pieces | ethma

a piece of home

Emma

I was studying abroad in Paris for my masters degree. It was my biggest dream come true, and I absolutely fell in love with the French culture. 

However, I was getting a little bit homesick. 

I mean, there were a few other American kids in my program, and I lived in a flat with three other girls; one of them also being American. The others were a girl from Canada, and a girl from the UK.

Still, I couldn't help but miss my small town back home. Paris is a big change from the outskirts of Des Moines, Iowa if you're catching my drift.

Some people I have met say it's a big city that feels like a small town, but it hasn't felt small to me yet.

The City of Love is a beautiful place to be single, right? I mean, I've talked to guys here and there. In the program a little bit. It honestly kind of feels weird to be single in such a romantic place.

I took a walk by myself the other day, and probably saw more couples making out than I did when I was at a party in 11th grade.

I didn't exactly know how much trouble I was getting myself into when I met Ethan. He was tall, handsome. American. 

He was actually from Chicago, so talking to him felt like I was back home in the Midwestern States. I actually went to college near Chicago and I loved it there. After I graduated, I was offered a scholarship to study in Paris for my masters. 

Here I am.

I met him at a fancy restaurant when I was supposed to meet a friend from my class, who didn't end up making it. She was sick that night, but we were supposed to be working on a presentation.

I suddenly had the night to myself until Ethan sat next to me at the bar. He gave me a friendly smile, and I knew he wasn't from Paris. 

"You're not from here, are you?"

"You can tell?"

"You have a midwest vibe. It's inviting."

He smiled, reaching out his hand to shake mine. I gave him my hand, but he kissed it instead of shaking it. "I'm from Chicago," he said. "And you?"

"Des Moines," I answered as he lowered my hand, his fingers lingering against mine before he gently let go.

"I didn't peg you for an Iowa girl."

I smiled. "But you knew I was an American."

"Before I even sat down," he said. "For some reason I was getting either Oregon or Colorado vibes from you. I'm bad at guessing these things."

"Well, I think you guessed right when you decided to sit next to me out of everyone here," I said, glancing around. 

"I did," he said. "I've been feeling really homesick, and I haven't been able to find someone who understands what it's like to actually miss the Midwest."

I took a sip of my wine before setting the glass down again. "How'd you know I missed home so much?"

He shrugged. "You looked like you needed a piece of home."

-

"Oh my god. Yes," I murmured, arching my back for Ethan as his lips brushed against my skin, his hand kneading my breast as his hips slowly rocked against mine over and over again.

Other guys always seemed to rush it, but Ethan was taking his time.

Slow and steady definitely won this race by a landslide.

"That's so good," Ethan muttered, speeding up a little until we were both nearing the end. I cried out a little too loud, knowing that the walls are thin and his neighbors could probably hear a pin drop, let alone every move and whimper we made that night.

As we laid under the covers, silently catching our breaths, Ethan's finger was gently running up and down my jawline. 

"That was magical," I said. "God, this city is so much more romantic than Des Moines."

Ethan laughed. "I said that about Chicago when I first came here."

I softly smiled, slowly closing my eyes for a brief second. "Mmm it's nice to find other Americans around here sometimes."

"Other Americans that are immersing themselves in the City of Love, huh?" he asked, slowly starting to kiss my neck. 

I leaned my head to the side, giving him more room to kiss my neck. "You have no idea how nice that is," I groaned.

Ethan caught my lips in a slow, sensual kiss, our bodies pressing together as he rolled us over. He grabbed another condom from his bedside drawer, opening it and slipping it on before our second round of making love. 

They rarely call it sex in Paris. It's always referred to as "making love". No wonder this city is known to be super romantic. 

The next morning consisted of going out for breakfast with Ethan. Of course he let me stop by my place to get changed first, and then he treated me to a croissant and coffee, both of us agreeing to see each other again sometime soon.

He gave me his number, and we went our separate ways. I had class, and he had to get to work. 

Somehow one night (well, and morning if you get the idea) made me understand why they call Paris the City of Love. Why everything feels so new and romantic, even if the city is hundreds of years old. How does it still feel so brand new? Is it because I'm not from here?

Ethan and I went out the next Thursday, going to the same restaurant where we met to have a nice dinner. We were nothing serious, but I was seriously enjoying every second we spent together.

Even just walking around together after dinner, and seeing the city lights made me feel something I know I haven't felt in a really long time.

The way we could lay there and talk for hours made me feel so special. So important. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the whole world.

I wanted those feelings to last a whole lifetime.

I hoped they would.