Friday, July 21, 2006

Paris



I was fucked in the back of a taxi last night as this Moroccan cabbie with apparent mental health issues that North Africans like to pass off as culture or exuberance was swinging his cab in and out of traffic with glee, going on and on about Iggy Pop, and telling me I had the eyes of his beautiful brother, Ali.

I told him 'we are all brothers' and that I'd been to an album launch party thrown in the Meat-Packing district in New York. Ice T and some band that looked like, but wasn't, Blink 187 had been invited and sat roped-off in the VIP area all night drinking cocktails. Iggy Pop is tiny, very skinny with clear tanned Californian skin and hair from a shampoo commercial. His tall black wife with big fake black tits towered over him as the cameras flashed. He carried his dog under his arm all evening and smiled nicely. I couldn't think of the word for poodle in French. I told the cabbie that I had felt disappointed at the time. Iggy Pop didn't die. He just kept living. Listening to The Stooges makes me want to scream out, rip my t-shirt off and get high. While he is still alive he will continue to invite Ice T and Sum 46 to his parties and make people talk shit about him until one of his songs comes on and you shut the fuck up.


I was so fucked up in the back of this cab. Passing out. Heading to a bar somewhere in Paris. I had been drinking all day and was then invited to a party held by an American kid studying to be a chef. His apartment looked out over the Eiffel Tower which spasmodically erupted in flashing lights. In that loneliness that overwhelms you at parties where you hardly know anyone, I let the lights dance around in my eyes. You could never grow tired of that I thought. I kept grabbing people to the window when it happened. They didn't seem to be that into it. The American had prepared delicate snacks and refreshments. My favourite was the grapes in goat’s cheese rolled in crushed pistachio nuts and the mango vodka cocktails. I don't think I touched the food after the cocktails kicked in. My brain clenched and my mouth said things that made me laugh like an idiot. Things you could easily regret. I had quickly got to the stage where the faces on girls I was trying to fuck were twisting with contempt. We were all staring out from behind the narrow slits of our masks. I couldn't help but act like an asshole.


I was in the back of a cab with a Polish asshole and his Swedish friend. A girl of no obvious charm. My tongue was hanging out of my wine-stained mouth for effect as I let myself slip away. I came to as she was amusingly lapping at it like a thirsty lap dog. It hardly endeared me to her. She was wearing me down. She was making me feel like shit. Later on I was fucking her in some half-built bathroom in the basement of a youth hostel managed by a black Hell's Angel. I had met him before. He'd warned me with a stupid frowned face to never fuck with the Hell's Angels. They were not a joke. 'Like WWF wrestling?' I'd asked. No way. They were killers. He'd walked into a room of Hell's Angels polishing guns once and...I don't remember the rest. Another time a guy had given the finger to a gang roaring through the Pompidou Centre. You would think that they would let that pass, but no. They knocked him out and took that look off his face by pressing it against the scalding engine of one of their bikes, burning off with his twisted smile melted and singed to the gleaming chrome. That will teach you.

The Polish guy, Joseph was setting me up. I knew that. He was fishing for me in a lake of destructive fish. In a lake full of fish addicted to the hook. Fish that spat out worms and pushed their throats deeper into shit. If I fucked the charmless swede her friend Anja would find out. I liked Anja and she liked me. Joseph was in love with Anja and didn't want it to happen. He had made that quite clear to me by trying hard not to.

-You love her. Don't you mate? You love her.

-I don't love her. I hardly know her.

He hated that. Anja was happy for him to feed her and console her. To listen to her shit. She had thrown herself at men she didn't trust and he had became family. When it had all gone wrong and they were alone he would pour out his advice. Digging his hole. She would quietly nod and sigh. He only had her tears. She didn't love him.

-You love her don’t you mate?

He was sneering at me. Polish Joseph was sneering at me at the party. He didn't give a fuck about the Eiffel Tower exploding in fire behind him.

-Don't worry mate. I won't tell her

-There's nothing to tell you Polish cunt.

'But you will,' I thought. 'You will'. He was waiting. Patient and waiting and I was bound to bite. I thought of day-time cop shows like Colombo. He was the evil guy with black leather gloves and the injection. No doubt about it.

I was so fucked up in the back of the cab and Polish Joseph's eyes were shining with laughter and squeezing my arm with Judas fingers. Go on, they squeezed. Go on. The wrong Swedish girl was staring forward now, waiting for the lights to change.
Later on, Polish Joseph's friend Sammy the black Hell's Angel was pointing at me and telling me not to fuck with his bike. He had parked it inside to protect it. The Swedish troll had linked her arm in mine. I stopped fucking with the bike so that Sammy would go away and then started fucking with it again. Drunkenly pulling at the handlebars. I didn't even look up.

-Have you heard from Anja?

-No

-Is she going to come back to Paris this weekend?

-I don't care right now to be honest with you.

-Look...I'm not going to fuck you.

I had never used these words before. They bemused me. She was smiling like an idiot. WERE WE ALL FUCKING IDIOTS HERE? I WAS LOSING IT, I THOUGHT: 'FUCK IT, LETS GO'. I DRAGGED HER DOWN THE UNLIT STAIRS AND INTO A TOILET CUBICLE. I PULLED DOWN HER COTTON UNDERWEAR REVEALING HER WILD BUSHY HAIR AROUND HER CUNT. AN UNKEMPT VILLAGE IDIOT THAT SCRATCHED MY DICK. I TRIED TO FORCE IT IN. I STUCK MY FINGER IN HER. SHE GASPED AND PUT HER MOUTH TO MY NECK. I PUSHED HER BACK. MY DICK WAS HARD. I PUSHED IT IN AND MADE HER SHUDDER. THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED YOU CUNT.

POLISH JOSEPH WAS SOON BANGING AT THE DOOR LAUGHING. I PRETENDED THAT I WASN’T THERE. THAT I WASN’T DOING IT. THRUSTING AT HER. SHE GRIPPED ONTO ME TIGHTER. HOW LONG UNTIL ANJA FINDS OUT I THOUGHT. I FUCKED HER GOODBYE. I FUCKED HER AWAY. SHE LIVED SO FAR AWAY. IT WAS AN ILLUSION JUST A DESPERATE ILLUSION. MY EYES WERE CLOSED TIGHT AND I THOUGHT OF HER BEAUTIFUL EYES AND SKIN, HER HAIR, SUCH A DESPERATE ILLUSION. JOSEPH WAS STILL BANGING ON THE DOOR.

-USE A CONNIE MATE, USE A CONNIE

I CARRIED ON THRUSTING INTO HER. WILD AND REGRETFUL. I WANTED TO DISAPPEAR. TO FADE INTO THE STREETS, INTO THE BLACKS, THE ARABS, THE TRAFFIC. ANYWHERE FROM HERE. FROM THIS TOILET, THIS STINKING MESS. TO DISAPPEAR TO WHERE THERE WAS NO BLOOD, NO BONES NO TISSUE. I WHISPERED EVILLY INTO HER EAR.

-IM GOING TO COME INSIDE YOU

I STARTED TO THRUST HARDER, MY HAND AROUND HER NECK, HER CHIN. MY FINGERS PRESSING INTO HER CHEEKBONE

-NO, NO

-IM GOING TO COME INSIDE YOU

-NO, DON’T, DON’T-

-YES,YES I WILL

-PLEASE
BITING MY NECK.

-NO, NO. I'M GOING TO COME...

I CAME ALL OVER HER WHITE STOMACH. IT COULDN’T HAVE SEEN THE SUN FOR MONTHS.



M.Frankel

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