What I know of Patrick is that strictly speaking he is not your run of the mill French man. He is of Arabic descent. You can see that on his square but angular face. Even his accent is slightly lilting compared to the way others speak French. Could have even come from Algeria, as did the existential philosopher Albert Camus. Living in the moment. Existing to the fullest in the world capital of the existentialism. So we find a lot in common to talk about.

But what we talk about the most are girls. Our experiences with them and the misadventures. Like two adolescents still in awe of the mystery that every woman is. And how we absolutely love and adore them. And we talk about sex. Not your day-to-day variety, but the fantasy of it.

‘You know what turns me on more than even having sex itself?’

‘What?’

‘The thought of it. The imagination. The fantasy.’

And then he tells me of one of his most yearned for fantasies coming true.

We have had a long day. I was shooting multiple models all day long and we’re all tired and also hungry. The group of us is sitting around a large round table at a restaurant. When you’re shooting and busy doing your work, no matter how beautiful they are, how you may have developed a crush on one of them, you can’t just conjure up a fantasy of undressing her, because you have seen her totally naked all day long. But it’s when she is fully dressed and is sitting next to you is when your imagination gets wild. Chantal was her name. She is sitting next to me. My assistant and the crew are busy talking, eating, drinking, laughing and just unwinding from the hard day’s work. There are about eight girls, but the only one on my mind is Chantal. I don’t have to imagine what she looks like underneath her clothes. But I had had a long time fantasy, something I hadn’t tried out so far, but as we have a few glasses of wine and I am liking Chantal more and more, and she seems to like me too. But that’s not unusual for a model to fall for her photographer, at least in the moment. But I am thinking to myself, maybe I can try out with Chantal what I have hesitated doing so far. She notices that there is a momentary lull in our conversation and I have gone quiet, as if lost in deep thoughts.’

‘What are you thinking?’

‘Oh, nothing special. Just thoughts!’

‘Come on, you look quite serious.’

‘Well, I am thinking… never mind, it’s silly.’

‘I want to hear it.’

‘Promise you won’t laugh if I told you!’

‘I promise.’

‘Okay, what I am thinking of is – actually It’s an old fantasy.’ And I stop. I feel her gaze irretrievably fixed on me

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