I may have posted this before, if I did it was a long time ago, but I found it in the old files. It was written in 2004, so I have changed the opening sentence to reflect that.
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Taipei, twenty five years ago. Funky disco on a Saturday night. Met a really cute guy. We chatted and we clicked. He explained that he couldn't go back to my hotel. His boyfriend who lived abroad, sometimes called him on the home number at night.
No problem, how far away is home. Thirty minutes. No problem. Shall we go now? Sure.
Leave the club together and go up the stairs to ground level. While we have been partying downstairs, the heavens have opened, and it is clear the tropical downpour has been going on awhile. The street is awash. We look at each other. The storm shows no signs of stopping...........We look at each other again, ok let's get going, and, to my surprise he leads me towards a motorbike which is sheltered from the storm under arches. I had been expecting a taxi journey. He explains that he can’t leave his bike there.
I had decided years and years before, after a couple of crashes, I DON’T DO MOTORBIKES ANYMORE. And I hadn’t been on one since that decision.
But we are both horny, eyes filled with lust, and sparkling with anticipation, neither exactly sober. He started the engine, and looked at me. I paused, then I got on the back. He kicked the engine into life and we set off. The storm was unrelenting, we were soaked immediately.
Lightning flashed across the sky illuminating the empty darkened office skyscrapers, as we sped down streets empty except for floodwater. I held his body tightly and wordlessly as the thunder cracked above us. Rivers seemed to appear from nowhere, rushing at us out of side streets. The journey seemed to go on for ever, and I had the same feeling that you have on an airplane. I am no longer responsible for my destiny, what happens, and if I survive, will be determined by fate. Just hold on.
We reached his home, stripped off our clothes and rubbed each other down, our senses heightened by the journey. We explored and took possession of each other’s bodies in a two man orgy, and finally sated, fell asleep in each others arms.
We met several more times, and each time the sex was as good as previously. Somehow that original journey permeated us and freed our inhibitions.
Then I realised that each time we met, he would take some money from my wallet while I was out of my trousers and out of the room. Not a lot of money, maybe £30. It was strange, he wasn’t poor, but ...............
I decided to confront him the next time we met. So after we fucked I went to the bathroom and gave him the opportunity to steal again. I checked my wallet in front of him, and found money missing. He denied it, he blustered, he cried, he left.
I never saw him again. I still remember the fun and the sex we shared, and I don’t have bad memories of him at all. Some people are just different and strange. He didn’t really need the money, I would have given it to him if he had asked. I think that he knew that. I guess that the thefts just filled some need, provided an added frisson.
Over to you, Dr Freud.
