I was at the Huntsman having a great time. Egbert and Pim sat next to me, a couple I had known for some time. They were large, impressive men - both bold and with large moustaches. But I had never hooked up with them. Jantje was behind the bar, entertaining the entire bar. I told them I had missed the last train.
“You can sleep at our place,” Pim said. A bit later we were walking in the snow towards their flat on Stadshouderskade. It was quite a walk. Once there, we climbed the stairs to the third floor. Panting, we hung up our soaking wet coats. Egbert switched the gas heater in the living room on. “I’ll switch the heater in the bedroom on as well,” he said, while going upstairs. Pim opened a bottle of red wine.
The latest craze at the Zaanlands Lyceum in Zaandam was the black turtleneck. Something I quickly noticed as the “little closet queen” I was. At the schoolyard several boys and girls were already wearing a turtleneck. In my class, those were Hester van Gelder and Jan-Willem Simons. I was determined, and saw a turtleneck in the window display. Quite a lot: thirty-six guilders! It was impossible. My savings would not cover it. I spoke to my mother, but my father was listening in, saying: “Have you gone mad? A turtleneck! If everyone jumps off a cliff, would you follow? It’s not the outside that counts, why don’t you get that? People care about your inner beauty. You can kiss that turtleneck goodbye.”
Egbert, Pim and I went upstairs. The bedroom was nice and warm, and we undressed, lying down on the bed in just our underpants. They were great kissers. Egbert was hairy, and Pim was smooth. We undressed and threw away our briefs. Pim was on his back with his legs up, and I gently put it in. He was moaning with pleasure. Egbert was fucking me. We took a break and looked outside - it was snowing more heavily.
I was thinking of that song by Salvatore Adamo, “Tombe la neige.”
Adamo came to Belgium as a toddler from Italy. His father was going to work in the mines. Adamo gradually became a star, and I first saw him in the TV program “Voor de vuist weg” with Willem Duys, where he performed “Vous permettez, monsieur.” It was at the top of the charts. But my favorite song of his is “Tombe la neige.”
Tombe la neige
Tu ne viendras pas ce soir
Tombe la neige
Et mon coeur s’ habille de noir
Ce soyeux cortege
Tout en larmes blaches
L’oiseau sur la branche
Pleure le sortilege
Tu ne viendras pas le soir
Me crie mon despoir
Mais tombe la neige
We always celebrated Sinterklaas at our grandparents in Anna Pavlovna. There was a mountain of gifts to unwrap. The very last present was an envelope with a poem for me. “Je hebt het niet meer verwacht. Maar Sint heeft aan je gedacht. Ga naar de kippenschuur. En kijk wat daar hangt aan de muur.” (You hadn’t expected it anymore. But Sint has kept you in mind. Go to the chicken bar. And look what’s hanging on the wall.) I quickly went to the barn and saw the parcel. Back in the room I unwrapped it to find: A BLACK TURTLENECK. I quickly put it on. It was a perfect fit. My mother was beaming and my father growled: “Well, he finally got his way.” “Can I wear it to school Monday?,” I asked. “Of course” my mother said.
Egbert, Pim and I slept late. Egbert went downstairs to make breakfast, sneaking our briefs downstairs. Pim and I searched all over the sleeping room. When we finally went to the kitchen in bathrobes, we found jolly Egbert with our briefs... “Sweet asshole,” Pim said, and gave his boyfriend a friendly pat on the back.