Vacation checklist: seedy pubs, see the sights, sex with a cute local boy. 

An American in Glasgow 

Waking up in Owen's dirty Glasgow flat, I feel more American than ever. My mind is hazy with yesterday's hungover train ride, reunion with friends, and obligatory pub crawl. I let the cool air from the window caress my bare shoulders as I peacefully remember the night before. 

I had traveled across the ocean to see counselor-friends from summer camp only to end up in Owen's bedroom. This surprised no one. 

We had spent all of August wistfully flirting from across picnic tables and soccer fields. Sometimes Owen would brush my hand or let his eyes linger on my tanned shoulders a little too long, but it was always back to work before any campers noticed. On the night of our end-of-summer bash, we shared one kiss on American soil. Then we heard others in the bushes, and shy Owen stumbled back to his lads. He said he didn’t want to cause any drama, not at a place I had met and ended things with my first love just last year. So he left and I laid in the grass, patiently waiting for a shooting star I knew would come. When it did, I wished to see so much more of Owen, somewhere, sometime, someplace.

We both returned back to our respective homes for college, Owen to Glasgow and me to Austin. We sent the occasional message, flirting, but time zones kept us from diving in fully. That didn’t keep Owen out of my daydreams, and from some of the emojis he sent me, I could tell I visited his, too. When some of my friends started blowing up the group chat with talk of New Year’s in Glasgow, I couldn’t help but think that my shooting star had come to fruition. It was 2 a.m. when I got yet another generic, “Miss you... Can’t wait for summer!” message from Owen. I’d had a few shots, admittedly. “Fuck summer,” I texted. “Can I stay with you in December?” 

My eyes blink open slowly the morning after the flight. They feel sticky and tired, and it takes a minute to embrace my beautiful surroundings. Owen's flatmates' booming voices filter through the thin walls. Owen answers with his signature two-word responses. I imagine the satisfied smirk on his face as he tells his roommates, "Camile's still in bed." They holler and I think of last night, our second kiss, my promise that we would make the most of our short winter weekend together. 

Reluctantly, I decide to get out of bed and brave the chilled temperature. I put on one of the only three outfits I packed, a thin black sweater with tights, and crack the bedroom door open. Standing in the kitchen, the flatmates giggle as Owen and I stare at each other like little kids with a first crush. His cheeks slowly flush and match his red hair as I look him up and down, smiling when I see the bracelet I made him last summer still tied to his wrist. Owen extends his arm, hands me burnt toast, and says, “Get moving. We have a busy day.” 

It turns out that Owen's "busy day" entails joining our summertime friends, walking around the city aimlessly, and drinking cider in numerous seedy pubs. I’m having the time of my life, but I remember the feeling of Owen's cheap sheets each time he slings his arm over me or expands past three words in his hushed, lilting voice. Those sheets wait for us, along with the crack in the window, the cool air, and Owen's cock, which pressed into my thigh as we made out last night. 

Welcome to tomorrow. Our infinite Glaswegian journey leads us back to a pub three blocks from Owen's flat. Crammed into a booth corner at Spoon's, I feel Owen's chapped fingers work their way discreetly up my thigh. He moves in slow, tiny circles, as unassuming as his voice, driving me crazy. Mortified, I remember I had decided to forego panties that morning in order to save a clean pair for the flight home. So when Owen's hands make their way to my pussy, he feels how wet with anticipation I’ve become over those thin tights. And there is that smirk. He responds to my apparent boldness with an abrupt, "Well, Camile and I have to go. I have one more thing to show her." We say our goodbyes, he grabs my hand, and we walk those sidewalks giggling.

Sweet, quiet Owen takes charge the moment we make it up the stairwell. We kiss fiercely in the doorway as he slams it shut, guiding me in by my messy ponytail. With all the flatmates gone for the night, I fumble for his belt before making it to the bedroom. I seize the cock that had seduced my thighs during our first two kisses and I sink to my knees, enveloping him with my mouth. I enjoy his moans until he throbs with joy. 

Wet with saliva, Owen pushes me to a chair and flings my shirt off, my back scraping the rough brick walls of the living room. "I do love kissing you," he says as his mouth makes its way down my neck and to my nipples. "But I was waiting for more." Quickly, that mouth is on my clit. He moves in circles, occasionally letting his tongue dive into my pussy. My eyes flutter with pleasure and I hardly notice him scoop me into his muscular arms, moving me to the bed. 

"Camile," he asks. "Do you want me?" He hovers over me, naked now. I see his chiseled body, red hair, and sparkling eyes. 

Owen's bare cock enters slowly. He takes his time, getting comfortable inside me, filling me to wholeness. I moan at the peak of each slow, deep thrust. "Shh," he laughs, "The walls are thin." He sticks his forefingers into my mouth. I suck them as he fucks me faster and faster, stopping to get a condom before I flip him over and climb on top. Straddling him, I see gray and brown rooftops through the thin curtains as he grows closer and closer to coming. 

I don’t let him come just yet. We only have one more night together, after all. He flips me onto my side and enters me from behind, the same fingers that discovered my wet tights surprise me when they start to lightly stroke my pussy. With his cock sliding so deep inside of me, his mouth biting down on my earlobes, and his fingers dancing across my dripping clit, I start to come. Owen takes this as his sign to fuck me harder and harder. I hear his moans grow more intense and just as I come down, he explodes with pleasure. 

Grinning, I tell him, "That was a good third kiss." He traces the outline of my body with his hands as we fall asleep. 

The next morning, he kisses me awake before heading to the kitchen. I guess his mates came back, after all. "Camile's still in bed, I guess?" one asks smugly. 