Another "stroll" among Married Men...
Another Thursday, and the Cairo traffic creating serious philosophical problems for the weary residents of the crazy city.
Crawling up the stairs to my house, thinking should I go out, should I stay and enjoy a film quietly for a change.
My restless nature gets the best of me and I decide to go out. To the withering, pulsating atmosphere of downtown. To places that are barely held together by a thread. The tenuous thread of faded memories and superimposed ones.
Places that have become fetishized and are attractive night spots for particular segments of the population. The exaltation of the shabby and the rundown. A praise to the banal and the mundane, very oftenly bestowed by foreigners and intellectuals. Those who want to be part of an authetnic "cultural scene".
Cultural scene my ass.
The desire for authenticity pales with the drive to be another Dubai, and the so-called authenticity vanishes with all the blond hair and pale skin.
Yet this "space", these enclaves of authenticity bring about a strange and an interesting mix of people.
Artists, journalists, politicians, activists, cultarlistas (a new play on fashionista! ), basically a "gay heaven" and haven at the same time.
My experiences with "married" men, or men who are allegedly committed to others seem to be multiplying by the hour.
There I was on the roof top of one the neo-authentic, shabby hotel, sitting with an old crush, contemplating the absurdity of it all.
The fine gentleman, whom I know a little while back, was now properly settled. Yet not without sinister rumors plaguing the happy couple.
Troubles in Paradise?
Who knows. Maybe.
But being the good girl I am I said to myself, enough sob posts about married men, and move on.
However, fate had another thing planned for me.
I was invited for drinks at the gentleman's house of mirth.
And I, very graciously dear reader, accepted.
Not paying much attention to what I perceived as not so innocent looks he was giving me.
We went, the evening was uneventful, except for an obnoxious cat who reaffirmed my dislike for male felines.
But then after a few drinks and on my way out after a long tedious evening, the fine gentleman kisses me on both cheeks, grabbed my other two cheeks and thrust his pelvis into mine! Whispering huskily that he "has" to see me very soon!
Good God! Is there no way a girl could keep her virtue intact?
Is she in constant threat to become one of those blond hussies (no offence darling) that have no discrepancy when it comes to the gentlemen they get involved with?
I am not interested in a "stroll" with a committed (not in the mental sense, also if he is I think its subject to debate...) gentlman who would kiss at one point and lament how he and his "boyfriend" are not properly communicating.
This is good as far as a post on a blog.
Not anymore not any less.
Crawling up the stairs to my house, thinking should I go out, should I stay and enjoy a film quietly for a change.
My restless nature gets the best of me and I decide to go out. To the withering, pulsating atmosphere of downtown. To places that are barely held together by a thread. The tenuous thread of faded memories and superimposed ones.
Places that have become fetishized and are attractive night spots for particular segments of the population. The exaltation of the shabby and the rundown. A praise to the banal and the mundane, very oftenly bestowed by foreigners and intellectuals. Those who want to be part of an authetnic "cultural scene".
Cultural scene my ass.
The desire for authenticity pales with the drive to be another Dubai, and the so-called authenticity vanishes with all the blond hair and pale skin.
Yet this "space", these enclaves of authenticity bring about a strange and an interesting mix of people.
Artists, journalists, politicians, activists, cultarlistas (a new play on fashionista! ), basically a "gay heaven" and haven at the same time.
My experiences with "married" men, or men who are allegedly committed to others seem to be multiplying by the hour.
There I was on the roof top of one the neo-authentic, shabby hotel, sitting with an old crush, contemplating the absurdity of it all.
The fine gentleman, whom I know a little while back, was now properly settled. Yet not without sinister rumors plaguing the happy couple.
Troubles in Paradise?
Who knows. Maybe.
But being the good girl I am I said to myself, enough sob posts about married men, and move on.
However, fate had another thing planned for me.
I was invited for drinks at the gentleman's house of mirth.
And I, very graciously dear reader, accepted.
Not paying much attention to what I perceived as not so innocent looks he was giving me.
We went, the evening was uneventful, except for an obnoxious cat who reaffirmed my dislike for male felines.
But then after a few drinks and on my way out after a long tedious evening, the fine gentleman kisses me on both cheeks, grabbed my other two cheeks and thrust his pelvis into mine! Whispering huskily that he "has" to see me very soon!
Good God! Is there no way a girl could keep her virtue intact?
Is she in constant threat to become one of those blond hussies (no offence darling) that have no discrepancy when it comes to the gentlemen they get involved with?
I am not interested in a "stroll" with a committed (not in the mental sense, also if he is I think its subject to debate...) gentlman who would kiss at one point and lament how he and his "boyfriend" are not properly communicating.
This is good as far as a post on a blog.
Not anymore not any less.
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