Monday, August 4


Last time I was in Paris I slept with two men.
It was my thirtieth birthday, I was drunk on gin-tonic, and I met some friends at Le Fumoir. I cannot say I really like the place, nor do I dislike it, inside my brain is just a vague and foggy image of that night. Drinking beer or wine seemed so bourgeois, that’s why I opted for hard liquor, even though I know I cannot handle alcohol.
The waitress kept on bringing huge glasses, she was a nice looking girl, one of those skinny french women who never age. All I remember was watching the day fade as we spoke, the motorcycles that were whizzing by outside, people kissing eachother on the cheeks, rushing in and out eachothers arms. I felt relatively happy, content with life. Each time I was there I told myself I’d move to Paris, change my life drastically, break the continous cycle of the relatively tranquil days I had.
Only in Paris, I thought, could one really liberate oneself. The strange thing was that, despite this visit to the European Capital of Fashion, I wasn’t obsessed with my looks anymore. For the first time in ages I felt confident.
Perhaps it was this new found confidence that made me act much younger than my age.
I remember playing truth or dare, kissing a stranger on his mouth and thinking, ‘such dry, clumsy lips.’ The guys around me laughed, they ordered more drinks and softly pulled my hair. It didn’t matter much that people stared at me. At three in the morning, I asked if one of them could drive me home. His name was Jean-Marc, he had been married for five years and had a child.
After driving around Paris for half an hour, me sitting on the backside of his motorbike, it dawned on me I did not recognise where we had gone.
It was clear that we were heading for his house, not my hotel.
Since his wife and child were away for the summer, things started to make sense.
At his place, everything happened very rapidly. His friend was there, a young Italian, the stranger that I’d kissed before. I remember greeting his friend and taking my coat off, not thinking much about my safety, being happy, being drunk.
My friend lit a cigarette for me and I accepted it. I remember lifting a glass, laughing, falling into someones arms. I remember feeling four hands, not knowing which belonged to whom, feeling weak, unable to resist. Two bodies pressed themselves against me and the only thing I thought was: “Just let go.” I felt completely alone.