samedi 7 mars 2009

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right

I'd been looking forward to a big Paris night out for ages.  Seems the last few weekends, I've either been away or, if I've been here, then it's been with my brother visiting.  None of which makes for an ideal big night out in Gay Paree.

So last night, I hit the town.  

To prepare, I had a couple of pre-night out gin and tonics in the house, I took a long soak in the tub and I even tidied the house - just in case.

I'd gotten all dressed up (well, I'd got dressed) and headed out to the usual haunts.

Now, I really do appreciate that I'm not the answer to every young man's dreams, but Lord, I'd hope for better than was being offered last night.  For some reason, I had turned into some kind of freak magnet.  And it wasn't good.

Within minutes of arriving at the bar, I was standing, beer in hand looking at the guys throwing clumsy shapes on the dancefloor. Trust me, the gay gene doesn't necessarily come with rhythm included.

Anyway, there I'm standing, minding my own business and I feel it happening.  It's the pincer movement.

To my left, a strange, staring-and-not-in-a-good-way North African guy.  To my right, a burly old fella, with a bleached goatee and a leather waistcoat and trousers combo.

Neither of them would be my cup of Lapsang Souchong, but they were moving in.  Both of them.

As they reached me I slipped away, pretending that I'd just seen someone on the other side of the bar.  And so the games began.  To be fair, the old guy gave up pretty easily, but the Algerian?  No way.  He was persistent.  And a fucking nuisance.  

No matter where I stood, he was there next to me, staring.  He leant in with the customary 'ça va?'.  I ignored him.  He carried on talking to me.  Well, to my back anyway, as I'd turned away from him.  I walked away.  He followed.

"Why are you being aggressive with me?" he asked, having cornered me at the bottom of the stairs.

"Because you're following me, staring at me and generally freaking me out".  I replied.

"You don't like me?"

"erm, that'd be a big old NO".

"I don't believe you.  I know you want me," and he leaned in to kiss me.

A swift 'fuck off asshole' later and he'd got the message, leaving me to dance the rest of the night away.  

I had a great time afterwards, but it seemed he'd set a trend and the only guys I ended up speaking to seemed weird.  I'm not sure if it's me - whether I'm just more selective/cautious after the stalker business, or if it was just one of those nights.  

Either way, I ended up having a good old dance and chatting to some friends, so all was not lost.

But I'm kind of hoping tonight will be better....

8 commentaires:

Lola a dit…

It can't be the haircut, can it?

travelling, but not in love a dit…

he he. Lola, I hope not.

H a dit…

"I don't believe you. I know you want me,"


travelling, but not in love a dit…

H, I didn't want him. Truly!

Anonyme a dit…

But Sweetie isn't that the way they approach everything.i have had the same thing said to me in a market when they try to sell me stuff.Its something they learn with mothers milk.And they so persist,someone needs to tell them that there is nothing so off putting than,unattractive unwanted persistence

Anonyme a dit…

freak magnets united is what i'll call you and me. i get the same deal. could be my 'kind' nature or something...

travelling, but not in love a dit…

VM, you do have a point....vile man he was.

Poser, sounds like we the dream team!

Louise a dit…

I'm a freak magnet, too. I'm glad I'm not having to go test that out anymore.

Only dancing after a night on the town. I'm speechless.