Road to Perdition: (Tales from France)

Despite what I may have said regarding the matter of Paris, it was amazing in many ways. I would give serious thought to visiting her again. But whether it was Italy, Sweden or Paris, catastrophe was going to find me. As in the following cautionary tale…

To fully experience Paris I knew I would have to submerse myself in it’s gay village. Seven times the size of Cape Town’s own with more clubs, bars, multi-floored sex shops and boulangeries than you’ll have time to investigate.

What I found curious was the amount of emphasis placed on sexual gratification amongst gay men in Paris. Now, I’m no stranger to a sex obsessed culture amongst gay men in my own back yard but these boys took it to a hole ‘notha level. Stepping into Spyce Club, a trendy state of the art establishment, I was immediately greeted by what brought to mind a pack of ravenous hyenas as I felt the clothes being telepathically stripped off my carcass. I made my way to the bar and ordered a shot of tequila which set me back R90 (Yes, that’s right). This was going to be an interesting night.

It wasn’t too long after I’d settled in when a handsome french man by the name of Alex approached me. Alex, I discovered, was a few cents short of a Euro. While shaking my hand he had pulled in and begun rubbing his crotch up and down my thigh as though it were desperately itching and since he had a drink in the one hand and mine in his other, it made strange but perfect sense that he would do this (?) Alex soon found someone else willing to be his scratch post as I was having none of this malarky this soon in the evening.
The rest of the night was a barrage of men more interested in my sexual position than my name. And before the evening was over I would found myself in the smoking room with an Italian, an Australian, a Pakistani and a Turk. The beginnings of a fine joke I’m sure.

I needed to get out. So grabbing a breath of fresh air outside I ended up having a really nice conversation with a friendly old Swiss man but half way in I realized his eyes never left my crotch as he engaged flawlessly with everything I said. Points for multi-tasking I’ll give him that. And although Riaad outlasted them all, flaunting a pair of biceps that could crack walnuts, our chemistry was off the chain. I left for a quick cigarette and when I returned Riaad was, regrettably, cracking someone else’s walnuts.

I was fast reaching the end of my tether, it was nigh impossible having a conversation with these men for more than five minutes before their attention was invariably diverted to the next XY chromosome. I eventually left to explore the rest of what this concrete jungle had to offer. And like any jungle the deeper I ventured, the more treacherous the terrain. I discovered an awesome cavelike dwelling of high tech plasmas and top class DJ’s. Gorgeous leather clad muscled boys in stilettos took to the stage in synchronized choreography, it was mesmerizing.
Here, I met Victor, a paramedic who enjoyed long walks on the beach and romantic dinners (Victor also enjoyed taking a plethora of drugs on the odd night out but we’ll get to that).
Feeling in the mood for a bit of mouth to mouth resuscitation myself, I accompanied him home on the back of his scooter. Oh what joy to feel the thrill of speed!

Cruising down the highway, I noticed traffic cops up ahead signalling us to stop. “Victor, I think they want us to pull over”, I shouted in his ear.
“If I stop I’m fucked”, He shouted back.
“Victor, If you dont stop we’re both fucked!” I said.
“No”, and with that he picked up speed, nearly hitting one of the officers. Was this really happening?

Victor’s Idea of a high speed chase left a lot to be desired. A point made painfully clear when he stopped at a pedestrian crossing that boasted no pedestrians. At 3 in the morning. Mid chase.

“Victor stop!”- I kept shouting but my cries fell on spaced out ears. Victor wasn’t home anymore. And by the look of it, Victor wasn’t going get home any time soon.

You’re probably wondering at this point why I didn’t just abandon the Starship Enterprise when I had the chance? To be honest, I don’t know.

Taking off again as if the hounds of hell were after us, I was no longer on a highway. I was on a road to Perdition – (looking back, I don’t know what was more despairing; That I was going to die or that I was going to die with Victor).

With an armada of police cars, vans and motorcycles on our tail, this was not going to end well. Never mind being french toast- I was about to be french fried.
We were finally pulled over, hauled off the bike, handcuffed and thrown into the back of a car.
“Je ne suis pas Frencais! Je ne suis pas Francais!” -I’m not French!  was all I could say. My french left as much to be desired as Victor’s sense of reason.

About five minutes later an officer came around and shoved a little pipe in my mouth. I needed no prompting, instinctively my mouth blew. When they’d gotten their results indicating I’d had ‘a little too much’, they took me to another room and asked me to strip.

Stripping down to my trunks, I didnt know whether to feel violated or turned on. My shoe laces, tie, spectacles and belt had all been confiscated and my personal belongings retained. Satisfied that I wasnt hiding anything on or in my person, another gentleman drove me to the nearest hospital for a medical exam to make sure I was physically sound to spend the next 24 hours in jail.
The officer agreed to take the cuffs off if I promised not to get ‘exited’. No phone, no phone call and if I had any rights in this situation, they were somewhere between my spectacles and shoe laces.
I was taken back to the police station and cuffed to a chair for another 20 minutes before being ushered into a cell. All the while being surveyed, by every officer who passed by, as if I were a common criminal (It’s amazing what being cuffed to a chair can do for a first impression. Im anything but common).

This was the cost of hedonism. A cold concrete cell with nothing but the all pervasive stench of pee and a shit encrusted hole in the ground to keep me company. That tether I mentioned earlier… had finally snapped. I cried, I prayed, I begged, I even managed to sleep through the screams of other prisoners. For that is what I was my good reader, a prisoner, haunted by visions of being sold on the black market for sex.

After 24 hours I was questioned and released. Victor, I never saw again.

Left on the street in a city I barely knew, I had to once again find my way home. I was scarred and I was traumatized and I vowed that I would never be that irresponsible again. That I would never again be seduced by the pleasures and lights of Paris. She is a Siren, a Sphinx! ensnaring you into decadence. Keep your city. Lets not forget before you sucked Africa dry to build it to what it is today, you were nothing more than a swamp!

The following night I went clubbing again…