Saturday, February 16, 2008

The Passage

I'll take you back to the Café tent, to that day when I was resting alone, waiting for Thom, who was standing in a cue in order to buy us some chai. As I told you before, a Cuban businessman and his young male secretary sat down and asked for company. After the presentation where I told them that Thom and I met on the web, he asked me very frankly the one and only question he found interesting:

- How did he make the passage?
- Which passage, I asked, rather surpriced.
- The passage from the airport to the bed, said he.

Well, how do one treat men like that? I have no idea, but I found it rather amusing that he was so outspoken. I like to tease, so I asked Mr. Cuba with my biggest smile:

- Well, my friend, since you tell me you have a Swedish wife (which I truly doubted), why are you so sure we did it in bed?
- Oh, you Scandinavians are so sofisticated, he quickly replied.
- But how did he do it? Did he talk you into sex? Did he wait untill the evening came or did he throw himself onto you in the same moment you came home to his place? What was he like? And how was this important passage like? Pleasent? Funny? Elegant?

Looking at the definition of the word, I find out that passage has many different meanings:


a way of exit or entrance : a road, path, channel, or course by which something passes
a corridor or lobby giving access to the different rooms or parts of a building or apartment

the action or process of passing from one place, condition, or stage to another
a right, liberty, or permission to pass

something that takes place between two persons mutually

I still found the situaton rather amusing.

- Why is this passage so interesting to you, and what makes you think I will tell you anything about our relationship?
- For a man it is important to know how other men are dealing with this very important knowledge of life, he said. And he looked very honest and right forward at me, as if he was asking for a recipe of some kind.

I laughed.

- First of all, Thom is a real gentleman, I said, - unlike a lot of other men I have met.
- Yes?
- We are friends. He did not do anything at all.

At that very moment Thom came back and my Cuban friend and his young companion turned to him and said hallo. A few polite questions followed:

- Was it true that we met on the Internet? Did Thom like this festival? etc.

Thom answered in a short manner, and the two men rose up in order to leave. Mr. Cuba smiled and grabbed Thom's hand to say goodbye:

- You have found yourself a blond and beautiful companion, - but she is much to intelligent for me. Good luck!

They left and Thom sat down. We had some of the nice hot chai, richly flavoured with sugar and milk.

- He wanted to know how you managed the passage from the airport to the bed, I told him with a smile.
- And did you tell him? Thom said.
- No, I never got that far, I replied.

We both started laughing out loud.

- Would you have told him about any interesting passage if I did not turn up here right now?

Thom was smiling as he asked.

- I don't think so. I don't think I would tell that kind of story to anybody. Exept maybe one day if I write a novel about us, I said with a smile.

When we later talked about Mr. Cuba, whom we never met again, Thom said he thought they were out to offer us money in order to watch us having sex.

- What makes you think that, I asked.
- He looked like such a guy. What else would a man like him want to be here for? He obviously found you blond, sexy and attractive, but was scared by your intelligent answers and the fact that he never got any insight about that dammed passage he wanted you to tell him about...

- What makes men think about sex all the time, I asked politely.
- I don't really know, Thom said with a smile. - Maybe because it is so fuckin' good?

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