Warning: Some Adult Content May Follow
I was sitting at a table in
the corner of the old sports bar on Darlinghurst
Street drinking bourbon and trying to forget—yesterday, last
week, my whole
life. Earlier I had been attempting to analyse some of my
previous mistakes and
come up with some sort of plan, to make things work a bit
better in the future. I
quickly gave up on that one, who was I trying to kid?
The bourbon was now doing its job.
It attacked the senses like ravenous
beasts on a fresh corpse, taking away all that I didn’t
currently need—which was
everything. Bourbon was my good friend. He’s been there for
me since I was 13,
and has never let me down. When I was drinking things always
seemed like they
were getting better. It was the perfect elixir—the true
potion of the gods. The
only thing that ruined it is when you stopped drinking, and
it’s impossible not to
sooner or later. The body eventually wants a meal, a sleep:
some fresh air. And
that’s when the problems start up again.
It was a hot Wednesday night in
Kings Cross. The air was thin and choking
everybody, all our heads were spinning through lack of
oxygen and everyone
was full of life, the dark skinned doormen at the pubs and
clubs were looking for
arguments and fights, the taxi drivers turned down crap
fares and honked their
horns as if necessary, filling the sky with a never ending
bleak toneless
symphony, the hookers wore gloves and bikini tops and mini skirts
and six inch
clear heels, with freshly bleached golden hair catching guys
like cheap bait
dangling in front of a baby fish, junkies sat drugged in
hidden corners—higher
than constellations, booze and conscious wrecked men in
suits stumbled home to
their crumbling families, tired police cautiously walked
along the strip—hoping
for a quiet night, teenagers tried to hustle drugs and beer
and talked tough to the
hookers, and naive tourists with stars in their eyes
photographed the huge Coke
sign and all the neon clubs, dressed in their finest, hoping
for a night to
remember.
I was sitting alone. I was a regular
at the sports bar. No one ever bothered me.
I really didn’t look like the kind of guy you’d want to
bother. I stood 5’11,
weighed over 200 pounds, with a flat stomach and arms full
of tattoos, covering
the muscles that stretched my skin. When I was younger I was
always the
strongest and most athletic kid at school. I never did
anything with it though. I
never had any desire to do anything worthwhile—broken
families do that to
people. Occasionally I went to the mixed martial arts gym
now and did some
training. It was great. Getting beat up by 20 year olds on
steroids, or even
sometimes beating them really made me feel good. I loved it
there: something
was happening, not much—but something.
I stood up and went to the bar and
got a couple more glasses of bourbon.
After that I returned to my small table and left the drinks
there. I then headed to
the toilet. Standing at the urinal I noticed some freshly
written graffiti.
Apparently there was a new guy in town called Steve, who had a big dick, and
wasn’t greedy with it. A mobile number was scribbled at the
bottom of the
message.
I saw a girl sitting at my table as
I approached it. She was natural blonde with
dark slacks and a light-blue long sleeve top on. She looked
out of place. You
didn’t normally see girls at this bar at all. Though you
rarely ever saw them with
so much clothing on on this street. “ Excuse me darling, but
you are sitting at my
table,” I said and she turned and gave me a thorough
examination with
unmistakably sad looking eyes. She was really taking her
time responding.
Looking at her carefully I realised she had a serious body
on her, though her face
was worn and weary. She tried to hide it under carefully
applied make-up. It
didn’t work though, how could it? It was her soul that was
battered—not her
skin.
“ I’m sorry. All the other tables
are full. Do you mind if I sit here for a while.
I promise I won’t annoy you,” she said.
“ I have never trusted promises.
Though I don’t mind if you sit here.”
“ My name is Liz.”
“ I’m Robert.”
“ You look like a football player.
Are you a football player?”
“ You got the wrong guy. Nothing
special about me baby.”
“ You and everybody else.”
“ What are you drinking?”
“ Vodka and lemonade.”
I went to the bar and ordered Liz a
drink. Shortly after I returned with the
drink and gave it to her. I sat and drained one of my two
glasses of bourbon.
“ You scared of alcohol or
something?” I said.
“ I really shouldn’t be drinking
tonight.”
“ Why not?”
“ It’s a long story.”
“ I don’t have anything else to do
right now.”
Liz gave me a long pensive look.
“ Alright,” she said. “ You really
want to know more about me. Well I work
down the street at Pinups. You know the place?”
“ Yea it’s that over-priced strip
club.”
“ I guess you could call it that.
Anyway I called in sick tonight.”
“ What’s that got to do with you not
drinking?”
“ Well the place is run by the
mafia. And if one of my bosses sees me here
drinking—I’m in serious trouble.”
I didn’t respond. I just looked at
her while I worked away at my glass. She was
starting to sound like my kind of girl. As I was looking at
her I noticed a change
on her face, like she was relaxing a little. She then
excused herself and went to
the ladies. I drained the rest of the glass then turned my head
in her direction.
When I did she was looking back at me from the entrance to
the toilets. I got up
and ordered more drinks.
She was completely different when
she returned from the ladies.
“ Did something happen?” I said.
“ One of my bosses just saw me.”
“ The mafia guy?”
“ Yea.”
“ Did he say anything?”
“ No he didn’t. That is what is
scaring me. I better go. I was just really tired
and didn’t want to work tonight. Though I don’t have a
choice now. Those guys
are really not good to get on the wrong side of.”
“ Hey screw that! You are with me right now. And no one is
doing anything to
you while you are with me. I don’t give a fuck who they
are.”
Liz gave me a long piercing look.
Then picked up her glass and drank it in one
hit.
“ So you are a real man,” she said.
We both stumbled along Bayswater
Road—well I was stumbling, Liz was
continually falling: luckily even in the state I was in my
reflexes were sharp
enough to catch her, and save her from the ugly reality of
the asphalt footpath.
Several hours had passed. It was just past 3am and we’d
recently been kicked out
of the sports bar.
“ You’re too drunk,” said Charlie
the doorman.
“ One can never be too drunk. Not in
this world anyway,” I said.
Charlie didn’t quite understand the
whole philosophy behind the statement. I
didn’t resist his request though. He was a good guy. We’d
occasionally have
drinks when he wasn’t working, and sometimes trained
together at the mixed
martial arts gym. I generally preferred not to train with
him. He was a Kiwi with
a body like a Mack Truck. It wouldn’t have been his call
anyway. The new bar
manager must have asked him to kick us out. He’s only been
in charge a few
weeks now and thought he knew it all. Give him a few more,
and he’d learn his
place, I thought to myself. It wasn’t so bad though. I had
Liz. She was some
woman. She talked about depression, broken family, failed
loves, failed dreams,
working crap jobs, and the occasional thought of
suicide--she was definitely my
kind of girl. And to top it off, she had a body you wouldn’t
believe. Charlie gave
me a big pat on the back and a wry smile as we left the bar.
“ Why did he do that for?” said Liz.
“ Cause we are good friends” I said.
“ I sure hope so. Cause if you think
you just scored with me, I am not that kind
of girl.”
“ I know baby. You are a real
lady--one of the rare ones. And I’d never do
anything to disrespect you.”
“ Now that’s better.”
We continued along Bayswater Road to
her apartment. She was getting worse
and worse. I was basically holding her up now. There was no
one much around.
It was nearly a deserted street, apart from a couple of
other drunks kissing and a
few junkies crashed out in doorways. “ I want to stop here
and rest a minute,”
said Liz, out the front of Bayswater Bistro. There were half
a dozen black and
white tiled steps that led up to the restaurant. I lowered
her onto one of the steps
and began kissing her. She responded eagerly. I worked a
hand into her pants,
past her panties and slid in a finger. It went in without
any resistance--she was
dripping wet. Liz let out a loud moan. I continued working
it around in there.
“ We can’t do this here. There’s
people around,” said Liz.
“ There’s no one around,” I said
while mounting her.
“ What about them,” she said
pointing behind me.
I turned around and saw a couple of
teenage boys standing a few feet away
from us with sheepish grins on their faces. I couldn’t believe
it. “ Is there a
problem?” I said standing up and moving towards them. They
both quickly
walked off into the darkness in silence. Liz stood up.
“ I’m sorry,’ I said.
“ Its o.k. The looks on their faces
when you stood up and spoke to them were
hilarious. They were terrified! Come here tough guy,” she
said kissing me and
sliding a hand in my pants.
We continued along. Eventually
reaching the gate to her building. It was
strange. Most buildings in this area were on the street.
Hers was back from the
street in a large courtyard surrounded by other buildings
and exotic looking
trees. I’d lived in the area for ten years and never even
knew that her
building existed, that’s how well concealed it was. Passing
through that gate was
like entering another world. You could probably do anything
in there, and
nobody on the outside would know about it.
We eventually made it up the three
flights of stairs to her apartment. It was a
one bedroom with four windows that looked at a brick wall.
It was pretty grim in
there, wouldn’t get much natural light. Liz excused herself
and stumbled off to
the bathroom. I had a look around the lounge room. She had
an impressive sound
system. Above which was a large reproduction of a Bosch
painting—full of devils
and nudes and death and sex. I looked through a few of her
c.d’s and found Black
Sabbath’s ‘Paranoid’. I put it on and turned it up to a good
volume. I was feeling
pretty good. I found a bottle of bourbon in the kitchen and
poured two highball
glasses—putting more in hers of course. She was some girl
and this was some
place. A girl like this could really shake up a guy’s life,
I thought to myself.
It seemed like she had been gone
forever. I went to the bathroom door and
knocked. “ Hey baby, when you going to come out--I miss
you,” I said. The door
then opened and there she was. I grabbed her hard and kissed
her greedily while
lifting off her top. I had problems with the bra. It just
wouldn’t seem to come off
for some reason. After a minute or so of fumbling around she
gently pushed me
back and took it off herself. She seemed to have sobered up
a little, well her
coordination had improved slightly anyway. I started licking
her tits--she had the
good ones with the big nipples. After my tongue worked them
a little they both
stood up like proud guards ready for anything. “ You like
Black Sabbath,” said Liz
as I worked my hand into her panties. I nodded. She led me
into the lounge room
and sat me down on the sofa. She removed her pants. She was
now in a skimpy
black g-string and brown cowboy boots. She began moving
around the room.
Doing a drunken rendition of a well-rehearsed dance of hers
for me. She was all
sex this girl. And her ass was so high when she had her back
to me I could see the
bottom of her pussy. She eventually worked her way back to
me. Thrusting her
panties against my face. I pulled them off violently and
began tonguing her thing.
It was light pink and tasted good. I started working on her
clit. She let out some
moans. I kept going as if possessed. She got hotter and
hotter. She was about to
cum and went to move away. I held onto her with all my
strength. Soon after she
let out a really loud dirty moan: no, it was actually more
of a scream. The whole
building must have heard it.
When she finished she kissed me then
pulled off my shirt and pants and
underpants and started working on me. She was no virgin that
was for sure. She
took that thing like an old hand with those expert lips. It
was really something. I
could hardly believe it. A strange thing was happening
though. It was really odd,
maybe I’d drunk too much, it didn’t normally effect me this
way though.
Regardless my cock wasn’t really responding. It just lay
there like a corpse, that
want’s nothing but rest. She continued working away though completely
unfazed. I sat there watching her head and mouth work and
work, to no avail. It
was starting to get embarrassing. “ Stop it,” I said calmly.
She kept going as if
oblivious. “ I said Stop It!” I said angrily pushing her
face away. I must have hurt
her. It looked like I’d hurt her neck when I pushed her. “
Why did you do that for
asshole! It’s not my fault you can’t get it up,” she said
with an expression on her
face that infuriated me. I looked at her intensely for a
moment. She sure had
some body. But the body couldn’t hide her face that housed a
soul that had been
torn again and again. She had such a weathered face. Who the
fuck did she think
she was? I lost control at that point. I stood up and
slapped her hard across that
weathered face. She screamed and fell. I then kicked her a
couple of times in the
stomach when she was cowering on her hands and knees on the
floor. She didn’t
make another sound.
She was bleeding from the mouth and
nose and sprawled out on the lounge
room floor when I left.
I awoke the following afternoon on
the floor of my bathroom beside a neat
pile of vomit. I cursed and slowly stood. I looked at myself
in the mirror. My face
appeared like it had gone a hundred rounds against Jim Beam
and lost. I looked
truly terrible. I could smell a strong aroma of pussy on my
lips then remembered
Liz. “ Fuck! What did I do? I have to be some sort of
complete fucking asshole to
have done that to her. Why? Why? Why? “ I thought. It felt
like a ton of bricks had
landed on my conscience, busted straight through the
foundations, and fallen
directly where guilt lived.
I found a small piece of paper with
her name and number messily written on
it in my pocket. I thought about calling it to see if she
was o.k. I agonised over it
for a while. Problem was if I did, I might end up in jail.
And that was somewhere I
really didn’t want to go. The thing was, I wasn’t sure if
I’d given her my number
or not. If I hadn’t I might be safe. I couldn’t remember
giving it to her. That poor
fucking girl!
The following week was a hard time
for me, I’d never really done anything
quite like that before, and didn’t know what the
repercussions would be. When I
was out or at work I was constantly looking over my
shoulder, and when I was at
home I anxiously awaited that hard knock on the door from
the police. I was
terrified I’d go to jail for it. That was really something I
didn’t want to happen.
Over the years I’ve drank on many occasions with men who had
been in jail, and
they all had the same dead look in their eyes. Like
something important had been
taken that could never be returned to them—not in this world
anyway.
Several weeks passed and I
completely forgot about the whole thing. I was
back to my usual angers over working long hours for never
enough pay, and the
helplessness of my entire life—no hopelessness, that’s a
better description.
I was at the gym one afternoon
training with Charlie when my mobile phone
rang. I was actually glad to hear it. He’d got a good
takedown on me and was
priming me for a choke.
“ I have to answer the phone,” I
said.
“ Your kidding man. You never answer
when you’re winning,” said Charlie
slowly letting go of my back in complete disgust.
“ When do I ever win,” I said
smiling.
I got the phone out of my gym bag,
accepted the call and held it to my ear. “
Hello,” I said and no one answered. I waited a few seconds
and still no answer. As
I was about to hang up I heard a slightly muffled voice
begin to speak. “ Listen
you bastard. You nearly killed me the other night.” Shit! I
thought. I gave her my
number. “ You should be in jail right now. It’s bastards
like you that ruin women.
Why did you do that stuff to me? I really liked you. You
seemed a bit better than
most the other guys.” I didn’t know what to say, what could
I say? I just wanted
to hang up, and get her out of my life. Problem was she had
my number. After a
long silence she spoke again. “ Come round my place now and
we’ll have a talk,”
she said then hung up. I guess I had no choice now.
I got a shower and left the gym. I
didn’t tell Charlie what was happening—the
less people that knew about this the better, I thought. I
walked from the gym on
Market Street to William Street. Walking up William Street
was the easiest way
to get to Kings Cross. It was the busy time of the day.
There were lots of cars at a
virtual standstill on the road—full of people desperate to
get home and forget
the day. The footpaths were crowded with hundreds of people
in suits leaving
offices and heading home or to bars, and the occasional
fitness group jogging. My
head was racing. What would become of all this? She really had
me. I was totally
trapped. Everything now was up to her. Thoughts and images
rushed through my
mind like a destructive whirlwind. I felt nauseous.
After what seemed like hours I
arrived at her door. She opened it before I
knocked. She must have been watching me through the
peephole. I greeted her
cautiously and she retreated to her sofa without responding.
I followed her and
sat as far away from her as I could. I fixed my eyes on the
floor. I could see her
looking straight at me from the corner of my eye. I didn’t
know what to do or say.
As far as I was concerned there really was nothing to do or
say. There was
nothing between us at all. We weren’t friends, and we
definitely weren’t lovers
either.
It was getting quite uncomfortable
in her lounge room. The atmosphere was
so tense if I had a sledgehammer I could have smashed the
air into thousands of
tiny pieces. It was becoming ridiculous. We’d been sitting
in silence for about 20
minutes now. Why was I even here if this was all she wanted
to do? “ Look Liz I
am going. I really don’t understand what the point of all
this is,” I said standing
and heading for the door.
“ Wait you bastard. You nearly
killed me the other day, and that’s all you have
to say.”
“ What were you expecting? Why did
you even call me?”
“ I wanted to see you again.”
“ After I beat you up.”
Liz went to the kitchen and came back
with two glasses.
“ You like American whiskey right?”
she said handing me a glass.
I took it and drained it.
“ Can I have that one too?” I said.
She handed me the other glass and I
drained it in one long bitter swallow. It
was strong stuff whatever she’d given me. Must have been
100-proof. It calmed
me slightly. I let go of some of my anxiety. This wasn’t so
bad really. She wasn’t
so bad. She kind of looked like an angel with that lazy
blonde hair and the white
shirt she had on. “ Look I am sorry. I am really sorry. If
you want to get the law
onto me, feel free. What I did was wrong,” I said sincerely.
She then hugged me
and began crying on my chest. I really didn’t know how to
respond to this, this
poor girl. We’d met at a bar and hit it off, ended up back
at her place, I beat her
up, and she didn’t know what to do. I felt truly awful. I
kissed her on the top of
the head. “ It will be alright. Everything will be alright,”
I said over and over. With
the hope that if I said it enough, it would actually happen.
Before I knew it we were both naked
on her bed. I was on my back and she
was on top. What was the point of resisting anymore? If this
was happening, it
was happening. I may as well enjoy it.
She worked away for quite some time.
It was pretty hot. She really had some
special hip movements this one. She was making all sorts of
noises. She was
totally getting into it. I was interested, but I just
couldn’t really feel it enough to
want to cum. After a while I felt myself going soft. It was
really no fault of hers: I
just couldn’t do this with her right now, for whatever
reason.
“ That’s it,” I said.
“ You came?”
“ No.”
She slowly got off me and gave me
this strange look. It really annoyed me.
“ What’s wrong?” I said.
“ Nothing,” she said in a smartass
sort of tone while standing up.
The way she said it made me angry.
What the fuck did it matter to her
anyway? If I didn’t cum, I didn’t cum.
“ Hey fuck you! “ I said.
She became furious. She lunged at
me. I pushed her away. She landed hard on
the floor. I got up and started getting dressed. As I was
putting on my shirt she
kicked me hard in the stomach. I was slightly winded. “
Jesus! What did you do
that for?” I said. She took a few steps back. Her eyes were
blazing. She picked up
a small gold Buddha off a shelf and threw it at me. It hit
me right on the forehead.
I suddenly saw a whole bunch of small lights dancing all
over the room. It must
have cut me: I could taste blood on my lips. She then
grabbed hold of me. She
held on desperately with all her strength. I head butted her
and blood streamed
from her nose. It looked like I had broken it. She stumbled
back slightly dazed
then lunged at me again—as if possessed by some unnatural
force. She looked
like an ancient warrior coming in for the kill. The
expression on her face actually
made me a bit nervous. I hit her with a hard right jab. She
dropped to the floor
without a sound. She was unconscious. I quickly left her
place. My white shirt
had blood all over it.
When I got to the street I took it
off and threw it in a bin I noticed out the
front of a convenience store.
Walking home the streets were as
silent as I’d ever heard them. All I could
hear was my pounding heart.
The next week I kept to myself,
never leaving my apartment. I quit my job. It
was time for a real change in my life, I’d decided. What I
had been doing was just
ridiculous. I couldn’t keep on living like this. Police or
no police, what was going
on was not good. I stopped drinking. I barely slept. And
when I did I just kept
seeing her bloody face unconscious on the floor. And every
time I did, I felt sick.
A few more days passed and I could
feel myself changing. I could feel myself
now yearning for something else: something different than
anything I’d ever
known. Was it possible? Who the fuck knows! But I was going
to try: I was going
to try my best.
I decided to start leaving my
apartment again. I immediately went to the
supermarket and got some groceries, and a bottle. I thought
I deserved it.
When I got back to my apartment the
door was open. Shit! I have been
robbed, I thought. It really wasn’t that unusual in my area.
It boasts the highest
concentration of junkies in the state. I had actually been
pretty fortunate so far,
I’d lived in the area for ten years and this would be the
first time—not too bad.
The thing was though: what if the thieves were still inside?
I mentally accepted
that they were. I put the shopping bags on the ground,
cracked my knuckles, and
slowly entered my apartment. It was night so there wasn’t
much light inside.
Luckily I’d kept all the blinds open, so it wasn’t pitch
black or anything, you could
still make everything out well enough thanks to the
moonlight. I couldn’t see
anyone in the living room or kitchen. I then heard a bang in
my bedroom, like
something had been knocked off a shelf. Must be in there.
Hopefully it’s just the
one. Will make things easier, I thought. I slowly moved to
the closed door. I stood
in front of it a few moments listening. I couldn’t hear
anything at all. They must
have heard me. They couldn’t have gone anywhere though:
unless they jumped
out of a two-story window. I kicked the door open and
couldn’t believe what I
saw. It was Liz. She was drunk and standing at the end of my
bed. She really
didn’t look well. “ What the hell are you doing here?” I
said turning on the light.
She looked at me thoughtfully though didn’t respond. I was
actually a bit
concerned. She was really out of it. She suddenly started
crying. I didn’t know
what to do. I just kept my distance. Standing in silence
observing her. I don’t
know how long it went on, I lost all sense of time, I
couldn’t seem to do anything
though: it was as if I was trapped in a bad dream, with no
control at all.
“ So this is it is it? This is how
you want it. You just want to dump me, like
yesterdays garbage,” she said angrily.
“ I don’t know what you mean Liz.”
“ Yea that’s right: you and all the
rest. None of you know what I mean. You are
all cowards. I have needs you know.”
“ We all do.”
“ You bastard. I thought you were a
real man. You’ve gone soft on me haven’t
you?”
“ What I did was wrong.”
“ What would you know? Everything is
wrong! Why change, nothing else
does. The wrong never does—fuck you!” said Liz and began
scratching at her
face hard with both hands.
The short tough nails penetrated the
skin leaving thin bloody trails running
down her whole face. I winced at the sight of it. It was
disgusting. It looked
completely natural for her though, as if it was a regular
action. She was getting
really wound up and began letting out random screams. I
stood there watching it
being acted out like a play, that I didn’t know my role in.
“ Well why don’t you hit
me now. Hit me NOW you bastard! Finish what you started:
kill me! I don’t want
to live. I hate this fucking life. It’s all a sham. It’s all
just bullshit. I don’t want it
anymore—just kill me, take me away from it!” she screamed
while continuing to
wound herself.
She soon became a bloody mess, she
looked like a car had hit her or
something; I had never seen anything like it before. Seeing
her like this was
terrifying to me. Though it was all starting to make sense
to me. She just wanted
to die, I suddenly realized, coming out of the dream like
state I was in. This whole
time she just wanted to die. She went looking for guys she
thought would do the
job for her, because she couldn’t do it herself. How many
had there been? Surely
it wasn’t only me. There must have been more. She was so
close to the truth she
was unnatural for this world. She knew what she really felt
and wanted—
needed. She was like a divine figure. Like an angel: an
angel of death, and
everybody she touched was destined for the same path, if
they played along that
is. My whole life had been a never-ending series of loss and
disappointment. That
started as early as I could remember. Things were definitely
bad for me, though I
imagined they were for most others as well. It was different
for her though; she
had no place here, no place at all. Everything was just too
clear to her, life was
beyond bad for her: it was truly impossible.
I made the decision to leave her. I
wasn’t responsible for this. It was way
beyond me. I turned around and left my apartment. I left
everything I owned, and
would never go back. I could hear Liz screaming for several
streets. Eventually
her screams blended in with the sound of the night. As I
walked along dark
familiar streets, hoping to stumble upon something new.
Photo: George Anderson (Waverley Cemetery, Sydney)
Bio: Brenton Booth lives in Sydney, Australia. His
poetry collection “ Punching The Teeth From The Sky” is available from Epic
Rites Press. To read more of his work visit brentonbooth.weebly.com
