A Perfect Waiter by Alain Claude Sulzer I just finished this novella and wanted to recommend it. I love stories like this because it reflects so much of what my life is like. So much unrequited love and so many unresolved affairs. The author's writing style is very old world and hearkens back to another time as the novel goes between events from the mid sixties and 1936 just before war breaks out in Europe. I found this review that says it better than I can.
The Bookseller's Book News editor, Benedicte Page writes:
On an autumn afternoon, when the leaves are just turning and there’s the first hint of winter chill in the air, there is nothing more pleasurable than reading melancholy novels about frozen emotions, unfulfilled lives and thwarted love affairs. (Or is that just me?) So the other Sunday I reached for my proof of A Perfect Waiter by Alain Claude Sulzer (Bloomsbury, January), translated from the German by John Brownjohn, with a feeling of eager anticipation, suspecting that this story of a doomed gay relationship between two young waiters in a grand Swiss hotel in the 1930s would strike just the right note. It did. Erneste, the “perfect waiter” of the title, is now middle-aged, and has no life beyond his role in the hotel restaurant, where he is devoted to playing his part with absolute punctiliousness and attention to detail. Yet beneath his very proper exterior burns a private passion, the treasured memory of his illicit affair with a handsome young waiter, Jakob, 30 years before. Jakob soon left him for a famous writer, a guest at the hotel, but Erneste has never ceased to think of his former lover, and when a letter arrives from America, bearing Jakob’s name, his emotions are stirred afresh. Sadly, Jacob’s return will not bring Erneste any happiness - on the contrary, it will only underscore his desolate sense of loss. One may struggle to understand quite how the unremarkable Jakob wrought such havoc for three decades in poor Erneste’s heart. But love is blind, and this slender tale is a mood-piece as much as anything: an elegantly written, brooding tale of yearning, loneliness and regret, with a very classic feel. Reading on my sofa in the autumn sun, I enjoyed it thoroughly.
This is the second installment from my novel, SONS. Click here for the 1st installment. The novel travels back and forth from post WW 2 England to the midst of WWII Germany. The German parts are a fabrication taken from real events of some of the real people involved.
Twenty scantily clad young women stood in a line before us. Schellenberg walked before them inspecting each one as he passed. They were of various sizes and types and some stood more at attention than the others. They smiled at Schellenberg as he passed them. “These are your students, Lieutenant-Colonel Huber. You will instruct them in English and codes and deciphers. Mornings are best as the girls do their best work at night; preferably not too early as they need their beauty rest.” A few if the girls laughed. Fraulein Kitty stood off to one side smoking a cigarette with a holder. She was still attractive for a woman of fifty-seven years. Her bleached blond hair was pinned up behind her head and her make-up was slightly overdone. She wore a long kimono with a silk slip underneath and slippers, even though it was mid-afternoon. “These are a select group of ladies, Lieutenant-Colonel, and they are engaged in some very important work for the Führer.” I was sweating again and my upper lip was beaded. Schellenberg picked up a phone and dialed one number. “Turn off number four.” He walked over and grabbed a young brunette by the hand. “Follow me Lieutenant-Colonel; we shall begin the instructions immediately.” I followed them up the stairs as Kitty took a drag off her cigarette and walked out of the room. “You look very hot in your uniform, Huber. Why don’t you take off your jacket?” The room had red walls and a pink satin bedspread. It looked exactly as I would imagine a room like this would. “Huber, have you ever been with a woman?” I blushed and looked at the whore who was sitting on the bed with her legs crossed. She smiled back at me. “Of course,” I replied. “What about men? Have you ever been with a man?” Schellenberg was taking off his jacket and his tie. “No, of course not,” I lied. “Then you should have no problem fucking Fraulein Ilsë while I watch.” I stared at him amazed. “Why are you doing this, Sturmbannfuehrer Schellenberg?” “I need proof of your dedication to the Führer. Homosexuals are degenerates, Huber. Take off your clothes.” I stood there sweating and felt I might faint at any moment. The room began to spin. My entire adult life I had feared discovery and had done my best to hide any signs of my true self for years. The moment of truth had arrived. I took a deep breath and tried to relax. Ilsë sat on the bed and watched me. I looked at Schellenberg and tried to imagine that it was him I was to make love to. At that moment he repulsed me and yet somehow excited me too. I felt a stirring and began to remove my shirt and tie. Perhaps I could do this. My emotions were spinning around inside me like a whirlwind. I fought to get them under control. “I’m afraid that’s an order, Huber.” Schellenberg grinned. Ilsë stood and brought me to the bed. She undid my trousers and let them drop to my ankles. She gently pushed me back on the bed and then knelt down to take off my shoes and socks. As she pulled my trousers off me I closed my eyes, imagining my most erotic encounters with men. I had been with a girl only once in my youth, but it had been disastrous and I was unable to finish the act and had run away humiliated. Schellenberg had taken his trousers off and sat in the corner playing with himself through his drawers. Ilsë straddled my lap, sitting on my thighs she began to kiss me. She tasted of lipstick and cigarettes. I prayed for something to happen. The knowledge that Schellenberg was watching and was getting excited by the performance on the bed became the catalyst. My intense hatred for the man grew and fueled my thoughts and my sexual force. I wanted to kill him, but first I wanted to rape him. I turned all my focus on Ilsë. I picked her up and threw her on the bed. I was insane with hatred and lust. I tore her panties off and pulled off my drawers. I entered her with a quick thrust that caused her to cry out. I felt possessed. I looked over at Schellenberg with a demonic grin and saw him stroking himself furiously. His drawers were around his ankles. I looked down at Ilsë who was crying out in pain and desire. I imagined Schellenberg under me and feverishly pounded away at Ilsë until I finally unleashed all my hatred and fear into her. Schellenberg drained himself on the carpet with grunts and groans and fell back in the chair. I pulled out of Ilsë and gathered my clothes, making my way to the bathroom past Schellenberg. “Excellent performance, Huber.” Schellenberg was leisurely stroking his cock. I said nothing as I walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Disgust and repulsion for myself and Schellenberg overcame me as a wave of nausea welled up inside me. I went to the sink and held back the wave as my mouth watered and my stomach churned. I gagged and spit into the sink as the feelings dispersed. I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t recognize myself. My face was flushed and sweat dripped off the end of my nose and my chin. My eyes were the eyes of a madman. I grabbed a towel, wet it in the sink and washed my face and then my body.
When I was twelve years old, my sisters and I had a sixteen year old baby sitter named, Raymond. He lived only two doors down and his parents were friendly with our parents. He would sometimes take off his clothes and dance with a hard-on on the coffee table in the living room. He would drape a towel over his erect cock and parade around for us. My younger sisters found it nasty, but would giggle and enjoy the show. We would sit on the couch and watch the show while he danced around with just his shoes on. He would get my sisters to sit in his lap but never touched them or required that we touch him. I still remember the smell of his dick. He would flop it around in front of my face, tempting me. I remember having very conflicted feelings. I loved every minute of it, but somehow knew that it was wrong. He threatened to beat us up if we told on him and one day my sister in a moment of guilt confessed to my parents when she found out he was coming over to babysit. That ended the party and my parents relationship with his parents. He used to sit on the roof of his house and watch the cars drive by.
I love strippers, sex shows and public displays of nudity.
BEAUTIFUL MAG This is one of my favorite blogs. If you haven't already, check out Beautifulmag. The pictures are always great and artistically aesthetic. The articles and interviews are well done and informative.
ROCKING THE TASSLE Evan Lysacek's win over Evgani Plushenko was a definate upset, but the real upset for me was the low score and 6th place of Johnny Weir. Although, not my type and not a big fan of his fashion choices, I admire the hell out of Johnny and his ability to stay strong and focused through all the media hype. Admittedly, he brings it on, however, he stays firm in stating, "I am what I am!" I thought he skated magnificently. I just read an article about two Australian newscasters making fun of him. Click here for the story and follow up and let's see if we can't get these two horses asses into some sensitivity training classes. Here's a link to Johnny's response. Although Evan is more my taste, there is something about him that grates on me. He seems arrogant and entitled. I realize he works hard and has earned his place in the sun and I congratulate him.
It's Raining Men! Hallelujah! Last night's long program in the men's figure skating was heart stopping in so many ways. Some of the new boys are looking good and the one's who have been around for awhile had some amazing performances. I was especially taken with Florent Amodo's story from Brazil. Abandoned on the streets of Brazil as an infant he was adopted and raised in France. A very happy ending. We also share the same medical condition. Osgood Schlatter's Disease. Michal Brezina of the Czech Republic made an impressive Olympic debut and won my heart with his long program. He wears the cutest outfits and has great musical choices. What is it about those Czech boys?
Stéphane Lambiel - The Official Website - Gallery Stephane Lambiel did a great short program, but seemed to let down after a fall in the long program free skate tonight in Vancouver. His classic goods looks and his amazing spins still make him a winner.
1. Be Impeccable With Your Word..... Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your word in the direction of truth and love. 2. Don't Take Anything Personally..... Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others you won't be the victim of needless suffering. 3. Don't Make Assumptions..... Find the courage to ask questions and to express what you really want. Communicate with others as clearly as you can to avoid misunderstandings, sadness and drama. With just this one agreement you can completely transform your life. 4. Always Do Your Best..... Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstance simply do your best and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse and regret. :: The Four Agreements Don Miguel Ruiz
Missing this year from competition is former Alpine skier, Alain Baxter. He posed nude for a calendar he made to raise funds for his bid and then retired. He has switched over to cycling. Here are a few pics from his calendar and a few random shots of hopefully the next big thing in the X Games and maybe the Olympics. Nude Downhill.
"An artist has always gotta be in the state of becoming"... Bob Dylan...
"If you advance confidently in the direction of your own dreams and endeavor to live the life which you have imagined, you will meet with a success unexpected in common hours." Henry David Thoreau. All material herein is written and copyrighted by me, unless otherwise noted. Please leave your comments. I love to hear from you. You can email me at: email@example.com
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