Its a sad consolation to otherwise awful life.
When they're good Meth addicts have big, white, life-hungry eyes and gorgeous smiles.
And there were big, lovely fucking cheekbones at the Beat on New Years Eve.
Mum was fine. I couldn't handle the Spice Girl shit they were playing in the gay bar so went down starts to the doof-doof section.
To me that techno and those fluro pants are fucking DATED man. Mum didnt mind.
"The dancing is just amazing" she said.
The dancing was good. She started talking to a group of people. I left her on her own.
I was happy with my outfit. I wore two singlets with a studded belt wrapt around them and a bright yellow tie around my neck. As soon as I got in the place people came up to me and told me how much they loved my tie. No-one else was wearing anything like it. I developed a standard line.
"It was $4.95 from a junkshop. I stole it, it cost me nothing."
At midnight people did the usual shit of throwing streamers and cheering.
"Thank god that awful fucking year is over. No repeats please" I said to Mum.
Mum left about half an hour later.
Grant turned up looking cross-eyed as usual.
He looked uncomfortable, as I suspected he would, I knew the rhetoric of 'grant-this-is-where-the partys-at' Glover would never actually occur in the real world.
In fact he did a poor impression of somebody who actually feels like that would fit in.
Hello, army pants? Who the fuck wears army pants at the moment?
"Did you get meth?"
"No"
Well clearly that was all talk, wat a surprise.
"Have you got any pills" I asked
"Yeah""How much?"
Please see for free.
"$35"
"Can I get tick?"
"Till when?"
"Till tomorrow, I'll get money off my Mum"
He gave me the pill and I chewed it down straight away.
XTC pills are the cheap whores of happiness. We pay our fee and in exchange we get to have our way with life for a short period of time. When its over, we know it was fake, we know she didnt really like us....it was all for the money....or was it.....was there a little moment when it was real. Sometimes fucking a whore is just a little bit easier than bothering to go out and find happiness and confidence and sexuality the old-fashioned way.
I was almost instantly amused with the situation, so tonight the brothel was happening.....the real world could wait.
I'd spent the night feeling pretty much uninterested in any bit of male around me. Before I knew I was gushing over a 23 year old in denim shorts named Brant. We spent a couple of hours together we kissed and felt each others cocks. He was quiet, I liked that. He also made me horny.
I was sitting with Brant when Grant summoned me outside.
He was grimey, the whoare had got to his brain.
"I get the sense ur a bottom" he said, with his arm around me.
"I'm not" I said.
"Oh c'mon uve totally got that vibe about you"
Grant I dont think that pill on tick gives u the right to touch me.
"Actually Grant I am not really into anal"
He looked at me with his coke bottle glasses and lazy eye.
"That adorable twink you were dating, Rhys...he's fucking hot. What did you do with him?"
I was starting to get annoyed.
"Actually we didnt have sex....I'm not that sexual and neither was he. So I think friendship was a good outcome. He's hot, but he's also someone worth having a friendship with"
And PS Im especially not sexual when youve got your arm aroind me.
"I wank six times a day" he said.
Yuck
I was now officially uncomfortable, so I started babbling shit.
"Yeah I wank once a day. Its hard at my parents. My teenage boy fantasies are normally interrupted by my Dad yelling 'Jan, the Kangaroo has done a piss again'. Suddenly everytime I see a boy in shorts I smell piss"
Grant laughed.
And took a moment to reflect.
"Intellectually I'd give u ten out of then, emotionally I'd give u eight of then. Physically, though, your not really my type"
Thank god for that.
"I'd still give u a 7."
I didnt have the heart to tell them the whoare was only doing for the money. Ur not that great Grant, life doesnt really love u....its just cause ur off ur head on pills.
"Everyone has their type I suppose" was all I said.
His tirade was sad. And offensive. Grant had crossed a line, as if he had needed to let me down gently. It was awful to see a decent mind so insulated from reality that it rendered him like an adolescent boy.
I didnt particuluarly appreciate being a pawn in his fantasy land though.
Your hour is nearly up Grant. Its back to wanking for you really soon.
The night didnt get much better after that. Brant ditched me for a 19 year old wog-boy he had gone to school with. Apparently this guy used to bully him. So, I wont hold it against him, he wanted to fuck the school bully.
I didnt really mind. The pill was wearing off and my crush on him was ending with it.
Daylight came and it drizzled lightly on the smokers patio. Half a dozen people danced liked dickheads on the dancefloor. I really felt like another pill. I was broke and there was not a dirty old man in sight - what the fuck is wrong society anyway?? The floor was covered in streamers and rubbish. I walked around for half an hour looking for money or pills that had been dropped on the floor.
I found nothing.
I walked back to the hostel.
My pill had worn off.
I was miserable. It was humid and raining. I thought about Brisbane, not the mad consumer capital like other big cities. Perhaps there was enough good weather and nature to keep people going completely nuts on money and status. I'm sure people had a good life here.
I wondered why I bother with the gay club scene. Would I happier bushwalking and sipping tea, most days???? Walking through the city in my odd outfit I was a victim. For so long I'd felt like the hip rebel, taking drugs and saying fuck to a world that demands that be sane, rational and productive without ever really explaining why. Now it seemed that I simply fallen for the idea that I could buy anything like say self-esteem and love. And that, I too, was simply a commodity with a marketing strategy and a target demographic of ugly, lonely gay men. I'd been conned. I wasnt bucking the system, I was a fucking victim. I'd used the same formula I'd hated and used it to fuck myself up.
But what's the alternative???? What's the alternative to being a bad cliche on the first day of the new year.
It was all too much to think about. I went to sleep in the hostel and stayed there for a couple of days. Nobody would be coming to this slumber party, not even the popular kids.
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