Golden shower.
(WARNING ADULT THEAMES, AND CONTENT)
It was warm till it got cold.
In the period that was just past post youth, and just past, post university, I explored Melbourne. Night or day I would explore... In search of beauty, love, and or just something to break the boredom, of being in a city of 3.3 million people, but still being alone, (yes that is possible). It was not that I was an adrenaline junky. I intentionally did not put myself into overtly risky situations, but it was a measured risk. Plus, I was fit and could run, if necessary. No, I am not a coward, but I know my limits. When confronted by someone with a knife, a gun, or a mob of men, sometimes it is better to get the hell out of there. Afterall I am mortal, or at least my body is. I risked my own safety by venturing out into the CBD of Melbourne alone, looking for connection. I would do it at times, into the dark hours of the morning, sometimes till daybreak. I was not driven by lust, but the desire to say hello to people. It was not that I liked nighttime, it is just the hours I kept because of work. It was a search for women. In saying that it is probably not what you are thinking. To be honest I value the company of some women, better than most men. I am acutely aware of the reasons why. But that is another story. In general, I enjoy their company better as it surpasses the connection I have, or have had, with men. It is not about the potential of sex, although the physical bond at times has been valued by me. It is not the precipice of falling in love, which for me is the most intense type of psychological symbiosis you can get from the company of a woman, trumping, the company and companionship of a group of men. (And I use the word trumping, without the desire to trigger people, especially you Sarah B. And if you are reading this, PS. I hope you are healing well),
In my endeavour to find company in an urban wasteland of loneliness that was Melbourne, and to locate connection with the opposite sex, and in my pursuit of happiness, I would risk at times life and limb. It might come as a shock to some, but that is what most men must do to find a mate. (And in this case the use of the word mate, is both the friend and lover, by the Australian definitions). I have found that it is not just some men that are threatened by my presence, for some reason many men have been, or are. Too many to be honest. After speaking to them, men, I can kind if understand why, some of my best friends have been women and still are. This fact is for some men a foreign concept, they cannot handle the way I talk to women, or interact with them, as to some men, they, women, are just vessels to do their bidding. (Each to their own, as some women like that role, and it is not for me to judge). But I can be quite politely exclusionary in and to the company of men, as most see any interaction we have as a chance to flex, pose, or send out the signal that they are the centre of attention, or should be in their opinion. Despite the ever-present threat of the physical abuse by men, trying to be alpha males, which I am not, nor never wanted to be, I went in search of places, places that while not being in any way safe spaces, turned out to be… It is not that I could not look after myself, but by the age of twenty-three it was already old having some troubled young man, or idiot, trying to bring down your self-esteem or vibe, by physically or psychologically violating you. If someone tried it, physical or verbal abuse, to subjugate me, it turned a good night of exploring, into just a shit way to spend a night out. And this type of experience or scenario was most certainly not on my list of things to do for pleasure.
I used to work till 12 o’clock at night, it was a double-edged sword when it come to socialization. My workplace at the time, was filled with women. Educated, polite, friendly, and at times beautiful women, on the physical, and or platonic levels. They were seriously staunch women despite most being more than kind. If you happened to think you were going to tell one what to do and think, (which never turned out to be a problem for me), you soon learned the error of your intent. At this time, I had broken up with my best friend, it was a great loss, that took a couple of years contemplation to just move on from. It took nearly thirty years and a 20 000 + word document, a diary entry of a personal reflection, and or contemplation, for me to understand some of what had happened. After work I would go out and explore the CBD of Melbourne, it was no New York from what I have heard, as in the city that never sleeps, but it had its moments.
I was only 23 years old and despite this, I found myself at the Metro night club which was walking distance from my work. I used to go there on such a regular basis that they gave me a membership card, with all the conditions redacted : ) The club was renowned for the youthfulness of its clientele, and the sometimes brutal manner in which the security guards defended the people, or young patrons that frequented it. One night I would see a young man who must have done something very stupid, as the security guards ejected him through a door that I never knew existed. The door led to a set of iron steps one story high of them to be accurate. I am not sure what he did but they through him face first down them, it was an ouch moment, that I am sure the young man still remembers to this day. Despite witnessing this brutality, actually because of it, I felt safer. The large islander gentlemen that you never knew existed there, until they where needed, where there for your protection. Provided you were not the perpetrator of some innocent persons violation they were there for your safety. At that time the islander gentlemen of Melbourne had a reputation as fierce security guards, and under the kind advisement of one of my work colleagues, a garage musician at the time, he recommended I go to a club in Saint Kilda, he said it was great. It wasn’t. At that time, it was hosting many underground bands. He only had one piece of advice, he said don’t get involved in any trouble. He informed me that when there was trouble there, and security got involved, they, the floor staff, would instantly go to the cleaning closet to get the mop and bucket. It was not to clean up spilt drinks from an altercation, it was done to clean up the blood after the event. I went there once, but it was not my type of scene, and that is not a criticism of the guards there, it was more to do with the unfriendly patrons.
Back to the Metro, as it was home base for quite a while. Its Goo night on Thursdays, was their alternative night when it came to music. Being super fit, I would go along and pogo for hours on end. One time, I got shin splints from the height and repetition of my pogoing to the music. If you do not know what pogoing is, just think of a human with out a pogo stick doing the same thing to the time of music. As a teen I could nearly dunk a basketball, well, at least ram it into the ring, so my pogoing was quite a spectacle, if I say so myself : ) Maasai warrior I am not, but I had my moments! Regarding or discussing basketball and the Metro, a strange combo, but I once ran into a young lady, a very tall, but noticeably young lady. Please note it was an adult club ie. a legal requirement of being over 18. I am about five feet eleven inches or 178 centimetres tall, and this young woman was so tall, I was looking up to her like a child looks up to an adult. I so much wanted to talk to her because of her height, and because she was good looking, or in the least very pretty. It was a bit of a mine field to negotiate as I am sure her height had caused her many issues, and made her a centre point of attention, with nowhere to escape to. None the less I approached her and said “hi…” she was a little set a back. She most certainly was not dressed for the night; she was pretty but staid in appearance. I was dressed in all black with black jungle boots and had 13 earrings and a nose ring at the time. We chatted for a bit shouting at each other over the music. I said she was pretty, and she said “thanks” almost blushing, we talked about her height, and she seemed curious as to why I would find her attractive, I said, “…you just are…!” Or something to that effect, and that there was not much more to it other than that. She said she hated her height, I told her I did not care about it, but I did. I lied, as I thought it was hot, and asked very politely to kiss her, she blushed doubly and was a little set back by the request. She said thanks, but you are a little short for me lol Then gave the actual reason an excuse that I cannot repeat. The idea of bending down to kiss me was a little confronting for her. She was very polite in her denial of my formal request but seemed genuinely flattered. I never forgot the interaction, the polite personal conversation, and how pretty she was, nor how amazingly tall she stood.
Drinks at Goo where cheap, at the time $2.50 Australian for basic spirits, a god send when trying to break my social shyness and destroy any doubts about the magnificence of my pogoing, which no one else was ever seen to be doing at the time : ) The DJ even put on old punk tunes from the eighties to wind me up, like a jack in the box. The price of the drinks was not an issue, when it came to over drinking or pacing myself, I had studied biochemistry at university, and I could count. Despite my repeated fun, I would have one bar maid ask what my problem was? One night, as she saw my drinking as being a sign of self-destruction, or self-harm and not what it actual was, an utterly deliberate biochemical induced freedom, from people like her, and everyone else who had an ignorant opinion about what I was doing there, and or in my life. It all went fine till one night it went wrong; I had left my drink by the dance floor and later drinking it did not think that it could have been spiked. It did not taste like anything unusual, but when it hit me, it made my world spin. At the time, or there abouts, I would find out, people predominately males had been spiking women’s drinks to later rape them, once they were unconscious. I was not raped that night fortunately, but it turned out to be memorable for all the wrong reasons. It crept up on me like a stalker, (the effect of the drink), first it was welcome, then very much not, and would not go away. I knew I had to get home, and fast, I moved toward the entrance staggering and got to the edge of the front door. I leant against it; the people who knew of me asked if I was ok, I slurred words trying to speak but I was nearly incoherent. Infront of me was a taxi three meters away, I went to move forward and slid sideways along the wall falling into the alley, and onto the road or blue stones, I cannot remember which. I do not know how long I was there for, but it seemed like a relief to be motionless, as the world spun around me. All I can remember was a petite young woman bent over me, shaking me and asking if I was ok. She was pretty and despite my predicament I still had a sense of humour. I said I am fine, how about a kiss and laughed. She was kind, and was not offended, or upset, by my request, just concerned. Let us face it she was under no threat as I could not move. She said it was cold and I should go home. I said I was fine, despite not being able to move. The man with her though had taken offence at my request and decided to make my night memorable. He gave me a verbal spray, about being a pathetic drunk, not knowing that I had been drugged. Unable to move he called me pitiful and urinated all over me. While I lay there unable to do anything, I was cold, and it the urine was warm; I fell asleep but woke up cold and wet, as the light started to break. I went to the taxi rank and asked to go home. The taxi driver said no worries, do you have the money, I always did and said yes. The ride home was long despite being short. When I got home, I went to pay the taxi driver, I found they had stollen my wallet. It hurt me more than the indignity of getting urinated on, not being able to pay the taxi bill. I apologised profusely to the taxi driver, and he gave me his phone number so as I could pay him. A would later call him to give him the money, but he never took up the offer. And I would never forget being drugged, being urinated on, and not being able to pay a man for his hard-earned work.
Have a great day or night, where ever you find yourself, if you got this far : )
