"He has a punchable face."
Sören snorted and facepalmed. Then he smirked as he took the phone back from Yeyette. "Well, it's not really... his face... that I'm concerned with."
Yeyette rolled her eyes, but shook with silent laughter. "Isn't that corrupt? Isn't that immoral?"
Sören giggled at the Neil Breen reference. "It's clean! It's all clean!"
Yeyette sighed. She glanced at the photo on Sören's phone again, then gave Sören a concerned little frown and patted his shoulder. "I don't know how to explain it, but there's a vibe from this... Justin guy... I don't like."
"I get it but I mean, this is probably going to be just a one-time hookup. At least we're meeting at a public place first." After Sören and Justin had chatted a bit back and forth on Grindr, they had agreed to meet at the Raven's Roost - a local cafe with a used bookstore - and then rent a motel room for the night.
"Probably one time?" Yeyette raised an eyebrow.
Sören nodded. "He's from the UK and just visiting the States, and I know long-distance relationships are a thing but he looks like a jock, and he didn't seem very intelligent in his messages." Sören was a non-native English speaker, having come over from Iceland three years ago, and he didn't have a lot of patience for English monoglots with a poor command of the language. "But again, I'm just going to get dicked down. It's been a long time, and..." Sören hung his head and decided not to say the quiet part out loud - I feel like I have to take what I can get.
Sören was twenty-five. After a suicide attempt at age nineteen, he'd come out as trans and got therapy and hormones, and eventual top surgery, which improved his mental health considerably. Unfortunately, his abusive guardians - the aunt and uncle who raised him after his parents died - were not only merely unsupportive but became an unholy terror. Between that and how small Iceland's population was, where the LGBTQ community felt extremely tiny and Sören had exhausted most of his options for partners, Sören decided to leave his home country behind. His best friend Yeyette, who he'd met online through gaming as a teenager and had been his rock during his transition, offered to let him stay with her and her husband Victor in Boston. Sören had come to America with high hopes of living a fabulous gay life, and instead for the last three years he'd been repeatedly shot down by guys because he didn't have a penis - even fellow trans guys often didn't want to date or fuck other trans guys; Sören had seen some very rude commentary on a forum for trans men where more than one called it "settling for less".
A few months ago Sören had finally, reluctantly, signed up for Grindr, feeling a bit like he was on a meat market. After awkward conversations where he was harassed and told he didn't belong there, or there were red flags from bi and pan men calling him "the best of both worlds" and wanting to feminize him, and Sören was just about ready to delete his account, he finally got messaged by Justin, a blond, blue-eyed, spray-tanned British football player for Arsenal - or claimed to be, anyway - with an impressively large dick, who was visiting the Boston and New York area for a couple weeks... whose attitude about Sören's transness was a hole's a hole, innit.
...Except it had been a hols a hol init. And that had been the least egregious of his spelling failures.
Sören did want a boyfriend to cuddle and spend time with, but he knew finding a suitable partner would be easier said than done and in the meantime he was horny and touch-starved. So here he was, getting ready for his first sexual encounter since early into his transition. Justin wasn't Mr. Right, but he was Mr. Right This Minute.
Though Yeyette was only five years older than Sören she was a bit of a mother hen - she felt protective of him, having known him pre-transition when he was still living with abusers and feeling dysphoric and severely depressed - and she had asked to see Justin's Grindr profile and download photos "in case you go missing and I have to talk to the police". Sören understood the concern - he himself had some vague anxiety about whether or not Justin was legitimately interested or wanted to go hate crime a trans guy for fun - but he almost wished he hadn't mentioned where he was going tonight, feeling self-conscious. Feeling cheap, even though he knew Yeyette wasn't judging him for having casual sex. As much as he believed this was "what he could get", a little voice in the back of his mind told him: You deserve better than some guy with a fake tan who can't spell.
Yeyette gave him some reassuring shoulder pats. "Are you sure you don't want me to drive you to the cafe and come pick you up at the motel?"
"Yeah." Sören grimaced. As much as he knew that would probably be somewhat safer, he also felt like it would potentially give the wrong idea - as it was, people frequently assumed Sören and Yeyette were an item, when Yeyette was married and Sören was gay - and he felt like there was more potential for him to chicken out, ask to turn right around and go home, and spend the next several months if not years back to his hand and toys. For just one night, at least, he wanted to feel skin on skin, wanted to be touched, wanted to be fucked out of his mind, distracted from the world on fire.
"OK. At least text me sometime tonight to let me know you're alive."
"Will do." Sören gave her a hug. "Thank you for looking out for me."
"Well, you know, you're the only family I have besides Victor and Uncle Nicholas." Yeyette's childhood had been about as miserable as Sören's, and she was no-contact with her mother - the reason why she lived in the States and not France. "I do wish you and Nicholas could meet some time," Yeyette went on. "Uncle Nicholas" was Victor's best friend - they were both professors at Tufts - who Sören had yet to meet since he was socially awkward and shy around strangers and kept in his small apartment above the garage on the occasions there was company.
"Just going out and doing this is hard enough," Sören said, feeling a fresh wave of anxiety.
Yeyette returned the hug, holding him tight for a moment. "I hope it goes well. Stay safe."
"You too." Sören smacked himself in the mouth, feeling ridiculous - Yeyette was staying home today.
Yeyette laughed and tousled his curls.
Sören did one last check in the mirror before he headed out. He didn't want to look too dressy considering he wasn't going anywhere formal and with any luck, his clothes would only be on for another hour or two, but he also didn't want to look like a slob. He'd settled on an Icelandic lopapeysa sweater - red with a white and black chevron pattern at the neckline and the sleeves and hemline - with black cargo pants and his usual Doc Martens. His shoulder-length black curls hung loose to his shoulders, and he'd put lavender oil in his short dark beard today to condition it. He could see the worry in his brown eyes and forced himself to smile.
After stopping to pet the cats and assure them he'd be back, Sören walked a few blocks to the bus stop. He could have walked it to the Raven's Roost, but it would have taken thirty minutes rather than a seven-minute bus ride, and he was all nerves. It was a Saturday afternoon and the bus was fairly crowded, which didn't really help his nerves but at least it would be quick. The Raven's Roost was a few stops away and just a short walk from where he was getting off.
Despite Sören asking Justin to meet him here, Sören had never been here before - it was on his list of places to try since he'd moved to Boston from Iceland, but the last three years had been kind of a clusterfuck with the pandemic. Today seemed like a good day for new beginnings.
Sören didn't know what he was expecting - something more like Starbucks where he ordered and picked it up at the counter - and instead there were tables and a couple roving waitstaff. Sören found an empty table and began to look around. There were wooden bookshelves filled with old, worn-looking used books along every wall, and a couple of reading nooks with couches and armchairs, and a few pieces of art on the walls - classic paintings with cartoon cats added; Sören smiled at Van Gogh's "Starry Night" with a cat on the moon. On top of each bookshelf was an ominous-looking raven figurine, and raven-themed suncatchers and windchimes dangled from the ceiling. It was a quirky little place, and it delighted him. On any other day, Sören would have liked to find a good book and curl up, perhaps with intent to buy some new-to-him reading material, but he thought about Justin's spelling errors and didn't want to "give the ick" with appearing too much of a nerd, even though the idea of hiding himself just to get laid once made him feel pathetic. Justin wasn't here yet, and Sören was slightly early. It still made him antsy, moreso when he saw most of the tables were occupied by couples and groups of friends, which made him feel self-conscious even though he knew people were wrapped up in each other and probably wouldn't notice him.
There was one table with a single occupant - close to one of the reading nooks. A man with silver hair and beard, wearing an elegant black tunic sweater was seated there, typing on a laptop with a frown on his face, between sips of what appeared to be tea, with a plate of scones. He was handsome with high cheekbones, a patrician nose, and thick bushy brows over heavy-lidded dark eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. The moment their eyes met, the older man's mouth opened slightly as if he were sighing. Sören immediately looked away, sheepish for being caught staring, though he couldn't help it - Sören was an artist, and the gorgeous man was a work of art. Sören thought about Justin's pics on Grindr and had the brief flashing thought of I'd rather hook up with this guy. At least he could fantasize.
The man raised his cup of tea to Sören like he was giving a toast. Sören's cheeks burned - he'd definitely been caught staring. "First time here," Sören said, trying to explain himself, which was true, it just wasn't the Yes, I was ogling you part. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then gestured down at the table, mirroring where the man's plate was. "That looks good, já?"
"Lavender lemon scones," came a deep, velvet voice with an accent Sören couldn't quite place - it reminded him of Yeyette and Victor's French accents but not quite. The accent made the guy even sexier.
A waiter handed Sören a menu and when he accepted it, he said to the older man, "The scones sound good. Anything else you recommend?"
"All of the other varieties of scones, and their bagels and soups," the man replied. Then he made a sour-lemon face with a little sniff. "I do not recommend their egg or tuna fish sandwiches. All you can taste is salt."
Sören laughed, appreciating the guy's candor in a world of fake toxic positivity. He nodded and opened up the menu. "Thank you."
The scones did look appealing - as did the selection of bagels and soup. But Sören wasn't sure how long he and Justin would be here, if they would take some time getting to know each other or get right down to business. And he didn't know if Justin would be put off by the way he ate. Sören was once again annoyed with himself with being so overly cautious about making a good first impression on someone who probably wouldn't remember his name in a few days, and he decided to compromise with himself by treating himself to a hot chocolate. When the waiter came back, he ordered a hot chocolate for himself and a regular americano for Justin, not merely a nice gesture but in case Justin needed a reminder who he was meeting - he'd seen a photo but Sören didn't know what his memory or attention span was like, so the second cup on the table would hopefully be a clue.
The drinks came right at the time when Justin was supposed to arrive. Sören leaned back and resumed watching the door and scanning the cafe. As the minutes wore on and Justin still hadn't shown up, Sören's anxiety intensified. He knew that a lot of people tended to run late for appointments and he was an anomaly for preferring to go early - a hack for his own ADD, in case he forgot something or had troubles getting there - and he reminded himself that Justin didn't live in Boston and was only here on vacation and Google's GPS might have given him weird directions, as sometimes happens. But five minutes became ten became fifteen became twenty, and Sören's stomach turned to ice. His eyes once again fell on the handsome older man a couple empty tables away, who gave him a small, concerned frown then a smile, eyes warm and sympathetic. "The other party is late, I assume?"
Sören let out a deep sigh. "Jæja, I think I've been stood up." He looked down, instinctively folding his arms over himself like a protective shield. He was willing to bet money that Justin decided he didn't want to fuck a trans guy after all.
Before the older man could respond, the waiter came over to the older man's table to inquire about a refill or anything else, and the older man replied to the questions in a softer tone of voice where Sören couldn't quite make out what he was saying over the din of the other patrons. Sören continued to look around, giving one last hope that Justin maybe got stuck in Boston's notoriously bad traffic, or got lost, and he would be here soon, but as it got to be a half-hour Sören saw the writing on the wall.
After the waiter brought the older gentleman another cup of tea, he headed over to Sören. "Anything I can get you?"
Sören shook his head. He finally began working on his hot chocolate, which was now more like cold chocolate. "Check, please."
"Oh." The waiter blinked and opened his mouth slightly, and before Sören wondered if he had made some sort of faux pas by not at least trying one of the foods off the menu, the waiter said, "Your order's been paid for."
Sören coiled back. "What?"
The waiter gestured over to the older man. "He told me to put it on his tab, and anything else you want to get."
Sören's jaw dropped. The waiter smiled and walked off, as Sören sat there stunned. Then the older man smiled at him.
Sören found it harder to cry since he started T years ago, though he was still capable of a good cry now and again, and he felt on the verge of tears now, deeply touched by the small gesture of kindness. His eyes met the older man's again, who gave him another smile. Not thinking, just feeling, Sören got up, with hot chocolate in one hand and americano in the other, and walked over to the man's table. He put the drinks down and extended his hand. "Thank you, so much."
The man clasped his hand firmly. "You are most welcome." He gestured to an empty seat at the table. "Would you care to join me?"
Sören looked at the door one last time - he was beyond positive Justin wasn't coming now, his phone hadn't given him any text alerts where Justin would have given the courtesy of letting him know if he was late - and then he nodded and took the seat. He pushed the now-cold americano slightly forward, offering it to his benefactor. "Coffee?"
"No, thank you. I have tea."
Sören made a "wait" gesture, got up quickly to chuck the coffee cup into the nearest trash can - his thoughts about this entire fiasco with Justin - and then he sat back down with the older man, his stomach all butterflies. As disappointed as he was over being stood up, the day wasn't a total loss. Maybe he might make a new friend...
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