We met online.
He was cute: slim, olive-skinned, shy. I’d spoken first when we’d first connected, and slowly he became comfortable enough to talk freely. We exchanged a few pictures and arranged to meet. The next day, he arrived at my flat.
I was wearing short white shorts and and a white polo shirt when I answered the door. He was wearing skinny jeans and a t-shirt. I poured us each a glass of wine in the kitchen and came down to the living room, where we sat at each end of the L-shaped sofa and talked.
He was more shy in person even than he had been online. He would speak for a moment and then become bashful. His cheeks would redden a little and he would look down in embarrassment and push a lock of hair out of his eyes. But the wine seemed to relax him and he drank it quickly. He told me his parents didn’t know he was gay but that his friends did. He told me he studied not far from where I lived. He was flattering. We started talking about films and I suggested we go next door to my room to watch something. He agreed and followed me through.