A few years ago I was displaced from the country I lived in, due to wars that are nothing to do with me and are out of my control. I was forced to travel for many months until I managed to end up in a country so completely different from my own that I never knew how I could see it as a home.
Until one day I met a man. He was so different to me – from a completely different background, different experiences, different ambitions. We kept bumping into each other in the supermarket, of all places, until one day he approached me. We went for a coffee and things developed from there. What I will always remember is the first time we had sex. He was so kind and gentle with me, he stroked my beard and kissed my eyelids like I was precious to him. I told him stories in my native language and when we were having sex he would always speak in his native tongue, which made me so hard. The first time we had anal sex he started by putting his tongue so far up my ass that I almost came then and there. When he penetrated me, the first few moments of pain gave way to the greatest pleasure, years of build-up released when I orgasmed. All those months of travel, all those years of feeling out of place, not knowing who I was, where I was. He helped me find completeness. I’d always had to hide my sexuality where I came from, but in this new place, with this new man and these new friends that I was gradually accumulating, I felt so free, so welcomed. Home.
Now the phrase Refugees Welcome has an entirely new meaning for me.