Claire and I had been living together in Paris in about as blissful a state as our special kind of romance would allow, when Alex came to visit. Alex with his big mouth, who would candidly proclaim not to be interested in love before his twenty-fifth birthday, but who, ultimately, had the same dreams as the rest of us. Claire was going to a work retreat and Alex and I had planned a wild weekend of boozing and dancing. I had expected him to end up in some French muscle queen’s bed while I went home alone, just like old times. But as it turned out, my good friend Alex had other plans for me.

“We’re not going to Queen or Raidd tonight, sweetie. I’ve done some research, we’re going to Paris’s finest lesbian club Le Pulp!”
“We are? You surprise me, homie. What’s the matter? Is it that time of the month?”
“No dear Leesbian, I’m putting your pleasure before mine. So you’d better enjoy it.”
“Is there something you need to tell me? Are you a lesbian? I knew it!”
“Very funny, Lee. I just think it’s time for you to try something new.”
“How new?”
“In short, this is my plan for tonight: we get drunk, we go clubbing with the muff munchers, we drink some more, you pick up some gorgeous Parisian lady, she takes you home, I do some more clubbing, and find my own French treat for the night.”
“I’m not sure I agree with every component of this plan.”
“Come on, Lee. Don’t be such a fuddy duddy. It’s time. And it’s not as if you haven’t got permission from the old lady.”
“Seriously? You know me better than this, Alex.”
“I know you better than you know yourself, darling. I’m telling you, you need to do this.”
“I’ll go clubbing with you, I’ll get drunk with you. That’s where I draw the line.”
“We’ll see, sweetie, we’ll see.”

That’s how I found myself in Paris’s prime lesbian spot on a Saturday night, dancing with Alex, surrounded by dozens of desirable ladies, debating whether to call Claire, or go with my best friend’s crazy, but not unreasonable plan. It’s not as if I hadn’t thought about it. I had certainly discussed it with Alex numerous times, and maybe he did know me too well. And then there was my other good friend, Mister Mojito, who clouded my judgment more and more as the night progressed. Eventually, I let myself get grabbed by a cute, bespectacled, fellow-blazer-wearing dyke. That’s right, she just grabbed me and led me outside. I had seen her bopping away on the dance floor, there had been some looks, but I surely wasn’t expecting anything to happen. Until it did. Alex may have had something to do with it, but I never asked.

It was one of those long hot summer nights, a week before my twenty-fourth birthday, and she guided me to a dark alley where she undoubtedly had brought many women before. She didn’t speak, she just made sure there was no one around, and kissed me. I hesitated for five seconds, and then I just let go. And it sure was exciting. I didn’t even know her name and there I was, fucking a stranger, in the dark Paris night. It was hard not to see some kind of romance in it. Claire was on my mind though, all the way through it. It was thrilling and deliciously naughty for about thirty minutes, but the hangover the next day was much more than just physical. When I woke up, I didn’t just greet the usual splitting head ache, I was also met with a sentiment of inevitability. I was changed forever. My relationship with Claire would never be the same. And I wanted to go to Le Pulp again, as quickly as possible.

To be continued…