times, just as my uncle had constantly advised. Even at approved clubs, trouble was easily found. Besides, I’d taken to staying at the concert hall later, getting used to the piano and the acoustic space.
Tonight, however, the violinist was not taking my polite refusal for an answer. “Are you frightened, Kurt Klein?” he asked, using my full name. I didn’t understand why he did it, but I liked sound of it.
I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. It always rose up when I had to speak to important people. “Frightened? Frightened of what, Herr Waldenheim?”
The only way to describe his spreading smile was to call it sinfully mischievous. “Of me, Herr Klein.”
Despite trying to remain calm, my eyes grew wide as my fingers laced together. I popped my knuckles. “No.”
In truth, I was a bit frightened. Not of him, exactly. More of my feelings for him.
I respected him as a musician. That much I’d already admitted, but there was more. I wanted to look at him all the time. He always stood at the end of the piano, eyes closed when playing music, so I always had a great view of him.
Just his expressions caused a stir within me. The way his eyelashes brushed the tops of his cheeks made my body tighten. His lips were beautiful as his dark pink tongue swept out to wet them. When he was finished playing, or just sounding the final note of a piece, his eyes would flutter open, like butterflies in the summer. The smile was ever present. It seemed I lived for the little creases it made in his cheeks.
There were times during rehearsal when I had to push myself to look away and focus my eyes on the piano keys. It didn’t help my thoughts, though. Even without looking at the handsome talent before me, my mind kept racing with visions of his hands and elegant fingers. I imagined them curled around my own fingers, his palm flat against mine. I imagined them touching me, tickling my flesh, taunting me into a response.
My thoughts were wrong. Wrong and illegal.
Yes, the thought of going out with the musicians with whom I was working frightened me a bit. I was already so ill suited for polite society. I could never think of anything to say, so the idea of spending even more time with the attractive Herr Waldenheim seemed like torture. Sweet, beautiful torture. I was not so self-loathing to put that upon myself.
I’d been young when I realized I didn’t have the same feelings for girls as the other boys did. In fact, the feelings they had for the girls were the same feelings I had for the boys I knew. I’d also been fairly young when I realized how others reacted to people like me. My uncle called men who preferred other men horrible names. He verbally applauded the actions of the National Socialists when they strengthened Paragraph 175 of the German Penal Code. They made the law against homosexuals even harsher. Now men couldn’t even hug in public for fear of it being misconstrued as sexual advances.
I had never told anyone of my homosexuality. It was nothing more than feelings anyway. I had never pursued anyone. I’d heard that some men could be cured of it, but I didn’t believe it. Though I had no experience, I knew my mind and heart were unchangeable. I grew up learning to accept it, even though it was hard to do. I accepted that I would always be an outcast and that I would never be able to tell anyone or act on any feelings I had.
I tried to like girls, and had gone out with a few, but just holding their hands felt wrong. So I stopped trying and committed myself to music. Dedication to perfection would be my release and my saving grace.
“No?” Herr Waldenheim’s rich voice drew me back, but I couldn’t quite remember what we’d been discussing.
“No, what?” I asked, blinking a few times rapidly in order to bring myself back to attention. He laughed a beautiful laugh. “Come out with us!” he ordered again in a happy tone.
I remembered now. He’d been extending an invitation and asking if I
Tonight, however, the violinist was not taking my polite refusal for an answer. “Are you frightened, Kurt Klein?” he asked, using my full name. I didn’t understand why he did it, but I liked sound of it.
I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. It always rose up when I had to speak to important people. “Frightened? Frightened of what, Herr Waldenheim?”
The only way to describe his spreading smile was to call it sinfully mischievous. “Of me, Herr Klein.”
Despite trying to remain calm, my eyes grew wide as my fingers laced together. I popped my knuckles. “No.”
In truth, I was a bit frightened. Not of him, exactly. More of my feelings for him.
I respected him as a musician. That much I’d already admitted, but there was more. I wanted to look at him all the time. He always stood at the end of the piano, eyes closed when playing music, so I always had a great view of him.
Just his expressions caused a stir within me. The way his eyelashes brushed the tops of his cheeks made my body tighten. His lips were beautiful as his dark pink tongue swept out to wet them. When he was finished playing, or just sounding the final note of a piece, his eyes would flutter open, like butterflies in the summer. The smile was ever present. It seemed I lived for the little creases it made in his cheeks.
There were times during rehearsal when I had to push myself to look away and focus my eyes on the piano keys. It didn’t help my thoughts, though. Even without looking at the handsome talent before me, my mind kept racing with visions of his hands and elegant fingers. I imagined them curled around my own fingers, his palm flat against mine. I imagined them touching me, tickling my flesh, taunting me into a response.
My thoughts were wrong. Wrong and illegal.
Yes, the thought of going out with the musicians with whom I was working frightened me a bit. I was already so ill suited for polite society. I could never think of anything to say, so the idea of spending even more time with the attractive Herr Waldenheim seemed like torture. Sweet, beautiful torture. I was not so self-loathing to put that upon myself.
I’d been young when I realized I didn’t have the same feelings for girls as the other boys did. In fact, the feelings they had for the girls were the same feelings I had for the boys I knew. I’d also been fairly young when I realized how others reacted to people like me. My uncle called men who preferred other men horrible names. He verbally applauded the actions of the National Socialists when they strengthened Paragraph 175 of the German Penal Code. They made the law against homosexuals even harsher. Now men couldn’t even hug in public for fear of it being misconstrued as sexual advances.
I had never told anyone of my homosexuality. It was nothing more than feelings anyway. I had never pursued anyone. I’d heard that some men could be cured of it, but I didn’t believe it. Though I had no experience, I knew my mind and heart were unchangeable. I grew up learning to accept it, even though it was hard to do. I accepted that I would always be an outcast and that I would never be able to tell anyone or act on any feelings I had.
I tried to like girls, and had gone out with a few, but just holding their hands felt wrong. So I stopped trying and committed myself to music. Dedication to perfection would be my release and my saving grace.
“No?” Herr Waldenheim’s rich voice drew me back, but I couldn’t quite remember what we’d been discussing.
“No, what?” I asked, blinking a few times rapidly in order to bring myself back to attention. He laughed a beautiful laugh. “Come out with us!” he ordered again in a happy tone.
I remembered now. He’d been extending an invitation and asking if I
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