maybeinabluemoon:

quizás, quizás, quizás

“I don’t want to go back.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask, sipping my coffee.
“I want to stay here.”
“Here?” I ask, hoping I was understanding his English well enough. “In this rental apartment? There’s better ones in Lisbon…”
“No no, I mean. Here. In this country. In Europe. No one cares that I’m gay here. There’s sun, beautiful beaches…” he looks over his shoulder. “Beautiful men.”
I smile.
“I just had a normal night out last night. Went out on the town. Met a cute guy. Brought him back, had fun… I could never do that back home. Home is just suburbs and conservatives and big box chains…”
“Excuse me, what is ‘suburbs’?”
Allen chuckles. “Housing tracts that all look the same. Good, look at this view. I want this to be my view.”
I notice that Allen’s towel is slipping. “Yes the view is not bad..”
“Do you know anyone who his hiring a web designer?”
I think. “My cousin Antonio might…”
“Great. Put me in touch?”
Allen looks so hopeful, so bright eyed. “I’ll do my best. Now come here, eat your breakfast and  coffee. And take off your towel.”
Allen raises an eyebrow. “My towel hm?”
I smirk. “It’s the European way you know.”

Allen grins and drops his towel. We eat breakfast by the window, and eventually ended up making love again on the bed. I do hope he stays…I could get used to this. Suppressed American men make the best sex partners.

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Captions are fictional.