nothing had happened. For a moment I half-wondered whether last night had all just been a strange dream, but the aching all over my abused body quickly put that theory to rest.

After we'd had breakfast and Franz left, I washed and dressed. I desperately needed affection after what I'd been through. The young woman whose arms I slept in that evening was speechless at the sudden change in me. No sex for once. We just kissed and held each other.

Franz and I never spoke about or repeated what happened that night. It was neither shame nor denial. It was just something that had happened and that we silently agreed not to make a big deal about.

I cannot explain why we did what we did, for I do not entirely understand it myself.

Our encounter was the first and last time I'd ever had sex with another man, and I know my friend well enough to assure you it was the same for him.

We remained close friends until I graduated, married and moved away. After that our communication naturally dissolved, as tends to happen with time and distance.

That is how this story ends, dear reader.

Perhaps some of you out there have similar tales to tell, or can make some sort of sense out of this one. As for me, I still cannot quite fathom it. On the few occasions I think back on that time, it still feels as though it happened to someone else. But I do not regret this experience. No, I believe in pleasure and count this episode amongst all the other pleasurable ones I was fortunate and debauched enough to enjoy in this life.

I'll try most anything once. Those who do not are missing out, in my humble opinion.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have more writing to do.