"I am sorry sir," says the waiter,"We have no breaded Smoothhound. It is a winter dish."
Sorry, this was what a waiter said at a restaurant in Split when we, gigglingly, asked him for this bizarre item on the menu. I just wanted to write it down, it has been making me smile again recently.
Another night has been spent with Suki, my host here, and today he gave me permission to reveal the details of the first night I spent with him. You see, they were explicit details.
Having gone out, leaving me to sit and watch the sun go down over the city from his sun terrace, having some time alone for the first time in a long time, reading and admiring the houses and places of worship, I went inside to sleep and he appeared, agitated with excitement saying he had a girl to come back with him, for sex, and it being a new thing for the girl he wanted me to be out of the way, so I moved into a side room and got down to some sleep there among the moonbeams, wrapped in blankets lying on a couple of rugs. A sad scene indeed. Despite what was going on a few rooms away, I heard nothing, but in the morning I was surprised to wake to find a note by me:
"Stay in the room. We are leaving at 0830! She don't know for you! We broke the table during sex! :-)"
I was happy for him, and indeed there the table was, the surface now propped up by a computer terminal at one end and some jauntily arranged broken legs at the other. I thought nothing of it, but that evening, when he disclosed a side of him I found unexpected, weird but refreshingly weird and actually rather admirable. Suki it turned out was a sex enthusiast, even a Spartacus of Sex, and he had the pictures (and videos!) to prove it.
"Is this wrong?" he asked," are you insulted?"
"No," I replied, a little bashfully, "its, err, interesting!?"
I was baffled a little, but only momentarily, and while he showed me a photo of her naked body, shot from behind, she arranged in doggy position on his knee high coffee table, like an extremely shapely untrussed chicken, legs akimbo, holes unashamedly visible, I gained full access to the mementos of his sexual world. Bizarre but bold, refreshingly so.
"My mann!" he boomed, showing me the photo of the wreckage, and acting out how she had fallen off of him, doing a rather effective mime of him as a coat stand with his penis hook, she startled on the floor, "this is good!"
We clasped hands like indian braves, sharing a moment of amateur pornography as fellow men. It turned out Suki puts his photos and videos on a a Croatian pay per view station, the girls's faces marked out, and on his camera he showed me around ten of the 50 (he has a list!) of the girls he has bedded.
As he scrolled through repeated images of him shagging, in full technicolour, moving pictures with crystal clear shots of piston-pumping pleasure, I couldn't help think back to the previous night while I vainly attempted to sleep in the dark, with my rucksack by me and its ten or so condoms (given by a friend as hopeful good luck gifts) buried in the bottom, packaged circles like redundant left-over rings at a Japanese mass wedding ceremony, symbols of my relative misery.
I will put up the link to his site, he is happy for you to see it, so it will appear soon.
Well, just writing this has me on the brink of a dark mood ;-) so well, there we go, the story of the broken coffee table and the revalation that sex need not be taboo. My alcohol and shoes were left outside Suki's door, but inside sex is A-okay, and quite right, alcohol can harm you but sex can't perhaps. Okay, ciao for now...