AN: The line "winter smelled like Sören" is a huge loving shout-out to Tiffany Reisz, one of my fave authors.
After a few days in Akureyri, we got back on the road, but I still had a little more time left in Iceland so we didn't head back to Reykjavik immediately. We spent an entire day in Þórsmörk, another wonderful day sharing the beauty of nature - and the power of Eyjafjallajökull, which had erupted in 2010 and caused air travel disruptions in the UK and the rest of western Europe. It was September 2017 and Eyjafjallajökull was calm and not erupting, but just looking at it gave me chills. Neither of us were experienced enough to hike the volcano, but it was enough to just see it from a distance, and the compelling view of the rivers cutting through black deserts and lush green moss and ferns, the balance of barren and fertile land like something on another planet.
Being out in the pulsing fiery heart of the Earth and its wild places made me randy again, and when we had a dinner picnic to look at the volcano in the setting sun, we ended up making out. Sören had me for dessert, sucking me until I came in his mouth. When I stopped shaking and babbling on the blanket, Sören kissed me, letting me taste myself, and then he purred, "There, now you can tell your mates you visited the volcano and something blew."
I threw my head back and laughed. I liked him more and more all the time. More than liked. I kissed him back. "You cheeky little minx." I swatted his bum, then I returned the favour, licking and sucking as I finger-fucked him, making him squirt on my face, lapping at him like a fountain.
In our camper van that night we cuddled under the influence of marijuana and ate ice cream and Doritos while Sören introduced me to episodes of Latibær better known as LazyTown, Iceland's most famous export other than Björk. Sören had grown up with it - the TV show debuted in 2004 when he was not yet ten and I was twenty-four, and Latibær had been on stage and radio since the 90s - and that hammered home our age difference, but Sören played it up, calling me Daddy and giving me little kisses... and I fucking loved it. I wanted to be his Daddy dom in the worst way.
When the weed had kicked in enough that we were sleepy, we tangled up together under the blankets, holding each other. But we didn't go to sleep right away. I pet Sören's curls and rubbed his back, and Sören said, "Takk for watching Latibær with me, Daddy."
I kissed his nose, then his forehead, then I rubbed my nose in his hair. He smelled like winter. Winter smelled like Sören. I gave him a squeeze. "Thank you for showing me something so beautiful today."
Sören smirked, an eyebrow raised. "I don't know if I'd call Latibær beautiful -"
I facepalmed, laughing, and tweaked his nose when he laughed too. "No, silly. For showing me Eyjafjalla -" I still couldn't say it right. "Oh god, I'm gonna fuck this up and you're gonna make fun of me."
"Jæja. Do go on."
I laughed harder. So hard that it intensified my high and made the word even more challenging. "Eyjafallja... Eyjaflörpflerp... Eyjafjöföfjöfjöfjöööö -"
Sören gigglesnorted.
"Eyja. I, uh, can't bloody pronounce this."
"Eyjafjallajökull," Sören said, like it was the easiest word in the world.
"Eyjafjörfjö Vitameatavegamin."
Sören lost it, making the bed shake, tearing up. "Are you unpoopular? Do you pop out at parties?"
I let out a low whistle. "You're not even from the States and you're under twenty-five and you got that reference?"
"Jæja, I mean, it's a pretty famous show."
"Dude." I couldn't believe I was calling him dude. I was that fucking high. "Dude, my last boyfff - well, maybe he was more of a fuckbuddy, I don't even know, he wasn't all that much younger than me and he was a Yank and he'd never seen a single episode of I Love Lucy." It was my mum's favourite show, one of the first American shows to be exported to the UK. "Of course, he was a clueless idiot about a lot of other things."
"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"
I exhaled. I hadn't wanted to be a downer, but I reminded myself Sören had shared some of his pain with me and probably wasn't going to shame me for being "too negative". So I told him about Evan, right down to how Evan had called me "the best of both worlds" and I'd ended up throwing my old dildo at him out the window. Then I told him about Xavier, who I'd met at the Shibari course, rejecting me because "I was still a girl". I felt that old rage flare up again.
Sören's arms tightened around me and he gave me a little kiss. "Their loss," Sören said. He touched my face and looked into me with such tenderness in his eyes that I wondered if he had feelings for me too, wondered if it was time to confess them. But my mouth went dry and I couldn't make the words - it was even harder than Eyjafjallajökull - and Sören was curious about something else. "Here's a reference I don't get. What's Shibari?"
"Oh!" I cleared my throat, and braced myself, hoping Sören wouldn't think I was some kind of deviant. "It's a form of Japanese rope bondage. Very intricate knotwork, turning kink into an art form."
"So you're... kinky."
I nodded. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to - notice I haven't brought it up before -"
Sören put a finger to my lips. His face lit up and I could practically see the gears turning in his head. "Are you the one who does the tying, or the one who likes to be tied up?"
"The one who does the tying. The rigger, they call it. I'm..." I took a deep breath. "I'm a dominant top."
"I've had fantasies about being tied up for years, since I was old enough to have a sex drive." Sören bit his lower lip, looking down bashfully. It made me want to do bad, bad things to him. Our eyes met again and Sören said, "I've never let anyone tie me up before, but I. Ah."
"It's something you want to try?" My heart beat faster and my stomach was butterflies again. I couldn't believe my luck.
Sören nodded vehemently. Then he glanced off to the side, as if he were mentally preparing himself to drop some sort of bombshell, and his eyes met mine again. "Are you into the other stuff too? Like, the other parts of BDSM. Pain play, and..."
"I think so."
Sören cocked his head to one side and furrowed his brow, obviously confused. "You... think so. You just told me you were a dominant top and you don't know?"
"I know I get off on being in charge and I know I like the idea of tying a guy up and having my way with him. But I haven't had a lot of chances to act out fantasies and sometimes something that sounds hot in theory isn't hot in practise. The night I left my husband, I got shit-faced at a hotel and ended up taking a random stranger back to my suite. I got a little rough with him and he liked that, and encouraged me to do more. So I beat the shit out of him, consensually - well, as much as it could be when we were both under the influence. I felt ashamed of myself later, like there was something fucked up about me for having a sadistic streak. I've managed to stop kinkshaming myself since then but I also haven't tried to, um, manhandle someone since that time so I couldn't tell you if I'd like it while sober. Being drunk that night was why I had no inhibitions."
"Well, if you want to try it..." Sören bit his lip again. "I'm curious about trying it. Nothing heavy to start with, just maybe... some spankings or something."
I almost came in my pants. "OK. And since you're new to this, and I don't know if you will like it, I need you to be honest with me if you don't, and not just go along with it to avoid hurting my feelings or upsetting me. It's not fun for me if it's not fun for you."
"OK."
I pulled him closer. "We should have a safeword." Sören gave me that confused look again, and I realised he'd probably read BDSM erotica or watched BDSM porn that didn't feature one. "A word instead of 'stop' or 'no' for if and when it gets to be too much," I explained, "since 'don't stop' and 'don't, comma, stop' can be easily confused."
"Oh OK, that makes sense."
"Maybe it should be in Icelandic, so you don't have to translate your thoughts to English if emotions are running too high," I said, thinking about the way he'd called me Pabbi, the way he lapsed into Icelandic during sex. "But a special word, not something I would confuse with you swearing in the heat of passion. Something... non-ordinary."
Sören snickered. "Eyjafjallajökull."
I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose, but I couldn't help laughing again. I loved his silliness and banter. "Maybe something else?"
Sören grinned and I knew from the mischief in his eyes I had just walked into... something. "Leðurblökumaðurinn."
"...What."
Sören began to sing. "Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na... Batman!"
I howled with laughter; now I was the one making the bed shake. "Dammit, Sören..."
"Look, either that or Eyjafjallajökull is different enough that there'll be no confusion if I have to say the safeword, jú?"
He had a point. "You win."
He'd won my heart, too. But I still said nothing, I just rocked him until we both fell asleep.
The next day we took a morning ferry to visit the Vestmannaeyjar, where I lost my mind at adorable puffins and spotting orcas. We had lunch at a seafood restaurant, and sat for awhile as Sören sketched the landscape and I let myself relax, feeling good.
Once we were back on the south coast of Iceland, we drove to Vík, a picturesque little village with lots to see. One of our stops was a store selling clothing and accessories handmade by Icelandic artisans from Icelandic wool, and a lightbulb went off in my head.
I had been wondering how to tie Sören up and where to stop for rope, but the bed in the camper van didn't really have a proper setup for tying his wrists to bedposts or a headboard, and I wasn't going to do something elaborate for Sören's first time being tied up anyway, since I knew from watching the bunnies at the Shibari course that it took a certain amount of endurance to sit or lay there and be tied in various positions, it was the sort of thing one worked up to. I knew I might make a rope bunny out of Sören if we began a long-distance relationship and started visiting each other - or if I just left the US and sought my fortune here in Iceland - but it wasn't going to happen in the days I had left.
As I looked at the display of exquisitely soft, snuggly scarves, I decided it would be perfect for tying Sören up for the first time, so I selected two of them, both black. Sören gave me a quizzical look and I just smirked at him. Then Sören made the connection and his face lit up, and when nobody was looking he sidled up to me and began rubbing himself against my hip and thigh like he was in heat. It drove me mad with lust and I wanted to take him right there. Of course, we couldn't. Glancing around to make sure we were still unobserved, I swatted his bum and he let out a soft moan. Once I had paid for the scarves and we were out of the store and approached the camper van he started rubbing against me again, and I swatted his arse again, my cunt throbbing at the satisfying crack of my hand on his bum. Yes, I definitely liked the idea of giving him some spankings later.
"You teasing little minx," I whispered, before nipping at his neck.
Sören bit his lower lip and wrinkled his nose and gave me a sassy bum wiggle before he climbed into the van.
We also stopped at a store for supplies for that night - more drinks, more snacks, more toiletries. The store had a small selection of LED candles and another lightbulb went off in my head, wanting to create a sensual, romantic ambiance for Sören this evening, for his first time experiencing bondage, discipline and domination. Once again, Sören rubbed up on me in the store when nobody was watching. "I can't wait for you to tie me up later," Sören purred.
I was losing my fucking mind. "Looks like you're really trying to earn that punishment."
Sören nodded vehemently, grinning. "Uh huh."
I laughed. "You're a brat."
"Takk."
So he was one of those submissives. I liked that even more.
Once we were all done with that, we went to a quirky cafe made out of a school bus to have candy-topped Turkish hot chocolate. Then we took a drive to look at Dyrhólaey and sat on a cliff overlooking the "keyhole" rock formation so Sören could do more sketching and we saw more puffins, which made me ridiculously happy. Next, we visited Reyniskirkja to admire the cute little church with its red roof.
"Legend says an elf built this church," Sören said in that hushed, reverent tone of voice. "His name was Finnur. He even carved the altarpiece himself."
"Finnur, eh?"
Sören nodded solemnly. I thought nothing of it at the time except more weird Icelandic elf shit, but five years later, this come back and would hit us like a brick.
It wasn't just the church that was worth visiting, but the view of the landscape from the hill, the lush green valley and wildflowers. Just like the Þórsmörk valley was more fertile by the volcanic ash of Eyjafjallajökull, the land here seemed more vibrant and alive for its proximity to Katla, an even more dangerous volcano. It made me want to skip and run through the grass naked with Sören, but something told me the locals would frown on us doing this at a church.
Of course, Sören started rubbing up on me again when I hugged him. "You're going to get it," I promised him.
"Good."
At last, we hit the beach of Reynisfjara which had burned itself into Sören's soul and inspired so many of his paintings. We arrived right at golden hour and stayed to watch the sunset.
There was nothing quite like walking on the black sand, looking out at the basalt stacks in the sea, with the high cliffs behind us, and feeling that sense of something primal, something numinous. It made me better understand why ancient people worshipped personified forces of nature and saw spirits all around them in the material world. I was not a religious man or any sort of believer, and yet, walking hand-in-hand with Sören and watching the fire in the sky reflect in the roaring waves, it was sacred ground. This was a holy place in the truest sense, a place that humans had not yet defiled, where it was just us and wild nature, looking out at rock-giants who had stood there even before the Vikings arrived, who would be there long after we were gone, the sea rolling on and on.
I was glad to be sharing this moment with someone who got it, who could walk here and feel that same enduring, unyielding power, something truly bigger than ourselves.
We stayed long enough to watch the stars rise over the sea - another awe-inspiring, gooseflesh-inducing sight, another perfect moment of feeling a sense of wonder, touching the infinite, feeling the rhythm and flow of the universe - and then it was chilly enough that we decided to head back to the camper van.
We washed up for the night, and then I set the atmosphere with the LED candles and a playlist of sexy music like Sade, D'Angelo, Maxwell, Anita Baker. Sören and I made out for a bit to get into the mood and when he was ready, I took him over my knee.
"You were a naughty boy, teasing your Daddy all day." I slapped his arse, hard.
Sören responded with a moan.
"Even naughtier because you knew this was what you would get." I slapped his arse again. My cunt twinged at that delicious sound of the crack of my hand against his flesh, watching it redden... hearing his breath hitch before another moan. It was such a power trip. "You want this."
"Yes, Daddy."
I smacked his arse again, even harder. "That's right. You're a little slut for your Daddy, aren't you?"
"God, yes, Daddy..."
I smacked his arse again. Sören cried out, and I felt him dripping on my thigh. He started grinding against my thigh and knee, breathing harder, and I almost climaxed untouched. I loved how much he loved this. If I had more time in Iceland we could have so much fucking fun together. I tried not to think about the inevitability of leaving, focused on the way the delectable peach of his arse was turning a brighter shade of red. "You naughty slut." I spanked him again.
That was five. I'd told him ten spankings - I didn't know how much he could take, but as importantly it was to keep myself in control, remembering how I'd beaten that guy in the hotel room all the way back in 2012, what I was like when the beast came out to play. Even if Sören could take it, I felt it was better for us to work our way there, and of course there was no time... for now.
I swallowed hard, and once again concentrated on spanking that arse. I slapped his right arse cheek, then his left. Sören cried out, rubbing against me more frantically, and I could feel his wetness. My hand shook as I smacked his right arse cheek again. The way Sören whimpered when I smacked his left cheek, as hard as I could, made my cunt throb. I could feel myself dripping now too. I delivered one final crack against both cheeks and Sören squeaked; I grunted as my cunt twinged again, wanting him so badly it hurt.
I put a pillow under his arse, knowing he was sore, and then I had him put his arms out in front of himself and I tied his wrists together with the scarves. Once he was bound, I had him test the knots to make sure it was neither too loose nor too tight. When we were both satisfied with my handiwork, I slid up to kiss him. "Remember to safeword if it's too much," I said. "I promise you I won't get angry."
Sören bit his lip and gave me a shy, sweet smile. "OK."
I booped his nose. "Good boy."
I proceeded to pay him back for all of that teasing. I spent a long, long time just licking him all over, my fingers walking and brushing in slow strokes over his flesh. Savouring the sound of his moans, his shaky gasps. His nipples hardened into long, thick peaks and thick cream pooled out of his cunt; the smell of his arousal was intoxicating. It took all that I had not to bring myself off as I feasted on his body, licking at his luscious nipples, the planes of his stomach and hips, his velvety thighs, the sensitive spots behind the knees, fingers tracing every outline of him, as if I were committing his body to memory. My tongue and fingers slid over every inch of his flesh, until he was shaking, panting, begging for it. "Daddy, please... please Daddy, I need to come, make me come please, Daddy..."
"Mmmmmm. You do beg so prettily."
But of course, I had only just begun. I spread his thighs even wider and moaned at how hard and wet he was. Sören pleaded with those sweet brown eyes and I gave him a smug little smile before I dove down...
...and began to lick his cock very, very, very slowly.
"Daddy!" Sören bit his lip and whined. "Please! Oh god, Daddy, please, please I need to come, please Daddy..."
He knew to safeword if he didn't like it; I knew he loved it just as much as I did. I loved it a lot. I continued slowly working my tongue up and down his little cock, back and forth at the tip, slowly, ever so slowly. My tongue kept moving in slow, deliberate strokes as I fought the urge to touch myself, making myself focus on his pleasure... and torment. "Naughty boys like you who tease their daddies deserve to get teased right back," I purred.
Sören whined again. I growled and took his cock in my mouth - just for a minute of sucking, before I let it slip again and resumed the slow glide of my tongue.
"Please, Daddy. Oh god, please. Please, fuck me, please, Daddy..."
After he begged for a few minutes - after he stopped being able to make words and just whined at me - I dipped my tongue inside him. He tasted so good, salty-sweet musky cream. I groaned into his cunt and fluttered my tongue slowly, and Sören's whines and cries got even louder, his eyes feverish. He was driving me mad with lust, but I kept myself in control. And kept him under control, teasing and teasing with my tongue slowly working inside him.
"Please, Daddy, fuck me..."
"I am fucking you." I laughed and then my tongue pushed back into his cunt, licking at his inner walls even more slowly.
I kept slow-licking inside his juicy, delicious cunt until Sören's thighs were quivering and he was an adorable whimpering, sobbing mess. It was the ultimate rush to watch another man fall apart this way, to completely wreck him like this. I finally relented - I needed to get off too.
I untied Sören's wrists, and after he flexed them I kissed and licked his wrists, rewarded by those beautiful moans, and then I straddled him, getting between his thighs, lining up our cunts and mashing them together. "You better not come until I tell you to," I warned him, "or I'll tie you up again and tease you some more and make you watch as I wank off and you don't get any."
"Yes, Daddy."
I kissed him hard, and started to thrust. Our hips rolled together, pushing back and forth like the tides. Our cocks found that rhythm, rubbing, teasing, losing ourselves in sensual pleasure. We kissed again and again, then kissed open-mouthed, the licking of our tongues mirroring the way cock rubbed cock. I was so close to orgasm myself but I held back, wanting this moment to last. I felt so close to him, so intimate. He had been vulnerable with me, trusting me enough to tie him up... and I'd trusted him enough to see that side of myself, beyond the cool aloof mask I showed the outer world. Sören held me, accepting me as I was, and when his arms tightened around me and he started kissing my neck, I worked my hips faster, giving into my lust, my need, my hunger. Giving into passion. I fucked him like I was never going to fuck anyone again, our flesh making the most obscene wet slurping, smacking sounds as cock pleasured and excited cock, closer and closer.
And then I felt myself rush to that point of no return, right there. I bit his neck and growled. "Come with Daddy, slut."
Sören threw back his head and let out a wordless cry. I felt his cunt pulse against mine, gushing. "Daddy! Pabbi! Daddy! Oh, Daddy, fuck!"
"Yes, baby..." I came hard, the throbbing pleasure radiating through my entire body, bliss and relief. "Oh, baby. Good boy. Daddy's good boy. Daddy loves his good boy..."
And then I froze, even as my cunt continued contracting, my orgasm so wet and messy I squirted into him and felt my juices running down my thighs. I'd just said the l-word. I knew I needed to have The Talk with him about catching feelings but I wasn't prepared to have it now.
Sören's face lit up and he pulled me into a deep, fiery kiss. Just then, "All This Love" by Debarge came on the playlist, as if by magic. When the kiss broke and we looked into each other's eyes, Sören's eyes were shining and he touched my face. "Ég elska þig."
I leaned into his touch and closed my eyes, holding back tears, feeling that fierce, tight ache in my chest. Yes. I kissed his hand then I rained kisses over his face, trying to find words as the emotions overwhelmed me.
We lay there for a few moments, listening to El Debarge croon, and as the song hit its climax of "Say you really love me baby | Say you really love me, darlin' | 'Cause I really love you, baby | Oh, I really love you, darlin'", I cleared my throat and said, "I love you, Sören. I mean it."
Sören smiled. "I love you too."
"Thank God." I gave a nervous laugh, another flood of relief washing over me. "I was so worried you were going to think I was too hung up, that this was just a fling -"
Sören put a finger to my lips. "We may not have known each other very long but I feel like I know you, here." Sören's hand rested on his heart. I kissed his hand again and placed my hand on top of it.
I felt the same way. It seemed utterly daft, but it was as if my fantasies of Jon Snow back in the early 10s in the UK were my soul calling to his. I didn't believe in anything and I was embarrassed of myself for falling into the "it's destiny" crap, but I couldn't shake the feeling either.
There was more I wanted to say - needed to say, before I went back to the States, and made some important decisions about my future, tentatively our future... but it was enough, tonight, to lay here entwined with him and bask in the glow of loving and being loved in return.
It was enough to take care of him, to rub aloe gel on his poor arse and give it tender little kisses. "Daddy's good boy," I whispered, fingers tracing salve hearts on his welts, all sweetness after the storm of our animal lust. "Daddy's good, good boy."
The next day we went to see the Seljalandsfoss and Gljúfrabúi waterfalls, and I amused Sören again by mangling the name of the latter a couple dozen times, until I said "Gloofrafuckitvitameatavegamin" and Sören doubled over in hysterics, face beetroot, tearing up, snorting.
"This is why I love you," Sören said and gave me a kiss.
While the Seljalandsfoss was more popular, it was also busy. We were the only two people at Gljúfrabúi - and we were able to get close enough to touch it, going into the cave and walking right up to the falls, letting it rain on us.
There was something about the primordial beauty of the waterfall pouring inside the cave that made me feel giddy... and randy. Sören and I grabbed each other and kissed, and then we kept kissing. And kissing. And kissing.
We were standing on a rock cliff, which wasn't exactly the best surface for getting down and dirty. But watching the gushing falls gave me an idea. "I bet I can make you squirt into the waterfall," I rasped, kissing his neck.
Sören dropped trou faster than I'd ever seen before, which made my delighted laughter echo in the cave. He pulled me into another hungry, passionate kiss, and after a few kisses I reached between his legs and began playing with him. He was already wet for me.
We continued kissing, rubbing our tongues together, as my fingers caressed his cock and then slipped inside him, sliding in and out as I licked and nibbled his neck. Soon I was on my knees, sucking his cock as my fingers banged away inside him. I knew Sören was getting closer as he grabbed my head and rolled his hips, gently fucking my mouth, his moans echoing.
Two fingers became three, then four. His juices ran down my fingers and palm, the wet squishing sounds also echoing, driving me wild. And then my entire hand was inside him. Sören cried out and then screamed, "Yes, Daddy!"
I growled and sucked his cock as hard as I could, lips clamping down as I bobbed my head and my fist worked in and out of him, making deliciously lewd slurping sounds. I felt like I was going to die of sexual frustration, but god I wanted to make him come. I let his cock slip from my mouth the minute I felt it twitching, gave it a lick, and then moved back, pulling my hand out just in time. His cunt contracted and he squirted hard, screaming - I grabbed his legs so he didn't fall over, watching him shudder, knees buckling. Sören gasped for breath, letting out a smaller arc of clear liquid, and this time I moved in so he rained on my face. I lapped it like a fountain, going mad with hot sexual need from the taste of him.
We kissed, sharing his cum, and then we held each other, watching the waterfall as Sören came down from his orgasm and I rode the power trip of breaking him once again, claiming him - I looked at the hand that had been inside him, still glistening from his juices, and I smiled.
By the time we got back to the camper van I was shaking, my cunt aching with need. We made our way directly to the bed, practically ripped each other's clothes off, and then I rode him like my life depended on it. We fucked to climax after climax, feverish, wet and sloppy, not able to get enough of each other. I'd never come so much before; my body had never been this needy, able to go again after a little break... wanting to keep fucking, keep feeling him, rutting together.
Finally we lay there spent, breathless. The sun was setting. "I love you," I told him again.
"Ég elska þig líka."
My eyes burned with tears threatening to spill over. There was that ache in my chest again. I desperately searched for words. Now was the time. "Sören, I want to be with you. I want to try to find a way to make this work, somehow."
Sören swallowed hard and nodded, his own eyes too bright. "Me too."
I kissed his forehead. The tears began to flow, silently, relieved and grateful. "I... I don't know how. A lot is up in the air right now. I have to go back to the States because I have a non-refundable ticket for my return, but..." I took a deep breath. "I can tie up loose ends and look into immigrating here -"
"No." Sören shook his head. "Anthony, I want to be with you too, but I'm gonna be real with you - there is one lawyer for every 300 people in Iceland, we don't need more, and you need to either work or be in school to live here. I know you were thinking about getting out of law anyway but I don't know if you understand you'd probably be working a low-wage, uh... working-class job like me, and the cost of living is high. We could live together to reduce expenses, but something tells me you wouldn't be happy with what jobs are available for foreigners. And you would need to learn the language fluently. Yes we all speak English... for tourists. To live here and have us all speak English to you on the job or in school is not happening. Also, we only get four hours of fucking daylight during the winter. Auroras are pretty and all but if you're not used to the darkness, you're going to get your ass kicked by depression every winter. Hell, there are people who've been born here, lived here their entire lives, who drink to cope with our winter. My aunt and uncle were two of them."
I exhaled. That wasn't what I wanted to hear, but it was what I needed to hear. Sören was trying to look out for me and I appreciated his forthright, brutal honesty.
"Long-distance relationships are hard," I said. "I mean, we could try..."
"Jæja..." Now Sören exhaled. He closed his eyes for a minute and I braced myself for him telling me this wasn't going to work, then he opened his eyes and said, "I'm not happy in Reykjavik. Like I just told you, the cost of living here is ridiculous. Instead of you moving out here to try to make this work, how about I go wherever you end up?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You mean you'd... move to the States. For me."
Sören nodded. "To give it a shot, já."
"Sören, I live - lived - in New York. It's like you're leaving all of this..." I gestured out the window to the beautiful Icelandic landscape in the glowing sunset. "To move to a dystopia. Donald Fucking Trump is the bloody President. You -"
"Well, you said yourself you probably weren't going back to New York. There are probably nice parts of the US, jú?"
"Uhhhh... probably, yes. But now that begs the question of what you will do in the States. It's not as strict about immigration as some places, but you'd still likely need a work visa and..."
Sören nodded harder. "I've been thinking about this a lot today. Well, you know, not when we were..."
I laughed. "I would hope not."
"No. But my mind is going most of the time, and." Sören exhaled again. "So you're pretty sure you're done with law but you don't know what you're going to do besides that."
"No, I don't."
"How do you feel about being your own boss? I know Americans are really big on the whole small business owners thing. And yes, I know you're not technically American but you live there."
I stroked my chin. That was something I hadn't considered at all, but I knew he had a very valid point. I wasn't cut out for manual, blue-collar labour, even though I would do it if I had to in order to survive. I was also broke, unless I hit up my family for money which I was loath to do in a non-emergency, but I knew small business loans existed and my credit was excellent. "The question is what." I thought about small businesses I'd seen in New York - plumbers, HVAC, cleaning services. None of that seemed like a fit for me either.
"You have hobbies, special interests, right? Maybe... a shop, selling stuff that pertains to your special interest." Sören waved his fingers. "I happen to have retail experience. If you listed me as an employee, that would solve my work visa problem and help you out -"
I kissed him deeply, more relief crashing over me. Now my own gears were spinning. I thought about the large collection of books I'd left behind when Steve put my things out on the curb, how books had been my escape, my survival throughout a depressed, dysphoric youth. If I had an independent used bookstore and moved to a city or town that didn't already have that niche filled, I wouldn't have to live in an urban jungle like New York or Boston to survive. It was still a gamble - a lot of small businesses went under - but it was worth a shot. If nothing else we would probably have enough money to start something else if the shop went tits up.
"OK," I said, grinning so hard my face hurt. "You're on."
chapter 20 | return to A Place Called Home | return to Original Works | return to index