Crispy Budapest
“English? Excuse me, English?” he insisted.
I continued to walk against the cold, cutting a path with my chin.
“English, English?” He has almost patted me on the back with these words, so I conceded. My look must have told everything, for he stopped being elliptical: “Do you speak English?”
“I do. I speak English, but I am not English”, I made it clear since I suspected he was on the prowl for rich Teutonic Caucasians. And I sooo fall out of this category, ’cause I am poor as a church mouse.
“Excuse me, are you gay?” That was a little blunt. And a little loud. As a matter of fact it was the bluntest confrontation about my sexuality. But nobody else seemed to care. I had only myself to blame for the whole thing as I have starded it by looking shamelessly back at him, back and staring him in the eye, and not shying away as most honourable people would do in the street.
“I am.” That didn’t come out right, I though, definitely not in the right voice. The wind, the cold, the running noise, the surprise, everything was a conspiracy to make me squeak like a little girl when all I wanted was to sound manly and dignified.
“Do you like business boys?” he continued undisturbed. Well, I guess it was my turn after all, so the strike came:
“No”.
He did not stumble, but on the inside, I was the only other person who could see it. For he was well trained at taking a no in this line of work. He must have seen a lot despite his very young age. He was as crispy as the temperature outside, nice blue eyes, a clear face, fair hair, and a cocky attitude to top it all.
“Simpatia?” he uttered a last unsuccessful linguistic crossbreeding. “I am OK”, I smiled back with all the warmth I could gather. I was not OK, I was kinda sad, thinking about him and why I had to say no. Sex is OK. Money is OK. Sex for money is not OK. I walked. Why is it always so crispy in Budapest when I visit?
This picture scared me. Scared me, I tell you.
loved it. you should’ve accepted the money though
Yeah, what’s wrong about making a few bucks? You are as poor as a church mouse, coulda bought some cheese.
Very interesting…
nope, this one’s not into cheese. just holy wafers, wine. candles and all. and I mean big candles. the last romantic
Interesting story. Self-centered me is wondering, how come all this interesting stuff like getting asked if you’d pay for sex or get paid for it or whatever is happening to others, not me? I guess I just don’t go to Budapest often enough. Ever, actually.