The Meaning of Hiraeth

*Hiraeth is a deep longing for something, especially one's home.*

The nervous man asked his daughter, "Excited for your first day?"

She looked up concerningly and softly muttered, "Yeah."

This is one of the most nerve-wracking days for any parent to endure, but the man gently held her hand, comforting her uneasiness. He didn't want to let her go. They both waited anxiously for the school bus to arrive. His heart virtually froze as he saw it come from the corner and to their house. He hugged and kissed her little face, letting her go in this new phase of her life.

"I love you, buttercup."

He sadly watched the car drive off, and they waved to each other. The clouds thickened on this uniquely overcast day, casting a cool shadow over the small neighborhood. Through my window, I saw my private neighbor, Harry Durand, cry over his daughter's departure.

I knew nothing about him except they moved in two weeks ago from Chicago. This was a small neighborhood in the town of Portland, Maine. It was such a quaint, homey neighborhood, and with summer on the horizon, the weather was calm and peaceful.

I should properly introduce myself to him, but I wanted to also do something. He seemed awfully upset over his daughter's first day of school, rightfully so. After a short visit to the store, I made him my famous apple-rum spice cake. It was a family heritage that has gone through several versions throughout its inception, and it was my favorite baked good to make for someone.

My old friends described me as generous because I always cooked or baked. Cooking is how I communicate affection, and I have difficulty opening up to someone. I think people grew tired of the wall I've built around myself. I don't blame them, but I didn't know what would help me understand who I was, and at times, I felt like I didn't even

have an identity.

As I chopped, mixed, and poured the ingredients, the entire kitchen was filled with a sweet aroma of apples when I was finished. The irresistible fragrance of sweet apples always gave me nostalgia. I placed it in a homemade basket my grandma made many years ago. I relished in the lovely outside breeze as I walked to his house with butterflies swarming in my stomach.

As I approached his front doorstep, an overwhelming sense of nervousness wafted me. I don't know why I was feeling nervous all of a sudden. He was just a normal person, after all. I knocked on the door with apprehension, and after a few moments of waiting, he opened it. He was a handsome man with hazel eyes, dirty blonde hair, a short beard, and a soothing, deep voice. He gave me a small smile, but his eyes were puffy like he had been crying for hours.

In an undertone, he murmured, "Oh, hello. How is it going?"

My mouth felt sticky and dry, but I managed to say, "I'm Lucas Lyeworth." I cleared my throat, "I'm your neighbor down the street."

He shook my hand, "Oh, it is so nice to meet you. Please come in."

We walked through his lovely place. There were nice photos of him and his daughter. He had many homey knicknacks, and it had such a pleasant aura.

He eyed my ebony-colored basket, "What is that?"

"Oh, I made you an apple-rum spice cake, a little treat for you to settle in the new neighborhood."

He looked thunderstruck, "Wait, that's for me?"

"Of course it is."

He sniffled, "Wow, that is so nice. You didn't have to."

"I know, but I really wanted to."

"Thank you so much. That is so sweet."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"No, I'm being serious. It was an incredible gesture. You don't know how much this means to me."

"Aww, well, that's what I'm here for." I looked at him and said, "Well, if that's all, I hope you enjoy it, and let me know if you need anything."

I was about to leave out the door when he held my left shoulder, "Wait, my daughter is at school all day; funny enough, it's actually her first day. I'm not working today. Would you like to stay? We can have some of the cake."

I was a little surprised he invited me to stay, "Oh, sure, that would be nice."

"Make yourself at home." He pointed at a corner, "You can leave your shoes right there."

"OK. Thank you."

As he walked into the kitchen to slice up the cake, I took my shoes off. I sat down at his dining room table, and I awkwardly waited for him to serve us.

He came in with two plates with the delicious-looking cake. We sat together and began eating. I usually remain humble, but this was an area I knew too well to be modest.

"This is really great. Oh wow."

"Haha, yeah, it's my favorite thing to make. It's been in my family for years."

"Really, do you normally bake?"

"I cook for myself all the time, but there is no one in my life that has the pleasure of tasting my extraordinary baking.

He giggled, "I see someone isn't shy about their talents."

"Not with this. I love doing it. I just wish I had a professional taste tester."

"Well, I will apply for the job when it comes out."

"Haha, that sounds great."

"I really love cooking and baking, too. My grandma used to bake a wonderful mango

rum cake, so this feels a little nostalgic for me."

"How nice. You'll have to make me that one day."

"Of course, that sounds like a plan."

I probably intruded on his personal territory, but I was curious about why he was depressed today.

"So, uh, I saw you outside with your daughter today. You said it was your first day. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Parents go through this all the time."

I could tell he wasn't telling me everything he wanted to. Still, I understood because I never felt comfortable sharing about my life.

"That's true. Are you sure you're OK? And no pressure if you don't want to tell me."

"It's just, Gracie, my daughter, her mom isn't in the picture anymore, and her not having a mother today made me feel really sad. Sometimes, I don't think I'm enough for her."

After a long pause, I added, "Well, I don't know your situation or too much about you, but you are trying your best to give your daughter a good life, it seems. You should give yourself a break and try" --

"I don't really have the luxury to give myself a break. I'm trying so hard."

I held his hand, "I'm sorry, but I can always help if you need anything. If you can't cook or are too busy, I can make you and your daughter something."

He began timidly crying, "That would be wonderful."

I felt awkward being around a man who openly cried like Harry did -- not that there's something wrong with it, but I just never knew someone like that.

I rubbed his back, "I should be going."

"Oh, of course. But please come back. I'd love to get to know you more."

I smirked at him, "Maybe I will."

He hugged and walked me out the door. His touch felt amazingly pleasant, and I felt comfortable with him. I've never felt this viscerally relaxed with anyone, and this was only from his physical touch.

Later that day, I saw his daughter arrive home, and they were holding hands, walking through the neighborhood, and I couldn't help but happily beam at the sight of pure love. It was something I've always longed for in my life.

And so, in the next few weeks, our friendship blossomed into something I never knew would be possible. I told Harry many things I never thought I would say to another soul.

That Friday came, and it changed everything from transpired. Per the usual ordeal, I baked something sweet for Harry. I made him a lemon blueberry tart, which was my first time making it. I walked to his house and greeted him.

"Hi Harry, I hope you are doing well. I know you were feeling down the other day."

"I am feeling a little better. Thank you for being there for me."

I smiled, "Great, I'm glad I could help."

"Well, c'mon in, what are you waiting for, haha?"

I handed him the basket, "Wow, that smells amazing. What did you make this time?"

He opened it up while I said, "Oh, it's a" --

He gasped, "A lemon blueberry tart. My grandma used to make these all the time." He looked at me with playful suspicion, "Wow, how did you know?"

"I just have that level of intuition."

He winked at me, "I guess you do."

We sat down with the game playing in the background. During the hours, Harry took me on an adventure as he told many more stories about his life, from his career at Microsoft as an engineer to his several hobbies of paragliding and live-action role-playing. This man's entire story was alluring and unbelievable. We laughed and bathed in the moment together.

"I used to be really adventurous before I had my daughter."

"So, with that kind of life, how did you end up in this little neighborhood?"

"Well, I used to live in Chicago, but after everything that happened with Gracie's mom, I wanted a fresh start. And after scrolling online, this seemed like the perfect place."

"It is a very nice place to live, especially to raise a daughter. There's just something about the aura here."

"Yeah, it feels almost ancient, in a way."

"What do you mean? That's an interesting word to use."

"Yeah, I imagine nothing has changed in the past 100 years."

"Oh, yeah, things have, but the town's simple attitude is the same. I like it here. It's comforting. It doesn't feel like anything bad can happen."

We watched another game while he started to doze off. I felt his warm head tilt onto my shoulder, and he was asleep, almost like a baby. The strands of his soft hair grazed my arm. He adorably mumbled in his sleep, and I didn't want to disturb him, so I just sat there, watching what was on television.

I looked at him, and I brushed his hair. I don't know what came over me, but I gave him a small kiss on the cheek, which, incidentally, woke him up. I hope he didn't feel that kiss.

He yawned, and I looked at him, "Hello, sleepyhead."

"Good morning to you, too. I can't believe I fell asleep that easily."

"Well, you are a single father. I'm sure lack of sleep is a rite of passage, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't typically fall asleep like that around other people. I always need to have my daddy senses wide and alert."

"That's cute. Well, you should take a long nap before your daughter comes home."

"OK, thank you. Wait, come here, though."

He grabbed my hand and brought me to his bedroom.

Harry grabbed a book from his bookshelf, "Look, this is my grandma's cookbook that came out in the early 70s."

I flipped through the pages, "Wow, this is really amazing. I want to publish a cookbook one day. I know it would make my grandma proud."

"Oh, you'll get there. I just know it."

His self-assurance in me was new because I didn't have many people who believed in what I was doing.

"Thank you. Working at a small bakery is difficult, and I feel like I am amounting to nothing."

"That's not true at all. You are an amazing person and cook. Never think you are unappreciated -- I appreciate you. All the things you've made have been so tasty, and I've enjoyed having you as my best friend."

"Aww, thank you. It's hard to find friends as an adult, especially being a man."

"Yeah, I can relate to that. I feel my life has been loosely defined as just about being a dad and a worker. I don't know who I am outside of that anymore."

"I feel the same way. I don't have many family members who are still alive. Without cooking or baking, who would I even be?

"I know. You are a fantastic man. You know how to make anyone feel special."

I felt tears forming in my eyes, "Harry, where is this coming from?"

"I just want you to know how I feel. Your friendship means the world to me."

I looked down, "There's something I haven't told you."

"What is it?"

I felt goosebumps form throughout my body, and I was incredibly nervous to tell him about my sexuality.

"I'm, uh, actually gay. I like men."

He looked uncomfortable, "Oh, I see."

As a gay man, I always have the impending fear of being rejected or hated. I know more are accepting nowadays, but I was still scared of the ones who weren't.

"I hope you don't see me any differently. The world is still unaccepting, and I have to be careful who I come out to."

He held my hands and sat me on his bed, "I would never negatively judge you. But, I do see you differently."

He looked away, "I haven't been honest either. I feel really confused. I don't know who I am, and I can't figure out these feelings I'm having."

"What are you feeling?"

He whispered, "My attraction for you."

This revelation passed through me, and I felt substantially astonished.

I asked him, "Wait, you're attracted to me?"

He nodded his head with a "Yes, I am. Very much."

I pulled him so he faced me.

I scooted closer, so our legs touched, "Well, what's wrong with that?"

"It's just I'm not gay. I've never liked men in my life. Why am I having these very confusing feelings?" He started getting overtly flustered, so I rubbed his back. He said, "I don't think I'm gay, but this feels right."

I said with caution, "You know, it doesn't matter. Things don't have to be labeled as gay or bisexual. It's just how you feel about the person."

He looked at me, "I like you."

"And I like you too. Your vulnerability is very attractive, and you've taught me to be more open."

"I'm sorry if I'm not manly enough. I've always been insecure about being more emotional than most men."

"Your vulnerability is beautiful, and I would never do anything to jeopardize it. Being more emotional doesn't make you less manly. It makes me more pulled into your honest, captivating masculinity."

"OK. I'm happy because that's more than my ex-wife ever felt about me."

"What about your ex? I thought she passed away or something."

"No, not at all. I don't like revisiting the past, but she..."

He was practically shaking, on the verge of a breakdown. I held him close. I just wanted to protect his innocent spirit.

"She physically and emotionally abused me."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Who in their right mind would ever lay a finger on this man? How could anyone hurt anyone is the real question?

I didn't know how to react to this tragic news.

AllI could muster was, "Oh no, I'm really sorry."

"All the time, she controlled, degraded, and humiliated me. After we had our daughter, I thought I was stuck with her. I thought I needed to stay with her for our daughter. But one day, she got angry with Gracie and slapped her. That was the end, and so the next day, I filed for a divorce. I was worried the court system would side with her, but luckily, I was granted full custody. They tried to paint me as an abuser, but my daughter told the truth, and that was enough. But it's so hard. Sometimes, I feel like I took Gracie's mom away from her. But I couldn't have that woman raise her. Was I selfish?"

"You did not. You had to protect yourself and, most importantly, your daughter. Most people are too afraid to leave, but you did it. And to openly admit a woman abused you with how male survivors are horribly disregarded. I'm proud of you."

"You shouldn't be proud of that. I wish it never happened."

I hugged him lovingly, "I know. Are you OK?"

"Honestly, this sounds horrible, but that day, it felt like my life started over again, and I could finally be free. But, I never knew being a single dad with all this buried trauma would be so difficult."

"I'm really sorry. Thank you for telling me everything."

"Well, thank you for giving me the space to."

I asked him, "What do you want to do?"

"I don't want you to go. I want to explore these feelings."

"OK, Harry, let's do it. Do you want to cuddle?"

He hesitantly said, "Umm, sure."

I stripped down to my underwear, and Harry looked awkwardly down at my crotch."

I noticed, "You don't have to strip down. This just makes me more comfortable."

"No, I want to."

I climbed into bed and watched him take off his clothes. He stood there half-naked, and I pulled the covers up for him. He walked to his stereo and played soft piano music. He entered and plopped his precious head on my slightly hairy chest.

"So, I'm curious: what do you find attractive about me?"

"Oh, many things. You have a beautiful chubby body and crystal blue eyes, and you are a very good-looking man. And let's not forget your gift for creating."

I was surprised at how honest he was about how I looked. I didn't think I was handsome by anyone's standards.

"Thank you. What about me?"

"Everything. Your face, body, and you have a gift for storytelling. You are mesmerizing."

Harry kept twisting and turning until I held him firmly, "Just relax. There are no expectations here."

He whispered, "OK. May I kiss you?"

"Yes, you may."

He leaned in and gave me a small peck on the lips. We smiled at each other, and we didn't let anything stop us. Our warm mouths touched more, and the connection felt freeing.

"Wow. I've never kissed a man before. That was nice."

I kissed him on the head, and he blushed.

"My pleasure, cutie."

He rubbed my body and swirled his fingers on my bare chest. I kissed him repeatedly on his face. I smooched his stomach, and I traveled to his underwear and massaged his hips with passion.

"That feels nice. I haven't been intimate with anyone since my ex-wife. I convinced myself I didn't deserve love."

"Oh, you do."

I started rubbing his round bubble butt, which he enjoyed as he released moans of approval. I came to his front, ready to pull his underwear down.

He grabbed my hands and shrieked, "Please don't."

"Don't what? What's wrong?"

"I'm not ready for that."

"Really, you seemed OK until I was ready to pull them down."

"I don't know, I don't want to say it."

"You know you can tell me anything."

"No, please."

"Tell me, Harry."

He looked down between his legs, "It's my penis. It's, umm, really small."

My eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, and I said, "Oh, OK. How small are we talking? Like micro-sized?"

He shook his head vehemently, "No, not that small. But it's like four inches hard."

His statement was utterly ridiculous, and I began laughing at him. I couldn't help myself.

He looked at me inquisitively, "What is so funny?" He frowned, "Please don't make fun of me."

"No, it's not that. Don't take it the wrong way. You saying four inches is just funny."

He seemed annoyed, "How is it funny? What do you mean?"

"Come look for yourself. Pull down my underwear. You'll see what I mean."

He mumbled, "OK," and came close to me.

He held my back, caressing my clothed butt. His gentle touch was magnifying and inviting. Our eyes locked together, and he slowly lowered my underwear.

I don't usually feel nervous about being naked in front of another man. I'm always bewildered by how they will react to my naked body, but still, my confidence never shied away. But honestly, this occasion was starkly different. I can't articulate how it felt, but being with a man who's never explored his curiosity for other men placed me in a hierarchical position. There was a visible difference between our legs.

My heartbeat rapidly fluttered, and my body vibrated with chills. I was nervous about revealing myself in this intimate setting. Being naked is more about taking your clothes off.

Still, I wanted him to see there was nothing to worry about. As the stretchy waistband reached my privates, he looked into my eyes, and I gave him a final nod of approval. In a second, I looked closer to the sea of blue-green swirls in his beautiful eyes and felt my incredibly small micropenis touch the warm air. The rousing feeling of being naked in front of this man was electrifying.

A look of amazement grew on his face as he witnessed my very tiny penis. He immediately covered his mouth with a shocking "Oh my" escaping his lips.

It was a little embarrassing for this man to ultimately see every inch of my naked body and the entire potentiality of the pleasure I could bring with such a tiny, half-pinky-sized erection. He just stared with perplexity smeared on his face.