Free An American Homo in Paris by Vanessa North Page A

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