Six nights in the Holiday Inn on Victor Hugo Boulevard in Nice just before Christmas was perfect, arranging it so that the last two nights were spent alone was not only selfish, but a plan that was to backfire on me.
I discovered a trendy little café in the old town were I could drink perfectly mixed Black Russian cocktails whilst propping up the bar. I also looked splendid in skinny jeans, cowboy boots, a dark shirt and a chain linking my new French leather wallet to my jeans. I had no intention of getting drunk and neither was I keen on company for the night.
A Scouser in his fifties soon started chatting to me, curious as to what was in my cocktail. The alarm bells should have, but weren’t raised when he asked to have a taste. It’s not in my character to have said ‘no, piss off’, so I allowed him a taste. As I was about to leave, David, I discovered his name two and a half hours later, insisted very persuasively, on buying me a drink. David was a Nautical Interior Designer, and apparently worked on several of the billion dollar yachts in the harbour, I was impressed by his grandeur. He was spending a few days taking in the sights with a friend and was pleasant enough and I vaguely remember talking about Francis Bacon. Several Black Russians later we were joined by Eugene, David’s friend, the name should have been enough to sound another alarm bell, but it didn’t, and when it did it was too late. Eugene was probably twenty years younger than David, estranged from his family in Florida, very hyper, and from the state of his flaring nostrils, most definitely high on cocaine.
Another Black Russian and several beers later David announced that Eugene had been his lover for the past six months, and was the best fuck he had ever had. It had taken me over two hours to realise that they were gay, not a problem in itself, but as I looked around a still quite busy café, I realised that I wasn’t alone in being stunned by the announcement, my worry was that they too were concluding that I was willing to be picked up by a couple of guys. I instinctively felt for my chain and instantly regretted fiddling around with it in the hotel lobby trying to hook it onto my jeans.
David was getting camper by the minute, Eugene, still stoned, kept fiddling with his groin, he was pleased that he had my attention. As midnight struck they invited me back to their yacht, a series of lame excuses then followed including something about being tired and that I needed to get back to the Holiday Inn. I realised this boast was a massive mistake but the words just fell out and by then they had both grabbed my elbows and insisted on partying back at my hotel. Disturbing images of being in bed with two naked men rampaged through my very bleary head.
By the time we reached the front door we had compromised by going to another bar in the old town, one populated by locals who were not particularly welcoming. When I returned from the toilet, where I spent some time composing myself and planning an exit strategy, David and Eugene were arguing, Jeremy Kyle style. David accused Eugene of being a bitch slut then suggested we all go back to the yacht, I could only think about sprinting back to the Holiday Inn and risking a heart attack. Eugene then insisted that I try on his cap, it was then that I realised he was completely bald but to humour him I obliged. He then complimented me by saying I looked cute, I pathetically tried to catch my reflection in the enormous mirror opposite but was then stunned when he asked how big my cock was. It was too late for alarm bells, what could I say? The truth? Exaggerate? I settled for something ridiculous like ‘big enough!’
Another argument followed, David insisting that Eugene had been screwing around with a Filipino boy. I had to get away. What happened next was spectacular. David picked up a full pint of Stella and poured it slowly over Eugene’s cap, the cap was no longer on my head, but on Eugene’s, I sat back and waited for the inevitable brawl to commence. Eugene however threw his chair back, squared up to David, called him a ‘camel’s cunt’, slapped him hard against the cheek and then charged out of a stunned bar.
It was now 2am, I also left the bar minutes later, with a dazed David ignoring my puny farewells, but I only had one thing on my mind, the Holiday Inn, and they both knew where I was staying. It was then that I realised I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime and I was hungry. To kill time I bought a greasy pizza and shiftily made my way back along a deserted Victor Hugo Boulevard, the pizza lasting only one bite. I half expected David and Eugene to pounce on me in the hotel’s lobby but was relieved to find only a dozing night porter. Back in the hotel bedroom I managed to bring my breathing back to normal and soon fell asleep watching a dubbed version of Clint Eastwood’s Magnum Force.
No comments:
Post a Comment