An American Homo in Paris
Read An American Homo in Paris Online
Authors: Vanessa North
Tags: #M/M Romance, Love is an Open Road, gay romance, teacher, writer, social media, travel, dare/bet, blogging, HFN, infidelity
Table of Contents
An American Homo in Paris - Information
Au-Dessous de la Tour Eiffel, Encore
Love is an Open Road
An M/M Romance series
AN AMERICAN HOMO IN PARIS
By Vanessa North
Introduction
The story you are about to read celebrates love, sex and romance between men. It is a product of the
Love is an Open Road
promotion sponsored by the
Goodreads M/M Romance Group
and is published as a gift to you.
What Is Love is an Open Road?
The
Goodreads M/M Romance Group
invited members to choose a photo and pen a letter asking for a short M/M romance story inspired by the image; authors from the group were encouraged to select a letter and write an original tale. The result was an outpouring of creativity that shone a spotlight on the special bond between M/M romance writers and the people who love what these authors do.
A written description of the image that inspired this story is provided along with the original request letter. If you’d like to view the photo, please feel free to join the
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and visit the discussion section:
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.
No matter if you are a long-time devotee to M/M Romance, just new to the genre or fall somewhere in between, you are in for a delicious treat.
Words of
Caution
This story may contain sexually explicit content and is
intended for adult readers.
It may contain content that is disagreeable or distressing to some readers. The
M/M Romance Group
strongly recommends that each reader review the General Information section before each story for story tags as well as for content warnings.
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This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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An American Homo in Paris, Copyright © 2015 Vanessa North
Cover Art by Vanessa North
This ebook is published by the M/M Romance Group and is not directly endorsed by or affiliated with Goodreads Inc.
M/M Romance Group Publication
AN AMERICAN HOMO IN PARIS
By Vanessa North
Photo Description
The Eiffel Tower looms in the background as two men kiss in the foreground of the black and white image.
Story Letter
Dear Author
,
I came to Paris 9 months ago, with my now ex-boyfriend. City of Love, my ass. Now I’m sitting here in this café near the Eiffel Tower, sipping the cheapest coffee they had on the menu, heartbroken and unsure of my next steps.
Without a place to live, no job, not much money left in the bank, and speaking only a little French, I guess it’s time to put my tail between my legs and head back home to Bumfuck, Idaho.
Unless…
I’d like to see the break-up, the heartbreak, and the scene in the café, leading up to a new romance with a handsome French man, that includes the picture prompt in some fashion, and a HFN/HEA. Names, ages, etc, even hometown, are all up to you. I’d like sexy times but they shouldn’t be taking over the story. I’m open to pretty much anything other than hardcore BDSM. Sex can be sweet or hot or both.
Thank you!!
Sincerely,
Sandra
Story Info
Genre:
contemporary
Tags:
teacher, writer, social media, travel, dare/bet, blogging, HFN, infidelity
Word Count:
10,514
AN AMERICAN HOMO IN PARIS
By Vanessa North
Coeur D’Alene, Idaho
An American Homo in Paris
Hello, dearest readers. Or perhaps I should say “
salut!
” That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for a new blogventure!
I’m sure some of you, back when this blog was “Queering Campus” and I met Darling Dearest Love of My Life, aka Aaron, aka hottest fucking ass ever to grace a pair of blue jeans…
Where was I?
Oh yes. Back then, some of you thought we’d never make it past the weekend, let alone graduation, let alone the almost-a-reality-TV-show that was “Little Queer on the Prairie.” But we did. And last night, Aaron told me he’d gotten the job offer of a lifetime, and he asked me to go with him…
To Paris.
I know, take all the time you need. Lord knows I shrieked myself silly for a solid ten seconds before saying “yes!”
So, the blog title is changing again. Now we’re “An American Homo in Paris” and you can all go ahead and be
jalouse.
I’ll still be blogging, still sponsored by the usual suspects— click the ads, people, it’s how I afford food and lube, for real— and working on a travelogue for a small queer press— can’t tell you which one yet, because the ink isn’t dry on the contracts, but it’s happening
—
and the tiny advance might even buy us a bottle of really good champagne.
Needless to say— I love you all, thank you for continuing to read, for subscribing to my YouTube channel, for liking the Facebook page, and in general being the awesomest people on the planet.
ALL MY LOVE
Benji
Comments:
CarrieandMike:
So excited for you guys!! Congrats, Aaron on the job! Congrats, Benji on the book deal! Love you, Benj! Xoxo
****
Le Marais
The best part of Benji’s day was when Aaron got home.
He didn’t realize— didn’t even think it was possible to realize— until becoming an ex-pat, what the idea of homeland really meant, or how when you’re far away, and you’re homesick, how one word in your own language can be home.
With Aaron, he didn’t have to pretend to understand things he didn’t or search for words until people thought he was stupid. And he didn’t have to wither under that expression of Gallic contempt when he screwed up the language.
So when the door opened, and Aaron called, “Hey, Benj? You home?” Benji ran to him like a goddamn puppy.
“Missed you.” He wrapped his arms around Aaron’s waist and gave him a kiss, but Aaron pulled out of it so fast Benji damn near got whiplash.
“Babe. Are you still— are those your pajamas?” He pulled off his tie and gave Benji a once over. “Not that your ass isn’t cute in them, but have you been outside at all today?”
“Um, aside from lunch, no, but I was busy writing.”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “Yeah? And how is ‘An American Homo in Paris’ coming along? What wild adventures did you blog about today?”
Ouch.
Okay, maybe Benji hadn’t updated the blog in a few weeks. Maybe he hadn’t left the apartment much either. But there was no call for snark. The blog entry for Versailles had a ton of photos— he needed to tweak the captions and get that shit just right. When Aaron attacked the one thing Benji had in Paris that wasn’t him, it stung.
“I came here because you said you needed me. This blog is a way to make this cross-Atlantic move about both of us, and not just you.”
“God, Benji. Do you realize I can’t even tell people at work what you do?” Aaron scrubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t have this conversation with you in your pajamas.”
Benji looked down at his well-worn sweats and the Hauser Lake Ice Breaker 10k T-shirt. He’d have thought nothing about leaving the house in these back home. But here in Paris, it would ratchet up the contempt-o-meter. Didn’t stop him from wandering down the street to grab a
jambon beurre
for lunch, but he probably shouldn’t tell Aaron that.
“You can’t tell your work friends that I’m a blogger? I can put jeans on— would that help?”
“Don’t do that. I’m serious. I’m trying to have a serious conversation and you’re getting all evasive.”
“I’m not evading anything. You haven’t
said
anything. What’s up?” Benji reached for Aaron’s hand, but he pulled it away.
Now who’s being evasive?
“You remember Henri?” he asked.
Benji shrugged. Keeping track of Aaron’s work buddies was a full-time job in itself. “The blond?”
“He’s not blond.” Aaron shook his head. “You’ve met him three times. He’s got black hair and a beard.”
“The blond spoke English. He stuck out.”
“They all speak English. But it’s better for your fluency if you speak French as much as possible. Anyway, Henri is the gay one. He’s taking me to Bourgogne for the weekend.”
“Oh.” In nine months, Benji had managed to figure out that Bourgogne was Burgundy, and the wine from there was some of the best in the world, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to go there yet. Oh, sure he
could
have, if he’d been willing to go by himself. But it was hard to go places by himself while struggling to understand even the simplest conversations. But this didn’t sound like an invitation. This sounded like— “That sounds fun.”
“It’s a date, Benj. I’m going away for the weekend with Henri. And when I come back, one of us is moving out.”
Benji’s stomach lurched like he was going to be sick.
“You’re… I’m sorry, are you… is this…”
Great. Complete fail at two languages today
.
“My name is on the lease— but if you can find a way to make the rent, we’ll figure something out. You were the one who wanted to live in the gaybor—”
Aaron’s phone buzzing interrupted him. Glancing at the message, he smiled and sent something back.
“Listen, I gotta go. Henri is waiting for me. I’m sorry.” Aaron gave Benji’s shoulder a little squeeze, as if that could offset the words he’d just spoken. “I’ll be back on Tuesday, and we’ll sort it then.”
He’s fucking breaking up with me.
Moving out. Aaron was the one with the job, the income. He was the one with the work visa. He was the one who dragged Benji halfway around the world to play house husband while he dazzled some French tech firm with his mad programming skills.
Benji didn’t have money for rent. He didn’t have money to go home. He was completely, utterly dependent upon Aaron.
And he’s going away for a romantic wine-tasting weekend with some guy named Henri?
He barely made it to the bathroom before he threw up the
jambon beurre
.
****
An American Homo in Paris:
The cheese stands alone.
Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry I haven’t updated the blog recently. I did get out to Versailles with my camera, and I’ll post the photos soon, but this entry is more personal. I renamed this blog a year ago when I was getting ready to follow the love of my life to gay Paris. You guys know how fucking much he means to me, and how excited I was to come here. You laughed with me about my language mishaps, and you drooled with me over my favorite street foods. You said the nicest things about my photos— especially the selfies, you sweet bitches you. And when I was homesick, you made me feel connected. I guess that’s why I’m writing this. I’m disconnected. And I’m hurting.