Statovci - My Cat Yugoslavia

The first time I met the cat was something so utterly mind-boggling, like seeing the bodies of a hundred handsome men all at once, that I painted it on a thick sheet of watercolor paper, and when the painting was finally ready and had dried properly, I carried it with me everywhere I went, and not a single person walked past me in the street without answering the question, Your Highness, may I introduce you to my cat?

0:01 blackhetero-helsinki: anyone up for some fun and games???????

0:01 Chubby-Sub28: mature domwanna chat dirty?

0:01 sneakerboy-jyvskyl*:

0:02 OuluTop_tomorrow: skinny guy for meet?

0:02 Kalle42_Helsinki: younger in Turku? bj next week?

0:02 Jrvenp: anyone nearby?

0:02 Helsinki_Tourist: butch guy to fuck my face? NOW!

0:02 Rauma_BTM: porcelain cheeks need stiff cock. any takers?

0:02 Tampere_guy for younger: tampere

0:02 N-Oulu: three-way fun? couple in Oulu

0:02 Tampere_guy for younger: tampere city center

0:02 Cam30: chat / cam2cam?

0:03 EasternLad_btm24: HOOK-UP?? MY PLACE!!

0:03 VilleHelsinki: fit top/vers guy 185/72/18/5 looking for fit vers/btm guy for meet NOW

W hen Villes message popped up on the screen, I stopped reading. An hour later Ville was standing at my door saying hi, and I said hi, and he eyed me up and down from my toes to my hairline. Only then did he pluck up the courage to step inside.

Youre good-looking, I said.

Ville mumbled something. His movements were awkward. He took a step backward. At times he leaned against his right arm and at others he held it behind his back. But I knew how to play this game. No, I mean it, I said, youre really good-looking, I was a bit surprised when you turned up, Id imagined something else altogether, imagined everything youd said about yourself was a lie. Thats what I would have done.

I can go if you want.

His voice was timid and bashful, as though it belonged to a small child, and he turned his eyes away and gave a somewhat demonstrative huff, as though he was trying to convince me of something. I dont normally do this kind of thing, perhaps, or I only signed in to the chatroom on a whim, I dont know what I was thinking. As though he wanted me to know that hed already thought of everything that could happen. He might have an STD, he could be anybody, he might hurt me, you never know.

I dont want you to go, I said and tried to grab him by the hand, but he snatched it away and hid it behind his back.

I understood him better than anyone else. Why would a man like him do something like this? Why didnt he go back where hed come from? He was a successful-looking man of just over thirty, he had combed his hair back, and his handsome, angular face appeared from the folds of his scarf and coat collar in such a way that he could have had anyone, he could walk into any room and choose whomever pleased him the most. He took off his shiny new leather shoes and expensive-looking coat and hung it on the rack. His clothes smelled clean, his pin-striped shirt was made of thick, smooth fabric, and his jeans hadnt even creased around the knees, though they fitted his legs like a pair of tights.

For a moment he stood in front of me without saying anything, until the forced silence began to bother him and he slipped his hand around my lower back, pressed me firmly against the wall, and kissed me roughly. He gripped my wrists in his palms and pressed his thigh against my groin, as though he was afraid I might say something like I fancied him or that I knew how angry all this can make you feel, how I understand him and the world he came from: professional parents, I know, you cant tell them you like men, oh I know, its not the kind of thing you just tell people.

I hate this too, all of it, I wanted to tell him, ask him how we ended up here and why it has to be like this, but thats not something to say to a remorseful man, because loathing is so much stronger than anger. You can give in to anger, you can get over it or let it take over your life, but loathing works in a different way. It burrows down under your nails, and even if you bite your fingers off, it wont go away. But I didnt say anything to him, because between men there are no questions. Theres no abuse, no reasoning.

His long nails scratched my back and shoulders, his neat row of teeth knocked against mine; I caught the smell of strong cologne on his neck, the feel of moist deodorant in his armpits. He pressed himself tightly against me and wrapped his legs around mine, his muscular thighs squeezed at my sides, and there was a sense of determination in his rounded shoulders. How beautiful he is, I thought for a moment, and how lucky I am that hes come. His wrists with fair, downy hair, the backs of his hands covered in bulging veins, his straight, smooth fingers and well-groomed nails, the fitted shirt, its top buttons undone and beneath which I fill my nose with his scent, his collarbone propping up his chiseled pectoral muscles, the elegance of his tapering chest and the seduction of his waist, his tight but well-fitting jeans that sit so snugly round his thighs that the contours of his leg muscles look like they were etched with a blade. I thought, How perfect a man can be.