Despite all of my relationships, suitors, dates, romantic mishaps and famously frequent French sex, I'm half-way-to-confident to say that I've experienced real love only twice. And to address the scoffing in the audience I will concede that there are different types of love, etc etc, and that this type is suspiciously frequent with men that are not particularly handsome. Very, very, unusual for me, I might add, as my current incarnation is shamefully preoccupied with the physical.
Last night, in the back of a dimly lit bar sometime after midnight, I was sitting on a table and Harry was standing within reach. For the moment we were alone, and there was absolutely no part of me that could have let me escape the situation without breaking some social boundaries. I reached out and touched Harry's stomach. When he didn't protest, I stood up and put my hands on his chest. Still no effort to escape, so I rubbed his shoulders. Then I moved a hand to his neck. Still no running away, so I stepped closer to him and, very slowly pressing my body up against his, cautiously lifted my face until our lips were brushing. I didn't quite have the strength of conviction to go the last millimeter, so I waited, lips parted, for Harry to loose self control and fall into the kiss. Instead, against my mouth, he said so very tragically in his irresistible accent, "I can't."
It was all very Thorn Birds. When I didn't retreat he turned his face slightly and I tormented him further by planting a line of open mouth kisses on his neck, hopefully leaving him at least partially as weak in the knees as I was, before we were interrupted.
When we left the bar, Stephan, the owner and mutual good friend, shook Harry's hand and insisted in a thick French accent: "Harry, you are a very stupid boy." To which he replied. "I know."
The three of us spent the next few hours practicing our new Olympic sport, Tri-Person Cycling, laughing up a storm rolling through my beloved Dijonaise streets. When I slept I dreamt of blissful hand holding. I'm both elated, a little sad, and increasingly worried. Whatever I'm feeling, it's formidable, and with Harry about to leave France, probably a little dangerous too.
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