Farid

i'd just been to the Gare de l'Est to pick up my ticket for Augsburg (and buy a return) and was feeling pleased with myself. i spoke in mostly French, but some English, and managed to get it all done. even asked about the Eurail pass i wanted, but seems i have to go to Gare du Nord for that.

i had a few items to buy from the supermarket, but thought i'd head in the direction of Culture Rapid café, where i could grab a drink and see what's on. i did my shopping, but the café was not where i thought it was. i was walking and searching when this guy stops me to ask the time.

he then asks if i live around here. i explain that no, i'm staying in the 5eme, and that i'm from australia. he tells me he speaks english, almost excited by the fact. i ask if he's english, but he's french, he just spends a lot of time in england. he wants to chat. but so do i, cos chatting is a rare occurrence for me on these streets. we speak half french, half english, but i try to keep it fairly french for the sake of practice. he tells me about his love of london for the fashion scene. he asks if i like discothéques. tells me he likes discothéques. asks me if i go to The Marais (obviously sussing out if I was gay or not). i say i've been to a couple of bars there. he points out that there's discotéches for gay boys there, then asks me if i'm a gay boy. i say yeah. he tells me he likes my style (pronounced 'steel').

he asks if we can walk and i say sure. he wants to go somewhere 'discrit' but i say no, i'd rather just talk. so we talk about who we are and what we do. i learn that his name is Farid. i guessed he's about 40. he lives in the 9eme, works in a shop, and likes fashion. he starts listing fashion designers, some of whom i recognise. he likes it when i recognise them - it seems to affirm our commonality or something. he asks me if i like cologne. i say yes and hold up my wrist for him to smell. he likes issey miyake, has some of his own. he starts reeling off positive adjectives to illustrate how much he likes Issey Miyake. he says that Miyake is a very important man.

he keeps thinking i'm from england, and tells me many times how much he loves london, the fashion there, picaddily circus, and other places that i forget.

he asks about Mark and what he does. he asks about what i do. i tell him research and he says "you work in a shop?" and something about bijouterie (jewellery). no, i work at a university and i study. he seems eager for me to be like him.

he then starts asking more specific questions about what i like to do sexually, whether i sleep with girls also, and how i define my sexuality. i respond honestly. it's not as though i'm offended by these questions. though i do realise there's a likelihood that i'm fueling certain desires of his. and sure enough, he again suggests a discrete place. i say no.

all this time we're trying to find the Oberkampft metro. i'm checking my map because i don't trust his directions. he seems keen to walk in any direction, presumably on the lookout for a somewhere discrete. but we stick to the main streets. he asks a passer-by for directions at one point, which is helpful.

We find the metro and it's time to say goodbye. he signals for me to step into a side street to say au revoir. i do. we kiss each cheek and then he waits for a kiss on the lips. i lean in to kiss him. unfortunately he's very sloppy and wets my face with his tongue. i wonder how someone can be his age and not yet know how to kiss.

he wants me to call him. i tell him maybe. he gives me his number. he says the best time to call is between 7.30 and 8.30. is he married? why all this talk of discretion and now this small window for phone calls. but he had mentioned that he's only ever slept with men, that he's had boyfriends. yet, he doesn't know how to kiss. at least his failed kiss confirmed that he didn't just want me in a discrete place in order to stab me and take my money. though i'd sensed that early on. he was genuine. lonely, but not a psychopath. i wasn't particularly attracted to him, but i wasn't not attracted either. and i was lonely too. when i looked him directly in the face there was a spark of something there. i think it was his smile. and his confidence. but i knew that i didn't want to have sex with him. and i know that i won't call him. he probably knows this too, as i was reluctant to take his number. but who knows what he makes of our encounter.

i do admire his bravado for stopping someone in the street (asking for the time, no less) on the basis of attraction. i doubt that's something i could ever do. instead, i rely on the bravado of others for such experiences.

he walks down his side of the metro and i walk down mine. he steals another quick kiss before we part. i see him across the platform, then realise there's no ticket machine, so i can't get through. i go back up to the street. i walk home.