Made In Portugal

by Ana Newfolk

  Joel picked up a small bottle of hotel shower gel, squirted some on his palm and was working up lather before applying it to my chest, working it carefully on my arms and then back. It didn’t take long for my body to respond. For someone who had happily lived without intimacy for such a long time, I was surprised at my body’s sudden sexual awakening.

  “Why do you care?” Joel whispered in my ear as he massaged my back in slow circles, moving lower and lower down.

  “Wh...what?”

  “Why do you care what the receptionist thought?”

  The truth is, I wasn’t sure why I cared. She didn’t know me, and she likely didn’t care whether Joel and I slept on the same bed or not. Her reaction had been more of embarrassment rather than disgust.

  “I know that Portugal is quite a progressive country when it comes to LGBT rights. Most people accept or ignore when they see a gay couple walking hand in hand on the street. I’ve seen it myself and wondered if one day I would be able to do the same,” I paused and turned around to face Joel looking straight at his beautiful blue eyes, “I know all that, but knowing it, and believing or trusting that I can be accepted are two very distinct things.”

  It was my turn to wash Joel, so I held my hands out for some shower gel and proceeded to torture him with my hands.

  “Don’t come,” I whispered in his ear.

  “Fuuuck David, you’re going to have to keep your hands to yourself if you don’t want this to go any further.

  “Oh, I want it to go further,” I winked, “much further...” I let that comment float around us and washed my hair before I got out of the shower and dried my body with the fluffiest towel known to humankind. Joel followed me with a pout and the saddest face he could muster until I suggested going down for breakfast since they were still serving.

  We didn’t talk about the subject again for the rest of the day. I loved that I could talk about my fears with Joel without feeling judged. He asked questions purely to understand my point of view, and then he’d challenge it. I had nothing else to hide from him, he knew all of my issues, well, apart from one. I was absolutely terrified of the day he had to return to New York, and there were two reasons for it. I didn’t know if I could now live without him in my life every day, and I was afraid that once he was gone, I’d never see him again.

  After breakfast, we got our swimming shorts on and went to relax on the grass under the shade of a palm tree. The swimming pool was shaped like a lagoon with lots of plants and small trees giving it a few secluded corners where you couldn’t be seen by anyone. I took full advantage of that a few times by catching Joel off guard and pressing him against the wall of the swimming pool and kissing the life out of him. The first time I’d done it, he’d gone all wide-eyed, clearly not expecting me to kiss him openly like that until he realized that while we weren’t completely covered up by the plants, it was unlikely that we’d be seen.

  We played this game of cat and mouse, taking turns until we were both too turned on to stay by the pool only in our shorts.

  “You go ahead, and I’ll check in with reception if they can arrange an early breakfast we can take away tomorrow. I’ll be right up.” Joel said.

  When Joel got back to the room not ten minutes later, he was holding a tray with some fresh fruit and a plate with six custard tarts. He looked like he was struggling with the tray but my hands were busy, so I stayed where I was until he finally looked at me after setting the tray on the desk.

  “Fuuuck,” Joel said in a low voice.

  I was lying on the bed, naked and leisurely stroking my erection.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  “Wh...what?” Joel looked positively out of sorts. His eyes checked me out head to toe, lingering slightly on the motion of my hand, and I felt a rush of confidence take over me. The tent in his swimming shorts was inviting, and I licked my lips in a very clear message.

  Joel's eye’s locked on my mouth, but suddenly he shook his head and said, “No! No, you’re not supposed... fuck, you’re so sexy David.”

  “I’m confused. You want me to stop?”

  “No, yes, argh I’m making a mess of this.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Joel, come sit here,” I patted the space on the bed next to me and he moved to join me,

  “What’s up?”

  He sighed, “I wanted to do something to you but then I came in, and you were like that looking all sexy, and my brain stopped, and now I can’t even remember my name.”

  “I was only warming up for you, sweetheart, what did you want to do to me?”

  While Joel was getting up the courage to tell me what he’d been fantasizing about, I started taking his clothes off, stopping only to give his dick a few strokes.

  “Ok so now who’s going outside to get the beers I left on the floor by the door?” he chuckled.

  I got up and got to the door in two seconds. Opening it carefully I poked my head out and checked no one was coming before I grabbed the beers. On my way back to the bed I passed by the tray and picked the plate with the custard tarts.

  “Hey, those are mine!” Joel cried.

  “Really? All of them?”

  Joel took the plate from me and placed it on the bedside table. It was only then that I realized there was a small spoon on the plate too. He asked me to sit on the bed and then sat on my thighs facing me.

  The next hour was the most erotic of my life as Joel used the small spoon to scoop the custard from each tart and fed it to me alternating with kissing me. My mouth wasn’t the only part of my body to get some of the delicious custard. He accidentally got some custard on my chest, which he helped clean with his tongue. And when once again, when an accidental scoop of custard fell on my cock, he sucked it all clean until I was writhing under him and cursing the gods of baking.

  After he decided he was full Joel took both of us in his hand and stroked us until we both came so hard and loud I hoped the guests in the room next door weren’t in.

  We were both a sticky mess for all the right reasons, and I was contemplating hiring someone to bake the custard tarts for me at the café because that would be the only way I wouldn’t sport an erection for the whole of my shift at work from now on.

  Joel got up before me to get the shower started, “your custard tarts are better,” he shouted towards the room.

  “Damn right they are.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Joel

  I always considered myself a morning person. In New York, I went out for a run at least three times a week before work, but there was waking up early, and waking up early. Fortunately, the real morning person in the room decided to wake me up by planting soft kisses on the back of my neck, then shoulders, and lower back. When he got to my ass cheeks, he bit me, causing me to moan and press down into the mattress giving me also much-needed friction.

  “Oh no,” he said crawling up my body to kiss me properly, “we don’t have time. Come on sleepy head, we have to go.”

  The hotel staff couldn’t have been more helpful to us. Not only did they manage everything with the mechanic yesterday leaving me only to sort out the payment, but they also put together a fantastic breakfast in a takeaway bag. They even made us some coffee for the road.

  It took us one and a half hours to get to Santarém where we’d planned to visit the gardens with a viewpoint called Portas do Sol. It was another one of the locations our moms visited on a school trip, and while they had only spent their lunch hour there, after some research, we decided we wanted to watch the sunrise from there.

  It wasn’t difficult to find parking so early in the morning. The city felt like it was still asleep, so we strolled quietly towards the gate that gave entry to the gardens.

  It was that time of day when it wasn’t nighttime anymore, but it wasn’t quite daytime. The temperature was still cool, but you could feel it warming up with the light of the sun, and the air smelled fresh.

  There wasn’t even a breez
e, which could only mean it would be another scorching day. I’d read that Santarém often had higher temperatures than the surrounding areas.

  The gardens were nondescript, there were some trees, some areas with grass but it certainly wasn’t something to write home about. The gardens were part of the old castle, and the tall, thick walls surrounding it had probably served the purpose of defending the city from invaders.

  As we’d driven into Santarém, we’d crossed the river Tagus and noticed how high up the city is but now from this strategic viewpoint, we could see why the viewpoint was called the Sun’s Gates.

  Unlike the rolling hills of the Alentejo, this part of the country was like a patchwork of colors. Shades of green and brown fields separated in some areas by lines of trees. We could see villages in the distance where we could spot church bell towers taller than the buildings around it, and of course, the river snaking around the land making its way from Spain to Lisbon. The tide was low and the water was so clean we could see the sandbanks beneath it. It was truly breathtaking.

  We took a seat on the east side of the wall, facing the sun as it was rising. It felt warm on my face. There was something about the sunrise that had always appealed to me more than the sunset. Maybe it was that it was the sign of a new day rather than the ending, it was full of possibilities. I was glad we had our travel journal because suddenly I felt like I needed to write.

  “Don’t you want to have breakfast?” David asked, opening the breakfast bag to find a few pastries and two small ham sandwiches.

  “Yes, but in a minute, I need to write something down first.”

  While I was writing David had sat in contemplative silence next to me. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be quiet for me or if he was using the time for reflection.

  With the sun rising fast and the temperature getting warmer, I put the journal down and had some breakfast too.

  “Shall we read our moms’ journal?” I suggested.

  He nodded and took it out of the rucksack he was carrying. We opened it on the bookmarked page.

  3 June 1983 - School trip to Santarém

  Dear Journal,

  We came to Santarém today to see the church where the man that discovered Brasil is buried in. We didn’t think it was very interesting, but we’ve been learning about the Discoveries in history class, so we paid attention just in case it came up in an exam.

  We had lunch in the gardens and viewpoint of Portas do Sol. The place has a view of all the fields, it was quite nice, especially as it was a warm day. We had our lunch sitting on the grass.

  Sílvia - Oh and Paula has a boyfriend!!!!!!!!

  Paula - I do NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Sílvia - Yes you do because I saw you kiss Vítor by that gate looking over the river.

  Paula - So? It doesn’t mean he’s my boyfriend.

  Sílvia - Do you want him to be?

  Paula - Yes, but I think Mário and Teresa are REALLY boyfriend and girlfriend, wouldn’t that be weird?

  Sílvia - Of course not!

  We’d read a few similar entries where the girls had started by describing their day and then carried on with an on-page dialogue. It was the best insight into their young minds, but it also made me miss my mom so much.

  “I wonder who this guy Vítor is,” David said.

  “Yeah, do you think he’s of any significance to your mom?” I asked.

  David looked out to the view in front of us like he was trying to remember something.

  “Not sure, really. It’s strange thinking about her with a boyfriend because I never saw her with anyone all my life. I hadn’t even thought about it until now. She must have been lonely. I wonder why she never dated.”

  I wondered the same thing. I remembered Paula was very beautiful. She’d had long dark hair and smiley brown eyes. There was so much of her in David. I wondered if he realized that.

  “Wasn’t there another entry that mentions Vítor and your mom?” I took the book from David and started leafing through the pages. When we’d decided come on the road trip, we read the destinations of the school trips but had decided on reading the content once we were on location, but I thought I’d seen Vítor mentioned elsewhere.

  “Here, this one.” I pointed to another one of the girls’ on page dialogue that had stood out because it wasn’t a regular entry. It looked like maybe they’d been in class when they wrote on this page.

  David scooted closer to me to read.

  Paula - I really like Vítor.

  Sílvia - I know, you two are so in love it makes me sick!

  Paula - I don’t think he likes me.

  Sílvia - What?? Don’t be silly. Of course he does. Has he done something?

  Paula - No

  Sílvia - Then why?

  Paula - I just have a feeling he’s got a secret that he’s not telling me.

  Sílvia - You think he likes another girl?

  Paula - No, I think it’s something else, something bigger.

  Sílvia - Talk to him.

  Paula - ok. I’m baking an apple cake today, wanna help?

  Sílvia - You know I’m your official taste tester and spoon licker. I’ll be there.

  “This is intriguing,” David said, “it looks like this Vítor might have been her high school love interest. Maybe there are more clues later in the journal.”

  We put the journal in the rucksack and walked back to the car. Our next stop was Óbidos where we would stay the night.David drove this time, so I took the opportunity to call my grandparents to check in. I was glad to hear they were all well. I told my grandmother about some of the places we visited, especially the beautiful fields of the Alentejo, although I left out the part where we’d slept in the car a couple of nights before. I didn’t want to worry her.

  “You will have to try ginjinha,” my grandmother said, “it’s a sour cherry liqueur very traditional in Óbidos. In some places, they serve it in little chocolate cups. One day I’ll tell you the story of when your granddad got drunk on ginjinha,” she laughed.

  I couldn’t believe how easy it was to feel close to my grandparents after all these years. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I hadn’t stayed away at all. Yes, I’d talked to them on the phone at least every month, and more often when I’d been at my parents, but it was different.

  I felt warmth in my heart after talking to my grandmother, and happiness, a different kind than the one I felt when I was near David.

  We also called Teresa to check how things were at the café. Because David was driving, we put her on loudspeaker so she spoke to both of us rather than just David. She was such a lovely woman, full of energy and I could hear in her voice how much she loved David.

  I wondered if David knew that, or if he was so caught up in his secret that he didn’t see what was right in front of him. I had a strong feeling that despite Mário’s beliefs, Teresa wouldn’t care less about who or what David was, other than a son to her. But it wasn’t my place to tell him that, he would need to know it in his heart first.

  Óbidos was similar to Santarém in the way that as we were approaching it from the highway, we could see the village high up on the hill surrounded by the castle wall. The difference was in the surroundings. While Santarém was a district capital developed beyond the castle walls, Óbidos was a more traditional settlement. It had expanded beyond the walls, but it still kept the quaint small village buildings.

  After our adventure a couple of nights ago, we decided to find our accommodation before exploring the area. We were staying in the annex of a family owned house; a one bedroom and living room cozy conversion with whitewashed walls and dark wood furniture. It looked traditional and lived-in.

  Once we had the keys to our accommodation, we asked our host what the best options to explore the historical center were. It turned out that we were only a twenty-minute walk uphill from main entry gate, so we decided to leave the car and explore on foot.

  The place was heaving with tourists and school trips, most of the
m seemed to be interested in the small artisanal shops selling handmade products that lined both sides of the small cobbled streets. Some shops had displays of embroidered tablecloths, tea towels, and aprons hanging on the door, with limited space inside, while other shops sold all the traditional hand-painted crockery in bright colors.

  We walked the shops and turned into a quieter street that had a promising sign for a tavern restaurant. A couple of turns later we found it. The seating space outside was on a raised deck with tables and benches each on a swinging platform.

  We took a seat and ordered a few snacks and a couple of beers since neither of us would be driving again today.

  “What a cool feature,” I said putting my foot on the platform to make us swing. There were no other tourists or noise around, so it felt like we were in a little oasis. There was even a small breeze.

  “This is perfect,” David said, holding my hand and running his thumb in circles over my knuckles.

  His touch was so soothing. I took a swig of my beer and closed my eyes for a second, just taking in the scent of the flowers that were hanging from the wood beams above us giving us some shade.

  I opened my eyes and looked at David. He looked so relaxed and happy. The way he was smiling at me was doing all sorts of things to my heart. I smiled back, not daring to open my mouth in fear I’d say the words that were starting to fight to get out.

  After lunch, we walked all the way around the top of the wall of the castle. The views were beautiful, but from the height of the walls, I preferred looking at all the houses contained within. I wondered how long they’d been there. Had they been passed from generation to generation? Had they been destroyed and rebuilt as wars were fought and time went by?

  Some of the gardens I could see from above had orange and lemon trees, or a small chicken coop, others were completely paved and only had some outdoor furniture. I was so distracted I didn’t realize we’d got to the end of the wall and had to turn to go down the stairs.