Home > life, Uncategorized, writing > THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – [11]


          “Sit there,” I said.  “Get comfortable, because it will be a while.”  He slouched back in the chair and peeled back the towel.  He was half reclining, looking relaxed and confident.  I began to sketch.  He really was a work of art.  His face had cleanly defined features.  His shoulders were broad, as was his solid chest.  His stomach had neat squares of muscle like a body builder, and it had a profound effect on me to have him there like that.  To think about what it was like to have him as a lover made my head spin.  For weeks I had noticed him and tried to ignore the rush it gave me to see him.  My confusion about his apparent notice of me was not yet past.  I didn’t understand why he chose me.

He admired the sketches I’d made of him, and I’m sure he was just being kind.  Afterward, he insisted that we go to his place so he could make supper for us.  I acquiesced, and while the sun was setting over the green hills around us we walked through the gentle, fragrant evening air to his studio.

The walk took about an hour, but it was an easy walk, and he talked much of the time, telling interesting stories about his life, his family, his studies and his ambitions.  Finally he led me along a narrow path that branched off a small residential street.  The path was surrounded on both sides by high, ivy-covered fences.  We emerged out of the canyon of ivy into a clearing of grass and large trees.  An obscure black wrought-iron gate stood at the edge of the clearing.  Ati unlocked the gate and locked it again behind us.

The meal Attila prepared was a wonderful blend of flavours.  Chicken thighs were tender and spicy, fried potatoes were good and greasy, and a green salad with vinegar and oil dressing.

We went to bed early and made love for three hours before we slept.  We used our mouths, our hands, our genitalia, and explored every opening in both our bodies.  Sunday morning he served me a bowl of granola and milk before he made me pose for him.  He convinced me to lie on a sofa totally naked, and instructed me to just relax.  I tried to, but it wasn’t easy lying there totally exposed in front of my gorgeous young lover.

He set up an armature and began building an image in clay.  I could see that he was serious about me by the way he looked at me.  He really did love me.  Why not, I asked myself.  I look good.  I’m interesting enough to a younger man.  I love him, so why shouldn’t he love me?

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