Coming back on that hotel room dream I had the other night. The hotel that figured in my dream appeared very similar to the hotel I once had a similar experience in, this time somewhat more raunchy. I must have been about 18, and had some week earlier been introduced to E who moved in the same social circles as I did. We’d met at a birthday party of a mutual friend of mine and after small talk and exchange of phone numbers I was surprised to actually get a call…a few days later. E invited me out for dinner. I accepted immediately. We met up in town and settled for a fusion restaurant. It was the first fusion restaurant I had ever been too. It was after all 1994 and fusion kitchen was not the established concept it is today. In hindsight it was evident why E had chosen this restaurant. He had a restaurant card, with which this particular restaurant had an offer of 2 for 1. But then again which 18 year old have money to spend freely on lavish dinners. Another hindsight observation was that his frugal approach to our dinner enabled another event to take place later. I shall come to that…
Dinner was excellent, and I felt vastly mature being out on my own on a date. I believe we even managed to be served wine which was quite a feat for being in Sweden which has a strict drinking policy.
But let me pause for a moment. This was 1994, thus 15 years ago. A time when I had only lived little over half my life which I have now. It was a time when I was experimenting with who I was, or rather who I wanted to become. A year earlier I had decided that the woman that captured the essence of me was Catherine Tramell from Basic Instinct. This woman, being the epitome of a femme fatale was myself incarnated (or perhaps it was the other way around). With the little money I had I scored the shops for classy dresses, and this was also the time I started wearing stay-ups when all other girls were still wearing tights. My skirts used to be just short enough to flash the line of the stocking, which I thought was extremely erotic. I am still of that opinion even today.
I recall the outfit I was wearing that evening. A grey skirt, a silk top and a striped grey fitted jacket. I had dressed this up with black high heels and my mother’s crocodile purse. In fact not a bad outfit for a 18 year old from the backwaters of Malmo.
Whilst we were sitting there, I started to work on E. I didn’t have much experience in the art of seduction, but envisioning I was Catherine Tramell certainly supported me in my conquest.
Whilst touching E with my foot, I threw out my bait. What did he think of taking into a hotel? In fact it was not the first time I had done such a thing, as the first time was during a summer holiday in the Belgian seaside resort of Oostduinkerke. That conquest was a Dutch catholic guy two years my senior, and so the benefit of the experience made my absurd suggestion somewhat easier to go through with.
E looked at me in a state of shock yet excitement. Was this girl for real? I gently coerced him into taking up the challenge. We counted our money between ourselves. Luckily the dinner was cheap due to the special 2 for 1 offer and with 200 SEK between us, we thought we could get a cheap room somewhere, if only for a few hours. We strolled down to the harbour side of Malmo. Where else would you get cheap hotel room. I recalled having seen a trashy hotel there once before, so we steered our walk in that direction. The hotel was called Hotel Pallas.
The man in the reception looked at us with amusement when we asked if we could rent a room for a few hours. I am sure he had got those requests a million times before but not from an amorous 18 year old couple. The cheapest room was almost twice as much as what we could afford, but as we told him we would only use it for a couple of hours, he agreed. After all it was easy money for him, no questions asked.
We were shown a room, the only room available, which the man referred to as the bridal suite. The only thing bridal was the size of the room, a tower room looking out over the city of Malmo. Furniture was a mishmash from several decades ago.
I threw myself on the bed, with a feeling of utter freedom. Here I was, in a hotel room, with a guy I had only known for a few days, and we were about to embark on the wildest sex ever. I even had a white silk scarf in my handbag, one that used to be my grandfathers, and although not Hermes it made for perfect props living out that Basic Instinct fantasy. I slowly set about to undress, first my jacket, then my top and finally letting the skirt fall to the ground. E just stood there, with a look of pure fright on his face. This was not going in the right direction I thought, and took a few steps closer to him. He was stiff as a block of ice. And I am not referring to his member, which was anything but stiff.
Nevertheless he undressed and laid down. The bed was squeaking with every move which didn’t make the experience any easier to bare. I can’t recall how long I tried to get the whole scenario to work, but eventually I gave up. This was not going to be the day when we made love. I felt like a cheap hooker having suggested this whole thing in the first place, but I was adamant that was an impression of me he wasn’t going to be left with. We started talking instead, in a room vaguely lit up by the orange light from the street outside. A neon sign from the hotel opposite kept buzzing on and off, providing not only light but a dull sound muted by the single glass windows. As I lay there on his arm, chatting away about school, friends, life, the feeling of freedom returned yet again. It didn’t really matter what he thought. We were just two 18 year olds, from ordinary homes and backgrounds having ended up in a seedy hotel. It could have been Paris Montmartre, but in fact it was the harbour area of Malmo. I think we both knew that this was just the beginning of something, something that was still clouded in great mystery for us.
The next day he called. “Do you want to go and see Pulp Fiction?”
“Yeah sure” I said
Girl you’ll be a woman soon