I’m hanging out with Oliver after a very successful and energetic show in Berlin. Peter is in bed fast asleep, a result of his sleeping pills as usual.

Oliver is still in costume from the show. He is in full makeup, his hair is pinned into a bun, and he’s wearing a tight black leather mini dress with heels. He looks like a tall, gorgeous, willowy model. He’s prettier than any girl I’ve ever seen.

“Ollie, I told you that you’d make a better looking girl than me anyday,” I say as I snap a picture of him. I’ve bought a new camera, and I’ve been snapping away all evening. There are pics of the show, pics of us backstage, pics of the audience, even pics of the crew. I’ve already gone through three rolls of film in two days, but at least I’ll have pictures to remember my experience by.

“Yeah, but how will we explain this to our kids?â€? he says, laughing. I place my camera down, and begin to cry.