The European Experience #44

It is Saturday night. I don´t know where to go or what to do.
´Hello´
I did´t see him sneak up behind me. He is older, far too tanned, and wears his hair slicked back. He is wearing a poshblazer so I figure he might be interested/capable in/of buying me drinks all night like that British bloke who entertained me two nights ago (who begrudingly, but respectfully, left me on my own toward the end of the night so I could find other more suitable company). I am foreign and I suspect he is not.
´Hello,´ I respond. I am saved.
He takes me around the corner to a busy bar.
His name is Juan and he is from Argentina.
The more time I spend with him, the more I think I was better off alone and lost. He is cheap. He buys beer from a corner store, hides them in his pockets, and sneaks them into the bar. His tactic to appeal to things we have in commonis too aggressive (he actually says Ít´s perfect we have so much in common). Even though he apparently has great appreciation of theatre (he has seen Judi Dench in Hay Fever, Kathleen Turner in Who´s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, and Alan Cumming in Cabaret), using theatre as a pick up tactic doesn´t interest me when employed insincerely. He was apparently on a reality tv show called Í m a Celebrity Get me Out of Here. I am not surprised he was the first one voted off. And he gets far too close to me whenever he leans in to talk.
Two attractive boys have noticed Juan leeching the enjoyment of my Saturday night out of me. I roll my eyes at them. I excuse myself from Juan, pretend to go to the toilet, and on my way back, stop to talk to the two attractive boys. I have escaped. I am saved.
They tell me they were hatching a plan to swoop in and rescue me from the Argentinian. I am flattered.
At first glance (when rolling my eyes to them whilst in Juans evil clutches). I figured Roberto (the Italian version of my father's name) was the pretty one. Yes, Robert has an incredible body, a great jaw line, and blonde hair, but Stephano (the Italian version of my name) who oozes personality and sexuality.
Robert and Stephano invite me to a club called Salvation.
After spending time walking with Roberto and Stephano to the club, and especially on the dance floor, I become completely smitten with Stephano. I can not keep my eyes off him. Masculinity (but not misogyny or chauvinism), confidence (but not arrogance), sex (but not sleaze), style (but not effort), fun (but not hedonism), seep from his mere being. He wears a white linen shirt that hangs from his torso, the cuffs are undone, and it is unbuttoned to reveal a tantalizing fraction of his smooth chest. He has been able to achieve the miraculous feat of being both manly and boyish. His dancing is energetic (but not wild or out of control), masculine (but refined), and sexy (but not erotic). I can´t stop watching him. He takes off his shirt to reveal a lean muscled torso. Young. Masculine. Sexy. I can´t keep my eyes off him.
He swoons as a butch muscle mary walks by. He is into bigger men. Exactly who I am not.
My desire is painful.
Ít´s late, I tell them. I have to go. And I do.
I´m saved.
Sartre was right ¨Hell is Other People´. In more ways than one.
Strangers, lovers, friends (some times it is difficult to tell the three apart) are both solutions to some problems and the cause of others. Salvation isn´t just a club. People are both my salvation and my hell.
Humanity is and is not my salvation.