December 14th, 2023, was the last night of my most recent trip to Paris. I was winding my way through the Saint-Paul metro station in the Marais en route to Montmartre looking forward to an evening of French music and poetry at Lapin Agile, a pub where poets and singers have gathered since the late 1800s. As I rounded the corner onto the platform, a rush of people were exiting the newly arrived train, among them an attractive man whom I locked eyes with and who stopped to chat with me. His name was Rinnato, “with two n’s,” he specified. He was from Italy and in Paris to perform with a dance troupe. I told him my name was Thom, that I was visiting from NY, and of my plan for the evening. After a bit of small talk, another train came and went. He proposed some wine and perhaps a joint back at his place before my show. I accepted. He slipped his arm in mine and we walked to catch a different train. The conversation flowed effortlessly. It was nice to be on intimate terms with someone. My time in Paris and my life in general lately had primarily been a solitary one.
My first time in Paris was in 1994, with a backpack on a shoestring budget, traversing Europe on trains for three months, and contemplating what to do with my life after having discontinued my studies for the priesthood a few years earlier.
My second time was in 2009, visiting my ex-French boyfriend, a year after I had rebounded from being on the cusp of hospice care due to complications from AIDS.
In December 2019, I in was Paris with my husband on our belated honeymoon.
On this, my most recent trip, I was treating myself to Paris, as well, if not better, than I had done with my now ex-husband. I regarded this trip as a deserving treat on the other side of what a divorce can bring. And yet, despite my familiarity with the city of light, this trip was one of firsts. For the first time, I wasn’t staying in Paris in the bunk bed of a hostel, on the sofa of my ex-boyfriend, or with my spouse in a hotel bed with a view of the Eiffel Tower. No, on this trip, I was by myself, staying in a lovely Air BnB, utterly free of the need to consider anyone’s interests but my own.
In the weeks leading up to this Paris trip, Baba Jolie and Secret Shaman Oracles, two YouTube Tarot readers I consult, had been forecasting travel and meeting someone new. That prospect had me anticipating this adventure even more.
Rinatto and I arrived to the building of his Air BnB and climbed the spiral staircase to the top floor. Upon entering his cozy accommodation, he promptly set the mood, turning on music, uncorking a bottle of red, then changing into more comfortable clothes. He began dancing, effortlessly and joyously expressing the music through his body, drawing me into his arms, dry humping me. He asked me what I felt. I became a bit self-conscious. I told him that after watching him dance, I felt I wasn’t entirely as free-spirited as he might have thought me to be. He stopped the music. “Tell me more,” he asked. I suddenly felt that to talk about such things would ruin the vibe. He got out rolling papers and began grinding up some weed for the joint, patiently waiting for me to express myself. I searched for the words to communicate something meaningful. Finally, I said, “I think the problem in my life has been that I’ve always been too self-aware.” “What do you mean?” he asked. “I guess I’ve often been so focused on making others comfortable that I don’t know how to be comfortable in the company of others by just being without doing.”
As he continued preparing the joint, he asked me to play some music. Connecting to his Bluetooth speaker, I played King Princess’s “1950,” singing along with the opening lyrics, “I hate it when dudes try to chase me, but I love it when you try to save me, 'cause I’m just a lady.” He smiled warmly at me, rose from the chair, taking my hand, and led me over to the window, opening it to the cold night air and a half balcony with a view of the Parisian rooftops. He lit the joint, took a few tokes, then passed it to me. I inhaled, then remarked, “I imagine it’s not uncommon to see people walking around naked in their apartments.” He said, “Yes,” stepping towards me adding, “I love being naked.” I exhaled. We kissed. “Thank you for letting me dry hump you,” he said. The music continued playing, we continued kissing, undressing, inching our way towards the bed where, sitting on its edge, he took me into his mouth, passionately going down on me, in a manner unlike anyone had before. I again became self-conscious, thinking I was nowhere near the lover he was. He stopped to breathe, looking up at me with a smile. I smiled back, then said, “Can we have some more wine?”
We stood naked, drinking wine at the kitchen counter as he showed me pictures of himself on his phone. Pictures of him in the desert scantily dressed in a flowing see-through garment with eye shadow on. I, in turn, shared some of myself, one in a group of actors, our arms raised in a celebratory pose after having wrapped a project. “You Americans are so energetic,” he remarked. In the photo, I’m wearing a baseball cap. “Is that you?!” he asked. “That’s me,” I said.
After another joint, we were in bed, passionately having sex, clasping each other’s arms, anchoring us as closely together as possible, his rhythmic thrusts penetrating me as deeply as possible. He was the ocean, and I the shore. It was electric. Our converging bodies melded into one, the bliss of it all lasting for what seemed like an eternity. Later, as he freshened up in the bathroom, I stood naked at the open window, smoking a cigarette he had rolled and admiring the naked people in the apartments across the way. Rinnato came up behind me, draped a shawl over my shoulders, and wrapped his arms around me. “I think you’re doing pretty well in the spontaneous department,” he said, adding, “You coming here with me, taking this trip, exploring the city by yourself, celebrating you.”
Back in bed, relaxing in each other’s arms, we listened to the ongoing random shuffle of my music library. “Lost In Paris,” a particular favorite of mine and a pleasant and most appropriate surprise, began to fill the room. After having heard a few repeats of the chorus, Rinatto whispered, “You’re lost in Paris” into my ear. The song ended, and I stopped the music. “I don’t think you’re going to make it to your show,” he remarked. He was right. My show had started at 9 p.m. It was now 11:30. I needed to get going if I was to catch a train back to my Air BnB before the metro shut down at 1 a.m. I put on my clothes, and we exchanged numbers. While tying my shoelaces, he brought out a deck of tarot cards and asked me to shuffle and pick a card. I picked TRANSFORMATION. He opened the guide that accompanied the deck, turning to the description page for the TRANSFORMATION card. I read it out loud:
Transformation: ”A time of endings is close at hand. Don’t resist the abrupt changes that are suddenly happening in your life. These could be taking place in your personal life, relationships, business, or career. You have the strength, as the Transformation card asks you to have courage and to know that renewal follows every conclusion. This card comes forth to remind you that the death of an old way of thinking and believing must occur before you can move forward on your new path. Transformation is all about the ebb and flow of life cycles. Nothing in this life remains motionless; everything is on its way to somewhere. Accept the changes, and opportunity will come to expand you in more ways than you would have ever imagined!
You can’t live in the past – it is time to move on. In order to take the next positive step, you should look closely at your own life and ask yourself: are there loose ends that need to be tied up? Are there people in my life whom I need to express myself to? What needs to be completed so I can have a fresh start? When you do so, you will have a stronger, more reinforced foundation to carry you through the new beginnings that await you.
Traditional tarot archetype: Death”*
We sat in silence for a moment, me observing the angelic art on the card. “Pretty fitting,” I remarked. “How do you feel?”, Rinatto asked. “Scared.” He put his hand on my knee, “Why scared?” he inquired. “Death is pretty scary,” I said, adding, “I guess because of not knowing what lies ahead. But, whatever does, it will be better than what I’ve had. It always has been.”
Rinatto followed me to the door, pausing for a kiss before opening it. We looked into each other’s eyes, smiling. “Thank you!” I said. “I really needed this.” “We both needed this,” he added. Another kiss. He opened the door. I stepped out into the hall, then watched him gradually disappear behind the door as it slowly closed. I stood in the quiet and dark of the hallway, discovering that the stairwell light wasn’t working. Using the flashlight app on my phone I illuminated my descent on the seemingly never-ending spiral staircase back to earth and the Paris streets.
The metro line back to my AirBnB partially rode an outdoor elevated track, providing an overview of Paris I had never before seen. Relaxed from the wine, the joint, and the loving presence of Rinnato, I blissfully watched the city roll past in review, its familiar sites accompanied by a shuffle of seemingly divinely curated music from my phone. Every song spoke to me. Paris, this beautiful city I had visited many times before, was somehow new to me as if it was my first time there. But it wasn’t the city that was new; it was myself, seeing it through new eyes, appreciating where I had been, and optimistic about where I was going. I indeed was, as the tarot card described, in a moment of transformation. I had spent the last two weeks just being in the moment, treating myself to rich hot chocolate, sweet and savory crepes, wine, boeuf bourguignon, sunsets by the Seine, live classical and jazz music, museums, and people-watching. I wasn’t worrying about work, how much money I had left, or what I would do differently back in New York. I was living, in the present.
Once back at my Air BnB, I crawled into bed, thankful for everything in my life: the good, the bad, the disappointments. I felt deeply content. On this trip to Paris, I had become the boyfriend I’d always wanted, and on THIS last night in Paris, I fell asleep with someone I truly love.
* Psychic Tarot Oracle Card deck, by John Holland
I’ve created a playlist containing music from and inspired by this trip. It’s called Lost in Paris and is available on Spotify.