The first time I went down to this club, I did not know what it was. Two letters crossed each of the two entrance doors: T and U. For “Tantra Underground”. An entire program. An old woman was watching behind a counter, like a guard dog, after entering the dark, damp atmosphere. Please deposit dangerous weapons and instruments. In exchange, a few grams of cocaine or a handful of cannabis …
Free entry for women, $ 1000 for men. The principle was simple: everything is allowed, prohibition to refuse.
A staircase descended to a confined space, subterranean, lit by twinkling lanterns placed at the foot of grimacing Himalayan idols. In alcoves, beds, armchairs, chairs, benches, enough to satiate all the impulses. A bar, too, where a space had been created between the stools and the zinc, sufficiently spacious and comfortable for a third person to consume something else than a centenary Cognac …

It was here that I killed her, in between the bar and the stools, first I fucked her, fucked
her until it was humanly impossible to continue, sucked on her big nipples, before she sucked me after biting into a piece of bitter lemon, then I borrowed a knife from the bartender and just stabbed her, right in breast, I went in as deep as her resisting flesh allowed me to. I didn’t ask her if I could kill her, the rules of the club prohibited refusal. The journey is short between the little and the great death. No one in this strange club cared, it was daily business for them. The old woman kept staring at me. I got out of the club without finishing the drink, promising myself that I would never return.

However, I couldn’t stop thinking about this woman that I had fucked and killed and then fucked again. I wanted to know what happened to her body, how it was disposed of, and who did it. To know the details of my own crime, I returned. It was expensive so I had to borrow money from a friend. As I entered the darkness of Tantra Underground, a woman came up behind me and whispered in my ears: you are mine forever. It was the woman that I had killed.
…

M & Mrs Hyde are the two tantric and trashy sides of a forgotten soul, with frequent Jungian mood, tiny red spot obsession, Bombay Sapphire passion, frequent insomnia, recurrent headaches, taste for Darjeeling, and fascination for words. Always travelling from East to West, and inversely.