I Kissed a Man in France

We are in Paris this week.  

Everytime I come to France I am reminded about ten years ago when I was staying in Strasbourg, France for a couple months. I had quit my job in New York and I was traveling around.  

One night I went out for beers with my flatmate Simon and his friend Lucas. We all talked, in English and in my very bad French. Lucas wanted to do a road trip in America, but he was concerned he would be shot. I said it was unlikely but not impossible. There are a lot of guns in America.

At the end of the night, after many beers, we all walked outside to leave. Simon gave Lucas a kiss on the check. I was surprised. I had never seen two men kiss goodbye on the cheek in France. I mean, it's totally cool, I just wasn't aware of it. So when I said goodbye to Lucas I went in for a kiss.

He recoiled, his eyes wide, a look of horror on his face. I realized then only very good male friends probably kiss each other goodbye. My bad.

But Lucas tripped on a brick behind him. He stumbled back into the road with cars whizzing by. Horns honked, braked and turned to miss him. As he was about to crash into one car, possibly dying, I pulled him out of the road, and he fell on top of me.

As we lay on the ground, our faces were close, almost touching.

"Want to kiss me now?" I said.