A good few months ago – it was summer – I was coming home from a night out in Antwerp, and arrived at Brussels Midi station. From there, I went down the stairs to the underground tram station, as I usually do.

As I stood on the quay, slightly tipsy, waiting and thinking about this and that, a man who was sitting on the red plastic seats asked me ‘Do you speak English ?’ He was nondescript, medium-build, medium-height, white ironed shirt and black trousers, and a small suitcase, black eyes in a vaguely rodent-like face.

As I do, I answered that I did. He proceeded.
‘Brussels is a very open-minded city’.
‘Alright ?’ I never thought of Brussels as particularly open-minded, but I consider open-mindedness to be a good thing, so I was rather flattered on behalf of my city.
‘yes, you’ve got these clubs’
Uncomprehending stare.
‘Clubs where people are naked, and you have these orgies, where you have mountains of naked people’ wide-eyed enthusiasm.
‘Oh’ Slightly taken aback, but pushed into the role of the open-minded citizen.

My tram arrived, and I got on. To my annoyance, he followed me, and sat in my vicinity. He continued to talk to me.

‘yes, these clubs that are absolutely amazing’ he continued.
‘and you know, I’m actually a <insert really weird fetish here>. You know what that means ?’
I didn’t. So he proceeded to explain.
In detail. With the same smiling enthusiasm, and I started to suspect that the suitcase he was holding firmly on his lap was there for a reason.
‘but that’s not very hygienic’ I interjected weakly as some point, ever open-minded.

When he finished his explanation, he moved on to ‘you’ve got a very nice, open face. ‘
I was a bit tongue-tied at that one, the situation very clearly outside the parameters of my education.
‘You really have a nice, open face. Could I have your phone number ?’
And he reached and patted my arm.

At that, my brainstem reacted violently and I suddenly found myself teleported 3 meters away from the guy.
‘Look’ i told him, still civil, I think, ‘ you are way out of my comfort zone. I’m not interested at all’.
Fortunately, we arrived at my stop, and I could escape. Which I did, nearly running.
For some reason, I felt like cleaning myself with a steel brush and liberal doses of bleach, especially my arm.

I’ve had the opportunity since to ponder this event.

First off, the guy approached the situation like a perfect little salesman. From the ‘do you speak english’ to the rest of the conversation, it’s text-book sales stuff. What he was selling was absolutely unappealing to me. But I think he probably got part of his satisfaction out of the process.

Secondly, sex is really on the dark side of the mind. We have absolutely no control over what turns us on. In fact, what excites us is absolutely independent of morals, principles or esthetics (proof in the sad case of pedophiles). It’s often linked to the forbidden, and that’s why a lot of people would never even imagine to express their most private fantasies, even to their partners.

One thing we do have control over, is our course of action. The only morally acceptable way is to have partners who agree completely with what we’re up to.

This guy was definitely toeing the line with his approach, by talking in graphical terms about his kink. A bit like phone sex but on an unsuspecting stranger. Not rape, not exhibition either, but still firmly in indecent exposure territory.

A week ago, I was again coming home through Midi station – same time, same place.
I was walking on the tram quay, when I heard to my left
‘Do you speak english ?’
And yes, it was the same guy. A bit less closely shaven, gray stubble accentuating the rodent aspect.
I answered firmly: no, and walked on.

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