I eat a continental breakfast at the hostel and pay for another night before I head out to meet John Long. I find him sitting at an outdoor table at the arrangement meeting place. The fine gold hairs on his tanned forearms are gleaming in the morning sun. He greets me warmly and gives me a hug, asking me how I slept. I order a cinnamon roll with my cappuccino and we sit and talk.
I ask him how long he will stay in Copenhagen. He says he hopes forever. His life is up in the air because he doesn't want it to return to the way it was before Denmark. When he returns to Boston in the fall he plans to apply for a Danish work visa. Once he gets it he will return, take Danish language classes and then marry a Dane so he can live here permanently. Won't you miss your home and family, I ask. 'USA Today' is shit,' he responds, tossing a copy of the newspaper that is lying on the next table into a nearby garbage bin.
He tells me that for the first six months in Copenhagen all he did was brag about how great the US was. People here listened to him politely without comment. Then, about two months ago he realized how happy he was here teaching tennis and enjoying life. He was living in a large cultural hub that was totally accepting of gays, with safe streets filled with musicians, performers and friendly people, economic prosperity and no visible signs of poverty. It dawned on him that the US is not the best place on earth, which is what he had always had drilled into him. In fact, it is quite fucked up, he exclaims, and its citizens brainwashed. He feels a lot of anger over having been one of the brainwashed, for having being rewarded with betrayal and manipulation for all his patriotic loyalty. Now he says he cannot bear American accents and must leave the room when he hears one. Wow, that's extreme, I tell myself, but that explains his reaction when he first heard me speak, and the return of his interest when he found out I was not one of his countrymen. We are finished our drinks. He asks if I'd like him to show me around and I accept his offer. We walk through many streets I have already explored when I was staying with Kersten, but I don't tell him that. He points out several spires, facades and installation that he is fond of, but when I ask him about them he has nothing to add. In spite of loving the city, he is still a visitor here without much knowledge of it.
He takes me to the Tivoli Gardens and we go on a couple of the rides. They are quite tame by modern standards, their charm being in their quaint antiquity. I call Kersten from the amusement park. He invites me to stay with him again for the next two nights, even though I have already paid the hostel for tonight, and he invites the two of us over for dinner. John accompanies me to the hostel where I collect my bags, and walks with me the two kilometres from there to Kersten’s. We suntan in Assistens Cemetery that afternoon, me without clothes and John with his underwear still on. We return to Kersten's for dinner and he offers us towels so we can shower off the suntan lotion. His shower stall is located in his kitchen. I shower first, with the door of the open, but when John showers he has to shut the kitchen door. The kitchen door is so warped that it can't shut properly anymore, but John tries his damndest so we cannot peek in. I think he might had watched "Psycho" a few times too often.
John and I continue on to the disco later in the evening. He introduces his straight roommate Jurgen, who comes here because the music is the best for dancing. We dance for a while and talk more. We are enjoying our time, but I'd rather be alone with him. I suggest another walk outside.
The evening streets of Copenhagen are alive with pedestrians and music. Isn't this wonderful, he asks and I concur. He slides his arm around my waist, enjoying the safety and freedom in his new-found home. We are both hungry to be held. We kiss openly on the street and stare into each others eyes, looking for our own reflections. I want to sleep with you, I tell him. He beams.
He calls Jurgen, who has left the disco by now to start his night shift, to get permission to sleep in his bed until he gets home from work. It's just a single bed, John warns me as we enter the sparsely furnished and yet-cluttered apartment. I don't want to sleep with you, he says contradictorily as we prepare to climb into bed. He means that he doesn't want sex. I strip naked but he leaves his track pants on.
There's massage oil on the dresser. I offer to massage him and he acquiesces. I rub his bare shoulders and back and his legs through his track pants. I keep my touch light and sensual, but not overtly sexual. He definitely has a tennis player's legs. He pulls his track pants off but leaves his underwear on to let me to massage is ass cheeks. Yes, he has the ass of a tennis player too, so round and muscular. His eyes are closes and his face to the pillow. He's totally relaxed and doesn't see that I am hard as a rock and drooling.
When I am finished the massage I wipe him off and we spoon in Jurgen's single bed. He must trusts me a bit more than before. He leaves his underwear on but doesn't leave the track pants on.
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