The Boy Scout

I met him when I was in the army. He joined the same period as me, February 2005, in the same training base, in central Greece. I didn’t run into him straight away though. A month passed before they separated those of us that were meant to be trained as sergeants. He had the bed next to mine so we got to know each other very well. We were sent to the same military base for three months as well after that.

He’s medium built with very broad shoulders from all the years of rowing. Five years older than me with dark skin, long dark hair to his shoulders, very round face and dark eyes. Most of his family comes from Istanbul but he’s born and raised in Thessaloniki. I always remember him smoking rolled cigarettes and telling various stories. He’s been a boy scout ever since he can remember. He’s one of the few that stayed a boy scout during his adult life, earning ranks and accompanying children to excursions, trips and various other activities. His other major passion in life is the sea. He loves to sail and his big dream in life is to become a professional full time skipper.

The Boy Scout is what you call a very good lad. He’s the one that knows how to behave, have good manners, is intelligent and reliable. We kept close the months of our service. The bond some people create when they go through the same tough situation is something unique. This kind of friendship bonded the Boy Scout and me. Living in the same base made us share most of things, apart from one. I never told him I’m gay.

I met his then girlfriend and some of his friends and we hang around a lot, even outside the base. Since I had some girlfriends in the past and I was extremely closeted then (you can’t be gay in the army), it’s wasn’t very difficult for me to play the part of the straight army boy. I also knew that there was an expiry date on the time I served there so I thought that it wouldn’t matter if I lied a bit.

After the end of our service, I only saw him a couple of times during some army reunions or for an occasional coffee or drink now and then. It was too late to tell him I’m gay by then and I was making my plans to leave for the UK anyway. When he heard that I was leaving, his comment was to be careful not to be ‘turned to the wicked side’ as he put it. There’s a common joke in Greece that there are way too many homosexuals in London so he was simply referring to that. I already knew that he was a homophobe from various comments made during our service so I simply didn’t say anything.

It’s been years since then and I kept seeing him only sporadically during some visits to Greece. He kept asking me how my sex life’s going and if I found any interesting nice girl abroad and I always replied generally that he shouldn’t worry and I’m doing fine, I’m getting all the fun I need.

Recently however he contacted me that he’ll try to make his dream come true. He’s registered for a sailing course from the Royal Sailing/ Yachting Club in England to get a special degree of some sorts (I can’t remember the details) that will a tremendous help in his sailing career. He’d like to stay a few days in my place to visit a British doctor to get a health check certificate needed to start the course and also travel to the place where the Club is based. So, I agreed and he came… (I don’t know why sometimes I simply can’t say no)…

So, in a way I had to become that same lying person again that I don’t really like. Thankfully ‘JJ’ was working these days so we couldn’t meet much anyway. We met only once in Camden Market and for dinner but I had told him to keep some kind of distance (I do feel guilty about that). We are not very intimate out in the public anyway. (I’m such a bitch).

I tried to speak to the Boy Scout. I saw however that he made a bad comment about a small Banksy drawing I have of the two policemen kissing in my room (which at least I had the dignity not to hide). He also made a bad comment about Almodovar’s movies when I tried to open a discussion about it and I decided it’s no use. I don’t think I can open his eyes one bit. He can be a really nice well mannered good guy but with some major issues coming from a very conservative Greek religious background.

After meeting JJ the boy Scott stopped asking me questions about girls. I’m not sure if he suspected something was going on but we didn’t talk about it. I do felt bad though. I felt like I was going backwards, being untrue to everything I believed and fought for. I was able to come out to my parents but not to some random bloke from my past. I still do have my issues to solve, I know. It’s like I’m a complete different person when it comes to dealing with people from my past and my present. Anyway, that’s my shameful story I’m sharing with you… I’ll try to work on that.

I know that he'd never understand. But I also don't know why I keep these people in my life...

My military service Part 6

So, I was sent back to my first training base to wait for the ‘newbies’ to arrive, train on how to be a sergeant and also train on truck driving. It was quite a busy period then.

Thankfully it was beginning of spring (5 years ago – time does fly quickly) and the weather was constantly improving. For the first week before the first arrivals we were busy cleaning the barracks, painting the outposts, replanting, doing laundry and making beds, clearing the grounds etc. We had a week to make the base look spotless for the newcomers. While that was being done during the day, the night posts were guarded by us as normal. Sleep was a luxury that we didn't have.

The first wave of people that would join the base was the people with some ‘specialties’. That would include immigrants applying for a green card serving for a shorter period of time, gypsies (can I use that term or is it politically incorrect?), people who illegally refused to join the army when properly called (mavericks?) or deserters. These people would stay in the base for a week and would be quickly transferred to proper military bases before the ‘proper’ new privates would arrive.

Greek Army is a fascist, racist constitution who discriminates between people as you can see. They put gypsies in a special category of people and they want to keep a different eye on them. Also, a major part of the immigrants serving are people from the former USSR. They have served a far more serious army of their own country, have families with children and are quite old to join this farce called Greek Army. They can’t afford to be far from their families for 6 months. I met many of these people and I didn’t have answers to this kind of their questions. They could do some social work to ‘prove’ their loyalty to their new adaptive county.

Anyway, the day that that first wave of people joined, I was away in the firing ground, tidying that area up. They placed them in groups (immigrants, gypsies, Greeks etc) in different rooms, far away from one another. The very first night though, there was an incident between a young gypsy and a Russian guy. As I was later told, there was a vendetta between their families and the gypsy stabbed the other man in the chest who was quickly transferred to the military hospital to be treated. The gypsy was also transferred to the military prison in Athens where he would be judged. I never learned what happened with him.

That incident caused us a lot of trouble though. It made everyone more tense and having agitated officers is never a good thing. We were to have extra shifts guarding the newcomers as well to keep an eye on them and also apart. There was a fear for retaliation. Proper sleep or evenings without duties were a luxury we didn’t have that week, which everybody hoped to pass quickly. I don’t know if the new extra guards helped (I doubt it) or the fact that the Colonel allowing that specific group of immigrants some extra freedoms, but there weren’t any other incidences with them.


Needless to say that we were happy to see these people go by the end of that week. Not all of them were creating problems but we hoped that the next bunch would be more obedient and trouble free. The day that new group arrived I was allocated to accompany the new privates from the gate to the building to have their stuff searched. I had been similarly accompanied like that, just three months ago into that same small room to have my stuff searched and it felt kind of weird. I could see the horror of the unknown in most of their faces and the anxiety of their parents dropping them off. I could also see the pride in some of the fathers’ faces seeing their children finally reaching adulthood and becoming a man (don’t get me started on that).

These days with the new privates were happy days. Most of the officers were preoccupied with them and we were left alone. We had fewer things to do, since some of the duties we previously had, were allocated to them. We also had this euphoria about being ‘old’ privates, taking some steps closer to been released.

My military service 5

I know I left this story behind since mid January but I always said I’d continue it.
The rest of the parts: part 4, part 3, part 2, part 1

I left the story when I was informed my military specialty (‘logistics manager of a military warehouse and truck driver’) and the location of my barracks where I’d spend the following months of my service. I had just finished around 45 days of basic training that involved proper military behavior and gun handling. I had no idea about what my specialty would bring or how my life would be in the new base. The only thing I knew was that I would spend a very short period of time in the new base at the beginning, since I had to go back to my training base to train on becoming a truck driver and a sergeant. I would return to that base, after that second period of training.

One of the worse things when it comes to being a soldier is the stories and gossips that circulate among the men amazingly quickly, making the even most insignificant stories sound like the beginning of the third world war. While doing the basic training, I had heard horrendous stories from a ‘friend’ of a ‘friend’ about new privates being tortured by older in the service men. It was said that when it came down to allocating responsibilities and trivia work being done in the base, newbies were the first to pick. It’s like being in jail and the newcomers being the bitches of everybody else.

I’d like to make a small (or not so small) parenthesis here regarding the stories circulating in barracks. I have already mentioned the horrible stories regarding the health checks being done when you first join that of course are not true. Most of these stories circulate among soldiers, but each time a small dramatic element is being added. To give you an idea about how stories circulate, I’ve been to 4 big military bases and other 3 smaller outposts during my service, all of them, had a ghost story related to them. In each base, the same story spreads from generation to generation of soldiers with some changes, but it does stay approximately the same for decades.The one that I most vividly remember from my training barracks had to do with a specific guarding post which was the most remote (it is always the case). There, some years ago a heartbroken soldier who couldn’t stand being in the service took a bullet from his stock, armed his rifle and blew his brains out. If you really look closely inside the post you’ll be able to see the marks of the bullet pieces (yeah, right). His mother couldn’t bear the pain of her son’s loss and died soon after. Now, each Tuesday around 3:30am (the day and time varies according to the story teller) which was the time the young man died, you might hear the mother’s ghost walking around, close to the guard post. Don’t be alarmed if you hear ghastly, frightening screams at night as well. It would be her, calling for her son. Her soul cannot rest. You might even see her briefly yelling and tearing her clothes off, wailing.
When I was first told that story, the guy next to me asked: ‘Are her tits at least nice? If they are, I don’t mind seeing her tearing her clothes off’ gesturing the size of tits, he mostly likes.
That’s a soldier mentality for you. I’m closing the parenthesis now.

The stories of the newbies being tortured, even if I knew that most were unfounded, and the fact that I would yet again change my surroundings and serve under a new captain were putting some stress on me. The day I was supposed to turn up in my new military base I was quite stressed. I was allocated to platoon 1.2 which was in charge of taking care of two huge warehouses as I would soon find out. Apart from a very good friend of mine from my hometown being there but in a different platoon, I didn’t know anyone else in the whole base.

What stroke me at the beginning were two guys who were about to take their last leave in a couple of days before finishing their service. I was in awe, thinking that they were about to go home when I had 10.5 more moths to serve. However, they weren’t the best of examples as people. Knowing that they would be ‘released’ soon, they were wearing very dirty uniforms, not giving a dime about the rest of us, causing various problems to the rest of us. I remember them going about to some of the high ranks begging for some more days off since they couldn’t stand it there and getting drunk almost every night at the canteen.

During each day, after the morning inspection each soldier had a task to do until the night shifts began. Luckily enough I was allocated to serve at helping at the warehouse under a captain called Stavros. I can evens till remember his last name and I really do thank the gods (or whatever that’s out there) for going to work for him. Stavros came from a military family and knew the troubles that we, the privates, were facing. He was treating us as proper human beings, being nice to us as long as the needed daily job was done which was fine by me.

When I first joined that base, Stavros had just taken over a new huge warehouse and was trying to check his supplies. That meant that we had to empty old boxes and go through their contents. Unfortunately, some of the boxes had small uniform parts, like clips of a belt, which we had to count. We’re talking about thousands of them. However, the work environment with Stavros was quite relaxed and I didn’t mind too much. Being busy like that, meant that each day was passing faster and the fact that I was not being yelled at for any reason was a plus. Counting things in old boxes with mold was what I was mostly doing day in and day out then.


I didn’t stay much in the second base then before I was transferred back to my training base. I have some stories to tell about that second base which I really can’t recall whether they occurred on my first or second visit.

My military service Part 4

My days off after my ‘graduation’ that meant the end of my very basic training were like heaven. My hometown seemed so beautiful. I was so happy to see smiling people around, including women, wearing clothes with normal colours on them (just for a change). I had only 3 days off, that seemed to pass amazingly quickly, but made a huge difference to my psychology. I starting thinking that week by week, I’d get through this. I just needed to be patient…

Thankfully, after we got back from that leave (all privates that joined the army as I did, had the same days off after taking the oath), we were treated better. Now, most of the officers weren’t as strict as before. The morning inspections lasted less time and less people were punished in the morning gatherings for trivial things like wearing dirty boots or not having the perfectly made bed. It was obvious that they only wanted to make us more disciplined and break our spirit the first weeks and that period had ended. Also, they knew now that our new duties (I’ll explain below) were more complicated and more frustrating, so they didn’t bother us as much.


When, someone becomes a soldier, meaning that he pledges his own life to country / nation / flag (whatever you want to call it), as long as he is healthy enough to do so, is allocated and trained in a specialty and also equipped with a rifle to guard a post. Our next couple of weeks in the military training base was about learning how to use a rifle. After that we would be sent to a proper military base to be trained in our own specialty.

So, the day we got back from the leave, I was given a rifle (a G3A3) to be locked with everyone else’s in our room, in special lockers. I had to remember which one it was (not such an easy task for everyone – believe me), keep it clean and ready to be used. Having guns in our room also meant that someone had to be there 24/7 to guard them. So, a new duty was created, that of the “room guardian” (θαλαμοφύλακας). There were 4 different people that would be doing that every day, which was divided in shifts of two hours. So, I had to serve as the guardian for 6 hours from time to time that of course included a night shift that was either 00:00 – 02:00, 02:00 – 04:00 or 04:00 – 06:00. The last one was the easier one, since we were waking up at 6:00 anyway. That meant that your sleep wouldn’t be disturbed. The first one was ok-ish, since you slept from 22:30 to 23:45 and then did your swift to sleep for 4 hours after that. The hardest one was the 02:00 to 04:00 since you had to sleep in two parts of around 2.5 hours.

However, guarding the rooms was one of the easiest duties you could have. You were indoors (warm and dry), most likely with other guardians to keep you company and not easily surprised by the officer in night shift or the patrols. The irritating part of being a room guardian was the fact that you had to wake people up in time for their duties. You had to wake all outdoor guards to be ready and dressed in time to leave to go to their post and the room guardian that will replace you. Almost everybody was willing to get up without a problem, but in each room you’d have some prick not willing to comply but create a fuss. If a guard was not in place in the right time, it was the room guardian’s fault for not having waked him up.

While, that was going on inside the buildings, the rest of us where out for training. We were being taught the rules of marching / saluting while holding a rifle (there are of course specific rules on that). We were also been taught how to guard a post. While guarding an outdoors post there is a specific way of holding the gun and accepting a patrol or the officer in charge that come to check on you. No one is allowed to come close to a guarding post without knowing the passwords of the day

The most important of all though, was the training in firing with the guns. Being a guard, even fully equipped, would mean that you’d never have to fire (we haven’t been in war in ages so it’s amazingly rare for an incident to occur that would involve a private firing at someone). So in order for us to learn how to use our rifles, special training days in firing grounds were arranged. We would get up early in the morning, be packed in old military vehicles (Steyr Trucks) and be driven to the training firing grounds far from any habitable area.


There, we would be given good rifles (properly cleaned and maintained, not the ones we kept in our lockers) to use. I remember my first training in firing very well. I was really stressed / excited about it. There were making groups of ten and we were given earplugs as well for the noise. The rifle did make lots of noise and also kicked quite hard. We had magazines of 10 bullets each time (I hope its called magazine – I googled it) and our targets were in 400m on a hill side. Since, it was our first time, it could quite a while to show us how’s it’s done, so we only got to use one magazine. I remember that only one of my bullets hit the target (not a very good score). Of course, when I say hit, I don’t mean the small circle in the center of the target, I mean the target in general (we weren’t keeping points). Of course I wasn’t that troubled about the scores. However, the privates that got 10 out of 10 I remember being given an extra day off…

So, after a couple of days in weaponry training (theoretical and practical), we started properly guarding outside posts. Again the day was divided in two hours swifts. However, some posts were quite remote and it took you up to 45 minutes to go there from the main buildings where we were sleeping. So, there was a patrol led by a corporal that was accompanying all changing guards and distributing them in the different posts. While being there, you had to stand in the special guardian position and look around for suspicious movements. To be frank, what you only had to worry about was the patrol and the officer in charge. There were some officers trying to find ways to surprise you and scare you. Specially, during that period while being in training, guard checks were very frequent and strict.


The two hours of the night swift were the worse. I remember being half sleep waiting for the two longest ever hours to pass (each time), checking my watch every 3 minutes. Fortunately, sometimes, friends of mine were in nearby posts, so we used to text each other about a coming patrol. What I was doing to let time pass was create ‘Top 10’ lists of things. I’d select a subject (not an easy one to complete quickly) and spend some time wondering about it. For example, how many bold politicians do you know? What is the best love story taking place in space in the movies? Who was the best on screen vampire…

So, guarding posts and similar training was what we were doing for the next three weeks before being transferred to a proper military base. In the meantime I was informed that my specialty had to do with driving a truck and keeping the logistics of a military warehouse (loosely translated from “Τεχνικός Αποθηκάριος Γραφέας και Οδηγός Αυτοκινήτου”). I was also to be trained as a sergeant which meant I’d be back to the same military training base to welcome the next group of soldiers in three months time.

My military service Part 3

The first couple of days in the military training base were tough because everything was new and I didn’t have a clue of what was going on or was expected of me. I remember being yelled at a lot. Because they were trying to make everyone more compliant and disciplined, all officers were ordered to be meaner and stricter about everything.

The first couple of days, I was feeling totally lost. The sergeant in training that was allocated to my platoon, called ‘Fanis’, wasn’t the best we could have. He was supposed to familiarize us with the procedures and how to do things, but he was amazingly indifferent, not knowing them himself. In the army there is a procedure for everything. You have to know how to behave. From saluting your higher officers to make your bed or wear your uniform, it’s been all written down and done in a very certain way.

Also, everything is being called differently in the army. Codes and regulations are written in more formal, older Greek with words not being used any more. These and all the procedures were what they were trying to teach us the first weeks of our training. I still have a small notepad I used to keep with all names of different ranks, guns, objects etc…

In general, I used to wake up around 6ish. The morning inspection was right before the morning gathering of the regiments that took place at 7:30 (since it was in winter time). For the inspection I had to look good (boots, uniforms, shaved etc) and have the perfectly made bed. Everything in the room had to look good and tidy. The captain of the regiment was passing in front of everybody (we were waiting in attention in front of our bed). If he would stop in front of your bed, you had to take a step forward, present yourself in the proper way and wait. In most cases if he stopped in front of your bed, it would not end well. Since we weren’t formally soldiers yet (before the oath) the punishments imposed involved mainly cleaning (toilets, shower rooms, kitchen, helping at garbage gathering etc) or helping prepare dinner in the kitchens. I’ve cleaned the toilets and also followed the garbage truck and helped with the garbage bins more than once. (We used to call the garbage truck the ‘Love Boat’).

During the morning gathering of the regiments, we were mostly being told about the day’s errands. What was also included (that I totally dreaded) was the fact that the people being punished for any reason would leave their line and gather elsewhere, in front of the officers, separated from the rest of the group. They had to formally present themselves and state the reason for being there in front of everybody that stood in total silence, listening to you (hundreds of people). If the reason was grave and the punishment imposed was not the proper one, the captain in charge on that day could change it (only for the worse). Just being there in that line was a reason enough to be extra careful and try to do everything as expected.


After the morning gathering, each regiment had to leave these grounds to perform their mentioned tasks. In most cases, what we did was train in proper marching, saluting, rehearsing for the ‘graduation’ ceremony and exercising. You’d expect that exercising to make us fitter would be the first in their priorities, but you’d be wrong. Recently, (the last decade I think) a new regulation was imposed that no private would do / perform an exercise without having someone of a higher rank doing it as well with him. That rule was made to protect soldiers from being ordered to do crazy stuff (doing a hundred laps around the base in the rain, etc.) from the type of officers who want to punish people physically. However, there weren’t many officers that motivated to take a bunch of soldiers of very different fit backgrounds and spend all this time training them. Since the regiment had to follow the pace of the slower / less capable member, it wasn’t really that easy to keep us going.

Around 13:00 to 13:30 we’d stop to eat, rest a bit, do another regiments gathering and some more training until later in the evening when we’d stop for dinner. Lights were automatically turned off I think around 22:00 or 22:30 in summer. That was our schedule for the first three weeks before the ceremony that would mean the first time we could take some days off and head home for a couple of days and relax. I don’t know how many hours I spent standing in attention, motionless, to train for that day and rehearse yelling the words that we would say to take the oath that day.

After a couple of days I was getting the hand of the schedule and feeling more relaxed and confident. I started making some really good friends and I learnt who to avoid (troublemakers that wanted to drag you along in whatever they were doing) or the strict officers that really took joy in yelling at people. I also had the opportunity to socialize and meet people from very different background than mine that proved quite an educative experience. You get a very good perspective and knowledge of yourself when meeting people living so differently than you…

I also learnt the most valuable lesson ever, which was never to attract attention. If for any reason, you were spotted, it wasn’t for good. The best policy was to keep a low profile to avoid being ordered around to do stuff. Even if you were overweight, wearing glasses or had a distinctive surname, you’d be the first to be called for duties preferably avoided: ‘Hey you fatso / with the glasses / ‘Papadopoule’ (very common Greek surname) come here for a while that I need you…’

The day that the ceremony took place was a very happy day. We rehearsed for it so many times, that it was a pleasure knowing that we wouldn’t have to do it again. It was supposed to last for a couple of hours where we marched up and down in perfect unison inside the military base and also took the oath of always being obedient and willing to die for our country in case of need, in front of political, religious and military officials. All went well and my very-proud-that-I-became-a-man (sad I know, but so true) parents were waiting for me to drive me home where I’d stay for 3 nights away from this madness!
When I’d get back, I would be trained in guarding a post (most common duty of a private) and other very serious stuff including weaponry…

My military service (Part 2)

So, I walked through the gate of my first military base, where I would be trained to be a proper (yeah right) soldier. First, a sergeant around my age took me to a small room next to the gate where they would go through my stuff to see if I’d try to smuggle in the base something illegal. A soldier took my bag, opened it and went through it fast and not very thoroughly. I could have taken anything I wanted with me without it being noticed. Probably the soldier was amazingly bored and was not bothered to do a proper job. I had hidden though a small (for that time) mp3 player and a mobile phone in the back of my bag.

There were other ‘civilians’ with me in the same small room. You could easily spot them (the ones with normal clothes). We weren’t talking to each other though. We didn’t know if we were allowed to (better to be safe than sorry) and we weren’t in a very happy mood anyway. When a considerable amount of us was gathered, another sergeant took us to the main building were we would spent the rest of the day in queues waiting for things to happen.

So, there was a queue to declare your personal information, a queue to give your personal ID card (a new military ID would be given to us for that year), a queue to give your chest x-ray to a military doctor (it was asked beforehand), a queue to take your height and weight measurement etc. You get the picture. There were so many queues that after a while the whole procedure became a blur to me. I was doing as asked without a second thought.

In a nutshell, we went through all bureaucratic information they had to have for their records, we applied for a new military ID (had photos taken), given blood to check for our blood type and diseases, took 4 different shots (that the guy giving them to me didn’t tell me what they were that really pissed me off but there was nothing I could do) and were given clothes / boots / shocks / military bags and equipment required for my stay (even toilet paper – everyone had their own) and were allocated in different regiments.


At some point, we had a break and were taken for food. First day meal was ‘pastitsio’ which is considered to be a very good delicacy in Greece (they were probably trying to impress us). Food like that was not commonly provided as we would find out. By that time, we (the old civilians, now soldiers wannabe) felt more relaxed and started talking to each other. The people I was sitting with to eat were not people from my regiment, but people that were with me in the queue changing extravaganza so I tried to be friendly, but I knew that I would probably not see them or talk to them again. There were so many people joining the base that day, it was crazy.

Regarding the stories I had heard of the naked / gay tests (I mentioned in my last post) they were found to be untrue (of course). No one checked to see if my anus was bigger than normal or made me see other naked men to see if I’d get an erection. The only thing that happened that could be put in that same category was a check of my most private parts. At some point, a dozen of us were taken to a room (very cold room I might add) and were asked to take position between the specially arranged curtains so that we could not see each other. After we were there, we were asked to take our pants and underwear down and wait. I was getting a bit nervous about the whole thing but of course getting an erection was out of the question. I couldn’t get an erection at that moment, even if my life depended on it. After a while, a doctor appeared in front of me (the way I was standing I was just looking at the wall in front of me) sitting on a chair, looking at my naked bits. He told me to pull my foreskin up to check for infections and then to take a look at my balls to see if something was wrong. All the checks were performed by me and the doctor didn’t touch me at all (probably he wasn’t allowed to - thankfully). That doctor was the second guy and took a so close look at me naked (locker rooms don’t count). The first one was ‘A’. It’s quite funny thinking of it like that now…

I later found out that they also want to find the people with just one ball. One-testicle men aren’t allowed to join the army (seriously). There is always the danger of losing one of your balls in an accident (apparently) and they wouldn’t allow you to be totally barren. I really don’t know what the guy who made that rule was thinking but that is a fact! Maybe, in the past it was quite common for this kind of accidents to happen and they didn’t want the population of the country to be jeopardized. Maybe, they thought that men with only one testicle were not men enough to serve the country (who knows?)… There are many regulations like that that stayed for generations without being changed.

Anyway, my first day in the army was really busy. I was able to get to my regiment and find a bed late in the evening. We were 42 men in the same room. My platoon was the 3.1 (3rd regiment, 1st class). I was advised (by people that recently finished their service) to get a bed close to the window (to get some fresh air and avoid the stink of all these people in the same room) but not too close to avoid the draft. I was also advised to get one of the lower beds of a bunk, because it is not that easy to be inspected. We also had in the same room a sergeant in training to keep us in control and guide us for the first days of our training.

I met the people in the adjacent beds and made some small talk. They were people from totally different backgrounds. The guy next to me was called Costas and was a professional fisherman never to leave his island. The guy on the same bulk bed as me was from Athens and abandoned his mechanical studies for a year to get his military service over with. The guy on the other bed was a geographer graduate who I had many things in common with, regarding our studies background. It was a very good and encouraging thing to discover that these people was in the exact same place as I was, worried about what would happen. It was very reassuring to see that.

However, I do remember not sleeping very well that night. I was very worried about the following months and felt very uncomfortable in that strange and hostile environment. The noise of all the other people snoring was not very helpful either.

Military Service (Part 1 of probably many)

I’ve been asked to talk about my military service and of course I couldn’t refuse…

Greece is one of the last remaining countries where it’s mandatory to join the army if you’re a boy over the age of 18 (lucky for us). Don’t get me started on why this is happening because there are so many reasons, political and financial. It’s also funny because Greece (not a very wealthy nation anyway) is being charged by the EU every year for discriminating between the sexes, since only the boys serve (on top of the rest of the money being spent).


Anyway…
Since I was young, I could hear stories regarding someone’s horrible experience during their service. Almost everybody has some weird story to tell, most of which were horrifying and sickening. It’s like the fishermen and the size of the fish they manage to catch. The scarier the story, the more times it’s being told.


The simple ones were about breakups, very bad weather, the lack of running water, food poisoning and the bad ones were about people being shot in shooting practice, traffic accidents with military vehicles or how homosexuals were being tortured by their supervisors / colleagues. Especially the latter category was like an all time classic. I could hear them everywhere. I’ve heard so many stories about gay people in the army that used to make my skin crawl.

I remember spending some sleepless nights worrying about it while growing up. I was horrified about the whole thing. I had heard that during the medical exams they do the first day you join, there is a specific test to check whether you’re gay or not (I was a bit gullible when very young). The funny bit is that these stories were hugely repeated and I heard them from various different people. I was told for example that the doctor checks the size of your anus (big anus = you’re gay in case you were wondering). Or since they make you strip naked in from of other men, they could check whether you’d be aroused by it or not. The bottom line of these stories was that, in case you’re gay, you’d be definitely found out and being taught a very good lesson about your ‘flaw’…


Anyway (I’m being carried away again)…
When I was 15 or 16 I was called to register with the rest of my generation. I had to present myself to the local military registration office to declare that I’m more than happy (yeah, right) to serve my country and that I’m healthy as far as I knew to do so. Back then (almost 15 years ago), you were able to say whether you wanted to serve in the air force, navy, ground force or the special forces. It was considered between the boys at school to be extra cool to say you wanted to serve in the special forces but I was not fooled (of course). I wanted to get it done as painless and quickly as possible. I knew that the air forces probably were the easiest option, but I couldn’t face to serve six months more than I had to, so I registered for the normal troops.

I don’t know if it is for the best or not, but you’re allowed to finish your studies before doing your service, so I first finished my first degree and then joined the army. I was 24 then. Sometimes, I think that it would be better for everyone if they forced you to join the army before university (like they do in Cyprus). When you finish your studies, you’re already a grown man, used to live by your own rules and ready to start your career. It’s not easy going back to the army, having your liberties restrained and being told to do things that you know do not make any sense or have any significance. I had people with me, much older than I was, with PhDs and PostDocs being treated like scum by uneducated offices half their age for no apparent reason…

So, beginning January 2005 I received the document declaring that I had to present myself early February in the training grounds of a specific military base in South Greece. I wasn’t allowed to have with me a list of things like a camera, mobile phone, medicines (unless prescribed), left winged books / newspapers, electronic equipment etc. I was just informed that I would be released with my first days off after I would be officially sworn as a proper soldier three weeks later.

I remember perfectly well my last day as a citizen. I was very worried and took some friends out to celebrate my last day of freedom (I just didn’t want to stay home, just waiting for time to pass). I had already bought everything that I thought I would need like padlocks for the lockers, bags and boots (you had to lock them together to find them the next day), underwear, crosswords, books, small music player, an old mobile phone (so that it wouldn’t be stolen) etc. I knew it was forbidden to have mobile phones with you, but I also knew that everybody would have them (some rules are meant to be broken).

So, the next day my parents drove me to my military base. We left my hometown before sunrise to be on time and I remember that it was snowing halfway there. I was worried about the barracks not having central heating or hot running water. I was worried about being discovered as being gay and if I’d survive the experience. I was worried about the type of people I would meet. I was worried about the length of my hair.

I was practically worried about everything.
I remember thinking that I had 364 more days until the end of what I thought would be an endless nightmare…

Growing up…

For New Year’s Eve in 2000 I was in Zurich, Switzerland, with my parents celebrating the millennium extravaganza. In general, I was

• 19 years old
• In my second year in Polytechnic School trying to become a topographer / land surveyor / cartographer
• I had a girlfriend called ‘Maria’ of already 3 months (we lasted 6 – don’t ask me how)
• A frightened closeted gay (I couldn’t even speak to my closest and dearest friends)
• Between partying and school, I remember worrying about my professional future and how I’d cope with my military service (the stories that were being repeated from the army were dreadful)
• Quite insecure, not feeling good in my own skin and worried about what others thought of me
• Not very close to my brother

OK, not everything was bad. I had a great time studying. It was the first time not living with my parents since I was studying in a different city and I liked the subjects I picked. That included staying up late watching the sunrise chatting with mates, partying until morning hours, going to gigs etc.

For New Years Eve in 2010 I was in my parent’s house (not that impressive) with friends and family.
I am

• 29 years old
• Having started a career in traffic engineering / software development
• I (think I) have a boyfriend of (slightly over) a month
• I am out to my parents, brother, colleagues and most of my friends. The rest that do not know, are people I don’t really care about
• I am not that worried about the future and I know I survived the experience of being in the army
• More secure and stable. I still care about what people think of me as long as these people are close friends or my brother
• After my brother’s divorce and me coming out to him, we have a very good relationship that I know will last

I have some very nice things planned for 2010. After having successfully finished two 10k runs this autumn, I’ve already registered for a half marathon for charity in March. I am not training for it as much as I’d like (its freezing cold outside) but I hope that I’ll successfully finish it. I hope to be able to register this autumn for a whole marathon in London for spring 2011.

I also want to acquire an extra certificate to improve my software development skills before the end of summer and start looking for a job if things stay the same where I am now. I was promised in a way, some serious training and some improvement to my job title but I do not know if these will be delivered. We’ll see… The last training organized by my company was about ‘time management’. Yes, it was as ridiculous as it sounds…

Anyway, I’ve also recently done a review of the people I’ve slept with, cried for (not always literally) and spent many hours with in 2009. I don’t know if you are / were single that year, but it is quite fun doing a list like that. I am going to be amazingly honest with you and admit that I’ve ‘known’ eleven men this year including all one night stands I’ve had. I’m not really the type of person that will regularly go to a club / bar to hook up with men and I don’t sleep with people on a first date (that doesn’t always happen). I don’t know if that number is too big or too small (and I don’t care that much to be honest – it’s just a fact). On average is a little less than one guy per month which doesn’t sound that many, especially according to some gay standards. Some of these men are actually the same as 2008 (I always end up things in a civil way leaving a door of communication open). Thankfully, I remember all of their names and some background information on them. So, what’s your magic number? (please don’t make me sound like a slut)

Insomnia

Yesterday late night was quite weird in a not very good way. I had the really calming heavy breathing of ‘D’ lying next to me naked in bed sleeping, but I could not relax and let Morpheus take me to dreamland.

My mind started wondering around and visited my years in the army. I do not know why. It’s not a period of life that I miss (really, you should believe me when I say that). Serving the army is mandatory in Greece and I had to do it for 12 months. I am proud (not really) to say that I am a Greek Sergeant whose specialty includes being a driver of heavy lorries.

By the way when I talk about the army, I talk about images like these:

and not like these:

If you think about the latter, you’ve seen too many porn movies…

It’s really funny that after some time, all bad experiences seem less frightening. I think back of that year, remembering all the good times and the laughs we had. I was able to remember yesterday the name of the general that was in charge of my group in the first military base I was assigned. He was a really good man. He wasn’t very strict and treated us as human beings. As long as the day’s work was done, he would buy us drinks or let us order take-away food (the base’s food I’ll say politely was not very good and a bit out-of-date). I remember feeling very sad, almost in tears, having to leave him when assigned in another base.

There is no option of admitting being gay in the army. In theory, you are able to say that you’re gay and you’ll be automatically dismissed. However, that means that it will be written in your official governmental documents and you’ll be stigmatized for your lifetime. As I did, the vast majority of gays just stay closeted. No one that I met in the army knows I’m gay. Even after all these years I’m still in contact with some of them and I still haven’t told them. Luckily, I am not camp and I can pass for a straight bloke so I didn’t have any problem. There were some less fortunate and more camp people that had to fight to be respected and treated equally. They weren’t tortured or heavily ill-treated but sometimes they were being called names and were less fortunate when assignments were decided. To my knowledge, extreme cases of homophobia do not occur anymore but of course I cannot be sure. I know that’s very sad but extremely difficult to change…

I spent almost two hours thinking about the army, about the people I met there, the good times and the bad times. However, I concluded that with ‘D’ lying next to me, sleeping like a baby (my baby) I was in a so much happier place now, so I finally managed to relax and get some sleep.