Jean-Claude Van Damme Hit on Me Too

It was 1987. I was an ambitious young reporter just out of college in Hong Kong writing a story for my local newspaper about the deadly martial arts tournament, Kumite. Van Damme was there researching for his movie, Blood Sport. However, Van Damme wasn't allowed to simply observe the Kumite, he had to participate if he wanted entrance to this most secretive and lethal of martial arts tournaments. Our first meeting did not go well. We were introduced by our mutual contact, Ray, a burly street fighter with a heart of gold. Jean-Claude took one look at me and said, "I would love to be naked in front of you." I called him a crazy Frenchman. It was only later that I realized he did not mean naked in the physical sense, but naked in the most intimate of ways--emotionally. As per his request, I wore a black dress and high heels to his first fight. As he soaked his hands in glue and dipped them in glass, our eyes met and I felt naked and exposed under his gaze. I was amazed at his leaping ability, his almost six sense of anticipation, and when he was blinded with quicklime-or cocaine, I can't be sure which-he continued to fight-and win-with such skill and grace that he was not so much fighting as performing an erotic dance. I knew then that I would give myself to him. That night we had champagne. Though still blinded, he managed to look dashing in a simple suit, which set off his broad shoulders. His dark hair was perfectly coiffed. We made love. He said that in order to be truly naked he had to be naked of protection. I assented. The next morning I woke up and he was gone. He left a small amount of crushed glass and cocaine, which I always, and will always, carry with me, close to my heart.