France Could Teach You a Thing or Two

Just as all of my other stories, I’m giving this one a nickname: France. He came here as an airline attendant. Why airline attendants and pilots stay in the heart of downtown when there are hotels close to the airport, I’m not sure, but I am glad. My friends and I have met other airline staff from different countries there before; “there” is a bar in my neighbourhood in the heart of downtown.

The evening started off as many evenings do when the girls decide to go out to this place. We knew we’d want to go early because they get busy, so we planned to meet early and eat there. We don’t dress up for this place, per say, as it is by no means meant to be a fancy bar, just a bar to go and eat and drink and dance to live music. If anyone living in Toronto is reading this, I’m giving away a lot I suppose about where “there” is, but it’s a great spot, so endorsing it wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Anyway, we got there, got prime seating, right near the dance floor; drinks and food, as I mentioned. For whatever reason, no matter where my friends and I go, we attract the weirdos. Strange men leer at our table, and guys who are just awkward tend to spot us and hang around, hoping for an in. So when four guys moved close to our table, put a drink on our table and a coat on the fourth chair, we immediately got our backs up. We didn’t say anything to the first or the second guy who put their things in our space, they didn’t leave opportunity. Apparently it was the third guy who was elected to break the silence between our intimate group and theirs. He spun around to place his drink on our table following the pattern his friends had set up and looked up, brightly flashed a smile and burst into our conversation like we had been expecting him all evening. They did eventually ask if they could leave their coats on the chair, and introduced themselves. We introduced ourselves as Mia, Caroline and Julie. We rarely give our real names out at bars. Eventually I ended up telling one of the guys my real name: go figure. Mia told them that the service charge for setting their coats on our chair was to buy us a round of drinks. They agreed, knowing this was their chance to chat us up, and bought us a round of drinks from our server. They advertised that they work for Air France, and used their charms to divide and plunder. Divide and plunder is a little more literal in this case than that phrase would normally be in my life, but I like the phrase, so I’ll use it. The man, France, who ended up charming me for the majority of the night and dancing with me and buying me another drink or two, was tall, dark and obviously French. The somewhat broken English and the fact that this was his first time in Toronto made him somewhat more attractive, plus the fact that he would be leaving the next day, to return when?- Who knows. I talked to his friends a bit, who did tell me he is single (which is something I can’t be sure of at all because none of the three girls speak French and the guys often turned to each other and spoke in quick, whispered French which made them unintelligible to us in the noisy bar).

His very married pilot friend was being a bit of a loner, all until after my friends had left. Yes, Caroline has been telling me for years now to loosen up, take chances and get to know people. Caroline took my keys and I promised to be safe. She would leave the door unlocked and I would tell her where I was at all times. I had my deal-breakers, firmly in mind, and I was watching for any warning signs telling me this was not a good idea.

As a side story, the pilot was an ass and tried to hit on me while France was in the washroom, and when he got back, the pilot tried to tell him all about it. I was mortified, so when I got back from my escape trip to the washroom, France and I left the bar, quickly. We didn’t talk about it, but I’m sure if we do strike up a friendship, we’d talk about that incident some day.

We walked to the grocery store and got some juice and then went back to his hotel. We turned the T.V. to a music channel. I won’t share all of the nitty gritty details or divulge how far we did or did not go, even though I’ve sworn to kiss and tell for this blog, I don’t feel it’s necessary. I can say that, though my sexual experiences are somewhat limited compared to others my age, of all the men I have kissed, made out with, fore-played with and beyond, France is the only one who caressed my skin; who touched my body in a way that made me feel beautiful and sexy and desirable without being a piece of meat, and didn’t bullshit any part of what the night was. He called me by my full name. He whispered to me. This man, who met me four hours prior, was showing me that he was genuinely glad to be in my presence and have the privilege of touching my body. He treated me like a lady from the moment he met me, and I know what this sounds like, like I’m taking it as more than it was, like I think he cares about me more than anyone could from a one night encounter. I’m really not. That’s the thing. And it’s not that I don’t care about him; it’s that he was only a part of my life for a few hours- I can’t really care about him yet. He held me all night and it really felt good, to just be held. I feel like I’ve been missing testosterone; the male touch.

I used to tell myself “I’m not that kind of girl” and you’ll probably think it’s this event that changed that. Truthfully, I’ve been making out with random guys, friends, and acquaintances for years now, in bars, in cars and in my house or theirs. I told myself I’m not “that kind of girl” because to me, “those girls” are slutty and loose. It wasn’t until recently that exploring my sexuality (in that I am a sexual being) became something that wasn’t taboo or wrong. By the encouragement of my friends and through my involvement in a progressive women’s movement, I’ve started to not be ashamed of sex and sexuality, and undo the mentality that my mother instilled in me at the tender age of 15. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to start sleeping with every Joe, John and Larry that I meet, I still see some sanctity in sex.

Anyway, in the morning, I expected to wake up with an overwhelming feeling of guilt, but just as the night before held no guilt in my decision from the bar to the bed, I didn’t have a shred of guilt that morning. I got up, much earlier than I had to, but wrapped in his arms under three sheets and a duvet I was just about dying of heat anyway, so I got up and left his hotel. Before I left, he asked me for my phone number and my email address. He then wrote down his number and email for me. He seems to genuinely want to keep in touch, so maybe this singular event won’t end up being just that, but even if I never spoke to him again, I’d be okay with that. The less than 12 hour affair was somewhat unimaginable, impossible, improbable and untouchable.

He called me later in the day to say he was leaving and that he’ll email me when he’s back in France. We’ll see. For now, I’m just thinking that night as serendipitous, lovely and satisfying.

So for the men in who are wondering what is to be learned from the French: treat the ladies you meet with respect, kindness and sincerity. Show them that you’re glad for the chance to take them out, to buy them a drink, to get to know them, and know that anything past that is a privilege that you should appreciate as a gift from that special woman. The women you date, sleep with, move in with, marry and have children with (no matter the order), are extraordinary and exquisite.

Ladies, the lesson to be learned for you, is that you should never, NEVER settle for less than feeling like you are the best thing that has happened in your man’s life. I am by no means saying that just because he goes to the effort to make you feel that way, that you should be with him. Your man has to be upstanding and worthy of comparable praise I have given to France, but if he makes you feel the way France made me feel, I hope you will be with happy being with him.