I felt nostalgic leaving my Mykonos Beach Tribe. We cared more for one another than we ever wanted to admit. Mykonos had been incredible, and Super Paradise Beach was sheer voyeuristic delight, with hundreds of sexy naked guys crammed onto a smaller beach than Sandy Bay.
A little Greek romance with a gorgeous Parisian, whom I stayed with before leaving, made Mykonos even more unforgettable.
I cleaned up, banned my Medusa hairstyle and shook the sand out of my meagre belongings. My natural, slightly curly hair recovered and I felt great. My charming Parisian was relieved when I agreed that we should avoid the bars and clubs and just enjoy the pavement culture, eating light meals and drinking too much.
Already possessive? A tad, I guess. Being a romantic at heart, it warmed my heart that he did not want to lose me. He soon had to part with me anyway.
It was a challenge to find “home” in Chora, one of the oldest medieval parts of Mykonos, with its labyrinth of little streets. It confused medieval invaders then and lubricated tourists now.
All the little houses were white with mostly blue doors which made it more confusing. Getting lost in Mykonos was part of the fun.
On my last day in Athens, I went sightseeing before heading for the airport. With virtually no money, missing my flight was simply not an option.
The customs staff were friendly and probably used to seeing relieved young backpackers heading home. They were old hands at the game and had no interest in seeing the contents of my backpack. Drug mules brought drugs in, not out!
The flight staff were wonderful and offered me something extra to eat after I wolfed down my meal. A few male flight stewards flirted discreetly with me. Possibly the cleaned-up version of me, with my rebellious hair looking quite natural against my bronze skin, helped materialise a few more drinks.
Being ecstatic about going home, and a little light-headed, made me even friendlier. I was in full Labrador mode and no longer felt like a lost puppy. That night I slept better in cattle class than ever before. Judging from the glares I got from red-eyed passengers around me, I probably snored them awake all night. The amused looks from the crew confirmed my suspicion!
Johannesburg customs were fast. I obviously did not look much like a smuggler with such a big grin and no drops of anxious sweat on my forehead. I felt sorry for my poor neighbouring passengers, who probably had not slept a wink and were red flagged out of spite, I suspected. Hopefully, they did not have to experience cavity searches.
My connecting flight to Port Elizabeth got me home in ninety minutes. It was elating to see the joy on my mom’s face when she picked me up after my flights back from Greece.
A sharp pang of regret washed over me when I realised how worried she must have been without a word from me for a month. She was so happy to see me that she did not even admonish me for my selfishness.
On the way to the airport, she had a minor accident with my little A-Team Ford panel van, painted in red, black and silver. It was a typical surfer mobile, and dents just added more personality.
Thankfully, I had parted with the horrendous Medusa, my old, revolting, ugly chocolate-brown Datsun 120Y. I always joked that the “Y” stood for “Why would anybody buy such an ugly car?” I bought Medusa by accident when the bidding got me excited and I placed the entry and only bid on Medusa at R450. I was frozen on the spot with horror.
The airport was only a nine- or ten-minute drive from Humewood, where Stuart anxiously awaited my arrival.
“Hallo, my darling. I’m so pleased to see you. You look great. I can’t believe you lost weight when you had none to lose,” he shrieked with laughter.
“Well, I had a great time, but sleeping on the beach in Mykonos was not fun,” I said with a grin.
While I took my mom back to Cape Recife School, she told me that she really liked Stuart and that the two of them had phoned each other daily to check whether either of them had heard from me. They both got worried when I disappeared off their radar.
“Oh, Mom, I feel terrible that I just went so quiet when things got so busy. People were lining up at public phones, and I had to dart back to the train,” I fibbed shamelessly.
My mom gave me one of her piercing looks, reserved for lies and blushing. Her glare had me cornered.
I promised to tell her all, after a shower and some rest at my cottage. She was always terribly busy at school and had to get back to work as a housemother.
Most of the boys were teens and needed maternal care. As the eldest child, my mother had had to look after her younger brothers when their mother died very young. She was the ultimate housemother, and the school was lucky to have such a caring one.
Back at the house, Stuart was preparing lunch with vodka cocktails awaiting! Exactly what I needed.
I wanted to unpack, shower or, even better, have a bath and get into warmer clothing. I forgot how much colder it would be returning from temperatures above 35°C to about 18°C in Humewood’s moderate winter climate.
Stuart insisted that I have a bath, convinced I needed to luxuriate in a fragrant bubble bath. He was used to seeing me naked and he followed with our drinks. There was a lot to gossip about, although we could only discuss my adventure in broad strokes for now. The graphic details later were for Stuart Bond 007’s ears only!
“Spit it out. All of it! Especially the juicy bits,” he said, with big mischievous eyes behind his even bigger Elton John blue glasses.
“That would take a long time, Stuart, so let me just share the juicy bits for now. Make yourself comfortable, as this might take a while!”
That was exactly what he wanted to hear, and he rushed off to the kitchen to top up our drinks. All the excitement made us thirsty! Now well lubricated, Stuart knew me well enough to know how talkative I could become after two cocktails.
When I told him about sexy Wolfgang, the gorgeous elfish Finn and the two hot French guys, Stuart exclaimed, “Surely that is not all you did?”
“Well, that was way more than I could handle in a month. Back home it would take me a year to meet that many interesting men, if I was lucky. And I might have stopped and gotten involved with the first one who loved my mind more than my body.”
“Darling, at your age, with your body and face, no one is interested in your mind. I mean, really! Which planet do you come from?” Stuart exclaimed outrageously.
Compliments after two cocktails would get anybody everywhere with me. His frivolous comment went down well, and it felt wonderful to be back in my safe cocoon.
After a great lunch and more raving about Europe, I went for a short nap but only woke up twelve hours later, early the next morning, before sunrise. I wanted to swim with my regular pod of dolphins but needed a few days to acclimatise.
Later it warmed up a little. I normally swam throughout the year, but I was not quite ready for that yet. Paddle-skiing seemed possible, so I jogged down to the beach in a tracksuit. I did not have a wetsuit, so I just wore a T-shirt. The ocean was about 18°C at that time of year, which was fair for winter.
Every evening felt like one of the 1001 Arabian Nights. Except I had more to tell! Stuart got hooked on the stories after work. My mother regularly rocked up with a plate of food as I’d become so skinny. She was as inquisitive as Stuart, but I gave her the more sanitised version sans my sexual adventures.
Gradually all returned to normal. I was back at v
arsity and loved my classes. Perhaps I grew up a little? It was difficult to follow the syllabus when my students were far more interested in what I had got up to in Europe.
They had no illusions about my adventurous nature and wanted to know all the dirt. Raving about culture and architectural beauty was not enough to satisfy them. We all had abundant hormones rushing around our bodies, after all. But I had to draw the line.
I continued my judo classes, and my exquisite blonde sensei was happy to throw me around while demonstrating new techniques. I had no idea why he always picked on me. Maybe we both had the hots for each other? I cherished contact with Liam and managed to avoid injury while being thrown around like a rag doll. Judo is a useful sport, using the momentum of opponents to achieve dominance gently. I learned a lot from some sizzling guys.
A platonic friend and I prized exploring bike paths through the bushes and sand dunes towards the more desolate beaches on the southeastern side of Port Elizabeth. These scenic routes were quiet and marvellous for biking. About 35 kilometres away were the massive dunes at Van Staden’s River Mouth.
Andre invited me to join him and a friend for a camping trip. Getting our little tent up was tricky as it was so sandy. We went on two bikes, and Dolph, his friend, rode with him. Dolph was clearly nervous and clung to Andre for dear life as the sandy sections were treacherous and falling was a distinct, if hopefully painless, possibility.
It was quite an adventure finding the right spot, but eventually we settled into our tiny tent. It was nothing like the castle-like holiday tent I had enjoyed as a kid. This was a very different adventure.
Andre made it quite clear that he was into Dolph, so I did my best to keep myself busy exploring the campsite to give them space.
There were no amenities, but after all my adventures roughing it, that did not bother me. Andre had spent years in the military as an officer with combat experience, so this was a walk in the park for him. As a farmer’s son, Dolph was pretty good at roughing it too.
We were a perfect trio, but there was a tangible sexual tension in the air. The message seemed obvious: stay away. That was easier said than done in a tiny tent.
If a sexual tango started, I would have to worm my way out of the tent and go for a walk until it was safe to return. I had no manual and no idea how to deal with yet another first. The safest option seemed to be keeping as much distance from both of them as possible.
Andre and I liked each other a lot, but we had settled for friendship rather than anything more complicated. As a good friend, I wanted him to find a boyfriend. He became terribly excited at any possibility of romance, and I desperately wanted him to hit it off with Dolph. I was in the way, and Dolph was gorgeous, so Andre’s enthusiasm was understandable.
That night, I turned my back on Dolph and, from sheer exhaustion, fell into a deep sleep only two days after returning from Europe.
I began having sensual dreams.
Half asleep, I became aware of gentle hands caressing me. I wanted the dream to continue and tried to stay asleep when I realised this was no dream.
Dolph’s wandering hands continued. As pleasant as it was, this had to stop. Easier said than done. I did not want World War III on my hands. Andre was older than us and had a dominant personality, having been used to being the officer in command. I did not want to cross swords with him, so I tried to get Dolph to stop.
Thankfully, he did.
Now we were all obviously wide awake and had to pretend to be asleep just to keep the peace. Early the next morning, Andre drove off to cool down and returned later to pack up camp.
Dolph did not want to go back to Andre’s apartment. He insisted on riding with me, which infuriated Andre.
Back at home, Dolph loved the cottage, but I told him he had to go. I did not want to complicate my friendship with Andre.
Dolph told me there was absolutely nothing between them and that he had made that clear to Andre. The next minute, Andre arrived at high speed down the long driveway.
Dolph was too scared to face him, and I now had the unpleasant task of telling Andre that Dolph did not want to be with him. Andre was furious and struggled to control his anger. I was relieved when he left without attacking me and, thankfully, left us alone.
Previously, Dolph had a huge blow-up with his wealthy, conservative farmer father about being gay and left the farm. Dolph and his father had reached a point where their relationship was destroying them both. Dolph was the youngest son and had a gentle personality that was unsuited to the harsh cattle rancher’s world, where livestock were raised to be killed.
Dolph even named some of his cattle and was devastated by the brutal side of farming, which was completely unsuitable for an animal lover. Neither of us had a killer instinct. I had also worked part-time for a vet for a year while I was at school, so I understood his discomfort with that side of farming.
Something drastic and life-altering happened to me that I had never experienced before.
This was the first time I fell completely in love with someone who loved me unconditionally in return.
Until then, I had known attraction, desire, anger, possessiveness, fear and secrecy. I understood the complicated emotions that accompanied love but was completely naïve about expressing love itself.
For the first time, love did not have to be earned or defended. It was simply there.
Strangely, after all the travelling, freedom and adventure, this was something I had never been taught how to handle.
Dolph, like my father, just knew how to stop and enjoy the ritual of the moment.
He loved nature, sunrise and sunsets, and the night sky, which was not as beautiful as in rural arid areas. There, the stars twinkled and every passing satellite could clearly be seen.
Dolph taught me the beauty of every moment. He reminded me how low our priority should be for possessions. Being only custodians of our possessions, it does accompany us on spiritual journeys.
Philosophically, this point remains valid whether you believe in an afterlife, reincarnation or neither. Most of us had wills to dispose of our assets when we died, irrespective of our belief system. Some cultures do not even believe in individual ownership, due to the absurdity of it.
Communal ownership, as described in Gemeinschaft in anthropology among small ancient communities, is the inverse of Gesellschaft in more modern communities.
Ownership is an illusion.
Custodianship is what we have in societies that worship wealth and ownership.
Dolph came from a long lineage of people who had worked hard to achieve these goals of ownership, which clashed with his belief system.
We are born naked and die naked.
Soon after Dolph just remained with me and never returned, he told me he knew he would die very young because he did not belong on the planet.
Being so young, it shocked me that he could be so certain of such a short lifespan without any medical evidence to the contrary.
He loved me unconditionally, though, and it saddened him that he would part from me soon. He knew this with absolute certainty, and I loved him back unconditionally.
This enigma infatuated me. Intuitively, I believed him without doubt and decided to accept his way of life, which differed so completely from mine.
I loved the ocean that he feared. Everything physical that I loved, he either feared or avoided.
He sensed my ignorance about love and taught me how to love and how to demonstrate it. He did not believe in my idea of hippy-like free love. Here he was remarkably conservative and believed that love was something you could own, unlike worldly possessions.
He was extremely possessive about me and everything I did that involved male-to-male contact. My sexual fluidity also worried him, as he saw all these things as potential hurdles between our rare unconditional love. A love that would continue even if I stepped out of line.
He changed me into a new person, which pleased him as I was so adventurous. This he saw as a crucial part of me maturing emotionally and sexually.
He enjoyed smoking joints, which I did not, but we learned to deal with those differences. Sometimes I did just that to strengthen our bond and to share the same wavelength.
I loved Dolph more than anybody else ever before him, and he taught me the difference between love and unconditional love.
This is a brief excerpt from Rubin van Niekerk’s upcoming Memoir/Autobiography, titled Mentors, Family and Friends Matter, chronicling the people, places and experiences that shaped his life from early childhood to later adulthood. We all relate to this universal experience.
New chapters will be published regularly in the Magazine section of the landing page of Gay Pages website, alongside our favourite archived articles, as the journey unfolds. Chapter 17, “The Brahman bull and the beach boy” follows.
