I guess you can always go home.
I went back to see my family in Maitland a few weeks ago. I guess it’s just what I expected. Nothing really changes there, and it almost reminds me of how little I’ve changed in the past two years – or maybe it’s just been so long that I don’t remember the references I had used to know who I was there.
I smoked a cigarette with Hawk and he told me what had been happening in my hometown.
“Miguel is joining the Navy.”
“Really? That’s great. He loves that shit. Is he in comms or something?”
“Nah – he’s in research and development for submarines. He’ll never see the front line, which is good. If he told me he was going to become a grunt, I’d have to slap him. But nah, I think if he ever is even ever in a submarine, they’ll be joy-riding around the harbour for testing purposes.”
“How’s Sherbet?”
“Sherbet… I don’t talk to any more.”
“Why’s that?”
“It got too weird. She started hanging out at my place a lot. A lot. Like every day, every weekend she’s texting me to see what’s happening. In the end I had to tell her go home, you should be with your husband.”
“Oh. Hey, did Disco get married?” I hadn’t talked to him in years, and when I looked at his Facebook I noticed the status change, and thought maybe it was a joke. Then I looked and saw all his wedding photos, with him in a tuxedo. In the back of my mind I still thought it was a joke. Maybe he was only dressed like that because he was at his best friend’s wedding. Then I saw the ‘kiss the bride’ photo, and thought, what is he doing kissing his friend’s wife?
I guess he really did get married. Though he was something of a ladies’ man, and once told me he’d slept with 300 women “- and that’s low-balling it. That’s like, the number I tell my girlfriend.” I didn’t believe him of course, but he had seen a few things. But when he was drunk, he used to always talk about his sweetheart ex-girlfriend of four years. He always wanted a relationship. Perhaps a cruel irony would be if he really had slept with 300 women, wanted to be in a relationship with every one of them, and afterwards they refused.
“He did. The thing about Disco is, he’s a serial doter,” said Hawk.
Disco said to me once “Whenever I get a girlfriend, I just become so protective. I don’t want her seeing anyone. I just see her every day and don’t let her see anyone else.” I thought it was sick, but I laughed. “Straight to the dungeon,” I said.
“That’s right, the dungeon,” said Hawk. “I haven’t seen him or heard from him since he got married.”
“I always had such a good time with him… when he was in a good mood.”
Disco would come up to me at the Belmore and say “Man I just heard this guy talking shit about you. He said: ‘See that fairy dancing on his own in the smoking court. I’m going to go up and punch him.’ So I said, ‘You do that, and I’ll smash your face in, you useless sack of shit.’ I got your back man!”
I said thanks, and I knew that this was Disco showing his love for me in a backwards kind of way. However I knew nothing was ever going to happen – it never did. I’d been out in Maitland dancing on my own like a hippie on ecstacy for six years or more, and no-one ever did shit. In more recent years, I think some guys might have came up to me planning to do it. The conversation would go something like:
“Hey buddy.”
“Hey man, what’s up?” Smile beaming 1000 watts, grabbing his hand to shake it. “Aren’t you friends with Xxxx. Good to see you man, hope you’re having a good night.” How do you stay angry when you’re faced with that? You’d have to have a heart the size of Phar Lap’s, pumping pure formaldehyde. Nobody ever fucked with me, and rightly so.
After my parents had gone to sleep on Friday night, I went out to the Belmore. I saw some girls from my year in high school, except they weren’t really girls any more – they were twenty-seven and had rings on their fingers. Everyone else at the Belmore, though, had only gotten younger. I was standing in the middle of an alcohol-fueled play-pen… yeah.
Second cold approach of the night, I was talking some shit about coming in from Melbourne for a romantic weekend – only problem was, I came alone. The girl, Yvette, was giving me terrible body language, but – let’s face it – a girl has to be pretty explicit with me to get me to leave her alone. Every time I turned to face her, or turned her to face me, she would revert back to gazing to 82 degrees to the left of me. She was still laughing at my jokes, but it was not a strong look.
But then, the clutch. Her friends came up and said they were going to the Brewery, and vamos.
“I’m going to the Brewery,” she said.
“Okay then. Have fun.” It’s about five minutes into the interaction. She doesn’t have enough invested in me for me to get her to stay, and I don’t have enough rapport for me to tag along with her. I figured I may as well get a make-out, because the situation isn’t looking promising. Kiss kiss, right cheek, left cheek. Make-out.
“Whoa…” she said as I released her. “Where did that come from?” Something had just been turned on that could not be turned off.
‘Okay… well… wow. I’m going to the Brewery.”
“Yep.”
“Pretty sure you should come with me.”
When you’re in, you’re in.
To the Brewery. Have a dance, a couple of beers. Hang out for a couple of hours, catch up with an old friend. Notice that every girl in Maitland that has any kind of boobs, has them bursting out of their tops.
Then it was time to go. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Uh… For a walk.” Logistics are not so hot for me. I forgot to put a condom in my pocket. I’m staying at my parent’s place in the spare room, on the lower bunk of a double bunk bed… At least no one was sleeping on the top bunk.
I didn’t really know what I was going to do. I wondered how my parents would react if I brought Yvette out for our Saturday breakfast of pancakes and sausages.
“Okay,” she said. She doesn’t care where we’re going, and she doesn’t care that I don’t even know where we’re going. “Just let me find my friends and say good night.”
We found her friends, outside. Lydia was waiting for her dad to pick up her and her friend/boyfriend/gay best friend, or whatever he was.
“Do you want a lift to your place Yvette?”
“Oh yeah, that’d be awesome.”
“Do you want a lift to Yvette’s place, Jones?”
“Uh… okay!”
“If it comes up, you two have known each other for at least a week. I don’t want my dad to think you’re a whore.”
“I’m not a whore!”
“Just play it cool, okay.”
I started making some conversation with Yvette about amateur theatre or something. She’s sitting on a brick fence in front of me and she starts kissing me. She’s pretty drunk.
“You know, you’re a really good kisser,” she says after an intimate moment.
“Thanks. I practise at home on my hand.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“I put lipstick on it and everything.”
Lydia’s dad pulled up, and I quickly asked “Lydia, what’s your last name?”
“It’s Johnston.”
I got in the car and said “Nice to meet you, Mr. Johnston.”
“Call me Geoff.”
I stayed cool, and I’m sure that Geoff had no idea that I’d only known Yvette for four hours. Though, I wonder how I even get into this situation when I’m twenty-six, and Yvette is (or claims to be) twenty-five. Her friend was obviously a lot younger. Still, I imagine what would happen if I’d got into the car and said something like:
“Hi Mr. Johnston. I just met your daughter’s friend four hours ago, and expect to be bending her over backwards within twenty minutes.”
All the people in that car whom I hardly know, whom I’ll probably never see again, who have no impact on my day-to-day life whatsoever, would probably hate me. Also, I might ruin my chances of getting laid that night – but somehow, I think it’d be worth it. I managed to restrain myself.
Got to Yvette’s house, met her housemate, went to the bedroom. Shit all over the bed, make-up kits, dresses, clothes, bras, tampons. Hm…
Yvette cleans it up, I lie down, she jumps on me like a wild thing.
We’re getting busy, still fully clothed. I’m rubbing up her thighs and lifting up her skirt to dry hump her for a minute or two. Then she goes and ruins it all by saying something silly like: “I need to pee.” Hm…
She goes to the bathroom and comes back. We resume our regularly scheduled programming, and I feel up her thighs.
“I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Do you always leave your panties off after you pee?”
“No, just some of the time.”
I fingerbang her for a minute, then I take my finger up and stick it in her mouth so she can suck on it, and she does.
I think I’m kind of in trouble, because she is going to want to get down so bad, and I don’t have any condoms. Remember, safe sex kiddies. Luckily, she has some stashed away.
We go for a while, but the sex is average because I’m so tired. While we’re in the middle of it, her phone rings and stops, two times. On the third time she says “Shit… I really have to get that.”
She hops off. She takes the call, and goes out the front door. I lay there on the bed naked, with the door half open.
There it is, on my dick… the strawberry surprise. I had to suspect the Communist flag was flying. Tampons on the bed + “I have to pee” (a.k.a. “I have to take my tampon out”) + …sucking my finger after I’d fingered her? I guess that’s kind of kinky. She probably reads Twilight.
Lying there on the bed, at 5 a.m., I nearly fall asleep about three times. I’m worried because I know if I sleep now, here, I’ll wake up at 1 p.m.
Eventually she comes back in, and I’m fully clothed.
“I’m sorry it took so long. My best friend was in trouble.”
“That’s okay. I have to go though. I told my parents I’d have breakfast with them, and they don’t even know I’m gone.”
I call a taxi and give her a hug and a kiss.
I woke up at about ten thirty and had breakfast with my parents.
I guess the main thing that has changed in Maitland is my friend Hawk.
“I’ve been doing a lot of shows lately. Nelsons Bay, Tamworth, Warners Bay. I like to put on a show. I bought a hazer the other day so I can make that fine mist you can’t make with a regular smoke machine. I own about $2500 worth of lighting equipment. When I get up there I’m always dancing and moving and shit.
“Sometimes, in the middle of a set, I’ve lined up a song perfect. The track is just building. It’s early in the night and the dancefloor is still empty. Thirty seconds before the track peaks, I launch out on the dancefloor and start shuffling my heart out. All the wallflowers and guys on death-row turn around and do a double-take. They’re like… wait, what… it’s the DJ!!! FUCK YEAH! I make an experience for the audience, like a live show. They love it. I get the best compliments from all the venue owners.”
By the way, you can listen to some free album-length electro/dance mixes by DJ Danç’s here.
{ 0 comments }
