And then the unimaginable happened: He had climbed up to the mezzanine that served as a small internal balcony, and with a flashlight, but a powerful flashlight, like a generator or something, he started illuminating me.

The light fell on me blindingly, like the lamp of an interrogator. In the other hand, he held a slingshot, one of those that gypsies have and shout "watermelons!", and he started guiding me: "Take two steps to the right, towards the light, follow the light and take off the straitjacket. Two steps to the right and take off the straitjacket. The straitjacket".

Because he said straitjacket, and not bra, I didn't panic completely. The word straitjacket kept me away from panic. How scary can someone be who says "straitjacket"?

Just when you think you know everything about men, you meet Doudouka, Kastrato, the little Bedouin, Boy George, and without realizing it, you find yourself in Androlivado.

What is Androlivado? A burning place full of sexual minorities, a monster made of Libido, a movement of erotic anarchy.

Long live pleasures!