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My night in a gay sauna

Heterosexual Howard Lake tells the story of how he got experimental on a visit to a gay sauna.

Before anything else, I need to explain that I'm not a seasoned sauna veteran. I'm writing about my first and, more than likely only visit to a gay sauna.

It was to explore a side of my sexuality which, for many years now, I'd been curious about. When I was 18 (now quite a bit older) I joined the jeers when two male schoolmates drunkenly snogged each other on a night out.

Inside, part of me I wished I was one of them. Years of mulling things over, the occasional mild dalliance and, on the night, six pints, climaxed in me visiting a gay sauna.

My lack of previous experience was evident when at the entrance I blushed to the receptionist: "I've not brought any trunks with me..is that OK?"

His manicured eyebrow rose sharply and said it all. He then sighed and said: "You don't need trunks. This is a gay club, you know?"

I nodded over enthusiastically, handed over £14, and was given two towels before disappearing down the stairs. (You might think £14 is a lot but another local spa, not gay, charges £20 for the same facilities where sex is a no-no).

Once inside the communal changing area was much like a swimming pool – benches in the middle of the room and your own, numbered locker. You then strip and put a towel round your waist. The facilities were impressive: a sauna, warm room, swimming pool, dark room and, upstairs, individual rooms with either a wipeable mattress on the floor or a bench with a mattress on it.

I'd read about 'cruising' before, and read about bars being 'cruisey' but never experienced it. Simply put, if at any point catch somebody's eye and the gaze is held then it's generally on. No codified rehearsal of buying drinks and dating a few times – you just get it on.

The thing that's really interesting from a straight guy's point of view is that in this environment you're seen as an object of desire instead of the pursuer. I'm not the kind of guy who gets admiring glances from women in general, so to be looked at like that was a pleasant surprise.

It was also interesting because it gives you an idea how women feel when men look at them. And it makes you instantly picky. There were a lot of quite old, overweight and unattractive men there. I found myself becoming pretty choosy within minutes, which was a surprise.

For rooms that are occupied there seems to be a code (I'm happy to be corrected here). If there's somebody in there lying in their front, and exposing their bottom ... well I think you can guess.

If they're sitting up they seem to want a bit more of a mixture. If the door is open and something's going on it's a possible invitation to watch or join in. If you pop your head in when this is going on, as I did, you either get a shake of the head, as I did, or you're welcomed in.

Men also position themselves on the edge of some doors groping themselves which is much the same as cruising but they've already claimed their room. It was rather busy so I thought this rather inconsiderate.

The dark room (it's very dark) was a bit much for me but this was primarily because I didn't know how to conduct myself. The pervasive groans and dim silhouettes of multiple bodies left little the imagination, but I didn't feel ready to gift my bottom to just anybody.

Whilst wandering around I visited the steam room, sauna and the TV room which came complete with water fountain and drinks vending machines. People were hanging out there watching TV and having a chat.

Speaking to other sauna-goers, I got the impression there were many regulars who would go there and meet other regulars. Some people asked for my name, others didn't. It didn't appear to matter either way: the atmosphere was relaxed, mature and respectful. Any unwanted advances were quickly recognised as such and met with a polite retreat.

After an hour-and-a-half of, metaphorically, fumbling around, I met a guy. Within five minutes we'd gone off to one of the private rooms. I will spare you the details, but suffice to say it was safe and enjoyable.

Would I go back? Probably not. Am I glad I went? Yes. Odd as it may sound I now feel more secure in my (hetero)sexuality than before. It's not going to stop me reading features about women's fashion or being a bit fey. But it does means I'm more than likely going to be asking myself one less question in my next relationship - with a girl.

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The French millennials marching behind Marine Le Pen

A Front National rally attracts former socialists with manicured beards, and a lesbian couple. 

“In 85 days, Marine will be President of the French Republic!” The 150-strong crowd cheered at the sound of the words. On stage, the speaker, the vice-president of the far-right Front National (FN), Florian Philippot, continued: “We will be told that it’s the apocalypse, by the same banks, media, politicians, who were telling the British that Brexit would be an immediate catastrophe.

"Well, they voted, and it’s not! The British are much better off than we are!” The applause grew louder and louder. 

I was in the medieval city of Metz, in a municipal hall near the banks of the Moselle River, a tributary of the Rhine from which the region takes its name. The German border lies 49km east; Luxembourg City is less than an hour’s drive away. This is the "Country of the Three Borders", equidistant from Strasbourg and Frankfurt, and French, German and French again after various wars. Yet for all that local history is deeply rooted in the wider European history, votes for the Front National rank among the highest nationally, and continue to rise at every poll. 

In rural Moselle, “Marine”, as the Front National leader Marine Le Pen is known, has an envoy. In 2014, the well-spoken, elite-educated Philippot, 35, ran for mayor in Forbach, a former miner’s town near the border. He lost to the Socialist candidate but has visited regularly since. Enough for the locals to call him “Florian".

I grew up in a small town, Saint-Avold, halfway between Metz and Forbach. When my grandfather was working in the then-prosperous coal mines, the Moselle region attracted many foreign workers. Many of my fellow schoolmates bore Italian and Polish surnames. But the last mine closed in 2004, and now, some of the immigrants’ grandchildren are voting for the National Front.

Returning, I can't help but wonder: How did my generation, born with the Maastricht treaty, end up turning to the Eurosceptic, hard right FN?

“We’ve seen what the other political parties do – it’s always the same. We must try something else," said Candice Bertrand, 23, She might not be part of the group asking Philippot for selfies, but she had voted FN at every election, and her family agreed. “My mum was a Communist, then voted for [Nicolas] Sarkozy, and now she votes FN. She’s come a long way.”  The way, it seemed, was political distrust.

Minutes earlier, Philippot had pleaded with the audience to talk to their relatives and neighbours. Bertrand had brought her girlfriend, Lola, whom she was trying to convince to vote FN.  Lola wouldn’t give her surname – her strongly left-wing family would “certainly not” like to know she was there. She herself had never voted.

This infuriated Bertrand. “Women have fought for the right to vote!” she declared. Daily chats with Bertrand and her family had warmed up Lola to voting Le Pen in the first round, although not yet in the second. “I’m scared of a major change,” she confided, looking lost. “It’s a bit too extreme.” Both were too young to remember 2002, when a presidential victory for the then-Front National leader Jean-Marie Le Pen, was only a few percentage points away.

Since then, under the leadership of his daughter, Marine, the FN has broken every record. But in this region, the FN’s success isn’t new. In 2002, when liberal France was shocked to see Le Pen reach the second round of the presidential election, the FN was already sailing in Moselle. Le Pen grabbed 23.7 per cent of the Moselle vote in the first round and 21.9 per cent in the second, compared to 16.9 per cent and 17.8 per cent nationally. 

The far-right vote in Moselle remained higher than the national average before skyrocketing in 2012. By then, the younger, softer-looking Marine had taken over the party. In that year, the FN won an astonishing 24.7 per cent of the Moselle vote, and 17.8 per cent nationwide.

For some people of my generation, the FN has already provided opportunities. With his manicured beard and chic suit, Emilien Noé still looks like the Young Socialist he was between 16 and 18 years old. But looks can be deceiving. “I have been disgusted by the internal politics at the Socialist Party, the lack of respect for the low-ranked campaigners," he told me. So instead, he stood as the FN’s youngest national candidate to become mayor in his village, Gosselming, in 2014. “I entered directly into action," he said. (He lost). Now, at just 21, Noé is the FN’s youth coordinator for Eastern France.

Metz, Creative Commons licence credit Morgaine

Next to him stood Kevin Pfeiffer, 27. He told me he used to believe in the Socialist ideal, too - in 2007, as a 17-year-old, he backed Ségolène Royal against Sarkozy. But he is now a FN local councillor and acts as the party's general co-ordinator in the region. Both Noé and Pfeiffer radiated a quiet self-confidence, the sort that such swift rises induces. They shared a deep respect for the young-achiever-in-chief: Philippot. “We’re young and we know we can have perspectives in this party without being a graduate of l’ENA,” said another activist, Olivier Musci, 24. (The elite school Ecole Nationale d’Administration, or ENA, is considered something of a mandatory finishing school for politicians. It counts Francois Hollande and Jacques Chirac among its alumni. Ironically, Philippot is one, too.)

“Florian” likes to say that the FN scores the highest among the young. “Today’s youth have not grown up in a left-right divide”, he told me when I asked why. “The big topics, for them, were Maastricht, 9/11, the Chinese competition, and now Brexit. They have grown up in a political world structured around two poles: globalism versus patriotism.” Notably, half his speech was dedicated to ridiculing the FN's most probably rival, the maverick centrist Emmanuel Macron. “It is a time of the nations. Macron is the opposite of that," Philippot declared. 

At the rally, the blue, red and white flame, the FN’s historic logo, was nowhere to be seen. Even the words “Front National” had deserted the posters, which were instead plastered with “in the name of the people” slogans beneath Marine’s name and large smile. But everyone wears a blue rose at the buttonhole. “It’s the synthesis between the left’s rose and the right’s blue colour”, Pfeiffer said. “The symbol of the impossible becoming possible.” So, neither left nor right? I ask, echoing Macron’s campaign appeal. “Or both left and right”, Pfeiffer answered with a grin.

This nationwide rebranding follows years of efforts to polish the party’s jackass image, forged by decades of xenophobic, racist and anti-Semitic declarations by Le Pen Sr. His daughter evicted him from the party in 2015.

Still, Le Pen’s main pledges revolve around the same issue her father obsessed over - immigration. The resources spent on "dealing with migrants" will, Le Pen promises, be redirected to address the concerns of "the French people". Unemployment, which has been hovering at 10 per cent for years, is very much one of them. Moselle's damaged job market is a booster for the FN - between 10 and 12 per cent of young people are unemployed.

Yet the two phenomena cannot always rationally be linked. The female FN supporters I met candidly admitted they drove from France to Luxembourg every day for work and, like many locals, often went shopping in Germany. Yet they hoped to see the candidate of “Frexit” enter the Elysee palace in May. “We've never had problems to work in Luxembourg. Why would that change?” asked Bertrand. (Le Pen's “144 campaign pledges” promise frontier workers “special measures” to cross the border once out of the Schengen area, which sounds very much like the concept of the Schengen area itself.)

Grégoire Laloux, 21, studied history at the University of Metz. He didn't believe in the European Union. “Countries have their own interests. There are people, but no European people,” he said. “Marine is different because she defends patriotism, sovereignty, French greatness and French history.” He compared Le Pen to Richelieu, the cardinal who made Louis XIV's absolute monarchy possible:  “She, too, wants to build a modern state.”

French populists are quick to link the country's current problems to immigration, and these FN supporters were no exception. “With 7m poor and unemployed, we can't accept all the world's misery,” Olivier Musci, 24, a grandchild of Polish and Italian immigrants, told me. “Those we welcome must serve the country and be proud to be here.”

Lola echoed this call for more assimilation. “At our shopping centre, everyone speaks Arabic now," she said. "People have spat on us, thrown pebbles at us because we're lesbians. But I'm in my country and I have the right to do what I want.” When I asked if the people who attacked them were migrants, she was not so sure. “Let's say, they weren't white.”

Trump promised to “Make America Great Again”. To where would Le Pen's France return? Would it be sovereign again? White again? French again? Ruled by absolutism again? She has blurred enough lines to seduce voters her father never could – the young, the gay, the left-wingers. At the end of his speech, under the rebranded banners, Philippot invited the audience to sing La Marseillaise with him. And in one voice they did: “To arms citizens! Form your battalions! March, march, let impure blood, water our furrows...” The song is the same as the one I knew growing up. But it seemed to me, this time, a more sinister tune.