French Bordello

I’ve been completely busy the last couple of days, trying to figure out what to do for the next year (go back to school, which school, where, studying what… or finding a job I’ll learn something from) And spending time with Dr. Seuss.

Martine called me the moment he got free from Liz, whom he’d just gotten back from Bangkok from. Either he’s really into me –to have called me at once the moment he left Liz- or he was afraid I’d call him when he should be around her. The Tsunami’s fucked up the flights and delayed hers for a couple of days. I think it could be a combination of both. I was on my way to this really fantastic hotel made out to be like a French Bordello when he’d called. It was complete with a freak Christmas tree that looked something straight out of Alice in Wonderland and lamps with crystal drops hanging off them.

I got a little annoyed with Martine. He treats me well, is into me, I would suppose, but sometimes I feel as if he’s meeting me for the sake of doing so. I don’t know, because he doesn’t want to hurt me, because he presumes I want him, perhaps. It’s possibly a mix of that, and also because he likes me. Sometimes I just want to shake him and tell him he doesn’t need to be so damn considerate to women, they don’t like it anyway. For the love of God, be totally genuine about it, we appreciate that more, honestly. ‘Oh, Liz’s leaving this Wednesday, I could meet you Thursday… won’t be free Friday night.’ Whatever, if you really liked me all that much, you’d want to meet me late any day, work or no (Élan wakes at 6 every morning, he’s no problem with me with just sleeping over), I don’t see why that should present a problem, me sleeping over.

I won’t be free Thursday or Friday or any day this weekend anyway.

I thought I was a little rude on the phone, but I’d cut him off quite suddenly when I’d reached the Bordello. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, time of me to get out of the cab, call me Wednesday or something allright?’

We had lunch at a really fancy place with chairs that wore corsets and went back to the room after that. The corridor was amazing, it was steeped downwards and undulated as you went along, so much so that with a little wine, it almost looked as if it could move and wave.

The room was lovely and there was a balcony you could step out onto and climb over the railings onto the rooftop of the adjoining house. Looking straight out of it you’d see the back of a shop house with the sort of carved, wooden levered windows. The weather was fantastic, brilliantly sunny, but not too warm. It felt like an early summer day in France.

There was a lot of cuddling, some measure of kinky bondage, rubber-band snapping (I’d undone my French braid and had left the band lying around). He’d picked it up and snapped it on my butt cheek while I was blindfolded and tied up. He’d even bought an Edith Pilaf CD, which really made the afternoon.

When I’d entered the room, there was an envelop lying on the pillow. He’d told me to open it, and so merry Christmas. I was quite impressed with it, very pretty Waterman fountain pen that I think is possibly out of circulation; but I’m not really an authoritative source on pens. I just know that it’s very pretty. The card was cute, a sort of parody on the nativity scene that opened up into many portions. And he’d written something sweet in each of them. (You bring me joy, and laughter, a peace and comfort in your company).

He’d left me in the evening, insisting I explore the place a little more, bubble about in the Jacuzzi for awhile, spend some time with my book, order room service when I got hungry. Kissed me and said he’d like very much to see me again tomorrow when he’d come by to check out.

Met the Girlfriend after he left. Felt mildly annoyed because I’d suggested her coming over and she’d suggested meeting her down town instead. I lost my way walking to the train station, and developed a headache when the train derailed a little and ended up scraping the tracks for about the distance from Somerset to Orchard. We were about to have dinner when she said she wasn’t hungry, so we’d gone to one of my favourite café’s. Then she started insisting on some place else to have dinner. ‘I don’t care much for it, probably be going back to the Bordello for room service, if I’m hungry.’

‘Well, why didn’t you say so? Let’s go back there then.’

Hmm...

xoxox