“And this was in better days.”

“Did they really have carriages like that—with five horses across pulling the carriage. Those white horses are beautiful.”

“Yes. That’s a racing carriage,” the man said. He was distinguished looking, probably in his late forties. He’d been handsome and trim when he was younger—elegantly turned out, as the photograph seemed to promise. Now, although his clothes were well cut, they were nearly threadbare. This was commonplace in Germany in 1956, though. The war was barely a decade over. Most Germans were still dealing with the threadbare and with trying to stave off starvation. This one was trying his best to land a temporary job. Colonel Armstrong and his wife, Betsy, knew that. They were trying their best not to fully expose their fourteen-year-old son, David, to that reality, though. He was such an impressionable child and going through a reticent period, struggling with himself over something he wouldn’t discuss with them.

“This was a racing brace of horses in Mecklenburg before the war. And, yes, that’s me driving them. I won races with that brace.”

“That’s you?” David asked, turning his attention to the man trying to get his father to let him guide the family on their vacation in Bavaria. They were at a biergarten—an outdoor beer garden just down the street from the guesthouse, called a gasthaus here in Germany, they were staying in in Garmisch. Colonel Armstrong was assigned to the U.S. Army Occupation Forces. The family lived in Frankfurt. This was their first opportunity to tour the fairy castles built by the Mad King Ludwig in Bavaria—Neuschwanstein, the ultimate fairy castle; Chiemsee, the palace Ludwig had built on an island as an upscale version of Versailles; and the baroque gem of a palatial villa, Linderhof, where he actually lived most. They were in Bavaria for three days and wanted to see as much as possible.

The man had noticed the close attention the boy, David, had given the German waiter in his close-fitting lederhosen, leather shorts held up with suspenders, and knee socks. He marked the interest. He also took another look at the boy. He was gorgeous, with a handsome face and figure and curly red hair with golden highlights, hazel eyes, and a sweet smile.

“That’s me in another life,” the man said. “I was the Count Friedrich von Mecklenburg in those days. On top of the world. Now I am a tour guide, working through the U.S. Armed Services Recreation Center and guiding American families like you around the Bavarian sites. And I understand you folks are looking for such a guide. Now, I am just Fried.”

“Are you really a count?” David asked, taking more interest now, giving new attention to the man, who, though looking down his luck, looked very handsome to David now—especially if he really was a count.

“Were a count,” Fried said. “All of that is gone now. The Nazis burned my castle out in marching toward Russia and then the Russians destroyed everything else on their push back. I barely escaped with that team of horses—north into Scandinavia. They were all of my fortune that I had left. And they are gone now too.

I’ve ended up here, serving families like yours. My fees are reasonable and I have connections. I can get you into all of Ludwig’s castles. Neuschwanstein is at the top of a mountain. I canget permission for you to drive right up to the castle gates in that beautiful car of yours.” He gestured to the 1955 baby-blue Cadillac sedan sitting at the curb next to where they were seated. It, indeed, was getting a lot of favorable attention in this economically devastated—still—country. “You need a boat to get out to Chiemsee. I can arrange that. Just a low fee—it’s set by the recreation service—and letting me stay in the gasthaus you are in for the three days and covering my meals.”

Colonel Armstrong thought that perhaps the roof over the man’s head and meals for three days was the compensation he really was after. He doubted the story about Mecklenburg, as he knew Mecklenburg was a region of Germany itself, in the northwest. The Russians may have impoverished this man and may even have jerked a title away from him, but he would have been just as German as any of the Nazis in World War Two. And he was in Germany now. Still, they did need a guide, and this man spoke elegant English; had the demeanor of a nobleman, if not the means currently; and claimed to be sanctioned by the recreation service. He had the credentials to show them. The colonel could contact the recreation center to check him out, but they did need a guide, and there were some American tourists at another table talking about the need for a guide. He could lose this one if he took the time to check.

And he did have credentials to show. Betsy was giving the man the “You poor dear” look that she was plagued with so often here in Germany, which was still downtrodden from the war. There was no end to sob stories of what people once were and no longer managed to be.

When he got Fried’s attention to say he was hired, Fried was looking at David, who was looking at the handsome—really sexy—German waiter in the lederhosen. I know about you, you beautiful boy, Fried was thinking. And I know about me too.

The Armstrongs thoroughly enjoyed their tours of Ludwig’s castles and Fried’s demonstrated connections allowed them to see them in style—although their Cadillac probably had something to do with the great service they got everywhere. He was so efficient and knowledgeable about Bavaria that they got to see much more in three days than they could have on their own—or even with a less personable guide.

He was vivacious and chatting and super friendly and attentive. He was a touchy feeling sort of man, which Colonel Armstrong wasn’t wild about, but his wife and son ate up. David, in particular, came to worship the man and hang onto and swallow every story he had to say about his own privileged early life and his athletic exploits. He certainly knew his history of the area—or, at least, had great versions of local history to dispense.

He and David became quite close—quite close indeed.

On the third night, the family’s last night in Bavaria, Fried guided them to the ice capades nightclub in Garmisch, the Casa Carioca. Garmisch had hosted the Winter Olympics in 1936, and the ice-skating revue nightclub was a holdover from that period. Dinner was served in the raised area on three sides of an ice-skating rink, after which the lights went down, the liquor came out, and skating stars of yesteryear came out on the ice and put on a show. Later, a wooden floor rolled out over a section of the ice, and the live band that had accompanied the skaters now accompany dancers from the audience.

When the colonel and his wife went onto the dance floor, Fried winked at David and poured some wine in the boy’s empty water glass.

“I’m not old enough to drink wine,” David said, with a sigh, although he looked at the wine like he’d like to dive into it.

“In Germany, boys your age can drink wine,” Fried said. “You’re fourteen, aren’t you? In Germany that’s old enough to make a lot of decisions for yourself. We’re in Germany now. Drink it up before your parents return.”

“Boys can really drink wine at fourteen here?”

“Yes, and they can make decisions about other things too.”

“Like what?”

“Like who they want to go with.”

“Go with?”

“You know what I mean. You’re a handsome young man, David. I’ve seen the way men look at you.”

“You have?”

“Yes, and I’ve seen the way you look at men too.”

David blushed. He didn’t say anything.

“You’re a handsome young man. The male skaters tonight were handsome too, in their costumes, with their tight pants. I saw you looking at them. That’s OK. I looked at them that way too.”

“You too? You look at men too?”

“Yes. Those are cups they wear under there, though. If they’re not, you’d be able to see a line of the thing under the material. If he was big. Like me. See, you can see the line with me.” He turned in his chair. David couldn’t help but look down—or to see what Fried meant.

There was a pause and then David repeated, shocked by the revelation, “You did? You looked at them too?”

“Yes, I did. I’ll tell you a little secret, David. I go with men. I go with boys too, when they’re really sexy, like you are. I think you want to go with men too. You’re a mature young man. I bet you’ve already ... yourself. Not just pulling it, but the other. I’ll bet you’ve used something like a cucumber. It’s OK, we’re in Germany. You can do it here. I did it when I was your age. It’s natural at your age—if you’re normal.”

David’s blush deepened and he looked away from Fried. Fried put a hand on the boy’s knees. This wasn’t the first time on this trip that Fried had done so. David hadn’t brushed the hand away for shrunk from it before and he didn’t do so now either.

“I’ve looked at you too, and I know you’ve looked at me. It’s OK. We’re both great guys. We’d be great together. I’d go with you—that way—if you wanted to, and it would be OK if you wanted to here in Germany. Here in Germany you can make that decision for yourself at your age, David. But look, I think your parents are coming back off the dancefloor. You should drink that wine before they get back.”

David did drink it. “See, you made that decision for yourself. You can do that at fourteen here in Germany. You can decide to go with a man too here at fourteen if you want.”

The colonel and his wife returned. Betsy was all aglow. She didn’t often get her husband to give her a turn on the floor.

“It’s late. I think we’d best go back to the gasthaus now,” Colonel Armstrong said. “Tomorrow morning is Oberammergau and then back to Frankfurt in the afternoon.”

“I agree it’s time for bed—and sweet dreams,” Fried said, raising his wine glass to drain it, hiding his little smile. He’d been looking for an opportunity to approach David for two days. This had been better than he thought he could manage.

David said nothing, but there was a contemplative look on his face—and Fried was still gripping his knee under the cloth-covered table.

It was after midnight but David hadn’t managed to get to sleep. His mind was racing. So were his wants and needs. He’d already beat himself off once. He was young. He could do it again—and again—tonight if he couldn’t get to sleep.

What Fried had told him at the table in the Casa Carioca kept running through his mind. Guys can do it at fourteen in Germany. They were in Germany now. David had known for some time that he wanted to do it—with guys. Fried was so handsome and big and muscular. He was old but that probably just meant he was really good at it—that he had a lot of experience. He had admitted that he liked men, that he went with men. He said he went with boys too. He had said he liked David—that David was sexy. He’d said that and shown that many times over the past two days. David was having feelings—in his body—now when he looked at Fried ... when Fried put his hand on his knee.

And, surprise and shock, here was Fried now, sitting on the side of his bed, looking down into his face and smiling, the smile picked out in the moonlight coming through the window. He was so handsome. Was this a dream? Was David dreaming?