Some years ago I was travelling from the north west of France, via Paris, to Perpignan in the south, on the TGV, France's fantastic high speed train network.
I had spent a month relaxing, after having finished my university final exams, in a rented cottage on the Brittany coast of France with my girlfriend.
Now she had returned home and, although not formally agreed, we both knew that this was the end of the relationship. The split was amicable, but we knew the relationship had run its course. She was going back to Cambridge and I was joining the world of work and it would be difficult to keep the relationship going long distance.
I also knew, because we had a pretty open dialogue, that she was spending a lot of time with another guy on her university course who, frankly, was probably better suited to her than I was, and that he would very likely become her boyfriend before too long.
It seemed sensible to go our separate ways now, on good terms, rather than to cling on to something that would probably end, acrimoniously, in the relatively near future.
So now I was on my way to visit a friend and his wife who lived near Perpignan. I didn't know them well, she not at all, but I had had a long-standing invitation to stop by and see them if I was in the area and I figured that France counted as "in the area"!
I was nearing the end of the journey, on the TGV train, walking back to my seat from the restaurant car, when I caught the eye of a pale, young, good looking guy, with very dark eyes, sitting a few rows along from me in the carriage.
He looked extremely cool, and French, wearing a light linen suit, and our eyes locked briefly as I walked past. I really thought nothing of it until a bit later I caught him sneaking occasional glances towards me down the carriage.
At Perpignan station I got off the train but, as I was heading towards the exit, I saw him standing on the platform, looking at me as I walked away. On an impulse I stopped and turned back. I guess I was just curious as to why this good looking cool guy was apparently looking out for me.
I was thoroughly bisexual, and one thing I knew about seducing men versus women is that it can be a much simpler and more direct process. Not always, but often. As long as you are confident that your target is actually gay (or bi) then the approach can be very straightforward.
As it was in this case. I couldn't really think of any reason why this guy should be seeking me out, except because of sexual interest. I was in no way camp, I dressed and behaved in a very straight manner, but I was very open to holding eye contact with other men, and this was a sure way, in my experience, of testing their level of interest.
We made eye contact. I nodded and smiled. He returned the gesture.
We walked towards each other and, as he approached, I held out my hand, as did he, and we shook hands.
He addressed me in French, and told me his name which, although I do remember it, is really of no importance to the story. I prefer to think of him as L'Etranger, The Stranger. This is partly because I am, obviously, a bit pretentious, but mostly because the idea of sex with strangers is an incredible turn-on for me.
I responded in kind. My French was, and is, competent. Not native proficiency, but good enough for all but the most arcane philosophical discussions - and certainly good enough to seduce hot French guys in station coffee bars. Which is where went to sit down and get to know each other a little better.
He was in his mid-twenties, a little older than I, but not by much. A freelance writer who liked to specialise in travel stories but, as is the reality for freelance journalists the world over, in practice he specialised in anything that paid the bills!
He had been in Paris for the weekend and was returning home to his apartment in Perpignan. He was single and, it would seem, not averse to a brief encounter with a tall, dark and, in his eyes handsome, Englishman.
I wasn't expected at my friends' house until the following Friday evening. I had planned to spend a few days on my own exploring the area, but I hadn't booked any accomodation in advance. I was travelling light, and planned to find a budget hotel once I had arrived in Perpignan.
I explained my situation, although I confess that I took a slight liberty with the truth regarding my stay in Brittany, when my now "ex-girlfriend" became my "ex-boyfriend". There would, hopefully, be time enough later to explore the nuances of my bisexuality, but for the moment I didn't want to queer (so to speak) the pitch by sending any mixed and confusing messages. I definitely wanted to get into this guy's pants, and into his bed, and I didn't think that such a tiny distortion of the truth was too wicked in the pursuit of that objective!
As an aside, amusingly, he subsequently confessed that his trip to Paris had been as the guest of the editor of the in-flight magazine of a major airline. The editor, a well-upholstered woman in her late forties, whom he had known for some time in a professional (and - it would seem - also unprofessional) capacity was working on a feature article on Paris hotels. She had invited him as her guest for the three nights and his role, apart from helping her during the day on the feature, was to be her companion, day and night. He had spent an exhausting three nights catering to her extensive sexual appetites, and had come away with some hickeys in unusual places, rope burn on his wrists and ankles and the promise of a commision for a journalistic feature on Morocco. This latter being the unstated, but well understood, by both parties, purpose of the trip. Apparently this was a fairly regular modus operandi for this particular editor, and a regular source of work for my new friend. He also now had a strong desire for "some palate cleansing cock", as he rather charmingly put it.
Anyway, as we drank our coffee the body language was positive, touching hands, touching feet under the table etc, and it was clear that we both had the same objective.
