The Hamam Diaries Continued

by Sebastian J Stone

  February 27, 2011:

  My antiques are being put through several auction rooms but I fail to understand why a Coromandel screen has been sent to a junk auction room in York along with a Japanese print by Kunisada 2, an early gilded stool and several other treasures. I suspect they don’t have a clue what they are. It’s not just my possessions that are disappearing but also my history.

  When I bought the screen, I was suffering from Bilharzia, I caught it in Tunisia one year before and was too ill to teach. It came from some castle in Nottinghamshire and cost 420 pounds. I find that if I want something I do not give in and it cost me equivalent of three months’ pay. One side is decorated with exotic birds and the other side with a Chinese garden scene. It is decorated in the most beautiful colors, coral pinks, Azure blues and ochre yellows. I bought it in 1972 and Sotheby’s valued it at five thousand pounds in 1986. They said that it was made about 1820, too late to be truly valuable. It is currently valued at ten pounds.

  March 5, 2011:

  Nashwan is unable to stay in Norway and his allowance is about to come to an end. He will be deported. The west is in financial meltdown, the east on the brink of revolution and Gadhafi has declared war on his own people. Nashwan has refused to return to Iraq and will be deported to Greece. Shahzad is going to Athens to get an I.D from his own embassy. He can get a pink card but this being Greece it is probably less trouble to not bother, as all bureaucracy is best avoided. A pink card will identify him as officially an asylum seeker. Nashwan wants to return to Switzerland yet again. He’s wasting his time again; Switzerland is very particular about everybody, not just illegal immigrants.

  Whenever Shahzad sees American woman on television he starts to laugh. So, I asked, ‘Do you have woman like that in Pakistan’ he looked a bit shocked even horrified, and said, ‘I don’t think so’ It is not just my imagination that western woman appear loud, vulgar and unattractive.

  Claire is getting herself even deeper into a life of negativity and a bad reputation. One is reminded of the saying, “When in a hole, stop digging”. She is befriending a tall, thin ginger alcoholic and has also started a relationship with a married Greek alcoholic with two half English children and a very low grade English wife, according to Claire.

  The ginger alcoholic is what we used to call, “moon struck”. Now she has two alcoholics to feed, one in love and the other jealous. The ginger alcoholic is called Nigel; he has a pronounced stoop a low IQ and a gay brother. He once said, concerning gays “What I always say is you can look but don’t touch” I thought he was advising himself, but he was referring to the gay community, as if he were some object of desire. He refuses to clean his teeth because it makes them bleed and he is afraid of doing some damage. He is incoherent.

  March 17, 2011:

  I faxed Nashwan a whole page of advice on, how to try and get political asylum in Switzerland. It must be even harder than England. He seems to have acquired a computer and a girlfriend, I wonder if she minds taking it up ‘the ass.’ I advised him to stick to the truth and make some story based on his father being Kurdish and going missing. I told him, ‘Your life has to be in danger to gain political asylum.’

  I have found a DVD of ‘Gilda’ in Claire’s collection. Rita Hayworth was the most beautiful of the lot. I have shown her photo to a few young people and they were horrified. Claire’s mother closely resembled Rita Hayworth. If Claire imagines that Gilda’s behavior is normal that might explain some of her own misconceptions on female seductiveness. It is curious seeing a film that I must have seen in my childhood. Everybody loved Rita Hayworth including my father.

  On television, I saw a documentary about Indonesia. There with a fine young man trying to kill an equally fine young bull with a sword. The bull’s head was fastened to a tree and he couldn’t get the sword through the bull’s ribcage. It was a festival and nobody in the crowed had the slightest awareness of the young bull’s confusion and fear. It had probably grown up as a member of the family and it was now about to be sacrificed unsuccessfully by somebody who hadn’t got a clue. Cutting its throat would have been an act of great mercy.

  I also found a DVD of Alan Bennett’s play ‘The history boys.’ I have read his autobiography and now seen the film. As a teacher, I was something between Hector and the young teacher employed to get the boys into Oxbridge, not as confident as Hector or as clever as the young teacher. Having seen the film, I realize that perhaps I did not do so badly after all. I was laboring under an unusual number of disadvantages for a teacher.

  Being gay was bad enough but also dyslexic, color blind, hated sports and competition and was softly spoken, unsociable and shy. The biggest shock was that I enjoyed it, and I briefly became something of a cult figure. Seeing the film has helped me because I can now put my teaching years into perspective. I was unusually tolerant and did a great deal to help children to accept and know themselves.

  Rare gems like Allen Bennett’s play ‘The History Boys’ in these days of I.T are easily available. The modern world is remarkable for anybody hungry for knowledge while the rest can play games. Originally the play did not appeal to me because it is about a group of boys eligible for the entrance examination to Oxford and Cambridge (those world famous British institutions of excellence, freedom and above all elitism) and a teacher who gropes his pupils.

  I found the idea of the play about clever boys’ and a pervert teacher repugnant. The play is so much more as it takes place in Sheffield, an industrial town in the midlands during the 1980s. There was a brief window of enlightenment and freedom in education. It came between the ethos of education for its own sake plus the structure of hierarchy and discipline and the new emphasis on record keeping and training in the 1990s. That brief era was my period; it was a time of promise because pupils wanted teachers they could relate with. It was about the possibility communication rather than instruction.

  Hector the gay teacher was sixty, fat and a product of the universities. He loved boys, literature and above all education. He was indifferent to convention, standards and conformity. He was clever and tried to teach insight, enlightenment and understanding. Loving boys had caused him to spend his career coping repeatedly with a broken heart. The class of bright and intelligent boys loved him and, as children can, grasped the situation. I find in all sexual matters that there is an instinctive understanding and acceptance. The boys knew exactly what Hector was; they accepted and return his affection. They laughed about the occasional harmless grope; were not threatened nor prejudiced.

  The bright young teacher was employed with the sole purpose of grooming the boys for the entrance examinations for Oxbridge. He was clever, gay and not intimidated by the ‘System’. He told the boys that “The facts are not enough there has to be another way” one boy said, “Do you mean cheat, Sir?” smiling he said, “Well, yes if you like.” Between Dorothy, the gifted history teacher of facts, Hector, whose class was always a total chaos with every subject under the sun being discussed and the new teacher’s brilliant insight into gaining the attention of the examiners, they produce some very astute students, and they all got into Oxford. The boys knew that the new teacher was gay and joked about it but did not judge. The problem was created when a traffic warden reported Hector for groping a pupil sitting behind him on his bike at a pedestrian crossing. The play has some marvelous dialogue.

  August 5, 2011:

  I have been to England and it was disturbingly lovely but lonely. I finished the settee for Paddy’s son and I furnished my apartment very cheaply but it cost one thousand pounds for the cheapest rubbish. The world is becoming insane; I can no longer sell quality furniture, but utter rubbish cost £1000. I also visited the, Immigration Advice Services.’ It is supposed to be a charity but cost me 140 pounds, but I will get a written report. I cannot help Shahzad from England and he will never become legal in Greece and he is not free to travel. I.A.S advised me to get Shahzad to Italy and make him my civil partner; something about extended family that is not a
vailable in the UK. She wasted most of the time telling me things that were irrelevant. I expected to discover what I needed when I get my written report.

  I inlayed the piano legs with box wood stringing and the piano is transformed, it looks superb. I stained the walnut legs and achieved a perfect match to the case. I needed an electric polisher to achieve a mirror finish on the whole piano. I know my brother has electric drills and could have helped me to make a polisher. He claimed that he did not have anything to help me, and was very dismissive. The piano is valued at 40 thousand pounds but the reserve is only 18 thousand pounds. I expect it to make 30 thousand.

  I spent a day with Susan and we watched her Spanish film and her performances in some TV soaps. She is so unforgettably bad that she’s a star. I also heard one of the talks that she gives on cruise ships. She is equally horrendous and unforgettable. Before leaving England, since I had not received my written report from I.A.S, I paid them another visit. Not only was it closed but in receivership. I got an address in Birmingham and was told that my report would be completed and sent to me in Greece.

  August 6, 2011:

  Vincent is a superb classical Guitarist. He is an Albanian who lives and studies in Athens. Seeing Novak performing, he joined us. He cultivates the look of a lost urchin being thin, long haired with torn jeans and a sensitive face. He plays Bach beautifully. He is sleeping on the beaches and I volunteered to take care of his guitar for him at night. After work he turns up with trays of fruit from a friendly shop and I am cooking huge and wonderful fruit flans with custard in the French method. I am selling CDs, feeding musicians and am suddenly very busy. I am relieved that the girls, who play with Novak and complained about my English, don’t turn up for the fruit flans. I can’t understand why foreign people don’t ask me about English pronunciation, but complain instead.

  August 7, 2011:

  I took Vincent to the Hamam. He is too thin but nicely shaped with a huge dick and an unattractive ass. I don’t fancy him at all; he is not gay but he loves me unconditionally. Dirty Stavros whispered, “you very lucky man.” I gave Vincent a scrub and a massage and he volunteered to scrub and massage me all over, much to my amusement, as the gays were all fascinated and jealous. We relaxed and made jokes about his dick. He gets a lot of attention from gays. One Greek Priest grabbed his dick on a bus. A girl came to Vincent and said, “I saw the Papa touch you. If you want I will be a witness.” When Vincent realized that I was of no threat to him, his devotion for me became secure and absolute. I suggested resorting to surgery for my eye bags “No” he shouted holding me, “They’re beautiful” Most nights I have Novak and Shahzad talking and smoking Hashish outside my room and it goes on all night, it’s getting on my nerves.

  August 11, 2011:

  I went to the Hamam yesterday. The large room was full of middle aged men, all looking at one another’s dicks until ‘the spy’ came to tell them that their wives or daughters were waiting. My soldier friend arrived and spent the afternoon with a young Nordic man in the hot room. Dirty Stavros told me, ‘that man with the swollen balls has died of AIDS and he fucked your soldier friend.’ Stavros tells me my soldier friend has AIDS. In the changing room, I asked my friend, ‘did you get a fuck’ he said, ‘No, but he kissed my ass.’ Then he asked, ‘Are you gay?’ I nodded and he replied, ‘So am I’ after a pause he said, ‘I am ill’ I waited for him to elaborate, indicating that he could explain but he evaded the subject, ‘I have cold.’

  August 15, 2011:

  Shahzad is upset because he wanted me to send 250 euros to Pakistan so they could send him his religious costume for EID. It is not advisable and a waste of money also it sounds very expensive to me. He has little temper tantrums but he soon recovers. He bangs the pots while washing up and chips them. Shahzad has found a friend; he is a tall very handsome Pakistani who keeps house for a doctor and his family. They are going to the discos together looking for girls.

  Once when Shahzad was not looking his friend gave me an obvious sexual sideways look, it was unmistakable with his dark Indian eyes. Shahzad spent extra time cleaning the house and I discovered that he intended entertaining his new friend. Shahzad is not happy and has stopped cooking and is in a state of conflict and resentment about our relationship.

  He is avoiding sex but when he gives into his sexual needs he is eager but once it is over he turns his back on me and can’t wait to get dressed. He still sleeps fully clothed despite the intolerable heat. I think this phase is because Novak speaks of nothing else but the girls he has fucked and pussies. I think Shahzad is feeling under pressure to question his culture and his life.

  August 18, 2011:

  Shahzad now has his red card, except its pink and his TB test is positive. Novak must be deaf as well as self-centered. In a serious conversation Shahzad asked, ‘Why do people hate Muslims? We are prepared to die for what we believe.’ I turned to Novak who had spent the war years in Athens to avoid fighting Muslims in Serbia, and said, ‘There you have a possible explanation to many questions.’ Novak had no concept that we were even involved in a conversation. I volunteered the concept that because of recent European history nobody in Europe is now prepared to die for an idea, but no conversation followed.

  August 19, 2011:

  Last night I lost my temper with Novak. I had cooked a meal and was waiting for Shahzad to bring Pita bread. This was after selling Novak’s CDs all night until long after midnight. I was out of rice and waited but Shahzad did not come home and eventually I ate the curry without bread or rice. If Shahzad meets his friends he is likely to stay out all night.

  The following morning, I asked Shahzad where he had been and he told me, ‘I went home with Novak.’ Tonight, I told Novak what had happened and told him, ‘I do not require thanks for selling your CDs or for cooking, but I do demand some respect and consideration’. I reminded Novak that he was party to my arrangements with Shahzad. It is possible that the Greek lack of consideration is a Balkan characteristic. It did not occur to Novak that I could be waiting for my boyfriend to come home with the bread to share a meal, just as it has not occurred to him that I might want to sleep while he and Shahzad talk about pussies all night.

  August 20, 2011:

  Last night Shahzad brought his new friend. He is obviously from a good family. The house had never been so tidy. Shahzad organized the CDs DVDs, books and clothes and he washed everything. After his friend left Shahzad wanted to make love, he wanted me to use the normal plastic dick and I smothered his ass in Vaseline. He held me tight and pressed his cheek to mine, rapping his legs around my body while holding the plastic dick against his ass. He pushed till about two inches entered him, then with me kneeling and Shahzad on his back supported by my thighs his ass near the dick and his legs free to encircle me or wrap around my neck he relaxed in a total bliss, I was free to gaze upon his face and torso while caressing him. He closed his eyes and went into some state of sexual ecstasy with the dick hovering near his entrance. He needs to hold my head while encircle my body with his legs, while our lips touch lightly.

  He then turned over and offered me his asshole to caress and stimulate, I pleasured his anus and prostate with fingers and tongue. Then taking his legs in both his hands he pulled them wide and down to the bed raising his ass and on my knees gripping the bed head I pretended to fuck him. Turning over again he offered me his round plump cheeks and the deep receptive hollow between to be caressed and kissed.

  Suddenly satisfied, he lay on his back arms and legs wide with the words, ‘suck my dick’ this was the first time he had ever vocalized any sexual need. Saying the words was obviously a milestone in his sexual progress. Then Shahzad pulled me down on top of him, our genitals pressed together and he had a body shaking orgasm. We remain gently entwined while he sprawled on the bed for my appreciation. Thank God for Viagra, Shahzad promises to be a delicious lover. I don’t need sex but there are no limits to my needs for exploring and ingesting Shahzad’s whole physical, emotional and sexual being.
There is something deeply profound about sexual love that transcends the needs of any prosaic sexual activity. Shahzad’s new friend is gay, his doctor does not have a family and last night they’d had a long talk and Shahzad now seems to be much happier.

  August 21, 2011:

  Already the crowds are thinning and the violinist and Cellist who accompany Novak have gone. Last night a tall fair woman joined me, she was quite overbearing but charming. We discussed the music and I said, “It’s modern, of a classical style but avoids sentimentality, using rhythm but not beat.” She seemed to grasp my point and was understandably intrigued by me. Then Novak returned; he is of medium height, handsome and when he started to play she was obviously getting wet.

  August 22, 2011:

  The tall woman returned. She talked to Novak for ages. While Novak played we talked and in the distance Shahzad appeared. He was wearing sun glasses and some really disgusting jeans from the Chinese shop. He smiled and his white teeth gleamed in the dark. The fair woman said, ‘Ah Bollywood’ and Shahzad spent the night fascinating her. He is very good at making people feel confident and beautiful and I notice that he was using his eyes to good effect. Shahzad asked her to marry him and she said, ‘Not just to make you legal.’ She talked too much and she is exhausting but Shahzad coped very well.