We are walking down a path, and old
road in the country. I see her tall,
with her black long hair. He she taller
than me?
I follow her without staying too
close, I wouldn't want to creep her
out. She turn her head and look at
me, I pull my tongue, she smiled.
She look as beautiful as I remember
her from high school.
They were quite the family. Three
sisters and the mom, living in
their small apartment near the
school. The father, balding with
bleached, blue and red hair, punkish,
was a bike courier downtown Montreal.
One of the most hard core job you
could get at the time.
When he would get home, the three
sister would help unpacking all
the delivery slips, counting how
much money was made during the day.
Like a hunter, coming home with the
meat, the women tending to the
trophy.
The three sister would always read
to each other. It was a lot quicker
and a lot more enjoyable this way.
The oldest, Margerite, had a very
white complexion. I once told her
that her name was quite fitting as
the whiteness of the Margeritte flower
would almost illuminate a field
at night. She liked the idea, but
never spent a night in a field
of flowers. The youngest, Melodie,
I caught her kissing passionately
her lover in a downtown cafe.
A spoon had fallen from the table,
right on her leg, and was about
fall to the ground, but wouldn't
as it would disturb the passion
of their first kiss. I watched for
a moment, wondering if the spoon
would ever fall, or if they would
continue to kiss forever.
I loved Emanuelle, but at that
time being the new boy in school,
there were other waiting for me.
I am not sure why I ended up going
to Emanuelle apartment so many times,
but her interest in me sparked
the interest of other girls. And
soon I was swept by another girl
Ariane, who is still to this day
a good friend of mine.
I still became close friend with
that group of young girls. I was
a year older, but look old enough
to be able to get into the bars.
I became their ticket to go in,
and I became the bearer of the
most coveted Montreal's night
resource, young teenagers looking
for their first sexual experience.
I wasn't aware of what was happening.
We would go into bars, I was happy
to go with them. I was only there
so they could go it, and I was
often walking them back home as well.
In the bar, all the male, often
twice our age were waiting, looking
and planing on fucking.
The girls knew that, and loved
the games. They would get free
drink, I would get one free beer
once in a while. They would then
disappear, sometime in the bathroom
sometime in the alley. Women walk
in a strange way when they just
had sex in a bathroom...
They would sometime share their
experience, mostly when something
went wrong. Complaining how they
went into the wrong hole, or how
they were forced a bit. I was
there, experiencing it all with
them, yet not being the one
helping them discover their
sexuality. I was on the side,
thinking that one day I'd be
the one initiating young girls
to their sexuality. Is it how
it works? Why am I not the one
having sex with these beautiful
girls? Emanuelle once told me:
"It feels good to be fuck
by a real man!"
She was probably only 15 at the
time. A real man... Something
that I definitely wasn't.
The meat market in Montreal, and
I assume in most city, is an intense
a vibrant reality. One that I've never
been accustomed to. I did bring a
girl back home, three or four time.
But for the thousand of time that
I've went into a bar, my rating
was pretty low. I was starting to
understand the game though, seeing
how a man would approach girls,
making a physical contact as soon
as possible, seeing how close they
could get. Buying the beer, caring
for their prey. Some other would
resort to drugs. They would spike
their preys, and quickly leave
in taxi once the fog came down
on their mind. It took me a while
to understand, why this ugly man
was always leaving with the youngest
and cutest girls every night.
I wonder how Emanuelle is doing now.
The last time I saw her, in a cafe
in the Old Port of Montreal. She
seemed genuinely happy to see me,
I simply nodded and smiled. I continued
walking without thinking I could stop
for a second to say hello, maybe give
her a hug. In my dream I still felt
in love with her. A bitter sweet love,
one of my first, mixed with coming of
age sensation of being less of a man...
