Chapter 1 - In search of Attila
La cocaïna, la cocaïna a pris ma famille
J'suis une clandestina, une clandestina à Miami
The track was blasting through the speakers, and it made me want to drive recklessly, weaving through cars, pushed by the bass. Back then, I didn’t know what cocaine felt like, but I didn’t need to. I had more energy than my car had horsepower, the bass was on my side, and Szofi was in the passenger seat.
Szofi and I became better friends in our late twenties. In high school, we ran in the same circles but never hung out one-on-one. Later, we kept running into each other at mutual friends’ weddings, sneaking off in evening gowns to smoke weed behind venues where Meneaito thumped through the walls. People often asked if we were sisters, given we were about the same age and both blonde. Of course, we’re sisters. Why wouldn’t we be? That’s how we got closer, as we both quietly resisted the marriage wave sweeping away many of our friends.
She even stuck by me when I gave in and joined the married trend and she was there when that short marriage ended. She had become my number one partner for partying and those late-night crying sessions.
We had been driving for six hours that felt like just two. That’s how it feels when you’re in the right company, carrying the excitement of a weekend that promised to be full of parties. We were approaching Budapest starving, because we had counted on highway restaurants, only to discover there were exactly zero.
We arrived to a high-ceilinged apartment in an old building in the city center, with an interior courtyard where the heat had yet to creep in. Szofi let me have the bigger room, with a large double bed, but the truth is, I would have been happy with the smaller one too. I told her we’d switch when we got back, if she wanted to bring home a good Hungarian catch.
Szofi had put together a long list of bars and clubs for us to check out, and I was thrilled that I didn’t have to bother with planning. But before diving into her list, I suggested we swing by a party where a guy from Bumble had invited me. It seemed like our kind of scene: drum & bass on a boat on the Danube.
I wore a black dress and white sneakers, she chose a striped t-shirt and jeans, once again amazing me with how effortlessly she could make simplicity look so stylish.
When we arrived, the party was still on the riverbank, and we learned it would move to the boat only after midnight. The DJ, a man who looked a little bit older than my father, had a relatively sober crowd dancing in no time. Talent aside, it was his age that impressed me the most. His presence there was just the reminder I needed that life and fun didn’t have to end at thirty, nor at sixty… at least not in this city. I seized the moment to compliment him when he finished his set. I rejoined Szofi, we grabbed some beers and hit the dance floor. Having arrived in Budapest empty-handed, we made sure to keep an eye out for people who might be high on something more than life —hoping for a chance to score.
After we made it onto the party boat, losing sight of one another for a moment, I stepped out onto the deck. A deep sense of gratitude washed over me. Every detail seemed carefully arranged for my wonder—the Széchenyi Bridge outlined in warm lights to my right, Buda Castle straight ahead, the boat’s strings of lights reflecting off the Danube… The scenery was so perfect I half-expected someone to call out "cut" from behind. I could have happily stayed there all night, just soaking in the view.
I felt myself slipping into a familiar duality. On one hand, I wanted to stay by myself, be silent, and admire Budapest with its serene nighttime charm. On the other, I wanted to dance, socialize, drink, and maybe even find a fleeting love for the night. With a soft tap on the railing, I marked the conclusion of my reverie and headed inside where Szofi’s smile was signaling that it was time to misbehave. So I grabbed two very expensive shots, because getting wasted somehow feels less trashy when it costs a small fortune.
We found seats at a table with a pair of lesbians about ten years younger than us and immediately started giving them unsolicited advice—because, of course, we were so wise and experienced, even though deep down, we felt like we didn’t know a thing. A little while later, at the bar, feeling awkward about it, I decided to buy them two cocktails, just in case our advice had been more annoying than helpful.
As we chatted with them, I decided it was time to celebrate my divorce. I remembered a Louis CK line about how "divorce is forever," so we raised our glasses, toasting to my self-inflicted trauma that I was finally starting to move past. After another shot or two, or maybe the next round of cocktails, I suddenly felt free enough to share with these two lovely strangers a dream that was born on our drive to Budapest, but was now becoming a full-on life goal. I announced that I wanted to initiate myself into the mysteries of back-door delights, and really, was there any better time to embark on that journey than this weekend in Budapest? Surely, somewhere in this city, I’d find an Attila with a modestly sized penis who could take me to new heights of pleasure.
We all agreed it was a brilliant idea, so we headed inside and started dancing. In the brief moments when the music softened, I found myself subtly looking for Attila out of the corner of my eye.
