that I know him. We first met many years ago on a bus returning from the gay beach. He saw me and made room on his seat. He was slim, tall and very handsome. He spent the whole journey pressing his leg against mine, indicating his huge erection. When he got off, I followed. He did not acknowledge my presence until well inside the park. Standing behind some bushes he held his erection through his jeans smiling into my eyes and made a gesture for money with his fingers. I smiled, shaking my head regretfully and said, ‘Sorry I don’t pay for sex.’
The Hamam Diaries Continued Page 24