Rent Boy
Author: James Anthony Ford
Date: 2016-07-25 04:00:00+00:00
Publisher: James Anthony Ford.

‘Rent Boy: Inspired by True Events’.

Written By: James Anthony Ford.

Contents

______________________________________________________________

Prologue

Chapter 1.......Just all Sex, Drugs and Rock ‘n’ Roll.

Chapter 2…..Sugar & Spice and all Things Nice

Chapter 3.......A Dance with the Devil

Chapter 4.......Getting Down to Business

Chapter 5.......A Prayer for the Dying; A Song for the Living

Chapter 6.......Head On

Chapter 7.......Sausage Rolls

Chapter 8.......It’s all about the music

Chapter 9……Four Parties and Almost a Funeral

Chapter 10......Rent boy.

Chapter 11.....An Urban Myth?

Chapter 12.....Life; or Something Like it

Chapter 13....The Special Two

Chapter 14....Personality Killed the Cat

Chapter 15....Punishment

Chapter 16....The Deed to be done

Chapter 17....Someone flies over the Cuckoo’s

Chapter 18…Apartment 666

Chapter 19…So who do you love now?

Chapter 20....The Final Chapter and it’s Only the                                                                                                                 Beginning

Epilogue

Any similarity to public figures, services, products or events are purely coincidental.

PREFACE

Writing this book was a cathartic experience when you write a suspenseful drama with some events inspired from real life.  I know, I know, it sounds like a cliché and a writer trying to be something they are not.  Well, to be honest, the latter may be true.  This story is from the point of view of just another Aussie guy, named as Jay Beau Andrews, struggling to come to terms with many things from childhood to manhood.  This story is not just about another guy who worked as a rent boy, or male escort, in the prime of his life, but it goes deeper than that.  Very deep.

This story is an uninhibited and very brave confession.

He considers himself as ‘rented’.  He feels he has been used for the sake of others gain without any real reward in return.

In a nutshell, he was a shy boy who was taken for granted by his stepfather who wanted a type of son he could never be, so he paid for it in the most brutal way.  This was kept as a painful secret until he reached the age of eighteen and fight back.  But soon the sense of revenge kicked in as much as his ego.

He never considered himself as attractive but he was always told he was.  Very much so that he became superficially obsessed, some may say possessed.  So what’s a boy to do when you want money fast, with ease, but most of all, to seduce other men he saw as his father figure?   He becomes a male escort and good one at that.  He becomes consumed in this world of being paid in cash and compliments; all the things a ‘real’ father should have done.

But a male escort has a short shelf life and retirement is way too early but inevitable. He retires in his thirties but he has make a living in the real world.  Suddenly he is on his own, maturing but wiser and faces the nine to five world. He just wants to develop a career and his own home.   But what occurs is the unthinkable.

Somehow his past has come back to haunt him.  Word has leaked about his past life working in the adult entrainment industry and he faces the cruellest bullying and discrimination.

He was labelled as a ‘whore’.  A word that hits so hard it is too painful to articulate.  He experiences this bullying from workplace to workplace and home to home.  It seems, and does, follow him wherever he goes.  It is not that he is ashamed of his past, he just wants to move on.  But most of all just live a decent peaceful life.

So what’s a guy to do?  Stand tall, be brave, and stand up for yourself.  But it all seems hopeless due to the stigma.

This story reveals everything and Jay does not hold back as what is revealed here is just a tiny speck of the actual shocking details.  There is light at the end of the tunnel but which one?

The finale will either surprise or shock you.

But then again, the brutal truth normally does both as the damage is done.

Not just yet.

…………………………………

Chapter one.........Just all sex, drugs and rock n’ roll.

‘Freakazoid Nightclub’, Melbourne, 15th February 2000, 12:15 am

Another night, and day, of hard-core clubbing was approaching second by second, as he sits in the back of a Melbourne taxi, craving the anticipation of sex, recreational drugs and underground house, deliberately compensated from rock ‘n’ roll.  The city street lights glow like oversized orbs, and life was awesome and inflated, almost overwhelming.  The mirror reflects a neatly presented masculine guy who has a taste for designer clothes and hair gel.  According to society this labels your sexuality, but he disagrees firmly as he faces the glistening glass.  Overall he did not wanted to wanted, but more like wanted to be needed and craved.

This guy was just an Aussie bloke and constantly consciously told himself of this fact.  He saw himself as a cool ‘straight acting’ guy masking his discrete thirst for a random masculine body up against his.  Only a few minutes in some back alleyway, in a rough tumble, was enough.  Enough to still sustain his masculinity, and ‘coolness’, and deny the fact he likes guys too.  He is not gay, nor straight.  Whatever he is, there is no label for it, though he knew in reality what it was.  Reality is absent tonight though.  So, whatever.

He snaps out of this hypnotic thoughts of what could happen this night.  His grinding jaw and jittery legs, influenced from the chemicals flowing throughout his sculptured physique, created even more anticipation for the euphoria he knows he was about to endure.  But it could not come fast enough.  So he perseveres with his patience before his trance-like thoughts were interrupted by ‘nosy’ cab driver.

“So what’s on for tonight?” says the taxi driver as he takes a glance in the rear view mirror.  There was only way to describe it with a slightly aloof stare.

“None of your business mate.”

No reply from the cab driver apart from a raised eyebrow.  It was a gesture like ‘Freak’.  But probably because he had no idea what he meant, nor was he meant to.  He is not with the ‘in’ crowd.

This determined hunger for attention and euphoria dominated on this guys’ mind as he continues to sit in the back of the cab, edging to enter underground party paradise.  Feeling quietly confident, and mildly anxious, he licks his lips as the subtle rush of sexual adrenaline flows freely through his body.  He knows all eyes will be on him as he enters the dark, smoky club, with the slight scent of sex in the muggy midnight air of Melbourne’s odd summer climate.

He anticipates the spontaneous vivid strobe lights, in-sync with the base of the music, and being squashed amongst a mass of sweaty bodies on a dancefloor, all adding to chemical energy just starting to erratically pound through his body.  He is on the verge to another night of debauchery, reminiscent of last weekend.

He arrives, pays the driver and departs the cab.  His eyes are sharply directed to the entrance of the club, that iconic red velvet rope of privilege.  He does not walk, he does not mimic Travolta, nor does he need to.  There’s a queue outside but this is no issue as all it takes is a quick flash of his sculptured abs and he is ‘in’.  He looks cool and content.  He is handsome, as everybody tells him, even though deep down, he does not think so.  But if people say he is, then it must be true, so he goes with the flow and flaunts it.

He is twenty six years old but everyone says he looks younger than that.  He guesses it may be a compliment, but perhaps they mean he is baby-faced, which clearly he believes he is not.  Nor did he want to be.  The age of twenty six is everyone’s prime age, and this guy knows how to take advantage of youth for his own personal gain.  The world is his oyster and being in your twenties is the only time you can do that.  That’s what he believes anyway.

He considers himself, and wants to project an image of Aussie masculinity, with a touch of style.  If that, was at all possible.  He does try to impress though, which in reality is a sad fact.

At the moment he has the looks, clean shaven, good taste in designer clothing but with a touch of masculinity, and has the body, but an attitude to create ambiguity.  He is bursting inside like a party time bomb.  Any trigger would set him off into a euphoric tsunami.

As he gets closer to the club he flexes his biceps and chest to ensure they are pumped up; ready to be admired, like always.  His vest is slightly open but the intention is to rip it off as soon as he approaches the entrance to heaven.

Then he arrives; feeling like a rock star and ready to rumble.  Nothing can upset him tonight and nobody would dare to get in his way.  Already he approaches the entrance which is identified with vivid sporadic flashes of white light and the slight scent of smoke coming from the club.  The bass could be felt through the concrete.  Then, the sounds of Melbourne’s clubbing scene, begins to surface.  In the distance, this was the first sound of a masculine sounding bouncer expressing his authority amongst an anxious bunch of ‘non-member’ clubbers; waiting to get in Melbourne’s coolest club at this time.

The beefy bouncer takes charge of the outside mass of ‘wanna-be’s;

“If you guys don’t line up properly, then ya not fuckin’ getting’ in…get it?!”

“Line up against the side of the wall….. and stop fuckin’ around!” , he continues with angst but with a sense of cheekiness.

“If ya not a member…..then ya gotta wait, so shut the fuck up!”

Then some girl in amongst the queue yells out, “Do blow-jobs count?!”  Not much of a response from the other patrons in the queue as they were all probably beginning to ‘peak’.

Then a slow reply by the bouncer, “I’m not gay at this hour.  Try again once it kicks in!”

As he walks slowly around the queue he hears the chatter of the waiting clubbers outside.  He takes off his top and stuffs it in the back of his jeans pocket.  His perfectly buffed, muscular and slightly oiled up torso glistened in the moonlight and caught everyone’s attention.  He plays it cool, trying not to look phased by the attention he was getting.  The thick gold chain around his neck complimented his perfectly sculptured chest and abs.  He looked like a super-star, even though he is not.

He slowly makes his way to the entrance with a very cool strut, consciously careful not to look like a ‘tosser’.  He catches the eye of the hot looking bouncer where every weekend they have innocently flirted with one another.  He is muscular blonde, and tanned, and very masculine; just his type even though he also likes a hot girl once in a while.  The keyword which was the epitome of sexual attraction was masculinity, not ‘bogan-like’, but manly-chic’ and ‘unpretentious’.

After a couple of years they have still not had an opportunity to fuck.  Perhaps his attitude got in the way of this.  He will never know.

He can suddenly feel the thumping of the bass more intensely through the concrete. The music sounded awesome and his heart began to beat faster, almost in rhythm with the tunes.  His ‘e’ was beginning to kick in and his adrenaline was pumping and he was hot to trot.

The hot bouncer always innocently flirts with this guy and lets him straight in the club without waiting in the queue.  The bouncer noticed him approaching and he could feel his sexy stare.  The bouncer began to lick his lips he got closer.

The coolest of cool in Melbourne’s underground club land was here, and the next step is getting in without paying a cent.  That would be a breeze, he thinks to himself.

Taking a moment to be real, he knows he is a ‘wanker’, pretentious, and one with a lot of attitude.  But why?

But right at that time at the age of 26, he didn’t give a toss.  He did look hot, even though deep down he knew he was not.  This superficiality was the perfect mask of some sort of denial.  Nothing mattered anymore except sex, drugs and underground house music.

The bouncer subtly checks my pockets to ensure his cash and drugs, ecstasy and speed, were tightly squashed in the edges of the pockets just to confirm their security.  Totally out of so-called ‘security’ policy he smoothly feels his athletically muscular bod from his abs to his impressive chest and admires it with a smirk for just a second.  He was ready for action and anything goes.

His eye contact with the bouncer made his heart beat just that little bit faster in unison with the thumping beat of the music from the club.  It was making him horny with the ‘e’ just starting to take control.  It sounded like it was rockin’ inside and totally goin’ off.  He was getting excited and felt sexy.

The process of just getting inside seemed like a lifetime, the clubbers in the queue began to look at him up and down with sexy looks.  He can hear guys and girls mumble to each other with comments like;

“Yum”, “He is hot” and “Come here baby”

He loved it.  He craved for it.  He thought he was it; the one that every guy and girl wanted to fuck.  But he wanted to be untouchable and had an attitude.  He was a hard-core underground clubber and this territory was his.  He couldn’t give a shit for love or romance; in fact, he never knew what love really meant.  His theory was ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em; especially when it came to men.

He loved a hot looking guy that was attracted to him but he also hated their guts.  He loved the superficiality of a hot looking guy, or girl, but despised them.

This was the beginning of a typical Saturday night that led into another drug fucked Sunday that led into a week of ‘coming-down’ hell.  That was the down side but right there and then. But he was not concerned about it.  After all, what goes up, must come down.  Or does it?

“How ya doin’ man?” The blond bouncer said in a sexy, masculine voice.

“Yeah….cool,” he says with a half cute, and sexy smile.

He un-clicks the velvet rope and the clubbers in the queue look at him like he was some sort of special guest, or celebrity.  He is not.  Not yet.

The bouncer gently patted his bum as he walks in, as a bit of innocent flirting.

“See ya in there later, yeah?” the bouncer said.

“If I’m lucky….I guess so,” he replies, trying to play it cool.

“If I’m lucky you mean?” The bouncer replied with a cheeky smile.

He walks inside the club corridor in as the bouncer licks his lips again.  Every Saturday night they meet each other at the entrance and he lets him in every time without hesitation.  The general rule is; if you’re hot, you’re in.  It was that simple.  You had to be a ‘somebody’ to walk into Melbourne’s coolest clubs, past the crowds.  But the reality is, is that he was a nobody.  But nobody realised that, he just went along with it.  He pretended to be a super-star when he was really a void.  He was living in somebody’ else’s skin and he seemed to lose touch with his actual internal emotions.  Yet at this time of his life, he didn’t care.  Everyone thought he was ‘somebody’ due to his looks and perfect sculptured abs and chest.  But he was hiding something and it was brewing inside.

This superficiality of this cool club is what made it ultra-cool and allusive.  This place was a meeting place for Melbourne’s clubbing elite.  It was almost an ecclesiastical event in a clubbing sense.

The first steps inside the club had a pounding beat that thrusted throughout his body.  The music sounded hot.  This was real underground deep house at its best.  This was no mainstream, commercial ‘Top 40’ crap and there was not a ‘bogan’ or ‘normal’ person in sight.  Although there were bars inside, the clubbers choice of beverage was the famous over-priced ‘raspberry water’.  Clubbers rarely drank alcohol but if they did, it was not much.  That’s probably why there was never any violence in these clubs.  It was all peace, love and happiness.  Think about it.

This was a club that only accepted beautiful people.  There was no such thing as ‘gay’ or ‘straight’, in fact, there were no labels in the cool clubs.  Everyone seemed to be bisexual as it was the cool thing to be.  It was all mainly thanks to the magic pill; Ecstasy.

He makes his way to the ticket payment counter.  The ‘faggy’ acting guy behind the counter looked him up and down and said;

“No you’re right luv……on the house”

He smiles, but it was fake.   He thinks he wanted something in return.  He had no hope.  He does not go for effeminate guys but he appreciates the free entry.

“Thanks buddy,” he replies in an assertive and masculine voice.  Then with no time to waste he walks on into the club in a very cool way.

He walks past a few clubbers walking past him, totally peaking on their ‘e’s’ and making sexy compliments about him.  He ignores them in an aloof manner even though he loves it.  Then he enters paradise.

The darkness of the entrance corridor broke into a warm room flashing with sparkle and smelt like sex, drugs and rock n’roll.  Except in place of the rock n’roll was the best house music in town and a DJ that was tearing the place apart with a bass-line that moved your hips like a remote control.

He overlooks a sea of half-naked, sweating bodies, guys and girls, swinging their hips to the pumping tunes.  This was his place and it was all his; so he thought.  He was in the mood to party and do it hard.  He is a hardcore clubber and he made his presence known at every appearance.

He tries to contain his excitement by looking cool.  People on the dance-floor stare at him as he makes his way to the dance floor.  He does not know where his clubbing friends are and he didn’t care.  His ‘e’ was beginning to get more powerful, permeating into every part of his buffed body, with intense power and all he wanted to do was dance.

He makes his way to the centre of the dance-floor amongst a bundle of hot muscular guys.  Their half-naked warm, sweating bodies gently rub up against each other.  It was like ‘accidental’ as the floor was packed, but it was deliberate flirtation.  He subtly dances his way into the middle as he felt a hand or two touching his arse and wiping their hand over his chest and abs.  He shows an aloof sign of attitude as if to say;

“Fuck off; look but don’t touch”.

But he loved it.  He loved the attention.

He never understood why he gave guys so much attitude, but not towards girls.  Guys turned him on, yet he always wanted to display dominance and he hated them.  It was not jealously, it was like he had some sort of grudge against them.

As the drug gets more and more intense he felt like sex on legs but all I wanted to do was dance.  The sporadic flashes of strobe lights and the odd spray of glitter over the crowd made it feel like he was in heaven and he felt like a superstar.  All eyes were on him, so he thought, and he wanted more.  It became overwhelming for him but he persevered.  The body heat on the dance floor began to make sweat drip down his chest and abs.  It felt good.  It was unbelievable.

As he swings his sexy hips with his trademark moves, that always caught the attention of everyone surrounding him, he hears a familiar faint scream in the background.  It was his best friend at the time; his best clubbing buddy; Kim.  She calls out his name repeatedly over the top of the loud music.

He instantly recognized the lovable scream and turned around to hug and kiss her like a best friend would.  Kim was a stunning Asian beauty with a personality that lit up any room.  Everyone loved her.  Everyone also thought that he and she were an item.  They never were; they were just best mates, so to speak.  She had a boyfriend anyway who was also a lovely guy too.  He too was also a bit of a muscular ‘hotty’ as well, but he never told Kim that.  He was also just one of his clubbing friends along with the rest of his crew.

Every weekend it was all six of his friends, clubbing and partying together.  They usually arrived at the clubs separately and met each other there and usually left together to a recovery club at nine am, or even twelve pm on a Sunday.  They partied hard, and non-stop.  They were out of control but in control.  It was the clubs, dance parties and the chemical induced ‘love’ that bonded their friendship. It was quite superficial but they actually loved each other’s company; mainly if they were in a club or dance party.

Kim stepped onto the dance floor with her shiny back knee-high boots, and wearing a tight pair of hot-pants that would even make Kylie Minogue envious.  He looks at her smiling face as they both dance towards each other and then hug each other tightly.

“Your eyes are huge,” Kim yells into his ear over the top of the pounding music.

“Yours too baby,” he yells into her ear as the music was so loud.

“No I already had one!” Kim replies as she couldn’t really hear what he said.

“No I mean your EYES are big too!” he yells a bit louder in Kim’s ear so she could                             hear.

“Oh…uh….I think it’s after midnight!” Kim replies with a confused look on her face.

He shakes his head, laughs a bit and gives up as she was probably already out of it and she can’t hear over the loud music.  So he just smiles at her.

“Your eyes!” Kim yells.

“What about ‘em?’ he replies

“But they are still gorgeous…..just like you,” she replies with a genuine smile.

He gives her a friendly kiss and she pops another ecstasy pill into his mouth.  This was his second one and thought it may be too much.  But he thought “Stuff it”.    Kim’s boyfriend was watching them both from the edge of the dance-floor.  He never shows a look of jealousy but he was really watching them like hawks.  He trusts Kim; but not really.  Their relationship was a bit of a contradiction.

They begin to dance opposite each other as Kim innocently places her warm hands over his chest and slowly slipping them down his washboard abs.  He knew it was just Kim’s innocent and friendly flirty behaviour.  But he also knew that there was something sexual about it too.  They never spoke about it, but they would be lying if there was no hint of sexual attraction there.

As the night progresses and the drugs were doing their best, the music appeared to get louder and louder.  The lights filled the room making it look immaculate.  The energy and love in the club was so intense that it permeated into a warm fuzzy feeling all over.  It was like having a constant orgasm for hours and hours.  He didn’t want it to stop and could not wipe the smile off his face.

The bass also seemed to get harder and faster as their hearts pumped parallel to the beat.  Or perhaps it was the drugs?  Then Kim’s boyfriend’s ‘e’ kicked in, and then he jumped in between them to surprise them and a friendly gesture, he hugged them both.  They couldn’t stop dancing and the music was so loud that it was no use to even try and chat.  Before they knew it the rest of the group of friends came one by one on the dance floor, hugging and kissing each of them.  They were all so out of it by this stage that they didn’t speak.  They just danced and smiled.  Finally the ‘party-crew’ were all together.  Melbourne’s hard-core party animals and boy, did they know how to party.

By 3 am the intensity of the club got steamier and sweatier.  The floor was covered in talcum powder and sweat.  The white’s in everyone’s eyes glowed and every clubber in the room had a subtle smile on their face, some with their eyes rolling back in their heads with extreme euphoria.  The room was filled with love and it overwhelming. He felt like he had died and gone to heaven and it felt so damn good and sexual.

He kept thinking to himself that he wish I could feel like this forever.  They were all in eye distance of one another but all dancing in a world of their own.  His mind in euphoria began to wander and suddenly he had a flashback about a time his father slapped him across the face.  His smile slowly dissipates into a frown and the flashbacks kept creeping into his head.

Then he thought of the time his father raped him in his sleep.  He will never forget that horrible trauma and this is a secret he has been keeping for so long.  He hated him and visualising his face made him physically sick.  He could hear his father’s voice in his head calling him those awful names he always used to call him.  Words like;

“Poofter!”

“Arsehole!”

“You little ungrateful bastard!”

He guesses that would account for his hatred towards men.  Pretty obvious now; isn’t it?

He tries to erase it from his head but he thinks his ecstasy pill was wearing off which was causing the horrible thoughts.  So he pops another ‘e’ on the dance-floor.  He had to; just to make him happy again.  It was a pathetic act but he never gave it a second thought at the time.

His clubbing friends were kind of scattered around the jam packed dance floor, but they were all in eye distance of each other and as they dance their arses off they smiled at each other.  It was like talking without sound.  They knew what each other was thinking.  They felt immortal; like nothing can hurt them.

The music tempo got heavier and more full-on as they switched from deep house to tech house.  This was house music with a ‘techy’, and sexy, edge to it.  They called it dirty house.

This club is all about house music.  But not just any old house music.  No ‘Top 40’ commercial crap either!  They play dance music on the radio and have the nerve to call it house.  How dare they!  This was like true clubbing blasphemy.  This club has seen ’real’ house DJ’s like Ralph Falcon, Frankie Knuckles, Derrick Carter and Danny Tenaglia.  These are talented DJ’s with the tunes to rock the house down and they do every time.  Apart from the drugs it was all about the music.  It had to be cool and only underground.

‘REAL house’ music is underground stuff.  Chicago house, Detroit house, hard house, deep house, garage and the one that makes the room go off; tech house with a dirty, filthy, sexy bass-line that pumps and thumps, and feels like sex.  This was underground house at its best and only at this club at that moment would you hear this fantastic underground hip swinging music that rocked your soul.

At the peak of their pills they thought it was time for another and all six of them, in unison, just popped another pill on the dance floor.  Everyone else seemed to do the same.  It was like they were the leaders of the club; like they were in charge and the other clubbers just followed the ‘cool-crew’.  The gram of speed he snorted hours ago was still in full force and made the effect of the ecstasy more intense but fantastically euphoric that it is hard to articulate such a great feeling.

He was also told by people around him on the dance floor about how much of a good dancer he was.  He will admit to that though; he actually was and it certainly got many clubbers attention.  The more euphoric he felt, the more awesome the music seemed to get.  He was dancing out of control but with smooth sexiness that guys could not help but place their hands on his body.  A small handful of guys stared at him with a dirty look; like they were jealous of his rock hard abs and bulging chest and biceps.  He couldn’t give a fuck though.  Many of them were ‘hot-as’ but he resisted.

He had a thing for giving a bit of attitude to guys, but with girls, he loved the attention and never fobbed them off.  He really likes only straight or ‘bi’ guys.  Any sign of flamboyance would make him feel sick to his stomach.  It was like he craved the attention of men but hated them at the same time.  It never occurred to him at that stage why that was the case.  He flirted a little as well with the guys, and with a slight bit of attitude he later tells them to “Fuck off”.  It felt like it gave him power and dominance.

He just wanted to dance and that’s exactly what he did until 6 am when all six of them chilled out in a dark corner of the club, snorting more lines of speed, and popping more e’s with raspberry water.  Suddenly Kim jumps off the couch with a burst of energy.

“Recovery peoples!!!!” Kim shouts as they were lying all over each other on                             one of the clubs velvet couches.

“Uranus!.....let’s go……paaaaarty…!” someone shouts.

The rest of the crew giggle with excitement and they danced their way out of the club, hand in hand in a chain, like they were all linked together as friends.  They were Melbourne’s clubbing elite.  Then surprise, surprise; they all took another pill.

They catch a taxi off St Kilda road.  The cab driver looks at them strangely as they all packed in.  All six of them squashed in like sardines.  Their sweaty bodies rubbing up against each other and they were in such a good mood.  It was daylight and it felt so good to be alive.  He wished he felt like that forever.

Kim’s boyfriend took out a couple of packets of speed and gave each of them some in the palms of their hands.  They just gulped it down.  The cab driver noticed and slows the cab down slightly.

“No doin’ drugs in my cab!” he yelled in an Indian accent.

“It’s not drugs!....they ARE…… vitamins!” Kim replies in an assertive but friendly                             voice.

They all tried not to laugh but the idiot cab driver actually believed her.  How naive people are in society, he thinks to himself.

As they drove down commercial road that led to the recovery club he sees pedestrians on the footpath.  They were young happy families wandering down the street.  It looked harmonious.  Kim said “Oh my god, have a look at all the ‘normal’ people!”

“Yeah….its pathetic….and sooooo boring,” Kim’s boyfriend replied in an ‘out-of-it’                             voice.

They all laugh with a drug-fucked giggle.  He laughs along with them whilst he was really thinking what it must be like to have a son or daughter that you love and care for.  He looks at the young families on the street with both admiration and jealously.  He knew he would never have kids and he didn’t really have the desire to.  He just wished he had a loving father.  He never had that experience of playing football or cricket with a loving dad.  Nobody, not even his clubbing friend knew about his secret.  This was a missing piece in his life and he hated himself for it.  He was totally ashamed not to have had a real father figure that actually loved him.  He only received the love of my mother who adored him, and he adored her.  He was, and is, a mummy’s boy and that boy was me; Jay beau Andrews.

‘Uranus Recovery Club’, Prahran, Melbourne, 15th February, 2000, 6:25 am

In a few minutes they arrive at the recovery club called ‘Uranus’.  Strange, clichéd name for a nightclub, but it was the ‘in’ place to be when you were cool and still partying.  This was the perfect time to arrive when the club is pumping.  Anybody who arrives at this club earlier than 5 am was considered uncool.  This sudden excitement immediately eradicated any bad thoughts in his mind and it was ‘slap-bang’ into party mode. This was one club that was considered the coolest of the cool during that time.  It was a spin-off club from the infamous ‘Tasty’ nightclub that got closed down from that controversial drug raid.  But Uranus was unique.  The rear back alley entrance was like a lead way to a dirty, sexy house of hard-core clubbers, and only the ultra-cool would be allowed to go in.

They never had to wait in a queue.  The general rule was if you were beautiful and the bouncer liked you, you were in.  They were always in, as they were considered part of the beautiful people of Melbourne’s party scene.

Once inside from the burning summer sunshine they walk into a dark passage that led to a packed out room of hot bodies, models, famous actors; Melbourne’s elite people were here.  All in a world of their own and dancing their arses off.  They never wasted any time and went straight to the dance floor.  The music rocked and then it was the thought of the fact that they survived another Saturday night, and now it is just after 6 am on a Sunday, made the feeling like an achievement.

The room was always very dark with the odd flash of a strobe light.  It dirty, sexy, filthy, somewhat tacky but in a very cool way.  It was Uranus; and this was the place to be on Sunday morning; trashed out of your mind and partying till you drop; literally.

A hot guy and what looked like his girlfriend made eye contact with him.  The hot guys eyes were glued to his pumped up and bronzed torso.  He was also solid and muscular, blond and tanned.  She was thin and tanned and long blond hair.  He wanted to fuck them both right there and then but he plays it cool and acted aloof.  He just wanted to dance anyway.  They both subtly dance closer towards him and he turns his back to the guy as he places his hands on his chest.  He got goose-bumps all over.  His girlfriend from behind began to nibble his ear and whispered

“You’re hot”

“You into threesomes?” she said in a husky voice.

“Yeah…..but right now…..I am dancing,” he replies with a subtle bit of attitude.

The hot guy squeezes his pec muscles from behind, and then gently rubs his hand on his crotch.  He could feel his hard-on on the back of his bum through his jeans.  It was turning him on something shocking.  He thought I was going to melt.  He was in complete and utter heaven and thought he was going to die.

In an instant moment of action he patted his bum and nodded his head at the hot guy, towards the men toilets.  Discreetly he follows him in.  He waited by the wash taps until the other clubbers emptied out of sight and they both stood at opposite ends of the men’s room staring at each other for a few moments, but feeling a sense of guilt.  Without even thinking they rush into a toilet cubicle and they immediately jumped in.  The hot guy slammed the door behind him.  They both began to breathe heavier and the intensity grew to a point of utter and complete lust.  Then they just went for it.  It was the hottest, trashiest, steamiest sex you can imagine and the best twenty minutes they think they ever had.  Then it was over.

As they both pull their jeans up the hot guy said “Cheers mate”,

Then he walked back into the club; back to his girlfriend.  This was just another act of debauchery at this infamous recovery club, there was no gay or straight or bisexual.  Everyone was just sexual and un-labelled clubbers.  But he was out of control and couldn’t give a fuck.

……………………………….

Later he, the hot guy and his girlfriend danced together into some sort of clothed sexual act.  It was anything goes at this club so nobody cared.  There were so many dark corners that people used them freely to have full on sex in them and nobody cared.  People snorted lines of speed and cocaine on the bar.  People popping ecstasy pills, one after the other on the dance floor.  It was a day recovery club and everyone partied well into late Sunday afternoon.

In a spontaneous act of sudden impact he dances away from the couple and took a breather for a moment where Kim and her boyfriend were laying over a couch looking totally trashed.  They all look at each other.  They didn’t need to talk.  They were all too out of it, with a bit of a sore back but still feeling so good.  He sips his water with raspberry and felt the peak of his ‘e’ was starting to drop.  He looks at his watch and it was two pm.  It only felt like he was dancing for five minutes.  He thought he was crazy.  He probably was because of the drugs.  They all were.

The club began to slowly empty as well as the mood.  It was obvious that everyone’s drugs were wearing off and it was time to call it a weekend.  By four pm the club was almost empty but he just wanted to dance once more for the road; just to finish off the weekend.  His energy started to turn into wobbly legs and a slow decline in mood that felt like a wave of depression.

He began to get those horrible thoughts of his dad and the way he used to punish him, for no reason.  The flashbacks ranging from a slap to the head, the name calling or being whipped with a piece of rope came into his head in an anarchic manner.  He tries to look happy but couldn’t.  So he stops dancing.  Then the dance-floor was empty.  The six friends and he were spread out over the couches and on the floor totally trashed out of their minds.  This is the part they hated.  The come-down.

We just sat there looking into air.  They couldn’t speak.  They couldn’t think.  They felt like crap and they could not even bear to look at each other.  Then the music stopped and the lights in the club went up.  It was time to go home.

…………………………………….

4:50 pm he staggers inside his home that he was sharing with two other flatmates.  They were both watching TV and took a good look at him, totally trashed and walking with wobbly legs.  The music was still playing loud and clear in his head.

“Another big night I take it?” Andrew, one of his housemates, said.

“Can’t talk coming down,” he replies like a robot in a deep even tone.

He staggers upstairs to his room and sat on the edge of his bed looking into nothing.  He felt like a void.  But fuck did he have a good time.

“So…..that was another weekend…..that’s it……just another one……down and out…..so now what?” he whispers to himself as he looks into thin air.

He felt like it was the end of the world, yet he tries to cheer himself up he tells himself not to worry, as they would do it all again next weekend.  But that really didn’t make him happy.  He felt like an idiot.

His life at that moment felt like a mask; like he was hiding a secret that nobody knew.  He was not ‘all-that’.  He was not ‘Mr Universe’ as he pretended to be.  His life suddenly became a realization that he was in denial of a secret that he has been in denial for years.  All these nights and days of partying was an excuse to deny the fact that he had been traumatized.

He was twenty six years old.  Handsome and intelligent some would say.  But he really had no idea about his future.  He lived for the weekend as he felt free and got the attention that he had been craving for all his life.  Suddenly during this time he was admired.  He could not go on like this forever and one day the party is going to end; but when?

All this attention was manifested into an ego that nobody could understand.  Even his so-called friends, that is, his clubbing friends, tell him that he has an attitude problem.  He knew he did but he always verbally denied it.  He sits on his bed and thinks about his childhood to try and make sense of why he is, and what he is at that point.

Is he gay, straight, bi-sexual or just plain confused?

Is he really ashamed to have gay tendencies?  He feels like a total contradiction.  He knew he wanted to have sex with men, hot straight-acting men, and women, but he want to be considered just a typical Aussie bloke.

But most of all…….

Why is his life at this point all sex, drugs and rock n’ roll?  What is he hiding or denying?

He loathed the pain his father put him through and he cannot understand why he never had the courage to speak up about it.  He yearns for the day that he could get his ultimate revenge against him as he has never been legally charged as he had no witnesses or evidence to prove it.  He guesses that it was his own fault.

There are so many unanswered questions about why he did some of things he did in his life.  Mostly as a result of his traumatic past and the hell his so-called ‘dad’ put him though.  He had real dad though.  A naturalized father but never really knew him well enough though.

This first chapter was just a sample of ten years of hard-core partying and a high point in one man’s life with full force. But it was also the point in his life that he was living in denial and masking his internal pain.

That man; he was a drug-fucked clubber that once had the looks, the body, the sexy dance moves and knows underground house music like the back of his hand.  Personally I really admire him and his courage and really wished I had his looks, his admiration from others.  That is why I wrote about him as I envied and idolized him.  He was someone I dreamed to be like all my life.  I was superficially in love with him but inside I loathed him

Now, that is.

The guy that once had the washboard abs, and bulging chest that got the attention of almost everyone in every club.   The young guy, once handsome, that lived for the weekend, with no future in sight.  All that has gone now for him.  Those were the days when life was just so superficial and just one big hell of a party and friends with no substance.  But the one thing that this guy will never understand is why he has never experienced a true father.

But seriously, you have been reading about a totally shallow guy that was acting like a real ‘wanker’.

That guy was me.

Welcome to my life and as it was.  I am now past my thirties and no longer am that ‘hot party-boy’ that everyone admired; all that has gone now.  I am just another face in the crowd.

But I do look back at those memories of partying I cannot deny that they were probably the happiest time of my life.  It was the first time I had attention and could get anything I wanted.  But something was happening inside of me.

It may become clearer if we start from the beginning when I was six years old and was just an innocent little boy.

………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Chapter two…….Sugar & spice and all things nice

Christmas Day, 1980;

I was at the innocent age of six.  My brother Samuel was three.  My mother was picking the lint off my shirt as we were preparing to be picked up by our father.  We both lined up by the door with my baby brother by my side; and waiting.  I don’t know why, but I was nervous.  I kept thinking about kindergarten when the other boy’s dad’s dropped them off at kinder.  They hug their dad’s so tenderly and then they say;

“I love you daddy”.

The amount of envy I felt was immense.  But that is not to be confused with jealousy though. It looked so beautiful but strange that a father could show such affection to their son.  Is this normal?  I didn’t understand it.  I could never express my feelings to my dad.  I don’t know why.  Perhaps it was because my mother loved her two boys with all her heart that it was overwhelming?  Either way, I envied the kids with daddy’s at kinder. I just wanted to be like them.  I Just wanted someone to call ‘daddy’; and with pride.

My mother suddenly looked directly at me, holding both my shoulders and spoke words that changed my life forever.

“You don’t have to see him anymore, you know?”

I was confused.   Her loving stare into my eyes almost hypnotized, and excoriated some part of love from my soul.

“If you don’t want to see your dad anymore, then don’t......you live with me               now......we are the three musketeers, you, me and Sam; we will be a better family that               way” she said in a convincing, confident and soothing voice.

Again, I was confused, but convinced, in a curious sort of way.  Parallel to my confusion, I was thinking why my mother would say something like that.  I was too young to really understand the concept of a separated family through divorce.

Suddenly I hear the roar of my dad’s V8 rolling up the driveway, ready to pick up his two boys.  He jumped put the car, leaving the engine running and bolted up to the door with enthusiasm.  My mother slowly opened the creaking fly-wire door with a neutral look on her face, trying to avoid eye contact with my father.  Then she slowly opened the door slightly with apprehension but knowing that her two boys would obey her.  She wanted to eradicate every sign of our father; to wipe him out of our lives.  My father looked directly at me with a smile so big that he glowed.  It made me nervous and so very guilty that it overwhelmed me with feeling of numbness.  Without a second to spare I just opened my mouth like I was on auto-pilot, and spoke those words my mother wanted me to say.

“I don’t want to see you anymore!” I yelled whilst holding my breath.

I said it; just as my mother wanted me to.  I said it like I was not even thinking about what I have just said.   It just came out like I was programmed.  My mother had a smirk on her face and looked at me as if to say;

“Good Boy, Well done”.

My father’s excited facial reaction dissolved into an obvious feeling of internal rage.  He instantly turned to look at my mother.  My dad knew why I said what I said, but he said nothing.  The silence was deafening.  My brother remained silent but innocent.

My dad with a pile of Christmas presents in his arms shoved them into my chest and said in an eerie, but soft voice directly to my face:

“MERRY BLOODY CHRISTMAS THEN!”

Then he walked way and sped off in his V8.  That was the last I saw of him; Ever.

My little brother looked up to me with pride after our father had left.  I wondered why.  I don’t even think I knew the real meaning of what I had just said to my dad.  He’s my dad, yet I said goodbye.  I just wanted to make my mother happy.  I didn’t understand the real concept of the word ‘goodbye’.  I was too young and too innocent.  My mother was in charge of our little family now.

……………………………..

My mum loved her boys.  She really did, and it showed.  I was the first born in the family and I was spoilt rotten.  I had two bedrooms when I was a toddler.  One was where I slept and the other room was my toys room.  It was totally jam packed of toys, all the best toys money could buy at that time.  I also vaguely remember the love of my real dad.  He treasured his two boys.  I was the first born I the family and being his first son, it really made him shine with such pride.  I still have the photos to prove it.  But I don’t remember a lot about my dad, I was too young.  I was also too young to understand what really led to the divorce of my parents.  I felt responsible though.  I felt it was my fault that I was so spoilt.  The question still lingers in my mind to this day.

“Oh god, please tell me why I said goodbye to my father?”

I hate myself for that.  I am totally ashamed of it.  To this day I am still searching for him.  He seems to have vanished into air as I, and close friends, have exhausted every avenue to seek answers.

So in retrospect, I think to myself; “did I really not want a father figure in my life?  Or was I was seeking something else?  I think I was seeking the approval of my mother.  I became a mummy’s boy.  My mum was my world.  But there was a missing piece, obviously the father figure.  But I don’t know why, I saw a man as being intimidating, almost threatening.  Is that why I did not want to see my father?  Or was I beginning to realise I was different to any other boys and I did not want my father to see that side for the terror of rejection?  I always wondered why I preferred painting games to playing with toy cars.  I knew I was not normal to any other little boy, there was something about me that I was not sure about and yet to discover.

My aunties and uncles, and of course my parents, constantly showered me with toys, toys and more toys.  My Aunty Mary was my mum’s sister and she absolutely adored me like I was her own son.  She is also my godmother and I always saw that as a significant title, like she was a special part in my life.  My Aunty Mary was a hairdresser and very good one at that.  She is also a very innovative business woman and I still see her as an inspiration.  Aunty Mary is no longer part of our lives.  Her disappearance was not suspicious.  She simply wanted no more to do with our family.  We do not know the real reason.  But someone does, and it is not me.  To this day it is still a mystery but for some reason she has a grudge against my mother and there are so many unanswered questions as to why she cut herself away from our family, that it actually hurts me.  I had such a fondness for her and it was reciprocal.  I never did anything to upset her, but obviously someone did which is why she is no longer part of our family.  It is sad but true.

Naturally she always cut mine and my brother’s hair which was very generous. She was also a very attractive woman winning beauty pageants as a girl.  She was also very stylish and I always looked forward to our shopping trips with our aunty Mary.  I remember mum dropped my brother and I at aunty Mary’s during school holidays and she took us and her son, our cousin, Brendon, shopping down Toorak road and Chapel Streets in South Yarra to all the designer boutiques.  I loved those moments as a child.  She also used to take my brother and I to the Myers’s Christmas windows on Bourke Street in Melbourne and I loved those days.

But still, I’m not sure and nobody is really talking about Aunty Mary’s dissociation with the rest of the family.  It feels like she is rejecting us.  But why?  I’m not afraid to say it, but I actually do miss her and my cousin.  I wonder what they are doing now, and if they are okay?  It is strange how family’s can drift apart and you can’t find any real answers.  But you can’t dwell on it, you just move on.

I was also quite close to my aunty Jenny.  She was great and had a fantastic fiery personality having an Italian background.  I loved her and she also adored me and my brother.  I think I was her favourite which if true, is very flattering however I don’t think I deserve that title.  I remember one day when I was about 17 or 18, she said to me;

“If my boys could turn out to me half the young man you are; I would be so thankful”.

Her boy’s, were my cousins, and that comment I will remember for the rest of my life.  It was beyond flattering.  I was so proud.  Now though, we do keep in minimal contact but mainly Christmas.  They live in the countryside so keeping close family ties like we did when I was a child is hard nowadays.  But I don’t forget them, they will always be family.

…………………………………….

Back to when I was child and our father had disappeared from our lives, we became a family of three and mum was the breadwinner.  However we struggled for years.  But we never went without anything.  My mother always put her boys before herself.  I will never forget the day she was giving my brother and me our usual lunch money from her purse and I noticed that after she gave my brother and me our two dollars each for lunch.   I noticed that there was only a small handful of coins left.

“Where’s all your other money mummy...?” I asked with genuine concern

She paused, gave a slight sigh of bravery, and whilst holding back her tears she replied,

“Don’t worry about me...... I will get some more money next week”.

Pay day for my mother was a whole week away.  I looked at my mum with both admiration and sorrow. God knows how my mother handled bringing up two boys and supporting herself on her wage.  I was young but I understood that we did not have a lot of money and my mum always put on a brave face for her boys.  I will never forget that.  I still think of that moment of significant poverty and see my mother as a fighter; fighting for the survival of her boys.  That night I cried myself to sleep in silence and prayed to god that she will care for my mummy.

…………………………….

As a family now of just my brother, myself and my mum as the breadwinner, we went from flat to flat, unit to unit, suburb to suburb.  For some reason we just could not find a stable long term place to live, although we always had somewhere to call home.  We were also always close to our grandmother, we call Oma, which means grandmother in German, and our aunties and uncles.  My Oma always looked after me and my brother whilst mum was at work all day and she picked us up from primary school.  They were fond memories for me as I loved my Oma dearly and she adored my brother and I.  I used to remember the times I used to play my Oma’s German pop records from the 1960’s and ABBA vinyl records after school and danced around to them.  Embarrassing as I think about it now, but at the time, it was pure joy.  And yes, some of those records were ABBA records!  I also gave myself a lesson in German by singing to German records.  They were German popstars that were big in the sixties named ‘Lolita’ and ‘Freddy’ and I used to sing along to their songs.  In their songs included yodelling and if I think back at it now, “oh how embarrassing”, but I was just a kid having fun.  It was a good way too to learn a foreign language and I was very proud and eager to learn German and my Oma used to teach us, mainly me, in some German too.  My brother just sat there watching TV whilst I was singing and dancing the ‘knickerbocker thigh slapping dance’ and Oma watched me with delight.  I don’t know how my brother kept a straight face if I think about it now!

With the absence of a father in my life I remember back in kindergarten which was around about the time my father left, I used to envy the other kids in my kinder group that were dropped off by their daddy’s.  They looked like they cherished their children and wondered what it was like to have a dad like that.  I loved my mum but I felt like there was a missing piece and wished I could turn back time to get him back.  I was so used to have been loved and cared for by a mother that I just did not understand the role of a father but seeing how a male figure was so caring towards his children at kinder it made me wonder.  My idea of a father was somehow kind of hardened.  What I mean is that I saw a father as being the strong masculine figure of the family but seeing the love these father’s at kinder made me so curious about this tender side of a man.  It was a beautiful sight and really missed out on the love of a father.

I also remember one day at kinder when we had a photo day.  I recall after the kinder group shoot, the photographer, a male, wanted to photograph all the kinder kids individually.  When it was my turn he asked me climb the monkey bars in the yard as he photographs me.  But then after a few clicks of the camera, whilst politely asking me to pose and look at the lens, the kinder teacher, watching alongside when back indoors to do something.

The photographer took a quick look over his shoulder, then asked me something, which in retrospect feels creepy.

“Let me be your daddy for a few moments?” he said as he put his camera calmly on the floor.  His eyes fixated on me as I remain still on the monkey bars.

I didn’t reply, not did I know how to at the time.

“C’mon down from there matey” he insisted in a friendly tone.

I didn’t feel scared or anything, but I do recall feeling a bit vulnerable.  Did I have really have any choice not to do something an adult asks me to do?  So I walked up to him, he sat on the dry green grass, and I simply say on his lap.  As soon as I sat down I felt awkward but said nothing due to my shy nature.  Then he kind of titled his head to look at me and I remained frozen, yet not totally scared, just strange.

“You’re very easy to photograph Jamie”, he said to me as he stroked my shiny blonde hair.

“What does that mean?” I replied softly but immediately with curiosity.

For a brief second he ribbed my right chest nipple, but very softly.  So softly that it was barely noticeable, yet when I think about it now, it feels more than it did.  It sickens me.  He was moving his head closer to mine and I really now wanted to jump off but was just static.  Then he said into my left ear, “You are very photogenic….” And suddenly the kinder teacher burst out and said loudly but calmly, “That will be all for today thank sir!”  I was relieved and just simply stood up.  The photographer had did odd look of disappointment on his face.  I looked into his eyes with disgust but at that time I did not know what to make of it or name it.

“Just a couple more shots of Jamie please?” the photographer replied.

Without even thinking about it the teacher said, “Okay but quickly please at it is nearly time for milk and fruit”.  “Why?” I thought to myself.  “Why so many photo’s when I am not even a famous person” I continued think to myself in a confused way.  Then suddenly but calmly, the photographer held my hand and we proceeded to go inside.  This feeling was very reminiscent of my father holding my hand.  That is one moment of ‘touch’ I recall vividly and I don’t know why still to this day.

All the kids were playing games, reading books, some were even painting, which was my favourite activity.  I thought he was taking me there, but no.  We walked into another empty room behind.  The photographer asked me to sit at a table and he put a jigsaw puzzle in front of me and asked me to just play.  I was not comfortable about this. At that age, you just do as you are told and thought nothing of it.

He took a few shots and the flashes were almost blinding.  It was also very quiet in this room and I didn’t like it.  He then pulled up a chair next to mine and did this strange stare at me close to my face.  I now wished I had the guts to slap him.

Without any warning, he was then rubbing the inside of my leg.  It felt funny.  It’s hard to explain.  I was just thinking “Is this how he photographs the other children too?  Is this normal?”  I was confused, and my daddy did not do things like to me so it must be ‘normal’ was what I recall thinking, at that innocently young age.  I knew though I should react or say something to distract him, although I should have screamed.  This was the first time that I really wanted my father there, right there and then.  100 percent.

“Oh, you have a little spot on your mouth”, he said tenderly.

I didn’t reply and didn’t know how to.  He spat on his finger and rubbed it on my lips.  I remember thinking “Yuck!”  At the same time baffled, why he was doing this.  But I recall constantly thinking repeatedly if this is ‘normal’?  Over and over and over.  I kept trying to analyse the situation as best as a six year old could.  Then a thought popped into my head.

Because he was taking more photos of me than the other kinds, then perhaps I was given special treatment, like it was some sort of special approval.  Thinking about this situation now, as vivid it is now permanently tattooed on my brain, it was not that.  I was not special, just a victim, without any courage, or a voice.  My shyness let me suffer.

It was not until many years later, as I cannot erase it from my memory, all these ‘things’ he did to me had another semiotic meaning that had something to do with sexuality in a bad way.  It felt awkward that the photographer showed these signs of affection that I was not used to, coming from an adult male.  I will admit thought as I sit here thinking about exactly what happened and how it felt , it was strange, but it felt soothing but I knew it was wrong, I think.  I felt like I was being loved by a male figure, like a father.  To justify this statement it when he said to me after he, dare I say it, rubbed his revolting spit on my lips,

“Jamie, don’t you miss not having a dad?”

I had no idea what to say even though I know now what the answer was, or should have been.

To this day I never told the kinder teacher about this, nor my mother.  I have these kinder photos still today and looking at those photographs taken by that photographer produces a sense of voyeuristic scopophilia.  It is strange and perhaps indicates the punctum of the beginnings of the discovery of my sexuality.  Don’t get me wrong though, I did not enjoy it.  But something inside of me was craving for the love of a father figure.  It was sexual for me at the time.  This may sound contradicting but I felt both violated and soothed in a immoral way.  I miss my dad.  That’s all.

………………………………………..

I reached primary school by this stage for years we were kind of in a set routine as a ‘fatherless’ family but with a mother who loved us dearly.  She adored my brother and I, and I kind of felt like her favourite, or at least I like to think I was.  Yet I should mention too that not having a father felt normal by now, almost as if we did not need one.  My mother was the breadwinner but it was not easy for her to work five days a week and raise two boys on her own, but we managed.  Life by this stage was just as ‘normal’ and routine as a traditional nuclear family.  We get up, get ready for school, mum gets ready for work, drops my brother and I at Oma’s, we go to school, mum goes to work, Oma picks us up from school, mum picks us up from Oma’s after work, and we go home.

It was pure clockwork, and even though we did not have a lot of money, it worked.  I was content with that.  We were a small close family.  Like I mentioned earlier, our heritage was German.  I was proud of that.  I used to listen to my Oma’s stories about her home village back in Germany.  She also spoke about that dreaded war and her role as a nurse.  I found it fascinating.  My Oma’s interpretation of World War Two was not contrary to what we were slowly being taught at school.  This is not to say she shed a good light on it, just explained it in real terms.  School really projected a nasty perspective on Germany which kind of offended me.  It was also one of things some kids bullied me about by calling me a “Nazi”.  Although at primary school I was not really bullied, it was more like just kids being kids.  I fit in well in primary school and had a lot of friends.

It was also clear that she missed her beloved husband, who was my Oppa, or grandfather in German.  I was very young when he suddenly died of a heart attack and only remember it vaguely.  But I do remember that he was sick for some time but he loved my brother and I very much.  That is one thing I do remember.  I would have loved to have spent more time with him.  It’s funny how death takes such a big chunk out of life.  It’s just not fair.  Not long after the death of my Oppa, shortly after I started primary school, probably about grade one or two (I think), I found myself in another bit of a situation.

It was just another day at school and to my memory, I think, we were doing a ‘creative class’.   What I remember was that I was (like always) playing in the back of the room on my own with Lego blocks.  The teacher claims she told the class to pack up and I did not respond.  For some strange reason I saw the other kids putting their stuff away but did not even think about it.  I was almost like I was in some kind of trance, as normally if you see everyone pack up, then you would do the same.  I didn’t and cannot understand why still to this day.  So the teacher walked up to me, bent down to my level, stroked my head as said;

“Jay, didn’t you hear me sweetie?” she said to me in a soft voice.

To tell you the truth I really cannot remember what, or if, I said anything.  This was a really weird feeling at that time.  It was like I was having an out of body experienced and it was not until the teacher spoke to me that I snapped out of it.  So the question begs, “Did I actually hear the teacher?”  I still have no idea.  Therefore the teacher thought I had a hearing problem.

“Why did you not pack up your toys” she asked.  To my memory I do remember saying, “Didn’t hear you”.  It was very strange and not sure how to describe it, but maybe it was a delayed reaction.  The truth is, and this is just a theory, that perhaps I did hear the teacher call out to the class for something, but I ignored it as I could not really figure out what she was saying.  So I continued to play with my Lego. (I was a ‘Lego addict’! by the way).  Without getting to Freudian about it, in retrospect, I was always building colourful homes with Lego blocks and they all had the clichéd structure of a chimney, two front windows, colourful flowers and plants, and a family of four, including a father.  Go figure.

Sorry for going off topic for a moment but back to this situation.  So naturally after the teacher spoke to me she helped me pack up my things as the other kids were waiting patiently at their desks, waiting for me.  I sat at the back of the class next to my best friend at that time named ‘Anthony’.   I remember him well and we were best buddies.  The teacher started to gather my pens, pencils and books from my desk and I stood there feeling like I did something ‘naughty’.  She whispered something to a girl sitting in the front of the class, assuming to ask her to move to my desk.  The teacher asked me to sit in the front of the class, in what was that girls’ space, and I remember feeling both sad and humiliated.  No longer was I not sitting next to my best mate, which at that age was mandatory otherwise you feel kind of alienated.  I really had no other choice but to sit there.  Anyway after the school bell rang at three-thirty on the dot, the teacher politely asked me to stay behind.  Again, I thought I did something wrong.  Al the kids left and Anthony approached me before leaving and the teacher asked him to leave.  So I did not get a chance, or he, to say anything.

“Don’t worry Jay-Jay, you have not been naughty” she said cheerfully.

I remained seated and felt stiff as a board.  She knelt down and politely asked;

“Did you really not hear me when I asked everyone to pack up, or did you ignore me?” she continued.  Confused about the ‘fuss’ I simply shrugged my shoulders.  Then she started clicking her fingers in my left ear and said “Can you hear that?”

“Yes” I replied immediately whilst thinking “What is she doing and why?”

She did exactly the same thing to my right ear and I said that I can hear the clicks.  She then asked me to go to the back of the room, to exactly the same place I was before playing with Lego.  But this time with my back turned and seated with my legs crossed, facing the wall.  I sat there for about a full minute or so and she came up and lightly patted my shoulder.  We both sat down again at my desk and she leant over speaking directly to my face and speaking softly and empathetically, “You did not hear that did you?”  “Hear what, Miss?” I said politely.  “When you were seated facing the wall, I clapped my hands” she replied slowly as if I was deaf.  On the contrary this is what she was getting at.  That I have a hearing problem which is something that never would have occurred to me.  So anyway she said she will call my “mummy for a chat”.  I thought this was totally unnecessary as I really don’t think I have a hearing problem.  It is, or was, something else.  At that time I had no idea what it was, but it definitely was something.

Anyway my mum was called at her office and she arrived at the school quick as a flash.  She worked on the other side of Melbourne, but she arrived so quickly within 20 minutes!  Obviously my mother being as protective as she was, literally threw everything down to tend to her son who has an alleged ‘hearing problem’.  But yes my mum arrived in a panic and I remember looking so worried about me.  She and the teacher had a chat just in front of me.  She explained to my mum the situation and although they were speaking only centre metres away from me, all I could hear were mumbles, not exact words.  Perhaps I do have a hearing problem and then I began to worry myself.  I remember this next bit specifically.

As my mum and teacher were speaking to each other, I looked down at the floor in a daze and felt scared.  I don’t know why.  I don’t know what I was scared of but the fear inside was growing and growing.  It felt like a monster inside of me but then the unexpected happened.  Suddenly I hear the following spoken sentence from my mother speaking to my teacher; “…but my boy is going to be alright, isn’t he?”  I heard it loud and clear, then the panic set back inside of me and then everything just sounded a bit fuzzy.  As I think about it now, I believe it was not totally my ears, or hearing, that was the major issue.  It was anxiety. This was my first experience of it which was the start of things to come uninvited.

…………………………………………….

The next day at precisely nine am, I thought would be just another day at school, hoping I would return to sitting back next to my best friend.  But no, things changed.  I had to sit in the front of class, and I was now treated differently.  Now I was beginning to feel different.  My teacher spoke to the class, then in a humiliating way would repeat the same sentences to me in a louder tone, directly to my face and end it with “…..did you understand that Jay?”  This was embarrassing as of course I could hear her!  Her slow talking, and singling me out as a student with ‘special needs’ (apparently now), felt more sarcastic than empathetic.  Realistically, I knew it was not her intention but the amount of fuss over this so-called ‘hearing issue’ was a bit over the top.  This was a bit of a misdiagnosis because it is not just my ears that was the problem.  I wanted to just tell her that it is a much bigger problem, but I had no idea how to describe it.  It just felt like I go into moments of trance for a few seconds, panic, my hearing cuts out, then I come back down to Earth again.  Yet, I still could not tell her, or my mother, that as at that age, anxiety or panic attacks don’t exist.  Or so they say, as I had not heard of the word ‘anxiety’ before.  As for ‘panic attacks’, for an eight or nine year old, that would be an urban myth.  This was very real though and I was too shy to say anything at all.  I wish I did.

By this stage I was now facing the humiliation of going to ‘special classes’ for students who are ‘not normal’.  That was my perception and I felt like a freak.  ‘Special class’ was simply just the same as what we were being taught in class but with LOUDER and SLOWER words.  I could not help but to just continually roll my eyes, but I had no choice in the matter.  ‘Special class’ was also not considered as ‘cool’ either.  Sad but true.  As the other students now witness me going to these class, and all knowing about my ‘condition’ this caused a bit of controversy at the school.

In addition to the delivery of my education taking a new sudden direction, the school arranged for a hearing specialist to visit me at school and I had to do some hearing tests.  To my surprise they discovered that I had in fact something wrong with my hearing but in an odd way I can’t explain.  I really did not understand all this and just went along with it.  Of course it was brought to the attention of my mother and she became even more concerned.  I thought I could hear quite well.  But apparently this was not the case.  I could hear but it was selective hearing induced through anxiety and not by choice.  Anyway, I had really nice looking ears!  I still do by the way, they are very sexy ears.  Well, that is basically the only part of my anatomy I have full confidence in flaunting.  It was what was happening inside that counted.  And no, before you ask, I do not have an ear fetish as a result of this!

For weeks I found myself being dragged back and forth to ear specialists.  On top of this my mother had to make huge sacrifices to support this drama. She had to leave work early, miss hours of work, which meant less money, and had to fork out money for my specialist treatments.  I have no idea how she managed, but she did, and I just felt like the meat in the sandwich, as I was not in any pain.  Being at a young age you really only associate anything medical related to pain or physicality.  So because I was not suffering in physical pain, as such, or look any different to the next kid on the block, I could not comprehend with the fuss.  I really kept thinking this was all so unnecessary as I could actually hear well.  So all in all, it became confirmed by the ear specialists and doctors, I had a serious ear condition. But what exactly I was still uncertain.

It was not long, probably about a couple of weeks that I booked in hospital for an operation.  I really cannot recall my reaction at that time, whether it was fear, or sadness, or just banal.  On the day the ear specialist announced in his office to my mother I have to have an ear operation, all I heard was medical jargon.  My mother tenderly interpreted it to me saying that I have to have ‘tubes’ in my ears.

“Have what?” I said whilst being totally bewildered.

“Tubes darling, they don’t hurt, it will help your hearing, and you won’t feel a thing, so there is nothing to worry about”, mum said in a soft, loving tone.

The doctor sitting in front of us interrupted as said,

“Jay, you only have very tubes inserted into ears to drain out excess fluid which is causing the occasional blockages to your hearing”, he said. (Well, I think this is what is said along those lines by memory, but it was something like that).  Remarking I did not feel scared about my first experience about undergoing an operation in a hospital and my mother reassumed this,

“I will bring in your school work so you won’t fall behind, and I will visit you every day and bring lots of pressies!” she said cheerfully but with a slight glaze over her eyes.  I felt she was upset and I could feel her concern.  I know my mother too well to know what she is really thinking.

Getting to hospital was more streamlined than I thought and acted upon very quickly that it gave me little time to even think about what I about to experience.  The reality which is one I cannot ignore is my poor mother eventually had to find the money for me to have an ear operation.  I really don’t know how she managed it but I will never forget how much she cared for me.

I was in the children’s ward and already I was making friends with the kids the ward next to me.  The nurses and doctors were also genuinely nice, friendly and welcoming.  They really went out of their way to ensure we were comfortable.  Surprisingly the food was really good, too good to be truthful, chocolate mousse and all!  Prior to my operation, which was to happen the next day after arrival, I was also spoilt rotten in hospital being showered with gifts from mum.  Again, I don’t know how my mother could have afforded all this.  But I knew she worked hard.  I also received a large card signed by all my class mates telling me “get better soon” and a couple of soft toys which kind of made me feel special in a good way.

Operation day; about 7 am, and breakfast in our ward was about to be served.  The scent of toast was a familiar and homely feel but today I was not getting any of it.  The trolley lady serving breakfast approached my bed, took a quick glimpse about my head on the wall, smiled, and then walked on.  I wondered by so I sat up in bed and looked at the same spot the lady did. It said in big bold black letters;

NILL BY MOUTH

Confused (and hungry) I asked one of the nurses what this sign means and she explained that I cannot have anything to eat before the operation.  She explained why although I really did not totally understand why.  She did reassure I can eat after I wake up from the operation.

“Wake up?” I asked with surprise.

“Yes, so you won’t feel anything.  We will just put you asleep and will not even know it has happened”, she continued.

The operation process ran like clock-work and very precisely.  They put some hospital gown on me and a plastic hat. The doctors and nurses reassured me that I will “fine and not to worry”, continuing to speak to in order to cleverly distract me whilst they intravenously sedate me.  I remember my mum holding my hand, almost with tears in her eyes, and tenderly stroking my forehead telling me how much she loves me.  But the sedation was gradually building and I remember was being rolled away through the corridors of the hospital on my way into the operating theatre.  My mother would not let go of my hand as I was being rolling in and this gave me peace and reassurance I was going to be okay.  Then that was it.  I was knocked out and do not remember a single after that.

Several hours later……

I woke suddenly as if I was asleep for one second and found myself back in my ward bed.  Feeling still affected by the anaesthesia it took me a few moments to realize what has happened.  I felt cotton wool taped to my ears to sound was slightly muffled (nothing new here ironically).  But I felt on the side of my neck something peeling and realized it was dry blood.  The nurse immediately came when I awoke to see how I was and my mum was sitting beside me holing my hand.  The nurse explained the operation was for the insertion of special tubes in my ears to drain the fluid.  I thought about this and perhaps it could be a result of years of swimming practice I did frequently during that time, though not sure.  But this was really the first explanation of the purpose of this operation in Layman’s terms!  So the next stage for the tubes to fall out naturally, whenever that may be.  So, that was that, and it was back to my ordinary life soon.  Christmas was also fast approaching and this was a period of my childhood with great significance and one of the happiest period in my life for                                          ………………………………….

24th December, around 1983.

Christmas Eve and it was our usual family gathering, on my mum’s side, where we had a banquet and gift exchanging, with all our aunties, uncles and cousins.  This was one of happiest memories of my childhood and an event I looked forward to so much every year as child.  Having a European background we celebrated Christmas with the extended family on Christmas Eve.  They were really fond memories and so much fun, especially the humour of my Uncle Walter.  He was a real character and certainly took the limelight with his hilarious antics. Traditionally we started with the famous chicken soup, turkey, ham and plum pudding but the highlight for the kids was the exchange of gifts.  We always got good gifts and my mother always gave good gifts to my cousins regardless of the little money we had.  It was such a genuine enjoyable occasion and the reason I am putting such emphasis on this period will be justified as you progress further into my life.  Following this was Christmas day with just the immediate family and my Oma.  As I look around my small but close family I was happy; happy in silence.  The only thing missing was my dad but somehow I no longer cared.  Since the day I said goodbye to my father, I wondered why he did not make any attempt to make contact, in any form, with me or my brother at all.  If a father loved his children, even though my mother had custody of us, my understanding is that he still had legal rights for visitations.  But since ‘that day’ he strangely disappeared and there had not been a trace of him ever since.  This lingered on my mind for many years from then on, and continues to this day.  That said,

Where is my father?

……………………………………………..

Around May 1985.

Over the next few years my mother dated various men who seemed to appear and then disappear.  Nothing unusual about that, just saying.  There were a few men mum dated whom appeared to be okay at prima facie, but all those relationships she had always seemed to end so suddenly.  We never knew what ended those relationships, and I guess it’s not my place to know, as really it’s none of my business, yet I was curious.  It is fair to say that I wished happiness for my mother and that she would find genuine love again.  But I want to emphasise on the word ‘genuine’.  So far, none of these men that my brother and I really had our tick of approval, or perhaps it was me setting the standards too high for a man who could potentially be our stepfather.  I couldn’t accept the fact that this would compensate a natural father, unless they showed genuine affection for his stepchildren unconditionally.  I think that is a fair deal and not too much to ask, even though I was sceptical we would really have another dad.  It would take a really special man to sweep her off her feet.

Suddenly one day, mum mentioned a man that she saw more than any other of her past dates.  My mother bragged on about him frequently saying that he is the “man of her dreams”.  So, naturally as I have great trust in my mother, I was very keen on meeting him.  Although this ‘mystery man’ we never got to meet for some time, she kind of went through a bit of a dating spree.  I just accepted it and kept quiet.  This mystery man never appeared until one day she wanted to bring him home to introduce us to him.  Mum also said this with excitement, like it was some significant announcement.  I was apprehensive probably because I was not prepared for what I was anticipating.  After a few months of dating, it was time to meet this man my mother speaks so highly about.  His name was Bob.  I already hated the name but who knows?  He might be a nice guy and I was hoping for the best.

Finally one evening my mum with enthusiasm brought her new man to our little flat in Footscray, a suburb in Melbourne’s West.  As mum and this ‘Bob’ were making their entrance, my brother and I were waiting in the lounge-room with anticipation.  I was nervous to meet this so-called ‘Superman’.  Then mum and her ‘boyfriend’ appeared at the front door hand in hand.  My eyes instantly were attracted to their hands clasped to tightly together that it really did look like love.  But I hated it.  My stare gradually rose to look at Bob and he glared right into my face with a smile which seemed to be strained, like he felt he had to smile.  He then discreetly looked up and down at me as if there was something about me he did not like.  I did not know why he looked at me like that as if he was judging me based on how I look and my posture.  He probably knew what I was to become later in life before I did.  So I dare to say it but I felt ‘Bob’ was an intruder into our little family.

“Boys…..This is Bob” Mum said in a soft but excitable voice.

He looked okay, a bit of grey hair and I assume he much older than mum.  He had a genuine looking smile but there was something behind that smile that I did not trust.  His smile had an element of a smirk.  I could not put my finger on it but he had something to hide.  He bent down to my brother and I like we were puppy dogs and patting our heads.  He looked like an idiot, trying to be the ‘nice friendly guy’.

“Hello boys!  How ya goin?.....eh?!” he said with a strong British accent along with a weird giggly, but masculine tone.

“C’mon lads give us a hug” he asked suddenly whilst swinging his arms open.

My brother didn’t give a thought and just hugged him, whereas I just stood there, frozen for a moment.  He was obviously trying to win our seal of approval and it was transparent.  It was a pathetic act of fake human kindness.  He could not fool me.  Then after Sam, he gave me a tight hug.  I tried to reciprocate but it was hard.  He was a stranger and he is not my dad.  He never will be but I only happy for my mum if she is happy.  That’s all.  I was then sensing a tsunami of an announcement and I was not happy.

“And boys…..you can start calling me dad,” Bob said oddly confidently.

“Why?” I suddenly said.  “You and mum aren’t married yet….are you”

Bob’s constant smile showed a sight of a slight tremble of his upper lip and replied with a lump in his throat, “Annie, maybe you like to do the honours and tell the boys?” Mum looked directly at me first and paused before replying “let’s have some dinner first before dad will tell you about the new big house we are going to live in”. Bob just stood there and gave me a chilling stare.  My heart missed a beat and my impression of Bob suddenly kicked in my internal instincts that he is hiding some secret.  My whole world had just been put on pause, right there and then.  It was like a rude interruption into our family.  How can I call someone ‘dad’ when he is not?  His fake ‘wanky’ friendliness was beginning to look so transparent that I could see right through it.  I guess the so-called ‘big house’ was the drawcard for this proposed marriage.  But that was not good enough as far as I was concerned.  He is not my dad, however I was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.  I made a promise to myself I will be open to a new dad but he needs to earn that status, and I guess it has to be reciprocal.  I thought that I will give him shot to prove himself, as I don’t really have much of a choice, no matter how sudden this happened.

……………………………………….

A couple months later…

Bob and mum were seeing each other regularly.  They were dating if you want to call it that, for around about a couple of months, then suddenly mum told us to start packing.  Just out of the blue, no warning, just pack and go.  This amongst also the fact that I would have to go to a new school, lose my current friends, and make new friends.  The repercussions of being this young age and in this situation was not easy at all.

So we ended up moving into Bob’s house in the outer suburb of Melbourne, called Werribee. The house was big, and a massive backyard, all the ‘mod cons’ inside and all.  The guy must have had money.  So really, I didn’t mind when we ‘three musketeers’ moved in with him, even though this change of heart sounds superficial.  Then came the day, in fact three days later, when we all sat down to dinner, with a new rule.

“NO ELBOWS on the table!” Bob demanded assertively like an army sergeant.

“No talking at the dinner table, backs straight and head down!”

He was Hitler at the dinner table and it was rude awakening.  Bob’s side of him began to slowly come out of the shadows.  He was power hungry and wanted to be the boss.  But what I considered rude was he said out aloud at the dinner table; just out of the blue and spontaneous.

“Your mother and I are getting married....and we’re all gonna be one big happy family!”

My reply was simple and robotic, “Okay”.

My brother seemed overjoyed.  I pretended.  I just didn’t understand the need to sign a piece of paper stating that you are bound legally by marriage. Why?  What for?  I was more than ever suspicious.  The whole situation was sugar and spice and all things nice and it was ‘gonna’ get a whole lot stickier.  I know, I felt it.  Also Bob interrupted when clearing his throat.  Here it comes I was thinking.

“I want you both to start calling me daddy.”

My instant reaction was “Earn it first!”  But as I was shy and polite I just went with the flow.  How could I possibly start calling a stranger ‘dad’ when he clearly wasn’t.?  This was so difficult for me.  Sam seemed to take to the idea of calling him dad with no problem.  He was not my dad, and never will be.  I felt like I had to swallow my pride and take all my courage and force myself each time I called him ‘daddy’.  It was so hard to do but all I want is to see my mother happy.  So I will do what I am told for now.  But it was right there and then that my life, and myself, had changed forever in multiple ways which leads onto probably some of wrong decisions I did later in life which you shall learn about soon.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Chapter three........’A Dance with the Devil’

The day arrived when my mother got married to Bob who is now my new stepfather.  I didn’t trust Bob.  My instincts for years whilst they were dating told me that there was something not quite right about him.  He has a secret and it was not pretty.  I don’t know what it is, but I am going to discover it.

My mum was very excited and I was genuinely happy for her.  It was a simple ecclesiastical ceremony with the function held afterwards at our home. My mum never looked prettier.  She always was very pretty anyway and all my friends said so.  But she glowed on the day.  My brother and I however were dressed in matching white ‘Miami Vice’ style suits.  I know it was the eighties but this was ridiculous.  Sorry mum, but the suits for Sam and I?;

“NO GO ZONE! Oh, my god! “

But we had no say in it, we had to wear them and both looked as cute as buttons.  Apparently Bob said we had to.  I began to get the impression that what Bob says is law.  And if he said jump, we had to jump.  He was now my stepfather.  I hated the word; ‘Stepfather’.

“I hated the word….loathed it…..and I began to hate him……!” I thought               constantly.

But the word ‘stepfather’, suited him.  As far as I was concerned, that what he was exactly just that; a step-further.

The day surprisingly went quick and I quite enjoyed myself.  It really was a celebration and all our friends and newly extended family joined together in unity.  There was music, there was food and I do remember quite ‘pigging’ out on the yummy food as the adults started to get a bit ‘tipsy’, if you know what I mean.  I found it flattering that everyone kept telling us how handsome and cute my brother and I looked.  But I felt like an idiot.

However I was very proud to have a mum as pretty as she was, and I have to admit, I began to get used to the idea to now have someone to call ‘dad’.  Maybe he’s alright.  Maybe this will be a really good family.  He treated my brother and I like gold, and my mum like a princess.  My only grudge was his very traditional view on things in general and was very old fashioned and displayed in such an anarchic manner.

Then along came another one of his rules.

“Always say hello to someone when they say hello to you”, he said in voice with deathly force.

I was really shy so when someone, like one of Bob’s friends said hello to me, I did say hello, but it was so soft, you could hardly hear it.  One of Bob’s friends was introduced to Sam and I by Bob.  His name was Peter and he said “Hi boys!”  My brother said “Hi” straight away and I said it too but it was too soft to be heard.  Bob got the impression that I didn’t respond with a greeting and with force grabbed my arm and shook me and yelled

“Say Hello! , don’t be rude to my friends you little shit!!!”

I was stunned, and I think so was his friend Peter.  Peter told Bob to calm down.

“Mate, he’s only a kid, leave him alone, there’s no need for that, settle down” Peter said in a calming tone.

That was the first time he touched me in that way.  Where was my mother at the time?  She never saw it.  But I walked away with shock; found a dark corner in the backyard and cried.  I felt abused and violated.  It was like I began to see a side of Bob that only I can bring out.   I think he hated me.  And I began to loathe him.  My loathing permeated into every part of my mind, body and soul.

A few minutes later Sam found me as I was crying my eyes out and put his arm around my shoulder and said in his soft little brotherly voice:

“Don’t worry Jay-Jay, I’ll tell mum what happened”.

“NO!” I said.  “Don’t tell her, she will get upset....just ….just…..don’t               worry about it”.  I know Sam didn’t agree but he went along with my decision.

…………………………………..

The next day I awoke and had a look at the mess outside where the function was.  I was the first to wake and just started to clean up the mess in the backyard.  My mum was next to get up and said “Good morning darling”.  I automatically felt obliged to tell her what Bob did to me but could not find the courage to tell her.  So I just said “Good morning” and mum started to help me clean up.  Bob then got up and I remember that first moment when I saw him I shuddered.

“Good morning Jay!” he said with friendly excitement.

I was confused.  I thought he hated me and was angry at me.  But he acted as if nothing happened.  It was like I saw a second personality to him; it was weird.  I felt traumatised, but to Bob, life just kept on going.  I knew we had a problem and it was not going to go away.  This was the start of something that was not good.

…….……………………………..

During the years at primary school, I enjoyed them.  I had lots of friends but got teased sometimes.  My brother did too.  This was because Bob wanted my brother and I to wear traditional, but optional, school uniforms.  Bob dressed us like we were about to serve in the army.  The problem was that we were made to wear shiny black shoes and knee high grey school socks.  It was just pure ‘dag central’.  I hated it.  But the thing was, the uniform was optional at this school and the majority of students did not even wear the uniform or had a ‘cooler’ version of the uniform.  My brother and I felt like dags.  Another thing too was at that time there was a new law that came in, in Victoria that all school children must wear a helmet when riding a bicycle.  But in school it was considered ‘uncool’ to wear a helmet, even though it was illegal.  However, if you had a ‘cool’ looking helmet, it was okay.  If you had what was called a ‘Stack hat’, the most common type of bike helmet at the time, it was considered very ‘uncool’.  Bob made my brother and I wear those bloody Stack hats and every time we rode to school and we were teased.  I was humiliated to wear them and hated been called a ‘nerd’ just for wearing ‘those’ helmets.  I tried to explain to Bob that a Stack hat was ‘daggy’ and he said:

“If I catch you or your brother not wearing them, I will beat the shit out of you!”.

I knew he meant it, so I kept on wearing them to school.  But he looked always at me; not my brother.  Why?

Bob was very strict about family values which sounds quite normal but he was a bit too strict.  I mean, he didn’t like it if I spent time in my bedroom just doing homework.  Instead I should be in the lounge room watching TV with the family according to Bob.  We also went on camping trips in country Victoria and Queensland quite regularly which was quite fun.  Bob during those times was actually fun to be around and was a real different person like the holidays brought out the best in him.  I don’t know if it was a mask or not.  One time I remember there was a Christian religious group having a sort of fun games session on the camping grounds we stayed in, in Bright, located in central Victoria.  Sam was interested but I went.  It was just something the religious group did as a fun activity for kids.  During the session they asked all the kids if they want to write a letter to god to ask god into their lives.  They also said there were no prizes for this activity, like the other games we played, but it was for your own interest.  They said if you want to write the letter, then bring it to the games session the next day.  The next day I realised that I was the only one who wrote the letter.  It said:

“Dear God, I am writing this letter as I want you to be in my life.  I believe in God and ask you look after me and protect me,”

from Jay”.

The facilitator, named Michael, of the group was very impressed with me and gave me a bible and wrote in it:

“To Jay, who asked God to be in his life,

All the best mate,

Michael”.

I felt really special.  It’s hard to explain but I really felt like I done something very significant, something really special.  I was happy about that.  I still have this bible to this day and cherish it.  It’s feels sacred and so personal to me.  I had asked God to be in my life and I didn’t even have to think about it, it was like second nature, like it was my calling.  I felt protected as God was looking after me now.

……………………………………

A situation when I was in around about grade three by this stage, so I was say, nine or ten years old, my brother and I were so excited about the Melbourne Show coming up in September.  The most exciting part was of course, the Show bags.  Every morning before school Sam and I got up early to watch the Show bag commercials on television and started a list of what show bags we were going to get.  We thought Bob and mum were taking us to the ‘Show’, just like any other parents.  But Bob said it was a waste of money and refused to take us.  He also forbid my mother from taking us either.  I know my mother disagreed with Bob but he was in charge of the family now.  What he says is law, and that’s that.  My brother and I were shattered that we could not go to the show and we even discussed sneaking out one day, ‘wagging’, or cutting school and just going to the show on our own as we so desperately wanted to go.  But we didn’t.  We were too scared to.  If Bob found out, god knows what he would do to us.  We were both beginning to feel scared of Bob and knew that this was not normal.  It was humiliating that at school our friends talked about how many show bags they bought and how many rides they went on and so on.  It was depressing and I made up a story that I did not like the Show and didn’t care about going.  The other kids thought it was abnormal as all kids love the show.  I felt like an outcast and it was Bob’s fault.  It got to the point that when Sam and I got home from school and had our usual milk and cookies as an after school snack, if Bob was as he was a shift worker, he made us eat over the kitchen sink to ensure no crumbs went on the floor.  He walked in the kitchen every so often to check with a can of beer in one hand and cigarette in the other.  He stood there with an evil look on his face determined to find just one crumb on the floor.  If there was, he would grab either mine or Sam’s head and shove it to the floor like shoving a dog’s head into their poo and yell:

“You made the mess, look!  Clean it up you bastard!!!!”

It was terrifying and he seemed to always pick on me.

Every day when we get home from school and Bob happened to be home he was always sitting in front of the television in that same spot on the couch plonked on it like a couch potato, drunk as a skunk, drinking beer after beer, smoking cigarette, after cigarette.  It was law to greet him with an enthusiastic ‘Hi dad!’ once we get home from school and it had to be immediate and we had to mean it.  It was like living in the army and he was the sergeant.

We both said ‘hi’ and went to our rooms to change.  I walked into the kitchen to get a drink or something, nothing significant.  As I walked out of the kitchen and into my room, he murmured as usual;                                           “You little Bastard!”

This was a regular occurrence.  It started happening all the time when I turn my back and walk off he would say in an evil voice again and again;

“Bastard!” or “Poofter!”

It hurt my feelings and the worst part is my mother never knew about it as he never did it in front of her.  This went on for years and nobody apart from my brother knew about it.  It was starting to feel like hell.  I knew by now that he hated my guts and I hated him even more.  I didn’t understand why he hated me so much as I never did anything wrong.  The problem was his alcohol.  It was his poison.  He drank to excess so severely that every rubbish bin outside were jammed packed full of beer cans on a daily basis.  It was a big problem and so embarrassing that I had an ‘alcho’ as my ‘dad’.  My mother knew he drank a lot but never said anything.  Perhaps she was too scared, I don’t know.  What I do know is that his secret was out.  He was an alcoholic and he has got mental problems; big problems.

When I was in Grade six, it was the final year of primary school and was quite a big deal.  We were the seniors of the school at the time and all looking forward to high school next year.  Being in Grade six had two challenges.  The challenge of preparing for senior high school and generally more academically school work and the other challenge of the peer pressure of maintain your own ‘coolness’ or popularity amongst your peers.  I never was bullied, in fact, I occasionally did some of the bullying for fun with the new prep school kids just starting primary school.  Yes it sounds mean, but it was harmless school kid fun.  The only trouble I had was that I was made fun of regarding the school uniform my stepfather made me wear and those bloody stack hats I had to wear when I rode my bike.  The other kids didn’t seem to mind because I was good at sports and stuff so I was still hanging about the cool kids in the school.  I was only really teased outside the school especially riding on the way home from school from 18 year old speeding in their first car that mummy and daddy bought for them, the ‘rich’ kids.  Half way through grade six I just couldn’t take anyone of the yelling out of kids calling me a ‘nerd’ by passing cars, beeping their horns at me and all that.  Image was so important especially in grade six and those stack hats was simply tarnishing my image and had to take action.

One day I took a chance and just did not put on the stack- hat but had it dangling on the front handle bars ready to put on just in case the police were around or my dreaded stepfather.  It was clear to me by this stage that my stepfather sometimes followed me home to ensure I was wearing the helmet.  On that day I was almost home and without having to wear the stack hat and suddenly I saw my stepfathers car drive past me slowly, took and evil look at me and drove away.  My heart skipped a beat and I was breathing heavily.  I knew now I was facing trouble.  This is not going down well with him and can smell the fear.

I tried to stretch out the remaining length home, I rode very slowly and very nervously, wondering what he was going to do to me.  But I made it home and without making a noise I pushed my bike in the backyard.  To my surprise Samuel was already home.  He was standing there in the backyard, like he was waiting for me in anticipation.

“What have you done?” Sam asked.   “He’s really                                                                         mad……he’s….ummm……he’s angry with you Jay-Jay…” Sam said with a                             nervous tone.

I knew I was in big trouble.  Then I heard the back door open with force.  It was him.

“Where is he!?”  Bob yelled.

My brother tried to run inside and my stepfather gently stopped him and said.

“Stay here Sam, think way you will know what naughty boys                                                         deserve…” Bob said in a devilish voice.

My immediate thought was ‘shit!’ and I froze but I psyched myself up, waiting to take the beating and was thinking, ‘just get it over with’.

Then there he was, absolutely steaming with smoke coming out of his ears.  He was holding a baseball bat and I found myself staring at it.

“I warned you!” he said with a scary but low toned voice.

“I’m sorry” I replied with terror.

“Get inside!......Now!”  he screamed.

I thought that was it.  A yelling at; that’s all, nothing to worry about, it was over.  I put my bike in the garage and nervously walked inside and went straight to my room.  I quickly got changed and went to the kitchen for my usual after school milk and cookies with my brother lagging behind me.  I thought life now after that moment just went on.  So I made a mistake, got yelled at, and that was it.

Suddenly without warning he pounced in the kitchen, I turned around and before I had time to panic he grabbed my throat.  It was not a soft grab, it was forceful and he was using all his strength.  My brother got scared and ran away to his room crying.  I didn’t blame him.

“I told you what would happen, and you went against me!  You                                                         selfish little bastard!......this will teach you a lesson”                                                                                     he whispered in my ear an evil tone.

I felt like I have just danced with the devil and it was my own fault.  He kept on squeezing my neck, I began to cry but felt more anger and the anger was growing uncontrollably and ubiquitously.  So I spit in his face.  I didn’t care what would happen next as my adrenaline was rushing through my body and felt pure hate beyond comprehension.  He punched my cheek.  I then fell and banged my head on the kitchen sink.

“I hate you” I yelled.  “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you ......” I kept screaming                                                         so the whole world could hear.

I wanted to validate my hate for him and make him understand that right there and then.  He then proceeded to kick me and then he picked me up by my shirt and carried me to my room and through me on my bed.  He slammed the bedroom door behind him.  I was terrified.  I wanted to just smash the window and jump out.  But I was trapped.  He kept on slapping me across the head and kept on saying how much he despised me and how I’m always trying to upset him.  He wanted to show who was boss.

He then grabbed me by my pants, I was crying uncontrollably by this stage, living a nightmare.  I can hear my baby brother in his room crying and yelling out:

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!   LEAVE HIM!  I’M TELLING MUMMY!!!!!.....”

He then put his hand down my pants and squeezed my testicles until I screamed with agony.   I through I was having a nightmare.  Is this how dads punish their son’s?  I was confused, angry, sick and nauseous.

“Stop.....please.....I’m sorry.....” I cried.   The pain was intense and he was                                           enjoying it.  I begged him to stop as it hurt so much.  I couldn’t stand                                           the pain.

“So you do have balls….don’t ya……you like a bit of                                                                       cock …don’t ya?.......ya little faggot!!.....” he said as he was spitting in                                           my face.

I kept on screaming, hoping someone would rescue me.  He was killing me.  I begged him again to stop.

“STOP WHO?” he yelled.

“Okay, stop .........DAD...”  I said breathlessly an in agony.

He then let go.  He pushed me away.

“You bastard, you’ve got balls but you don’t show it, I had to               check......next time it’s really gonna hurt...” he said.

I thought that was it.  Then without warning he rolled up his sleeve as I stared wondering what he was going to do.  Spontaneously, in a split second, he punched me in the right side of my cheek.  I screamed.  Then he punched my left cheek as I started to see blood trickle down my nose.  I was shaking like a leaf and I felt weak and useless.  He started to giggle, almost effeminately.  It sounded strange but evil.  Then he just went for it, slapping my face left to right, left to right as I was begging for mercy.  Blood splattered against the walls and as soon as he realised I was bleeding he stopped.

Then he walked out and slammed the door behind him.  Paralysed with fear but relieved it was over I cried and cried and cried and shook like I was naked in below freezing temperatures.  I just lay on the bed, thinking of nothing, I felt like I was some sort of bizarre trance.   I was trembling.  I thought I was going to die.  In absolute fear I hid underneath the bed and I just cried.  I cried and cried and cried whilst whispering to myself:

“W-W-Why….m—m-me?....”

I began to think of ideas of running away.  But like Bob said, I just don’t have the ‘balls’.  Just how was I going to explain this to mum.  I didn’t think I could.  At that age you sort of think you deserve it.  You don’t really put a name to this sort of situation.  But this is abuse at its worst.  I didn’t really understand the word so I never said anything.  I cried for an hour before staggering to the bathroom and washed the tears and blood from my face.  I could not let my mum know what happened.  It would kill her.  So I used my mother’s foundation to cover up the bruises.  I had to.

………………………………

My mum got home from work and we all sat down to dinner and noticed I had been crying.  She said what’s wrong but I said I had an upset stomach.  My brother looked at me with disappointment, I think he wanted me to say what happened.  However, I think my mother kind of suspected something but never said a word.  The silence at the dinner table was deafening.  Bob just said at me with one side of his lip upturned and if looks could kill, I would be dead.  I felt like that this was not the end, it was the start of something and I had to figure out how I could accept this.  It was almost like I felt like it was normal and this is what happened to ‘naughty’ boys.  But it wasn’t.  I realise that now.

After dinner my brother softly entered my room.  He was so empathetic and so much a little brother.  He was concerned and told me that he will protect me.  He was such a small little guy and adorable I thought it was nice.  We both knew now that this was a secret.  It had to be, otherwise if mum knew, she would probably kill Bob.  I’m waiting for the day when mum catches him in the act but that was long shot.  He always played the lovable dad in my mum’s presence and in public.  Mum will find out; and it will be soon.  The only problem is; I fear for the safety of Bob when my mother finds out he has abused her son that she treasures so much.  My ultimate revenge is waiting in anticipation.  Words can mean so much more than actions.  Therefore the best is yet to come…..

……………………………………

For the rest of my senior year in primary school I was doing okay.  I loved to be at school but dreaded going home.  I tried to avoid Bob as much as possible but always said ‘Hello’, otherwise he would beat me up for being rude.  My intention was never to be rude but I was just scared to acknowledge him as well as how difficult for me to call him dad.  My school work however was of high quality and got straight A’s.  That year I also won the title of Victorian state school spelling champion of the year.  My mother was very proud, Bob couldn’t care less.  Bob only seemed to focus on Sam and his achievements and never bothered with me.  I really didn’t care about him either, but it would have been nice if your own stepfather acknowledged you.  I began to loathe him and dare I say, have had moments where I thought about killing him.  Where do I get a gun? I used to think to myself many times and then just thought it was just a silly idea.  After all, I’d get arrested for murder.  So I erased that thought from my mind altogether.  I wanted a future and had was excited to get to high school.  So the beatings from Bob continued that year and I just accepted it.  They were same sold slaps across the face, being called a ‘bastard’ and ‘poofter’ went I turn my back, nothing really severe, but the verbal and physical abuse just went on, just like life in general.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Chapter four.......Getting down to business

My stepfather and mum decided to send me to a highly respected secondary school nearby home.  I was very excited about it and the subject curriculum was very interesting, especially the subjects I was interested in pursuing such as creative arts, social sciences and media studies.  This time the uniform was just exactly that, a uniform, it was compulsory and no variation allowed, so the matter of looking ‘cool’ was no issue as we all looked the same.

During orientation week, which was a week prior to the actual start of the term, I noticed that there was nobody there that I knew.  Not one student or any of my primary school friends went to the same secondary school as me. Arriving on the first day of term, but as soon as I stepped on campus, I was terrified.  This was in high school now and a new level of pedagogy that I was yet to absorb.  I was on my own now.  I was alone.

All the other students seemed to know at least one or two others and huddled in the courtyard assembly are in groups chatting and giggling.  I didn’t know what to do with myself.  All the excitement of the lead up to my new life at high school went out the window and I was faced with the terror of being a loner.  All the other kids sort of took one look at me, mumbled something about me and giggled as they were pointing at me.  I was humiliated and scared.  But most of all, all I wanted was a friend.  I was alone.

Since day one in year 7, no one seemed to want to talk to me or even want to sit next to me in class.  It really hurt my feelings.  I felt like I was the different one, the freak, the weirdo that no one wanted to befriend with.  What also seemed to make the situation worse was that I took a lot of interest and enthusiasm in my class work, especially the creative subjects like art, textile design and home economics.  The other kids thought it was strange that I had displayed some artistic ability.

In art class, almost daily, when we participated in painting and drawing the teacher would walk around the class just having a look at the work we were all doing and give some advice as she was wandering around.  When she came around to me she was always captivated with the work I was doing and made a big deal and got the entire attention of the class and holding up my work displaying it in front of the class and saying;

“Oh Jay, this is fantastic, what was your inspiration?”

I responded with embarrassment, although it was ephemeral.

“Well, I just painted how I felt”.

The rest of the class sniggered and giggled under their breathes and I could hear some of the more popular boys in the back of the class say;

“Weirdo! Trust Jay to be different”.

But I knew they acted in this way, not because they thought I was a nerd, but because they were jealous.  The fact that I was bad at maths but good at art made the other kids consider me not a nerd but just different, like they were undecided, they couldn’t classify me as everyone belonged to a social group.  You were either popular or not.

In terms of how I looked the other kids thought I was a weirdo as I also wore gel in my hair which the other kids found sissy-like.  It felt as though I had some sort of pathogenic disease called ‘weird’.  They used to look at me like I was some sort of freak  I was also called a teacher’s pet sometimes as all the teachers liked me.

……………………………………….

Lunchtimes during this year I absolutely dreaded.  I was, for the entire first year, was alone, every day, sitting in the main courtyard of the school with my head bowed down in a book.  I was not really reading it, I was just pretending as I was too scared to look at anyone.  All the other kids were playing kickball or football around me, and generally having fun with their group of friends.  I had no friends.  Sometimes they were so mean that I would have one of the kids deliberately throw a football at my head.  All they wanted to do was mess my hair up then say;

“Oh look, his hair is all messed up, what a poof!”

I ignored it, I had to.  I was too scared to fight back or even speak a word but I knew I would get my chance someday.  I just was not sure how I would do it.

There were times that I was so sick of the loneliness that I would spend an entire lunchtime locked in a toilet cubicle so no one would find me.  It became my social habitus.  I would even sit on the floor of the toilet cubicle and eat my lunch in there waiting for the end of the lunch time bell to go off.  Some days I just cried and cried.  I was ashamed to me a loner.  I spent hours dwelling why nobody likes me.  My expectations of high school became the complete opposite and it killed me to be seen like this.  So I was hiding from the other kids and hiding from myself.

I never told my mum or anyone else about what I was going through during the first year as I was so ashamed of it.  I was ashamed to just be Jamie Ford.  I knew I was different.  But I knew I wanted to be somebody.  I wanted to find some purpose in life as I had determination and I think that’s what kept me sane.

I decided to take the school bus to school every day.  I remember that on the first day I arrived on campus and I walked up the steps into the meeting room where we all had to assemble and some idiot, I think he was in year nine or ten, tripped me over and I fell.  All my books spilled out onto the floor.  I was completely embarrassed.  The idiot laughed and walked off.  That was the first real bully event and the last.

After that first bully incident, I was never really bullied again, I was just a loner.  But then we reached year eight, this started to change.  The other students were kind of unsure about me until we did physical education class which we didn’t start until year 8.  I blitzed it.  The other kids had a look of shock on their faces when I had the fastest sprint time in athletics.

We also had Karate and Judo classes and I nearly always won the practice fights we had.  Then suddenly the more popular boys in my class started to ask me to play basketball with them at lunchtime.  I felt instant relief and acceptance.  But it took courage to prove that I am worthwhile and not a waste of space.  Nobody ever has out done the jock type of guys, but I did.  They were intimated but gave me a look of pride and finally I had the guts to stand up to their arena.  They admired me for that and it made me feel more confident that they started to feel more comfortable with me.  So I started to make friends but most of all, finally, someone wants to be friends with me.

I always excelled at sports and the students always looked up to me to with some sort of admiration.  When we played ‘kickball’ and the captains had to choose team members, I was always one of the first to be chosen.  NOW, I started to feel like one of the ‘cool’ kids again.  But there was a catch.

During the year I always got top marks in all my subjects which kind of made the other students a bit undecided if I was part of the ‘cool’ group or not, so in order to be cool I started to get a bit cheeky in class.  I was only naughty to maintain my cool status and regardless of the fact I got good grades, my disruptive behaviour dismissed the idea of being a nerd. Even though I felt like one. So you could say I was part of the ‘cool’ group and part of the ‘nerd’ group by this stage.  I was caught between both.   But I was happy with that.

Bob continued to treat me with mainly verbal abuse.  Then one day Bob and mum decided to buy a caravan and attached holiday home at Lake Eppalock, near Bendigo, Victoria, so we could go water skiing on weekends.  Bob by this stage tended to be a bit nicer to me and our weekends as a family were quite enjoyable.  I started to feel a lot more at ease and the relationship between Bob and I started to flourish.  I think we stared to get an understanding of each other and he really wanted to treat me like his son.  I wanted that also.  I also got very good at water-skiing, started to do slalom and tricks and all and was getting very good at it.  I was told by some of the guys I met at the resort as friends that I should go professional.  It sounded good, as I was very good as water-skiing but I had other aspirations.  When we reached year nine, they offered us for the first time a subject that I took to like a rocket.  It was media studies.  I got so involved in it that both teachers and students looked up to be with inspiration.  I had some sort of artistic eye for film production, like some sort of natural talent, as they teachers said.  It was not long that I decided that I wanted to be a cinematographer or film director.  Doing media studies at school grew my passion for cinema and film genre and my media teacher suggested I pursue it as a career as I had a natural eye for film critique.

………………………………………….

By the time I got to year nine I was getting so good at water-skiing that I was encouraged to enter in competitions held during the summer months at our ski resort.  I never actually had the guts to pursue a competition due to my shyness.  But that never bothered me as my real passion was film and cinema.  When we reached year nine at high school we then got the opportunity to start choosing elective subjects in order to create our own major course of study.  This was to encourage the students to start thinking about career paths.  So naturally I chose the arts stream consisting of media studies, creative arts, social sciences, and so on. It was an exciting time for us as we were then considered as part of the seniors of the school.

So the element of ‘coolness’ was at it’s peak.  Even as a ‘nerd’, the kids of year seven and eight saw you still as kind of ‘cool’.  During in year nine, we had the opportunity to make student films in media studies class and it was apparent that I had a passion for this and the students nominated me to be the writer and director of the films we made as I had a knack for it due to my innovative ideas and as I had done a lot of research into cinematography and genre my skills were way above the average year 9 student.  Soon we started up a small group of kids exclusively dedicated making student films around campus.  It soon got a reputation for being some type of elite group of students making films with a lot of recognition.  The other kids admired us for it and we were soon labelled as a ‘cool’ type of group.  But being in year nine and part of one of the ‘cool’ groups, were became totally untouchable, almost celebrity status of the school.  But I had a problem.  One word- ‘jocks’.

……………………………………….

During year nine, a new ‘cool’ group was emerging and being labelled which were a group of kids that were apparently good at sports but were as thick as two planks, and were also considered sexy by the girls.  The jocks were also the bullies of the school.  They intentionally went out of their way to bully the year seven and eight’s and also the nerds.  However they never went near the film crew.  It was kind of eerie.  They never even looked at us; almost like we were invisible. As for the girls, there was one type of cool group for the girls; the drama class.   We didn’t have a cheerleading group, quite simply there were girls that hung around with the jocks or the film crew, that’s it. But the majority of the most popular girls were in the drama class group, which was a group of girls that did theatre and dancing.  The drama group was the equivalent to the American cliché of a cheerleading group.  The thing too is that I always wanted to take up Drama as a subject in Years nine, ten and eleven but it was seen a ‘sissy’ subject for a boy to join the class.  So there were never any boys in the Drama classes, ever. The ironic part about the Drama class girls too is that the girls that went out with the jocks used to chase after us, the film crew guys, behind the jocks’ backs.  It was kind of like the girls were a bit embarrassed to be attracted to the ‘arty’ sort of guys but they couldn’t help themselves anyway, so they tried to ‘come on’ to us behind closed doors.  The jocks never knew about the girls’ adultery.  Or did they?  I had a feeling they did know, or at least a few of them knew, but never said or did anything about it.  The issue was that because we, the film crew, were also considered cool, the jocks were actually scared of us.  They were scared of us because we had a status of being somewhat fashionable so they found it intimidating.  But we were also scared of them even though I wanted to be a jock.  That’s why they never interacted with us.  We kept out of their way, and they kept out of ours.

Now I mentioned before that the creation of the new ‘jocks’ group was a problem.  It was a problem because as I was also good at sport, in fact I was the only film crew member that was good at sport.  The jocks quite often would ask me to join their group.

“Come on!...” they used to say to me.

“Join us, hang around with us....you don’t wanna be hangin’ with arty guys ....it’s borin’”                              they used to say.

Almost on a daily basis, but never in front of the other film crew members.  My response               each time was;

“Nope!.......I prefer to make films.....I don’t wanna be a jock.....I don’t need to!”.

The reality was that I really wanted to be a jock, I wanted that kind of popularity but I was too still too shy.  But the jocks were persistent with me and never gave in, always asking me to join their group.  It was only because I was good at sport, especially athletics which was the core sport of the school.  So in fact, they only wanted to use me.  I made the impression that I was not interested in being a jock, but deep down inside I wanted so bad to be a jock.  I wanted the fact to be worshipped by the jocks girls.  It was almost god like.  This was something that was missed with the film crew.  Although we had no problem with getting girls, it was never really public.  The jocks were also considered better looking too and I wanted so desperately to gain that attention.

There was never a day that went by that I wanted to be a jock.  I used to pretend that they were invisible, it was reciprocal with the jocks.  At lunchtimes we, the film crew, had exclusive access to the schools film studios.  That was one of the perks of being part of the cool film crew.  Only we had the privilege.  Almost always, if we were making a film on the school grounds we always attracted an audience.  They watched with awe, and I was in charge, the director, I had control and power.  If one of the kids saw us walking down the corridor carrying video cameras, tripods, sound booms and stuff  they would say “here they come” and move right out of our way and look at us as we walked past like we were school royalty, we were the cool arty kids, no one messed with us.  They all understood the significance of our art and how that reflected the schools image.  So we were admired.  So we made a lot of short films, mainly music videos which were in fact quite cool for its time.  I look back on them now and say yes, they definitely look like student films.   But hey, we were only fifteen years old or so.  It was pretty good stuff for that age.  That’s why we won awards.  But sometimes I used to sneak out of the film studio and go to the sports field which was located outside the school grounds but next door.  I used to watch the jocks played football.  It was called VFL at that time, but it was Australian Rules football.  They never saw me though as I hid behind a tree.  I used to sit behind a tree and watch the jocks kick hustled around the field with their tops off, sweating.  I used to think, maybe I can join in? But never did, I just sat there for about half an hour or longer watching them mess around with the ball, aiming to kick goals.  It looked so masculine, but beautiful.  I even hung around when they stopped for a bite of lunch at half time tucking into what Aussie men eat.  Meat pies and sausage rolls.  It was a sign of Aussie masculinity I saw when they were munching on ‘manly’ food like meat pies and sausage rolls.  Meat pies and sausage rolls were not just food, but are a down to earth sign of an Aussie male.  I was attracted to the hegemonic feel of being a male.  The fact that I was attracted to Aussie masculinity and not attracted to any ‘girly’ or continental side of men made me even more confused about my own sexuality.

I would watch an international soccer match and get no sexual emotion but I would watch an Aussie Rules match and get aroused.  But I started to get horrible thoughts in my head.  I found myself thinking of awful things which were quite disturbing and definitely taboo.  My heart began to pouch, I could feel the sweat develop above my top lip as I watched the jocks wrestle with each other.  I was no longer watching them play football.  I was watching the bodies.  Watching innocent boys rubbing each other’s sweating adolescent bodies with intensity.  I found it had to breathe yet I had a massive urge to just reach out and touch one of them. I wanted to be jock so bad, it hurt.  But I knew I now could never be.  I was having too many dirty thoughts about them.

Almost every second day or so I would sneak out of the film studio at lunchtime and secretly watch the jocks play football.  I would sit behind the same old gum tree and watch with admiration.  I would also have the same dirty thoughts about them.  Thinking about what it would feel like to have those athletic sweating bodies rub up and down against you.  I tried to imagine it and got so aroused that it became overwhelming.  The thoughts became dirtier and dirtier each day.  I knew that those thoughts were not normal but it just felt so right.  Each time I looked at those athletic bodies, a rush of adrenaline would power through my body, almost paralysing me with complete and utter ecstasy.  But I could never share this with anyone, it was too abnormal.  I knew I had to stop these thoughts somehow.  So I took action.

Well into the ninth year I deliberately went out of my way to start chasing after girls to give the impression I was normal, or heterosexual to be exact. I didn’t even really know what the true word ‘gay’ meant and thought that my attraction to men was some sort of illness and that I would get over it.  I used to try and visualise images of girls’ ‘rude’ bits to try and overcome my abnormality of preferring men but it never worked.   Well the truth is also, is that in the past I had girls ask me out but I’d make up an excuse to say no.  Now I spent a lot of time with girls.  For some reason the other guys in the film crew followed my actions too.  In class the girls would pass silly little love letter to us and then we would meet at the back of the oval after school to ‘get on’ with each other.  The oval was the notorious place where guys and girls would meet to ‘get on’ with each other.  In those days, ‘get on’ simply meant to kiss each other.  It was a very adolescent thing to do thinking about it now.  But that’s how it was.

I guess during this time I was trying to hide my secret.  Those dirty thoughts; the thoughts about the jocks.  But it was not so much about wanting to be a jock now.  It was more about the physical aspect.  As each day went by I kept thinking about the images of the sweating bodies.  I just couldn’t help it.  But I liked it.  I never shared these thoughts with anyone at all as I kept feeling so guilty about thinking like this.  I did not understand if it was at all possible to be sexually attracted to men.  In fact I never even knew what the concept was called.  So I just thought it was unusual and kept inside.  I knew what the term ‘poofter’ or ‘pansy’ meant, even the word ‘faggot’, but I never really understood what it actually meant.  I just thought those terms were just superficial words to describe a man that acts or dresses like a girl.  I could never imagine that it was actually possible to be ‘gay’ in society.  But I also thought that it was not impossible, so I started to do research.

One weekend I went to my friends’ house named Michael.  He was actually part of the film crew but his parents decided to put him in another private school for some unknown reason.  We were still friends but only saw him about a few times a month, mainly on a Saturday or Sunday.  One day we were playing records in Michaels’ bedroom.  Vinyl records were still big during those days.  But out the blue Michael brought out a pornographic magazine from under his bed.

‘‘Get a load of this!”  he said with a bang of excitement.

I was apprehensive but I looked at it.  I was shocked.

“It’s a porno mag” he said.

As I flicked through the pages of men and women in the imaginable sexual acts, I said out of the blue

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours”.

Michael surprisingly seemed enthusiastic about it.  Not shocked at all.  Without hesitation he unzipped his pants, pulled down his underwear and flopped out the biggest penis I had ever saw.  Well, it was the only one I saw at that age but I knew it was big.  Bigger than normal.                              “It’s pretty big, isn’t it?” he said with great pride.

I was stunned but I wanted to touch, so I did.  I then proceeded to pull my pants down and took out my penis and Michael without any hesitation put this hand on it.  I felt so good buy boy, was it so wrong!  We heard Michael’s dad coming down the hall so we immediately zipped our pants back up so quickly it was at the speed of lightening.  Then his dad suddenly opened Michaels bedroom door and said;

“How you boys goin’?  Jamie, you staying for dinner?” Michael’s dad said with a friendly                             voice.

Both Michael and I looked so guilty but Michael’s dad never suspected anything.                                       “Uhhh...no.....I think I will be going home now” I stuttered.

So I practically ran out of Michael’s house and ran all the way home like I was being chased by a wild animal.  When I arrived home I went straight to my bedroom thinking what I have done.  I felt so dirty.  I was almost disturbed by what I have just done, yet I wanted more.  Even though the feeling of guilt was so overpowering I went to Michael’s house almost every weekend for the next month or so.  Doing the same thing.  I was almost living two separate lives.  Kissing girls at school and groping boys on the weekends.  By this stage I knew I was not normal but was ashamed to class myself as being gay.

…………………………………….

Year ten came around very quickly.  It was also a time when teenage sexuality was a big deal too.  There were rumours circulating that some of the jocks were having sex with girls at the back of the infamous oval.  We never knew it was true or not but it was excitingly controversial.  Every now and then we had a sex education class about safe sex and all that.  Everyone sort of found it a bit daggy and of course when the teachers talked about ‘penises’ and ‘vaginas’ we all giggled.  Then one day the teachers brought up ‘that subject’.  Homosexuality.  The teachers talked about how it was not really a taboo subject anymore and that it actually existed.  They also said that it was accepted in the community although personal affection in public was not really accepted.  I sat in the class with intense guilt.  I felt like everyone was staring at me when the teachers spoke about being ‘gay’.  Although nobody really was.  I felt relieved that I found out that there was an actual word for my ‘disease’ but I also found out that it was not such a bad thing.  The only issue was how other people would see me if I told them.  So I continued to keep it a secret and continued to kiss the girls.

During the year I started to learn a lot more about my own sexuality but trying to ignore the ‘gay’ side of things.  Just carrying on with life, like a normal teenager. I was so confused about my attraction to men and just thought it was impossible to fulfil this taboo lifestyle in reality.  It was until I came across the classifieds section in the local newspaper that I discovered a whole range of ads offering phone sex.  Most of them were conducted by females and there were some that stated they were male to male phone sex.  I had to explore not even taking into account the cost of the call nor if it would be monitored by my parents.  The thought never crossed my mind as my curiosity and excitement to talk dirty to another guy like me just over took all that risk.  So I rang a few of those “0055” numbers. You know, the one that charge five dollars per minute?  The calls were quite average with a guy at the end of the phone asking me if I was naked, and if I was stroking my, you know? ‘thing’.  And so on.

I was more nervous than anything and immediately kind of snapped out of it realising my guilt and hang up.  It was not long we received the phone bill and at dinner Bob said that he was concerned about the ‘0055’ numbers on the phone bill which skyrocketed up.  “Who called these numbers?” Bob said with angst.  Nobody answered.  “All right then, if no one is going to own up, then I will call these numbers and find out what they are” he said.  He then called the numbers whilst I nervously sat at the dinner table.  Mum had her head bowed trying not to be affected by this.  I knew my secret was out now.  Once he calls the numbers he will obviously discover that they are ‘gay phone sex lines’.  He called the number, listened for a few seconds and then he shocked me.  “These numbers are phone sex calls, they were taken by horny women!” he gasped.  I couldn’t believe it.  He was in denial.  In denial that he felt so ashamed that one of his step sons had called a male to male sex line he made it up that it was a male to female phone sex line, but it wasn’t.  This was a very strange reaction from him but I never questioned it.  In fact I felt relieved, like I was off the hook.  The matter then just seemed to dissolve but he was up to something and I could feel his psychosis brewing.  We will see what will develop out of this.

This year was also the year that Bob pleasantly surprised us with a precious gift.  He bought us the most gorgeous puppy dog.  We never saw this coming and it was quite spontaneous and it absolutely delighted Sam and I.  I saw a gentler side of Bob which gave me a lot more confidence to call him my dad.  Our puppy arrived and looked so nervous being in new surroundings but was soon made to feel like her home with the love we gave her.  I never saw Bob so enthusiastic.  It was like it made our family complete.  Our puppy was the cutest little Blue Healer you could possibly imagine and I nicknamed her ‘girlie dog’.  She simply really looked like a girl dog with stunning large dark eyelashes and a girlie type of bark.  She looked like one of the girl dogs you see in cartoons that are drawn to purposely look like a girl dog.  She was beautiful with a beautiful temperament.  I treated her like the sister I never had.

I also started to see the good side of Bob and hoped that this family binding moment would develop into Bob being the dad I never had.  But that seemed to be too much to ask for.  After a while Bob changed back to his old ways which was disappointing more than anything as I was trying really hard to be like his son.  My stepfather after an absence of abuse for a while started up again.  His drinking got more and more severe and I could tell that mum was getting concerned.  At the ski resort he drank so much he could barely stand up.  It was embarrassing.  What he didn’t know was that he every other patron in the resort knew him as the ‘alcho’, short for alcoholic.  We of course couldn’t say anything about it except my mum.  One day my mum and Bob had an argument about his drinking and gave my mum a backhander slap across the face.  That ended the argument and that was that.  Mum had no say in it, she just learned to shut up.

…………………………………………..

Whilst at school I was getting really involved with my art work and started building up a really impressive portfolio of different art compositions with mixed media.  I used to bring them home from school and as soon as mum got home from work I would show her with enthusiasm.  She loved it, she was so proud that it made the room glow.  Then Bob shouted from the another room with a beer in his hand;

“It’s fuckin’ crap!!!”

We all went silent.  Mum looked at me and whispered;

“Don’t worry darling, just ignore it”.

But I knew mum was furious with Bob.

“Go back to your room darling until dinner” she said as she gave me a sweet kiss on                                           the forehead.

I knew there was going to be trouble.  As soon as I got to my room I softly closed my bedroom door as if I knew there was going to be shouting.  The argument between my mum and Bob was crystal clear.  I could hear everything they were yelling at each other.

“Did you even bother to have a look at his art work Bob?” Mum yelled.

“I don’t have to, everything he does is shit, he’s gonna be a nothing, you know that don’t                             you!?” Bob screamed back.

”He’s an arsehole!” he yells.

He continues to yell at mum saying I was a ‘loser’, a ‘bastard’ and then a ‘poofter’.  I began to think that perhaps I was upsetting Bob on purpose, but really I wasn’t.  He hated me for no reason.  He was trying to shut me out and dismiss me as an outcast.  No matter what I do he still hated me.  So from there on in I just kept out of his way as much as possible.

……………………………………..

The day after I got home from school and noticed that Bob was home which I didn’t expect.  He was in the backyard standing in front of a burning incinerator ripping up something and chucking it into the fire.  I was curious but worried.  I went to my room and noticed my art portfolio case was missing.  I panicked with immense fear.  I rushed out into the backyard and there he was.  The prick was tearing out pages of my art portfolio sketchbook and chucking it into the fire.  I was too stunned to cry so I froze.  He turned and looked at me and just continued to tear out pages and throw into the burning blaze.  He looked at me without any surprise, like I was not even there.  He didn’t care.  All that work, that hard work- gone.

Then he stopped and walked right past me, not even looking at me.  He looked like he was possessed and totally ignored me.  It was like he didn’t know what he was doing.

Then he went into the garage, I wondered why.

Suddenly I hear the burning roar of a chainsaw.  I began to slightly panic inside and the roaring of the chainsaw became almost deafening.  Then he appeared in the doorway of the garage; chainsaw in hand.  He looked like ‘leather face’ in a scene from the horror movie, ‘The Texas Chainsaw massacre’.  I was confused I was puzzled what he was planning to do.

He slowly walked towards me with a completely neutral look on his face.  He looked possessed but I could detect rage in his devilish eyes.  I began to fear the worst.  I thought he was a psychopath and he is about to kill me.  I did not even run, I couldn’t.  I froze with intense fear that permeated into every part of my body.  The once he was a metre in front of me he raised the chainsaw and said;

“Run….you bastard…..RUN!”

So I did.  He began to laugh loudly as he chased me around the back-yard with a chainsaw screaming that he is going to tear me apart, limb from limb.  I started to cry intensely with panic.  It was apocalyptic.  There was no escape, he blocked my way and cornered me.  He laughed again and took a swing at my head with the chainsaw, but to deliberately miss.

“Scared ya?......didn’t I……see?......you are weak as piss…”

Then he turned the chainsaw off and put it back in the garage, then wandered back inside the house.  I was traumatized beyond belief.  How can someone scare a little boy like this?  This was pure torture and sadistic.  How can I explain this to my mother, or anyone for that matter?  Who would believe me?  It was so surreal.

The magnitude of the situation for me was too unbearable so I crawled underneath the pool decking where nobody could find me so I could cry.  I cried for hours but I wanted to bleed.  If I bleed then I know I have the guts to dissolve my misery.  I was surprised that neither mum nor Sam came looking for me.  But it evident that Bob told them not to.

It was getting dark and cold and I started to feel a bit scared.  I could slightly see the spiders and creepy-crawly’s coming out of the woodwork, but I didn’t care.  I wanted to erase my fear so I reached for a nail sticking out of a plank of wood.  I pulled the rusty nail out of the plank and held it in my shivering hands.  I then could hear my mum and Sam calling out my name.  They were looking for me.  I had no time to lose.  It was now or never.  I didn’t want to commit suicide I just wanted to hurt myself.  I just wanted to see my own blood.  So I pushed the nail softly into the main vein showing on the inside of my wrist.  I took a deep breath and pushed just a little harder until I could slightly feel a puncture.  I was doing well, succeeding.  I had to project a sense of being ascetic.  So that feeling of success made me push even harder.  I went numb, all over and felt a slight trickling of liquid running down my arm.  It felt like water and I couldn’t tell as it was dark.  But then I had a moment of realization that it was blood.  It felt good that I had the balls to self-mutilate myself without fear.  But suddenly it started to hurt and I screamed.  I felt like pussy, maybe Bob was right.

I crawled out under the pool deck and proceeded inside nursing my arm and went straight to the bathroom to wash off the blood before mum sees it.  Mum noticed I was in the bathroom and rush in asking where I was.  I said I went to a friend’s house and just lost track of time and I cut myself on the cubby house.  She believed me.  I think she believed me because I don’t think she could possibly imagine her son wanting to mutilate himself.  But I did.  I just wanted to prove to myself that I am a man and not a ‘pussy’ as Bob calls me.

……………………………………….

During the year physical education class got harder and harder for me.  Not the actual sport participation but the end of the class.  The end where the girls went to their change room and the boys went to theirs.  It got to the point where I waited for the other guys to finish their showers and I would go last for fear of getting an erection.  It was getting completely unbearable with an arousal I just didn’t think was appropriate.

“Why aren’t you havin’ a shower?” one of the jocks asked.

“Um, I am , I j-j-just have to do something..” I stuttered.

So I pretended to be fiddling around in my locker to give the impression I was doing something.  When they stepped out of the change rooms I continued to have my shower and went to my next class with a great feeling of relief.

…………………………………………….

Back home, the same day, we all sat down for dinner as a family, with of course, no elbows on the table, no talking, just eating.  Pretty pathetic actually for a so-called ‘family’.  Anyway, just out of the blue, Bob said in a demanding voice;

“Both you boys are going to scouts”.

Sam responded immediately and said that he was too young.

“No mate, you’re going to cubs, and you’re brother is going to scouts”.

Both Sam and I looked at each other with disgust.  Scouts and cubs were for nerds.

“Maybe by going to scouts and cubs you both might get some decent manners” Bob said in a                                        sarcastic voice.

Mum just had a neutral reaction.  I knew she didn’t agree.  I think she was just too scared to say anything.  The way it worked was anything that Bob said, it was Bob’s law.  If he said jump, you don’t question it, you just had to do it.  It killed me.  It also killed me to see mum take Bobs shit all the time too.  Mum just learned to put up with it but occasionally spoke out and when she did, she copped it.  Sometimes physically, mainly verbally, calling her a ‘slut’ and a ‘slag’.  I couldn’t stand it when he said those things to her. I just wanted to kill him.  I just wish I had a gun and then ran away so no one could find me.  He was the devil.

The week after I had to give up my usual Badminton lessons that I was actually enjoying and proceeded to scouts.  The uniform we had to wear was just too embarrassing to even talk about.  Bob dropped both Sam and I to our first scouts and cub night, held at the same community scouts hall.  Bob looked at both Sam and I with great pride.  I was surprised.  I noticed that the other boys in the scouts group had badges sewed all over their sleeves.

“What are those?” I said to one of the scouts while pointing at the badges.

“You have to earn them,” he replied.

I was intrigued.  My immediate thought was, if I can earn these badges, which would give me a sense of achievement, thus earning the respect from Bob.  Deep down I just wanted Bob to respect me, although I did not want him to be my dad.

To my surprise I found it easy to fit in with the boys in the scouts group.  It did not really feel like such a nerdy thing that I expected.  Every Thursday we had our scouts meeting at the hall and played down to earth and fun tricky games, had lessons in knot ties, lessons on flora and fauna.  It all was actually pretty cool and I quite liked it.  So I got used to it.  Then a couple weeks later we had my first weekend camping outing in the bush.  I can’t really recall where it was but from memory I think it was near Bright, in country Victoria.  On the day, Bob seemed very excited about me going to camp.  I thought he was just glad to get rid of me for a few days.  But when he dropped me off at the hall where we all had to meet, before we got out the car he grabbed my arm and looked at me straight in the eyes and said slowly ,

”After this weekend, you will be more of a man ...don’t disappoint me....”

I just replied with a quick “yep!” and got out the car and grabbed my things.  I just wanted to away from him.  Although it was now on my mind that I have to find a way to toughen up, if that was at all possible.  I didn’t understand how a camping weekend was going to make me more acceptable to Bob’s expectations.  I would just have to wait and see what brings as this was my first scouts camp.  I started to think that perhaps this camp was not going to be like our weekends at our ski resort.  This was hard-core camping.  I knew we had tents but I didn’t know what the deal was with cooking and personal hygiene, if you know what I mean.  So I got on the bus apprehensively.

We arrived at our destination, somewhere in the bush.  Yes it sounds vague but it was just what I expected, out in the middle of nowhere.  Thick bushland, so thick that to make a spot for our tent we had to cut down some trees.  I had never put up a tent before but somehow I winged it.

There were about 20 of us scouts and we were all separated into groups of five or six and a nominated leader of the pack.  Our groups were also separated with quite a lot of space, so the other groups were a fair distance away.  We never heard or saw any of them.  The five of us were on our own and that was the objective.  So we had to utilise all the skills to live in the bush.  We made a campfire and cooked our meals in billy cans.  It was very primitive, but I tried not to show my surprise, I just went along with it.  Even the hole behind the tree that we used as our ‘bathroom’ to relieve ourselves.  Told you it was hard-core camping.  Perhaps this experience would toughen me up!

It was our first night in the bush and the five of us sat around the campfire doing all the ‘scouty’ sort of things like toasting marshmallows, telling scary stories and generally having fun.  I enjoyed it and we all got along like a house on fire.  The leader of the pack named Daniel generally was in charge of the pack and about eleven thirty or so he ordered us to call it a night and go to bed.  Bed was interesting as we all slept together in the one tent.  We all had our own sleeping bags but we were packed in like sardines.  We were shoulder to shoulder, body to body, next to each other.  It was unnerving.  I am not going to lie but some of the other boys in my group were, well.....quite cute.  It was a guilty and taboo thought at that a young age.  We were all about the same age too.  What made this situation difficult was the fact this seemed like a masculine type of thing.  Five boyish young men in the bush camping out.  I was overwhelmed. I had to get rid of these horrible thoughts in my head.  I was feeling aroused and I hated it, it just had to stop, this was not normal, not at all.  Then Daniel spoke out after I heard some of the other guys snoring.

“Hey Jay, you awake?” he whispered.

I paused for a second.  “Yeah...” I said with a nervous tiny response.

“Can you sleep?....I can’t, I’m not tired” Daniel said.

Here comes those thoughts again, I immediately was thinking.

“No, can’t sleep too” I whispered.

“Wanna go hunting?” he whispered with enthusiasm.

Hunting? I thought.  Hunting for what? I was thinking.  Maybe it was a euphemism for those ‘horrible’ and guilty thoughts of mine.  So I obliged.  We both carefully got out of our sleeping bags and softly out of the tent taking care not to wake anyone.  It felt naughty but I was excited.  We didn’t speak and Daniel just proceeded into the bush scrub and I just followed.  I had no idea where he was going or what we were going to ‘hunt’.  So I had to ask.                                            “What are we looking for?”.

“Well,...I heard that there are bunyips in the bush and they only come out in night” he                                           whispered.

What the hell was he talking about?, I thought.  So I just went along with it.  Although it was dark the moonlight was quite strong so we could see quite well.

“We’ll stop here” Daniel said.

“Why?” I asked.

“If we be quiet then we could hear the bunyips steps” Daniel replied.

He really believed this was legitimate.  He really believed in bunyips.  I found it amusing but just went along with it.  For about an hour we ended up quietly chatting sitting under a gum tree.  Chatting about everything really.  Nothing really specific, just boy stuff.  Then he shocked me.  Out of the blue he asked me if I have started growing hair on my penis.

“Why do you want to know?” I asked nervously.

“Oh, cause I have a lot of hair and I think it’s a bit weird that I have so much and all the other guys laugh at me in gym class cause I have so much” he said with a sigh of embarrassment.  I had a mixed reaction of thoughts.  I felt sorry for him but I also felt aroused.  So I said,

“I have a bit of hair too so it’s not unusual”.  “Wanna see?” I said without thinking.

Without hesitation he said yes.  In unison we both took out our penis’s and we both just stared at each other’s.  The glimmer of the moonlight made it look so clear although it was dark.  We just glared at each other penis for a minute, not saying a word, it was like the whole world just stood still.  That one minute felt like an hour.  I was enthralled.  I just wanted to touch it.  So I shoved my feeling of guilt right down so it did not get in the way.  I put my hand around his penis and he did the same.  We both didn’t say a word but we could hear each other breathing heavily.  My heart was pounding and the rush of adrenaline was intense.  I was then thinking, god, this is so wrong.  It was then like Daniel read my mind and then quickly stopped and in a hurry pulled our pants back up. We then just stared at each other.  He looked even more nervous.  I was wondering what he was thinking and I think we were both too ashamed to say anything to each other.  He then shuffled himself closer to me and gently kissed me on the lips.  Again the whole world stood still and it felt like the atmosphere just lit up.  It was the most blissful kiss yet felt so masculine.  For some reason, something so wrong felt so right.  Then he stopped, and apologised.  “I’m sorry” he said with shame.  I didn’t know what to say.  I was paralysed with embarrassment but felt relieved.  Relieved that there’s someone else with this disease I call homosexuality.

“We better head back” Daniel said quickly.

“Don’t tell anyone about......what we...ummm.... did” he whispered embarrassingly.

“I won’t” I replied.

I wanted to say that I wanted to do it again but I couldn’t.  This was too wrong and shameful.  It just had to stop and I told myself that this would be the last time I do this with another guy.

The morning after, Daniel acted as if nothing happened.  I felt attracted to him and I didn’t know why.  It just didn’t make sense that a man could be attracted to another man.  It was like it was scientifically incorrect.  Only a man and woman could be attracted.  That’s just the way it worked in the world.  I had to put my feelings aside and told myself that I would get over it and just went about doing all the activities we had to do during our camping weekend.

On arrival back in Melbourne on the Sunday, all our parents were waiting for us.  Mum, Sam and Bob were patiently waiting outside the scout’s community hall waiting for me to get off the bus.  “How did it go sweetie?” Mum asked with a warm smile.

“Umm...good!”  I jumped in.

Then Bob spoke.

“Maybe we’ll see some hair on that chest of yours now!” he said sarcastically.

My instant reaction in my mind was, Fuck off you arsehole!  But of course I couldn’t say that. I remember when Bob said to me that this weekend would make me a man.  Ironically, I actually did feel like a man.  I also felt more resilient to Bob.  I felt like whatever he thought of me didn’t matter anymore.  I really did feel stronger.  Like I survived the bush and did ‘manly’ things.  This should shut Bob up for a while however I wanted drop a bombshell.  I wanted to quit scouts.  I wanted to quit because I did what I set out to do and that was to do this camp and prove to Bob that I can be tough and I did it.  I also wanted to quit because I just can’t be in those intimate situations again with other guys.  I was scared it would happen again and someone would find out.  I had to quit but I will tell Mum and Bob later.  Not now.

…………………………………...

Scouts continued for a while.  I guess I just went along with it too scared to say to Bob that I really did not want to go anymore.  But it was not all doom and gloom though.  Scout’s was in fact a little bit fun and not as ‘nerdy’ as other thought it to be.  Not long after the first scouts camp I went on, about a couple of weeks later the big apparent big event was about to happen.  All the scouts were talking about it with enthusiasm like as if the Olympics were coming to Melbourne.  It was the international scouts Jamboree.  ‘Oh, yippee’ I thought to myself sarcastically.  This just sounded like a poof-fest to me and oh, so corny!  The reality was that it was an event where scouts groups from all over Australia and the entire world came to meet in one location, which was different each year, and celebrated being a scout.  Yes I know, it sounds, well.....ummm.....whatever!  But I could not really ‘knock it’ as I never been to a Jamboree before.  I would have to see for myself.

So the annual scouts Jamboree came to Melbourne, meeting in the large park next to the Melbourne Zoo in fact.  When we arrived, in our pack, with our uniforms on and toggles on tightly, I was quite amazed as the amount of people there.  I did not expect the whole world of scouts to be there, but there was, literally!  The place was jam packed.  The uniforms all different yet still had similarities in its fashion.  Almost every nation was represented there.  From Austria to Ukraine.  Scouts from everywhere.  I suddenly became scared.  There so many scouts, so many people I was just not prepared for this.

We all had our camp spots on the oval, all in our little scout groups, all having a couple of tents and campfire.  During the day there were the usual scout activities that we all had to join in and do in rotation.  Everything from knot ties to kite making.  I joined in every activity but was quite shy.  I don’t know why, I just was.  All the other scouts seemed to have such outgoing personalities.  I just sort of was a bit of a wallflower.  I don’t know why, I was just shy about this whole thing.  There was just so many people there, all strangers to me apart from my scout pack.  The fact that I was surrounded by unfamiliar faces made me feel scared and unconfident.  Around the campfire at night I never spoke.  All the others were so chatty.  Talking to one another, mixing in with the other scouts groups talking about their country and culture.  I was so keen to join in a conversation, with anyone.  Everyone seemed to ignore me and I was too shy to just join in a conversation.  So I sat in front of the campfire alone mostly.  No one really wanted to talk to me, I don’t know why.  I mean, I look pretty much the same as all the others, I don’t think I look weird.  Or do I?  One of the scout leaders noticed I was sitting alone and stared at me from a distance.  I noticed him staring but I looked away pretending that I was not noticing him looking at me.  Then he approached me and said “You know Jamie, you are just so loud” he said in an Aussie kind of way.

“What?” I said confusingly.

“You’re too chatty!” he said.  I think he was being sarcastic.

I didn’t respond I just nodded my head to agree with the fact that I was just not very social.  He walked off.  I just sat there wishing I could just go home.  I’m going to have to give up scouts, this was just not my thing.

..................................................................................................

A few weeks later at school we had the opportunity to go on a school camp to Bendigo in country Victoria.  About three hours’ drive from Melbourne.  But this camp was a bit more luxurious compared to the scout’s camp.  We stayed in bungalows and there was a dining hall and a proper bathroom.  Prior to the camp it was the talk of the school.  Everyone was getting excited.  Another thing too was we were all planning who we were all going to ‘get on’ with.  It was like we were a bunch of over sexed teenagers discovering our sexuality.  I felt like this was my opportunity to mask my ‘homo’ thoughts.  There was girl named Diana who was keen on me.  She was attractive, for a girl, so I planned to ‘get on’ with her at camp.  Thinking about it now, I don’t know why we had to plan to kiss someone.  But I guess its cause something as intimate as kissing someone of the opposite sex was sacred and a big deal at that age.

At school camp everything ran like clockwork.  We unpacked our bags, had lunch, played games and so on.  Then the night came.  The night we had to ‘get on’ with our girl we chose.  I dreaded it.  The thought made me sick to my stomach and I could not understand why.  Not everyone had the privilege to ‘get on’ with someone; it was just the cool kids.  The nerds actually just watched, like they were perverts.  That night after dinner, everyone snuck behind the back of the bungalows and that was the plan that secretly circulated amongst the school group.  The teachers had no idea.   They all just thought we all went to bed.  I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up.  We all proceeded to the back of the bungalows and it was strange.  The guys all lined up and their girl of choice, one by one, came up to their guys, put their arms around their neck and kissed passionately with their mouths open and tongues going crazy.  Oh my god, I was thinking.  I can’t do this.  But I had to.  I have to prove that I was normal like all the other guys.

The nerds gathered around a few metres away glaring like they were watching a pornographic movie.  It was weird.  Then it was my turn.  Diana came up to me, put her arms around my neck, I put my hands on her hips and kissed her.  She put her tongue in my mouth and I just could not do the same.  It felt terrible.  She was enjoying it but I hated it and I wanted it to stop.  I just kept thinking stop, stop, stop.  While we were kissing she grabbed my hand and put it down her pants.  She wanted me to finger her vagina.  I wanted to be sick.  She kept on pushing my finger into her vagina and I will never forget the disgusting warm moist fleshy feel.  This was the most grotesque thing I have ever experienced.  But I pretended I was enjoying it.  The nerds were getting off on it and were cheering like they were watching a football game.  This was ridiculous.  Is this what heterosexual sex was all about?  I felt like Diana and I were putting on a show then without warning a teacher came around from behind the bungalow with a torch.

“What the hell is going on?!” the teacher yelled.

We stopped.  I took my hand out Diana’s pants and wiped it on my pants.  Everyone scattered and ran away.  The teacher shone the torch in Diana’s and my face.  We were busted big time.  We instantly got detention assigned to us to complete once we get back to school.  But the worst part is that now this event was the news of the school.

“Jay fingered Diana and got busted!!!”

That’s what everyone in the school was talking about.  So when we got back to school we had to go to an hour’s detention every day after school for a week.  However the rumours changed in the school.  Diana went around telling everyone that I did not put my tongue in her mouth.  This of course made everyone call me a ‘frigid’, which meant someone afraid of sex.  Although it was true, I was not a ‘frigid’.  At least not a ‘frigid’ in gay terms.  But it was true I was terrified of sex with girls.  In fact, the thought of having sex with a girl made me sick to my stomach but I knew that this feeling was not normal.  I had to overcome my affection to men and tried so very hard to think about female ‘tits’ and ‘vagina’s’ and tell myself that I liked them.  But it never worked.  It could just not turn me on.  So the rumours soon spread that I could be a ‘poof’.  It didn’t really bother me though.  It was only the jocks that called me a poof, all because I didn’t put my tongue in a girl’s mouth.  Personally I could not think of anything worse.  I didn’t care.

Later in the year it was compulsory that all year ten students do work experience for two weeks twice a year, one lot in semester one and the next in semester two..  I managed to get an opportunity of a lifetime in semester two.  The first work experience program I did was for an administration company, very boring so I won’t even bother talking about it but in semester two the magic happened.  My mum happened to be friends with someone at her work that was the wife of a special effects director at channel two studios or the ABC as it’s called.  She arranged for me to do work experience at channel two.  This was really exciting as students have tried to get work experience at television studios before and couldn’t as they never allowed students in the studios.  So I got a rare opportunity.  Everyone was envious.  Everyone else did boring stuff like working as a plumber’s assistant, or office assistant while I got to work with a special effects director at a TV studio.  Jealousy filled the school and it was like they put me on a pedestal with envy.  Jay got to work at a television studio!  While doing work experience at channel two I got to see behind the scenes on two of the biggest shows during that era.  One was a comedy show called ‘The Big Gig’, the other was a music show called ‘Countdown Revolution’.  It was an exciting two weeks.  I got to meet stars of the show, ate lunch with them and saw the technicalities of how a TV show was put together.  I also had coffee with the TV stars and crew.  I never had coffee before and I loved it. The taste was unique and gave me an instant soft buzz.  I felt guilty but very hip, drinking coffee with the TV crew and TV stars.  If only my school friends could see me now. Everyone on the TV set were drinking coffee all the time and I did the same.  It was part of the atmosphere for all the crew to be rushing around the set.   It was organised madness.  Now more than ever I knew what I wanted to do with my life.  Something in film or television but with an artistic edge.

Upon returning from our work experience programs after the two weeks we all assembled in our team meeting as per usual Monday mornings and spoke about our experience one by one in front of the class.  As expected I was the envy of all the other students and felt quite proud of that.  Not because I felt I was the centre of attention but because I really knew what I wanted to do with my life and really had a true grasp of my passion.  I was very proud of the fact that I knew my calling and I wanted the world to know.  In the school newsletter released on that Monday afternoon, as per usual, I was the front headline of the school newsletter.  The teachers, students and other parents saw this as a big deal and even the school principle showed his enthusiasm too.  It must make the school look good, I guess.  But it was a special moment for me.  I felt famous, yet quite humble.  The positivity of my attitude grew to confidence as I knew my direction and now more than ever not even Bob can take that away from me.  I felt stronger, confident, and like a young man.

Wednesday, ‘hump day’, came along that week and it was a good week.  Bob was on afternoon shift at work so that meant he and mum, as usual, would not be at home when we get home from school.  Sam and I loved it when he was on afternoon shift.  It was not as if Sam and I ran a muck of the house, but we had more freedom.  We did however broke all the house rules, which we called Bob’s Law, such as eating in the lounge room, which was forbidden, eating more than the allowed maximum of 2 cookies and a glass of milk, we ate more than 2 cookies and then perhaps a bowl of 2 minute noodles.  This was also forbidden.

Sam and I even did naughty boys things like one day we saw Bob left a packet of cigarettes on the kitchen bench so just for the thrill of it, we each smoked a cigarette just to see what it was like.  It was disgusting and we never did it again.  It felt cool though and luckily Bob and mum never suspected anything, we think.  Also we watched videos, which Bob forbid before dinner.  Don’t ask why, we don’t even know why.  He just wanted total control and discipline.  It was obvious he was a sadistic bastard that demanded respect and to be a ‘yes’ man. ‘Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir....”.  That kind of thing.  The theory was, if we wanted something we had to practically beg for it.  His other theory was that children should be seen and not heard and definitely not spoilt, even if that meant giving allowing three cookies instead of two.  He also counted the amount of cookies in the jar on a daily basis to make sure we didn’t eat more than two a day.  But most of all I loved it when Bob was not there cause it meant I would not have to deal with his verbal abuse which was on a daily basis, constantly.  The verbal abuse would be the usual situation where I turn my back and walk to another room whilst he calls me a ‘bastard’, or’ arsehole’ or ‘poofter’.  I did however get used to it by then, it was like second nature.  Or perhaps I was just growing a thick skin by then as he did it so often.  Usually when he was drunk.  Overall he was just a sick bastard.

That day I decided to make a coffee after school.  Something I had never done before because Sam and I were forbidden to use the kettle at home.  What I really wanted was the cafe style ‘real’ coffee I had during my work experience but I guess instant would have had to do.  I knew I was playing with fire by using the kettle but as Bob was not home I was safe as houses.  So I made my coffee and took it back to my room and continued to work on my artwork like I usually did with enthusiasm.  Working on my art was like blocking out the world even if the work I was doing was just pure crap.  I didn’t care, I just enjoyed expressing myself in private.  Suddenly I heard the familiar sound of a car pulling up in our driveway.  The driveway was actually parallel next to my bedroom window and I could always see the cars parked there.  I looked out the window not expecting what I expected.  It was Bob’s car.  He was home early.  My heart dropped.  I had no time to think but my instant reaction was to get to that kettle and cool it down before he finds out.  Or I’m dead.  So I rushed to the kitchen in a panic, grabbed the kettle, poured out the hot water, filled it with cold.  I also tried to run the hot kettle with cold water to cool it down.  Then I heard Bob jiggling the house keys and intensely inserting the key into the house door.  I had to be quick like thunder.  I wiped down the kettle to dry the water off.  Bob entered the house but I was in the kitchen so he couldn’t see me yet.  I rushed back to my room in tippy toes thinking that it was all okay.  He will never guess I used the kettle.  It was going to be fine.  So I started to relax and my heart stopped pounding.

Of course when Sam also discovered that Bob got home early, he also rushed back to his room.  Bob entered the kitchen as I heard his footsteps.  My bedroom door was closed but I put my head against it to hear what he was doing just to make sure. He then threw his keys on the kitchen bench and heard him mumble the word ‘Bastard!’.  I kept thinking that he could not possibly know I used the kettle.  He couldn’t, I refused to believe it.  But realistically I refused to believe that I would get another beating.  I heard him approaching my bedroom.  I rushed to my desk and pretended to be working.  He opened the door but with care.  It thought it was strange.  Maybe he was not upset.  He just looked at me with almost a neutral reaction.  Then he said,

“Come with me.....”

So I did.  I followed him.  He was going into the kitchen.  So okay, he now knows I used the kettle.  He then grabbed a chair from the dining room and slammed it down smack bang in the middle of the kitchen and said;

“SIT!”

I sat down immediately.  I was confused about what was going on and just kept thinking to myself

“If you want to beat me, just get it over with”.

I kept thinking it over and over again.  Bob then switched the kettle on and said;

“If you want a coffee, then I will make you one” he said in a very sarcastic voice.

I was thinking that possibly he was not upset that I used the kettle but wanted to teach me a lesson that coffee is not for little boys.  I wasn’t sure what his intentions were and sat there curiously watching the kettle boil.  Then kettle finished boiling.  Bob furiously grabbed the kettle with one hand and then grabbed my head with the other hand.  I immediately thought;

“I am going to die, this is it, I am getting what I deserve”.

I didn’t budge or try to escape as I thought it would be no use anyway.  With one hand he opened up my mouth.  I panicked and tried to scream.  I kept thinking

“I don’t want to die”.

I tried to beg for mercy but I couldn’t get the words out.  He then put drops of scalding hot water into my mouth which slid down my throat.  The pain was so intense I thought I was going to faint.  I looked at Bob’s face and could see he was enjoying it.  He then put in another drop of hot water with precision.  I could stand it anymore.  Tears rushed out of my eyes and pushed him away.  I walked back into the kitchen bench and yelled out;

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!!!!!!!”

He paused for a second as Sam hesitantly walked into the kitchen with tears in his eyes.

“Get back to your room Sammy!”  Bob screamed.

Sam ran off in fear.  Bob threw the kettle down and looked directly at me, slowly walked up to me and grabbed my neck, almost chocking me.  He spoke slowly and I felt the spit of his words on my face;

“Next time.....you want to use the kettle....YOU ASK!......you hear ME!.....”.

He let go of my neck and I ran back to my room.  I slammed my bedroom door and dropped face down into my bed and cried.  I cried and cried and cried.  I heard the bedroom door open very slowly and immediately thought;

“Oh my god, not again...”

But it was Sam.  He sat next to me on my bed and looked at me with such empathy and said softly;

“I’m gonna tell mum”.  I interrupted saying;

“No!. Don’t tell her, I don’t want her to know, I don’t want to upset her, she won’t believe               me...”

“No, I have to, he can’t get away with this, I have to tell her, I have to” Sam begged.

“Please, please, please don’t.......don’t....”  I responded and begged.

Sam didn’t say anything and just looked at me just like a little brother would.  And just like a little brother would say, he said;

“Don’t worry Jamie, I will look after you”.

It was so sweet for him to say that.  So I just gave him a half smile and wiped away my tears and said “We will be fine, one day I’m gonna run away”.  I expected Sam to question what I just said but he just looked at me as if he actually believed that I was planning to run away.  And I was.  One day.

For the rest of the week I just kept out of sight from Bob.  I would not even be in the same room as him and spent most of my time in my bedroom.  Bob hated it that I spent so much time in there.  Mum also was not very happy that I spent so much time in there but never questioned it.

On the Friday the same week, I get home from school and noticed my bedroom door was gone.  It was completely taken off the hinges and taken away.  It was obviously Bob’s doing.  It was his sadistic psychotic mind working at its peak.  Taking away my privacy.  He was sick.  But I did not let the door situation affect me.  I just carried on as usual and tried not to let it upset me.  Mum was not impressed with Bob so they argued about it.  But of course, it was Bob’s law, and what he said or did, went.  So the door stayed off.  This was obviously how he gets his kicks.  I felt sorry for the prick.

Besides all the drama at home, school life was pretty good.  I guess this is how I stayed sane.  It kept me going.  I still had my friends.  I still did academically well in class and made student films and all.  By the time, I knew it, I was in Year Eleven.  Subject curriculum choice was getting at a more crucial stage and the students were getting more career focussed.  Our naughtiness in class was dissolving as we were more focussed and that was typical of a year eleven student.  Nerdiness was a thing of the past.  We were all in this together and the future was past approaching.  A few of the other kids had already dropped out by year eleven but they never really had much significance to the school anyway. I was also approached by one of the Media studies teachers that were part of the organising group for the National theatrical event called the Rock Eisteddfod.  This was a huge deal and the magnitude of school representation and image and monumental.

They asked me if I wanted to help design the sets and backdrops for their performance act.  The Rock Eisteddfod was conducted by secondary schools all around Australia that had to come up with a theatrical style performance dancing and acting to selected songs and there had to be a theme involved.  They pretty much asked me to do this as I did that work experience at Channel two working in the special effect department so they saw that as an advantage, and agreed to do it.  Later on a couple of the dancers dropped out.  They were all girls, and all of them were the popular drama class girls too.  So they asked me to participate in a role on stage.  Inside I was thrilled but I was very conscious about my image as I would be the only boy involved and it was seen as a bit ‘sissy’ to do it.  I don’t think though I was scared of being teased about it I was more afraid of my nerves and shyness. The theme of our performance was ‘The gates of heaven and hell’ and I played one of the angels that turned into a devil.  We had to rehearse after school and at lunchtimes for a few weeks but a lot of the other performers were quite tardy and did not seem very committed and saw it as just a glamorous thing.   I of course had to sacrifice my film making for a while whilst I was involved in this but it was worth it.  I was hoping that my shy character would open up and this also gave me an opportunity to be a part of the Drama classes I always wanted to do.  So I opened up my shy character by acting and dancing in front of thousands of other school kids, and the competition was fierce but it was fun and the excitement over took my fear of being shy and really opened up my shell.

The other boys made fun of me for a while, not in a nasty way though, it didn’t really bothered me. I didn’t even tell my mum or Bob that I was performing in some sort of ‘ditzy’ dance performance thing as I was afraid they would think I was getting a bit on the ‘sissy’ side, so I never invited them to the concert performance which was held at the Melbourne Entertainment centre, quite a large venue. I was just glad to be involved in an event even though it was out of my comfort zone as I preferred to be behind the camera that was my art.  But it really makes a mark on the school calendar and still does to this very day.

The school takes a lot of pride in their contestants that represent their school as its good for the schools image.  I should have taken part in the Rock Eisteddfod earlier in year nine or ten but I was too shy.  It was not until I reached year eleven that I started to stand up for myself and didn’t care what people thought of me.  I just wanted to be admired for any talent I might have had.  The bad news is that we didn’t win the competition; in fact we never even got a place.  But the school was quite proud of us anyway.

However it was at this stage of our lives that parties outside the school, like on weekends, was a big thing.  In fact, the element of coolness was still well and alive and what determined it now was how many and what type of parties you got invited to.  Fortunately I got invited to a few parties.  But there was one I will never forget.  In fact one that my mum, or brother, would never forget.

It was a Saturday night, the weekend after the Rock Eisteddfod and the party was held for one of the girls named Veronica who was part of the Drama class and asked me to come to the party when we performed at the Rock Eisteddfod.  She was a bit of a jock groupie but a fun and popular girl.  Being invited to this party meant we knew it was going to be wild.  The lead up to the party during the week prior to the party was built up with a lot of excitement and the secretive plan amongst us kids who were invited planned to drink.  As like all teenagers did during those days.  Apparently the alcohol was going to be available by some of the guys at the party so accessing it, even though we were under age was not going to be a problem.  All this was a secret from our parents.  The secret of this party made me feel super cool and that’s what I always wanted.  To fit in with other cool kids.

My mum dropped me off at the party, and for some reason I was quite nervous but excited.  I felt like I was in one of those teenage Hollywood college party films, kind of like Michael J Fox, who I idolised at the time.  The party attire was dress to impress, not costume, but simply cool clothes.  A cool attitude and then came the binge drinking.  I never ever drank spirits quite like this before.  “Skull, skull, skull, skull” as everyone cheered when each of us had our turn in downing as much pure bourbon as possible without vomiting.  After about 20 minutes of drinking, I was plastered.  As far as I can remember I think my pretentiousness set in, trying to crack onto every girl.  Even though in my mind I was only trying to impress everyone.  I was still conscious about my ‘homo’ mask.  This was the ultimate cover, the ultimate element of retaining a cool image.  But I really did make a fool of myself.  But I kept on drinking.  The music got louder and louder and the party seemed to get fuller and fuller of people, mainly a lot of gate crashers, it got pretty crazy.  Then they played the song, “I love rock and roll”, I think that version was by Joan Jett or someone, I can’t recall.  It was also one of the songs were performed to in the Rock Eisteddfod performance and in a moment of spontaneous reaction I sang out a different version of the chorus that happened to start as my own signature tune.  Instead of singing the chorus, “I love rock and roll, getting on down to the jukebox baby”, I sang something like:

“ I love sausage rolls , getting on down to the jukebox baby!........”

Everyone was in hysterical laughter with this, I just thought it was clever.  I sang it over and over.  As simple as the pointless sounding line was, it meant a lot to me.  It was a response of having a good time, like nothing else mattered, like I craved for excitement.

The next thing I remember I was outside the front garden and from memory I think we were setting fireworks outside, then my mother and brother pulled up in their car. I think Veronica called my mum to come pick me up as I was totally plastered.

“Get in the car...NOW!” mum yelled.

Sam dragged me into the back seat whilst I was trying to climb out the other end.  Reminiscing about the situation now was a bit foggy but I was told they took about a good fifteen minutes to keep me in the car.  Fortunately Bob was on night shift and was not home.  Mum promised not to tell him as we would know the circumstances.  Thank god.  It was punishment enough suffering from a hangover from hell the morning after.  But mum was a bit disappointed in me but never told me off, it was like she expected a typical teenager to do some sort of thing like that.  She never showed any anger though, she was always understanding, just like a good mum would be.  Now I have sworn an oath to never ever touch bourbon again, the thought of it now makes me sick to my stomach!  But it was fun though!  The things we do........

It was getting close to the end of the school year and the thought of quitting scouts was always on my mind.  But I thought as scouts was finishing soon anyway for the season I might as well just tell mum and Bob that I wanted to give it up.  I don’t think they would mind as year 12 was approaching and I would need to dedicate most of my time to school work.  So one night at the dinner table I told both mum and Bob. Just straight out and said it;                                                         “I want to quit scouts”.

“Fine” Bob said.

I was amazed, I mean, was that it?  No yelling and screaming.  No calling me a loser or no hoper, or perhaps a little poofter?  No. He kept said ‘fine’ and kept on eating his dinner.  But something was up.  I could feel it.  Mum questioned me though and asked and I just responded regarding my commitment to year 12.  She agreed.  Bob was silent.  It was deafening and something was brewing.  He does not let someone off the hook that easily especially when it was Bob’s law.

That same night we all went to bed as usual.  Except for Bob.  He sat in the same spot on the couch from where the excessive sitting every night caused a sunken in dint on the couch, had a can of beer on one hand and cigarette in the other.  By the time the three of us went to bed, as tomorrow was a school night, I think he must have been up to his 12th can of beer and probably 2nd packet of those horrible cheap cigarettes he smoked.  Then probably about an hour after retiring to bed, I was almost drifting into sleep and I heard my bedroom door open very softly hearing a soft creaking noise as the door crept open.  My back was facing the door so I could not see who it was but I could smell him.  It was Bob.  I began to wonder what he wanted and pretended that I was fast asleep.  I didn’t move a muscle.  I was scared.  Scared stiff.  He tried not to make any noise as he did not want me to be awake which I thought was strange.  I couldn’t see him but the thought’s in my mind was that he had some sort of instrument to hurt me.  Perhaps it was a knife or a gun.  But it was a sharp knife with the pointing tip pressing against my temple.  My breathing got heavier but I dared not to budge.  I was hoping whatever it was he would just get it over with.  I felt him carefully lean over me and just froze.  The smell of alcohol smelt like mouldy beer, it was disgusting.  He then whispered in my left ear just micro centimetres away from me.

“I hate you....you little bastard!” he whispered but with such intense hatred.

“I wish you were dead, you arsehole....you little son of a bitch....I want to see you die!” he continued.

He kept on with the insults and kept repeating himself over and over telling me how much he hated my guts and that he wants to kill me.  Then he shocked me and said.  “If it wasn’t for your mother, hiding behind her little skirt, I would kill you!” he whispered in a slightly more raised voice.  I could feel the spit from his mouth on my ear as he was insulting me.  It sounded like pure loathing.  It was evident he hated me but I don’t think there was such a thing a beyond hate like what I experienced.  He then leaned back off my bed and left my bedroom and closed the door softly.  It was like he just wanted to get something off his chest.  Like it was the closest thing he would get to killing me.  Just getting his opportunity to express his hate for me.  I just lied in the same position in bed paralysed with fear yet I felt relieved.  Relieved that I know now why he won’t kill me.  He was scared my mother would leave him.  Now I had the perfect tool.  The perfect tool to keep him at bay.

I had to come up with a plan to get away from him and it’s time my mother knew the monster he really was.  But I just couldn’t bear the pain it would cause my mum.  It would crush her.  I will need to come up with a strategy.  To get away.  Get away from this hell behind closed doors.  So in my mind I planned to set aside tomorrow to think of a plan.  Now we’re getting down to business.

A couple weeks later, and all seemed quite fine at home.  Bob somehow resisted the urge to beat me up or even verbally abuse me.  I think that night of expressing his hatred to me was a load off his chest.  Like it was therapeutic for him.  One day he said that he wanted to buy Sam and I a motorbike each to ride around at the ski resort.  I thought it was great.  But perhaps he was getting superficial again with showing his so called love for his adopted sons by showering them with gifts.  I didn’t care, I just wanted the motorbike.  My mum was enthusiastic about this too.  In fact I think it was mum’s idea to buy us both a motorbike.  My mum as a girl used to have a motorbike and I saw photos of my mum riding around on dirt trail bikes when she was a kid.  Although some might say, according to my uncles and aunties, that she was a bit of a tomboy.  She was a bit of a looker.  A very attractive girl.  A tomboy but very pretty and feminine.  I was proud of having a mum like that.  In fact at parent teacher nights, when my friends saw my mum, the next day at school they always used to say

“Gee your mum is really pretty!”  I used to say with pride “I know”.

When we got to the ski resort, Sam and I were so excited about immediately getting to the dirt bike tracks just across the road from the resort.  My bike was slightly bigger than my brothers.  But mum said;

“Right boys, I’ll show you how to ride!”

She got on my bike and like a pro whizzed around like you would not believe.  She was good.  Real good.  After a few attempts, the first time crashing into a tree, I began to get the real feel of the bike.  It felt like freedom rushing through my body.  It was pure adrenaline.  I loved it.  Along with our water skiing, our motorbike riding was both Sam’s and my passion on weekends.

There seemed to be a recurring pattern at home though.  On weekends Bob treated me like a real son.  I don’t know if it was just a superficial act to give other people the impression he was a good dad or perhaps he was just trying to impress my mother.  But during the week, like the school days Monday to Friday, he treated me like shit.  The only thing is, if we had company at home, he was a nice as pie to me giving a false impression.  This made my plan harder.  How could I possibly reveal any of the horrible things he has done to me?  Would anyone believe me?  But most of all, would my dear mother believe me?  If she did, she would be devastated and would definitely leave.  It didn’t want to do that to her.  I didn’t want her to be alone again.  So I promised myself that next time he beats me, I will leave.  I don’t know how I am going to do it, but I will have to somehow find the courage.  So step one was the perfect step.  I got a part time job.

I started working part time after school towards the end of year eleven at the local Pizza Hut.  I actually kind of enjoyed it.  The pay was okay, not great as expected for someone at my age but I always asked for more hours in order to get more money.  I don’t think I need to tell you why I did this, don’t you?  Although I went to school during the day and went to work at night, I still continued to go to the resort on the weekends with my parents and Sam.  But as Year twelve approached, I only went say, once a month.  Bob amazingly allowed me to stay home on the weekends due to school and work commitments.  Or perhaps he was glad to see the back of me even if it was just for a couple of days.  So year twelve was starting soon, the most year of my life, and I had to earn some money.  Fast.  I want to get away, I had to explore the real world that is supposed to be exciting, as people say.  I was desperate to discover my true self and earn my independence. Another thing I wanted to develop was the respect from my peers as by year 12 they started to get ideas in their heads calling me a ‘sissy’ or ‘poofter’.  It was never said to my face though, I only heard it in background bitching conversations.  I was not bullied though, but it felt like it.  I wanted to prove them wrong.  I think they got the impression I might be gay as I had a reputation for going out with girls for short periods and had plenty of offers from girls but said I was not interested.  I also had a metro-sexual kind of image.  I dressed well, kind of like a yuppie, wore expensive men’s fragrances and wore gel in my hair.  So BINGO! , that must I am gay!  Mustn’t it?  That’s what pissed me off about society.  So to get everyone off my back I asked out a girl I worked with at Pizza Hut who also happened to be the most popular girl in my school.  Her name was Karen.  She was very attractive, but the thought of any sexual act with me made me sick to my stomach.  But it had to be done.  I felt pressured to do this to stop being teased and questioned about my sexuality.  If I had dated the most popular girl in school then perhaps I would have automatic acceptance and put on a pedestal.  I craved attention. But I was sick and tired of the teasing and back stabbing.  I asked her out one day when we took a break together at work.  She said that she thought I was cute, but she doesn’t go out with nerds.  Me? A nerd?  Is that what I was?  “Am I a nerd?” I asked with a lump in my throat.

“Well, sort of, your just a bit like...well, like girly, I only go out with jocks” she said as if she was feeling sorry for me.

I was crushed, offended and my self-confidence plummeted.  It was that reason why I always wanted the respect of being a jock. Maybe I was kidding myself, maybe I am ugly.  There just seemed to be no point in even trying anymore.  I just don’t know who I am.  I was trying too hard to cover up my own true identity that it was thrown back in my face.  There was more denying it, I had accept my abnormality that I just preferred men, but I was ashamed of it.  So I got even more desperate to just follow my own private dream.  The dream to be free and stuff the rest of the world.  But I need my independence and money was the solution.  I offered to do more hours at work with perseverance.  So the money started to roll in.  Now we are definitely making progress and getting down to business!

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Chapter five.......A prayer for the dying, A song for the living

It was start of year twelve and this was my opportunity to shine.  I don’t think I was the only student taking this year very seriously.  I had to excel.  I set my heart on getting into film school or some art school.  It had to be in the creative field.  Bob kept telling me how I was wasting my time and that I would end up struggling as artists don’t make money.  My mum however just said to me that I could be anything I wanted as long as I was happy.  I loved it when she said that.  It was like hearing “everything was going to be alright”.  It gave me a sense of security.  So the subject I chose for the final year were all artistic based and of course included Media studies, my favourite subject.  Literally, every lunchtime was dedicated to making student films which I wrote and directed and all the other students jumped at the opportunity to either work on, or star in, one of my films.  I had a reputation of being a ‘real’ film director with a vision.  I can’t tell you how it made me fell.  It was amazing but I feel a bit embarrassed about it.  Everyone knew I was going to be in the film industry.

About a third of the way during the year, in Media studies class, we had to make a music video.  We separated into groups which the teacher gave me the job of delegating the students into groups.  Not that I was a teacher’s pet, this was different.  The Media studies teachers relied on my enthusiasm and expertise to assist.  Of course they all wanted to be in my group so naturally I had to choose my friends, the rest of the ‘film crew’.  This was going to be the best work of film I would ever do.

Every class, every lunch, after school even we worked on the film like professionals.  I even started acting like a film director, getting stressed and rushing around just like I experienced at Channel two that time.  The music video I designed was for the song that was big at the time called “Last train to Transcentral”.  It was song which was quite popular in the house music and rave scene that was just starting to come out.  The theme was based on the daily commute to work and how the time between travelling from home to work could have been used to discover a whole new world.  It sounds vague but the idea was simple.  That time you sit on a train or bus going to work, is time which is really wasted.  If you add up all that time of commuting, imaging what you could have done with that time.  The video was filmed in black and white and the result I think was stunning.  It was like art on film, like a montage of images with meaning and identity.   My media studies teacher was so impressed she suggested I enter it in the student film awards coming up the next month.  I was apprehensive as I was afraid the work would be laughed at.  Even though I was quite proud of my work, I was terrified of criticism.  I don’t think I could handle rejection.  But I consented to the idea.  My teacher sent off my film for review in the competition.

A few weeks later I got a letter from the judges of the competition asking that they come to my school next week to interview me.  I didn’t know this was part of the process but I agreed.  So when they the time came to interview me they asked me all sorts of question like “How did you come up with the idea?”, “What the intention of the style of cinematography I used?” and so on.  It was a nerve racking experience and my nerves showed.  I think it affected my chance of winning the competition.  I was just not good at situations like interviews; I get too nervous, almost to the point of a panic attack.  But I got through it, and they said they will make their decision shortly.  Then that was it, I had to wait for the result.  If I didn’t win, it would crush my world completely.

A week later I was in I think it was Social science class and my Media studies teacher rushed in.  “I am so sorry for disturbing your class but I have some news” she gasped.  “You got second place in the film comp!” she said with such enthusiasm.  I kind of paused as I was not sure if this was good enough or not.  “Aren’t you excited?!” she said.  “Uh, yes, I guess?” I replied with an almost neutral tone.  I really wanted to win, but I guess second place was the best I could get at this stage.  It obviously meant that I had a lot of work to do.  A lot more to learn.  I was simply not good enough.  This meant I need to take action and work my guts out in future to get into the film industry.  I really expected to win, just like when I was year seven I managed to win the state finals of the spelling contest.  I was the state’s first place winner, but didn’t make it to the nationals.

The winner of the film competition apparently got an opportunity to work with some of the film companies around Melbourne and it would have been my perfect break.  Not this time.  So I turned my focus on my art portfolio and continued to make more films.  I had to get into university to study film, I just had to.  But I also wanted to be independent and get away from Bob.  My priorities began to overwhelm me but I just kept on keeping on for the year.

There were still a few times where at some lunchtimes I used to go to that same spot watching the jocks play football.  Especially when it was hot and they took their tops off.  Before lunch was out they headed to the gym change rooms for a shower.  I dared to open Pandora’s Box by following them and hiding behind the lockers to watch.  I knew it was such a naughty thing to do but I was so curious I just had to.  So I hid behind a locker and watch the boys smother them in soap acting really masculine.  Adrenaline rushed through my body with excitement.  This was so bad that it just felt so good.  But not normal.  When the jocks finished their showers, I continued to stay put behind the locker until they left.  Otherwise they would see me.  Then by surprise one of the gym teachers stripped off and got under one of the showers when the jocks left.  His name was Mr Delaware.  The girls were crazy about him.  Seeing his athletic bronzed body made me realize why.  It was the most beautiful muscular body I had ever seen and I was mesmerised.  His body was in perfect proportion, not too muscular and not too skinny, just perfect.  My heart was pounding as I was paralysed with excitement and licking my lips.  I am sure I was drooling from the mouth as I have never seen a real man naked before.  It was pure sex and I wanted it bad.  The feeling of guilt was shoved aside as I watched the water slide down every inch of his tanned smooth body.  But because I was in a trance I accidentally bumped the locker and Mr Delaware quickly looked around and saw me.  I froze.  I couldn’t move.  My mind went blank with the fear of being caught.  But he for some reason gave me a very slight half smile and turned his back on me and didn’t react.  He just kept on showering and I just kept on looking.  He turned about slowly while under the shower and faced me and pretended that I was not there.  Then his penis began to grow.  Straight up to the sky.  Then he began to rub it.  I was frozen solid and sweating.  My heart kept on pounding.  I wanted to touch it but I couldn’t.  He kept on rubbing his penis up and down, up and down, faster and faster.  I was getting so aroused I had to sit down or I would have fainted.  Then he looked at me from the corner of his eye as if he was saying “Come over here, go on, do it”.  He didn’t say it but he didn’t have to.  I could feel it and wanted so badly to go there.  I couldn’t take any more of this excitement so in a panic I rushed out of the gym panting and sweating.  I will remember this moment of sexual fantasy for the rest of my life.  I know now am ‘gay’.  And I liked it.

Back at home, sometime during the year, Bob’s mother came to Australia from the United Kingdom for a visit.  This I thought was going to be interesting.  I have a lot of unanswered questions.  Initially when she got to Melbourne, we greeted her with open arms and it was obvious Bob was overwhelmed with the joy of seeing his ageing mother after about 20 or years.  It was side I never saw of him.  It was the first time I actually started to see him with feeling and emotion.  Perhaps there was more to Bob than I thought.  But after a week or so, things began to go sour. My mother and Bob’s mother began to have disagreements which I had no real idea what they were about.  I think they had a personality crash but I think there was a lot more to it than that.  For example Bob’s mother who was living in Sam’s room at the time, was caught red handed stealing packets of expensive chocolates and lollies which mum was keeping for the upcoming Christmas festivities.  These treats were also hidden so no one would be tempted to eat them but somehow Bob’s mother found them and hid them under Sam’s bed.  Sam actually made the discovery and told our mother.  It did not go down well, not at all.  In fact all hell broke loose and the thing too was that Bob actually defended his mother even though she was in the wrong.  Strictly speaking she was in fact a thief.  Anyhow, things went from bad to worse with the relationship with Bob’s mother and my mother.  It was very tense.  One weekend we took Bob’s mother on one of our trips to the ski resort.  That was a mistake.  You see, Bob’s mother was trying to cause tension between Bob and my mother.  I think her plan was to break them up as Bob’s mother was fond of Bob’s ex-wife.  But the situation that really caused problems was the night we all went to the local pub for a meal.  Just before the meal, Sam and I went to the computer game machines and pinball machines to play some games.  One of the machines gobbled up my money and would not work.  I ended up putting in about five dollars’ worth of coins to try and get it working but it wouldn’t.  So I told my mum and Bob.  Strangely enough, Bob’s mother disappeared.  Bob wanted to check out the machine to see what was wrong with it and to my shock there was a note stuck on the front of the machine saying ‘out of order’.  I was adamant that there was no sign when I put the coins in.  Of course Bob was extremely unimpressed and called me a liar and then stated that I was trying to cause trouble again.  My mum was upset with this for what Bob was accusing me of and it ended up as a screaming match in the pub between Bob and my mum.  As embarrassing as it was, I knew who the culprit was.  It was Bob’s mother.  She was absolutely strategic and seeking ways to destroy our family.  She was an elderly woman and for the way she behaved was quite bizarre.  Her intentions were clear.  She wanted my mother out of Bob’s life.

On return from the weekend, there was still tension in the household mainly because my mum was quite upset about Bob’s accusations towards me.  She always stood up for me which I praise her for.  There was a moment one day when every family member was out of the house.  Bob was at work, so too was mum, and Sam went to a friend’s house or something.  It was just me and her.  Bob’s mother.  Now was my chance to get the ‘nitty gritty’ of what was going on.  But the big question was “who was Bob, I mean, the real Bob?”  So I approached her casually for a chat and sat in the lounge with tea and biscuits and talked for hours.  On the surface she was a sweet old lady.  But deep inside was a ruthless woman.  She also stated some shocking revelations.  I don’t want to contradict myself by saying they were shocking but they kind explained a lot of things.  She told me that Bob was a failed artist.  That for many years he tried to market his drawings and paintings and could not seem to get any attention.  So he turned to a job in manual labour.  I think it was boiler making or carpentry or something.  Quite a contrast.  She also admitted that she was a tough mother.  Her husband was alcoholic and their family life was struggle.  I asked her if she ever abused Bob.  Her response was “You don’t like him, do you?....Bob I mean”.  I didn’t answer.  I didn’t have to.  Then she said “he only got what he deserved”.  That indicated to me that he was in fact abused.  I also got the feeling it was pretty severe too by the way she was talking.  My questions by that stage were answered, and there was no more to say.  A few days later Bob’s mother went back home to the United Kingdom, never to be seen again.

Not long after the departure of Bob’s mother, the house began to feel a bit more upbeat.  Mum and Bob had made up, yet again.  Bob resisted the urge to verbally or physically abuse me.  He was pretty much treating me like a son.  I liked that.  One weekend they decided not to go to the resort for one and just stay at home as the weather for the weekend was not looking too crash hot.  Bob said he was going to build a billy cart and wanted Sam and I to help him.  Sam was enthusiastic about it, I was quite uninterested but like always I pretend to be.  The three of us one rainy Saturday morning were in the shed.  Sam was sawing some wood, Bob was hammering nails and I was sandpapering.  Like the most boring task in the world.  This was just not my sort of thing.  I’m not really the handyman kind of guy and was just not really interested.  I think Bob didn’t really want our help he was just trying to act like a dad plus he wanted Sam and me to do ‘manly’ things.  He hated the fact I was a bit of a mummy’s boy and was always looking for ways to toughen us up.  After about an hour or so I just said “Look, dad.....can I just go and do my homework...?”  He paused for a second and gave me a dirty look of disappointment then said suddenly “Yeah, right, piss off then.....you don’t wanna help ya dad, go to your stupid textbooks then!”  He really did not have to say that although I did feel quite guilty about it.  So I went inside with my head bowed in shame.  But I was just plain bored.  I just didn’t care about carpentry.

It wasn’t even fifteen minutes when he stormed back inside and opened my bedroom door with a gust giving me a fright.

“You’re going outside!.....NOW.....I’m sick of you sitting in your bedroom pussying                                           about with your artwork and shit....”.

Insulted as I was I felt the urge to say no.  And I did.

“I don’t want to....I have a lot of homework”. I said timidly.

“Bullshit” he murmured back and then went back outside.

Mum was out shopping so she would not have heard this.  But a few minutes later Bob stormed back inside and slammed the back door behind him with such force that I knew there was trouble headed my way.  My immediate thought was “oh no, what now....?”  He pushed open my bedroom door with great force, grabbed my head and threw me onto the bed.  Without a second to spare he pulled my pants down.  I couldn’t believe what he was doing, I think I was just having a bad dream.  Then he grabbed a pair of pliers from his back pocket and put it down my pants.  I started or tried to scream but my throat closed up from the terror that nothing came out.  He then proceeded to gently squeeze my testicles until I screamed loud and clear.  He did it again.  Again I screamed and begged him to stop.  He did.  He then stood up with pride and said

“I just had to see if you really had balls.....you pussy faggot!”

Then he calmly strolled out of my room without closing the door.  He walked out the backdoor but this time not slamming it.  It was like he just had a therapeutic rush and sexually abusing me like that made him feel better.  I was stunned and just went back to me desk, laid my head on my desk and cried my eyes out.  Who would believe me if I told anyone?  I just could not bear to confront my own mother about this, it would kill her.  But one thing’s for sure, he is not going to get away with.  After this incident I felt like my skin has now become so thick that it’s time I stood to him.  I swore and oath to myself that that was the last time.  No more.  No more tears.  If anything, from now on it will be tears of joy.  But I swear, if he does touch me again, I will kill him; literally.  It was time for action.  My agenda list was growing starting from earning lots of cash so I can live on my own, passing year 12, getting into university, pursuing a career in film, travel and..........revenge.  I wanted to make him suffer and will do whatever it takes to pay him back, even if it’s his death

Soon it was already early October and we were preparing for our VCE (HSC) exams.  The pressure was on and I handled it pretty well.  Once we finished our exams it was in the lap of the gods and we wouldn’t receive our results until January so until then it was party time.  There were many parties being planned.  Many wild ones.  We also arranged a Chicken and Champagne breakfast down by the nearby river.  Only the cool kids were allowed.  The guys had to dress up in the girl’s school uniform and vice versa, it was a traditional event for year 12 graduates.  The parties went on practically every day for the next week that included hangovers on a daily basis too.  But hey, we’re only young once.

As I finished my school year and completing my full secondary education, mum and Bob wanted to reward me.  They gave me a choice of either a car or a trip to Europe.  I chose the trip with excitement.  I had been overseas before when our family, with Bob, about two years ago when we went to Fiji.  So I was familiar with the process of preparing to go overseas but was apprehensive.  The reason was that I would be on my own however I had the opportunity to stay with relatives in Austria.  My Auntie Annie and Uncle Michael lived in Salzburg, Austria and they were delighted that I was coming to stay with them. So later I departed for Austria flying direct from Melbourne to Vienna.  I planned to go for a couple of months but be back in time for my planned 18th birthday party in late January and my eagerly awaited exam results and university offers.

As we were descending down into Vienna, I looked outside my window on the plane and was in absolute awe of the magnificent scenery.  It looked like a postcard or travel brochure.  The magical alpine views and the quaint Viennese houses looked spectacular and really felt like I was arriving in Europe.  I was excited but very jet lagged.  Annie and Michael were ecstatic to greet me at the airport.  As they lived in Salzburg we took the train from central Vienna into Salzburg and all I remember was that both Annie and Michael were talking non- stop to me in German and broken English about what activities they had planned for me as I kept nodding off to sleep.  So I barely got any of their conversation.  I was so tired it wasn’t funny.  I don’t think Annie appreciated that I kept falling asleep and I got the impression she was offended as she may have thought I was trying to ignore her but I wasn’t.  I was just tired.  So I didn’t worry about it then.  Stay tuned though.  I will explain the issue with Annie later on.

When we arrived at their house in Salzburg it woke me up.  It was the most beautiful Austrian style mock Tudor house with snow on the roof and surrounding the garden.  It looked like a winter wonderland.  They said that it was unusual for them to have so much snow at this time of year and they gave the impression they hated snow.  But I loved it, I have only seen snow a couple time before but this was pure white fluffy snow.  It was the most beautiful sight.  Annie made it evident that they thought I was strange that I loved the sight of snow.  But coming from a generally warm climate like Australia, this was a novelty to me.  She just didn’t understand why I liked the sight of snow.   It was all new to me.  She thought I was weird.  But I didn’t care, however I did care that I was getting a bad vibe from her and thought that I’d better be on my toes with her around.  Michael was more down to earth though.

The next day a couple of my second cousins came over.  Well, I think they were introduced to me as my second cousins, anyhow, they are related to me in some way.  Anyway besides that, I had never met them before so this was a real occasion.  There was Gunter who was about my age and pretty cool and then there was Ibella who was about a year older and she also was an attractive cool character.  Gunter and Ibella offered to take me out clubbing that night and I obliged.  I don’t think Annie approved of this as I heard Michael and Annie arguing in German about this which I thought was strange as I am young and I can’t always sit at home with my Aunty and Uncle all the time.  But Michael just said to me to go out and have a good time.  Michael was quite relaxed about it.

We ended up in a couple of clubs and this was really my first exposure to any club scene at all.  The Austrians, or any Europeans for that matter were so friendly and when I spoke to total strangers in the clubs I talked about my home country Australia.  They were captivated and enthralled by this because I have come from such a long way.  However their image of Australia is kangaroos, outback desert and koalas.  Quite often I would have to set the record straight and say “Yes, we do actually have electricity!”   The Austrians are massive beer drinkers and I did not want to offend so I had to accept drinks one after the other even though I was getting totally sloshed.  Even though the club scene was new to me I felt so comfortable in there, like it was a world you could escape to and the music just had to move you.  Europe seemed to be in forefront of club music and you could sense that even though I was a ‘freshman’ to this atmosphere.  I didn’t expect to have so much fun and after we realised we better head home he said “Just wait until we get to Paris, then you will know what clubbing is really about”.  I knew we were headed for fun times and I was ready to let my hair down.  It was time to come out of my shell.

We ended up in me coming home at 6 am.  Annie was not happy.  She acted strange though and was telling Michael off and not me directly.  She thought I didn’t speak much German so she argued with Michael in German.  However I understood a little and picked up some words like ‘trouble-maker’ and ‘selfish’.  This had to be noted and I would tell my mum upon returning.  I think Annie is mentally unstable.  I tried to stay clear from her as much as possible.  I think her issue was that my German was not that great and she took a lot of offence to that.  She also seemed to think I had no manners and what offended me the most was the day I heard Michael and Annie talking in the kitchen in German.  Now I realise that my German is not perfect but I am sure I heard Annie call me feminine or something like I ‘act like a girl’.  I hope I heard incorrectly, but I don’t think so.  This really hurt.  I have had to endure stress and disapproval of my stepfather and coming to Europe thinking I could escape that torment even just for a while, but I am still being superficially judged.  I am sick of it.  I just want to be me and I deserve a break.  I told myself that once I return home, and now that I have developed a thicker skin, I would go all out.  Fuck the rest of the world, I’m gonna have fun and get what I did not get when I was a kid, love and respect.  The fact is, I never had love and respect from a male figure.  It never occurred to me until now in present time that perhaps that’s why I am gay.  I wanted respect and admiration for just once in my life and I don’t care if I have to degrade myself to get it.  Anyway, next stop was Vienna.

During my stay in Europe, Michael wanted me to see a few other European cities and travelling from say, Vienna to London or Venice was like taking a flight from Melbourne and Sydney, it was no big deal, I just thought it was weird.  So then Michael and I went to Vienna for a few days leaving Annie at home.

Vienna was beautiful, the architecture and being during Christmas time it felt like pure magic.  Every shop window frosted with snow and displaying designer outfits and expensive chocolates, and on every street corner were the Mulled wine vendors.  They sold an Austrian sweet red wine which was warmed and had a hint of cinnamon, just magical.  All the well dressed and stylish Viennese huddled around the vendors holding a cup of Mulled wine and listening to the buskers play the Blue Danube Waltz.  It was a European atmosphere and I felt a long way from home but I still submerged myself in the culture.

When Christmas Eve arrived the scene outside my bedroom window was a truly magical sight.  Way too overwhelming to articulate but it just quite simply felt like Christmas.  No barbeques and eating turkey in 30 degree heat here, it was cold but snowing like a moving postcard of a winter wonderland.  We spent the evening in front of a log fire toasting marshmallows and drinking a very rich style of Austrian plumb wine, I think it was.  Nice but the alcohol content was way over the top.  It was simply just nice.  I can’t think of any other way of how it feels as an Australian experiencing a European Christmas.

For New Year’s Eve Michael made plans for me and Gunter to go to Paris for a few days.  We left around the 29th or 28th in December in time for the New Year’s Eve celebrations in central Paris.  When we arrived, well, what can I say?  Paris is quite simply.......well ...very French!  It was just like I pictured it to be.  The smell of freshly baked croissants in the morning as you stroll through tight cobblestone alleyways is an experience you really have to see for yourself to appreciate why everyone is so crazy about this city.  It is beautiful.  Paris consumes all your senses, the sights, the smells, the noise and the tastes.  My only gripe was it was the touristy of places I have ever been to.  I never thought I would ever get the chance to see the Eiffel Tower, but there it was, I was overwhelmed by its magnificent beauty and magnitude.

Michael, Gunter and I spent the countdown to the New Year at Champs Elyse and there were the usual fireworks display, free champagne, and real champagne for that matter, circulating the streets.  It was very French and very chic.  I found it strange but I compared the atmosphere of this occasion to back home in Australia.  In Melbourne partially, I have heard to the amount of violence and brawls which break out on the streets all fuelled by alcohol.  But here, the whole of Paris just celebrated in unity.  It was a sea of friendship, all ages and all types of people.  There was not an ounce of violence anywhere.  The Europeans quite simply are cultured and mature.  I think these few idiots in Australia could learn a thing or two about real life and that it is meant to celebrated and not create a ’big -headed bogan’ attitude to everything.  Although Australian’s are considered easy going and relaxed we don’t have a recognisable culture.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud to be an Aussie but I’m not proud of those few bogan’s that think life is about downing stubbies of VB all day long.  This is the actual impression that Europeans have of Australian’s, I know, because they told me.  I’m embarrassed about that and I know that the perfect Aussie male is out there yet to be discovered.  I knew that my sexuality what not of the norm, but I wanted to be just a man with no consideration of whether the fact I preferred men mattered or not.  I wanted to be an Aussie male, a man, a man who just happened to prefer other men.  I did not want to be called gay, I hate the word.  I want to be just another guy.

A few hours later we headed back to the hotel grabbing a baguette on the way and Gunter and I were not ready to retire for the day just yet.  So we headed out to a club in central Paris called Le Central.  Supposing the most popular and most stylish of the clubs in Paris.  Gunter knew Paris like the back of his hand so I trusted him and went with the flow.

The club was pumping.  The people inside were the most super cool people I had ever seen, this was Paris at its hippest.  One thing I found a bit difficult to understand was that it was obvious that the crowd included all types of people.  That included straight and gay.  I questioned this to Gunter and he just laughed at me.  I asked why he was laughing and he said “Well, I don’t know about Australia but here in Europe whether you’re gay, straight or even bisexual, nobody gives a damn, in fact being gay, is quite a cool thing”  My immediate reaction was that my impression of Europe is that they are well ahead from the rest of the world.  Then Gunter surprised me.  “Jay.....I know you are gay” he whispered in my ear.  I just looked at him.  “It’s okay!” he laughed.  “I know you are.....and it doesn’t matter.....just have fun!” he said with enthusiasm.  I just smiled at him like I was relieved.  “So, I am guessing you are straight then Gunter?” I said back.  “Yeah I am....I have a girlfriend....are you using your gaydar on me?” he said jokingly.  We both just laughed and headed straight to the dance floor.  I immediately started to feel a lot more confident about myself.  I really have nothing to hide anymore.  No longer was the need for denial.  It’s all gonna be okay and it’s about time I started to really get down and party and celebrate life.

To my surprise in the club, cocaine was free flowing everywhere.  It was so accessible in there that it was basically handed out on platters.  So yes, we could not resist and had to give it a go.  But just the one line.  Then two.  Then three.  Then we knew we had to stop as my confidence was getting control of me and was almost flying off the handles.  But we were not finished just yet.  For recovery we went to a club just around the corner from Le Central called Miss Moneypenny’s.  I think this club was a spin off or branch of the popular but cool club in London with the same name.  The music was a lot more of an underground housey or garage feel to it so it was perfect for winding down.  But tired soon set in so we headed back to the hotel sometime in the early hours of sunrise, I think.

The couple of days later we left Paris unfortunately.  I would have loved to spend more time there but I knew I would be back.  We headed back to Salzburg on the bus and on the way we had a few stopovers in some other European cities.  We went to a few other places around Europe but they were more like stopovers as it was so quick and fast.  It was a bit of a tour but it was like “Whoops! There goes Munich, whoops! There goes Innsbruck” and so on........

Upon returning to Salzburg, Annie was in a bit of a mood.  She was annoying Michael constantly bickering at him.  I just don’t know how he handles her and what exactly her problem is.  But one thing’s for sure, she did not like me for some reason.  When I arrived back in my room and dropped my suitcases I noticed there was a letter on my bed.  It was from mum.  However I noticed that the letter had been opened.  Annie obviously read the letter.  How rude.  But I read the letter and it was surprisingly quite long.  It was Pages in fact.  Mum spoke about how much she missed me and that Bob was going to try harder to be a good dad to me.  It sounded sincere so I started to cry.  A passage written by mother that made me emotional stated this:

.........when you get home, we must sit and talk, a lot has happened here since you’ve been gone.  Dad says that he promises to try and make it up to you, but we will see about that.  I have made new rules in this house since the trouble with Sam and you and especially the way he has treated you.  He is not allowed to anything to Sam or you or what I want a bit like Aunty Mary and Brendon live.  Aunty Mary has been a great help to me since you’ve been gone, although I wished so many times that you were here to help me because I trust you and rely on you, because you are sensible, we will stay only if he keeps his word and says nothing to you or Sam, if he can’t then we have no option but to leave, and I hope we don’t have to do that, because one day this house will be yours and Sam’s, so you don’t have to worry so much about the future.  But if it doesn’t work out you will have all my insurance to share anyway............

I do not mean for this letter to be so serious or to upset you but I think that you should know what’s going on................................

All my love

Your Mum xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

P.s  All I know is you and me will sort this out when you get home, once and for all xxx

I sat on the bed crying and trying to really understand what my mother was trying to say.  I knew trouble was brewing back home.  I was not looking forward to coming home and I don’t see how that fucking bastard of a monster would change from abusive thing to a loving dad.  Are you kidding me?  I felt so sorry for having my mother put up with his abuse and got the impression that there was more to this letter than meets the eye.  My mother was suffering.  For me.

This was really the only time that I had been away from home for such a long period it actually affected my mother in a way that it was like she was losing her son.  I wondered how she was going to react to me actually officially leaving home.  That was in the pipeline and in my mind.  But I wondered that if Bob really wanted to try and be more like a father figure or if mum was just saying that to make me feel better.  I won’t lie, but I really did wish I had a dad.  I’m sorry to say that Bob had not yet earned that title.  But perhaps he realised after my absence from home that he does actually miss me or perhaps this was just another one of his manipulative schemes to earn the approval of my mother.  So to this day, I still have that letter as it moved me quite a lot and got me thinking about family values.  I wish Bob and I could start again.  Perhaps it was me that had to try harder.  I made an oath to myself that I would try and make amends with Bob and that he could have the potential to really be my dad.  I wanted that.  I wanted to be accepted and cherished and I have never really had a conscious memory of having been loved by a father so I craved for that love.  But most of all, I needed it.

So after a couple of months I headed back home to Melbourne, Australia.  I really felt like this trip had not only broadened my horizons it gave me time to really have a true think about who I really am and what I wanted to get out of life.  But I was apprehensive to come home.  I knew stuff happened at home whilst I was gone and did not really know what I was walking back into.  Going by mum’s letter, Bob said to her that he wants to treat me like a son but I could not really see that happening all of a sudden.  It didn’t make any sense.  I don’t know if mum was just trying to put on a brave face but I still didn’t trust Bob.  The reality is, and always will be, no matter how hard I try, he will never ever be my dad.  The title of being called ‘dad’ walking into a new family, needs to be earned.  Bob did not deserve it.  On the plane trip back I was also dwelling about the thoughts of my sexuality and whether or not I keep this to myself or not.  I wanted to express it as I no longer felt ashamed.  But I was still too shy to say that word-‘gay’.  But I was hungry to explore my sexuality now more than ever.  I just didn’t know how I would do this in Australia and told myself that I would just have to keep this to myself.  I was now no longer ashamed to be attracted to men, I just worried about the tag that came along with it which society gives you when you ‘come out’.  You know, the ‘gay’ tag or more extreme ‘faggot’ or ‘poofter’.  I am a man, a young man who wants to live his life to it’s full, but as matter of fact, I just happened to prefer other men, not women.  Is that so unusual or disgusting?  I think I’m going to work through this.  I am going to seek my independence and start standing up for myself.  I don’t need Bob, in fact I don’t need anyone, I just need a life.  A life where I don’t need to hide behind my mother’s dress anymore.  Melbourne, Jay Beau Andrews is ready.......

Thinking on the flight home I was dwelling on how I was a bit sorry to go as I really did have an experience of a lifetime including learning to cross country snow ski as well, in the Austrian Alps.  The sights of Europe enlightened my mind and gave me an insight into how life should be lived and not just existing.  But most of all, treasure your own individuality.  I wanted to be someone so I was coming home fresh with determination.  It was my first time to Europe, and knew that it would not be my last. It was also good that I got to experience all sides to Europe, not just what you see on the surface.  I also got to experience both luxury travel and a bit of backpacking, although we always stayed in luxury hotels.  I also surprisingly got to see a lot more of Europe than I expected and visited more cities than I had planned over the couple of months I spent there.  I really was blessed that I had to opportunity to see a vast array of European cities and towns.  Most of my time though was spent in Austria and got to see most of the land from cultural cities to the Tirolean alpine country.  I also discovered that there is a night life out there just waiting to be dived into and my introduction to club land wet my appetite.  But most of all I had fun and glad I went to broaden my horizons.  One thing I learnt is that life in Europe is so much more embraced.  I took that experience with me back home.

It was a bit depressing coming back to normality but I was looking forward to seeing my family again, even Bob.  The whole family was at the airport to greet me with such enthusiasm that it actually felt good to be home.  The family love felt genuine and of course my mum was so happy I arrived back safely in her arms.  They all gave me a kiss and a hug and told me how much they missed me and then there was Bob.  Smiling at me.  He gave me the warmest hug with sincerity beyond belief.  He was my dad, finally.  But in my sub conscious there was still suspicion.  I did not let that get the better of me and just enjoyed the welcoming home party.

Arriving back home was a bit of an eerie feeling.  Europe, especially for the first time was a worldly experience and the complete opposite of Australia.  It was the culture of Europe that fascinated me and I spoke so enthusiastically about what I had seen, heard, smelt and tasted.  However I consciously remembered not to speak about the naughty times in club land.   I think my family does not need to know about that, well, not yet anyway.  But I was home and it was time to adjust back to normal life and my birthday was only days away.  Not to mention the exam results and university offers and the list just goes on.  I was overwhelmed with what I had to do now as an adult entering the age of individuality.  The world was on a platter for me and I had to decide how to reach out and grab it.

The New Year was well and truly in full swing and my parents were preparing to return to work after summer holidays and soon we all got our results in the mail.  I did quite well.  In fact very well.  I actually received an award of academic excellence which my mother was so proud of me.  Bob didn’t really show much enthusiasm but I didn’t care.  My Oma was also very proud of me too and told all my aunties and uncles of how proud she was of me.  I felt quite special like it was a real achievement.  The next step was to find out if we all got into uni, but that was not due until February or March.

That January was also the month of my 18th birthday.  I planned to have it at my house and only the coolest was invited along with all close family members.  I had arranged a pool party as it was during the summer months.  My vision of the party was to basically have an Aussie style pool party with a barbeque, cocktails by the pool, that kind of thing.  But Bob had to do the unthinkable and insisted we have party favours like balloons and streamers.  Either he was trying to piss me off or he was just not ‘with it’.  I was turning 18 not 8!  It was embarrassing but he made Sam and I put them up.  Even Sam knew that this was not cool.  Oh well, at least Bob was paying for the party I’ll give him credit for that.

On the day of the party it was quite chaotic getting everything ready for the party.  I went in the car with mum to help her pick up the party food and stuff and disaster struck.  After we picked up the food we were about to drive back home and my mum screamed in agony.  “I think I’ve put my back out” she screamed.  Oh no I thought.  Although it may sound a little selfish, I was just thinking oh my god, how are we going to get the party sorted in time.  But my mum was my main concern.  I didn’t know what to do to help.  I had not done any first aid training at the stage so I didn’t know what to do.  “Call dad!” mum gasped.  So I called him and he came straight over and took us home.  Mum did not want to go to the hospital, she just wanted to lie down on her bed and relax her back.  Once home, everything had to be Cracker Jack timing.  Nothing had been prepared for the party, and I was yet to take a shower or anything.  Then all of a sudden guests started to arrive.  Bloody early!  I just thought, if I’m going in the pool I might as well miss the shower, it would be a waste.  So I went outside where the backyard was the venue for the party.  The first to arrive was Penelope and Virginia.  Bob was talking to them.  Or should I say, chatting them up.  Virginia commented how handsome I look today and of course Bob had to start stirring.  “Oh, are we gonna see a little bit of pashin’ on with you kids, eh” he said sarcastically.  How embarrassing I thought.  I knew this was going to be his game this evening.  His intention was too completely embarrass the hell out of me and destroy my dignity.  But I was not going to let him do that.  I was not romantically connected to Penelope, not sure what she thought of me though, it didn’t matter, I only pretended to like girls anyway.  For the superficial sense of things, I was romantically linked to Diana and she was coming to the party too.

After an hour or so all the guests had arrived and slowly started drinking beer after beer, wine after wine.  Soon this led to the “skull, skull, skull” song, if you know what I mean.  My poor mother though was stuck in bed with her sore back.  I felt so sorry for her that she was missing out on my 18th birthday so I went to check on her every now and then to see how she was.  I felt so bad for her and so guilty that the party went on without her.  The party went on way into past midnight and things took a bit of a turn.  Ironically as the party was classified as a pool party, no one seemed to want to go for a swim however one of my cheeky friends got out the water balloons.  By the time you know it, the party went into a wild water fight, friends, relatives and all.  Surprisingly even Bob got involved in the action.  My mother was inside and was screaming out the window “What the hell is going on?”  But everyone seemed to ignore her and the party just kept on getting wilder and wilder.

We soon had complaints coming in from our neighbours and they threatened to call the police so the party kind of ended literally in a drenched manner by around 3 am or so.  It was an unexpected type of party but for the better as it was the talk of the town for a while.  So as the story goes, some bad things happen for the better.  I don’t know, but what I do know is that it was bloody fun!

February seemed to take forever to get to.  I guess it was due to my impatience of waiting for the offers of any university intake acceptances.  Then the mail arrived.  My first choice was Swinburne University to study the film and television course.  It was the best one in the country and one of the hardest to get into.  This course was also conducted in conjunction with the Victorian College of the Arts.  I received a letter stating that I passed the VCE results to get into Swinburne and they request I attend an interview and bring along a portfolio of any work.  I was ecstatic with the news.  It meant that I passed stage one but that was the easy part.  It was the interview that scared the shit out of me as I just can’t seem to handle the pressure of interviews.  It was my flaw.  But I had to put aside my insecurities and just do it.

The day after I received the letter from Swinburne I received another one from Victoria college Rusden campus and also from RMIT.  Victoria College said I failed to qualify but RMIT wanted to interview me.  I had mixed emotions as I had failed once and succeeded once.  My confidence somehow went down.

The day of the interview at Swinburne was one of the most nerve racking moments in my history.  I think I was trying to impress too hard.  I think I answered their questions correctly, I’m not sure.  I showed then my award winning film and the reaction was strange.  It was neutral.  They showed no reaction in their faces at all.  So that was that.  I did all I could and it was in the lap of the gods.

I also went to the other couple of interviews and tried my best.  I heard nothing for weeks.  I started to panic a little and knew I had to cover my bases so I applied for a private college to study film production in Richmond, Victoria.  It was an expensive course but I could pay it off as I go.  I went for the interview and was accepted on the spot as they were very impressed with me.  Exactly a day after that, I received a letter from both Swinburne and RMIT stating that I failed to meet their requirements and to re- apply next year.  RMIT I could handle but Swinburne?  How could they have said no to me? I was shattered.  But I kept my chin up and went to the school in Richmond.  It was the best I was going to get this time around.

Soon after starting film school I got my driver’s licence and immediately bought myself a car.  It was a second hand Holden Commodore.  I was not really a ‘rev head’, so to speak, I just wanted a generally nice comfortable car that goes from A to B.  Bob showed his enthusiasm when I brought home the car.  Again, he was pleased that I did something ‘masculine’.  Yes, I know, it sounds ridiculous but that’s how he was.  He was always offering to show me how to check the oil, the gaskets, and all things mechanical that I had no idea about.  I knew how to fill it with petrol but that’s about it.

Things at home were okay for a while.  Bob worked a lot, mum worked a lot, Sam still was at school and I went to college.  We really only saw each other at dinner time.  I had a lot more free time even though I was still working part time and going to college.  The hours at college were a lot less than high school.  So I was home more than the others.  The thing is too, Bob knew this so he took advantage of this and made me do extra chores.  He also made me start paying board money which my mother disagreed with.  But like it goes, it was Bob’s law once again.

Then came along one night.  A night just like any other night.  Family dinner, no elbows on the table, no talking and ‘mind your manners!’  But this one night changed our lives in a way which was unexpected and for the better, I guess.  Let me explain.

Bob and mum had some little argument before dinner about something so insignificant I couldn’t even tell you what it was about.  We all sat down to dinner and the atmosphere was super tense.  We dared not to even look at Bob as it would kill you.  Both Sam and I had our heads down and we just ate in order to finish as soon as possible.  The television was on in the background and the evening news was on.  We could hear the sound of the television from the dining table and all our attention seemed to focus on the sound of the news due to the tension in the air.  Then some news story came on.  It was about some protest held in Melbourne by the gay community or something.  We could hear the words stated by the newsreader such as ‘gay’ or ‘homosexual’ or ‘AIDS’ or ‘lesbian’.  All sorts of words which sounded quite intimidating, even to me.  Then Bob suddenly spoke.  “Shoot them all!” he gasped.  “Kill all the AIDS fuckin’ poofters......they should all be killed!” he yelled and he said it right to my face.  He was looking directly at me.  I dared not to react even though it made me furious.  Sam didn’t budge either.  Mum was not happy with what he just said and reacted.  “Shut up Bob!....you have no idea about the real world, do you?” Mum said as she looked at him between the eyes.  I felt like applauding her bravery for her response.  But I did not move.  Even though I felt like I was no longer scared of Bob I just did not want to aggravate him.  For mum’s sake.  Then Bob spoke again in a sarcastic manner.  “You are just like your son” he said as he stared directly at me.  “You and your little shits can just fuck off if you’re not happy here” he screamed.  He then forcibly pushed his dinner plate towards mum’s plate which slid right off the table and smashed into the wall.  Then he walked out of the dining room, into the kitchen, grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat in that same spot on the couch in the lounge room.   He seemed to think this was the end of it, like he just had his say and now we just have to deal with it and forget about it.  Not this time.  Mum then came over to Sam and I and huddled us together just like when we were the ‘three musketeers’.  She cuddled her two boys and whispered “Don’t worry boys, just ignore him”.  She was shaking but I could she was also very angry with Bob.  I knew there was going to be trouble.  “Boys, finish your dinner and just go to your room’ Mum said in a caring motherly voice.  Both Sam and I could not finish our dinner as we were just a little shaken.  Not so much for what happened, that was nothing.  It was for what we were expecting to happen.  So Sam and I went straight to our rooms.  As I walked down the hallway to my room Bob yelled out ‘Fuckin’ bastard!’  I had to ignore him or I would just explode as I have had enough.  Every time I turned my back and walked down the hallway he always called me an insulting name.  Not to Sam though.  Just me.  Insults like ‘Bastard!’, ‘Arsehole’ and the one that hurt me the most ‘Faggot!’  We went to our rooms and just closed our doors and I just sat on the end of the bed waiting for something to happen.  I could then hear Mum and Bob arguing in the lounge room.  I could not really hear what they were saying but I did pick up words like “Slut’ and ‘Slag’.  It killed me to hear Bob saying things like that to my mum.  I hated him for it.  I really wanted to do something about it but couldn’t.  I just had to stay put.  I began to shake.  My anger and hatred for him was so overwhelming that it made me shake with extreme nervousness like I could not control it.  I thought I was going to flip out.  Literally.  I put my head to my bedroom door to try and hear exactly what was being said.  Then suddenly without warning the door opened banging the side of my head and forcing my head into the wall.  There he was.  Bob.  He stood in the doorway with beer in hand and swaying slightly back and forth like he was drunk.  Well, he was drunk actually.  “You fuckin’ little bastard.....I hate you!” he said in a deep low tone.  The look in his eyes were paralysing.  He stood there like he had a weapon in his hand and cornered me like it was horror movie.  He totally flipped out with hatred.  Mum grabbed his shoulder and yelled “You leave him alone!....he never does anything to you!”.  Bob then pushed mum to the floor.  Then that was it.  He had to get it.  So I rushed towards him and tried to punch him but I couldn’t do.  Why?  I just didn’t understand.  Was I scared?  I don’t know.  Then he gave me a scary smirk and thrusted his fist into my face which threw me across the room hitting the bedroom window.  “You Bastard!” Mum screamed.  “Don’t you dare!, don’t you dare!....” she yelled.  Then he came back for more.  My face ached with agony like it was about to explode.  He punched the other side of my face.  He was enjoying it.  Mum was trying to hold him back and Sam was in the background standing there helpless and crying.  I couldn’t take it anymore.  I was shaking so bad that I couldn’t speak.  Bob grabbed my chin and spat in my face.  “You fuckin’ little cunt!....I should have fixed you up ages ago you fuckin’ arsehole bastard of a slut!” he directly to my face while spitting his evil words.  I wanted to run so I did.  I ran to the front door and they all chased me.  I had one hand on the door handle and screamed “I’m leaving!....I can’t take this anymore!”.  Sam rushed to the front door and tried to block my path to stop me from leaving.  “Please darling don’t...” Mum cried.  “Look!...your little brother is trying to stop you...” she said.  “Please don’t go Jamie” Sam cried.  I felt so sorry for him that I could not open the door.  “Go on, piss off then” Bob yelled.  Then he came back for more.  But I was ready for him.  I stood up straight and looked at him right between the eyes and said “Go on, do it!....violence is your answer to all your problems....isn’t it you fucking arsehole...I hate you!....I hate you!...I hate you!” I yelled.  Bob then raised his fist slowly ready to take another swipe at me.  It was going to hurt but I was ready to take it.  But to my surprise mum grabbed his fist from behind and said softly “That was the last time you ever, ever hit my son again Bob!”  Finally the Bob’s rampage ended.  “Boys, go to your rooms and grab all your things, we are leaving!” Mum said nervously but with great courage.  My mum had the last word and Bob knew it was his final and regrettable mistake.  Finally Bob got his ‘just desserts’.  It was end for him.  The feeling of relief was so joyful and I felt like a load had been lifted.  “Please Annie, please don’t go” Bob cried.  The look of Bob begging my mother not to leave was laughable.  He looked like a little boy begging for a toy in the supermarket.  It was pathetic.  But this was it.  He has destroyed himself to the point where the damage is done so badly now, it’s irreversible.  Quite simply, enough was enough and my mother finally had the bravery to stand up to him.  Watching her boys suffer in these circumstances absolutely crushed her painfully.  We just could not take any more of this family pretending to be the ‘Brady bunch’ on the surface.  It was about time that justice came and prevailed.  No more abuse, no more lies, my mother does not deserve it

As my mum, Sam and I grabbed all our necessities and shoved them quickly in our bags, leaving behind the furniture and other stuff we quickly rushed out the door and jumped into my mum’s car.  Bob was begging mum not to leave but she was totally ignoring him.  We were about to drive off and came over to my passenger window.  I opened it down, just hoping he could attack me just for that one last time.  I was not scared I was actually hoping he would as I would have attacked him back twice as hard.  He just stared at me with the most evil look on his face and said “See?...this is what you have done, I hope you know this is all your fault.....”.  I didn’t say anything I just him and evil grin back and laughed.  Mum jumped out of the car and yelled “NO Bob, it’s YOUR fault, I hope your happy now!”.  As we sped off reversing down the driveway, Bob stood there.  Looking sorry for himself, he looked like a lost shaggy looking puppy.  As we sped off I wound down the window and yelled;

“Who is the bastard now you arsehole?  Enjoy now what you deserve, IT’S OVER!”

He didn’t say a word.  I could sense his tears of sadness.  It was pure release.  It was a prayer for dying, and now a new song for the living.  It was the final curtain call.  We are free.  Free to start again.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Chapter six..........Head on

The silence in the car after we left Bob was deafening but I felt a sense of happiness and even started thinking about what the future would hold of us.  My mother had tears rolling down her face as she was driving but I think she was angry more than anything.  Angry that this event had destroyed our family.  But she didn’t blame me although I did feel partly to blame.  “I’m sorry mummy” I said with deep sorrow.  She gave me a sweet loving look and put her hand on my head and said “It’s not your fault, he’s a bastard and has a problem, we will be fine, like always, you’ll see, we will be fine” She said.  I knew she was right but had no idea where we were going or what we will do next.  Life was uncertain now but I felt like things were going to be okay now.  I could feel it.

That same night we ended up staying in a nearby motel and it gave mum a chance to tell our Oma what has happened.  I think Oma was relieved as well.  Although my Oma is of age, she’s a very clever woman and very switched on.  She knew this event was coming.  We ended up living with our Oma for a couple weeks until mum found a house in the same local area we lived in.  We rented the house and it was not the Hilton but it was nice and very large.  We also took our puppy dog as well as she was part of our family, she does not deserve to be with Bob.  Bob needs isolation and I hoped he suffered from it. It was just right for our ‘three musketeers’ family.  It was not long until we all got back on track and on with our lives again.  Surprisingly though, considering the event of leaving Bob that day was so intense for all of us.  I guess the love of our little family helped us emotionally and my mother treasured her boys as her life.  We were her everything.  Mum continued to work as before, Sam went to school, I went to college and still worked part time at Pizza Hut to help with income.  But soon I thought it was time that I discover my identity and start to become more independent.  I was happy living with mum at the age of eighteen but I had a zest of what is out there in life and was so curious about discovering my own sexuality.  I just could not do this living with my mother.  I love my mum, but I need my space and living on my own gave me the freedom to experience new things.  I was of a legal age so there was no excuse to ignore the things in life that only an adult can experience.  I had to know, I had to discover, I wanted action.

I began looking for jobs in the Melbourne city area, just doing bar tending or waiter work whilst I was doing my film course.  The plan was if I could find a job closer to the city then I could move closer to the city.  The city was also where the gay scene thrived which I had only heard about at that stage.  I went for a few job interviews in the city area and whilst I was there I came across some flyers and free newspaper publications in some trendy shops that were based on events and happenings in Melbourne gay community.  So I picked them up and took them home.  Initially I found it quite intimidating, especially the picture of men kissing and the articles they had in there which were quite explicit in content.  Articles like safe sex and recreational drug use.  These were topics I was not quite used to.  I found them overwhelming but so very, very interesting and made me even so more curious about the gay scene.  I had to learn more.  I discovered that there really was a complete gay community out there, living in unity, and happy.  But most of all it appeared that it was all about fun and excitement and the made the impression that being gay was just as normal as being straight.  It made me feel more confident about it and even more determined to indulge in the gay life.  My only problem was that I felt alone.  I didn’t know anyone who was gay, in fact I don’t even think I have even seen another person who was gay.  So I felt isolated but I knew I had to do something about this as I realised that I would not have the courage or willpower to do the socially expected thing of meeting a girl, getting married, settling down, have babies, two dogs in the backyard and a range rover in the driveway.  It was not going to happen.  I want more.  I craved for excitement, not normality.

Mum pretty quickly proceeded with a divorce from Bob who was kept fairly low keyed and private.  Mum never really spoke about it.  But she didn’t need to.  All that mattered was that we were away from the monster and that was that.  I have no idea what mum got out of the divorce or if she profited or not, I don’t know but really I don’t care.  All I care about is if she is happy or not.  It was no real secret that she was not comfortable about being on her own again but that’s only human nature.  Nobody likes to be alone.  Not even psychopathic beings like Bob.  So in a way I kind of blame myself for the separation but I will never forgive Bob for the treatment he gave me.  It might sound like a contradiction but on the surface he was like the Mike Brady from ‘The Brady Bunch”, showering us with gifts at random and smothering us three, mum, Sam and myself with family love and support but only in public.  It was his false persona that gave everyone the impression that he was a loving dad.   I will admit that he wanted to a dad, but he was never a good dad.  He failed to impress due to his poison.  That was his letdown.  Or perhaps it was his harsh upbringing that led to his old fashioned views on society.  Either way he was a pathetic excuse for a human being.  I don’t know if my mother agrees but it no longer matters.  I hope that by reading my story about this first third of my life really makes you understand how a human being can go beyond evil grounds whilst masking it from the public eye yet how I managed to keep sane throughout it.  It’s amazing how the human mind can be so resilient yet it can also cause an individual to flip over the edge.  But my story, my life, continues with interesting and twisting results so I will introduce you to the second part of my life with a surprising contrast and a new world.  That means from ‘Boy’ to ‘man’.

As much as I loved my mum and of course my little brother I decided it was time I moved out of home at the tender age of eighteen.  I searched in major Metropolitan newspapers under the shared accommodation section.  I also came across a little sub-section that were looking for ‘gay only house or flat mates’.  I thought this would be my perfect chance to meet other gay people as I knew no one.  I also just wanted to live closer to the city.  So I rang a few ads and was asked to go for interviews.  The first one was in the northern inner city suburb of Brunswick.  This was a big mistake.  The house was a dump and the man, probably about sixty five or so, kept on putting his hand on my bum as she showed me around the house.  I said thank you but no thank you.  So I proceeded to the next interview located in Collingwood. This one was worse.  Well, the house was a bit nicer but this was a couple that were looking for more than a housemate.  When they showed me to their room I could not believe my eyes.  Quite literally it was a dungeon.  There were chains hanging from the ceiling, a sling and a wardrobe full of hand cuffs and whips and so on.  They were looking for a sex slave.  What disgusted me the most and I’m not sure if I am right or not, but I’m sure it was blood stains I saw on the carpet.  I questioned the couple on this and they denied it and said it was just red paint.  I have an art background and I know the difference of red paint and blood and this really looked like blood.  I had to go, in fact I practically ran out the door.  The next day I couldn’t believe it but they had actually rang me at home saying ‘Congratulations! We have decided to let you move in!’  What?!  I politely said no thanks and moved on to the next interview.

The next interview was the house I happened to move into.  It was a nice terrace house, well, I should say sort of ‘quaint and trendy’ and was located in Carlton.  One of the closest suburbs north of Melbourne.  It was perfect and just what I was looking for.  The room was quite sizable and the other two guys, also gay, were very friendly.  There was no funny business either as they were genuinely looking for a housemate not a sex buddy.  Their names were Patrick and Jeremy.  Patrick was an artist and Jeremy worked in some sort of administration job.  I ended up moving in about a few days later.

When the day arrived that I moved out of home I had loaded up the last of the little and bits and pieces into my car.  The big items like the furniture, was transported by a removalist.  Mum helped me load the bits and pieces in my car and I was just waiting for the moment when she would break down into tears.  But she was strong but I could see her eyes starting to water up and she never spoke a word whilst we were packing the car.  I knew she was a bit sad.  It would be strange anyway if your own mother was happy to see you go.  But my mum boys are very close to her heart and I knew my moving away from home was going to hurt for a while but she knew this was something that was going to happen even though she realises that her boys are growing up into young men.  When I told her that I was moving out she was completely understanding though I never told her the real reason why I am moving out apart from that I was seeking independence.  So the car was packed and mum was standing by the driver’s door waiting for me to farewell her.  Although I was only moving about only half an hour’s drive away from her it felt like I was moving to another country and was never going to see her again.  Then she started to cry.  But she was really trying to hold back her tears.  But at the same time she had a sweet smile on her face.  She sad I was leaving but happy for me.  I was growing up.

“Don’t worry mum, I’ll see you next week” I said as I rubbed her shoulder.

“I know darling, I’m just going to miss you so much” she replied with deep sincerity.

I fought back any tears and succeeded.  As I backed down the driveway and started to drive off, I will never forget the image of my mum standing there on the lawn waving goodbye.  It felt like the end of an era; like I left a piece of my heart at home.  I think it’s still there, it always will be.

When I arrived at my new home in Carlton, my new housemates were at the door waiting to greet me and they helped me move in my furniture and stuff which I thought was nice.  We seemed to hit it off straight away and got along.  They were very down to earth.  The only thing that made me feel a bit uncomfortable was the flamboyance of Patrick.  No disrespect to him but he stuck out like a sore thumb.  It was obvious he was gay and that was the kind of thing I did not really understand.  I didn’t understand the sort of gay-like flamboyance as I didn’t really know if it was a pretentious sort of act or if they really are acting like that naturally.  But I didn’t let that affect me.

That night I moved in the guys cooked dinner as a welcome home type of thing then asked if I wanted to go to a club afterwards.

“Wanna go to three faces after dinner?” Patrick said with enthusiasm.

“Three what?” I replied.

Patrick and Jeremy looked at each other totally confused that I had no idea what this place was.  I don’t think they realized that I was new to this kind of thing.  But I went and I went nervously.

We arrived at the club which was in the trendy suburb of Prahran.  Patrick said that this street was also the gay hub of Melbourne and explained how most of the restaurants and cafes on this strip are gay or gay friendly.  He also said there were gay bookshops and cruise clubs, whatever cruise clubs were I thought.  I didn’t ask what they were but just assumed they were clubs designed for men to pick up men for sex or something, I was not completely sure.  But Jeremy surprised me and said “Don’t go to the cruise clubs, they are dirty disgusting places, you can catch anything there”.

“Any what?” I curiously asked.

“Disease’s!” he gasped.

But I was not so sure of that, after all, there is such a thing as safe sex so I just said

“Okay, then, I think I will avoid those things,”

But I took note of it.  In fact I absorbed everything they were saying to me about the gay scene in Melbourne.  It was fascinating and exciting.  This was information overload but well worth the research.  I also think the guys thought it was a bit of a novelty taking the ‘new boy’ that has just come out, into the world of the gay community.

Inside the club the atmosphere was absolutely pounding.  The lights; the thumping bass; the smell of smoke; the strobe lights.  It was an overwhelming sensation.  I was also very nervous and was not sure if I should really be here.  The first thing we did was head for the bar and got a drink which lead to drinking shooters.  After I relaxed a bit more I said I was just going to look around and the guys said they would meet me back at the dance floor in fifteen minutes.  So nervously I nudged my way around the intense crowd and soaked in the atmosphere.  The majority of the men had bodies to die for.  Although I was quite athletic and did sports like mostly cardio at the gym and karate classes, I had a toned body but not over muscular.  This was something I was lacking so it was from the very moment I told myself I would start hard-core gym weights.  Anyway, Hands were touching me everywhere from my bum to grabbing my crotch as I wandered through the darkness and strobes of light.  This really was a meat market and was a beautiful sight.  I kept thinking that I was worried I would become addicted to this atmosphere.  It was intense, magically exciting, exhilarating and a feeling of complete euphoria like nothing else mattered.  But for some reason I noticed a lot of the men were acting a bit strange.  Well, not really strange but a bit over friendly and over happy.  It did not seem natural, I could not see how a human could be that happy even in an exciting atmosphere such as this.  I also saw men huddled in a dark corner of the room sniffing some sort of small battle and passing it round to their friends.  I wondered what it was.  But there was something about this club, this atmosphere that had an energy that went beyond euphoria.  It was not a natural high, it was something else, and I had to know.  It was this shared euphoria that seemed to unite the crowd together with happiness and joy.  Like they had not a worry in the world. Like nothing else mattered, even if it was just for one night.  There was something about this place that made me want to be part of this unity.  It was the most beautiful sight but I felt out of place so I left and went home.

Seeing the realisation that there is proof of an existing gay community meant that it was possible to be myself and not live in anymore denial.  It was time to tell mum.  I’m just gonna blurt it out and tell her.  So the next time she rang me at home she asked if I wanted to come home for the weekend just for a visit and catch up.  I thought this was the perfect opportunity.  So when the weekend arrived she picked me up from my home and we chatted in the car for a while, like mother and son having a normal chat about what I’ve been up and you know, the usual stuff.  Then I don’t know what possessed me to just suddenly say it but we got to some traffic lights and stopped.

“I have to tell you somethin’ mum.....I’m....I’m gay” I said with a nervous tone                             but holding my head high with bravery.

She turn her head, put her hand softly on my shoulder and said

“I know darling.....I know....”

She then just smiled at me with such a smile of approval.  “You are my son, and I love you, no matter what” she said.  I was so relieved.  Then we just continued on chatting about just general stuff like nothing happened, like my news headline made no difference.  My mother approves and I was happy.

During the next couple of months I did a bit of sightseeing so to speak around the gay hubs of Melbourne.  Just browsing in shops, enjoying lattes at trendy cafes, that sort of thing.  I also encountered a gay bookshop and came across the travel section.  Then it was like a rush of energy thrusting through my body like I caught some sort of bug.  And it was a bug- the travel bug.  I kept reminiscing about the experience in Europe not long ago and dreamed of going back again.  Even if it was for just a couple of weeks.  My only issue was money and my job at the Pizza Hut was not a sufficient income.  I also had the dilemma of film school which sort of phased out.  I was struggling to pay the on -going fees and was getting bored with it.  It was not what I was expecting to be, a lot more technical than I thought.  I really wasn’t getting the opportunity to express my creativity.  The most I got to do in our student productions was hold a boom as the ‘sound guy’.  My days of acting as a director were over and just became a team member with a number.  So I quit.  Then dwelled for a while on the idea of travelling and started visiting travel agencies all over Melbourne getting quotes and pretending to actually go to Europe in a month or so when I visited the travel agent.  It was the next best thing than to actually travel and the cheapest too.  But I woke up.  I wanted to become a travel agent.  But most of all I just wanted to travel.  I love everything about it from the initial excitement of planning an itinerary, to wandering around duty free shops, to boarding a plane and living in a five star hotel for a while in fluffy white robes.  But to become a travel agent it was and still is not easy to get into.  Unless you were extremely lucky to get a traineeship then you needed to go a course with formal travel accreditations.  So pretty much immediately after I quit film school I started to research and stuck a picture of the Eiffel tower on my fridge.  I sent out resumes to so many travel agencies and got rejection after rejection.  So in a moment of frustration I approached an employment agency specialising in travel and hospitality and literally a day later I had a call from a top five star hotel in Melbourne CBD.

This hotel was very keen to interview me for a position in a Hospitality Traineeship and I was keen to get this job.  So I went to the interview and they were very impressed and gave me the job on the spot.  The arrangement was that during the day I would attend a hospitality school called William Angliss College and by night I would work in the front office.  The pay was not fantastic but much better than Pizza Hut and my school fees would be covered by the hotel.  I had nothing to lose and this would be my break.

For about a couple of months I worked as a porter then was promoted to concierge which I enjoyed but the hours were long and some of the demands of the guests were sometimes out of control.  Being a concierge meant that I had to basically be a ‘yes man’ to anyone and also basically become a puppet on a string and know absolutely everything about my city, Melbourne.  Which I did.  There were the occasional bizarre requests made by famous guests.  I mean famous as in, ‘celebrity’.  I will not name any celebrities as this would open up a new can of worms and I respect their privacy.  As a concierge, everything you see or hear stays in ‘The Vault’.

One particular occasion was a night working at the concierge desk just like any other night until things got a bit twisted.  I received a call from a guest who was a celebrity.  I will not name names but the only clue I can give is a football player.  A well-known one during this time, which was the nineties.  He rand my desk and asked if he could have a hairdryer.  There were actually hairdryers in the room but he said that his was not working.  I said that normally you would need to call housekeeping to get one but of course as a guest and being the concierge; you had to beckon at their every call.  So I said I would arrange for one of my porters to deliver one immediately.  But he said no.  He wanted me to deliver it personally.  I asked why and he responded saying that it would be just easier that way.  Of course, the guest is always right so I went to housekeeping, got a hairdryer and proceeded to his room.  I knocked on his door, and it actually took him a while to answer, so I knocked again.  This time he opened the door and was in a pair of jeans and topless.  “Your hairdryer sir” I said professionally whilst trying not to look at his body.  “Can you bring it in?” he responded.  I wondered why but just did as he wished.  There was a difficult moment of silence as I was just standing there inside his room, he was just standing there, and we both just looked at each other and said nothing.  It was strange and difficult to explain.  I was just waiting for him to tell me where to put the bloody thing!  Finally he spoke, ”Oh umm, yeah, just put it on the bed, that’ll be fine” he murmured.  So I placed it on the bed and proceeded to walk out of the room.  Then he brushed past me and I have no idea what led me to this.  As I brushed past him, my heart started to beat faster and I just froze in that spot.  Then he gently rubbed his hip against mine.  In that moment of time I remember thinking can this really be happening.  So totally breaching the professional duties of a concierge I placed my hand on his zipper and zipped down his zip.  He gave me a nervous smile.  He also began to un button my pants and shirt.  Then he spoke.  “Tell no one, ....and I mean NO one” he said directly into my eyes.  I just nodded my head to agree with him.  Then we had sex.

The next day as I awoke, in my own bed at home, mind you, I thought about the events of yesterday thinking have I just woke up from a dream or was it reality.  I knew either way I could never, ever tell anyone about this and anyway, I don’t think anyone would believe me.  It didn’t matter, I was flattered more than anything that a man such as that wanted me in that way.  It felt good so my confidence level went up.  I knew I have gone into a no go zone and felt so guilty that I decided to look for a new job.  It was not long until I found a job where I could transfer my hospitality traineeship into another place of employment.  I wanted something less formal.  So I applied for a job as a waiter and bartender in a popular cafe in Melbourne CBD.

During the year I met new friends at the hospitality college and also at the cafe.  I went to college by day, worked in the evening and we went out clubbing or to cool bars after work.  It was practically every night.

The year went so quick it flew by and by the time I knew it I had graduated with my Hospitality Traineeship.  It was only a one year long qualification but I wanted to go further.  So I applied for a tourism degree at RMIT Melbourne and got accepted.  The year after I started the degree part time during the day and worked at night at the same cafe.

It was not long that I started to make new friends at uni and it started to feel like high school again.  Although we were adults, we still had a little innocent fun.  Throwing paper planes during lecture, that sort of thing.  The plan for me at that stage was quite casual as I started to relax a bit more.  I didn’t overwork myself at uni, only doing a few subjects part time and only worked part time at work.  The rest of my time was going out at night.

Months roll by and just seemed to being more and more relaxed yet seeking out adventure and excitement.  Pretty quickly I got bored with the cafe I worked at and I also hated the boss as well.  He was a complete arsehole so I was glad to see the back of him.  My waiting and bartending skills were at the point of excellence and was always commented by customers how good at my job I was.  So I was very employable in the hospitality industry.  Almost immediately I found a job in a very chic cafe on Lygon Street in Carlton.  It was known as ‘little Italy’ of Melbourne and was a strip of very highly respected Italian restaurants and cafes.  One of the many places in Melbourne to be seen.  I had an instant liking to my new employer.  He was quite the cool cat so to speak and we got along so well.  The other staff were great too, my kind of people.  So I fit in just perfectly.  In fact, life itself was very relaxed, comfortable and fun at this stage.  I had not a worry in the world.

For about just over a year I worked for the cafe on Lygon Street whilst studying part time during the day before I got bored.  The techno rave scene was just starting to get real recognition in Melbourne and I was immediately intrigued.  There was a rave coming up in Melbourne with a German DJ guest Djing called ‘Cosmic Baby’.  I have only heard about raves like they were some kind of urban myth.  My version of techno at this stage was top 40 studio manufactured pop bands like ‘2 Unlimited’, “Technotronic” or ‘East 17’, the ‘ravey’ sort of boy band. Embarrassing and ignorant, I know.   I had to go but I really did not know anyone that was into the rave scene.  My friends at uni or friends at the cafe were not really interested in it.  The rave scene at that time was still quite underground.  People knew it existed like some sort of urban myth.  I have heard rumours about how exciting the raves are that I just had to see for myself.  So I went alone.

The night of the rave I had never felt so out of place in my life.  Firstly I had the clothing completely wrong.  I think people were actually laughing at me.  I just wore ‘clubby’ sort of clothes.  This was so wrong.  This was a sub culture and the attire was brightly coloured baggy pants, sloppy t-shirts with optical illusion designs or pop art style logos on them and then there were the glow sticks.  Everyone had one.  I also became aware that everyone was ‘ON’ one too.  I am referring to what the god of the rave scene.  Ecstasy.  I have only heard about ‘E’s”, or ‘Eccy’s’, but have never had one.  I never heard any bad stories about them though, only that it just makes you unbelievably happy.  The crowd at the rave were in complete unison of happiness and then it clicked.  That night I first went to that gay club, it was the ecstasy tablets that caused such joy in the people.  It all made perfect sense.  But I went home from the rave, straight, un -drugged but strangely felt like I was missing out.  But I knew that a rave was my home.

After the rave I was contemplating about how I could meet others in the rave scene.  I was thirsty for a piece of the action but suddenly deterred away from the gay club scene.  I wanted to be a ‘raver’.  This was not as easy as it sounds as the rave scene then was still quite underground.  There were flyers of upcoming raves in a small selection of ultra-trendy clothing stores like in Prahran.  But even then, the location as stated in the flyer was a cover up for the actual location.  They were held in secret warehouses across Melbourne to prevent the police from closing them down.  It sounded so exclusively cool that I had to be part of this scene.  But most of all it was about the music.  It was not just about hard hitting techno bass.  There were sub genres of techno.  There was house, hard house, acid, garage and so on.  So I quickly built up my collection of vinyl from exclusive techno music dealers who also happened to be Dj’s as well.  I became a regular customer at one of the records stores that I soon got friendly with the DJ’s and started getting invited to top secret rave parties.  The first rave party I was invited to was also the first time I tried LSD, or an acid trip, as they were called.  It was kind of strange. It made me feel like I was Alice in Wonderland for a whole night, not really euphoric but I loved it.  What I really wanted to try was ecstasy but it was hard to get and I was too shy to ask anyone if they had any.

I began to get so involved in the rave scene that it started to affect my job at the cafe.  My moodiness set in and customers were not happy about my so called attitude.  I hate to admit it but as I was now mixing in with the ‘in’ crowd in the infamous rave scene I felt like a celebrity that demanded respect.  I know, it’s pathetic thinking about it now.

Now I really don’t know why this nest event happened and I have racked my brains thinking now why I decided to take on this but I suddenly quit my job at the cafe and took up a hairdressing apprenticeship at a trendy hair salon in St Kilda.  I think I had lost the plot completely at that stage.  I was totally confused at where my life was heading and really did not know what I wanted out of life.  I just could not discover what I really wanted to do or find any direction.  My vision was fogged with wanting to just get out there and have fun.  I think I was seeking attention but in reality I think I was looking to be admired in some way.  But what I do remember is, is that I wanted to use my creativity again but doing something that was seen as glamorous.  It was at that hair salon that I met my new friend Robert.  He was a classic cool guy and we clicked immediately.  He was a hair cutter, not colourist.  He was one of the best hair cutters in Melbourne winning all sorts of awards and all.  He was also very popular and was with the ‘in’ crowd.  I knew this was going to be a friendship.  At the salon I was a first year apprentice so my job really only was a ‘gopher’ style position.  I answered phones, washed hair, cleaned up hair and got coffee.  It was an easy day job but badly paid.  I needed money not to survive, but to party with.  But I also wanted my hand amongst the elite crowd in Melbourne.  So I went in search of a second part time job, but with relevance.  I didn’t want to do it just because I had, I wanted a job where I felt I made a difference and it made me feel good inside.  It was a lifestyle thing.

It had come to my mind that I had extraordinary bartending and waiter skills but the thought of doing that with no recognition seemed pointless and tiring.  If you wanted to build up a reputation as being one of the best at what you do, in this case it was bartending and being a ‘barista’ ( Italian for coffee maker), I had to be amongst the cool crowd and play ‘the part’.  There are so many jobs in Melbourne for bartenders and waiters and so many choices, but there was a huge demand for talented and professional staff.  But I was not about to work in some shopping centre food court.  This was a lifestyle choice and I wanted to work somewhere where it was ‘hip’ work there, ‘hip’ to be a bartender and just ‘hip’ to be seen there.  As long as you could prove that you were good, then the demand for you to star in your own role would be waiting for you.  For example comparing a bartender at the local pub in Dandenong that really only pulls beers whereas working on Chapel Street, South Yarra they would shake, throw and toss glasses in the air, really was a show act and an attention drawer.  The comparison in ‘coolness’ is obvious.  There are many fashionable places to work in Melbourne and only the best of the best get recognised as professionals, thus seen by the public as ‘cool’.  I had the skills but was very modest about it and approached several cafes in several fashionable areas in Melbourne with huge reputations as being ultra-hip.  I was offered a job in all the cafes and area’s I approached.  Then I came across an established trendy cafe with a good reputation in one of Melbourne’s many but more fashionable precincts and then became part of the scene.  So enough said, “I’ve got the part”.  The opportunity was a perfectly fitting lifestyle choice.  Work in the salon by day, few hours at a pumping cafe amongst the elite crowd, and then partying till dawn.  That’s what life was back then and I never felt tired.  But I was a bloody good bartender and the owner’s treated me like their investment or an asset to the business.  It fed my ego but I was building my image.

When I joined the new cafe I met a girl, who also happened to be at the end of her arts degree at uni and she took quite a shine to me.  Her name was Emily.  She seemed to take great interest in me with such a curious approach.  Her personality shined and we always had a laugh together.  We always had a good time working together either behind the bar or on the floor waiting tables.  She was such a warm a lovable young woman that we just clicked and before you knew it we became the best of friends and started going out together to raves and nights at exclusive restaurants.  There was nothing sexual between us as she knew I was gay but I sensed that she had some sort of attraction to me.  But I could be wrong.  I just had a gut feeling but it didn’t matter.  We became best buddies and we loved each other’s company.  We had so much in common.  I loved her so much, she was fabulous and so much fun.

One day at the salon one of Robert’s friends came in.  His name was Edward or Eddie or Ed as everyone called him.  Robert introduced him to me as a ‘party boy’, a bit of a socialite.  Edward seemed very reserved to me but had a very kind of cool attitude without being pretentious.  He was a good looking guy, not very tall, had kind of brownish hair, I think, and reminded me a lot of Hugh Jackman.  Edward came in to get his hair cut by Robert.  Robert introduced me to him and ended up chatting away as Robert was cutting his hair.  We had an instant connection, nothing sexual though, he was straight anyway and I think he mentioned he had a girlfriend.  Edward also said “I’m not really a party boy, I am actually do art stuff”.  He said he was an artist, a painter, I think he was.  He spoke very passionately about his work and sounded so familiar to me which is why I think we got along so well.  I also got the impression that he was a hard worker and made a good living from his artwork which I found very inspiring.  But Eddie was my type of guy I terms of friendship.  He acted so super cool and so very, very hip.  He was the type of guy that other guys wanted to be.  He also happened to know people, and I mean, a lot of people, famous and all.  He mentioned he was having a party on the weekend and he asked me if I wanted to go.  I was flattered.  The way he described the party was that it was ultra-cool.  He lived in an industrial but trendy warehouse, like some kind of oversized art studio somewhere in the inner city suburbs of Melbourne.  He said that he knows just about everyone in the rave scene without sounding like a big head.  He was quite modest.  He was my man.  My new friend in the rave scene and someone I could be inspired by in terms of art expression.  I just loved his character, he was genuine, down to earth and there was nothing seedy about him at all. I was also yet to discover that he was a very talented artist and lived for his art and that’s all that mattered.  The parties just came with the territory.  I trusted him and liked him a lot.  He was the ‘it’ guy.  I was so glad I met him, it was like it was meant to be.

That night of the party I was so excited I could barely contain myself.  I caught a taxi to the secretly hidden warehouse and followed the noise of the bass.  The warehouse was impossible to find that you just had to follow the noise of the thumping bass of the music.  I soon got there and noticed that this warehouse, close to Edwards home, was in fact a rave happening in the background.  There was a crowd of people lining up waiting to get in.  This was going to be impossible and I thought I have been fooled.  But I went up to the line and noticed that there was a separate entry with a card stating ‘guests only’.  I thought this was only for the elite crowd but something told me to just go up there.  The security guy put his hand out to say stop and said “What’s yer name?”.  I responded quickly “Jay”, “Jay Andrews”.  I had the urge to say “Bond” but I resisted.  He took a look at his clipboard that had a list of names and said.  “No worries”.  Then he un -clipped the velvet red rope and let me through, detouring around the crowd and instantly giving me looks of admiration.  My immediate reaction was ‘WOW”, I’m now with the elite crowd.  I had made it.

I walked up the leading stairs only to be greeted immediately by Edward, “Jaaaaaay!” he shouted with glee.  “Ediiiiiiiiiie!” I responded back.   “I’m so glad you could make it, come with me, I’ve got a present for you” he said.  So I followed him into his apartment where there were about five or six people lying around a couch chatting and snorting white substances.  Two of the people I recognised but I can’t tell you who they were as they were Australian celebrities and I respect their privacy.  But this was the ‘in’ place to be.  Eddie then huddled me into a corner and opened up his hand and there was a small plastic bag with a white tablet in it.  “It’s for you” he said with a cheeky smile.  “Is it an E?” I replied.  “Of course! Enjoy!” he gasped.  I knew straight away that this party was gonna be good!

I was very apprehensive to put the pill, having a picture of a dove on one side, so I just looked at it with a moment of admiration.  Eddie knew it was my first one, he didn’t have to ask, he just knew by the look on my face.  So he said “If you want, just take half and see how you go”.  It was the exact solution to eradicate all my fears.  I guess I was scared of the excitement.  So I split the pill in two, put one back in the plastic bag and into my pocket and the other half went down the hatch.  I actually expected it to work immediately, but I was very naive.

We sat around in Eddie’s apartment just chatting, drinking raspberry cordial and have the odd line of speed or so.  The more speed we had, the deeper and meaningless the conversation got.  I got restless so I made my way into the rave party next door.  The rave was made up of about three or four different room all very brightly decorated with fluoro banners, silver electric streamers and pictures of happy faces.  The main room, which was the techno room, mainly DJ’s playing hard acid and hard house, was pumping.  It was not until I went to check out the house room my mind started to explode.  The music was the most awesome and coolest underground sexy, grinding dirty house.  It was going off and I loved it with intense passion.  Perhaps the ecstasy that was starting to kick in contributed to my passion of these tunes but the music was ‘real’ underground thumping house.  Not the crap you hear on radio.  This was true house music at its best and the people in the rave had the privilege to experience the art of the DJ at work.  Faces everywhere in the room were smiling at me and looking at me with admiration.  The world was at my feet, nothing mattered anymore.  There were no longer any insecurities, I was the ‘IT’ guy.  And I could dance.  I had people surrounding me and telling me how good a dancer I was.  And I was.  The feeling in the room was pure love and the energy beyond control.  This was life.  This is how I want to be for the rest of my life.  I loved life and wanted this euphoria to last forever.  I loved everyone and everything.  Everything was gonna be alright, and I felt cool!

The night kept going on but time was going like a rocket.  Soon it was sunrise and staggered my way out onto the chill out area where there was another DJ playing chilled out acid jazz and funky retro tunes.  It felt like a lifetime since I saw Eddie that night that we didn’t say a word to each other, we just hugged.  “I love you” he said.  “I am so glad I met you” I replied.  It was a strong feeling of friendship and we loved each other and the whole world surrounding us.  The sunrise was creeping up and was the most exhilarating experience.  The slow peak stage of the pill was creeping down but in a warm loving feel.  I felt good, I felt cared for.  Someone out there is looking after me and it was the love of the world.

We all crowded around the ‘in’ couch area of the chill out terrace and sat around not saying anything.  We all were sipping water and munching on a fruit platter but looked at each with our eyes half open but with love.  We were coming down.  But it was smooth.  Nobody felt like talking.  We were all just taking in the atmosphere, the sunshine and the thumping bass from inside the warehouse.  It was such an amazing feeling that we could have had such a great night.  It was just all about love.  The love between the people, the love of the music, the love of the atmosphere and the love of the drugs.

I arrive home, staggering inside at around midday.  My housemates were in the lounge and said “well, you must have had a big night?”  “Shut up, can’t talk, coming down” I murmured.  Then I walked into my bedroom and slammed the door hoping it would keep the whole fucked up world out of my sight until I recover.

After a few days I was back to normal but craving for a night again just like that one.  I was not craving the drugs, it was just the atmosphere I adored.  So the next few months it was a bit of a routine of working at the salon during the day, working at the cafe for a few hours in the evening and then going out either to a club or rave party.  I kind of almost forgot that I was gay and didn’t care.  All that mattered now was the rave scene and lived for it.

Emily was keen to attend one of the raves I had talking about so I took her to one held at the Melbourne Docklands, it was called ‘Hardware’.  It was a huge event and Willy was having a pre-party at his apartment so we went their first.  Emily was excited about this as this was also going to be her first experience of taking an ecstasy pill.  We ended up having the best time.  Dancing all night non-stop, hugging each other with unconditional love, sipping raspberry water and eventually sitting outside enjoying the sunrise reflecting on the night of our lives.  The come down was as smooth as silk and we all felt so good, so relaxed yet energetic but it just felt bloody good to be alive.

After a while we got sick of the rave scene and thought there was more to life with partying all night and dealing with the tribulations of coming down all week.  Emily found the come-down stage very difficult to deal with.  I felt guilty about it as it was me who introduced her to the happy pill.  So we started engaging on weekend trip that we dubbed as ‘family fun days’.  They were trips we took on a Saturday or Sunday just doing what we called ‘normal stuff’ to get away from the party circuit.  We took day trips in Emily’s car to silly places like Gumbuya Park, a kid’s mini Aussie bush version of Disneyland, and Fairy Park.  Also trips to Ikea and shopping along Acland Street in St Kilda.  Basically, you name it, we done it.  They were so much fun and we always laughed and laughed.  She was incredibly fun.  She also used to send me funny letters and collages of humorous artwork which was clever and so funny and I felt flattered that she took so much effort to make me happy. I cherish it and I still have these letters to this day and sometimes look at them now to remind me of those good old days.

But mysteriously our relationship began to fade out.  Emily made excuses that she could not make it to any more day trips.  She also started to speak about how much she hated the rave scene and wished she had never gone to one.  I felt responsible for the way she was feeling.  I thought she might be ill or just busy as she just started a new high pressure job.  So I was not sure what was going on.  Weeks went by and she refused to return my phone calls and then suddenly her phone was disconnected.  I was baffled and began to wonder if I had upset her.  I really didn’t know what happened and why she did not want to see me anymore.  I felt rejected.  It brought back memories of when I was a loner in my first year of high school and felt alone.  To this day, I don’t know where Emily is.  I wish I did as I love her a lot and I miss her.  I hope she’s okay.  But since then I have had to move on.

One night at a club called ‘Filter’, which was an underground techno club, I happened to bump into a girl I used to work with at the cafe in the city that I worked for a time.  We were both surprised to see each other there as the rave or techno scene in Melbourne at that time was still quite small and intimate.  Her name was Simone and was quite a stunner.  Long blonde hair, long legs, basically she would walk into a room and make it glow.  We were chatting for hours in the club and I don’t know how it happened we ended up becoming an item.  I think about it know and I really had no idea why all of a sudden I went straight or was it bisexual or was I confused?  I just don’t know and don’t think I will ever know.  But we also ended up moving into an apartment together and were like a married couple.  I can’t even recall if I still was attracted to men at that time.  It was a complete blur.  However I think the reality is that I was kidding myself.  I hated being stereotyped as gay that I was trying to hide it.

Not long after I moved in with Simone, which was also in Carlton, I decided to give up the hairdressing apprenticeship.  I was over it.  It was a very spontaneous decision.  In fact I didn’t even think about it, I just stopped turning up for work.  I didn’t really want to be a hairdresser, I just saw the glamour in it.  My life was all about the rave scene and wanted to live, eat and breathe it.  I also knew I need more stability in my life.  Just for the security side of things.  I felt so guilty sometimes about my party habits that I had to find some sort of cover.  Once I quit the salon, I remained at the cafe but doing a few hours here and there.  But I also wanted to keep on partying.  So I got the best of both worlds and I enrolled in a 2 week DJ course and applied for a degree in tourism management studies at RMIT.  The DJ course was short and part time and the degree at RMIT was also part time so I could do both simultaneously.  I started the course at RMIT very quickly as it the time of last minute enrolments and got accepted.  I started doing only a few subjects being Japanese, marketing and travel IT systems.  That was enough to keep me busy during the day.  It was also enough to keep me from guilt.  I was doing something worthwhile even though I was a bit of a wild child at night.

I really got involved in uni.  It was great fun and made a lot new friends which we soon ended up partying at night as well.  I now started to have a good group I can call friends.  I had my uni friends and my rave scene friends.  It was like my ‘day’ friends and my ‘night’ friends.  After al while at home though, Simone was getting more and more attached to me.  It was like I became her possession.  One day she told me those three word that I dreaded, “I love you”.  I just could not bring myself to say it back.  I consider our relation strange as I don’t think I ever had any sexual attraction to her.  It was more a superficial thing.  It is also very selfish and I am ashamed to admit it.  I could not live in denial anymore as I needed the sexual desire of a man.  I was gay.  I had to break it off with her and she was crushed.  The break was messy although I was so apologetic to her but it just did not help her mental state.  She claimed I used her.  Perhaps she was right.

It was not long that I found new housemates to live with, again in Carlton.  I think I had some sort of attraction to Carlton, funny about that.  They were a gay couple named Paul and Timothy.  Paul was down to earth but Timothy was very ‘queenie’ or I should say flamboyant.  He also was a very pretentious actor and that was something I despised.  This was due to the fact that he did drag shows in clubs at night.  I didn’t let that affect my decision to move as it was a decent place and I needed to place to live fairly quickly after the break up with Simone.

I grew a friendship with Paul, more so than Timothy.  Paul and I ended up chatting one day, like any other day and we started talking about the topic of cruising.  Being still quite new to the scene, I had no idea what this meant.  Cruising is a term that gay guys use for ‘areas where gay guys try and pick up other guys’.  The most notorious of ‘cruising’ areas were places like ‘beats’, or public toilets where men loiter.  I found that disgusting, and still do.  But then Paul mentioned another place that fascinated me.  They were called ‘sauna’s’.  These were established gay men’s saunas.  These were basically a sex on site premise, but a legitimate business.  He explained that sauna’s are one of the most popular methods of meeting other men, or getting easy sex.  The intention was to walk around a maze of cubicles wearing nothing but a towel around your hips and look for the talent.  The idea didn’t seem too bad so I asked me to take to one to see what it was like.  When we went, I was nervous.  As soon as you walk in, you get instant attention and all the men lay their eyes on you, checking you out.  This was a meat market to the max.  You had your own locked where you undressed, whilst a few men were hiding behind lockers checking you out.  Then you put a towel around your hips and wander around.  Paul showed me around the place, he seemed to know the place like the back of his hand.  I soon started to relax.  To me the place looked like a smorgasbord of men on a platter and all you had to do is choose.  There was something for everyone.  I was also surprised that it looked like a little gay world within a big city.  Along with the mazes of cruising cubicles was a spa, a couple of cinema’s playing gay porn and a bar.  You could spend hours in there, it was a gay men’s playground.  I loved it.  This was a place where you had no issue with sex, as anonymous as you like, no guilt and no pressure.  Just fun.  But as I was new to this type of venue, it was evident that the other men knew this.  I was ‘fresh meat’.  All I had to do was choose and I had control.  This was the type of sexual experience I was looking for.  No strings.

As time went on with my new housemates, which was in an apartment in Carlton, I discovered that Tim had an anger management issue.  Paul seemed to be in control of his temper, always trying to tame him.  I think it was Tim’s mental instability so I don’t think I could critical of this.  I just never got involved in it and just accepted it.  One night they asked me to go out to them to the infamous club called ‘The peel’.  I was a bit apprehensive as I was committed to the rave scene and really hated the gay scene.  But I went anyway, just for a few drinks anyway.  Once we arrived there we hit the dance floor pretty much immediately and caught the eye of this handsome muscular man across the room.  He was standing there with a drink in his hand and was looking around me to see if in fact he was looking at someone else.  But he was looking at me.  Then he put his drink down and started to approach me slowly as he was dancing.  I was nervous.  He looked hot.  He introduced himself as Anthony.  I tend to attract many people with their name starting with ‘A’, and I think there is a reason for that.  Before you knew it, we ended up back at my house in one night of intense lust beyond recognition.  I will leave out the explicit details as you can get the picture.

Our one night of lust led to Tony and I dating for a few weeks.  We became inseparable and we mutually agreed for Anthony to move in with me.  Tim and Paul didn’t mind this, mainly because he would be paying some more rent that was a good thing. Plus the shared expenses.  Anthony and I just wanted to be a couple and were really a close couple starting to fall in love.  But the lust, that was climbing to love started to get a bit crowded.  Anthony began to get a bit possessive.  I worked at night and there was no real set time I get home as we closed the cafe when the last of the customers left.  Anthony always used to quiz me on why I was so late getting home.  Asking me questions like, “Who were you with?” “Did you go to a beat?”, all sorts of insecure crazy stuff.  He was very paranoid and insecure and as time went on his paranoia became obsessive and then he started to physically abuse me.  But he never did it in front of my housemates and was the nicest possible guy in front of my friends.  I used to turn up for work with bruises and cuts on my face and I started to run out of excuses.  The situation reminded me too much of the abuse of my stepfather and refused to go on like this.  So when Anthony was at work I left a note on the bed stating that I wanted to end our relationship and ask him to leave the house.  I went to work and an hour later he rang me crying his eyes out.  I felt sorry for him but I said I cannot take this abuse anymore.  So I arrived home and both my housemates came running down the hallway and barged into my room and said “How could you do this to Anthony, he is totally a mess!”  “You don’t understand, he hurt me, he hurt me a lot and I can’t take this anymore” I cried.  “Get out!” Paul screamed.  “What?...I haven’t done anything...I haven’t done anything wrong, I am the victim here!” I cried again.  “Bullshit!  I want you out of here ASAP! Get it?” Paul replied.  I took a deep breath and thought it was no use.  Once again I had been manipulated by another monster.  So I started to look for another place to live.  Again.

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As time went on I was getting more and more involved with my studies at university and doing more hours at work in the cafe and built up my reputation this fashionable area of one of the best coffee makers in Melbourne.  It may sound feeble, but in Melbourne it was a big statement that had to earnt.  I also found new housemates pretty quickly.  I ended up moving in with another gay married couple named Peter and Adam.  They were an older couple but I really got along with them and that’s all I really wanted as I wanted no more catches, just a comfortable place to live.  This time the house was perfect and was located in North Melbourne, so it was closer to the city and my bedroom was massive which was a bonus.  It was also at around about this time that my mother had decided to move interstate with her boyfriend to the outback somewhere in the northern part of remote Western Australia.  My mum’s boyfriend had a job offer there and mum wanted to look for a job whilst she was there too.  As my brother was still living with mum at the time, he also went with her.  I never questioned her decision to make such a big life changing decision but I always supported her.  She needed that support, not to be putting her down.  I respected her decision and it was not my place to question what she was doing.  But the distance never became an issue, we always were in contact, well, at least once a fortnight, not daily.

A few months later, I think it was, I can’t recall the exact timing, my mum, her boyfriend and Sam ended up moving to Queensland.  For the same reason as mum’s boyfriend got transferred via his company he was working for.  So I guess you could say, mum followed him, Sam really had no choice in the matter, and so he followed too.  I never questioned this, although I couldn’t help but feel a little concerned that mum seemed to be chasing after the man she was seeing.  Perhaps she was seeking another opportunity to settle down.  Either way, it is none of my business, whatever my mother wants to do then I will support her.  I had my own life here in Melbourne and I was not going anywhere.  But now I had an excuse to take a trip to Queensland every now and then!

Anyway, I was also getting to the stage where I was getting sick of going to raves all the time and my new housemates inspired me to find myself in the gay scene again.  As I started to relax and feel like myself again I became a lot more focussed and started having more of a direction in life. I soon started to knock back offers of doing a DJ set at upcoming rave parties and eventually stopped going to raves altogether.  I wanted to feel myself on my feet again but most of all my sexuality.  It was kind of like, during my rave scene days, sex did not really exist.  Sex does not really have a place in the rave scene.  It’s all about the music and the recreational drugs.  It’s a bit sad.  I was also sick of the ‘coming down’ stages as well and thought there must be more to life than this. So for a while I enjoyed the odd dinner or two with my housemates, neglecting my ‘rave’ friends.

Soon the cafe I was working at changed hands.  Well, I mean, it was taken over by new owners and they seemed like a really nice couple.  What also happened was a lot of the original staff were sacked, I think, or perhaps they left at their own accord, I’m not really sure, it’s still a bit of a mystery.  But I still had my job.  But I was good at it.  The new owners could also see that I was an asset.  They were also very accommodating to ensure my hours at work did not clash with my hours at uni which I appreciated a lot.  In fact the new owners really did like me and tried to ensure I was happy working there.  During this time when a whole new staff were starting at the newly owned cafe, I met my new best friend.  Her name was Kim.  She was cutest and most beautiful Vietnamese girl I had ever seen.  We had clicked like you never imagine.  She was short but a personality that glowed and was gorgeous.  As I worked behind the bar and she worked on the floor waitressing we were always told off for chatting too much.  We had so much to talk about as we had so much in common.  I didn’t realise but along with Kim doing the staff she also had some other close friends of her doing the team which she introduced me to.  There Stav, Brendan, Sherry and Kim’s sister Tammy.  All six of started to become like a group of friends.

During our breaks at the cafe we sat down drinking our lattes and I discovered that they go out quite a bit on the gay scene and dance parties.  I mentioned that I used to be a bit of a raver but they were not really into raves that much, they were more into the gay dance parties.  I was fascinated with these gay dance parties I have only heard about.  They spoke with a passion of how exciting they were.  From the lead up to the party, to choosing your outfit, getting your recreational drugs and just having a wild time. I started to miss the nights I had at the raves and was hoping they would ask me to join them.  So they did.  That night we went out to in infamous gay club called ‘The Peel’.  That night, it was like it all started again back in my rave days.  We took an ecstasy tablet each and danced the whole night.  It was great.  The feeling of euphoria was like a long lost friend that night.  The six of us at the club bonded.  We became the best of buddies.  It’s amazing what drugs can do to grow a friendship.  We were facing the buzz of life head on.  My inner party boy suddenly exploded with an attitude that close to the razors edge.  Watch out Melbourne; here come Jay!

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Chapter seven................Sausage rolls and a recovery party or two

The next few months the friendship of Kim and the other five became close.  Our lives were based on living for the weekend.  Thinking about it now, our routine back then seemed so wasted.  It was because during the weekdays, we all did our own thing whilst planning the upcoming weekend whether it be just clubbing or a dance party.  We spent the whole week shopping for a new outfit to wear, scoring some ecstasy and speed, working out who is going to go in whose car on the way to the venue and the list just goes on and on.  It was so silly but it all had one purpose; to party like its 1999.  Our lives were all about the parties and the drugs.  I began to also think that our friendship was based on parties and drugs, nothing else.  It was very superficial but at the time, I just didn’t care.  We were just having fun.

I soon started to reduce the number of subjects at uni, in fact I got to the point of doing only one subject for a while cause I was so focussed on partying all the time.  It was like partying was a full time job that I was not being paid for.  Well, apart from the odd ‘favours’ I was asked to do by seedy old men in clubs just see me naked in the toilet cubicles.  It was the easier hundred bucks I earned.

The weekend ranged from the lead up to a party event to allowing time to come down and recover from the drugs.  It was really a full time job!

I remember every time a new nightclub opened in Melbourne it was the hip thing to be put on the guest list for opening night.  It was huge deal and we always seemed to get on the guest lists.  Kim and Stav seemed to know everyone in the gay scene.  I didn’t really know anyone else.  There were clubs like ‘Savage’ on Friday night which were sort of classified as gay friendly but was the club of its time.  It always went off.  Drugs were readily available inside the club.  The drug of choice of course during this time was all about the ecstasy.  Then when you meet someone inside the club it was always started with “So what are you on tonight?”  Then it was a matter of outdoing the next person with one person saying “I have three e’s tonight and a gram of speed”, then the next person would say “Yeah, well I have five e’s, a gram of speed and some crystal meth”.  It was all about the drugs that bound people together.  The thing was, was that I knew that was the case, but didn’t care.  We all felt good and wanted to party.  It was all very superficial.  Especially when it came to taking your top off to show off your chiselled abs and sculptured chest which got me a lot of attention.  I probably should mention that it was about the time I started going back out into the gay scene that I started working out at the gym to achieve the ultimate body.  Or at least try.  It did produce results.  I was quite proud of my body and it was always that, that got me the most attention from guys and also girls.  See how superficial this fucked up scene is?

Although in the gay club scene it was all about how good you looked, mainly the muscle image I was actually quite shy.  The thing was, I knew my body looked good because everyone including strangers told me so, so I thought it must be true.  But I never really felt confident.  The fact is, is that I thought I was ugly and that it was only my body that people admired.  It was not about my personality, in fact people thought I had an attitude, and it was not about my looks.  I don’t think I ever felt like an attractive man.  In my mind, there’s a difference between someone telling you that you look hot but you don’t actually feel attractive.  I really thought I was hideous.  So I never had the confidence to try and pick up someone at a club.  I never approached anyone.  It was the other guy that always approached me.  Ironically, every time I was approached by a guy at a club they always said something along the lines of “I think you are so hot”, or “You’re the hottest guy here”, or “You have the hottest body I’ve ever seen”.  I never ever replied to these comments as my immediate reaction in my mind was “Are you blind?”  I didn’t understand why anyone would think I was attractive.  So yes, I had a problem with self-esteem even though I had qualities about me that could override that.  There were times that I would look at myself in the mirror and had to look away.

Despite my insecurities I always gave the impression that I was proud of flaunting my body.  I was also trying to erase the typical flamboyant gay stereotype. When I went out, the attire was mainly a pair of jeans and no top.  However the emphasis was oiling up your bronzed body.  It was quite often if I was asked if I was gay or not as people were really not quite sure.  I didn’t really act gay, in fact the idea was to try and act as masculine as possible.  I didn’t want people think I was straight but I also did not want them to think I was gay.  It sounds like a contradiction but I was just wanting people to be curious about me and wonder “Is he, or isn’t he?”

Clubbing as you have guessed by now was a huge chunk of our lives, we lived for it.  The clubbing life was a routine for a while of the following itinerary.  Thursday nights we went to a gay only club called ‘The Peel’, this was quite casual and usually no drugs that night.  Fridays night it was a club called ‘Savage’.  Saturday nights it was a club called ‘The Mansion’ but when they closed down that club we went to the infamous club called ‘The Dome’.  Then Sunday nights was varied with either ‘The Peel’ or ‘The Milk Bar’.  Then of course came the best part of all on a Saturday night, or I should say Sunday morning, the recovery party.  This was a club we went to after the Saturday night club and was only attended by the hard core party animals.  No prizes for guessing who that included!  The recovery club of choice by us, which also happened to be my favourite were the clubs called ‘Tasty’ before it got closed down and then the offspring club from ‘Tasty; ‘Uranus’.  These clubs were the hippest and coolest in Melbourne and were dark, dirty and very underground.  The music rocked.  They played the coolest dirtiest deep house, funky hard garage, it just pumped.  I loved it.  The bass rocked right through your body as the adrenaline rushed throughout every organ in your body.  These clubs did not open until about 3 or 4 am and didn’t close until about 6 pm Sunday evening or if the police came in and close them down.  There was not one person in the recovery clubs that were not on drugs, everyone was high, and very sexed up.  These clubs had no fancy decor or state of the art lighting systems.  They were also hard to locate as they were hidden behind inner city warehouses with a back alley entrance. They were dark, deep and dirty and smelt like pure steamy hot sex.  It was not a cruise club though it was very much as place were a lot of guys picked each other up or had sex in the toilet cubicles.  I am guilty of that on a regular basis when I was out of it. It was Kim and I that attended the recovery parties almost every Sunday as we just wanted to keep partying.  A lot of people thought that Kim and I were boyfriend and girlfriend cause of the way we acted.  But we were just best friends.  That caused a bit of a problem though as a lot of guys thought I was straight so they did not approach me that often.  I was also a bit unapproachable as I did have a bit of an attitude.  When I was high on drugs, my confidence soared and I didn’t care what other people thought.  Even though deep inside I was not confident about myself, I knew I looked good.  Well, it must have been true, because everyone seemed to think so at the time.

Apart from the clubs I’ve mentioned there have of course been many others.  The longevity of a new club opening up was quite short.  They would be flavour of the month for a few months then they would close down and then another one would open up, then that one becomes the new hip club.  Then there was ‘Red Raw’.  It was the one and only party.  ‘The party’, in my eyes.  This was the annual party to end all parties.  As far as I am concerned ‘Red Raw’ was way better than any New Years Eve Party and better than any Sydney Mardi Gras party.  This was attended by Melbourne’s elite.  Although this was classed as a gay event, it was also attended by a lot of straight’s that thought they were cool.  I didn’t really mind that straight people went to this party, as most of my friends were straight anyway, but a lot of gay people despised the idea.  It was typical for a bunch of pretentious faggots to be so superficial.

The ‘Red Raw’ party was held in mid to late January every year and was always well anticipated.  The planning stages for us started well before, like in October prior.  We started planning what we were going to wear at that stage.  Red raw was a major gay dance party so the attire always had to be hot and sexy.  As it was also summer, so less was more.  This applied to both guys and girls.  It was also amazing that with the days or weeks leading up to the big party was like some massive health kick.  We, meaning my friends and I, committed ourselves on eating really healthy foods, drinking heaps of water and freshly squeezed juices, taking vitamins and of course for the superficial part of it, going to the gym more than usual.

Once the big day arrived for the party, we basically spent the entire day phoning each other up and organising who was to go in whose car, who will pick who first, and the most important question of all, have you got your drugs?  Our drug of choice was always ecstasy, it was pointless and completely defeated the purpose if you did not pop an ‘e’ on the night.  With us, the evening started with one ‘e’ then progress from there.  We never arrived at the party before 1 am, it was just too uncool to arrive early.  We always popped one e about half an hour before we arrived.  The vibe in the car on the way to the party was pure party time.  You could cut our excitement with a knife, we were buzzing.  Or perhaps that was the line of speed we had as well as the one ‘e’.

After we parked the car, we walked to the warehouse where the party was following the thumping sound of the bass filling the balmy summer evening air.  The car park was always quite a distance from the actual warehouse but half the fun was the walk to the party.  It was always Kim and I walking hand in hand and our other buddies hugging and smiling as we practically skipped with joy to the party.

So we finally arrived at the entrance ticket in hand.  The security staff did bag searches and a very brief and quick body search.  The security staff were not stupid, they knew we were carrying drugs, everyone was, so just gave you a bit a half smile and let you in.  The main aim was to prevent weapons from getting in, and that never happened.  Everyone was too happy to cause violence anyway.  So the body search was quick and we eagerly jolted to the warehouse screaming ‘Yahoo!’ Immediately walking into the warehouse the atmosphere consumed you.  It was pure magic.  This was our playground.  The music was pumping quality bump and grind house.  This was real sexy, dirty house music, not the crap they have the nerve to call house on the radio, when in fact it’s pop.  The DJ’s were usually stationed on a huge scaffolding type structure overlooking the sea of smiling, happy people.  They were our god for the night.  We beckoned for the DJ and prayed that our bloody drugs were good!  And for the most part, they were.  So then soon we started to peak on our ‘e’s.  Our screaming to each other on the dance floor, which was in fact conversation cause the music was so loud, stopped.  We just danced in our world.  The lights glowed on our eyes and the whites of our eyes shined.  Smiles were tattooed permanently on our faces and our dancing became intense.  Bodies started sweating and men drifted closer and closer to you.  The drifting of the sweating, bronzed, muscular bodies came to a halt once they rubbed against your skin.  The feeling was pure heat.  The music somehow felt as if it was getting louder and louder and you just kept think this music is so cool it’s beyond recognition.  All I wanted to do was dance and fuck.  I felt relaxed but out of control.  My euphoria was overwhelming me.  I never felt so alive or so loving of another person.  I loved everyone and everything.  I felt a guy’s hand on arse as I was dancing which then I turned around to take a look at him.  He was hot.  I turned my back on him and he put both his hands on my bare sweating chest, rubbing them up and down my chiselled abs.  His body was grinding on mine.  I could feel it pulsate.  I could feel every heartbeat in sync with the bass of the music.  I could feel him rub the slight whiskers of his face against the back of my neck, gently kissing me.  It made me melt with intense sexual desire.  My heart began to beat faster.  I wanted to fuck him so bad it hurt.  The rush of adrenaline increased with intensity.  I almost forgot about Kim and the others and I saw Kim a few metres away with a huge smile on her face and dancing away in her own world.  She knew the score, she knew what I was up to and she loved the sight.  We kept dancing, and dancing and we could not stop.  The music was just too good and it rocked.  The sound of the crowd got louder with screams of joy and praying to the DJ.  For hours we soaked up the pumping atmosphere and being completely consumed by the intense euphoria we were all sharing.  This half naked muscled bodies bumped and grinded against you harder and harder that it became almost sex on the dance floor

As our happy pills started to come down off the peaking stage it was evident that everyone was as horny as hell.  The guy, who had no name, (wink-wink!), grabbed my hand and we wandered through the sea of stompers.  I didn’t question it, I was still too high and did not have a paranoid thought or piece of anxiety in my head.  I was completely relaxed but energized so I just wandered along with him.  He was holding hand and sort of leading the way to what I got the impression was, a destination.  So we soon arrived the port-a-loo toilets, just outside the entrance of the club.  There was a queue was somehow this ‘non named hot guy’ used his intimidating pumped up muscular body to jump the queue and he pulled my arm with him.  I knew the deal.  Without a second to spare we went into one the spare dirty toilet cubicles with toilet paper and water everywhere.  It was also quite humorous that there were a lot of empty little plastic drug everywhere, and I mean absolutely everywhere.  Then we locked the door and went straight at it.  Full on sex.  Both our cocks looked like they were about to explode.  The walls were vibrating and we were trying not to scream with ecstasy, you could only hear our heavy breathing.  Never before have I wanted sex like this before.  Dirty, unsolicited sex.  But safe, I always insisted on a condom.  Ironically the guy I was having sex with didn’t want to use one, but I insisted, so we did.  The sex went for just 2o minutes but it was so amazingly intense lust and passion, we almost ate eat other alive.  He was so hot it made me melt and I wanted his body so bad, it hurt.  After, well, after 3 or four times of cumming, we parted.  I never saw ever again.  That’s the way I wanted.  I had fun, now it’s time for the next one.  Let’s go shopping!

Now for what I call the best part of the night, and Kimmy also would agree, it was the recovery parties after the dance parties that were a highlight, if not, THE highlight.  The Red Raw recoveries were kind of divided into what they called the ‘official’ recovery party and a few other parties in clubs around Melbourne.  The official recovery party was seen as an obvious choice so it was not really seen as a really cool party.  It was the other parties like at clubs such as ‘Tasty’ and ‘Uranus’ or ‘Freakazoid’ that were the best.  All these 3 clubs were infamous for its, well, let’s just say controversial subject matter.  But were very cool clubs and no frills.  The aim of these clubs were all about the dark grungy atmosphere, minimal lights, hot glamour people and the best underground house and garage on the planet.  My club of choice were we spent most of our recovery was at Uranus.  After the actual dance party we always went back to either mine or Stav’s house to ‘freshen up’.  A couple of lines of speed kept us on track of things and perhaps sown another ‘eccy’ when we get there.  We promised ourselves that that would be our max drug intake for the night.  So we chilled out for a couple of hours, oiled up the body again, a slight touch of expensive designer fragrance and we were back agai .  Here we come!

We never got to a recovery party earlier then 10 or 12 pm, it was way too uncool to do so.  When we arrived at Uranus, for this particular Red Raw recovery, the entrance to the club was always a back alley entrance.  That was part of its underground grungy feel.  Then we walked inside the club and at first we could not a damn thing.  The sunshine from outside and the sudden darkness from inside the club blinded you for a few minutes.  All you could hear was the thumping sound of the bass and the small of the smoke machines.  Soon we were greeted by other ‘so called friends’, to me they were only really club world friends.  They greeted us with the usual

“Oh my god!”, “It’s so good to see you, I love you!” kiss, kiss, hug, hug.

It was all about how drugs create strange over the top friendships.  It was all very superficial but what the hell, we just wanted to have fun, and I wanted to party!

When i arrived inside the club I headed straight for the dance floor which could feel the music, so loud, it was vibrating.  I just left my friends behind, huddled in a corner, and I just wanted to dance.  It was clubs like this that no one really dance opposite each other, it was actually consider a bit daggy, everyone was high and everyone just wanted to groove.  After a while your vision became clearer and you started to see that everyone was smiling at you.  I was just happy and happy for others, life was so great at that time.  I wish I could feel like this forever, so I swallowed another ‘e’, right on the dance floor.  People saw, but it was not shocking to anyone there, they were in the know as well.  People did drugs all over the club even with security walking around, they didn’t care.  Nor did I.  I just wanted to party so hard now until I literally drop and my body says no more.  Then Kim found me spotted me and started dancing towards me with a huge beautiful smile on her face.

Kim laughed and knew this was my happy song and she started to sing along with me.  The people around didn’t seem to care that we were sort of making fools of ourselves.  Kim didn’t care she knew that was my happy song and the only time I sing it was when I was genuinely happy and content.  Kim realised the true meaning of this silly pointless song and wanted to share in my happiness.  We were happy together and danced the night, or I should say, day away.

As hours went by and after peaking again on the dance floor, I was approached by a couple of hot looking guys but had to turn them back.  I just said no thanks, I was way too out of it.  It was a shame as they were hot and there goes missed opportunities.  So at the time I didn’t care, it was all about the clubs and drugs.  Time ticks over so quick inside club land it’s monumental.  By the time we knew it, it was 3 in the afternoon, the club was still pumping, about 3 quarters full.  It was still going off, but Kim wanted to go to another club called the ‘Megabar’.

Now the ‘Megabar’ is not considered a gay club, but a lot gay people go there.  It is an inner city based club.  I’m not going to comment on what seedy sort of business took place in this once fashionable club as it has nothing to do with me.  I was always a little apprehensive in walking into ‘Megabar’.  It was always quite bright in there but the patrons were a bit different.  Most of them were mixing their drugs with a lot of alcohol which led to a lot of fights and brawls there.  I tried my best not to rub anyone else the wrong way there.  They were a lot of steroid buffed guys there too with serious attitude problems.  You did not want to walk in their way.  But we partied on inside, mainly on the upstairs dance floor.  The music was pretty good still, garage and funky house.  This club was also the favourite of Kim’s new boyfriend at the time.  His name was Martin.  He didn’t come to the dance with us as he was working so we met him at ‘Megabar’.  He was actually a security guard during his day job.  He was a good looking guy and exactly my type.  He was definitely straight though and there was no way anyone could change that.  I never told Kim that I had the hots for her boyfriend.  It just wouldn’t be right.  He was a tall and stocky muscular guy, looks intimidating at first but he is actually the sweetest guy you could ever meet.  He was simply a nice genuine and down to earth guy.  Kim should be flattered with a man like that.  He was perfect, and perfect for her.  He treated Kim like gold.  He even found it quite amusing that a lot of people think Kim and I were boyfriend and girlfriend as we acted so close in the clubs.  But Martin never felt threatened by that.  That’s the kind of guy he was, he was just a kind soul.  I wish I could have a man like he was.

Anyway, soon 5 pm arrives.  Yes, it was Sunday!  Still going strong, a bit over the music in this club and I could see there were a few dickheads in the club starting to brew trouble.  There was going to be another one of those infamous brawls which were always featured in the news.  I wanted no part of and was a little terrified. I believe some of them even carried weapons on them.  So I told Kim and Martin I am out!

“Let’s go back to Uranus!” I said with a panic to Kim.

“No, no, no, I wanna stay here, don’t worry them James, they won’t come near you, just stay out of their way” Kim pleaded.

“Maybe we should go” said Martin.

“NO! I’m stayin’ here” Kim bited back.

“Well, I’m goin’ back to Uranus then, by myself “I said under my breath.

“Okay,....but be careful!” Kim said as she gave me a gentle hug and kiss and I gave Martin a hug and I felt the club.

I hailed a taxi right outside the club where they were lined up waiting to take home all the tragic party goers.  I was included.  I’m the cab I managed look at my eyes in the mirror and my pupils were huge.  Massive in fact and I was chewing on my gum at 100 kilometres an hour.  I was still feeling good and wanted to keep dancing, even on my own, I didn’t care.  So cab driver!, take me to Commercial road, Prahran and step on it!   I’ve got a party to go to man!

I arrive back at Uranus and it was about 5:30 pm Sunday afternoon and was hoping the club was still going.   And it was.  I rocked up the back alley entrance and they security staff smiled at me as if to say “ he here he comes again, off his face”, then I flashed my pass-out stamp on the back of my hand and proceeded inside following the thumping sound of funky bass.  The club was still half full but you could see that the atmosphere was toning down a bit.  I thin everyone was starting to come down and they have had their fill of recreational drugs for the weekend.  But people were still dancing, on the dance floor, on tables and chairs and on the bar while stripping their clothes off.  At this time it was only the hard-core party animals that remained here.  We were the ‘it’ people.  The die -hard party people and I felt like I was a part of that sub culture, like a societal group of special people.  I had taken my fifth ecstasy pill and then ‘BANG!” I was hard at the dance floor.  Totally going off.  I was a good dancer and people always liked to watch me dance.  I always got comments that I danced well.  It was flattering but I tried not to let my pride show.  I felt like the whole club was watching me dance to this fantastic dirty deep house.  It was dirty, sexy bump and grind hard garage.  It was so cool it just consumes you.  The music was just so cool.  And I let it show.  I could see the DJ standing behind his decks watching me dance with a sweet smile on his face.  I wanted to look at him a bit closer to see what DJ it was as I was quite familiar with DJ names and stuff.  He was an international guest DJ and had been playing a five hour set and was still going.  I danced closer to the DJ station and noticed he was hot.  As he was spinning the decks and I dance my guts out were didn’t take our eyes off each other.  I was still as horny as fuck and didn’t care about anything.  My mental state was like I was in another world but I was still conscious of my surrounding.  I was however, drug fucked.  Totally.  But it felt good.  I didn’t even think about the thing I did.  I just did it with complete confidence.  It was drugs that were controlling my brain now.  Somehow the DJ and I never spoke a word to each other, the music was too loud anyway, we seemed to both know what we wanted without saying anything.  So I proceeded to crawl underneath the DJ decks.  The DJ was standing there and nudged his crotch closer to me and proceeded to unzip his pants.  In complete and utter fulfilment I gave him oral sex for about 30 minutes.  He then returned the favour in a toilet cubicle.  Now I have something to feel guilty about.  It wasn’t until I went back on the dance floor at 6.30 pm that I realized that I have crossed taboo boundaries.  I think I was out of control and the feeling of guilt suddenly shook me.  So I decided I had to go home.  Enough was enough, I’ve had my fill and I’m all partied out.  So it was Time to make my way home. Before I do something crazy, well, even more crazy.

As I staggered my way out of the club, there were other clubbers lying all over the alleyway, completely out of it and looking very, very tragic.  The girls’ eyeliner were running down their cheeks, some guys fake tan was stained on their white shorts. It was just complete tragedy.  But that’s club land. I too was apart of the tragic end to a night of our lives.  Everyone was still with either with a lollipop in their mouths or chewing gum in a very fast rhythm.  I was the gum chewer.  I didn’t want a taxi home.  I decided to walk.  The evening summer air felt so good against my skin.  I also wanted to continue walking around with my top off to show off my bronzed chiselled abs and chest.  Yes, I was very shallow.  But I really just wanted to enjoy a slow wander, or stagger home, coming down off my drugs but still as high as a kite.  The come down was as smooth as silk.

As I walk down the streets I see families playing in the playgrounds.  I laughed and kept thinking how normal they were.  I saw people just walking down the street with their grocery shopping and thinking how normal and boring they look.  It was like I could not believe how anyone could prefer a life like I was leading versus normality.  Down the streets as I walked I got stares.  Everyone looked at me as if to say “I know what he has been up to”.  Some even whistled at me as they drove in cars.  I was feeding off that attention and wanted more.  So I decided to take the long way home and walk around the botanic gardens area, nice and slow, just enjoying the mild euphoria and the evening sun.

Although most of the looks I was getting were sexy looks, there the odd few, like the older elderly people, looked at me like I was some sort of freak.  As I walked past them they moved right out of my path so I don’t accidentally touch them, that would be horrible!  By the way, I was being sarcastic.  Yes, you could catch my party animal disease, you bunch of normal boring dickheads!, which was what I was thinking at the time. But I really didn’t give a shit what people were thinking.  I wanted people to know that I have been out all night and partied all day.  I was proud of that.  After every party and recovery party it gave me a sense of achievement.  Like I gave the performance of my life and i feel as though I deserve an Oscar.

It was such a good feeling after having partied all night and all day, not only just because still made you keep buzzing for a day or so later, but it was like a job well done and worth all the stress in the lead up to the party.  As I was strolling down the street of South Yarra, keeping in mind I lived in Fitzroy and knew that I had a long walk home, I was reminiscing about the good times we just had and had a huge smile on my face.

This song was my anthem and no one could take that away from me.  Even though I took the words from the classic song “I love rock and roll”, the word that I replaced with ‘sausage rolls’, not because it rhymed, it did, but because it was a metaphor.  Sausage rolls had no reference to food or sex.  To me, sausage rolls meant a few things.  Firstly it was like a symbol of Aussie masculinity, you know, like meat pies and sausage rolls.  Secondly it just sounded like a comical aspect, like it was funny, just innocent silliness.  I was in search of both, the perfect Aussie male and genuine happiness.  I was getting close, but I don’t think I ever got there.  Yet.

About an hour later, not having walked so far from the club, I was strolling down the streets of South Yarra and I was thinking how even after a few full sex sessions in the night and day just gone I was still as horny as fuck.  That’s what drugs, especially ecstasy, made you like.  You just ask anyone who has taken the drug and they will tell you.  It’s not an urban myth.  It was an aphrodisiac, mainly when you are coming down from the peak.  Then ironically something happened which will never be forgotten and is way up there with the most amazing of events in my life.  What I am about to tell you is sacred.  This was opening Pandora’s box and I can’t believe how this happened.  To me and why?  This was about to become every gay man’s fantasy and it happened to me.  I still wonder why me?

So..........

I, like I said earlier was wondering around the road lining the edge of the Botanic Gardens, which the locals call ‘The Tan’, and there was a black sporty BMW curb crawling me.  I realised it was curb crawling as it drove past me once quite slowly, then again the other side of the road even more slowly.  Then once the car got a few metres away, it came to a sudden halt.  Like the driver suddenly jammed the brakes on therefore making the back of the car jump slightly.  There were only a few other joggers around so no one really took notice of the car suddenly stopping in the middle of the road, and there was hardly any traffic anyway.  I got a funny feeling that I was been followed but was not sure and just kept on walking but I slowed my pace.  As I got closer to the car, which was still stationery, I began to get some horrible thoughts which is unusual when you are feeling so good.  I thought perhaps this person was a psycho.  Perhaps he or she is a homophobic, or a serial killer, and the list just went on filling my head full of crazy stuff. So I got nervous and picked up the pace a little so I could just keep on walking past the car.  As I approached the car, I was trying not to look at it, but I noticed at the corner of my eye the dark shaded driver’s window started to roll down.  Even the vision at the corner of my eye told me the guy was hot looking.  So I looked directly at him.  He looked familiar but it never clicked.  Even though by nature I am quite shy, I don’t even know how I did this but I gave him a sexy kind of smile.  I remember it well.  Then he spoke from across the road in the driver’s seat, “Howz it goin?”.  Then I replied, “Yeah good mate” trying to sound as masculine as possible.  “You been out all night have ya?” he said immediately.  “mmmm, .....yeah” I said in a sexy manly voice.  It was during only those few seconds of small talk I kept thinking in the back of my mind, I have seen him before but I can’t recall who he is.  We then had a moment of three seconds where we both had nothing to say and where just staring at each other.  Those three seconds felt like hours, I swear, it was such an awkward moment.  Then bang!!!!  It couldn’t be?  It’s not!  It is!!!  I know you are dying to know who it was but I respect his privacy and this was a situation so sacred that I cannot possibly reveal his name.  But all I can say is that he was in the Aussie rules football side of things, and that is all I can say.  Well, at least I think he was, I am still to this day still not that completely sure.  It still feels like I dreamed it.  Perhaps it was too good to be true as it felt too surreal.  He is well known and he is really hot, even more so in person.  But I really cannot, and will not, reveal the name as this would open up a whole new can of worms.  I respect his privacy.  Anyway, after those three seconds and I realised who he was I literally felt my knees go weak.  I also felt my heart starting to race.  I was hoping, or dreaming that he would say the following words and he did.  “You wanna lift?”  “Fucking hell!” I murmured under my breath so he couldn’t hear.  I didn’t even answer, I was too shocked and so very, very nervous.  I just walked across the road and went straight to the passenger side, got in the car and closed it.  I was not even thinking about what I was about to do, I was in a trance like state.  I noticed as soon as I got in the car he looked straight at my pecs.  I felt a bit awkward as I was sitting there with my top off, all bronzed and oiled up, a bit of glitter stuck on part of my body and face which rubbed off from someone and feeling pretty trashed.  But some reason his fame meant nothing, he was just another man.  I felt like I had cross into his territory and any sort of celebrity status meant nothing.  It’s hard to explain but as soon as I got in the car, he no longer looked like a famous sports star.  He was no longer untouchable.  He was just a man, a hot guy with emotions and desires.  I didn’t care who he really was, if he was who I thought he was, I just wanted his body.  “Where you live?” he asked with a slight smile.  “Fitzroy” I replied with a nervous tone.  But he just sat there for a few seconds without even driving, just looking directly ahead.  I noticed that he was getting nervous as he was clearing his throat and his hands were beginning to shake.  I was wondering what on Earth are you thinking.  I thought this might not be good.  Like it was something more sinister.  But then he started up the car and accelerated without driving.  I just kept thinking to myself as I was staring at the bulge on his crotch.  Just do it.  Just touch me, just do it, do it, do it, do it, do it.........I then noticed his bulge began to grow as he was staring directly at my chest and abs.  He was getting an erection.  And so was I.  The atmosphere in the car grew so steamy that you could smell sex in the air.  I just wanted to pounce on him so bad, it hurt.  Then the silence was broken and he spoke again “You have a hot bod mate, you work out?” .  “yeah,...I do” I said.  “You obviously work out too, I mean, you play sport......don’t you” I said trying not to think I knew his celebrity sports status.  I just played dum.   He just smiled, gave a bit of a giggle, and started to breathe heavier.  “Wanna go somewhere?” he asked me as he was trying to hide his guilt.  I didn’t answer, I just had to go for it.  I couldn’t help myself.  I was feeling out of control.  So I slowly started to rub his pulsating crotch.  Then he panicked and said “Not in the car!”  “We’ll go over there” he said as he was point to a nearby toilet block.  We both immediately got out of the car and it was strange.  We both knew the drill.  We both just jogged to the toilet block.  He was obviously very nervous and was worried being seen by someone.  He kept looking around and over his shoulder making sure no one was watching.  I was doing the same just to give the impression that I too was concerned about his privacy.  But the reality was, I wanted someone to see.  I mean, why would you not want to be seen with a guy like this?

So in about thirty seconds or so we arrive inside the empty toilet block.  Surprisingly, being near the Botanic Gardens, it was quite immaculate.  He went and checked all the toilet cubicles making sure there was nobody in them.  He looked like he was in a rush, like he was in panic mode.  I just let do what he had to do even though I didn’t care I just wanted him to fuck me.  Without a moment to lose he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the end cubicle, slamming the door shut and locking it.  This was it.  Our heavy breathing got to panic attack stage like we were both having an asthma attack.  He suddenly attached his lips on my right nipple sucking it harder and harder.  My heart was racing so fast I could not control it.  As he was biting my nipple I began biting his ear and the slight scent of his after shave drove me beyond crazy.  We were so hot for each other we thought we would explode but not yet.  We wanted to enjoy this intense lust but meaningless sex.  This was dirty full on sex and no one was watching.  It felt so wrong but felt so right.  But this event had to take place, it was a release of sexual energy and we were hot for each other.  He yanked my pants down hard and I did the same to him.  I wanted to eat him alive, not literally of course!  But I was so turned on, it was frightening.  Sweat was dripping off each other and our pulsating sweating bodies rubbing against each other warm flesh.  I could even taste his testosterone, it drove me wild.  Then he fucked me like I had never been fucked before.  It lasted two long pleasurable minutes. Then the world exploded like an atomic bomb.  Then to end the whole craziness of the most full on sex I have ever had, I licked the last drop of sweat from his chest.  Then that was it. We had done the task and went our separate ways, it meant nothing.  Meaningless lust.  It was finished.  Done and dusted.  Life just went on.

We both took a deep breath in and out like we had just finished a marathon.  He quickly, very quickly pulled his pants back up and put his t-shirt on and rushed out the cubicle whilst I was still pulling my pants back up.  He wanted to get out and fast.  I never forget the look of shame on his face as he rushed out of the cubicle.  He was gone for a second then he came back in and accidentally hitting my head on the cubicle door as he pushed it in.  I just happened to be too close to it.  It actually cut my forehead causing it to bleed.  Then he looked at me with a look of anger on his face.  He looked like he was going to kill me, it was scary.  “Don’t tell anyone about this, and I mean no one!......you do and I will kill you!” he said with a angry whisper.  I just nodded my head to say “your secret is safe with me” and then he disappeared.

After I re-dressed I noticed in the mirror in the toilet that there was a lot of blood rushing down the side of my head.  I just smiled, even though it hurt a bit, and thought I was like a casualty of war.  My bleeding skull was a scar of having sex with a famous athlete.  I felt flattered and privileged and I did not want to wash off the blood.  But I did and I walked out of the toilet block with a feeling of extreme satisfaction but hiding a guilty conscious.  I then noticed that he was still sitting in his car.  As I walked closer but slowly I noticed he was crying uncontrollably.  As soon as he saw me he sped off in his BMW spinning off at about 160 kilometres per hour.  Or fast, for that matter.  I felt a sense of sorrow for him as obviously he is having to deal with demons and that unexplainable disease called ‘homosexuality’.  It’s a shame that there are a lot of guys out there who simply cannot come out of the closet and live their true life.  Some never get that opportunity.  But this event I will never forget and went straight to my diary once I got home.  I was bursting to tell Kim or anyone really.  But I couldn’t.  This was sacred and taboo.  This was a spontaneous sexual experience that had intense lust but no love.  It was anonymous sex.  And I loved it!

For months after that, what I call, special sex event, I became completely obsessed with athletes, especially footballers.  In fact my life was so focussed on chasing sex and that ultimate sexual orgasm.  Not to mention every week or so I would a visit from the ‘STD factory’, you know, “Oops!  I’ve got the crabs again!”   One week it would be crabs, next perhaps Chlamydia, the week after gonorrhoea and so on.  Getting curable sexually transmitted diseases became like second nature and just came with the sexual territory whether I liked it or not.  But the fact that I would catch something, I knew I would be treated and cured and then move onto the next guy.  Then catch something else.  But I was never scared of catching HIV as I always had safe sex which gave me that feeling of immunity or mortality and getting HIV does not happen to people like me anyway.  HIV is something you hear about in the news, it just wouldn’t happen to me.  I knew it couldn’t happen, not me, no way.

I know it sounds strange but I could not stand any guy that was gay.  It might sound like a contradiction but if I saw a guy that I thought was kind of hot, but found out he was gay, I was turned right off.  I then realised I had a new problem.  I was only attracted to straight men.  Which is stupid, because if they are straight then they would not be attracted to men so the chance of me having sex with a straight man was impossible otherwise they would be gay.  Confused?  I knew I was!  But I also thought to myself that it was actually possible to have sex with a straight man.  I had to work it out.

The fact was, was that I hated anything girly about a man even though some might say that I had a girly side.  I was always trying not to be, I was always conscious about my masculinity.   After that incident in the toilet block, when I went out, if I had a guy approach me I would walk away.  They thought I just had an attitude and that’s also what my friends thought too.  The truth is, I was not interested in gay guys no matter how hot or masculine they were.  I was only interested in straight guys.  I knew I was missing out on opportunities, and I missed out on a lot because of my silly attitude problem.  Funnily enough, as the gay scene in Melbourne is actually quite small, I began to get a reputation that I was the ‘guy with the attitude problem’.  Many said I was ‘up myself’.  I was not.  Everyone had got it wrong.  I really did not have an attitude, I was just simply not into anything girly.  Why was it so difficult to find a man that wasn’t pretentious?  Just be yourself for fucks sake!  I just didn’t get it.  The fact is, it appeared that if you were a gay male, you had to act like one.  All I could say was, what a load of bullshit!  Be yourself!  Act like a man.  I began to get sick of all this bullshit gay scene.  I was getting bored.

I soon took step back a little from going out on the scene.  I still went out, but on either a Saturday or Sunday night.  It was at about this stage I only lived for the weekend.  That’s all my life was about.  I still did a couple of subjects here or there at uni, just to keep my head above water and feel like I was just doing something ‘normal’ and I also worked nights at the cafe.

I also came to a realisation that my personality was changing as I was so focussed on spending the entire week preparing for the weekend.  This was not normal behaviour.  I got obsessed.  I did not have a drug problem and to this day I still believe I never did.  However I could not go out and party without at least an ecstasy pill.  It was also about now that my spending habits snowballed.  I didn’t care about debt, I only cared about having the money to pay for stuff.  So the credit cards limits started acting like rollercoaster’s.  Going down, get a limit increase, then it goes up again, then down again and the debt just kept on growing but I did not even give a second thought that someday I would have to pay all this back.  To me, this was easy money.  I remember friends were telling me to slow down and quite often people, strangers even, said I was out of control.  I ignored the comments.  At work, my bosses could even see that my personality was changing.  I was even quite often rude to customers giving them and attitude simply because I was ‘coming down’.  I remember I hated customers.  It was like a rude disturbance when they entered the cafe asking for his, demanding for that.  I just wanted to tell them to fuck off you bunch of whinging leeches!  Now, I am ashamed of my attitude then.  My bosses did actually see that I was sometimes rude to customers but never told me off or said anything in fact.  It was because I had been working there for some time and was damn good at my job.  All the other staff were impressed with my bartending skills and I have to admit, I was good.  I also wanted to do something else, I was getting really over it.

We would either go to a club on Saturday night called The Dome or The Mansion and on Sunday we go normally go to The Peel or the Chaise Lounge which was a more laid back intimate club playing funky house.  During the day, whether it be on a weekday or weekend I would go down to the local footy grounds, and watch the local amateur footballers play footy.  I actually watched them with an erection.  There were times when some of them came up to the barrier where I was watching and gave me a bit of a wink.  I knew what that meant.  It was like some sort of sign language but it never led to anything.  Though I wish it did.

After a couple of weeks I started to get the party bug again and Kim and the other guys were planning to go to ‘Tasty’ on Saturday night and wanted to know if I wanted to go.  I said of course I did.  ‘Tasty’ was an infamous gay club tucked away in some grungy warehouse amongst the back alleyways of inner city Melbourne.  We had been to Tasty a few times before.  It’s a very gay club but at the same time had a very underground feel to it.  That’s why I liked it, even though it had a touch of campiness to it.  It was at this club where only the crème de la crème of the club scene came, gay or straight.  It was also on this particular Saturday the extraordinary happened.

Kim and I parked the car in some back alley in Melbourne and wandered our way through the maze of tiny alleys and following the noise of the thumping bass.  This club seemed to have no address; they tried to keep the club as underground as possible.  As we came to the last stretch of alleyway, we could see from a distance the crowd surrounding the entrance.  The entrance was simply a tin metal door with no signage so it’s really hard to find.  That was the idea.  But tonight the cops found it.  Kim and I slowed down our pace and saw there was a bit of commotion.  “I don’t like the look of this” I whispered to Kim.  “Don’t worry, it’s nothing” she replied.  We kept walking but slowly and heard that the music had suddenly stopped and we could hear screams from inside.  Both Kim and I halted with a complete stop in terror.  The screams sounded agonising, it was chilling.  Then a man, and I don’t know if he was an undercover cop or what, but he just took a real piercing stare at both Kim and I.  I will never forget that stare, it was pure terror. So I said to Kim “Let’s get the fuck out of here!”.  Kim didn’t say anything, she just got scared, like myself.  We both ran for it and did not look back.  When we got back in the car, we were out of breath and we just looked at each other wondering what the hell had happened in there.  We were baffled and just sat in silence for about fifteen minutes or so.  We thought we should do something but what?  I knew what was going on but couldn’t bear to say it.  But soon we snapped out of our brain freeze and said let’s just go out somewhere else.  And we did, to the bloody ‘Peel’ hotel of all places!  But we had fun anyway that night.

The following day I lay in bed still wandering about what really happened in the club ‘Tasty’.  Then I received a phone call.  It was Kim.

“You awake?” she said like she was trying to be discreet.

“Uh, yeah, what’s wrong?” I said.

“Tasty got busted last night” she replied back immediately.

“Waddaya mean?” I said.

“I mean, the cops busted into the club, and body searched everyone that was inside, and when I mean body search, I mean.......b-o-d-y-s-e-a-r-c-h-e-d” she said with a tone of disgust.

I thought about it for a while and knew straight away that we had only just missed the commotion.  Only seconds.  So in fact, we missed one of the most controversial events in Melbourne’s club history.   So this is all I am aware of.  This was a bust by undercover police to search all the clubbers for drugs they may have had on them.  They apparently searched them unlawfully and in humiliating circumstances.  It was big news and a touchy subject if that.  So I won’t go into any more detail, it has nothing to do with me and I am not about to make judgements about what happened in there and the police system.  I am just so glad that I was no involved so I will leave this subject alone.

Months go by and everything was pretty good.  Life was good.  I remember I was really appreciating this stage of my life.  It is only now that I realise there was a missing piece in the puzzle.  At that time I had no idea what it was.  Although I was partying a lot and having a good time I never really had my feet on the ground.  I should have.  But I can’t turn back time.

Life at that stage was just sex, drugs and dancing.  It really was all about the music in club land.  It was all about real underground House music.

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Chapter eight……It’s all about the music

It’s the mid ‘noughties’ and dance music seemed to be at its prime during this period.  Clubbing was also seemed to be divided into two sub-cultural groups.  You had the bogan’s, as well called them, that had went to mainstream clubs, got blind drunk, have a vomit or two in the gutter and then went home pissed by 3 am.  Then there were the ‘real’ clubbers.  This was the underground elite and we were a part in it.  We never arrived at a club earlier than 12 am, never left earlier than 5 am, always freshen up after the first club, then rocked onto one or two recovery clubs or parties well into Sunday afternoon.  Even though we loved our ‘vitamins’, we well also full of gusto and energy.  But the real element of the appreciation of clubbing, underground side, was in the music.

People hear ‘poppy’ music on the radio and they instantly think this is dance music and have the nerve to call it house.  It may be house, but it is what we call progressive house.  In our language it translated into ‘commercial crap’.

House music was an art; a craft.  It was a broad term that many sub-genres that defined particular types of house.  I considered myself as a connoisseur of house and techno and could talk about it with such articulation without fail, which always impressed everyone in the club scene.  I could really have been a successful DJ, which I did pursue.  Although it was ephemeral, a bit of a ‘fad’, but that’s another story.

The term ‘house’ is simply used to describe dance music that is played in a club.  But a club, a ‘cool’ club, that is, has to have the music that rocks the house down and makes your body move.  It has to be fresh and impacting.

House is a style of music that is totally misunderstood by, dare I say it, ‘normal’ society.  House is not just dance or electronic music.  There is deep house; a form of house that is deep (well, duh!) but the elements of deep house is very moody, catchy but funky beats, sometimes with minimal vocals.  It is usually an underground style of house music and the feel is quite underground as well.

Then there’s house music from the USA called Chicago house and Detroit house/ techno and New York garage.

I love Chicago house as it rocks, it is pumping and very sexy hip swinging tunes.  Its house music with a touch of electro or techno beats, minimal vocals but it just rocks-simple at that!  DJs such as Derrick Carter and Armando and DJ Sneak are connoisseurs of this genre of house.

The most appreciated and type of house that always rocked and considered very cool, particularly in the gay dance parties, and underground recovery parties is dubbed a ‘dirty house’.  The term ‘dirty’ is used to describe the sexiness, the deep and dark atmospheric feel to the funky beats.  It had a bass line that seemed to pump in align with your own heart beat and it thumped so hard that you can feel the beat through the dance floor.  There are minimal sexy vocals, not lyrics as such, but a bit of “oohh”, “Ahhh”, “Mmmm”, that kind of thing.  It sounds cheesy but trust me, it isn’t.  It is sexy, trashy and butt-swing house that truly felt like sex.  A hit with the gay or ‘anything goes’ type of clubber.

Detroit house or techno was kind of split between house beats with a strong techno influence.  It was harder and faster and more popular in the rave scene.  But this type of house was very underground and it is rumoured that Detroit, in the USA, is where techno really all started.  But that is debateable as the rave scene developing in Manchester, the UK, could claim that one also.

Garage is house that was very funky and a lot more diva style vocals.  It is basically house, but underground.  When I say underground all the time, it means that it is not played on commercial radio.  Underground is a sub-cultural term that defers away from the ‘norm’.  It was the ‘norm’, like mainstream clubs, that were considered uncool.

Garage also began to break down into new sun-genres such as hard garage which is still Garage but with harder and faster bass lines and very, very funky.  Its addictive, which is why you cannot sit still when hard garage comes on in the club.  Garage was usually played at clubs either before you go out, say at a bar before 12 am, or at recovery clubs.  It was not to soft and not too hard.  It was perfect for a recovery party at a club as it was very upbeat and suited the atmosphere with all those smiling faces.

The clubs during our time included of course ‘Freakazoid’, which you will probably not forget from the confronting realistic introduction.  I wanted you to feel the real world of pure clubbing elegance, even thought it was very risqué, but that’s what makes it unique.

Then there were other clubs that come and go.  The longer running clubs on our list on the weekend agenda included ‘Tasty’, ‘Uranus’, ‘The Mansion’, ‘Groove Asylum’. ‘Egg’, ‘Milk Bar’, ‘Filter at The Lounge’, ‘Plastic at The Lounge’, ‘Savage’ and the list goes on.

“Tasty’ was probably the most infamous one and very, very cool.  It was promoted as a gay club, but it was a combination of both gays and straights and it synergistically blended perfectly in unison.  This was the place to be seen.  This was also a club where it was not unusual to see an international model or celebrity in there, but their presence was like, “big deal”.  Everyone was the same inside; weird, twisted, bent but very cool.

It was dark, dingy and a bit tacky, but that ‘tacky’ or ‘dodgy’ back alley entrance added to the underground element of ‘cool’.  There was a dark room inside that was made for those ‘liaisons’ if you know what I mean but ironically it did not really work as what it was planned for.  It ended up really being a chill-out room or a place to feely do drugs.  I guess that’s what ecstasy does, you really just want to feel good rather than have sex.

It was a club where everyone was happy and there was rarely, if at all, any violence.  The music was good.  My only criticism is the odd ‘campy’ gay classic they threw in every now and then.  But I guess they did that to remind people it is a gay club.  But nobody cared.  Everyone just wanted to dance and the straight guys just wanted a blowjob from drag queens hanging around the unisex toilets.  Yes, I mean unisex, there were men’s and women’s, but everyone just used whichever one.   It is quite funny really.

“Mmmm…..those where the days!”

The music was generally house, most deep house or garage.  Garage music is a term that was developed in New York whee house music was played in warehouses; thus the ‘tern ‘garage’ was formed.  It is basically house music, with a pumping beat, a bit funky and diva vocals.

‘Tasty’ was a late night club, so arrive before 12 am or even 2 am and you were not cool.  This club pumped until 7 am, although at that time, sometimes the club was still packed so they kicked on.  Sometimes until midday Sunday.

Then of course, the infamous ‘Tasty Drug Bust’ happened.  It was an event I will never forget.  But were so lucky we were not caught up in it as we were so close.  We just missed the raid by a heartbeat.  In fact we were about to walk into the club, arriving earlier than usual.  That was the ironic part as we never went out earlier than 12 am but that night we decided to.

As we were walking up the back rear alleyway that led to the club entrance were hear faint scream of girls inside and we knew there was something wrong.  We saw a few police outside the entrance.  I was with Kim at the time and we both froze when the cops took a look at us approaching.  Kim and I just looked at each other, said nothing and we ran for it.  We knew what was going on and we wanted to no part in it.  So we ended up going to the most ‘gayest’ club in Melbourne; ‘The Peel’.  Yeah, well, I have had some good nights at ‘The Peel’ but it is too campy for me.  So I guess I will leave that one there.

‘The Mansion’ was a great place when it first opened.  It was neither gay or straight in the beginning, that is.  I should point out that all these ‘cool’ clubs really did not care about if you were gay or straight.  This club was one were you dare not turn up to until after 3 am, if you wanted to be seen as ultra-cool that is.  The music was great.  Deep house that soon developed into hard house with pumping bass-lines and rocking tunes.  The house music here had a bit more of a techno edge to it.  But then there were a couple of other rooms such as the VIP room and the chill-out room with more soothing deep house and garage.

Then ‘The Mansion’ was invaded.  The Bogans, or what we called the ‘Straight-straights’ from hell.  That is ‘heterosexual’ that were very homophobic.  Homophobia in club land, cool club land, that is, was not tolerated and was seen as very uncool is you were homophobic.  Yes, it is stare, but it was true.  I don’t know if that is the case in clubs now as it has been a while.  My clubbing days are over, thank god.

But anyway ,the ‘straights’ from the mainstream clubs found out about our piece of clubbing paradise and moved on in with their alcoholic breath and picking random fights with clubbers.  Then our clubbing macro-social world got put off by them and people just stopped going there.  Soon it got closed down.  Typical Bogans, always spoil it for everyone.  Or perhaps that is the result of alcohol?  So thank you homophobes for stealing ‘our’ territory!

‘Milk Bar’ was a bit of a flash in the pan but the music was okay.  It was more of a gay club with even more ‘campy’ gay anthems, so we usually made a quick appearance there before moving onto the next club.

‘Savage’ was a great club in the beginning.  It was large club and anything that could happen, usually did.  Everyone was happy and just dance their heads off!   Then again, it was spoilt.  The invasion of the straights.  It always happens.  A cool club develops, the word gets out and because they can’t behave like a human being in their pathetic alcohol fuelled clubs they invade our space.  Idiots and losers!  There you go; that was my little vent.  But you can ask any ‘real’ clubber during that time and they will tell you exactly what I said.

Now my fondest memories were my infinite days, not nights, at the saucy, sweaty, dark and dodgy (in a good way) recovery club called ‘Uranus’.  This was run by the same guys from the ‘Tasty’ nightclub.  It was cool with a capital ‘C’.  This was club with a super underground atmosphere.  The music pumped with DJs like Gavin Campbell, a Melbourne local DJ, playing the funkiest and hottest hard garage and tech house-it pumped and rocked the house down all Sunday.  It was the ultimate in underground hard-core clubbing.  It was dark, with minimal lighting and a dance-floor that vibrated with the pumping beat of the music.  It was sex on the dance-floor.

Then we can’t go past the annual dance parties and raves which were events we looked forward to.  These were parties that took us weeks to plan for, like outfits, intense gym workouts to pump your body up, strict diet to make you super healthy reading to fill your body with recreational drugs.  The best of Melbourne’s parties were two of the gay one such as ‘Red Raw’ in January and ‘Winterdaze’ in June every year.

‘Red Raw’ rocked every time and I had the wildest times of my life that was non-stop partying from midnight Saturday until Monday!  The party was held in a Warehouse on Melbourne’s docklands.  Now that has all gone; a bit sad really to see it go.  After the party, that usually ended by 10 am, were recovery party after recovery party.

Then we looked forward to the rave called ‘Every picture tells a story’.  This was a rave that was held in a secret warehouse and had several rooms playing all sorts of techno and dance-all underground.  You had the main room that saw the likes of huge name DJs like Derrick Carter and DJ Sneak.  Then there was the house room that absolutely pumped!  This was tech house at it utmost best.  House and Garage DJ Liz Millar was fantastic, always managing to get bodies moving to the funky beats on the dance floor.

Some of Melbourne’s top house and techno DJs played at these ultimate places of party paradise with DJs like Richie Rich that played very sexy dirty tech-house.

Then there was the jungle room playing drum and bass music.  The chill-out room and the trance room, playing trance music (obviously)  Trance was not my favourite as I found it a bit trippy and boring.  It is basically toned down techno, but that’s just my opinion.

There were always parties and rave every weekend.  It was infinite and it was basically my life for a good ten years.  It was all about the clubs, parties, sex and drugs and….you know what?  But ultimately it was actually about the music.  The music is what kept the sub-culture alive.

In Melbourne we had the privilege of experiencing top international DJs that headed up parties and clubs.  Some of my favourites was Ralph Falcon (from an house group called ‘Funky green dogs’; you are probably reading this and wondering what on Earth is this guy on about?  But that’s underground house for ya!)  Ralph Falcon played at ‘Freakazoid’ one night and it went off!  He played dirty, sexy house and you just couldn’t sit down.

Another fave is Derrick Carter who played at the rave, ‘Every Picture..”  Frankie Knuckles who is a top house and garage DJ.  Danny Tenaglia who plays sexy, deep house with a tribal house beat.

I recall Judge Jules from the UK playing house and Garage at ‘Savage’ nightclub and that place rocked until 10 am.  Satoshi Tomie from Japan played at the ‘Milk Bar’, playing deep tech house.  Danny Rampling, a house DJ from the UK played at a club that I can’t remember where.  Then other big name DJs in the scene came into Melbourne like David Morales (USA), Danny Rampling, Paul Oakenfold, Deep Dish (they rocked!), Pete Tong….of look the list goes on and on.  Even Boy George made his DJing debut at ‘The Carousel ‘nightclub in Melbourne.  That was a weird experience.  Firstly it was held in a very ‘ordinary’ straight club that we did not really see as cool or gay-friendly.  Then when Boy George DJed, everyone on the dance floor just stood there and watch him.  Nobody danced, they just started at the ex-Culture club singer DJing.  It was quite surreal and Boy George didn’t appreciate it.  I don’t blame him.  It was hilarious when he got sick of the so-called ‘clubbers’ ( all on alcohol, mind you) yelled out;

“What are you all fuckin’ starin’ at?......Dance!”

I could have applauded him and good on him I say.  But I think it was because everyone found it a bit of a parody that Boy George was a DJ.  I think that is ridiculous and I just wished everyone just danced and stop looking at him like a caged animal in a zoo.  But Boy George was serious about his DJing and he was not too bad either.  I would not say world class, but he played some good house tunes.

So there you have it.  House music is not just dance music.  It is not just club music.  It was, and probably stil is; a way of life.  It was a sub-culture.  If you were a ‘real clubber, that is, a true ‘cool’ clubber, then you had to understand the genre’s of house.  House is not just house.  There is deep house, tech house, garage, Chicago house, Detroit house, dirty house, tribal house, and so on.  Each genre of house have their distinctive elements that defined them so.  It is very much an art or a craft and the finer the house in a club, the ‘cooler’ it is.

It all may sound so pretentious and superficial, but it is not.  Underground clubbing is ‘real’ clubbing.  Mainstream clubs that try so hard to be cool (I won’t mention names) get it wrong by over-promotion.  They key to a ‘cool’ club was the ‘Shhhh’ factor.  But most of all, you just play it cool, understood the music and the sub-culture, respect one another and have fun.

As yourself the question why there is so much violence in the clubs on King Street in Melbourne and hardly any in dance parties, raves or the underground clubs that were only promoted through word of mouth or flyers in trendy shops and cafes.  I am not saying that I condone the use of recreational drugs, but alcohol is a bigger problem.  Never did I see a fight break out in the clubs we went to.  There was hardly a sad face in sight and everyone just loved each other, even if it was for just one night.  Now what’s the harm in that?  I know, I have made a controversial point here but it makes sense.  The sense is that it up to the individual to be responsible, not stupid.  Sure we partied hard.  But we also knew what we were doing even if we were totally high as kites.  Enough said.

It is all about the music baby!   It was just the little ‘pills’ that ‘enhanced’ the experience.

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Chapter nine........Four Parties and Almost a Funeral

Like a rocket I raced up to the age of 24 or 25 and still living life in the fast lane.  Quite often my mother would leave numerous messages on my voicemail at home, trying to contact me just to say hi.  It would take me days sometimes weeks before I got a chance to call her back and she was always worried about me.  My mum knew I would be okay but like a typical mum she always worries about her boys.  She still does today.  She’s just a mum and I love her but at times got a bit crowding and she got a little annoyed that I don’t call her enough.  But it’s true, I have always loved my mum but I had my own life.   To a point, my mum realised I had my own life and tried to respect my individuality but sometimes just like a mum, she just worry’s too much.

At this stage in my life there were some exciting times ahead.  The gay and lesbian Mardi Gras in Sydney was coming up in March and I had never been.  I asked a couple of friends who I knew were going and basically invited myself.  They didn’t say no but they didn’t sound that excited that I was coming with them.  I guess they just couldn’t say no to me.

So March arrives and we headed up to Sydney for the Mardi Gras.  This was my first Mardi Gras but ironically it was just like I expected.  All sequins, sparkles, drugs, sex, drugs, sex and some drugs and some more sex.  I am not one for wearing sequins or hotpants but this seemed to be all the rage with gay men in Sydney at this time of year.  I will be honest and say that the Mardi Gras was not exactly the best party I had ever been to but it was fun.  I guess I had high expectations and those expectations were not met.  Don’t get me wrong, I had a blast but the Sydney party scene does not have any underground sexy feel to it.  It just felt very commercial and a bit common.  Perhaps I am being fussy.  I prefer the underground atmosphere of a club.  But all in all, Sydney for me is just waaaaay too bloody gay for me!

………………………………..

Upon arrival back in Melbourne and feeling good to be home, my housemates of course asked me how the party was and my response was “well, I’m still a bit trashed but.......ho hum.....”.  It was a good and fun party but was........I don’t know....a bit beige, it’s hard to explain.  I just don’t think I’m a Sydney person I’m a Melbourne boy and always will be.

Once I got back into the swings of things again, you know, studying and working and still going out and stuff, I realised I wanted something more.  By this point, amongst all the parties and getting trashed I had done just about every course known to man.  I started a sound engineering course, got bored after a few weeks, gave it up, started a remedial massage course, thought it was not for me, so gave it up and I also started a fashion design course, and gave that up too after a month or so.  I think I was just confused about my direction in life and was too focussed on my image and having a good time.  I think Mardi Gras was a good experience as it made me realise “Is this it? Is this was partying is just about?  Maybe I’m doing this all wrong?”  So during a coffee break I had a chat to Kim and Stav.  “Let’s take a trip together” I said enthusiastically.  “Yeah, like a road trip” Stav jumped in.  “Uhhh, noooo....that’s not what I was thinking about, more like an overseas trip” I said with a serious look on my face.  They all went silent like I just opened Pandora’s Box or something, it was weird.  Their instant response was, no-can’t afford it.  “Fine, I said, I’ll go on my own” I said.  I didn’t care.  I had no fear.  I had been overseas before.  I don’t need my friends to hold my hand.  Fuck them!  I’ll go on my own.  And I did.  I didn’t even inform my mum that I was going overseas for 2 weeks.  I just went.  It was spontaneous.  This is where my problems really started.  My credit cards got a real workout.  It was my spontaneity that was scary.  What was it that I would do next?  My friends just watched me board the plane with a slight look of disapproval and thought that I was heading into trouble.  They knew that my partying habits have taken control of me and they just kept right out of my way.    They knew I getting out of control but they were too afraid to say anything.  They just wanted me to learn the hard way as they knew they could not tame me.  I was seeking attention.  I was seeking that same feeling of a unique dirty sexual fantasy like that time with the footballer.  I was seeking that same burst of euphoria when I had an ecstasy pill for the first time.  I was chasing the dragon with a real pretentious attitude.  I thought I was ‘it’, I am the one other guys wanna be like, I’m ‘the’ party boy’ and I am immortal.  I think about it now and say “What a load of crap! What was I thinking?”  But at the time, I didn’t care, I was going to Ibiza!

So I arrive in Ibiza and on my own.  It was just me and my backpack.  I was not a big fan of the backpacking style of travel, even though I took one to Ibiza.  Even when I did a little backpacking with my cousins on my first trip to Europe, we still stayed and lived in luxury.  I never will do the youth hostel thing. If I travel, it was and still is, in style and in luxury.  I won’t stay in any hotel under 4 and a half stars.  So the strange looks I got when walking in a Hilton style hotel in Ibiza with a backpack on my back was quite comical to say the least.  So yes, I’m a travel snob, always have been.  Somehow all my excitement led to complete fear.  I was all alone and in a foreign land.  Everyone there, mainly British tourists, seemed to be with their own group of friends.  Except me.  But for some reason I didn’t get any weird looks or anything.  I fit in well with the ‘clubby’ sort of crowd.  So I went out at night, alone and raring to go.  I thought of John Travolta and strutting my way to the club of the island, Ministry of Sound.  This was one super club.  Foam and all!  Ecstasy was everywhere and access to any drug was aplenty.  This was a clubbers paradise, but with a touch of the odd alcoholic violence event or two!  I met a lot of people and got a lot of complements for the way I danced and the way I looked.  I fed off that praise.  Quite pathetic really.

I got friendly with a group of Swedish people, two guys and two girls.  They were straight but loved gay people and I didn’t really make it obvious that I was gay either.  I tended to prefer the company of straight but gay friendly people and these people were really cool.  I got along with them so well and we hung out alot.  They eventually asked me if I wanted to go Mykonos with them.  I was only too excited to go and quickly re-arranged my flights home and stuff so I could go with them.  So we went to Mykonos, a ‘clubby’ sort of Greek Island and a bit more gay friendly.  We only spent a couple of days there, sleeping on the beach by day and clubbing by night.

The two weeks of party paradise flew by like a complete blur.  I was home back in Melbourne with a sore back, sore throat, and a very, very tanned body.  I still have the speedo tanlines to prove it.  But it did not take me long to get over the post-holiday depression.  I got back into normal reality soon after, only because I had to make a living somehow but I wanted more than that.  I felt greedy even after maxing out all the five credit cards I had, I felt I had to satisfy other urges.  Strangely enough my so called friends did not even ask me if I had a good time overseas or anything.  I don’t think they cared.  Upon return to Melbourne I ended up calling mum and saying “oops!  I forgot to tell you I went overseas, sorry, I’ll send you a postcard next time”.  Mum just laughed and dismissed any thought of disappointment.  I think she knew the fact that I was growing up and just being a normal twenty something year old.  But I was not normal, never was.  I think my friends at the time thought they would leave me to my own devises.  The fact is that they really could not keep up with me.  I think about now what was going through my mind at that rebellious age and I think I was living in denial.  My life was so superficial and I say that because I think i was trying to always impress someone.  I always felt like someone was watching me and I had to project the right image.  I wanted to be admired and I wanted to be talked about and be controversial.  The reality was, I was trying to cover up my abusive past and trying to make up for the fun times I may have missed out on as a child.  I wanted to be loved and hated.  It may sound like a contradiction but it made sense.  The fact is, is I wanted admiration yet be untouchable.  I was so pretentious but still putting on a persona that I was masculine.  I was almost ashamed to call myself gay.  I preferred to be known as ‘a guy who just likes guys’.  I also had a self image problem and did not realise it until now.  Even though I tried so hard to look good and even got a lot of compliments, I still believed I was ugly.  The amount of money I had invested in skin care products, designer fashion and hair care products is monumental.  I am still not sure if it was worth it all.

It did not take long before the credit card bills started to roll in.  It’s funny how the banks never seem to miss on getting a bill out to you yet that handwritten letter from a friend you were expecting never shows up.  Isn’t that funny Australia Post!  Anyway, I don’t know how I managed it but the bills were always paid on time.  I think back about how I managed my own finances but I was quite astute with money.  It’s because I loved money.  But the problem is that I saw credit cards as easy money.  I never thought about the interest rate or the repayment structure.  I just paid them and kept on using them and then I was set in a deadly trap.  I accepted credit limit increases.  One card was even increased to 25 thousand dollars.  I am still paying it off to this very day.  So you could say, right now I am suffering the consequences of my greedy lifestyle.  But at that time, I never thought I had money issues.  I actually felt wealthy with all the available credit I could use on my credit cards.  I think I was in a trance and was so focussed on living a glam lifestyle and getting what I want.  But I did.  I almost always got what I wanted.  But I knew I wanted more money, not plastic, but cash.  There had to be some way I could get cold hard cash, you know, the actual papery kind of stuff?  My problems was that my wallet was all plastic and no dollars.  So I thought long and hard.  I remember there were times when people said I could be a model.  But seriously, me?  No way, I could not see myself doing that.  I just did not have the confidence and I really did not think I was good looking enough.  I had the body but not the looks.  Then I went straight to the classified section in the local gay newspaper and saw exactly what I was thinking.  There was an ad looking for guys to work in a gay boy bar as a topless bartender.  It was perfect, and it looked legitimate.  It did not look seedy.  It actually felt kinda cool.  I did not care about what other people thought about the idea of this whether it be degrading or what.  In fact, I wanted people to think I was degrading myself.  I just did not care and I wanted the cash, big time!

So I rang the advertisement and got some rude old guy asking me what I look like and the usual other superficial crap, not really asking me about my bartending experience.  But he asked me to come down for an interview and he wanted me to go there and then.  So I did, it was literally just down the street from where I was living.  When I got to the pub, it just looked like your average Aussie pub.  The owner who was the guy on the phone seemed a lot friendlier in person.  The first thing he asked me to do was to take my top off, obviously.  He liked what he saw and just said “You’re hired”.

So a week later I start work at a boy bar in the inner city suburb of Fitzroy.  I was a bit nervous and so was the owner as it was a new bar and the night I started also happened to be opening night.

When I arrived for work at the bar I was actually the first to arrive, but for some reason I thought I was the only bartender for a while.  Then a few other guys showed up, all late mind you.  All of them, the guys, hot as.  I was so not right for this job I thought.  They got a bit into trouble with the owner for being late.  Then soon after the other guys joined me behind the bar.  The bar was not open yet but I could see a crowd of guys, all ages, all types, waiting outside to come in.  Now I was really getting nervous.  But I think I was just intimidated by the other guys.  I said ‘G’day’ to them and they ignored me.  They gave me some strange look with an attitude and brushed past me.  Perhaps they were intimidated by me?  I don’t know.  But there was one guy, his name was Alex.  This guy looked like a masculine Aussie model.  He not only was one of the hottest guys I had ever seen, a body to match, but friendly as.  He was really chatty and down to earth.  I had that vision again of the perfect Aussie male and all he needed was a sausage roll in his hand, then that would be it, Mr perfect Aussie male.  He only spoke to me, not the others.  The other guys were pretentious little faggots with an attitude problem, big time.  But Alex just made my heart melt.  We got chatting about, well, I can’t even remember what it was about, but we didn’t even notice the doors open.  The crowd poured in and Alex and I were just chatting away.  I just kept thinking whilst he was chatting away, ‘Why can’t all guys be like you?’, ‘Why are so many gay guys so pretentious and have an attitude?’ and ‘Why are you so perfect?’ He was too hot, inside and out.  Way too hot for me, although he fit the criteria for my ideal Mr Right and I was attracted to him.  I think he was too.  His confidence glowed without any sign of big-headedness and yet, he was attracted to me.  I can’t believe it.  But I knew I had to stop putting myself down, maybe some things were meant to be.  Maybe I am worth it.  We will see.

The crowd came straight to the bar, took a long look at you up and down, focussing on your chest and asked, not me, but my chest for a drink.  All the patrons did the same.  Now I felt cheap.  They did not even look at me, they just looked at my body, not even my face.  The bar got so busy as soon as the doors opened that Alex and I did not even get a chance to talk.  He did occasionally gave me a cute little wink at the other end of the bar.  He made me sweat bullets.  I kept thinking that he was too hot to be interested in me.  So I tried to erase the thought out of my head.  It would not even be any use to try and come on to him.

As the night rolled on and as the patrons were getting much more drunk.  The patrons also got a bit more frisky asking if they could lick my nipple, even suck my dick.  Alex seemed like he has done this sort of job before.  When he went to the other side of the bar to collect glasses he even sat on some guy’s laps upon request.  I even saw one guy hand Alex a 50 dollar note and stuck his hand down his pants for a few seconds.  Alex did this so confidently.  I asked him about this and he just replied “Well, the things we do for money, eh?”  I just laughed and got it.  This was just a money earner for him. I’m not sure if he enjoyed it but you could never tell he didn’t.  He was always smiling and talking sexy to the patrons.  I tried to copy what Alex was doing.  He knew the score.

Hours go by and the owner came around to each of the bar guys individually.  I wondered what he was saying to them.  Then he came around to me.  “Now Jay, if you get any of the clients giving you a price, you come and ask me first, you got it?” he demanded and then walked off before I got a chance to question it.  Was he saying what I thought he was saying?  He was expecting us guys to prostitute ourselves.  This WAS NOT in the job description.  Then to my shock, literally after the owner spoke with me, an old fat guy whispered in my ear.  “I want to lick your arse out and I want you to cover me with your cum”.  I froze.  Then he whispered in my ear again “I’m a rich man, you can have anything you want”.  I didn’t know how to react whether I should be disgusted or flattered but I knew I did not want to lose this job.  So I replied “Okay, but I will check with my manager first”.  He then just gave me a sexy smile and said “I’ll be back in 10 minutes”.  Oh my god, I really did not want to do this even though I could earn a lot of cash here.  So I dwelled on it for a few minutes and kept serving drinks trying to keep a smile on my face at the same time.

After serving a few drinks to the patrons and getting the touch of the nipples from them, Alex asked me to help him out the back for a sec.  This my chance to confirm with him if this prostitute thing was normal and what do I do?  So I just followed him into the back area.  I was so anxious that I just had to ask him “Some guy wanted to p-p-pay me for umm...sex...what do I do?“  He just laughed and said “What? Did you think the job was as easy as that?...don’t worry about it, you’ll get heaps of money, fuck it!, just do it, I am, I already got six offers!”  I was shocked and didn’t say anything.  Then he spoke again,”I need you to re oil my body, then I’ll do the same to you” he said confidently.  The thought of oiling each other’s bodies immediately erased my anxiety about the ‘paid sex’ thing and felt immediately relaxed.  So Alex got out a bottle of baby oil from his bag, handed it to me and I started oiling up his back then spreading it to his chest.  It was so arousing for me that I thought I had to sit down as my crotch became rock hard I thought it was going to crack.  Then I noticed he too was getting an erection and then he asked me to rub harder.  Our breathing got heavier and he very slowly grasped the top of my hand and slid it down to the top of his tight denim jeans until I could feel the top of his pubic hair.    Ironically as I was just starting to think that we should be out behind the bar working the owner burst in.  “What the hell you guys think you’re up to?” he screamed.  I jumped but Alex stood there with a smug smirk on his face and told him to “fuck off you fuckin’ old bastard!”  I didn’t know what to say or do so I just stood there then the owner said “What me?...fuck off....no you can fuck off....now...you’re sacked!”.  This didn’t seem fair to me.  I begged the owner not to sack him as we are both responsible.  The owner really didn’t show any empathy and said “You know what? You’re right James, you can both fuck off...you’re both sacked!”  Then that was it.  Alex just grabbed his bag and disappeared into the night.  By the time I got my bag and tried to follow him he was gone.  A real man, gone.  It was no use to chase after him, why bother?  And I don’t think I will ever see him again anyway.   Another opportunity gone due to my lack of self-confidence.  I give up.

The next I awoke and realized that I had actually been sacked from a job.  I had never been sacked from any job, I always been an asset for any business I have worked for.  I felt like I had unfinished business after working in an establishment like the boy bar.  I felt like I had not accomplished what I set out to do.  But I kept on working at the cafe and just plodded on with life.  I think I became part of the furniture at the same old cafe.  Working there was second nature.

The next few months were the same as usual.  Study some, work some, party lots.  There was not that to look forward to anymore until there was a break in the cold Melbourne nights.  It was ‘Winterdaze’.  This was Melbourne’s mid-winter gay dance party and was always a hit.  So I made a few calls to friends and all seemed to be going.  Kim said she would take myself and Stav in her car.  So in the lead up to the party it was the same procedure as usual.  Kim and I would go shopping for a new outfit, mainly her outfit as mine was usually a pair of glam tight shorts and boots.  Then we would organise our recreational drugs well in advance.  Then the other usual preparations like getting super healthy before the event by taking lots of vitamins, drinking lots of fresh juice and gym workouts.

Strangely enough on the night of the party I was not as excited as I usually was.  I began thinking how much we have, or I have, been doing this thing to death and thought I might be getting over it.  But I put on a brave face for everyone and showed no sorrow and we rocked up to the party with enthusiasm.   It was freezing cold Melbourne night so the walk from the car park to the warehouse was shivering for me as, as per usual, had no top on.  But I made it and as soon as we stepped into the warm warehouse all our thoughts, our problems and our fears disappeared.

As the night went on we naturally all got separated on the huge dance floor and we all just danced while waiting for the ‘e’s to kick in, which did not take long.  Then someone caught the corner of my eye like a magnet.  I noticed he had been staring at me for quite some time but was trying to ignore it as I was starting to peak on my ‘e’.  Ecstasy tends to make you a lot more energizing relaxed yet a bit unsocial.  I couldn’t help but had to take a good look at this guy who was moving closer and closer towards me as we were dancing.  And I was glad I did.  He was gorgeous.   With the body to match, built like a roman god.  His muscles were so defined and so very hard.  I didn’t care how he worked to get his body like that I just wanted to touch him.  Soon we were dancing body to body, rubbing our crotches together and kissing each other tenderly.  He was so masculine and tough yet he had such a tender soft personality.  It was refreshing to come across a man like that.  He reminded me of someone but I could not work out who.

The mystery man I was dancing with and I decided to wander outside in the cold winter air, which was the chill out area, well, literally chill out!  He introduced himself as Andrew.  Yes it is ironic.  Amazingly we just chatted for about an hour about anything and everything.  I don’t know if it was the drugs but we just clicked like we had the exactly same mind.  I have never felt such a connection to someone and the fact that he was hot as, was such a bonus.  I kept thinking, “what are you doing with me?”  One thing I also noticed was that he was constantly commenting on how cute I was, and how I had such a hot body and so on.  Being of a shy nature I don’t really handle compliments very well.  The truth is, is that I thrived on getting compliments but always got embarrassed when I them.  It’s kind of strange to explain.  I appeared to be up myself according to other people but really, I was insecure.  Andrew and I were an item the entire night right through to the recovery party which ended around 3 pm Sunday.  Then we went back to his apartment and had sex for five hours non-stop.  We were crazy for each other and every time I looked at him my self-confidence plummeted as I was thinking that he was just too good for until he said these words that blew me away “I think you are so beautiful”.  I melted completely.  No one has ever called me beautiful and I see it as such a strong word.  My reaction to him was ‘Why?”  “I don’t think you realise how beautiful you really are” he replied softly whilst kissing me tenderly.  He took my breath away and I wanted to feel like this forever.  Something was going on between us but I did not believe in love at first sight.  It’s something that I could never see happening to someone as ugly as me.  But I think I am going to be proved wrong.  He has captivated my heart and felt myself falling at his feet.  He was the type of man I had been dreaming about.

Andrew and I became very much more than a couple.  We were inseparable for months.  Even Kim said to me that she has never seen me so happy but she said something to me that shocked me.  “I know he’s a lovely guy but just be careful” Kim said with concern.  “What you mean Kim?” I asked with confusion.  “Just...just be careful...I’m sorry James, but there’s just something about him that I’m not sure..” she continued.  I took such offence to it that I said I never wanted to her again and we didn’t speak for weeks.  I didn’t give any other thought for any of my friends during my time with Andrew as I believed I no longer needed friends.  I had Andrew and that’s all that mattered.  I think I was falling in love.

Even though I could not see any bad side to Andrew I still dwelled on why some of my friends were suggesting that he had a bad side.  I just could not see it.  If I think about the situation back then, now, there were certain things that come to mind.  For example I once found vials of a clear liquid in Andrew’s fridge. On the vials they just had labels on them with strange and complex pharmaceutical jargon on them which made no sense to me.  I did feel a bit suspicious about them but the word ‘steroids’ never entered my mind, and I don’t know why.  So I bravely remembered asking Andrew about it and that was the first time he lashed out at me, repeatedly.  He knocked me almost unconscious.  Somehow I forgave him and still felt love for him.  Then the beatings continued from there on.  Me asking Andrew about the vials in the fridge triggered his anger management issue.  Then came other strange stuff like I remember once he broke out in massive pimples all over his back.  He would also get upset over minor simple issues, like giving himself a paper cut, and then blaming me.  Then of course he would hit me.  Yet, I always forgave him after he apologised for hitting me.  I never saw any darkness in him.  I still don’t know why.

As time went on and Andrew and I were still a couple, I never told anyone about our abusive relationship.  This was a domestic violence issue and was not to be talked about.  I felt as though if Andrew hit me, I deserved it.  The similarity between this and my stepfather was identical but the thought never crossed my mind.  I lived in denial.  I also did not want to live without Andrew, I was scared to lose him, so I put up with the abuse.  I even had to wear foundation to work sometimes to cover up the bruising on my face.  No one at work questioned it, but I know that they suspected my boyfriend was beating me up but never had the courage to say something.  They should have.

Funnily enough, I had never seen Andrew use steroids although his body was growing immensely and his muscles almost looked as though they were plastic.  I still did not suspect anything, but I think was in denial.  We always went to the gym together and never did I see anything dodgy like drugs.  But his behaviour was gradually changing.  All of a sudden he wanted to practice in S & M.  I had never done anything like this before but he insisted.  So he used to whip me and he enjoyed it.  He got so aroused from whipping my back and arse that he would ejaculate over six or seven times in a row!  I did not enjoy the whip, but it seemed to make him happy and that’s all I wanted.

Andrew wanted to take me to some costume party coming up.  It was strictly by invitation only.  It was also an S & M party, so we had to wear leather gear and stuff.  But what I did not realise until a bit later, Andrew confessed to me about more details of this ‘special’ type of party.  It was a sex party.  So I thought, ‘okay, so...it’s a party where we have sex there?’  Makes sense, doesn’t it?  But it was not that simple.  Everyone at the party would have sex with each other.  That meant Andrew and I were not to be exclusive to each other.  I was confused.  Andrew went psycho if I went to the toilet for longer than usual in a nightclub for fear that I was cheating on him, yet, he wants to have an open relationship and fuck every other guy?!  What?!  I did not know what to say or how to react, I just went along with it.

The party was held in some underground room underneath a warehouse somewhere in the seedy streets of Collingwood.  My first impression of the party when we arrived was the cliché gay image of San Francisco.  We are talking butch, leather jackets, porn actor style moustaches and cock-rings.  I could go on forever what I saw but I think you get the picture.  All I knew, was that this was not my scene.  It also appeared that Andrew had done this sort of thing before as he seemed to know everyone there.  I found that strange but kept on smiling as I was introduced to his ‘friends’.  It did not take long before the sex started.  There basically were no rules here.  People just started to have sex all over the place and before you knew it I had been groped by some old fat guy.  I don’t think I saw any cute guys there, well, I think there were a few potential ones, but not my type.  That wasn’t until I got the shock of my life.  Out of nowhere came Alex, from the Boy Bar.  He saw me, gave me one of those famous winks and started to walk towards me as if he was saying ‘come on baby, let’s go for it’.  Andrew was a few metres away getting a head-job from old ugly guy and watching me like a hawk.  He was staring at me as if to say ‘You are my possession’.  I didn’t care, I wanted Alex.  My heart started to beat faster and I was already getting aroused.  Alex walked slowly towards me looking at me up and down and sort strutting with a sexy kind of walk.  Then he put his hand on my arse and whispered in my ear “Never thought I’d see you again....”.  I gave him a sexy kind of smirk and was about to kiss him and saw Andrew with the most jealous look of anger on his face.   Andrew was fuming and pushed the man, who was sucking him off, off himself, then came up to Alex and punched him in the face.  I was so angry but tried to contain myself.  Alex fell to the floor and was about to pick himself up and take a swing back at Andrew but some other guys stepped in to stop a fight.  Then Alex yelled at Andrew “This is supposed to be a sex party, who do you think you are, you don’t own this guy” as he was pointing at me.  Then Andrew replied “Yes I do.... he is mine, look but don’t touch”.  I was stunned.  I also felt trapped.  It all seemed like a contradiction of me being at this party in the first place as any good looking guy could not touch me.  Andrew displayed his possessive nature but most of all his insecurity and jealousy.

For the rest of the night Andrew did exactly what you think, watching me, and watching my every move.  In the early stages of the party the sex basically started with a bit of just sucking each other off.   Then came along a bit of a whip here and there.  Then with horror I noticed some of the guys were having anal sex but bare backing.  This was anal sex without a condom.  It made me sick to my stomach to watch themselves put themselves in such a risk.  Then the party started to turn into one big orgy and some late arrivals came into the party.  The late arrivals must have been sent from god as they were hot.  But as the party was in full swing and Andrew seemed very pre-occupied I had my chance.  But suddenly one of the hot guys just started to insert his penis in my anal area and I jumped and pushed him away.  “No way, no fuckin way” I yelled.  “Condoms only!” I shouted.  “All right, all right, calm down” he said.  Andrew was on the other side of the mass of bodies and heard my voice and sort of looked over to see what the fuss was about but then kept going on with whatever he was doing.

The next I awoke next to Andrew and then he immediately awoke as well, gave me a tender kiss on my forehead and said “Good morning babe”.  “How you feeling?” I asked.  “Yeah, okay, I’m a bit fucked” he said.  I laughed but he didn’t.  I wondered what was wrong as I could see there was something on his mind.  “I have to tell you something” he said.  I didn’t reply, I was too nervous for what he was going to say.  I’m sure I remember seeing him being fucked without a condom and he was going to confess to me.  Then he said “I have to go to work on Saturday so I can’t see you until Sunday”.  “Is that it?” I asked.   “Yeah, what did you think I was going to say?” he said with a slight temper.  “No, nothing, doesn’t matter” I replied in a timid voice.

I kept thinking about the night of the sex party and kept feeling so guilty about it.  I felt really dirty and I did not know how to stop thinking like this.  I also kept thinking that Andrew had not been as safe as he should have been during the sex romps.  But I was hoping that I was wrong so I never discussed this with him.  For the entire week after the party I dwelled on the sex that occurred that night.  Soon I got put off with the idea of sex.  I felt like I did not want to have sex anymore for the rest of my life and that I would break up with Andrew on Sunday.  I had to, it was only fair.

On the Saturday, the that Andrew said he had to work, I remembered that I left something at Andrews place and as I had a key to his place I would zip down there, grab it then go home.  When I arrived I noticed his car was in the parking lot at his block of units.  Something was going on.  I rushed to his front door, kicked opened the door and there he was sitting on the couch.  He was shooting up something up his arm.  I still remember that sight of the hypodermic needle crawling up the vein in his arm.  He did not even budge when he saw me.  I stood there in shock and said to him “Heroin?”.  “No’ he replied.  “It’s just anabolic steroids, it’s no big deal, I have to take them!” he gasped.  Then everything, all these months of abuse and confusion came clear to me.  I told him it was over.  He just smiled at me, took the needle out his arm, stood up from the couch and he looked as though he was going to hug me.  Instead he punched me in the face.  I fell to the floor and then he kicked me in the stomach yelling “You fuckin slut!!!!”.  I started to cry for help and then suddenly his neighbours were knocking on his front door.  Andrew grabbed my head and covered my mouth so I could not scream.  He told me to be silent.  Then after the minutes of silence, the neighbours left.  I managed to take myself away from Andrew and then suddenly he lowered himself on floor into a foetal position crying like a baby.  It was a pathetic sight.  “I’m so sorry baby, please don’t leave” he cried.  I was not falling it for it this time.  But that horrible, disgusting image of him injecting that needle made me sick to my stomach.  I took one look of disgust at him and suddenly saw a very unattractive man, in fact, I saw the complete opposite of how I visioned Andrew in the past.  It disturbed me and I left immediately and went home, not looking back.  It was over.

The day later Andrew came knocking on my door crying and begging for my forgiveness.  Without him making him further make a scene in the street I let him inside, we sat down on the couch and just looked at each other.  I was cautious.  Bet I felt so sorry for him.  Yes, I was a fool but I went and sat down next to him, and gave him a tender kiss on the side of his neck as a sign all is forgiven.  But I had a plan.  I refused to any longer be manipulated by any man.  No one would dare cross me for what I had been through in my life so far.  I don’t deserve it and my plan was to have sweet revenge in a cruel way.  But it had to be done.  No one is ever gonna mess with my head again, not even Andrew.  So I put on a brave face and told him we can start again.  He fell for it and continued on with our relationship as nothing happened.  He wanted to take me out to dinner that night as a treat for me.  I said okay, pick me up at 8pm.  This is where my plan began.

I was not home at 8pm.  I went out to a gay sauna with the intention to fuck my brains out.  So I went to the sauna, and I assumed by then Andrew would have realised I was not home and he would be upset.  That was part one of the plan.  I know Andrew like a book and I knew he would follow me.  He did.  He followed me all the way to the sauna, he obviously thinks I was not aware of him following me.  But I knew.  As soon as I got to the sauna, I pretty much picked up a guy straight away and we had sex in one of the cubicles.  Andrew was actually hiding in the next cubicle, listening.  Listening to the screams of sexual pleasure and heavy breathing.  I wanted him to be crushed with intense jealousy.  It would kill him.  So after ‘the deed’ was done, I walked out the cubicle with some guy I was with, and there was Andrew kneeling against the wall with a smug look on his face but tears rolling down his cheks.  “You fuckin’ evil bastard, how can you do this to me?” he said softly in anger.  The other guy thought “Uh oh, a domestic” and quickly ran off not to get involved.  “Andrew, it’s over,...” I said .  “Why did you do this?...is this how evil you can be to another human being, I love you and you have killed my heart, you bastard!” he said under his breath.  “Is this how you get your kicks?...you know, being dishonest?” he cried.  “Yep, no one messes with me.....no one fuckin’ messes with Jay Andrews,....if you do.....you gonna get hurt and I don’t give a shit” I said in an angry tone.  Then I simply walked away.  I never saw Andrew ever again.  But I did leave a trail of guilt behind.  I was not proud of what I had really done.  I put a human beings’ emotions in the firing line, and I now know it was a cruel thing to do.  I realised I’m not a nice person.  I had no respect for any other person feelings.  I all cared about was revenge and getting anything I want and if I had to hurt people that got in the way, then that’s the way it had to be.  I was getting nasty but I felt I had power.  The power to make or break another person’s soul.  I didn’t care anymore so I carried on with my life with the intention to get what I want, when I want and if I don’t get what I want, I will get evil.  No one messes with Jay Andrews from now on.  Fuck the world, I’m in control now.........but “Oh fuck! I’ve got the crabs...... again!”.....

As weeks went by, I’m not going to lie, but Andrew was on my mind every day.  I hated him and wanted to see him suffer yet the other part of my brain is loving him.  I was in denial and ignored the feelings.  Ironically, I did not have sex for weeks.  I was completely turned off it.  My friends also appeared to be a little distant from me and I didn’t understand why.  They made excuses that they could not go out on Saturday night and began to think they were avoiding me.  Perhaps it was because I ignored my friends whilst I was with Andrew?  I was not sure.  But all I knew was that I was ready to have a good time again and contacted Edward, or Eddie as everyone called him.  My friend in the rave scene.  The party that was to become the most memorable moment in my life was about to make an impact; so strap yourself in for a true experience for both heaven and hell.

………………………………….

I was determined to go to this rave so I called my friend in the rave scene who was the ‘who’s-who’ in the scene.  Everyone knew him and if you were a genuine friend of him; you were cool.  So I was considered cool.

Eddie seemed delighted that I called him and asked why I disappeared for a while.  I just said I was busy and he didn’t really question it.  Eddie was so easy to get along with and we just clicked.  Our friendship was just pure fun, nothing complex.  He asked me to come around to his place to catch up.  So I went to the same warehouse he was living in and we just sat on the couch chatting about just general stuff and drinking fruit juice.  Then he get out a huge pile of pills and spilled then out on the coffee table.  No prizes for guessing what they were but I knew they were ecstasy pills. “Take, one, take a few, take lots!” he said enthusiastically.  “What now?” I questioned. “No not now!...for the party this weekend” he replied.  I just gave a look of confusion as I never heard news of a party this weekend.  He was surprised I was not aware about it as this rave coming up was huge.  It was one of the most infamous and craziest raves in Melbourne’s underground scene.  So he had me a very elaborately decorated flyer.  Then when I saw the name of the party on the flyer, it all made sense.  This party is huge and it was gonna go off.  The party was called “Every Picture Tells a Story”.

This rave always lived up to its expectations and this party was even more special as there were a lot of international super DJ’s making guest appearances.  Eddie talked about the party like it was party to end all parties.  There was going to be six rooms all playing a genre of dance.  The main room which is mainly techno and hard house, a house and garage room, which was my favourite, a jungle and break-beat room and so on.  I was also wondering why there was a lot of noise of hammering and sawing going on just outside Eddie’s apartment.  They were preparing for the party.  Eddie gave me a brief tour of the warehouse where the party was going to be and spoke enthusiastically how he was painting murals for the main room and so on.  This sounded massive and knew I was in for one special night.  Eddie told me that I’d have my name on the guest list and to just waltz on in past the crowd and make sure I visit him before I go in the party.  He was expecting some special guests.  This was gonna be a night to remember!

It did not take me long before I transformed from gay clubber and dance party goer to raver, or ‘stompers’ as we were called.  The contrast in both scenes, were quite distinct.  But it was the underground feel of the rave scene that excited me.  It kind of felt more like an ultra-cool sub-culture rather than the plastic pretentiousness of the dance party scene.  There was nothing criminal or wrong about it, but it just had the essence of feeling like you were part of some unique sub-cultural scene separate to ‘normal’ society.  The gay dance party scene was a bit more commercialised and way more pretentious.  Attire was completely different.  By this stage I had what I called a ‘split personality’ wardrobe as I was living and switching between two distinct scenes or sub-cultures.  The dance party attire was mainly jeans, muscles tops and a couple of pairs of glam tight latex shorts for the more glitzy dance parties.  The rave attire on the other hand consisted mainly of baggy brightly coloured pants, t-shirts with smiley faces or bizarre patterns or pop art style logos and of course the ravers trademark, the Puma trainers.  You see, in the rave scene, although it was a much friendlier environment, it was the clothes you wore that determined your status in the rave scene.  For example, if you turned up to a rave wearing high heels, the girls that is, or for the guys a pair of leather boots, then firstly you probably would not get let in or people would give you funny looks and instantly call you uncool.  So it was imperative to have the right gear in the rave scene.  It determined your acceptance in the sub-culture.  But all in all, in the rave scene, it was always about the music, and that is a fact, you ask any old-skool raver.  To be a true raver, you had to be able to differentiate between the different types of underground dance music.  The problem with ‘normal society’ is that ‘they’, seem to think techno or rave music is about ‘doof, doof’ and that’s it.  That attitude really annoyed me.  Techno is such a broad range.  But if you heard techno on commercial radio, then it is not true techno.  That is called pop music.  Techno in itself is a type of electronic and energetic dance music, then you have other sub-genres such as acid techno, hard house, jungle or break-beat, trance, hardcore techno and other types.  Then you have the old-skool true rave music which is classic rave anthems likened to the days when rave started in a club called ‘The Hacienda’ in Manchester, England.  I think rave began as an underground movement in the late eighties or nineties.  Today raves are quite commercial and I guess that is because money has something to do with it.  In fact, I don’t even think raves are called raves anymore, they are all dance parties.  What also annoys me is that people whinge about people taking ecstasy in raves yet there is hardly any violence, if any, at the raves.  Yet go out onto King Street in Melbourne on a Saturday night where everyone binge drinks alcohol, and there is violent brawls everywhere.  Where are the police? I mean, hello?, don’t you think that is where the police should put their focus instead of giving ravers a hard time?  I am not disrespecting our police system, I really think they do a good job however I think they need to re-assess where to put their energies and weigh up what is going to be better for the community.  In regards to taking ecstasy, sure there is a risk in taking a ‘pill’ but isn’t life itself a risk anyway?  There are more alcohol related deaths than ecstasy.  I am not condoning the use of drugs, I am just voicing an opinion based on experience.

So anyway, I’ve had my whinge about the naive attitude of society, it’s time to talk about the party coming up.  So in the week leading up to the party I don’t think I had ever been so excited.  It felt like my homecoming, like I was making a huge comeback or something.  I hit the gym every day to pump myself up and ensured I ate super nutritious foods and vitamins.  Now the thing is, in the rave scene, it was not as sexually orientated like the dance party scene, but the fact that I had a nice body and could show it off that somehow got me almost superstar status in the rave scene.  Not many ravers were body conscious.  But as the saying goes, if you’ve got it, then flaunt it.  That gave me that edge in the rave scene and always got me attention.

The day of the party I had my day cat nap, had only small meals and drank litres and litres of freshly squeezed juices.  I was well prepared.  Having small meals on the day of the party was supposed to make your drugs work better, apparently.  When the night arrived I got ready as you do.   Showered, dressed while cranking up the tech-house on the dance radio station Kiss FM, which was the cool kind of dance music radio station during the time.  Then by around 11pm, I got started.  Sitting in front of the TV, no rush, no need to panic and get there too soon, just chill and have a couple of lines of speed.  This then led to a third line.  It was the best speed I ever I had in my life but I think the mix of excitement and the rush of adrenaline and chemical energy made me just want to dance my arse off, so I was ready.  Ironically, I felt like John Travolta in Saturday night Fever, and then the same scene from the movie called Human Traffic, which depicted the rave scene.  Yes I know, it sounds wanky.  But I felt good.  So good, I was desperate to party.  So I caught a cab and made my way to the party.

Tucked away in amongst an industrial area of warehouses in inner city Melbourne was the party.  As soon as I arrived it felt like home, like a place I feel I can hang my hat.  Crowds of people were making their way to the massive queues in the main entrance but I had the special pass.  The back entrance which is the actual entrance to Edward’s apartment.  This was also the entrance where big name international DJ’s would make their entry as well.  Of course there was security everywhere and police were stationed at the main entrance and randomly body searching ravers for any drugs.  The police were not smart enough to know how ravers get their drugs into the party and I am not about to let you in that secret either.  So I get to the back entrance, the beefed up security guys asked if I’m on the guest list and my response was a “yeah, of course, you think I rocked up here for nuthin”.  Yes I know, I had a bit of an attitude.  “But the names ANDREWS....JAY BEAU ANDREWS” I said slowly oozing with confidence.  They security guys bowed their head as their sign of approval and let me through.  My first instant feel of the place as soon as I stepped in was just the intense bass coming from the main room and the slight echoing sound of the ravers screaming ‘whoo, hoo”.  This was only the beginning.  Things were gonna get out of control.

I went straight to Edwards’s apartment and was greeted not only by Ed but about fifty or so of his closest friends!  I cannot possibly remember all the names even though I was speeding off my head.  I also noticed a few familiar faces lounging around on the couch snorting speed and cutting up ecstasy pills.  I will not name these famous faces for privacy reasons but if I told you who they were you probably would not believe me anyway.  Let’s just say they were big Australia names during the nineties and the least expected people I would have expected to see at a rave party.

Eddie handed me a bottle of water topped with raspberry, the drink of choice for the classic raver and there was no hurry so we sat around the lounge chatting about fuck all, as we were all speeding of our nuts!  There was also a DJ in Ed’s lounge room spinning some classic old-skool house and garage tracks, very cool stuff.  This was the room for the elite raver.  Then my heart dropped when a certain man entered the room.  He was my hero of the rave scene and a super cool DJ from the UK.  Again I can’t name the DJ for privacy, but we are talking about rave royalty.  I literally pounced on him when he entered telling him how much I love his music and the tracks he chooses when he DJ’s and he was very impressed with how much I adored the music and art of it all.  I knew my stuff and having a super cool DJ tell me that was the bomb!  But perhaps the speed was helping me with my vocabulary if you know what I mean.  So on one side I was chatting to the DJ and on the other was one of Eddie’s friends.  A woman, probably about twice my age, quite attractive and obviously a cougar.  She kept trying to get my attention and was constantly feeling my chest and abs.  But the party in that elite room after about an hour was getting pretty heated, and I hadn’t even made it to the main area of the rave yet.  Two people, a guy and a girl, I have no idea who they were, I was introduced to them but forgot their names, started having sex underneath the coffee table.  Nobody even cared.  Everyone just kept on chatting away, snorting speed, drink water, dancing around to the DJ or downing e’s.  This obviously got the cougar a bit aroused so she decided to slide her hand in my pants grabbing my pubic hair.  “Okay, I think it’s time I hit the dance floor” I said as I jumped up in a fright.  “I’ll come and join you sexy” said the cougar in a steamy sultry voice.  “Okay, I’ll see you.....ummm....out there soon” I said quickly.  Then I basically dashed out of Ed’s lounge room and made my way through the backrooms of the warehouse, following the noise of the bass until it got louder and louder.  Then there it was.  It was a whole new world.  The magnitude of this beautiful room of energy glowed.  The party was pumping.  Stompers were dancing everywhere with massive smiles on their bright faces.  There was not an ounce of hate anywhere.  The room was filled with love and happiness and tonight we will dance the fuck out of ourselves.

Having entered the main arena first, I stayed there for a while dancing to the cream of the crop when it came to acid techno and hard house.  The lights and strobes just took your breath away as it was perfectly in sync with the pounding bass.  Everyone, or I should a lot, of people were watching me dance and quite often came up to me telling me I’m such a good dancer.  I wonder if these people would say that to a complete stranger if they were not on ecstasy?  I didn’t care, I thrived on the compliments and the compliments about my body.  It got to my head eventually so I got on top of one of the podiums and danced away.  I was the star now, well, so I was thinking at the time.  But I danced and people loved it.

The e’s were staring to get to the peak stage and I thought this would be the perfect time to down another ‘e’ and head for the underground house and garage room.  It was my favourite music of choice.  And I was right, the room was jumping and going completely off.  My mind was going to explode to the coolest house on the planet.  There was not a slight hint of commercial crap pop in it, this was dirty, filthy, sexy, deep house at its best.  The grooves almost took over your body as if it was hypnotizing you.  The great sound of the music only made me want to dance harder and faster and the feeling of euphoria overwhelmed me with the love I had for the world, for the people and for the rave scene.  This was our world, this was a sub-culture in unity and we loved it.  Everyone danced in the own world facing the DJ, bowing their heads to the DJ like he was a god.  Ravers stuck their hands in the air when the strobes hit them looking like they were cutting the air with a knife.  The DJ took control of the room and I could feel his energy rushing through my body.  I felt like I wanted to scream with intense euphoria but I knew I had to contain myself.  I loved everything and anything and I loved these ‘e’s.  So I had to have another one.  This was my third in two hours but who’s counting?

Hours later I decided to take a break even though I could have kept on dancing.  In fact I danced my way to the bar area only to be greeted by some friends with a scream of “James!” and a hug and kiss.  This was love, joy and happiness and we were all feeling damn good.  Then I did something spontaneous, just for the hell of it.  I asked if they needed a hand on the bar serving drink.  After all, the ravers were mainly drinking raspberry water anyway and I thought it would be fun.  “Sure thing!” they said.  “Jump behind the bar and have some fun, but you won’t get paid for it though James” one of the chirpy bar girls said with a Chupa- Chup bulging in her left cheek.  “That’s fine” I said.  “I just wanna do somethin’ a bit different “I said again.  I was in the right mood to love people and it showed.  Of course they let me behind the bar, I was not getting paid for it, I just wanted to take a break and have some fun.  It was the perfect way to use my increasing energy but giving my body a break it deserved from the stomping I was doing out on the dance floor.   So I started serving smiling happy people.  It was all about “One water bottle with raspberry please”.  Then I would say “No worries, that’d be 8 dollars thanks”.  No one cared about the cost even though it was a rip off as everyone tended to refill their bottles in the toilets and just pay a dollar later with a raspberry cordial top up.

For about an hour I was jumping and pouncing up and down the bar, tattooed with a smile on my face when Edward appeared.  He acted like he hadn’t seen my for years. “Jaaaaaay!” he shouted. “I’ve miiiiiiiiiised youuuuuuu” he went on.  I just giggled and we had one of those peaking on ecstasy hugs that everyone was doing.  Then he said open your hand.  So I did and he put right in the middle of my palm a green pill.  “These are the best, only the best for my friends, I love you, you know” he said sincerely.  “What are they called?” I asked inquisitively.  “Dunno, I think they’re called green aliens” he said.  The name rang a bell and I remember people were raving about how good these e’s were.  So without delay it was straight down the hatch with the good old raspberry water.  He hugged me again and skipped away to hug someone else.  I just kept on serving people behind the bar not even thinking about how many e;’s I had already taken by now.  I think I was up to my fifth by now.  I really had lost track and shouldn’t have.  But I thought, well, I aren’t dead yet, I feel too fuckin’ good!

Suddenly I heard the crowd from the main room getting louder and louder and was trying to tune in what the fuss was about.  I think one of the big named DJ’s were appearing to start his set in the main room.  I was right.  This DJ was what I was waiting for.  He is the best tech-house DJ in the world and his tunes rocked the house down.  Then the music paused, I knew he was about to start his DJ set.  I said to the other bar girl “See ya, I’m going out there, it’s gonna go off, my DJ is on!!!”.  The girls yelled out “Go for it Jay!” in sync and I ran my way to the main arena.  As soon as I walked in it was dark, then the lights flashed with the first sound of the bass.  Then the bass gradually grew in volume in sync with the strobe lighting and there it happened.  Boom, Boom, Boom, the music pumped out a classic rave anthem to get the crowd go insane.  Shivers went up and down my spine with complete intense pleasure.  I loved the music so much that I thought I was having an internal orgasm.  But I could probably blame the fifth ‘e’ for that.  So I danced and danced and danced and danced.

After I was dripping with sweat I knew it was time I give my body a break.  I could see daylight peeping through the metals walls of the warehouse and knew it was now sometime during the day.  I looked at my watch for the first time that night and it was 10 am.  Every room in the party was still full to capacity.  I also noticed the police made themselves known as I saw them in the distance.  It was probably just a routine inspection thing as I was aware that the venue had a licence to run the party well into the day, but I was not sure what time it had to be shut down.  I thought it was time to catch up with Edward so I niggled my way through the crowd of dancing people and into Edward’s apartment upstairs.  Of course I had to flash my ‘staff’ badge to the security guys before I can get access to Ed’s apartment.  When I got there Edward and some friends were completely out of it.  More than me.  People were lying around half naked, laughing and giggling and sliding off the couches like they were completely drug fucked.  Well, they were actually.  “Jay!” Edward yelled. “come in!.....we ...are...ummm....Oh, I don’t know what the fuck I’m sayin’ anyway....!” Ed stuttered.  Then he just giggled like a little schoolgirl and I could not help to laugh as well and found myself falling on the floor as the laughter in the room got so intense.  I had no idea what on earth we were laughing about, we were all totally drug fucked.  It’s as simple as that.  I began think I might be losing touch with reality, but what the fuck, “Ed!...I want some more coke!” I yelled.  He laughed and said “The cola kind or the real stuff!” he giggled.  “What do you think?” I said as I was laughing.  So he gets a silver platter from a cupboard, staggered to a drawer and pulled out a huge clear plastic bag full of cocaine and poured it onto the platter.  Then he cleared everything off the coffee table by thrusting his arm across the table knocking everything off like he was angry, but he was actually still giggling.  Then said “Here you go guys, dig in”.  Then we all reached for our dollar notes, rolled them into straws, got out a credit card each and all of us scooped out a big serve of the white powder, chopped and lined up a few even lines of the white stuff and then started snorting line after line of cocaine like it was going out of fashion.  The image of about six or seven of us snorting off the same silver platter simultaneously made us look like absolute drug pigs.

Amazingly I do not remember the next few hours or so.  I think I really was completely drug fucked that my brain and my mind went into numbness.  I do remember at some point I started to hear the music from the party was getting lower and lower in volume and at that point I looked at my watch and it was around 3 pm Sunday.  A looked around and a few people were either asleep or just staring at the wall like they were possessed or something.  We were fucked.  I also remember sometime after that, we all came back to earth again and started chatting.  Then Ed said “Let’s have some music”.  I think he realised that the mood of the room was getting a bit tense as some people were starting to come down so he wanted to cheer the place up a bit.  So I said “yeah, I’ll chuck on some music and spin some discs on the decks!” I said as I jumped up like all my energy came back to life.  As I had done a short course in DJing, yes I know, another course!  I had some skills on how to use the equipment.  Ed just cleared the way and said “Ready please Mister music!”  So I got a couple of vinyl records, recognised some of the title as classic underground rave tunes, pumped up the volume, and started to spin the vinyl on the decks.  Everyone started dancing around the lounge.  I was good.  I knew how to mix and knew how to beat-mix which the essence of the art of DJing was.  The other established DJ’s hanging out in Ed’s room sat there with a jealous look on their faces.  It was strange.  It was like I entered their territory.  DJ’s are very passionate about what they do and don’t like the limelight taken away from them.  They pretty much thought of themselves a ‘king dick’ most of the time.  But then again, why wouldn’t they?  They were good at what they did.  But right there and then, it was all about me.  I was the DJ and everyone was loving it.  It was like the entire rave was transferred from the main arena into Ed’s lounge room and everyone was going off.  I was having a ball apart from fighting off the cougar a few times where she her hands where she shouldn’t have.  But I did not really care, she was having innocent fun so I let her do what she wanted.

The party died down by around 7 or 8 pm Sunday night, quite frankly I can’t remember exactly.  Everyone by this stage was completely fucked and partied out.  I remember I was just lying on the couch and one of the DJ’s, that I also thought was very cute, was lying next to me staring at me.  I got thoughts, dirty thoughts.  I was just in the mood, but wait!  He had a girlfriend, so of course he could not be possibly interested.  I looked around and everyone had passed out.  He just kept looking at me and then by surprise he nodded his head as if to ‘come on follow me’, and I did.  We both crept out of the lounge and I just followed him behind what looked like just one of Edward’s junk rooms.  There were boxes and junk piled high, I think it was just old furniture or stuff, I wasn’t sure.  But I followed this guy and he kept looking back to check that I was still following him.  Then he went behind a pile of boxes, stopped, looked at me and pulled my pants down.  He was just about to lower himself down when we heard “What are you guy’s doin’!”.  It was one of the security staff from the party.  We both shit ourselves and ran back to Ed’s lounge room, whilst I was pulling my pants up.  When we got back to the lounge everyone appeared to be conscious again.  Then I thought “Fuck!....missed out on that chance’.  The DJ looked at me as if he was saying “Next time”.  Then everyone started leaving one by one, everyone was going home.  The party was over and we could not take anymore.  Our bodies were totalled.  I hung around until everyone else left.  Edward was not very talkative and neither was I.  It was clear we were coming down.  God I hated this part!  “Well, I guess the party had to come to a close some time or another “I stuttered my words out like I was shivering.  “Yeah, but it was fun though” Ed said enthusiastically.  “Thank you Ed.....Thank you for the good time tonight, it was great” I said sincerely.  “You’re welcome, it’s nice when friends say thanks” Ed said softly.  Then he handed me a small pile of something wrapped in aluminium foil.  “For you” he said.  “Just so you can chill out and get to sleep” he continued.  I said thanks.  I knew it was dope, so I didn’t have to open it to check.  But I was a little apprehensive about doing this stuff as I did it once before a long time ago and didn’t like it.  But I took it and thought well I need something to get me to sleep as my pupils were enormous and I was wide awake.  I gave Edward a tender and friendly hug, said see you later and staggered out of the warehouse not even thinking about how I was to get home.

Now, here is the interesting part.  The time between leaving the party and getting home, I have no recollection of how I got home.  I don’t remember taking a taxi, I don’t remember getting a lift from someone and walking was a bit too far so I wouldn’t have done that.  So I really don’t know how I got home.  If I had to guess, I think I actually hitch hiked as I remember that I had no money left on me.  For which to me now, kind of scares me as being in that frame of mind I was in, it would have made me very vulnerable to being attacked or something.  But anyway, I say ‘whatever’.  The point is, I got home safely.

I do remember getting home and remember that my housemates had gone out so they were not home.  I do remember the first thing I did was make myself a cup of tea.  I was really, really out of it.  I felt like the last ‘e’, which was the sixth one, was never going to wear off.  I was not peaking but still had an up and down kind of euphoria and I was getting sick of it.  Like enough already!  I need to come down!  But I took my tea crawling upstairs to my room and just fell on the bed.  I was not thinking of anything, I was blank, like my brain had been completely washed.  I had nothing to think about.  I felt like I was brain dead.  Then I thought I’d better some of this dope to calm down and get some sleep.  The caffeine in the tea seemed to kick in a bit more of the ‘e’ feeling which was interesting.  I then rolled a dope cigarette, I was not very good at it, so it looked like a deformed sausage, but I took a few puffs.  Boy it was strong!  A few minutes later, my mind started to think again.  But my mind was thinking too fast.  I took another puff hoping it would slow down my mind.  But my heart started to pound, and it was pounding hard.  I could see my chest moving.  I thought something is going wrong.  I started to think the worst.  Perhaps I was having a heart attack, perhaps my brain was about to explode, perhaps I’m am going to die!  I started to have a massive panic attack.  I wanted to run away, but where?  I was trapped.  I’m going to die.  All these drugs, all these chemicals have finally taken their toll.  My body can’t take anymore.  I realised at that moment that this time I have overdone it and now I’m about to pay the price.  I did not want to die.  I was terrified beyond belief.  What do I do?  My housemates were not home.  I had no one to turn to.  I was scared.  I ran to the bathroom mirror in a panic and saw the veins in my head bulging.  My chest was moving and my pulse was racing so fast I could not keep up with the beats, I lost count.  Sweat was dripping from my forehead.  I am going to die.  But suddenly something led me to the phone and call 000.  “I need an ambulance!” I shouted as I was squeezing the phone in my shivering hand.  The woman on the phone asked who it was for.  I said it was for me and told her I was having a heart attack.  She asked me how old I was.  I think I said I 25 or 26 or something, I can’t really recall.  Then she paused, I think she thought it was a joke.  “Please hurry.....PLEASE!” I screamed.  “Have you taken any drugs?” she asked.  “Yes’ I said.  “Can you tell me what you have taken?” she asked. “Ecstasy, speed, cocaine and marijuana.  “How much of each drug did you take?” she asked,.  “Fucking hell!!  Why so many questions?, I need to get to a hospital fast, don’t you understand?” I yelled through the phone.  So I gave her my address, unlocked the front door and fell to the floor.  I was having some sort of seizure and all I can remember was I was drooling from the mouth like I was vomiting blood.  In fact, I think it was blood.  The ambulance arrived, and quickly I might add.  They barged through the front door.  One of the ambo’s shook me and said in a loud voice “Can you tell me your name?”.  I had to think about the simple question like it was a complex thing to answer but I answered “J-J-J-Jay!”.  “Can you tell me what drugs you have had?” he continued.  With my eyes closing up, I blurted out the answer with ease “6 ecstasy pills, 2 grams of speed and 2 grams of cocaine and some dope”.  I slightly opened my eyes and noticed they all just looked at each other with horror.  I don’t think they could believe I have had so many drugs.  Then I started to pass in and out of consciousness.  I remember my head started to ache and my body was twitching and they were putting an oxygen mask on me and then that was it.  I don’t remember anything after that until we reached the emergency department at the hospital.  I remember seeing all the medical huddling around me and they were laughing when the ambo’s told them how much drugs I took.  They made fun me and I was about to die.  Then one of the doctors looked at me and said directly to my face “You obviously had too much fun, we will do all we can to save you....but then that’s it......there’s no more we can do...”  Then he stuck a needle up my arm and I started to scream in agony.  They had to tie me down to the bed as I was going insane.  I was going to die.  Then they gave me another injection.  I think it was Valium to calm me down.  I could hear the heart machine measuring my racing pulse and heard it was slowing down.  I remember this very moment as I started to black out.  I am about to die.  This is it.  This is how it is going to end.  Then I went into darkness.

I opened my eyes slowly.  I could see light.  I heard the hustle and bustle of the hospital emergency room.  I looked at the heart machine and my pulse was back to normal.  I was not convinced that I had lived through this.  So I pinched myself so hard that I felt the pain.  I was alive.  The feeling of relief was so overwhelming.  I looked at the clock on the wall and it said 10 am.  It was Monday morning and I was okay.  I smiled.  I felt happy.   Then the nurse came from behind the curtains that surrounded my bed.  “Well young man, you are so very, very lucky” she said in a friendly voice.  I had to ask the scary question.  “Did I.....ummm.....well, you know, die?” I murmured nervously.  She paused and suddenly put on a serious look on her face and looked at me. “Almost” she said softly.  “Almost.....we thought we were going to lose you ...but you can go home now” she said and then left.  I felt like I wanted to cry but couldn’t.

I thanked the nurses on my way out of the hospital.  I walked out into the glorious morning sunshine.  It was the most blissful and peaceful feeling.  I felt human again.  I walked all the way home.  I wanted to.  I had to appreciate the feeling of being alive.  I watched people on their way to work, children playing in the park then suddenly I thought of my mum.  I thought to myself, what if?  What if, it happened?  It would kill her.  I could not let my mum go through the pain of losing her son.  Then I started to think of the life I am living.  Is this really a life?  Do I have any direction? Do I have any goals?  Do I have any real reason to get up in the morning?  There were so many questions I had to ask myself that I completely confused myself.  But I arrive home.  My housemates were oblivious to what happened.  I went straight to room to think about my life.  I sat there for hours thinking about the changes I need to make.  I needed to re-assess my life.  I had to.  This was too much of a close call.  Then I made the decision.  The decision to not go out anymore, well not for a while anyway.  No more drugs, no more late nights, no more anonymous sex.  I want to be normal, whatever that is.  I am going to re-discover my identity.  This was four parties and almost a funeral. I needed to find my identity again.  I felt so very stupid and naiive.

For the next few weeks this ‘event’, (and as far as I am concerned I consider this near death experience and ‘event’), the reality gradually began to sink in.  I avoided the club scene and tried to work as much as I could.  Not so much for money, but to get away from something, whatever ‘something’ was.  It is hard to articulate as I recall when at this time my decline from partying almost every night also resulted in my friend’s slowly slipping away.  We were all drifting apart.  Without getting into the whinging thing, I began to realise that my circle of friends were just ‘clubbing friends’, not authentic friends.  We were only together when we partied and I do not think we ever actually called each other on the phone, outside of ‘party time’, just to “Hi, how you going?”  At all.  That kind of hurt and the more we drifted apart, the more craving for attention I was after.

I only really kept in contact with Kim on an ad-hoc basis but that was about it.  Then the contact; the odd short phone call or two, and the sporadic short latte down a cool cute café along Brunswick Street, Fitzroy, came to a halt.  My life was becoming strange and I was confused.  No more parties, no more looking forward to the weekend.  In retrospect, it was not the excitement of the clubs and parties we desired intensely, but the party drugs; namely ecstasy as our pleasurable poison.  It is a cliché, but one which is so too true, and that is, what must come up, must come down.  Suddenly it came to a point that I did come down like a ton of bricks.

……………………………………….

Months roll on and I was still working at that café behind the bar and I was good at it but I wanted more.  Without going into too many boring details, as I was want to progress this into a next chapter where there is a twist, I lingered over my future.  My career in hospitality was not one I wanted to progress further as I was getting over it and I needed more.  The problem was that I had many interests.  On my days off, or I should say hours off, I spend a lot of time researching any potential career options and I just thought if I did a course it was be an instant career.  A silly idea like ‘just add water’ and “Bang!” you have your successful career.  You may think I was crazy, but I enrolled, then quit, then enrolled in a different course, quit again, enrolled in another different course and the same process over and over with a lot of wasted money along the way.  I went from wanting to be travel consultant, so I did a course, and that was the only one I finished.  Yet after its completion I was over that idea.  Suddenly I wanted to be massage therapist so I did a course that cost thousands.  That did not last long! Then a sound recording engineer, that one last about 1 week!  The list goes on and on and don’t even ask how many courses I jumped to and from as it is shameful.  I had no real idea of what I really wanted to do and simply was not paying attention to my inner passion.  My panic attacks came and went when I felt overwhelmed with indecisiveness as it was a fear of being lost in society, and I did.  I knew I had attributes and I need to use my youth and energy now to get the ball rolling and my life was about to change.  Strap yourself in for what I am about to reveal.

Chapter ten...............Rent Boy.

After that full-on party, or I should say, the day I nearly died, I hadn’t really heard from any of my friends for a while.  In fact, not even Edward or Kim.  No one really returned my calls.  I didn’t understand why.  One weekend I felt like going out, just one Saturday night, drug free, just for a drink and a bit of dancing then go home.  So I call Kim.  She said to meet her and the other guys at The Peel hotel.  But she did not really sound that excited about it.  But I felt I still needed friends so I have to go.  It was more of a confirmation that I still had friends rather than to go out and have a good time.  I was over that stuff now.

So I get to The Peel searching through the crowd for my friends.  I couldn’t find them anywhere.  I searched every dark corner of the club where they usually huddle and still there was no sign of them.  I began to worry I had been stood up then I get a tap on my shoulder.  It was Kim.  She was in a good mood.  A very good mood in fact.  She was on ecstasy.  Ironically, I had a feeling about this may happen.  So she gave me one.  I didn’t want to indulge but I did.  An hour later we were flying.  Dancing together in a group on the dance floor just like the good old days.  Once again, it was the drugs that united us.  I knew it was natural but accepted it.  But what the fuck, I was having a good time anyway.

We were having a rest on a couch as a group just chilling and having a drink or to.  Kim disappeared for a minute then came back with some cute guy I never seen before.  Kim knew him and apparently this guy wanted to meet me.  His name was Damon.  I was not that enthusiastic for a couple of reasons.  Firstly I was e-ing off my head and secondly I was not really interested in meeting guys anymore.  I was kind of over them.  But Damon and I chatted for a while and he tried to kiss me but I backed off.  I got a scare.  He asked me what’s wrong.  I just said that I am on drugs at the moment so it’s not a good idea right now.  He accepted my explanation.  The truth is that I was scared.  I was scared of being committed to another man.  I don’t think I could handle the insecurity of being in a relationship again yet alone abuse.  I began to hate men and hid my anger.

As it happened, Damon and I were a couple having a casual relationship for a few months.  I was still living with my housemates and he was living elsewhere and we saw each other every second day or so.  It was a strange relationship.  There were problems in our relationship.  He was actually a workaholic and worked really long hours and when he came over to my house after work he was always exhausted and tired.  But another problem was brewing.  I was afraid to be intimate.  I found it difficult to show affection but when we had sex it was full on.  I knew something was affecting me and the fact that I found it difficult to show affection to Damon he started to get frustrated.  So in the end, we broke up.  I actually caught him kissing another guy at a nightclub.  Damon did not know I was there.  Again, I was crushed.  Again my emotions were twisted.  Again I was cheated on.  Another opportunity lost.

As time went by I stayed clear from the nightclubs for a while and just went to gay saunas.  I was not interested in relationships.  I just wanted dirty hard sex and then tell the guy to ‘fuck off’.  But I met a guy at the sauna that kind of caught my heart.  His name was Jake and was a blonde muscular guy and seemed so genuine.  We broke the rules and saw each other outside the sauna for a while.  But it happened again.  I was cheated on.  But this was different.  What happened was his stupid cat got hit by a car and at that time Jake had actually lost his job.  Well, so he said.  The vet bills came up to around $5000.  What was I to do?  I offered him the money paying the stupid vet bill with my credit card.  Two days later he said he wanted to break up with no explanation.  By this stage I was more than crushed, I was numb with pain and anger.  How could I be so stupid?  Another opportunity lost.  And I was cheated and emotionally abused again.

Months later I then met Daniel.  Now he was different.  Well, for a time, that is.  After the break up with ‘Jake the snake’, I just plodded on with life and went out occasionally with Kim and the other guys.  But I was not really in party mode like I used to be.  One night I decided to go to a different sauna that I had never been to and met Daniel.  He was physically hot bodied, average looking, but had the personality I adore in a man.  I was so apprehensive about our relationship but somehow we managed to have a relationship like a married couple outside the sauna.  I swore to myself I would never do that again, but I did.  Daniel made me feel good.  I couldn’t ignore the admiration he had for me and made me feel special.  We were quite a close couple for a few months and my fear of intimacy slowly dissolved.  It was because Daniel somehow made me feel like a man.  Then we did something that we never should have done.  He said he was going away for the weekend with some of his friends and asked if I would like to go.  I said ‘Okay’.  What he didn’t tell me was that his ex-boyfriend was going to be there.  When the weekend arrived and we arrived at our destination I was introduced to Daniels friends.  Unfortunately, that is.  It was rudest shock of my life.  I don’t mean to disrespect them but they were the biggest load of screaming queens you could ever possibly imagine.  I found it so disgusting I never spoke at the dinner table.  I could not understand why guys act like this.  I felt like I was on set of ‘Priscilla Queen of the Desert’.  I felt like I wanted to vomit.  There was no sign of any testosterone or masculinity anywhere, yet they were supposed to be men.  So it was that and the fact that Daniel and his ex were flirting with each other.  In front of me, like they were trying to make it obvious.  I mean, what the hell was going on here?  It was clear that Daniel and his ex were still burning a flame for each other and I was in the way.  I was getting insanely jealous but remained silent and persevered.

After dinner we went to the lounge and everyone wanted to play board games.  When one of ‘them’ said ‘Okay girls, let’s play twister!”  I thought that was a euphemism for playing dress-ups or brushing each other’s hair!  I was not looking forward to this.  But I played, with a straight face.  Then everyone got bored with it.  I think they could not handle the physicality of Twister, that would cause you to sweat and run your mascara!  So after a couple of the girls, I mean guys, made a quick trip to the powder room, Yes I am serious! they wanted to play some stupid camp gay related board game.  I can’t recall the name but it was like Monopoly for gay people, it was so stupid.  I’m sorry but I could take this seriously!  I had no idea of the rules of this camp and poofy game but I just went along with it, and just continued to be the trophy boyfriend.  Then I noticed Daniels ex went out on the balcony for a cigarette.  Daniel immediately followed and I just looked on trying not to get angry.  They closed the sliding door behind them chatting away, standing very close to each other.  I just stared.  I wanted to just go out there and say “Well, just admit it you two, just go for it”.  I was so in the way and it was clear what was going on.  Why should I have to put up with all this crap with guys?  I was so sick of it.  Soon Daniel and his ex came back inside.  Daniel did not sit next to be again like he was before, he sat next to his ex, and did not even look at me.  I was fuming like I was about to explode.  Then all of a sudden one of his faggy friends said “Oh I’m bored with this, who wants to play another game?”.  I could not take any more of this bullshit.  So I stood up and spoke to the group for the very first time “Yes!, I have a game!....Who wants to play suck my big fat fuckin’ cock!!!!!!”.  They all froze with shock and the stunned look on their faces had to be seen to be believed.  The silence was deafening and they all just froze and stared at me in utter shock.   I thought ‘Well, at least that shut them up!”.  I stormed off to my room and immediately started packing my bags.  I was going home.  It’s over and I’m over it.  Over everything.   No more guys, this is it.  I have had enough of this shit.

For the next few months I was in a depressed and moody state.  My friends were drifting away from me and I now realize I don’t blame them.  The pattern that I was living was when I met a guy and got involved in a relationship I had a reputation for neglecting my friends, then once I broke up with my partner I would come crawling back to my friends.  They didn’t appreciate that and they felt like I was using them.  The truth is, is that my friends I had were so absorbed in clubs and drugs and it was the only thing that bound us together.  They were superficial friendships.  There was no trust and no life outside the nightclub or dance party.  It was pretty sad really. But it was Kim that I had a more close relationship with as I saw her as more a true friend.  She was caring and I trusted her.  She took a genuine interest in my wellbeing.  But it was coming towards a time where Kim was slowly drifting away from me.  We started to less of each other and I didn’t understand why.  I really loved her and missed her.  I don’t know if I had upset her however I understood that she and her boyfriend were getting pretty serious and I remember she was talking about marriage with him.  Maybe her priorities were focussed on her man now.  But I think she was getting over the party scene too.  The others didn’t really give a shit unless they were relying on me to get their drugs for them for a party. The only time we spoke was about the next night of clubbing and the next party.  Very rarely did they, or I even, ask genuinely, ‘How are you?’  The conversation in the clubs was always about “What drugs are you on?”, or “Where you going for recovery later?” then of course we tended to outdo each other by saying “Yeah, well I’ve had 2 e’s tonight”, when I perhaps had one e. Club conversation was complete meaningless but self-absorbed small talk.  I was over it. I think Kim was too and the parties are what kept that connection to Kim and I but it was dissolving.  I miss her dearly and hope she is happy.   I also miss my other friend Emily who I hadn’t seen in months.  Again, I have somehow scared her away from me and I don’t know why.

I became so well absorbed in my own image and my own self-indulgence.  If I didn’t get my way, I would let people know.  My moodiness tended to intimidate my friends and they were losing their patience with me.  It became clear to me by then that I did not have a problem with making friends; it was keeping them that were the problem.  I was completely unaware of my behaviour but there was obviously something that scared away my friends and I became confused.  I didn’t understand it at the time as I really didn’t care anymore.  I was not going to let so-called friends hurt my persona and I was determined to get the best out of life as possible.  I also think I was living in some kind of denial that I was in psychological trouble.  I refused to think about the abuse childhood I had, the years of broken and hurtful relationships with men as being a negative.  Stuff like that doesn’t happen to people like me.  What a pretentious thought!  I was hiding my pain by indulging myself with sex, drugs and chemical happiness; my ‘sausage roll’ anthems confirmed my feeling of happiness.  I knew if I keep singing that song, I would be happy.  I deserved better and demanded respect and I wanted to be number one.  I wanted to be Jay Beau Andrews, superman.  I had developed a thick skin from the turbulent childhood and the amount of time guys had fucked me up and hurt me, either physically or emotionally.  I began to hate the world for what I have experienced as nobody seemed to give a shit about me and I wanted to fuck up as many men as possible to get my revenge, sweet subtle revenge.  I would do this on my own as I don’t need anyone.  I would do anything it takes to get what I wanted.  It was time I get the recognition and rewards that I should have received ages ago.  From now on, nobody will walk over James Ford.  The cruel society we live in will no longer take advantage of me.  This was now my time. I did not want to go out with my friends anymore, I didn’t need them but my sex drive felt hungrier.  I did find it helpful that I took out my anger and frustration in my karate practice I was doing although it got me into trouble sometimes with the sensei for being too rough and breaking rules.  But I needed to vent my hate and anger somehow on something physical, like another man, rather than a leather punching bag.  But I continued to going to the odd sauna or so just to have meaningless sex and psychologically fuck up the minds of men.  I would lead them on and then tell them afterwards to ‘Fuck off’ after sex.  I was getting over everything in relation to men and intimacy.  My sex drive was now more powerful than ever and I worked harder on my body and image to make myself as appealing as possible to men.  But I hated men and everything they stood for.  All I now wanted was their cock, nothing else.  Fuck them and leave them was my attitude.  I felt so abused and used by men by this stage that I now wanted to abuse them myself.  I did this by teasing them.  I would pump myself up before I go to the sauna, lure a guy into a cubicle, then say with a smug look on my face and say “Sorry, not interested’, then walk off.  I wanted to hurt men emotionally.  This was my revenge.  It was so wrong though, but I did not realize it until now.  But I would still get my sex, I just made the guys chase after me.  I loved it, it felt powerful like I was in control.  I would only have sex though with hot guys.  A lot of them got attached to me and said they wanted to see me again and would give me their phone number.  I said I would call but never did.  I was hoping this would hurt them.  This was my way of having power of men, finally.  But that was not enough.  The compliments and admiration and attention I was getting from men grew and grew and it started to get to my head.  I wanted to use this somehow to my advantage.  Finally I started to feel confident and started to love looking at myself in the mirror.  It was only because guys would always say that I was so hot, but deep inside I felt I was not.  My thought was ‘Well, if guys say I’m hot, then I must be’.  That was my confirmation.  So I became a sickening narcissus.

With my new attitude and determination to get the ideal life I had to search for it.  I wanted to be someone and not just another face in the crowd.  I soon realised that I was pushing my friends away from me but I still did not want to be alone.  They say that nothing else matters apart from being happy, healthy and wise.  I wanted to go beyond that.  I wanted to be a star.  I wanted to be controversial.  I didn’t need any friends, stuff them.  I didn’t need any man to make me happy.  But most of all I just simply wanted it all.  I wanted admiration, good looks and most of all money.  I didn’t care about anyone else and opinions no longer mattered.  So I followed my instinct and pushed aside any dignity.  I reached for the Yellow Pages and did my research on an idea I had be lingering over for a while.  I browsed through the pages of escort agencies operating in Melbourne.  I looked at all the escort agencies that appeared to be well established and had a good reputation and then I spotted one.  That was the place I wanted to work for.  Then I made the call.  “Yeah, Hi, my names’ Jay and I was wondering if you had an jobs going for an escort?” I asked with confidence.  “It depends” said the guy on the other end of the phone.  “Tell me a bit about yourself” he asked inquisitively.  “Well, I’m about 25, 5 foot 8, athletic build, dark blonde hair.....” I said like it was scripted.  Then he interrupted me and said “Okay, come in for an interview, you sound like just what we need” he said enthusiastically.   So that same day I went to the agency for the interview.

The agency obviously operated in Melbourne.  I approached the agency, very nervously and began to think “Should I really be doing this” and “Am I degrading myself?”  But the element of coolness set in.  It felt kind of hip to think of myself not as a prostitute but as a professional escort.  As soon as I entered the business I was greeted by a very friendly guy, probably about 40 or so.  He took me to his office which was the actual core of the agency.  This is where all the calls go to. It was the powerhouse of the agency.  “So far I like what I see but can you take your top off?” he asked confidently.  So I did.  He was impressed and said straight away “When can you start?”.  “Well, I can start tomorrow if you like” I said with surprise.  I actually thought I was going to be turned away.  I guess I was terrified of the rejection which would confirm that perhaps I’m not attractive at all.  But this confirmed I was attractive.  I got offered a job.  “We need to come up with an escort name for you” he said.  I paused for a second and said “My name is Luke”.  He smiled at me and said “I like it, .....I like it a lot....I think you are going to be big” he said with a determined look on his face.  He then went into escort business mode talking about how they are going to promote me by putting my profile in all the major gay publications and on their website.  There was no turning back now.  This was it.  I am now an escort.  But what surprised me the most was how professional they treated the business.  It was a legitimate business like any other.  They also reiterated that it was safe sex only which made me feel at ease.  This was one professional agency with a sparkling clean image and I felt proud that I had the opportunity to be considered for a job.  He spoke about the reputation of the agency and their expectations of their employees and spoke about their staff with a lot of respect and pride.  This no longer felt like a taboo kind of thing.  This was a business like any other and with a market with valued clients.  There was nothing seedy about it at all and can say that with complete honesty.  But most of all they had respect for their escorts and looked after their needs and wellbeing.  It was refreshing to see that as the escort industry is so misunderstood in society.  They did everything by the book, we had to get medicals, blood tests and they gave me a bag of ‘goodies’.  The ‘goodies’ bag had loads of condoms, lube, sex toys and so on.  This was big business and this was a great opportunity to earn serious cash.  The money, or our cut as they called it, was good.  The money was great in fact and we even had our own driver to pick us up from home and take us to the client’s residence and then drop us home again.  So there you have it, I was an escort, and proud of it.  I had no shame as I was going to be a professional.  So, pleased to meet you, My name is Luke.

The day after, I was nervous.  This was my first day of working as an escort.  The structure was simple.  We simply had to sign on each day that we were rostered to be available and ensure we had our mobile phones with us waiting to get the call from the agency saying they had a job for us.  The only thing was that we basically had to be home all the time so when we get the call we were ready to be picked up in 15 minutes.  On my first day I was rostered on from 6 pm, there was no finish time though, you just finished when you finished.  That was not the hard part.  I had to actually get through my first job.  I began to think I was doing the wrong thing.  I began to cold feet and it just made me feel even more nervous.  But I waited anxiously for the phone to ring.  I just wanted to get the first job over and done with.

I didn’t expect it so soon but it only a few minutes after 6 pm that I received the first phone call from the agency.  They had a client for me.  They briefed me over the phone about the client I was about to visit, all in a very businesslike professional manner.  I was to be picked up by my driver in fifteen minutes.  It was imperative that I was ready to go.  They were forceful about that, and understandably.  But I was ready, ready to go and I wanted to make a first good impression.  I really wanted this thing to work.  After all, it was the money I wanted.  At that stage, that is.

My driver beeped the horn outside my home that was my cue.  He introduced himself and was a very friendly guy.  Like all of the staff from the agency I had met so far.  He knew it was my first job and with his warm nature he really calmed me down.  But I arrive at my first clients house not knowing at ll what to expect.  Where they going to be hideously ugly, grossly fat, hairy, really old ?  I really did not know anything except his name and occupation.  I rang the doorbell with anticipation but I was ready.  Really ready to turn on the charm.  I wanted to impress.  They were the clients, the valuable clients, the paying clients.  My attitude was to never bite the hand that feeds you.  Then he opened the door.  My eyes lit up with his enthusiastic G’day, you must be Luke?’.  It took me a few seconds to reply as I was in kind of trance thinking “You really are not bad after all”.  I wouldn’t go as far as saying he was hot material but he was not bad.  But a charming man.  First impressions last so I knew I was going to love doing this work.  Then my instant genuine-like charm whilst turning up the sexy act up a notch, came to light, like it was naturally flowing.  The one hour job with client was the easiest hundreds of dollars I had ever made.  It was not just about sex.  These were not men who hired a prostitute.  They were man who wanted company.  They wanted authentic company that would give them that special touch of flattery and admiration, even for just one hour.  It was also reciprocal.  My first client made me feel like a beautiful man.  I made him feel like he was wanted.  And I was damn good at doing it!  The one hour came to an end.  The hour of stimulating conversation, cuddling, kissing, caressing, sex and gentlemanly company.  He didn’t want to let me go.  Not just yet.  So he called the agency to have me for just one more hour.  That was fine by me, more money.  Plus he was nice.  He was a nice guy.  On the other end, the agency favours extensions by clients as a business plus and if you as an escort can achieve an extension with a client, then you were treated like escort royalty.  That meant you were good at your job and the agency puts you in their top ranked escorts.  So my first job was a success.  It made me feel good.  I did not feel cheap or like I degraded myself from selling my body.  The reason is because the client never made me feel cheap.  He made me glow with confidence.  He made me feel like a man.  Sure I could be called a slut, sure I could be considered dirty, I don’t care.  This was professional escort work with a touch of class.  This was not about wham, bam thank you mam, this was about good male company with a down to earth approach.

The second hour ended and I left my first client with a tender kiss and he replied “I’ll see you again Luke.....real soon I hope”.  I just gave him a slight smile and said “I hope so” and left.  Then got in the car and counted the cash.  Boy this job was gonna be good.

I was been driven back home again only to receive a call from the agency on my mobile. “Mate, you are a star, I don’t think we ever had an new escort get an extension before” my boss spoke with glee.  ‘Well, I did try my best” I said modestly.  “You have the right attitude matey, but anyway, I have another job for you, this time you need to go to this five star hotel” He said and told me the name of the hotel and I told the driver.  “Uhh, okay..” I said apprehensively.  I was not really ready to go straight to another job on my first night but I had to agree to go.  I felt confident about it though as I obviously impressed the agency already and that made me more enthusiastic and determined to be the best.  I felt like I exhausted all my energy in the first job and thought how am I going to get through another job just like the first one?  But I thought, hang on, this was a job, just like any job, you just go out there and do what you have to do to earn the cash.

So anyway, I arrive at the plush five star hotel, had my car door opened by one of the porters, made my way into the hotel lobby with my head held high.  The general attire I was wearing was quite casual but not offensively tacky either.  It was just jeans, t-shirt and boots.  My boss did actually mention to me that I may encounter a slight issue with the fact I was not wearing a suit but he said don’t really worry about it, just be aware, that’s all.  I had to ask for my client as the front desk as non-guests could not access the lifts or rooms.  Security there was tight.  So I get to the desk only to be greeted by some snooty so-called front desk manager.  I asked politely that I wished to see my client.  Obviously I cannot tell you the name.  The front desk manager look at me up and down like I was complete and utter trash.  The look on his face said it all.  It was almost like he was saying I’m just a prostitute.  But the look he gave me made me feel not only angry but hurt.  It did make me feel cheap.  “And who shall I say is calling?” he asked me sarcastically.  “My name is Luke and he is expecting me” I said back in a definitive tone trying not to sound frustrated.  He gave me a slight ‘huh!’, a bit f a tiny sarcastic giggle, rolled his eyes and called the clients room.  “Uh.....excuse me and sorry to bother you with this but we have a LUKE to see you....do you know any LUKE?” he asked my clients with such evil sarcasm.  The client obviously said yes he was expecting me and then without delay the disgusting excuse of a hotel manager, escorted me to the lift, pressing the button for his floor, told me his room number and as the lift doors were closing I stuck my finger and said “Up yours you fuckin’ faggot!’.  Then I put on the Luke charm for my client for the next couple of hours.  Simple as that.

Job number two and about four hour of work plus driving time, I was in the car ready to go home.  Now I was exhausted.  I really don’t think I could managed putting on another erection at a beckoned call.  But there it goes again.  My phone rang again.  Oh no not another one, not tonight.  “Hey there buddy!” my boss from the agency said.  “I just got some feedback for you” he said with enthusiasm.  “The client you just saw had just rang me” he said.  I thought, what have I done wrong?  “He rang us to say that you were the best he had ever had!” he gasped with excitement.  I felt more than flattered.  I felt like a superstar.  Then my boss said the expected.  I had just one more job tonight.  Just one more and that would be fine for tonight.  So there it goes again.  The charm comes on and I get into work mode and just got on with the job.  You can kind of get the picture from there on in.

The next day I awoke late in the morning but surprisingly feeling quite refreshed.  I didn’t feel any shame of what I had done last night, in fact I felt quite proud of myself.  I had made more money that night than what I what have worked for a week or two in the cafe.  But most of I have made an impression.  The agency gave me a lot of praise.

The next few months were busy.  I was rostered on with agency for about five nights a week and doing about 3 or 4 jobs per night.  You would think I would find it harder and harder to just turn on the sex meter when the client expects it, but in fact, it got easier.  The more jobs I did the hungrier and hungrier I got for money and sex.  I became addicted to having cash bursting out of my wallet and addicted to the excitement of being a hustler.  I was actually addicted to sex.  There was Sunday where a client, a very rich client, ordered a few escorts for a sex party in his penthouse suite in a top hotel.  I think there were about six of us.  It was a sex orgy.  But I found the way the other escorts presented themselves, they really did look like prostitutes.  They were using really cheesy sex talk to the client which just look ridiculous.  They were so not professional.  So I showed them how a real professional escort works the art.  After about three hours the job was meant to finish and we leave.  But not me.  The client asked me to stay for one more hour, just one on one.  The other escorts were insane with jealousy.  I won’t lie, they were good looking guys, but they just did not have the real concept of male company.  I showed them and felt proud of that.  I also wanted to think of myself as an ambassador for the agency as I had a lot of respect for them.

Months go by and I had earned heaps of money.  Don’t ask me where it all went cause I really don’t know.  It was obviously satisfying my designer shopping fetish.  Within that time I had received the agency’s top ranked recognition.  I received ‘Escort of the month” twice in a row.  Gee, that made me feel awesome.  My confidence soared and the other escorts looked up to me.  I was in a team meeting once, which we had every now and then at the agency, another escort was having a conversation with another and I overheard the conversation.  The escort said to the other escort “One day I want to be like Luke”.  It was like something that a kid would say when they were five or something, but this guy was twenty something.  What a compliment!  The reward of this recognition was that I received some prizes and then you get special treatment in regards to marketing and promoting my profile.  I reaped the rewards as it gave me even more work.  Remarkably I handled the extra work but found it was only driving my sex drive out of control.  I also realised that whilst doing months of escort work I never got sick at any time.  I never caught any sexually transmitted disease, not even the crabs, not even a cold or flu.  The only time I got an STD was during the times I was partying hard before I started escort work.  I think I caught every STD known to man, except HIV, during my over-sexed behaviour when I was partying.  But I never caught anything at all during the time I was working as an escort which obviously meant that this industry is clean and safe.  I always practiced safe sex, even when I was partying.  I never put myself at risk or anyone else, never.  It was rule that all the escorts have regular medical checks and my results were always great.  So to those people that have an opinion that those who decide to sell their bodies for sex and think we are dirty, think again, we are not only professional in the way be approach the job we are also very clean and safe. I always insisted on safe sex with clients and the clients’ attitude was reciprocal so it was never an issue. But safe sex practices never got in the way or spoilt the fun and games for the client.  It was more than just about sex, it was conversation, perhaps a massage, enjoying a quiet drink or just good male company.  This was a clean and professionally minded industry with market demand for quality escorts and shame does not come into it especially in an open minded society.  It was also rule that our clients had to be presentable to their escort too.  If we were not happy with their cleanliness, then we had the right to enforce this upon them, but I don’t think I had ever encountered anything disgusting, nothing at all.  After all, it takes two to tango, doesn’t it?  I would also like to say to any guys out there who are scared to indulge in the company of an escort but feel guilty, it’s only natural to feel that.  After all, you would be paying for another man.  But to those men who have a desire to hire an escort but are a bit apprehensive, don’t think as if you are paying for sex.  You are paying for the company of a special desirable man to give you the treatment and pampering you deserve.  There should be no guilt, just do it, have fun, there is no shame.  Just have a great time and enjoy the experience, you won’t regret it.

Anyway with my professional escort career on a high, it was also feeding my ego and my sexual desire.  I had to take control before I lose it.  So I decided I would have a night off and do something that I hadn’t done in ages.  Go to a sauna.

I was looking forward to a night of what you could say ‘real’ sex.  I wanted just a few moments of lust and dirty sex.  But safe of course.  HIV doesn’t happen to people like me anyway, I was too fit and healthy and always safe.  The sauna’s or gay men’s venues also promoted safe sex practices a lot which is good.  There were always condoms and lube in all the cubicles and other areas of the establishment.  They were also clean establishments as well.  They had to be, if they wanted customers to come back then they needed to ensure cleanliness was up to scratch.  They were a business for the gay community like any other business out there for their market.  A sauna or gay men’s venue was not just about picking some guy up but they were social and safe places where you could also choose to watch a movie, chat with friends in the lounge, have a swim in the pool or even sometimes have dinner or something.  They were like a world inside a world tailor made for gay or bi-sexual men, a method to escape just for a little while.  I also noticed that in sauna’s there were a lot of pamphlets and flyers detailing information about safe sex and STD’s and stuff.  So information was always there for you, if you wanted to know.  The reality, that is.  But the fact that sauna’s always took a serious interest in gay health and safe sex it always gave you me bit of confidence just knowing that was support out there if I needed it.

Anyway, this time I got to choose who I wanted and play role reversal.  So I went to my usual haunt.  When I arrived there the place appeared to be busy.  I get to the change rooms and there were a couple of cuties undressing or dressing.  I get to my locker, took off my top, pulled down my jeans, folded them and into my locker.  I notice at the corner of my eye some guy was standing behind a locker watching me undress.  I hated that.  Even though it was supposed to be a cruisy place, the change room was not the place to cruise.  I pretended not to notice the guy watch me as I thought he would just walk off soon anyway.  But he kept standing there so I got a bit fed up with it and looked right at him as if to “What the hell you lookin’ at?”.  He got a fright and walked away shyly.  But he was cute actually.  I had seen this guy a few time before and he has always given me some prissy sort of attitude towards me.  I wouldn’t mind, well, getting to ‘know’ him, if you know what I mean.  But he seems to always give me an attitude and has never tried to pick me up.  Every time we walked past each other in the cruise maze he would sort of stick his head up in the air and turn his back to me.  You know, real attitude, the attitude that you get from pretentious little faggots.  But attitude did not suit this guy and I didn’t understand why he always did this.  There was something about him that wanted me to pursue him even if it meant he was actually going to reject me.  So I thought, okay, I’m gonna give it a crack and see how he reacts.  But I still had my doubts if I was really interested or not.  He did not have the body I go for but he was really cute.  Kind of masculine handsome cute.  Superficially, that’s what caught me about him.

We past each other a few times in the maze and this time I looked right at him.  With amazement his attitude kind of changed immediately.  But we both kept on walking in opposite directions.  Then I saw him again in the maze, as we walked past each other in slower pace we both stared at each other not showing any emotion.  But we past each other again.  Then we did it again, we were going around and around in circles and neither one of us was going to make the first move.  But we both knew that we wanted each other.  It was clear.  But it was tense.

I got fed up with this cat and mouse game, although I was a big fan of ‘the chase’ in saunas, I had to know if this guy was interested or not.  So I thought ‘stuff it’, I’m gonna make a move.  Then I walk into the maze and he was gone.  I walked again and he was nowhere to be seen.  “Shit” I thought.  “I’ve stuffed it up”.  But then I saw him.  He was standing next to a vacant cubicle, huddled in the corner with his hands behind his back.  He saw me looking at him.  He looked nervous and so was I.  I walked towards him pretending that I was going to walk right past him.  I didn’t want to give the impression that I was easy.  Ironically, I think that’s also the impression he was trying to give to me about him too.  So I slowly walked towards him, turned around the corner and just slightly nodded my head while looking at him to give a hint of approval.  He was watching me right from the corner of his eye.  Then I walked right into the cubicle without looking at him.  There was a moment of pause and then he followed me into the cubicle closing the door behind him.  Then the rest you could say is history.  I’m not going to kiss and tell this episode.

It was a very different sexual experience that I was used to.  The guy who I was with in the cubicle had a very tender but passionate approach to sex.  With me it was usually pretty full-on hard ‘tear each others clothes off’ kind of sex.  But this guy was different.  He turned me on.  Although he was very cute, very handsome in fact, I had attraction to his body as it really was not muscular or even athletic in any way.  But there was something about the way we kissed, the way we touched that gave me goose bumps.  Then after we had sex Mr Handsome spoke.  He smiled at me and said “I really didn’t think you were interested in me”.  “What made you say that?” I said with surprise.  “Well....ummm....I didn’t think that I was in your league...” he said shyly.  I was a bit shocked when he said that.  But all those previous times I had seen him at the sauna and him deliberately ignoring me or showing some attitude made sense as to why he said what he just said.  “I will be honest with you.....You’re not really the type I go for but....” I said until he interrupted me. “But I don’t have muscles do I ?” he said as if he was putting himself down.  “Look, yes you are right, you don’t ummmm, well,have a muscle bod, but you are cute as and......”I said as he interrupted me again. “....and I am intelligent, and charming and all that other crap, yeah?” he said jokingly.  We both just laughed.  I looked directly at him and saw a beautiful man and before I had the guts to ask he put his hand out to shake my hand and said ”I’m Will, nice to meet you.....”  “I’m Luke, it was VERY nice to meet you” I said in a sexy voice.  I did not want to give him my real name, I never did with the other guys.  Somehow this led to another hour or so in the cubicle just cuddling and kissing each other, not saying very much to each other.  It was the way he held me.  It was like it was a type of touch I had craved for, for all these years and he had hit the right note.  There was something about this guy that I liked.  And I mean, really liked.

An hour or two later we both showered, and we both couldn’t help but to look at each other in the shower and every time our eyes would meet we would sort of giggle like two little school boys that did something ‘cheeky’.  As we were drying off with a towel he asked me if I would like to have a drink with him upstairs.  I was apprehensive as I never usually go that far with a guy I meet at a sauna but I instantly said ‘yes’, like it just came out.  So we head to upstairs bar.  There was no alcohol from what I could remember so he bought us both a soft drink or whatever it was, I can’t remember.  We both sat down on a table sitting opposite each other.  I felt awkward, I think he did too.  We sort of looked at each other, fiddling with our glasses trying to find something to say.  I think we both knew what we wanted and this is what prevented us from saying anything.  Then he said it again.  “I so don’t think that I’m in your league so if you want to leave you can”.  I just thought how ridiculous, if anything, I would not be in his league so why all this competition thing?  It kind of upset me for him to put himself down like that as he is a really good looking guy.  So I said “Enough of that talk, I think you’re hot and that’s that”.  He kind of gave me a half giggle of surprise and asked the question that changed both our lives forever “I’m going to probably break all the rules and ask you if you want to come back to my place, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, I understand....”.  Straight away I said ‘Yes’.  I couldn’t have been surer in my life.  It was what I was waiting for him to say.

That night we did not have sex.  This was something else.  We made love.  I don’t think I had ever made love, not even with Andrew.  We spent the night in others arms cuddling and kissing and talking about ourselves.  He said he was a university lecturer in sociology or philosophy or something.  He was only about 5 years older but he thought that being with a younger man was a bit of a turn on for him.  I’m the opposite, I go for older men, always had.  He spoke very openly about himself and told me that he was in a relationship with another man.  That made me sit up and listen.  He told me his name was Paul and he is currently living in England for work at the moment but they have an open relationship.  It really confused me.  He explained that they sleep in separate beds, don’t have sex together anymore but they love each other dearly.  It saddened me a bit as I knew I had no chance with Will.  So after his confession I thought I’d better drop a bombshell as well.  I told him my name is really ‘Jay’, and ‘Luke’ is my escort name.  He said ‘Oh cool, I think you would make a great escort, I really don’t mind at all’.  ‘Are you sure?” I said.  “Of course’ he replied. But that night we spent together was the start of a special friendship.  Well, a friendship where we fucked each other!  I am not sure if that makes sense, but that was the way it was.  He was in a married relationship, they don’t sleep together, Paul would not mind if Will and I were casually having sex, I was confused and was getting attached to him.  I was not sure where this was going to go.

Will and I saw each other very regularly.  Probably four or five times a week.  We would have dinner somewhere, or he would cook for me and then we go back to his place and do you know what till the small hours.  It was really fun times.  I really enjoyed his company and my confusion soon dissolved.  I ignored my insecurities as Will and I were quite simply enjoying each other’s company.  Ironically, we were both quite different.  He was more conservative and very intelligent.  I was a party boy.  I was envious about his intelligence.  The way he spoke was with such eloquence that I was almost at the point of jealousy.  He was so interesting to talk to.  But I felt like an idiot next to him.  I felt like a ‘himbo’.  I think I in fact are not in his league.

Will and I would always have something to talk about over dinner or even when we would just cuddle each other on the couch watching video’s or something.  For weeks and then months our relationship continued.  There were no signs of this relationship ending and we hadn’t even found something to argue about yet.  We were getting close.  Our kisses became more and more tender and genuine that it was almost scary.  I think we both knew that something was brewing but we dared not to talk about it.  There was no way I would let myself fall in love.  I was not prepared to have my heart broken again.  But Will was married anyway.  He was taken but the reality hit him that perhaps it is possible that someone else could steal his heart.  We were headed for trouble and we had to slow down.

Although Will and I did not break up so to speak we both just slowed down the pace.  We only saw each other on weekends mainly.  We wanted it that way for a while even though I instigated it.  It was also about this time that I chose to take a break from escort work for a while but I felt like going out on a Saturday night partying again.  For old times sake.  So on one particular night I went on my own to a club called ‘Freakazoid’, it was a club that was considered gay-friendly and playing deep house and garage music, the kind of stuff I’m into.  That night I was on the dance floor and saw some muscular guy standing on the edge of the dance floor and kind of grooving to the music, not dancing though, and watching me with a half smile on his face.  This guy was hot.  In fact hotter than hot.  He just stood there watching me until I started to peak on the one ecstasy pill I had taken.  I thought ‘stuff it’, I’m gonna make a move on him.  Then out of nowhere some guy grabbed him from behind and kissed him like they were a couple.  “Shit!” he had a boyfriend.  But as I turned away with a look of disappointment he grabbed my arm and said “Hey, where you goin?”.  I said nothing, I just looked at him.  Both he and his boyfriend introduced themselves as “Matthew and Warren”.  All three of us gave each sexy looks and I got the impression that Matthew was well, over confident so he asked “Wanna have a threesome?”  I didn’t even reply, I wanted this guys body, not so much his boyfriend, I just said “Let’s go....your place”.  Then we spent literally six hours of the steamiest threesome sex until there was not an ounce of bodily fluids left.

I spent the night with Matthew and Warren, not going home until Monday.  As I was about to leave their house exhausted I had noticed my mobile had eight missed calls and three text messages, all from Will.  Warren was sleeping but Matthew came up to me and said “Wanna do this again?...you are hot!”  “Mmmm, but I would prefer a one on one with you” I said.  “No, wherever I go, my man goes too, it’s us three or nuthin!” he said with an attitude.  Okay, I thought, this guy was a bit of a hard nut, with a tough attitude and oh so sure of himself.  He was arrogant in such a masculine way and really, really hot, how could I possibly say no to him.  So I agreed.  Threesome’s it is.  Every weekend.

It wasn’t until Tuesday I called Will.  He thought I was ignoring him.  I told him that I met a guy and I really liked him.  I was referring to Matthew.  The tome of Wills voice changed and I could sense his jealously.  I am ashamed to admit it, but that was what I was trying to do.  Realistically, I was not really in love with Matthew, I was only physically attracted to him, Matthew was a real arsehole with an attitude but just pure sex on legs!  That was all.  I found the more I talked about how hot Matthew was, the more jealous he was sounding, but he was trying not to show it.  I was thinking, that I have the right to make Will jealous even though it sounds cruel.  The fact is that I was jealous of Will.  Jealous that he was with Paul.  So I wanted to make Will suffer.  I kills me to finally write this down now and confess the facts.  I am so ashamed of myself.

For a couple of weeks I was seeing Matthew and Warren quite regularly for a threesome, nothing else, not even dinner first.  That was where Will and I came in.  I spent time with Will probably about once or twice a week at this stage, I can’t recall exactly but I was getting more and more attracted to Matthew.  But there was a catch.  The problem is that Matthew was a tease.  He used to turn me on so much to make me even more attracted to him and then say “No, if you want me, it needs to include Warren”.  That was cruel.  But the fact is that I hated his personality but loved his body.  It was just superficial and I just kept on telling myself that.  There was something else on my mind.

One Saturday like normal I went to the club ‘Freakazoid’.  Will spoke to me that day and said if I wanted to spend the Sunday with him and he would cook lunch and stuff.  I agreed.  I did end up taking an ecstasy pill that night, yes I know, what’s new?  But I made my way to Wills house in the Sunday morning sunshine.  I was not high as a kite but feeling pretty good.

When I get Wills house he opened the door and the first thing he said was “Yum”.  I said “Yum” back and we both smiled and kissed each other passionately.  It was like I hadn’t seen him for decades.  I don’t know if it was the fact that I was coming down nicely off on ‘e’ but he looked hot.  He glowed that day.  “Let’s strip down and have a drink” he said enthusiastically.  “What at 10 am in the morning?” I said with surprise. “Yeah, stuff it, let’s put on some music and have some fun!” he said with joy.  Me, being the connoisseur of the classic Martini, I had the honour of making my famous perfect Martini’s whilst Will pumps up the volume on some music which was the best he had in terms of dance music, Pet Shop Boys.  I don’t mind the Pet Shop Boys, but ummm, well, just a bit on the poofy side, but what the hell anyway!

For about an hour or so not clockwatching or anything, we were just fooling around on the couch, tickling, kissing, cuddling, sucking.  I think you get the picture.  All in all, we were both starting to get a bit tipsy and were having so much fun.  We couldn’t stop laughing.  We both made each other feel so good.  Even though he proved to me that he couldn’t dance I still found those Calvin Klein underwear he was wearing, and nothing else, so sexy.  We were both fooling around in our undies, drinking Martini’s, wandering, or staggering around the house and the backyard, chasing each other.  We thought we would wander outside bringing the Martini’s with, and laid naked in the warm sunshine, lying in each other arms on a banana lounge and just talking shit really.  We were both just being silly but having such a good time in each other’s company.  I think with the commotion of our loud behaviour caught the attention of Wills neighbours so I caught one of them peering through the fence looking at what the commotion was about .  “Havin’ a good fuckin’ look?” I yelled to the peering neighbour.  Will giggled and whispered “Shhh” and broke out in to complete laughter.  We both couldn’t stop laughing, it was really funny.  But he headed back inside taking our controversial selves with us, naked as anything and drunk as skunks, but lovin’ it!

For the entire day, nothing else mattered, we both fooled around, drinking, talking about everything and kissing and cuddling and just looking into each other’s eyes.  It captivated me.

Both Will and I were fooling around and wrestling naked on the couch when we suddenly heard a knock on the door.  I said to Will to just ignore it but the knocking continued.  “Don’t worry, whoever it is I’ll get rid of them” he said in an enforcing way.  So he put a towel around himself and I just lied on the couch naked like a baby.  It was one of Will’s friends and his friend sounded joyously happy and chatty.  Will was trying to get rid of him making up excuses that he was busy working but his friend just waltzed on in oblivious to see what he was about to see.  “Oh, I see.....I’m interrupting something...”Wills friends said as he stared at my crotch.  “Uh, yes” Wil replied in a deep voice.  So Wills friends left with an embarrassing face.  After he had gone, we both just laughed our heads off.  Will explained to me that it was actually one of his work colleagues so there was going to be a bit of gossiping on Monday morning.  We both just laughed it off.  Then we stopped.  The laughter ended and we just stared at each other.  He then touched the side of my cheek with such tenderness that it sent a shiver up and down my spine.  He looked right into my eyes and said “I really have had such a good time with you today......I really, really did and I have something to tell you...” His eyes began to water.  I was just wondering what it was on his mind and for god ’s sake just say!  He just went silent but he had something to say to me but he just couldn’t manage to get the words out.  “I really like you James....”he said with a joyful tear just waiting to run down his cheek.  I didn’t know how I should react so I just replied “I like you too”.  But I know there were feeling amongst both of us that seemed too deep to discuss.  It was taboo almost.  We had some sort of connection that neither of us expected.  We were two very different young men from two very different backgrounds.  I had the body, but he had the looks.  He had the brains and I had none.  That’s how I felt.  I was not good enough for him yet I refused to let myself fall in love.  Never again, not even with Will.  I thought of his relationship with Paul so it immediately made me speak of Matthew.  I could see the jealous rage in Wills eyes and he stormed off into the kitchen.  I thought he was going to cry.  There was something going on between Will and I that we could not work out yet we were always trying to make each other jealous.  So I had to ask him.  “Will, what’s going on?”  I cried.  He gave a fake sounding laugh and said “I don’t know why you keep telling me about this Matthew guy, I really don’t want to know about it......” Will said in an angry voice.  “Okay” I said.  “Let’s make an oath that I won’t speak about the other guys I have been with and you do the same” I said as I looked at him directly. “Good” he said with a sigh of relief.  I think we both knew what was happening here.  Our relationship was supposed to be plutonic or like a casual sexual friendship.  But god led us into a step further.  The fact that he was practically married to Paul still made me bitter.  It made Will off limits.  So I wanted Will to be jealous about Matthew.  I wanted revenge.  But I made myself become discouraged about Will and told myself that it just would not work out.

Weeks later, the relationship between Will and I was slowly drifting apart.  It is strange to describe it but the sex between Will and I was getting boring for me.  I think it is because the sex between Matthew, Warren and I was getting more and more kinky and exciting.  I will admit this though.  The fact that Will would not open up to me and admit that he feels something for me made me think that he is not worth it.  I actually taught myself to not fall in love by using Matthew as just a sex play thing and put my focus on that.  I am not sure if it makes sense to you but Will and I suddenly had not much in common anymore but I don’t know why.  I think it’s because the sex with Matthew and Warren far overrides the relationship with Will and I was tired of waiting around for Will to admit his feelings.  So I decided to cut ties with Will altogether.  I ignored all his phone calls and all his text messages.  I did it, but it killed me.  I had to do this as I refused to fall in love and get my heart broken yet again.  I won’t do this for another man ever again.  Will and I are over.

Months go by and I still refused to speak to Will.  I could feel his sadness.  I was so gutless that I could not even tell him why I stopped contacting him.  I didn’t care about him anymore so the love I had for him dissolved.  It was better that way.  I was falling for Matthew but I didn’t want to.  I was an emotional wreck and totally confused.  I just wished I was straight as it have made my life so much easier.

The last day I heard from Will I shall never forget.  He sent me a text message:

“Jay, I don’t know what is going on but it is clear that you are ignoring me.  Whatever I have done, I am sorry.  I can’t stop thinking about you but I am going to have to now.  You don’t have to contact me, that’s fine but I do want you to know that you mean the world to me. I love you very much. ........W xxx”

The day I received that text message I took it to bed with me, put the phone under my pillow and cried myself to sleep

................................................................

Time rolled on and as the days went on with life without Will, it got easier and easier.  That only made me want to bring out my wild side again.  I started working as an escort again but only doing a few days here and there.  I didn’t want to be too absorbed in it but at the same time I was not receiving as many jobs as I used to when I first started.  You have a short shelf life in the escort industry, it’s just the way it was.  Anyway, I went out one night with Matthew and Warren, I think we went to a club called The Milk Bar, I think it was that one, I can’t exactly remember but that doesn’t matter, it’s not relevant.  What is relevant is that I met some older guy, kind of handsome and a little over-dressed for this sort of club atmosphere.  I was sitting on the couch having a drink with Matthew and warren and noticed this guy kept looking at me.  But he would look at me, then look away, then look at me again, look away, and so on.  I just thought “Here we go again, the eye contact pick up thing”.  I say that because I was totally over the ‘pick-up’ thing, it was and still is, so clichéd.  But I wanted to know what he wanted.  For some reason I didn’t think he was trying to pick me up though but I wanted to know what his problem was.  So I told Matthew and Warren I will meet them at the dance floor.  They both went and I remained on the couch.  They guy who was looking at me immediately approached me.  He smiled and sat down next to me.  I was a little on edge, he kind of spooked me.  As the music was so loud he shouted in my ear “How do you get your abs like that?” hr said in some Hungarian sort of accent “Like what?” I replied.  “You know” he said and gently rubbed my abdominal muscles.  Then he asked me “Ever done any acting?”.  I thought he was kidding so I just shook my head ‘no’.  “A body like your needs to be shown, you should show more of it, know what I mean?” he said with a grin.  “No I don’t know what you mean?” I said with a look of inquisitive concern.  “You see, I’m looking for some talent, but not just any talent so I am very picky, but you......you need to be on film” he said with determination.  I was a little stunned but I just said “What exactly do you mean?”  “Me and my crew are heading up to Sydney, we are having a bit of a party and we want to film it, you could say its well.....how should I put it.........sexy gay porn with a bit of a twist.  You will meet lots of hot guys and we will offer you a decent sum of money, what do you think?” he said with such confidence.  I don’t know what I was really thinking but the thought of doing a porn movie took the cake.  I the word he said which was ‘twist’ that made me be a bit apprehensive but it did not fog my vision of the excitement of starring in a porn movie, how cool I thought.  But what a flattering offer, me a porn star?  I never thought I would ever see the day, but it was not a surprise to me, I don’t mean to sound like I’m up myself, because really I’m not.  It happens that others think I’m hot, I think I’m not, I won’t deny that I had the body, but not the looks.  But I also thought that doing a porn movie would be quite cool, and it was so spontaneous which made it so exciting for me.  I really could vision myself doing porn, but in a classy way of course.  I did not want to have a slutty and trashy image.  I wanted this to have some purpose.  But it did come down to money and what I had to do.  I’m no actor and I’m definitely not model material, so why me?  So I asked him to tell me more.  He took my hand into a cosy little dark corner of the club and we talked business.  I will not let you in on the directors name or the porn movie company name nor will I disclose the amount of money I was offered.  All I can say is that it was an offer I couldn’t refuse and it sounded so genuine.  How could I possibly say no?  The way he spoke of the production made it sound like organised chaos and for some strange reason I saw a lot of trust in his manner.  He also took to me with a aspect of admiration, like I was one of a kind.  He really elaborated the relevance of my role in the film and it made perfect sense.  This was a professional production and he was obviously on a talent search, he said that after seven days in Melbourne and Sydney, I was the only one he felt that had something to offer in a cinematic format.  “What we are trying to achieve is that our viewers of our films feel as if they are finally viewing their sexual fantasy with an element of realness, we want them to be turned on so bad it hurts”.  He said this with a strange sort of forcefulness and not only did I raise my eyebrows at this comment it made me wonder what that really meant.  But I soon forgot about that, I didn’t care I was going to be in a porn movie! this was so cool.  If I was looking for that perfect element of ‘coolness’, then this was it.  I had nothing to lose, I wanted money, and lots of it, I was not tied down in any relationship, I didn’t’ give a shit about men anymore, well not in an emotional way anyway, my friends were pissing me off and in fact I just wanted to live life my way and break all the rules and screw the fuck out of it, stuff it, I’m gonna do it!  “By the way” he said.  “What’s yer name?”  I shook his hand, smiled and said “My name is Luke, nice to meet you.......”

Chapter eleven.........An Urban Myth?

A little while after my liaison with the Hungarian sounding guy I started to make plans to make my way to Sydney.  The idea was that I was to be paid prior to playing a role in the movie and he said he would keep his promise.   I believed him.  I guess this is how they made the situation so attractive to lure in their ‘actors’. Though when exactly we would be receive any money was the question.  I assumed we would be paid when we get to Sydney or on the actual set, but I just had to wait and see.  He also promised that I would be reimbursed for all my expenses at the time of receiving my money.  When? I was not sure, I never dwelled over it.  But they said I had to stay at ‘this’ particular hotel, which they booked for me in my name, so I had to pre-pay for it and pay for my flight.  So my credit card took another battering but I thought that it would all be made up for later once the film is done.  I was just so excited to have been offered such a large amount of money anyway.  The Hungarian guy, who I might add will remain nameless, sent to my home address all the details about the proposed film production, the hotel I was to stay at, the scenes and themes of the movie, the role I was to play, in fact every bit of detail to the core.  I guess their plan was to ensure we had no questions.  We also had no lines, meaning that, we did not talk in the film.  In fact nobody had any lines in the movie at all.  It was just a matter of getting your freak on if you know what I mean.  So I practiced my ‘ooohhh’s’ and ‘ahhhh’s’.  That was really the only preparation for the film.  My only concern and one that was not mentioned in the script or production plan was that there was no mention of condoms or lube or anything.  I packed some in my suitcase just in case.  I will not do bare backing, never have, never will.

I was quite secretive about this venture to my friends, especially my family about where I was going and what I was doing.  I was not about to say “Hey mum, I’m doing a porno!’.  I just told my mum, my housemates and few friends that I shall be away for a few days in Sydney for a bit of a break.  That seemed to cover me, no questions asked.  So off I went with no hesitation.  I could have asked for my money upfront and then not turn up to the ‘party’ but why miss out on the fun.  I don’t think that would be part of their deal anyway, they appeared to be in charge, I just followed. I also needed to get my debts sorted out big time and this would certainly give me more breathing space, so I really had no choice but to do it plus it all seemed so legitimate.  There was nothing seedy about it at all.

So I arrive in Sydney and was met by some Ukrainian guy, I think, where he was holding up a sign with my name literally scribbled on a piece of cardboard.  I almost missed him as my name was almost illegible.  I greeted the guy, he said ‘Hi’ in a sharp and short tone.  I thought I would break the ice a little and just made a silly crack about my name on the cardboard written so badly stating it looked like Hieroglyphics but he didn’t say anything.  He just looked at me like he was about to kill me.  It was the same look that Hannibal Lector had before he ate his victims.  It sent a chill down my spine, there’s no other way to describe it.  I knew straight away where I stood with these guys, these porn movie makers, or whatever they were.  I knew I had to just shut up and do my job, then go.  I also delayed my question of when I was going to be paid as I was only thinking about the money I had already paid for my expenses to get to Sydney.  I was broke but kept thinking that my financial worries would be over soon, so get over it.

I was driven to my hotel which was a very nice plush five star hotel but was directed by the driver that I had 20 minutes, ONLY.  I had 20 minutes to drop off my suitcase, settle in, if that was possible in 20 minutes, freshen up and then get back in the car where he would be waiting.  Then it was Showtime.  I got nervous and anxious at the same time.  It all seemed so scheduled which sounds like a good thing in terms of organisation but there was something bothering me.  It just appeared to be all rushed, but why?

Once I got in the car, I was the only passenger, the driver sped through the streets in Inner Sydney, going through every red light.  I had no idea where we were going and I dared not to ask.  We seemed to be heading for some inner Sydney suburb but really, I had no idea where we were going.  I don’t know if it was just the way the roads in Sydney are but we seemed to be turning around a lot of corners and going down a lot of different streets.  It was as though he was purposely doing this to confuse my sense of direction and it happened to work.  I was lost but the driver was on a mission to the destination so I said nothing.  After about 15 to 20 minutes, I think, I really can’t recall after all those twists and turns, we arrive at some massive mansion style house in a residential part of Sydney.  Don’t ask me the suburb because I have no idea.  The house though was immaculate and penthouse style but it did appear that we were in a ‘rich’ suburb of Sydney as all the houses surrounding this one was just as big an mansion like.  He drove up the driveway of this house, stopped the car and immediately jumped out the car only to open the car door for me on the passenger side.  I thought, well, okay, good service I suppose but I couldn’t feel but a little uneased.   I didn’t let that affect my mood as I was mentally psyching myself up for a sex romp.  We walk down the driveway, the driver leading the way and walked towards the backyard entrance and immediately greeted by the same Hungarian man I met in the club.  You know, the one that offered me a ‘job’.  “Welcome!” he said enthusiastically.  “I’m so glad you could make it lance” he said.  “Umm, I’m Luke” I gasped.  He just looked at me with a frown and laughed as he walked off.  I thought that was strange behaviour but ignored it.  In the background were about fifty or so naked, tanned and muscular guys.  They all seemed to be speaking another language, just chatting, I guess.  They saw me walk in, looked at me up and down, a few of them stuck their noses in the air, you know, like a queen with attitude does and kept on chatting with whoever.  Then this one guy comes up to me and spoke to me in an accent “Hey, how you doin’...I’m Franco, you Australian I take it”  “Uhh, yeah” I replied with a suspicious voice.  “Well, you are the only one here” he said.  He was a really nice guy though and we just had a bit of chat as I was undressing.  He told me he was from Czechoslovakia.  He also told me that all the other guys were either from Czech Republic, Hungary or Ukraine.  I was the only Australian.  “Would you say that it is strange that I’m the only Aussie here” I asked Franco inquisitively.  He took a moment to think about what I said and replied “Not really, I think the movie directors, you know, of the gay porno types, they don’t think Australian’s are very hot” he said.  “Really?” I replied.  “Yeah, it’s true, but I think you’re different” he said as he was perving on my arse.  “How so?” i asked “Cause you have a European look about you and the body to match” he said with such confidence.  I was a little surprised and before I got a chance to say anything the director in Czech asked all the guys to line up in one straight line and ensure we had all our clothes off.  I knew this as Franco translated for me.  I decided to hang around with Franco and stuck to him like glue as I felt like I was in a foreign land.  The director then separated all of us guys into groups of about 10 or so.  He explained the scene we had to do.  But here is the interesting part.  The scene we had to do was the same scene done by each group of 10 guys.  The scene was a group sex scene in the pool.  The director said that everything was to be improvised, he just wanted us to act as if we were having sex like you normally would and forget about the cameras.  He then said this, in Czech, of course. “Anyone who looks at the camera whilst you are being filmed will be punished, you will have your cheque revoked and you will be asked to leave, do I make myself clear!”  This guy meant business but there was an element of him that scared me but I couldn’t work out what it was.

After we were separated into our groups we were bundled together in the group just sitting in a chair and naked.  One of the film crew, perhaps he was the casting agent or even the accountant, who knows, came around to everyone individually and wrote us each our cheque.  Once I got the cheque, it was the amount that shocked the living daylights out of me.  It was huge, but what on earth was the name of the bank and company name ????  I couldn’t even tell you, I had never seen such a company name or even heard of that bank name before.  But I forgot that as soon as my bulging eyeballs stared at the dollar figures.

So there we were.  Each group in their own corner, most of the guys didn’t speak, a few did, I have no idea what they were saying as they were speaking in another language.  I stayed close to Franco and he and I got along like a house on fire.  Very cute too.  A lot of Czech men are hot and he was hot.  But most of all he was the friendliest guy there and good to talk to.  Then the first group got their cue to jump in the pool and film their group sex scene.  We just had to sit there and watch and wait for our turn.   What I found unusual was the fact that we were filming a gay porno in a backyard of a residential built up area, they next door neighbours could very easily look in as their home towered over the backyard.  Somehow this did not discourage the film makers.  Whatever.

So it felt a little strange just sitting there watching a group of 10 guys having group sex in the pool.  Everyone pretty much ignored what was happening in the pool like it was nothing to look at.  I couldn’t help but feel a little aroused.  Franco was just chatting away to me, like nothing was happening in the background.  There was a little music playing in the background, I think it was just some techno style dance music, I wasn’t sure.  All I could really hear were the ‘Oooh baby’s” and ‘Yeah man’s”, ‘Yeah fuck man’s’, you know the usual gay sex talk.  Again, whatever.

They were filming the scene with a few ‘cut’s and ‘take’s’ and so on, when one of the guys were going to cum they would do a close up.  I don’t think I need to elaborate anymore on what they did and filmed, you get the picture.  But all you need to know is that this first group took about say 30 to 35 minutes, then the director said ‘cut’ and it was done.  The first group of guys got out the pool, were individually handed a towel, dried off then they were escorted inside the house.  There was no explanation, they just were led off by security guards and went inside.  I looked on with a bit of confusion as to why they had to go inside.  But they went and that was it.  It was the next groups turn, then after that, it was our turn.  So I was in group three.

The second group pretty much rein acted the exact same scene as the first group, almost like a carbon copy.  We just looked on and just sitting there patiently waiting for our ‘fifteen minutes of fame’.  Going by what I saw within the performance of the first group and now this group it seemed like these guys had done this sort of work before.  But it was the fact that they were all from Europe that kept arising in my mind.  They were all very hot and muscular too I might add.  But I always did have a soft spot for a hot Czech guy.  In fact Franco talked to me about the gay scene in Czech Republic.  Apparently it is a utopia for hot male escorts there and most of the gay males there do something in the sex industry.  He said that most of the good looking guys are gay and they tend to use that to their advantage to make some money.  Whether that was true or not, I don’t know, but the talent here kind of proved it.  But it did make sense though if it was true.  Franco was decent guy though, I could tell that he had done gay porn before.  He actually did confess that he does do escort work too, with both males and females.  He works freelance apparently and said he is making quite a good living and gets al lot of opportunities for international travel.  Which explains his reason for his visit to Australia.  Then he said that is also why the other guy’s are here too.  The other guys were professional sex industry workers, be it escorting or gay porn or whatever.  I felt small, like I was an amateur.  But I was here now and had to go through with it, there was no turning back.  Suddenly I heard some strange noises in the background.  Initially it sounded like a barking dog, I couldn’t tell as the music kind of distorted the audibility.  I tried to tune in my focus on that sound to try and work out what it was as it sounded so bizarre.  It sounded like screams.  Then it stopped.  Then I heard it again, this time it was clearer.  It was a very dull sounding blood curdling scream and it was coming from inside the house.  I really couldn’t tell, but I was sure it was one of the guys from the first group screaming like it was some sort of agonizing pain.  I had to ask Franco if he heard it.  “Can you hear that?” I whispered in Franco’s ear.  “What?” he whispered back in my ear.  “Listen.....it’s someone screaming” I whispered with fear in my voice.  Franco was trying to tune his hearing to the faint sound of screams.  “Those screams are for real or they are bloody good actors” I whispered to Franco.  Then one of the security guards from the other side of the pool noticed I was whispering into Franco’s ear.  For some reason he gave me an evil eye look then reached for the volume knob on the stereo system and turned it up louder.  But I could still hear the screams coming from inside the house.  This was not normal.  Something seedy was going on and I didn’t like it.  “I can hear it!” Franco gasped.  Then he froze and went completely pale.  I swear, his face went pale white and he sat there with a look of horror.  “What!?” I gasped “What is it!...tell me!” I whispered.  He shook his head and suddenly found it hard to breathe.  He turned to me and said “We gotta get out of here!”   “Why, what’s going on?” I jumped.  His breathing got heavier and faster like he was panting like a dog.  The other guys were oblivious to everything.  They had no idea of the conversation between Franco and I and seemed to ignore the screams.  “Right, that’s it, I’m outta here, I’m goin....now!” I whispered back to Franco in a slightly demanding and deeper voice.  “Take me with you” he said to me as he was looking directly to my face with pure terror.  Security guards and film crew were everywhere but for some reason no one was guarding the door where we entered from.  That was the obvious escape path.  I told Franco to act casually and not make a scene and try not to look like we were running away.  We both casually but slowly put our jeans back up, grabbed our bags and very slowly just walked right out the back entrance.  This was amazing and so easy, no one suspected anything.  We shut the door, or it was more like a backyard gate, and casually walked down the driveway past the parked BMW’s just seconds away from complete freedom.  Freedom from god forbid, whatever was going on in that house.  As we were walking down the driveway, I heard man with a deep voice and with some European accent in English yell “Hold him down, hold him!”. It sounded a bit muffled but it was clearly heard and was coming from inside the house.  That made both Franco and I come to complete halt with fear and we just looked at each other.  Then suddenly we heard a clear blood curdling scream from one of the guys.  This was not acted, this was for real.  It was loud and clear and we knew straight away if we don’t run we would have our lives at risk.  Then the same scream, again, and again.  My pulse was racing and both Franco and I ran as fast as we could down the drive and running down the street.  Running for our lives.  As we were running I yelled out to Franco “We need to call the cops!”  He stopped.  Then came up to me and slapped me across the face and said “You don’t get it do you?”  “What?” I said in shock.  “The cops......you say anything and...you will put both our lives in danger, they will hunt you down”.  I was confused what this all meant.  I was too shocked and disturbed to reply.  I just didn’t want to think about what could have possibly went on in that house.  I was hoping it was an act, or just some kinky sex play.  Not snuff.  Then Franco shocked me, like as if I could not be any more disturbed, and said  “These guys....these video guys......they are in big business, they sometimes cover up something else that has a huge demand, more than porn, they seek out and lure their so called actors to be snuffed on film and they sell these videos on the black market for hundreds of thousands of dollars.....I’m afraid we have been tricked, we have been had, this is no porn movie, this is real life”.  “What on earth are you talkin’ ‘bout, do you mean they are luring us to be killed on film?”.  Franco didn’t reply he just shrugged his shoulders and said ‘We have to get away from here, we have to run”.  So we ran together like we were running a marathon and having no idea we we were or where we were going.  We were running for our lives.

We ran for about an hour and somehow the intense fear of how close we could have possibly came to death did not tire us.  I noticed Franco could not keep up with me and was bringing up the rear.  I looked behind me to check and suddenly he was gone.  I stopped and called out for him.  When I stopped it was the whole world just paused for a second and went silent.  You could hear a pin drop.  I walked back slowly from the direction I came in, in case he went down another street.  Then I could not believe my eyes.  I saw Franco in the distance, about 500 or so metres from me being forced into a car.  It was a BMW, just like one of the one’s we saw in the driveway.  But Franco saw me, he didn’t scream or yell for help, he just casually got into the car without saying a word.  I was confused.  What the hell was going on?  Then the car sped off, I just kept on running away.

Hours later I came across a taxi and hailed it down.  I asked him to take me to the hotel I was staying at and strangely enough he just gave me a weird look and said “Okay” and went.  I wondered what that look was for.  I soon realised why when I got to the hotel.  The taxi fare was $65.00.  I must have come from quite distance away from central Sydney even though it did not feel like it.

Remarkably I managed to get the next available flight back to Melbourne and made it home.  I now felt safe, like I escaped death.  When I got home my housemate were sitting in the lounge and said “Gee you’re home early”.  “Yeah, I was not feeling well so I decided to come home” I replied.  All I wanted to do was go to my room and go to bed.  So I did.

I woke up the next morning feeling quite depressed.  I felt disturbed like I had witnessed a grisly murder or something.  I felt sick to my stomach.  I could not get those horrible screams out of my head.  I kept thinking about what Franco had said that it may have been a set up to lure victims for snuff films.  But there were so many unanswered questions.  Like if they were making a snuff film, why do it in a residential suburb?  Also why did Franco not try and escape when those guys caught him?  Perhaps Franco was setting me up?  Perhaps the whole porn or snuff thing was just a scam?  I just didn’t know what to think or who to talk to.  I dared not to call the police for fear that they may have some connection, though I doubted that could have potential.  I just didn’t know what to think or what to do.  I was in a dead end and feeling so miserable.  My whole world around just felt suddenly dark and cold.  I felt as though I had entered a dark underworld of the unknown and came so close to death.  I was so depressed and scared that I just cried all day.

The whole day I locked myself in my room and cried.  I had to know what was going on in the house.  I had to know.  It was keeping me up at night, literally.  Then I forgot about something.  The cheque that was written and given to me.  I immediately went to the bank to deposit it.  This would explain if this so called porn film was legitimate or not.  So I deposited the cheque and had to wait the normal clearance period.

The normal clearance period for a cheque was five working days back then.  After about three days I got a call from the bank.  The cheque was bogus.  In fact the bank name on the cheque did not exist, the whole thing was fake.  I knew this was going to be the case.  I had been had.

For weeks I could not get the screams out of my mind.  I then kept getting visual images in my mind like a montage of torture, butchering and murder of human beings.  I kept getting disturbing images of the guys from the so called porn movie getting butchered alive.  It made me physically sick to the core and I knew I need help

As time went on I started to have severe panic attacks.  They were so severe at one point that I would ring 000 thinking I was having a heart attack.  The anxiety and panic was a manifestation of all the bad stuff that has happened to me in the past and this snuff thing was the icing on the cake.  I could not take the anxiety anymore.  Everyone around me saw my personality was changing and I was having very bad mood swings.  But everyone just thought I was just coming down from drugs as that was my reputation.  So I saw a doctor and explained that I can no longer put up with the anxiety and needed help.  So he prescribed me Xanax.  It helped but I soon got addicted.

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Chapter twelve.....Life; or Something Like It

Once I got back into the swing of things, thanks to the Xanax, I was so back out on the party scene, back to working casually at the cafe and doing my escort work.  It was like one morning I awoke and thought I refuse to feel sorry for myself or anyone else when I don’t really know what my problem is.  I had a new attitude.  But it was not good.  Even though previously I was considered by others to have an attitude problem, it only got worse.  I hated everyone.  I looked after number one, and that was my attitude.  I also found that I could not live a day without Xanax.

My attitude was getting to the point of affection my work and my relationships with people.  I would quite often be really rude to customers at work and really didn’t give a shit.  Strangely enough, my bosses never told me off for it as I was an asset to the business due to my bartending skills.  I thought I was immortal.  My ego grew and grew and so did my credit card debts.  But at the same time I would severe panic attacks and hid from everyone so nobody could see me in that state.  I had no idea why I was panicking.  Perhaps it was the disturbing experience in Sydney that triggered it, or perhaps I was in denial of my abusive past, perhaps I was hiding my true inner self and was afraid to express it.  I think that was it.  I think I was simply afraid of myself.  I could not see my future anymore.  It was all about living for the weekend and that does not lead to a life.  I felt alone and quite stupid really.

There were a few times that I picked up some guys in a club and we would go to some flashy five star hotel and have a wild sex party.  All paid for on my credit card only because I wanted to offer.  I gave the impression that I was rich, but I wasn’t.  I just had available credit.  I lived in a world of lies, deceit, sin and popping pills.

My boss at the escort agency gave me a reminder to get another blood test done.  It was a routine procedure and law basically.  My tests have always been good and never any problems.  So I went for my usual blood test, got the results back a couple weeks later and all clear.  Everything was fine, just like I expected.

The shelf life of an escort is quite short.  Even though I had been crowned escort of the month twice in a row previously, the demand for my services was decreasing. So I got less and less jobs.  In fact I did not get any jobs since my last blood test even though I was rostered on. I had been working there too long and the clients tend to go for the ‘new flesh’.  Which makes sense, as the clients like to meet new guys.  I thought well, it’s just the way it goes, so I decided to give it up.  For good.  No more escort work.  In fact, I wanted some sort of stability in my life and stop being so stubborn and selfish.  I was getting older and knew it was time that I grow up.  There was no time like the present.  So I was in search of the dreaded nine to five job and as I had quit escorting, my sex drive was on the prowl with vengeance.

If I think about now why I decided to get a ‘normal’ job I think it was because I was mentally maturing.  I needed to calm down as my life was in the fast lane and was just getting too fast.  I also came to a realisation that someday I would have to stop all this sex, drugs and sausage rolls thing.  I also realised that my credit cards debts were not going to go away either.  I had to make severe lifestyle changes and I took the plunge.  I applied for a job with a bank and got the job.  I think it was one of the best things I could have done.  I also told myself it was time to come off the Xanax and I don’t know how I did it, but I stopped taking them.  No more drugs anymore.

I quit my job at the cafe and went straight to a full time job in a bank.  This was a nine to five job and it felt good.  It gave me a sense that I’m finally doing something that contributes to society and it would be helping myself.  So I wanted to try hard at this job and I wanted to do well.  It was a call centre position but the prospects for promotion was fantastic.  Even though the job sounded boring, I found the environment exhilarating.  It was so different for me and I enjoyed it.

Months later and I became one of the best employees at the call centre.  My results were great and impressed my managers.  But most of all I had never felt so proud of myself.  I felt as if my feet were finally firm on the ground.  It was about time.  In terms of my party habits, they were also restricted.  I only went out say one weekend of a fortnight and other times I would just go to saunas.  I was just living the life of how a normal gay man would live, I was just not as wild as I was.  I was also keeping in contact with my mum a lot more than I used to.  She loved that.  I know I should have kept in contact with mum a lot more during my excessive party days but that’s in the past.
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A few years had gone by and I am still working at the bank and since then had been promoted twice.  My life was just like living like a normal twenty-something year old but with a lot more determination to succeed in life.  I was really getting career focussed now and it was a career that I had never envisaged.  My mum was so proud of me.  I was working in the financial planning department and getting qualifications at the same time.  I was also earning a decent wage too.  So my budgeting skills got to the point of financial astuteness.  My credit cards bills kept coming in but I managed to keep up with them.  In fact all my bills were paid on time, I was very strict with that and took great pride in it.  During those couple of years there were times that my sex drive was a bit out of control but I managed to control my addiction to sex.  It was easy to manage.  All I had to do was go to a cruising area like a sauna, or beach and sex was just there when you wanted.  In my case, it was when I need it.  After I got my dose of sex, it was a sense of relief that my addiction was satisfied and that would keep me out of trouble for at least another 24 hours, if you know what I mean.

I was really feeling as though I was getting my life on a path that led to a bright future.  I also had no trouble in picking up guys, well, actually guys picking up me.  I think giving up the escort work years ago only made me hornier than ever.  I was looking for sex practically anywhere.  I never approached a guy, they always came to me.  It was just the way it was back then for me.  Even though the fact of having sex in public places may seem socially unacceptable it was the ‘naughty’ factor that was such a turn on for me.  It was so wrong that made it so good.  But all in all, I was always safe.  Always.  But I always had some curiosity about my health status just as confirmation that I was healthy and strong so I got routine blood tests every six months or so just to check for STD’s and stuff.  I did these tests for years just to make sure as all gay men should be tested.  Again as expected, my blood tests were great.  Even though I would quite often catch the crabs almost every fortnight, I had no signs of any STD infection at all.  It was confirmation that made me feel immortal, clean and healthy.  HIV does not happen to people like me.  So I thought I’d leave the next test for another year or so or whenever I remember next.  I’ll be fine, I always have been.

I also had a good job and was doing well at it yet for the next year or so but I ensured it was not all work and no play, so I still went out occasionally and partied but not to the extent like I did.  I was getting great results at work and impressing my managers.  I have probably by this stage been working for the bank for about four or five years now, I can’t recall exactly, but I know I had been there a while.  I was also more health conscious and going to the gym a lot.  I was still as horny as ever, that didn’t change.  Sex at this point in my life was my personal adventure outside of work and was always chasing it, or perhaps I should say that I made the guys chase after me.  It was thrill of the chase that ended in a dirty lustful sex romp.  Apart from sauna’s I would cruise guys down the beach, in the park, shopping centres, anywhere, I was like a dog on heat.  I was just plain horny there’s no way else to describe how I was.  And I always got the guy I wanted, but they had to chase after me.  I was quite pathetic if I think about it now.  But I will say this though, I was, and always had been, safe.  There’s no denying it.

But I wanted to get more out of life and embrace it.  There were so many places in the world I wanted to see.  Japan was a dream to visit all my life so I decided to plan a trip there.

I had a fascination with Japanese culture.  It just looked so elegant and beautiful and Tokyo just sounded like a blast.  I had to go.  I was excited.  I booked my trip with a travel agent about four or five months in advance and all I did before I went was talk about how excited I was about going to Japan.  No one heard the end of it.

Finally the day of departure bound for Tokyo I could barely contain myself with excitement.  This was an adventure.  I had also come to the realisation that my days of excessive wild behaviour was done with.  I wanted to experience life to it’s full.

When I arrived in Tokyo it immediately felt like another word.  I felt so far from home.  I couldn’t help but to get a little homesick but I ignored it and told myself to have a good time regardless.  I was here to enjoy the experience of travel.  I don’t know why but there was something about myself that made me feel uneasy.  I was not on any medication as I had stopped the sedatives and I was not feeling sick but there was something that made me feel weird like there was something going on in my head but I couldn’t work out what was bothering me.  I thought about it for a while and gave up and just dismissed it.  I thought I was just my body adjusting to the fact that I was drug free and healthy and perhaps I was having flashbacks.  But it was something else.  Something that I had no idea about yet.

Whilst in Tokyo I was wandering the streets of the Shinjuku district at night.  This was the business and shopping district of Tokyo.  If you had seen those images of flashing neon lights of Tokyo, this was the district it was at.  It was full on.  It was also a notorious re-light district too.  In the back alleyways of this district lied so very strange and bizarre ‘sex for sale’ stores around.  I noticed there was one particular one that sold underwear worn by school girls, and what men did was apparently pay only to smell the underwear for an hour or so.  It was just plain weird.  There were also vending machine everywhere.  I actually saw one that sold real diamond rings in a vending machine!  Crazy or what!  But on one particular night I was wandering about the pavement jungle of Tokyo and saw a quaint store that looked like a pet shop and it had snakes in the front window.  So I decided to go in and take a look.  When I opened the door and went inside I was immediately greeted with a bunch of Japanese sitting around a bar yelling a friendly “Konnichi wa!”.  This was no pet shop.  The men seemed so pleased that a foreigner entered their store, whatever store it was but I was about to find out.  Fortunately I could speak a little Japanese so communication was not really an issue.  One of the Japanese men, I think he must have just been a patron, I’m not sure, asked me to take a seat on one of the bar stools.  I said ‘okay’. Then they asked me if there were any of the snakes that I liked in the front window.  I didn’t know what to say as I didn’t understand why they would ask me that.  I just said “Well, the white snake in the window looked interesting, I had never seen a white snake before”.  Then before my very eyes he went to the front window and grabbed the snake, brought it to the bar, held it in front of me then stuck it on some hook suspended above the bar.  I just sat there in shock.  Then he sliced the snakes open and put a glass underneath it for the glass to catch the oozing blood from the snake.  I watched him in horror as he competently bled the snake right in front of me.  Then once he was done he pushed the glass a little further towards me and said ‘drink’.  Of course I hesitated and said I was not sure about this.  The men in the bar laughed and one of them said to me in Japanese “It’s an aphrodisiac, you will love it, it’s good for you, try it!”.  So I said what the hell, you only live once, so I took a sip then the guy who bled the snake said “No, you have too skull it”.  I didn’t want to offend them with their generosity so I did exactly that, I skulled it.  It just tasted like snakes blood, there’s no other way to describe it.  But it did not make me feel horny.  I offered to pay for the drink and they said as a first time foreigner entering their store, they said it was a gift.  I was a bit apprehensive and said ‘thank you’ and went on my way.

I was on my way back to my hotel and started to feel my head go numb.  It was like a tingling sensation.  Then the pins and needles ran all down my body.  I could feel my body shake and sway back and forth, side to side.  I thought Tokyo was having an earthquake but it was me.  Then as I looked at peoples aces in the street I saw some alien like faces, then some clown faces, then some lizard like faces.  I was hallucinating.  I thought I was going out of my mind.  I knew straight away it was the snakes blood.  But ironically, it did not make me feel bad, not even sick, it was just like taking and LSD trip but in a sort of different way.  I then felt lost.  There was no way I was going to find my way back to the hotel.  I just sat there on a nearby bus shelter waiting for the effect to wear off.  Then a policeman off the street approached me and noticed I was acting a little strange and asked if I was okay.  I told him what happened, you know, about the snake thing and he just laughed and said “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine, I will take you back to your hotel and if were you, I would a good night’s rest”.  So that’s exactly what did.  Lesson learnt.

So that was quite a different travel experience but whilst in Japan I got the opportunity to see a wonderful country including climbing to the top of Mount Fuji.  Well, not actually climbing, but in a bus.  The whole experience of Japan was unforgettable.  The food, the people, the shopping, the beautiful customs and traditions.  It quite a world away from everything else and is true escapism.

I spent about three weeks in Japan and arrived home back to Melbourne with a lot of photos and stories to tell.  I loved the experience.  Not just Japan but the whole travelling experience.  I had to do it again.  I found travelling so addictive.  Not only does it broaden your horizons it also make you appreciate life a lot more.  It was something I really needed.

I decided to take another trip even through again this would be funded by the allusive ‘available credit’ on the deadly credit cards.  I never though about the consequences of debt at the time.  I just wanted to have fun and I wanted to travel.  I could worry about money later.  So I decided to take a trip to New Zealand.  I was going to go to Europe again but I just felt too guilty about the cost of it.  New Zealand was close and much less expensive but it’s still international and my love of Duty Free shopping would still be satisfied.

I think I departed for New Zealand about a month after Japan, I’m not sure about the exact timing but it was around about then.  I started my journey from Auckland, then I would go to Rotorua for jet boating and black water rafting.

I spent a few days in Auckland and whilst I was there I was in the mood for a bit of partying, even though I was on my own.  Auckland surprisingly has a very cosmopolitan and vibrant nightlife.  I went to a very hip club called, I think, ‘The Supper Club’.  It was a funky little clubby sort of bar on a traffic island in one of the main roads.  It was very cool and the music was fantastic.  The DJ was playing very cool deep funky house, it was quite unexpected for New Zealand.  But the kiwis are really in the know.  They know their stuff and what’s hot.  I met a guy in the bar.  Now even though this bar was not exactly considered gay, or gay friendly or even straight, he still pursued me.  I was trying to avoid him even though he was hot.  The way we met was pure and simple.  He just came up to me and said “I’m glad I’ve finally got your attention, my names’ Chris”.  I introduced myself as Luke, I didn’t want to use my real name, not yet anyway.  I got the impression he was quite a down to earth and unpretentious man, unlike the majority of the gay male community in Melbourne.  He was just what I needed.  A real man and most of all, the right sort of man to have a lot of fun with.  I liked him and we were quite a couple for the week I was in Auckland.

When it was time for me to leave Auckland it was kind of sad.  Chris said he would take me to the airport but I said no.  I think I was afraid to have my heart broken again and did not want the relationship to get any deeper.  The week we had was just pure fun.  I wanted no strings but I think Chris had other things on his mind.

I made my own way to the airport via transfer and surprise, surprise Chris was there.  He was patiently waiting for me at the bus stop where they dropped off the passengers for departure.  My immediate reaction was “Uh, Oh...”

I got off the bus very cautiously.  He walked up to me with open arms.  I think we attracted quite an audience.  “I just had to see you before you go” he said with a tear in his eye.  I just thought “Are you kidding?, are you for real?”  He was really upset and sad.  “Please, I need to see you again” he said softly as he looked into my eyes.  I didn’t know how to react let alone how I should react.  I was not in love with him.  I was not sure about him though.  He seemed quite taken by me.  I wondered why.  It had only been a week.  Then I got the shock of my love when he said “I think I love you”.  I froze.  So did our audience!  It was like a scene from a ‘chick flick’.  I thought I should say something in return but I couldn’t get any words out.  I was just too stunned.  Then he slid into my pocket his business card with his phone number on it.  “Please, I must see you in Melbourne....I have to” he pleaded.  “Chris, uh....this would not work out with the distance and all that.  I mean, I live in Melbourne, you live in Auckland, it just wouldn’t work.  ”I said with a feeling of worry.  He then interrupted me by putting the palm of his hand softly on my lips and said “Shhh....we can work this out, give me a chance, I will treat you like a prince”.  I didn’t want to drag out this scene and just said “All right, call me when I get to Melbourne”.  I really only said that to shut him up.  I then realised this guy was not all right.  You can’t fall in love with someone in one week.  I did not feel the same way about him as he did with me.  I also did not want to break his heart.  I know how that pain fells like.  I could not do that to another human being.

So I arrive back in Melbourne.  In the taxi on the way from Melbourne airport to my home I reminisced about the good time I had in New Zealand.  I had a good time.  I thought the idea about Chris and I being a couple was okay and began to feel good about it.  So I was looking forward to his phone call.  When I arrived home I was already staring at his business card.  Perhaps this could work out?

A week had passed and no phone call.  Another week goes by and still no call from Chris.  I must admit I was kind of relieved.  Perhaps he realised that it would not work out or maybe he had a change of heart.  Who knows?  At least he wasn’t a stalker and that was actually my biggest concern.  So there goes another opportunity, oh well, life goes on........

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I was still suffering from the travel bug and wanted to do something else.  So I went to my usual travel agent and said “So, where to next?”  I was beginning to be one of their best customers but they did look after me though.  My travel agent asked me “Why don’t you see some of Australia that you haven’t seen yet?”  The idea sounded too simple for me but I was intrigued.  “Have you been to Cairns?” she asked.  “No” I replied with enthusiasm.  I had never thought about going to Cairns.  We chatted for a while about the things you could see and do while you were up there.  It all sounded like complete paradise.  Why did I not think of this before?  So I decided to go to Cairns for a few days, then to Port Douglas for a week and then to Dunk Island for a few days.  So there goes another few grand off the credit card!

Remarkably my boss at work allowed me to take more holiday leave.  I think if I didn’t do so well at work then he would not have allowed me to go.  So I think he was reliant on this occasion.

It was not even a month before I departed for Cairns.  I think I was even more excited about this adventure then going to Japan.

So I arrive in Cairns.  Already it looked like paradise even stepping off the plane.  The airport was surrounded in thick rainforest and as soon as you step off the plane the feel of the tropical heat was amazing.  I knew I was going to love it here.  After collecting my luggage I headed to the Hilton in the centre of Cairns.

The first day I got there I just laid about the pool but the next day I had planned to go on a white water rafting tour.  I was looking forward to that as I had never done it before.

The next day I was to be picked up from my hotel.  It was about a 10.15 am pick up.  I arrived in the lobby around 10 past 10 and just sat there in the luxurious lounge area waiting for the bus.  Finally it arrived but 20 minutes late. I was not sure if that was my actual bus picking me up so I just thought I was remain in the lobby and if that was the bus then they could just come and collect me from the lobby.  Then some blond headed surfy looking guy stepped off the bus with a clipboard in his hand.  I noticed there were rafts in a trailer behind the bus so I thought it was obvious that, that was my bus.  So I went outside and walked towards his guy.  This hot looking guy staring at his clipboard.  The closer I walked towards him the hotter he looked and I started to feel nervous.  Like I was weak at the knees.  He was perfectly built, solid but not too stocky, blond sandy hair and very handsome.  Then he looked up and noticed I was walking towards him.  His eyes opened slightly wider then he dropped his pen.  I picked it up for him and said “Hi, I’m Jay, I’m here for the rafting tour”. I said with a lump in my throat.  He snatched the pen from my hand and immediately adjusted his body language to a ‘professional’ kind of way. He cleared his throat and said in a slight Swedish accent “Right!, Jay Beau Andrews,...there you are” he said in a sharp tome and ticked my name off.  “Well, get on the bus!” he said in quite a rude tone.  I think he likes me I thought.

In the bus as we were making our way to the river the guy with the clipboard got on the microphone and introduced himself “Hello everyone, my name is Steve and I will be your tour guide and rafting instructor for today......”  As he was talking with a very cute Swedish accent he kept looking to the back of the bus where I was sitting and every time he looked at me I noticed his voice tone changed slightly with a nervous kind of twitch.  I noticed it but I don’t think anyone else did.  After his little intro thing on the microphone he sat down in the front of the bus next to the driver and then had a quick glimpse over his shoulder pretending not to look at me.  I knew he was I mean, who was kidding who.  We both liked each other and it was instant.  Then he sort of shuffled his way towards the back of the bus.  My heart started beating a bit faster.  I thought to myself, oh my god he is going to come and sit next to me.  And he did.  The first few seconds felt awkward.  It felt like the world stood still for a few seconds.  It’s hard to explain.  Then he said to me without looking at me “So......where you from?”  “Melbourne” I replied.  “Oh,....Iv’e....ummm....never been there but I heard it’s nice”  he said nervously.  “Yeah, it’s okay” I said.  I kept thinking that this small talk was irritating.  All I wanted to do was pounce on him.  He was so cute and so very, very hot.  He was also very masculine acting and really down to earth.  He looked like the kind of guy that does not take shit from anyone.  I like guys like that.  Then I noticed he was staring at my biceps at the corner of his eye then he said “How often do you work out?”  “Uh, about four times a week or so”  “Oh, okay,.....it shows” he said with a sexy smirk on his face.  Then that was the ice breaker.  We both started to relax and just ended up chatting for the hour long ride to the river.  I liked him, I liked him alot.  He was my kind guy.  Finally a gay man that acts like one!  Acts like a man, that is.

At the river we had the time of our lives going down the river rapids, falling out the boat a few time.  It was all exciting fun.  Steve was the instructor and was at the back of the boat.  He was kind of steering it and giving us the passengers instructions what to do.  Then Steve and I started messing around.  I splashed him with some water in the face and then he retaliated.  Then I splashed him again and so on.  It was just childish fun.  The other passengers looked at each other as if they knew something was going on between the instructor and myself.  But they didn’t seem to worry, in fact, they were just laughing along with us and started to join in the splashing.  Soon we were all splashing each other.

At the end of the river tour, Steve asked me to give him a hand with carrying the raft back on the trailer.  As we were carrying the boat, he was at the back of it, I was up the front of it, we started chatting about the day.  We put the raft on the trailer then he asked “So, what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day?”  “Umm, I’m not sure...perhaps just sitting by the pool or something” I replied.  I was waiting for him to ask me out for a drink or something.  In fact I think he was going to.  We both just looked at each other for a few seconds then he said “Well, we better get back on the bus”  I thought ‘Damn!”.

As we were heading back to our hotels I just kept thinking that I really wanted to see Steve again.  During the entire trip back to the hotel he sat up the front of the bus, I was at the back.  He never even looked at me during the trip.  Maybe he just was not interested.  Or maybe he was actually straight, or maybe he was just being polite to me before.  I was asking for too much.  I mean why would a guy like that go after someone like me anyway?  So I just dismissed the idea of any chance with this hottie.  I’ll just go back to the hotel and relax by the pool for the rest of the day.

All the other passengers were dropped off at their hotels first.  I don’t know why, but I was the last one left on the bus which was strange as we had past my hotel several times.  So I don’t know why the driver couldn’t just have dropped me off then.  But eventually we arrive back at the Hilton. As I was stepping off the the bus I was hoping Steve would stop me and ask that question I was dying to hear.  Instead he said ‘See ya later mate”.  I said ‘See ya and thanks”.  Then the bus drove off, he was gone.  Just like I thought, I had no chance with him at all.  Until I happened to look back as the bus was driving off down the hotel driveway and then it stopped like it came to a complete sudden halt.  I thought, what was going on?  Did I leave something behind?  I think I did as Steve ran off the bus carrying what looked like some sort of blue jumper or something, I wasn’t sure.  I just stood there staring at him as he was running towards me.  Then there it goes again, my heart started to pump.  He said “Ummm......I found this on the bus, is it yours?” he asked with a nervous tone.  I knew straight away that this was an excuse for him to ask me something and I was waiting for it.  I had to break the ice somehow but I could not find the courage to ask him out myself.  I just couldn’t do it and neither could he.  We both just stood there and staring at each other shyly.  He was just about to walk off, then as he turned away from me to just about walk off he faced me again, took a deep breath and said “I know this is out of the blue, and I don’t know if I’m gonna make a fool out myself but,,,umm....but....do you....ummm....wanna drink sometime?”  I immediately was thinking ‘Yahoo!’, but I had to contain myself but immediately replied “I was hoping you would ask me that’.  He smiled with a gasp of relief and said ‘Great, I know Cairns pretty well so I can show you around and stuff”.  “Great I said, how about tonight?”  He was kind of surprised that I asked to see him so soon but he looked excited.  So was I.  So we agreed to meet down in the hotel lobby at around 8ish.  As he walked off, almost with a kind of joyful skipping type of walk, he smiled and said “See ya tonight!”.  I was just too happy to say anything so I just gave him a wave and walked back inside to my hotel room with a sigh.  It was like a sigh of like a ‘schoolgirl crush’.  I really like him.  A lot.

That night Steve picked me up from the hotel right on 8 o clock on the dot.  He looked hot.  We both seemed to have the same style of clothing on.  We both just word a casual pair of pants, a casual fitted shirt, pair of thongs.  Quite smart casual, very appropriate for this tropical climate and atmosphere but without looking like an American tourist with those tropical shirts!

I will never forget the way he looked that night and the look he gave me when he picked me up from the hotel lobby as I was patiently waiting for him.  When he walked in the lobby it just seemed to come alive, like it glowed.  ‘mmm, you look cool” he said in a low tone as to not be heard.  “So do you” I replied with a slight half smile.  Then as soon as we left the hotel together we started chatting away all the way to some bar we went to.  I think it was a straight bar, but that didn’t matter, it was not as though he and I were obvious, if you know what I mean.  We had a beer or two and he asked if he could take me out to dinner.  I was flattered.  Not because he was offering to pay for dinner but it was the way he asked me.  Almost gentlemanly like, it was sexy and so attractive.

We arrive at some seafood restaurant in the centre of Cairns by the harbour.  It was a nice tropical atmosphere and good food but most of the company.  We talked and talked for hours about ourselves.  But it was the way he spoke about himself, it was totally unpretentious and so masculine.  I was so attracted to him and it was growing by the minute.  He told me that his actual name was Stefan, but everyone calls him Steve.  He was a part time white water rafting instructor and the rest of the week he actually cuts sugar cane in the nearby cane fields.  He also told me that he was a qualified Agriculturist and came to Australia on a working visa.  He loved Australia and the people and especially loved the Cairns area.  He spoke of it with great pride, it was his home.  I also told him quite a bit of myself as well leaving out the part about the escort work, he doesn’t need to know that anyway.  The whole night our eye were glued to each other.  As the night went on we even ended up playing ‘footsies’ under the table.  Even though it was a bit childish we both saw the funny side of it.  I think we were up to our seventh bottle of red wine and we were the last table still sitting in the restaurant.  The staff were putting up chairs on the table around us as if to say get out we are closing.  We didn’t care.  We just kept talking and rubbing our feet against each other’s under the table.  Then it started getting a bit heated up.  We started talking slightly dirty to each other but whispering it to each other.  I think we both had a little too much wine but the dirty talk was for real.  We thought we better leave the restaurant and we both felt like doing something else in the balmy tropical night so he said “I’m gonna take you to a gay club”.  “In Cairns?” I asked with surprise.  I didn’t think there was a gay scene in Cairns, but there was, only small though.  So he took me to Cairns’ only gay club.  I have to admit it looked nothing like the clubs I was used to but this was Cairns and you can’t have it all.  It was a kind of glammed up pub.  There were only a handful of people, well, actually it was half full, but this was a small club.  The music was a bit outdated.  It was commercial house music.  I didn’t complain, that would just be selfish and uncool.  I just was glad to be in the company of Steve.  As we arrive at the club and walking up the stairs he put his arm around my neck, like we were a couple.  I did the same.  We both just got a drink and huddled ourselves into a dark corner.  The music was so loud that it was no use in talking to each other, instead we ended up  cuddling and kissing in the corner like a couple of school kids.  But this was no ordinary kissing and cuddling.  This was very tender and genuine.  But it was not long that we were just plain getting hot for each other that we had to leave.  Steve, or Stefan, grabbed my hand and said in my ear above the volume of the pumping music “I think we should go back to your hotel room!”.  I nodded my head to agree.  I think if we stayed a minute longer we both would have exploded.

I don’t think I need to get into the details of what happened in my hotel room that.  Use your imagination.  But what I will say is that it was the most blissful evening I had ever spent with another man.  A real, that is.  This guy, not only hot on the outside, but on the inside too.  I can’t explain the amount of true passion we both felt that night but I wished it never would come to an end.  This was not lust.  This was something else.  But I kept telling myself that it was too soon to feel this.  Or was it?  This was a real man that made me feel like a man, not a boy, like the others.

The next morning we awoke next to each other side by side and we both just laid there for an hour just staring into each other’s eyes.  I know, it sounds sickening.  But that’s how it was.  I was captivated by this man.  Every touch, every breath, every kiss gave me goosebumps.  What was going on here, I thought?  I began to think that never had I ever felt this way, it was such a new feeling, a new emotion that I had just experience and it felt so fucking good!

I think we spent the entire day in bed together the next day just messing about.  You know, like lovers do.  Again, I know it sounds sickening.  I did not want to let him go, and he did not want to leave.  He chucked a ‘sickie’ at work.  I had nothing planned on my itinerary anyway.

I was due to go to Port Douglas in a couple of days and I asked Steve if he wanted to join me whilst I was there.  He was delighted and of course he came but on about the second or third day I was there as he had to work.  We spent another few blissful and passionate days together and quite frankly I don’t remember really what we did together.  All I remember is him.  I mean, I think we just were simply together not doing much.  We didn’t need to.  I was also due to go to Dunk Island in a few days’ time but he really couldn’t join me for that as he really had to work.  I understood that.

The day I was due to leave for Dunk Island Steve wanted me to meet his housemates before I left.  I found that flattering that he wanted me to meet his friends already, so to speak.  But he said that there were two housemates and only one of them knew he was gay and the other one didn’t.  In fact he was homophobic.  So it was a mystery to me as to why he would want me to meet them?  Perhaps this was his way to ‘come out’ to his homophobic housemate.  I will never know.  So anyway, I met the housemates.  But both, very friendly and down to earth guys.  I don’t exactly come across as immediately gay, nor does Steve, as we are both quite straight acting.  They were nice guys though and a lot of fun.  So that was that and I was off to Dunk Island.  Steve wanted to take me to the airport.

As we were driving to the airport we were both silent.  I began to feel a bit sad.  I wondered was this it?  Another fling, another opportunity lost?  So I had to ask but he beat me to it like we were thinking the same thing.  “So....what now?” Steve asked in a deep concerned tone of voice.  “Ummm...Steve, I have to admit....the way you make me feel....well, you know, I really.....like you but if you don’t want to see me again that’s okay” I said trying not to cry.  “Don’t be silly mate, I do want to see you again, I really like you, I mean....I reeeealy like you, you complete me as a man” he said with complete sincerity.  I was overwhelmed with flattery.  I didn’t say anything I just smiled at him, kissed my two fingers and tenderly put my fingers on his lips as a sign of love.  I think I am falling for him.  Badly.

The day at the airport.  When I departed for Dunk Island.  It was such a saddening goodbye but it felt positive.  We knew we would see each other again.  We knew we would contact each other via phone, text, email or whatever it takes.  This thing we were experiencing was for real.  I will see him again.  I know it will be soon.  The image of him is tattooed in my mind.  It was a beautiful permanent tattoo.

So I spent a few days on Dunk Island and I think I spent more time phoning and texting Steve during my time there then doing anything else.  Well, I spent most of my day just lying on the beach under a palm tree.  It was a beautiful place surrounded by tropical rainforest and so tranquil.  Apart from the screaming kids which I tried to avoid at any cost.  That meant staying clear from the pool area where it was family central!

On the way back to Melbourne I took a stopover in Sydney and stayed I think it was for two nights.  Just to make my holiday complete.  I have to admit the only thing I did in Sydney was have copious amounts of sex with god know how many guys.  But the thing was, I was thinking of Steve the whole time.  Every guy I had sex with in Sydney I was picturing Steve.  Funny how that was the case.  But I didn’t tell Steve I went to Sydney.  But I don’t think that’s cheating on him, however, that was not the feeling I had when I had to go home.  I had a guilty conscious.  The holiday was now over and it’s time to go home.

..............................................................................

I arrive home.  Back to reality.  Back to Melbourne.  Yeah, great, I thought.  But what a holiday!  I had actually moved into my own apartment in Toorak so I was living alone by this stage.  This is something I was longing for, for a while as I was over the housemate thing.  Having my own place, renting of course, meant complete freedom and vacuuming the house in the nude!

I realised I had Steve on my mind the entire time on Dunk Island and in Sydney.  I was now completely cashless, hardly any credit left on my credit cards and totally all sexed out.  I was over it.  Over everything for the time being.  I need peace, just for a little while.  Then of course a couple of days later I discovered I had the crabs.  Again!  Typical Sydney guys!

A few days later, after I got my bearings again and can start to feel my arse again from the pounding it got in Sydney, I went back to work.  Of course I had stories to tell.  I had a reputation at the bank for being quite the adventurous traveller so everyone always were interested to hear my stories.  Except I left out the juicy parts!  I was particularly taken by the whole tropical holiday thing.  The atmosphere, the climate and the everything tropical made me want more.  So guess what?  Yes, that’s’ right, I just had to plan my next tropical getaway.

Steve and I kept in contact for the next couple of weeks after I returned to Melbourne whilst I was gathering brochures from travel agents about tropical destinations.  Not once did I give any thought to my suffering credit cards limits.  The banks just kept offering me limit increases and i just kept taking advantage of the offers.  So I always had available credit.  After a little research and indecisive behaviour I decided that I would next go to Fiji via Cairns to see ‘you know who?’  I also wanted to go to Europe again but I thought I would do that the following year.  We will just wait and see what happens.  I was not sure if my boss would give me more leave again as I think I was pushing my luck.  I had been to Fiji before years ago with my family when I was about fifteen or sixteen.  I liked it then. But I would like to go on my own without the family ‘syndrome’ thing.  So I started planning when I would go and how much money I have and all that kind of preparation for a holiday stuff.

About a week later, so that makes it roughly three or four weeks after I returned from my Cairns holiday I began to feel a little under the weather.  I called in sick one day to work as I began to get a really sore throat.  I went and saw the doctor and he said I had a case of tonsillitis.  But a few days later it was getting worse.  I began getting unbearable body aches and pains, mega headaches, fever, sweating, shaking and shivering.  You name it, I was getting it.  I was had never felt so sick in my life.  So I returned to the doctor and explained my symptoms and he was even surprised that the antibiotics he prescribed me were not working against the tonsillitis.  He was actually really shocked and said that I have a very bad case of a flu virus.  It felt more than that though.  So he prescribed me stronger antibiotics and painkillers.

A week later I was still sick as a dog.  I could barely get out of bed in the morning.  My body felt as though it was literally dying.  I kept thinking to myself that this was not normal but what the hell is going on?  I was not getting any better, I was getting worse.  My boss rang me after about a week and a half and asked if everything was okay.  I said that I had a really bad case of the flu but I did not know when I would be well enough to come back yet.  He was concerned but said he would see me when I was better.  I didn’t really tell anyone that I was really sick.  I told my mum but I just said that I just had a flu and not to worry.  I really did not want her to know how bad I was really feeling.

Two weeks later and I was still so very, very sick.  Something was not right but I was too scared to go to hospital as if I think about it now, that’s where I really should have gone.  I remember one night I was watching the ‘Golden Girls’ and TV at around 10:30 pm and I suddenly started having breathing difficulties.  Then my heart started to pump harder like it was some sort of panic attack.  Then my body felt as though it was caving in, I can’t find any other way to describe it.  I felt like I was about to die.  This was it, I thought, but not if I can help it.  So I called 000.  I needed urgent medical attention but I thought, how am I going to describe what I am feeling.  What, tell the operator that I had a bad case of the flu?  They would probably laugh at me.  So I hung up and I just laid on the floor.  I was almost waiting for my body to die and I was saying to myself “Just get it over with, kill me, I can’t anymore of this pain!”  Then I took three times the dosage of the painkillers and fell asleep on the floor.  I thought I had just died.

I awoke the next morning.  I thought it was impossible that I was still alive.  I will never forget that immense pain I felt that night.  It was unbearable but it seemed I was feeling a little better.  Well, I was still feeling like crap, but I definitely not feeling the same as I was.  So got up and found that I could actually walk around without too much pain.  A few days ago I could barely make it to the bathroom without vomiting.  I went to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and got the shock of my life.  I had lost so much weight, you could see my ribcage and the skin on my face was hanging down off my cheekbones.  I looked terrible.  What was happening to me?, I thought.  I hadn’t eaten anything for days, even the taste of water made me want to throw up.  I could not get any fluids in at all.  I was struggling.  But I was doing everything on my own.  I would not tell anyone of the pain I was going through.  This was my own private nightmare, but I will get better.  I have to.

Three weeks have gone by and I was still and still away from work.  My boss was getting concerned and so was I.  I was still sick but I would not tell anyone, not even a doctor, of how bad my condition was.  I would not even tell Steve, I just told him I just had a flu and not to be concerned.  But he was, he basically called me almost every day to check on me.  There were some days I just did not have the energy to even pick up the phone, I had to let my calls run to voicemail.  I felt like I was embarrassed about how ill I was as I was always fit looking and healthy.  But I was actually slowly getting better but it took a good month for me to get back to work.  Even after that month of extreme sickness I was still not feeling the best.  I still was feeling a bit fluey, my energy was lacking and got very fatigued easily.  When I returned to work I found that the first few days I got back I had to leave work early still as I was very tired and ill.  I was still not right.  It took roughly six to eight weeks before I really felt like myself again.  After those six or eight weeks I started going back to the gym again.  I had to get back my body, I looked like a skeleton.

A couple months later and Christmas had past, I was getting the travel bug again.  I was feeling pretty good.  I got my body back, including my famous abs and looking very healthy.  I had my appetite back.  In fact I felt great and felt so positive about everything.  I was ready for action and that included taking that trip to Fiji and Cairns.  So I started to make plans.  But there was a slight issue with money.  I had available credit on my credit cards but I need cash.  So there was only one easy solution for this.  I would do one last escort round.  Just one more.

I rang the agency I worked for previously and they were delighted actually that I had returned.  They said they would start promoting me in publications and online immediately if I start work straight away.  I was keen and raring to go so I did the routine blood test and medical check like we always had to go.  It was part of their procedures.  The agency did everything by the book and no one was excluded, not even me.  So I went to my usual doctor who regularly did my blood tests.  She was a lovely doctor, a bit of an Asian beauty and so open minded.  I told her about the escort work and that I was getting blood tests for my employer at the agency was she was so cool about it.  So I had my blood taken like usual.  After she took my blood she said “You probably won’t even need to call and get your results, your blood tests are always really good”  “Yeah, I know, I have nothing to worry about, I am always careful, always have been, nothing to worry about, I just have to get the tests done to satisfy my agency, that’s all, so I guess I’ll see you in a few months’ time” I said with confidence.  She laughed with an agreed tone and said see you then.  Then I left and went home.  That was task one completed.  Next was to stock up my sex toys, condoms and lube and stuff.  I went sex shopping preparing for work.

Things at work, at the bank that is, was getting a bit hectic so I said to the agency that I would start escort work in a couple of weeks once things quieten down at my day job.  They were fine about that and said they will see me then.  Even though I was ready to start escort work I was snowed under at my day job and had to get that under control before I start escorting again.  I had priorities now.  But I think I was also maturing.

I was just about ready to start back working for the escort agency again until I received a letter in the mail.  In fact I was due to start escorting the next day.  The letter was from my doctor stating that I need to come in to discuss and ‘abnormality’ in my blood test result.  It was stated ‘urgent’.  I rang my doctor immediately and they said that I must go in tomorrow to discuss.  They would not tell me what the issue was and that they will discuss it with me tomorrow.  I thought there could not be anything serious.  I was super fit, super healthy.  I think it was hypoglycaemia or perhaps it was diabetes or something.  There was nothing really wrong.  They only say that in the letter to make you come in and pay another doctors bill, that’s all.  I kept telling myself there was nothing seriously wrong and not to worry.  It was going to be okay.

The next day I went to my doctor’s office as instructed.  Not concerned at all really.  I was feeling quite confident.  When I got the reception desk the girl on the computer look up my file, and then suddenly had a strange look on her face and then said “James, if you would just like to come with me I will take you to the doctor’s office”.  I thought well, I’m detouring past the patient waiting area I must be special.  So she sat me down in a doctor’s office but it was not my usual doctor’s office, it was another doctors.  She said that my usual doctor is busy with something else at the moment and that another doctor will be discussing with me the issue in a moment.  So I sat there feeling a little apprehensive and wondering why all this was happening.  Then another female doctor walked in.  She introduced herself and explained that my usual doctor sent me here and apologised that she couldn’t talk to me then but would speak to me later.  “Do you know why you are here?” the doctor asked.  “Well, I assume you are going to tell me that I am hypoglycaemic or something....”I said confidently.  “No Jay” she said softly.  “The blood test came back and I am sorry to say that.....you are HIV positive” she said with a concerned voice.  I refused to believe it.  “No, that’s can’t be right, you have me mixed up with someone else!” I gasped. “No, the results are correct James” she replied “NO! they are not!, HIV does not happen to people like me!”  I yelled.  She gave me a strange look and was about to say something then I screamed “I demand to you re test me, RE TEST ME!, RE TEST ME!....” I screamed.  “James, we can re test you but the result will be the same” she said as she maintained composure.  I began to shake and felt like my whole world had just paused.  I wanted to cry but I couldn’t.  I refuse to believe it.  HIV does not happen to people like me.  It does not happen to clean people.  It is not right, it is false.  I just sat there silently for a moment and the doctor started talking about offering me counselling services and medications when required and so on.  All I really heard her say was blah, blah, blah.   I kept thinking this is a mistake.  HIV does not happen to people like me.  It can’t.  It doesn’t.  This is a mistake and I am going to prove them wrong.  The doctor scheduled me to come in the next day for a counselling service and to chat to my usual doctor.  But right then, I just wanted to go home and be alone.

I don’t know how I managed to make it home on public transport but I did.  I do remember that I was in some sort of bizarre surreal trance and kept bumping into people in the street and not apologising.  I was under some kind of spell.  It was kind of a weird feeling.  But I made it home at last and once I got to my doorstep I struggled to put the key into the keyhole as I was desperate to get inside and hide.  I need to get away from the outside world as it was crumbling apart around me.  I was terrified.  I made inside, finally, closed the door, walked into the middle of the lounge room, fell onto the floor, went into a foetal position and cried and cried and cried for hours and hours on end.

I did not move from my foetal position on the lounge room floor for several hours.  I laid there from about 10 am right through until it was dark.  I was frozen solid.  My whole world is now on hold.  It had paused.  My life is over and it’s all my own fault.  I deserve to be punished.  God had punished me for my debaucheries.  This was it.  It’s over.  The party is over.

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The next day I went to a counselling session just like the doctor planned for me.  My eyes were swollen from the amount of crying I had done the previous day and night.  I was seated in a room as soon as I arrived and was greeted by a nice sweet lady.  She said she would be my counsellor and asked me how I was feeling.  She was very understanding, like she knew the emotional pain I was suffering.  I felt comfortable with her.  Then my usual doctor arrived.  I turned to her and then she gave me a tender hug, like a really caring type of hug.  “James, I don’t know what to say, I have to admit that I was shocked to see the results...”  “I know, I am still shocked, but I don’t believe it to be true, I just can’t accept it yet” She looked at me with a sincere look of sorrow and care and gave me another hug and left.

During my counselling session that day I explained that I just cannot accept the fact that I have this disease.  I could not even say the words ‘HIV positive’.  It just sounded so dirty, so unlike me.  I was in complete denial.  But I have to admit that the counsellor gave me a lot of information about the treatments and services available for HIV positive people.  I was surprised how much support we actually have.  I was also surprised that my doctor told me that I do not need to go on medication yet as my t-cells and viral load were excellent and I have nothing to worry about at the moment.  Not for a while.  It took some of the load off my mind but not totally.  It was the fact that I was now carrying this horrible virus.  I was a walking time bomb that could infect anyone.  I hated that.  I wanted the old James back.  The one with the hot body and super fit and healthy, that James is the one I wanted.  Not the James that is sick with an infectious disease.  I felt disabled, like a nobody.  My entire world had been torn apart and I went home from the first counselling session thinking why me?  Why did this happen to me?  How?  I don’t recall any specific event that would have infected me.  I had always been safe.  Always.  But yet, I still contracted it.  This all seemed so impossible.  I thought HIV does not happen to people like me but guess what?  It does.  I am not immune, none of us are.  But one thing I do know and I had come to realise it.  There is one reason for my wild child behaviour during my twenties and early thirties, all that excessive partying, drugs, sex and over indulgence.  There was one person responsible for my erratic behaviour and he is the reason why I now have this terminal disease.  My stepfather.  This is his fault.

I took a week or so off from work just to think about things and let this major life changing experience sink in.  I thought a lot about how I got it and who gave it to me.  I racked my brains for hours but I cannot possibly narrow it down to one person.  It could have been anyone.  Like I said previously, I had always been safe to memory.  One thing I do know is that I definitely did not get it from escort work.  It must have been after I quite escorting as all my previous tests have been clear.  So it was definitely not through escort work.  This was my own doing.  This was the result of being over sexed and being over the top.  During that week where I had to get my future back in focus I called the escort agency and told them that I had a change of heart and that I do not want to continue escort work anymore due to my day job commitments.  They were disappointed but never questioned why.  They did understand however.  So I moved on.  That was the end of that opportunity for more cash.  I don’t know if you could actually do escort work whilst you are HIV positive but even so it does not seem right to me so I could not possibly do that.  It would not be right, so I decided not to continue with it.  In fact, I was totally put off sex at that stage.

It took me a good couple of weeks before I felt like myself again.  But no, I did not accept my HIV status, I denied it.  I felt fine, great in fact so I could not understand that I was positive with feeling so fit and healthy.  But I awoke one morning and decided to just carry on with Life and I went back to work.  So this was it.  It was just going to be life; or something like it..........

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Chapter thirteen............The Special Two

Months roll on.  I was still living.  Living a normal life really. I went to the gym regularly, ate well and really looked after myself and carried on as if the HIV was a mistake.  I was in complete denial.  One thing I do remember is that when I returned to work after my diagnosis all my work colleagues said to me that I had returned a changed man.  They said comments like “Gee, you really seem like you have a more positive attitude”, or “Jay, you really seem to be more friendly and warm, what happened?”  I didn’t realise that I had a more positive attitude but others seemed to notice that my personality had changed.  It was like I was really appreciating life more on a sub-conscious level and appreciating others more with open arms.  I can’t explain why.  Although refused to believe I was positive, there was a part of me saying that I now need to make the best of the rest of my life.  I knew I was HIV, but I was trying to push it aside like it was no big deal.  In fact, I ignored it.

I spent alot of time thinking about how I had caught this dirty disease and who was responsible but as there had been so many partners and situations it could have been anyone.  I had always practiced safe sex and I don’t use needles, so somewhere along the line, perhaps the condom broke or I had a sore in my mouth or anything really.  There was no point in dwelling on it anymore.  Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.  Jay, YOU ARE HIV POSITIVE! GET OVER IT! I told myself repeatedly.  So I started to do my own research into this illness and decided to start seeing my doctor on a regular basis to monitor my t-cells and viral load.  I had to.  This was my life, now.  This life is now a serious life, there’s no more denying it anymore.  I came across some research about the seroconversion illness that HIV people get prior to their diagnosis.  It was clear.  That really bad flu thing I had months ago.  That was it, the seroconversion illness.  And thank god I had actually got tested too later to confirm my diagnosis otherwise I would be living with it without knowing.  But the more research I did the more depressed I began to feel.  I had not told a single person in my life about my HIV.  I dared not to.  I was embarrassed about it.  I was disgusted with myself and I feel as though god has punished me.  And why shouldn’t he?  Just look at the selfish and stubborn life I had led with debauchery and greed.  I deserved it.  But I felt dirty.  I thought that only dirty people got HIV.  Now I was one of them.  I felt like I now stick out like a sore thumb in the crowd.  I am a nobody.  And nobody would even care about me.  I had not told even my mum about it yet, I couldn’t.  She would just worry too much.  It would kill her to see her son with a terminal illness.

As time went by I lived life as normal as anyone could be.  I had not had sex for months.  I couldn’t.  I felt like as walking disease bomb.  But I also felt very lonely.  My friends, those friends that I really only associate with in the club scene, they wouldn’t understand.  In fact, they would probably disown me if they found out that I was HIV.  That’s how superficial they were.  I also ignored all of Steve’s calls and text messages.  I couldn’t speak to him.  I felt ashamed and I just assumed that he would nothing to do with a HIV guy and I could not have the guts to tell him.  It killed me to ignore him.  Every call from Steve and I didn’t answer I would cry.  I was so gutless I could not even tell him what was going on.  After a while he stopped calling me and sent me a final text simply saying “Good bye, I miss you though”, I cried myself to sleep in agony.  But there was one person who I missed so much.  That was Will.

I couldn’t bear picking up the phone and calling him after the way I had treated him.  I missed him so much that I had to call him, even if it was to just say hello.  I missed him greatly and had to call him.  So I did.  He was shocked but over the moon that I had called him out of the blue.  I apologised that it had been so long we spoke and he was so understanding that I can’t explain it.  I don’t know why and how he could have forgave me.  We spoke on the phone for about fifteen or so minutes and I asked him to come over and I would cook dinner for him.  He was delighted with that.

One Saturday night, Will came around to my apartment where I was living in, in Toorak.  I made a special effort to make something great.  He deserved it.  I was so excited to see him and went I heard the knock on the door at 8 o’clock on the dot, I felt nervous.  Will has got a reputation for being very prompt.  I opened the door and he smiled.  He then hugged me and gave me a kiss but I think when he kissed me he though it was going to be a passionate one.  So I backed away.  He kind of looked at me strange as to why I would back away like that but didn’t say anything.  “You look well” he said as he was staring at my chest bulging through my tight bonds t-shirt.  “You too” I replied.  We both sat down on the couch and took a deep breath each as if we had a lot of catching up to do.

It didn’t take long after a drink or so that we both started to relax and just chatting away about what we both had been up to and so forth.  Then he started to kind of flirt with me by putting his hand on my leg and rubbing it gently.  Then he would start kissing the back of my neck and so on.  I didn’t want to offend him so I just sat there and just went along with it.  Then he tried to kiss me.  Then I totally backed off and responded.  “Will, I’m sorry....but....I just want to be friends, I hope that’s okay with you”.  He looked a bit stunned but said in an understanding voice “Okay, that’s fine, whatever you want, but I can’t help but to resist you”.  Then he did it again and tried to kiss me again.  “Will!...I mean it!....I just want to remain as friends!” I said in a demanding voice.  I think he got the picture that time.  He just sort of gave a sarcastic sigh, scratched his head and said “Okay, whatever.....”  The mood then suddenly changed.   We were no longer lovers and the atmosphere had changed completely.  I also knew I had to tell him what was going on.  So I said it.  “Will, there’s something about me that you should know”.  “What, okay, so now I get it! You have a boyfriend! .....is that what it is?” Will said in a sarcastic voice.  “No, I’m HIV positive”  I immediately replied.  The stunned look on his face made his jaw drop.  Then he just looked at me with such a caring understanding look that only a best friend could give.  Then I broke down into tears.  “Oh god” he said “I’m so sorry” he whispered.  Then he caressed me into his arms as I was crying my eyes out and stroked my head tenderly as if everything was going to be okay.

I layed in Wills arms for a few minutes in silence but crying.  He didn’t know what to say.  I didn’t blame him.  I don’t think he saw this bombshell coming.  “I just want you to know that you are the only one that knows, you are the only one I trust, I love you a lot, but we must just be friends” I said as I looked at him.  “Totally understand” he replied.  Then the mood changed a little into a more cheerful mood.  “Well, you look great and obviously the gym is doing you good by the look of your biceps” he said with a cute giggle.  He was trying to flatter me.  It worked.  But I felt ugly.  I am no longer the hot bodied party boy.  I felt very unattractive.  I even told him that I felt ugly.  “You have to be joking!” he said.  “Look at you, you are hot!” he said as he was feeling my bicep.  “Will, let’s face it, I am ugly, I know I am, it’s just the reality, I can accept it now” I said with a tear in my eye.  “Don’t be silly” he said with his hand on my chest.  Then he started to rub his hand.  Then once again he tried to kiss me.  “Will!” I jumped.  “Okay, okay, I get it,.....we are just friends, I’m sorry” he said in a quick response.

Since the reunion between Will and I our friendship grew and blossomed.  We saw each other even more regularly then when we were lovers by going out to dinner, going to the movies, theatres and stuff.  We became great buddies so to speak.  I think Will understood that I only wanted to be friends and got over it but I also knew that he did not want to lose me either.  So only ‘friends’ it had to be and he had to accept it or leave it.

Life by this stage was quite good.  I felt fit and healthy but I noticed I was getting periods of deep sadness for a few hours at a time but then I would be fine again.  I didn’t think anything of it.  I just thought it was only a result of all the recreational drugs I took in the past.  They were just like mood swings.  Occasionally I would get in the mood for a party, but definitely not as much as I did in the past.  One night Matthew and Warren, you know, the swinging couple who likes a threesome, asked me to come to a sex party held in some warehouse in Collingwood.  I was very apprehensive but thought why not.  Just because I was HIV positive does not mean I have to sacrifice fun.  But I was sure I would not put anyone at risk so I took plenty of condoms.

The night of the party was exactly how it was described, a sex fest.  It was full-on dirty sex and the majority of the guys were quite hot but I felt quite taken by Matthew, once again.  He knew I liked him more than his partner.  I think he liked me a lot too but the only bad thing about him was his arrogant attitude.  I knew I would not fall in love with him due to his personality but I found him oh, so very hot!  During that party, Matthew and I would sneak out to some back room and just have sex one on one.  Warren found out and was not happy about it.  I don’t blame him.  I think I had started a domestic but that’s Matthews fault for being so hot.  Anyway, I was very cautious about using condoms and made sure I did not put anyone at risk and I didn’t.  I am sure there were other HIV positive guys there but it didn’t matter as everyone was having safe sex anyway.  It was dirty hot sex but still very safe.  But then this happened.  Matthew spoke.

“By the way Jay, I’m poz…..HIV, I mean”

There were quite a few moments when I would think about Steve and what he is up to.  But there was a new problem.  Matthew.  He started to call me.  A lot.  He wanted us to secretly meet up for a ‘session’.  I just didn’t think this was right as this was in fact cheating against his husband, Warren.  I did not want to be the ‘other woman’.  But what the hell!  I was.  I would meet Matthew on a regular basis and have hot sex and every time we had sex it was even hotter than the last time.  It never grew old or tiring or boring.  That was the thing about it.  But it was lacking what Steve offered, tenderness and real down to earth masculinity.  Not that it girly, it was very hot and rough and edgy, it was just hard sex really, that’s the only way I can describe it.  I would tell Will about my liaisons with Matthew and I can tell that Will was getting upset.  He would get a bit angry and say “Why are you telling me this, I don’t need to know!”.  I knew he was getting jealous so I just didn’t talk about him anymore.

It has been about six years now that I had been working for the bank and I had just received a promotion into their lending department.  It was a very reputable position and the rewards were there if you wanted to succeed.  It was a demanding job but i like it and I was good at it.  The majority of my friends thought that it was a ‘nerdy’ job but Will thought it was great.  It was Will’s opinions that mattered more to me then my other ‘so called’ pretentious friends.  I would have to say though that life at that stage was pretty good.  I was not on any HIV medication quite simply because I was so healthy and my t-cells and viral load results were excellent.  I also felt stable and secure.  I had a good secure job with excellent prospects.  In fact, I could see a future.  I also continued with karate classes along with my gym routines.  The only problem is that quite often I would break a finger, pull some back muscles and some other injuries as a result of karate practice.  But I don’t think I ever thought about my HIV status.  The only time I thought about it was when I had sex cause that’s where I took precautions and made sure I wore condoms.  But apart from that I think I almost forgot about my HIV.  I didn’t even bother to get my t-cells and viral load tested every three months like you were supposed to.  But that was the beginning of a problem that was brewing.  Not the HIV, it was something else.  There was something psychological going on that I was not aware about at this stage.  When I got injuries from karate practice I would be prescribed strong painkillers called Tramadol and Valium for the muscle spasms. The injuries were getting quite frequent as I was training pretty hard, so then of course, I would go on the painkillers and Valium again.  Then there was a pattern starting.  A pattern of popping pills like vitamins.  I didn’t see this as a problem at this stage.  But I knew I needed them to cope with the pain.  My doctor was strict about prescribing them though but he knew I would not abuse them.  I told myself not to abuse them.  But I loved them.  They made me feel good.  So I continued to take them just like when you get home from work and have a relaxing drink.  Instead I would pop a tramadol and Valium.  I didn’t think anything wrong with this.  It was not like I was taking them every day, it was like once every few days and only the minimum dose, I never did more than I should.  I was sensible but I enjoyed them and they made me feel good and confident.  They were legal drugs though so I was not doing anything wrong and they were prescribed.  I was also not taking recreational drugs anymore, I was over that kind of behaviour.  That was all in the past now.  But I was not abusing the Tramadol or Valium but I never told anyone I took them, not even Will.  But this was the start of something we will discover later.

There was one day at work when Will rang me spontaneously.  “What time do you have lunch?” Will asked me in a bit of a nervous tone.  “Uh, about 3 o’clock today, I’m doing the late shift until 8 tonight” I replied.  “Can we meet for lunch today?  I have to talk to you about something” He said with a sense of urgency.  “Okay” I said apprehensively.  “I’ll meet you outside your building” he said and then he hung up immediately.  Whatever it was, it sounded serious, I was thinking.  I sat there for a while hoping that everything was okay and not to worry as I never heard Will speak like this before.  It was kind of unnerving but I just thought it must be something minor and carried on with my work until 3 o’clock.

So 3 ‘o clock arrived and I made my way to front of my office building and saw Will pacing back and forth in a nervous sort of walk.  He looked stressed about something but when he saw me he looked suddenly relieved.  Before I even got a chance to say where do you want to have lunch?  He said “Let’s just go down to corner cafe, we don’t need anywhere special” I just went along with it.

So we arrive at some ordinary type of cafe, not the sort of thing that Will and I are used to but whatever was on his mind overrides that superficiality.  “So what’s up” I said joyfully.  “Umm, maybe we should order first” Will replied apprehensively.  I ordered a foccacia and chinotto and Will just wanted a coffee, nothing else.  “Whatever it is, it sounds serious as you’re not eating” I said with a slight tone of sarcasm.  He just sat there staring at the table in front of him and sat in a kind of frozen stature with his shoulder hunched together.  I was waiting for an answer.  Then he gave a sort of sigh, looked at me and said “Okay, I can’t help it, but.....but....I think I’m falling in love with you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, there I said it...!”  I did not see that one coming however I was sort of not surprised either.  I had to think for a moment for what I wanted to say to him.  I know he was wanting me to return his feelings.  But I couldn’t.  I didn’t feel that way about him.  “Will, you know I love you, but I’m not in love with you, I really just want us to be friends” I said with sincerity.  “I know, I know, but I can’t deny how I feel and I just had to tell you” he said as if he was about to break into tears.  I must admit, I really wanted to return his same feelings, I really did.  But love is such a strong feeling, and falling in love is a complete and utter depth of love that no one really can explain.  I just didn’t share that same love.  I loved him like a buddy, not a lover.  “I’m sorry Will, I just want to be friends” I said softly.  He nodded his head and said “I knew you would say that, but you had to know how I feel, but I don’t want to lose your friendship either” he said.  Will and I from that moment on became best friends.  Even though he still felt a deeper side, we still remained buddies.  That’s what we will always be.  But the past history of Will and I being lovers has not gone forgotten.  It will always be in our hearts.  But he is my friend and we are friends forever.

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During the following year Will and I had very much a ‘best buddy’ friendship and I think this ‘falling in love’ with me thing was wearing off, thank god.  But the relationship between Matthew and myself was still as sexually physical as ever.  It was a love hate relationship with Matthew.  I found him incredibly sexually attractive but hated his personality.  I also found that the more sex Matthew and I had the more physically attracted I was to him.  I wouldn’t speak to Will about Mathew because every time I did he displayed some jealous response.  But I was starting to feel al lot more with Matthew and the bad part was the fact that the relationship was now only Matthew and I, not the threesome’s with his partners, which how it initiated.  I was the ‘other woman’ and I didn’t like it.  Soon I started to receive death threats in the mail sent by anonymous people.  I knew it was Warren, Matthews’s partner.  They notes telling me to stay away from Matthew and so on.  It even got to the point that one day Warren threw a rock at my lounge room window and then he ran away.  When it happened it frightening the life out of me.  He threw it so hard that it actually sounded like a gunshot.  So I called the police.  I also called Will and told him what happened.  I was scared out of my wits and began sobbing.  Will, being the caring friends as he is, came straight away to my home and comforted me until the police arrived.  Of course later they discovered it was a rock, not a gunshot.  But even so, I knew I was heading into trouble with Matthew.

I had to get away from Matthew.  I also missed Steve greatly and I was hoping that he would forgive me for the ignorance I gave him, so I called him.  He was rapt.  He asked me to come up to Cairns again.  So there goes another few thousand off the credit card to pay for the airfare and hotels.

A couple of months later I went to Cairns.  I was so excited to see the man of my dreams again.  I pretty much wiped Matthew out of my mind, which was the idea, I wanted Matthew out of my life.  Steve said that he would meet me at the Hilton Cairns in my hotel room shortly after I arrive.  Not that I expected him to pick me up from the hotel, I just thought that was a bit unusual.  Perhaps maybe he has changed his mind about me and was not attracted to me anymore.  I began to picture the worst.  He has a partner.  Or he has gone straight.  Or even worse, he was not interested in me anymore.  I began to feel sick.  Because I began to feel so bad it occurred to me that my feelings for Steve have much more significance than the other guys, or ‘fuck buddy’s’ I should call them.

I arrive at the Hilton Cairns, get to reception and was welcomed with a ‘Oh Mr Andrews, we have been expecting you, we are also upgrading you to our premier penthouse suite”.  “Yeah, umm, why?” I asked with a confused look on my face.  The reception girl just smiled and said “Well, it is a gift, that’s all I can say” I didn’t question it.  I just took the upgrade, why wouldn’t you anyway, you just take it.  So I was given my room key and headed to the top floor.  Once I reach the floor I was looking was the number of my hotel room and came across it.  There it was.  It was not one door but it looked like two doors as part of the one entrance to my room.  I knew this room was going to be big and didn’t waste time to get inside.  When I got inside my jaw dropped.  It was spectacular and the most amazing panoramic views of Cairns harbour and surrounding rainforest.  This was not a hotel room, this was a house!  This was something out of ‘lifestyles of the rich and famous’.  I couldn’t believe little ol’ me upgraded to this.  But then something on the coffee table caught my eye.  It was a massive bunch of red roses and underneath the vase was an envelope with ‘James’ written on it.  Without delay I opened it.  It said:

“Jay, I hope you like the room, because I like it, and I was hoping we could enjoy it together for a little while.  By the way, the roses remind me of you, sweet and red hot, I missed you so much, can’t wait to see you baby”.......Stefan.

I was flattered beyond belief.  I felt a rush of instant pure love and passion for this guy that I was craving to see to him as soon as possible.  Then just as if he had read my mind, he knocked on the door.  I opened the door and there he was.  Standing there all muscle and masculine looking with his khaki shirt and khaki tight little shorts, black leather boots.  I could smell his testosterone from a mile away and it drove me wild.  He didn’t say anything for those few seconds he smiled at me.  Then suddenly we both grabbed each other in our arms and squeezed each other like we hadn’t seen each other for years.  We both started to cry.  Then he kissed the side of my neck whilst squeezing me as hard as he could “Why did you not call, why, why did you not call me, I missed you so much, It was driving me crazy”.  “I’m so sorry baby, I can’t explain it, I was just going through some issues, but I’m here now and I will never leave you”. I said as I was sobbing.  We were both so happy to be in each others arms again.  This scene reminded me a lot of that scene in Brokeback Mountain when the two cowboys reunited.  It was the same amount of passion felt.  I knew I was in love and so was Steve, or Stefan, in Swedish.

The next two weeks Steve and I spent most days together even though he still went to work in the cane fields during the day and then he would join me later in the afternoon. He said he had given up the white water rafting job as chopping sugar cane was taking its toll, it was hard work.  We spent a week in Port Douglas as well and all I could say about this trip was it was just as blissful and beautiful as my man himself.

When it was time to return to Melbourne both Steve and I knew we would see each other again, in fact he wanted to come down to Melbourne in a few weeks.  So our farewell was not with sadness.  We were together and nothing was going to come between us.  So I returned home feeling on top of the world and in love.  I now came to a realisation that there were two special people in my life that mattered the most but one that interrupted it.  They were Steve and Will but Matthew was the interruption.  But Steve and Will, they were and always will be my special two.

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Chapter fourteen........Personality Killed the Cat

Months roll on and other people had been telling me that my personality had been changing.  Quite often I would get comments about how moody I was.  I didn’t understand it as I really did not have any reason to be moody.  I had a good job, was earning money, I was not being chased by creditors, well not yet anyway, and I was in love with Steve.  There was no reason for me to be angry or anything really.  So perhaps I was acting in a way that only others could see.  Although the distance between Steve and I was an issue with wanting to be together we always kept in contact.  I did at times feel as though I was kidding myself by trying to have a long distance relationship.  I think that was what was bothering me.  Well, actually, it was probably the fact that I had a duty to be faithful to Steve and not have sex with other guys.  I would lying to you if I said that I didn’t have sex with anyone else so I think I will leave that subject the way it is.  I think you get the picture.  We all do things we regret sometimes.

I was still practicing my karate and getting quite good at it but I was actually trying to deliberately get injuries on purpose in order to get prescribed Tramadol and Valium.  I went from doctor to doctor trying to drugs and succeeded.  I didn’t realise it at the time but I didn’t realise I was heading for trouble.

Life was still pretty good at this stage.  Well so I felt.  I didn’t really think much about my HIV as was so fit and healthy.  I found that every time I thought about my HIV status I would feel sad and depressed.  So I decided not to think about it.  I think I was living in denial.  Still.  I did however started to think irrational thoughts and thought I had to overcome this.  I did this by going back out into the club scene again.  I thought that perhaps if I start partying again, then my life would be more cheerful.  But I was really quite over the raves and dance parties.  I would only go to the recovery parties.  So I slept on a Saturday night and got up at 3 am, popped a pill, and partied until 12 pm or so on Sunday.  It did actually send my spirits back up.  The only catch was the coming down part mid-week.  But the comedowns, which was something I was used to from my partying days, were a lot more badly then they used to be.  This was not normal.  There were times I actually contemplated suicide but never actually had the guts to take my own life.  I never told anyone about this.  I just thought this was an irrational thought as a result of too many recreational drugs and dismissed it.  I didn’t think I was brewing a psychological problem.

Then out of the blue and so spontaneously Will surprised me with an announcement.  He got a job in London working for a university doing some lecturing or something.  It was going to be a long term assignment.  In fact three years or so.  I had to put on a brave face but the fact of living without Will for a while made me feel uneasy.  I showed my congratulations and joy for him even though I felt like I was about to lose my closest friend.  He was the only one I truly trusted.  He was my everything.  What was I going to do now?  Who was I going to confide to now?  I felt lonely.  When he left for London, the feeling of loneliness et in like being hit with a ton of bricks.  I was on my own.  I had no one.  My special men in my life were all away from me.  Will in London and Steve in Cairns.  I began to felt trapped and hopeless and thought why even bother with anything anymore.  Even though I still had the love of my mum, even she was living in Brisbane.  I appeared that all the important people in my life were away from me.  I began to feel as though I was scaring people away from me.  Then I started to think irrational thoughts again.  They grew and grew each day and I could not help but to feel negative about myself.  My self-confidence plummeted.  I was getting older, wiser, but at the same time, I felt like I had wasted my life with all that indulgence of parties and drugs and copious amounts of meaningless sex that also always resulted in the bloody crabs!  Why bother with anything really.  So my escape from all these negative thoughts was when the painkillers and Valium came in.  It seemed to make me feel better and more confident.  I found myself taking the pills daily to just feel normal and nobody suspected a thing about my pill popping behaviour and that’s the way I wanted to keep it. I needed the painkillers and Valium, it was necessary to deal with life at that stage.

I was realised I was coming of age, heading into my early thirties, and I was starting to lose interest in the party scene.  I was well and truly over it.  I was also over sex.  I even got to the point that I would not even look at another guy but i think Steve had a lot to do with that.  I still had strong feeling for him.  But I have to confess, and it this is a confession of great courage for me to admit this, I did on a rare occasion have a fling or two with Matthew.  I just couldn’t resist.  But I never told Steve.  I couldn’t tell him, it would crush him but I just could not resist Matthew and I hated him for that.  But Matthew and I was purely a physical relationship, nothing else.  So it didn’t matter.  Will had an opinion about this and believed that I was playing with fire.  I knew he was right but I ignored his advice to break away from Matthew.

Life was quite normal for me for a while until my world came crashing down with some news.  I received a handwritten letter from Steve stating that he wanted to come to Melbourne to visit for a couple of days and he has something to tell.  He didn’t saying much in the letter, it was short and simple and just said that he was staying at some hotel in the city and to call his mobile when he arrived so we could meet up.  My instinct told me something was up.  Then it clicked.  He was going to tell me he was HIV positive too.  My heart started to pound and felt immediate responsibility.  But why tell me in this sort of manner, why not just tell me over the phone or in an email?

Anyway, I contacted Steve and he asked me to come to his hotel room and 12 pm and we would have lunch in the hotel restaurant, his treat.  I thought well, telling me he is HIV in a public place like that was not really appropriate so I thought it must be something else but I could not even think what it could be.  When we met, he seemed a bit distant.  Not as joyful and happy to see me as we normally do.  Something was definitely up.  But we sat down to lunch and just blurted it out without beating around the bush.  “Jay, I’ve been offered a job back home in Sweden” he said as he looked at the table in front of him.  “That’s great, I can come and see you sometime and then you’ll come back to Oz, yeah?”  Steve shook his said as if to say ‘No’.  “You don’t understand, this is the job of a lifetime, it’s a job working for the park and gardens department in Stockholm, but I will stay only if you want me to” he said looking directly at me.  I froze.  I was speechless.  I couldn’t let him lose this job of a lifetime that he has worked so hard for all his life and take that away from him.  That would be cruel.  I told him that he must go.  But he didn’t respond.  He just stared at me.  “You still don’t understand do you....?” he pleaded.  I didn’t know what he meant.  “I’m love with you, but I’m also in love with my work, I need you to be with me” he said.  “Steve, I can’t just drop everything and go to live in Sweden, it’s too cold” I said.  Then he gave a half giggle and smiled.  “So, I guess we have a problem” he said in a convincing voice.  “Steve, you are my everything, but I really don’t want to let you go, but you can’t not take up this huge opportunity” I said trying to stop myself from breaking into tears.  Then he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small black leather case.  He held it in front of me and opened it.  There were two shiny silver rings.  He put one on my finger and one on his.  I felt like I was marrying him, like it was some sort of proposal.  My heart was pounding with pure excitement.  Then Steve put the case down and slowly tears ran from his right eye and he said “Well, this is it, you and I will always be together in one way or another, but as we will now be living in separate worlds away, this relationships has to end”.  “No! Why can’t we still be friends at least” I gasped.  “You don’t get it do you James, the fact of even assuming that you would be with someone else would drive me crazy with jealously and let’s face it, we would both be jealous of each other with us both living so far from one another” he said with sincerity.  He made perfect sense.  This was not a break up, but the start of a bond we will share forever.

Steve returned to Sweden not long after that liaison and I had never heard from him again.  I still wear that ring to this very day.  He is always with me and I am always with him.  The fact is that remaining just ‘friends’ would not work between Steve and I.  We had such a passionate love that there was no other way to go.  It was lovers or nothing.  I know it sounds a bit silly, but that’s just how it is and was.  He will always have a place in my heart and quite frankly I don’t think there is another man out there that would measure up to Steve.  So saying that, I don’t think I will ever fall in love again.  I know I won’t.

......................................................................................

After Steve had gone my life slowly stated to feel strange.  I felt alone.  The two most special men in my life had deserted me.  My ‘clubber’ friends really couldn’t give a shit about me.  I had no one and nothing.  I began to feel the daily grind of the nine to five syndromes and was feeling quite bored with everything.  My moodiness was also showing as well.  People have told me.  After months of crying myself to sleep after the departure of Steve I woke up one morning and thought “Stuff it”, I’m a free man, I can do what I want”.  So I contacted Matthew for a hot rendezvous.  And hot it was.  I think I was playing with fire though.  But I wanted more out of life.  I wanted to squeeze every ooze of blood from life and strangle it.  So I asked Will if I could come up to London for a few weeks.  So I did.

Once again I jetsetter off around the world, well, direct from Melbourne to London, that is.  Will was actually quite excited about me coming up there.  Will had a huge apartment arranged for him and paid for by his work so accommodation was sorted.  I arrived in London with a ‘go get ‘em’ attitude.  I wanted to do everything and anything.  It was like my mind was controlled by an outside force.

When we arrived at Wills apartment he spoke enthusiastically about the touristy things he had planned for us to do.  I remember just sitting there listening to him talk and all I really wanted to do was have sex.  Not with Will, but other guys.  My sex drive started up in wild drive again.  But whilst in London during the day Will and I would go to say the museum, or art gallery, one day we went to Stonehenge, and all sorts of touristy stuff.  But by night I would make my way to the gay saunas of London and fucking my brains out whilst I was there.  I might though, I was very mindful of the HIV thing, there were always condoms in play and I never put anyone at risk.

About the second or third week I was in London I began getting strange bouts of sudden sadness that set.  It would last for about an hour or so.  It was weird and hard to explain but it was like within that hour of sadness it was really intense depression.  I never told anyone, not even Will, about it.  I never thought anything about it.  I thought maybe it was a side effect from the Tramadol and Valium.  So I ignored it.  I also remember one day Will and I hit the street of London and did a bit of shopping.  Half way during the day Will had to go back home to do something for work and I said I will just keep roaming around and meet him back there later.

After Will had gone I came across Bond Street.  This was designer label heaven.  Suddenly I felt a rush of energy to flash out my plastic and spend, spend, spend.  It started in Chanel, then to Gucci and on and on.  I was out of control.  I don’t know what came over me.  It was like I was on some sort of drug.  This shopping frenzy of buying designer goods was addictive.  I really couldn’t afford any of it, it was all on my plastic.  I never had any thought to how much of my credit limit would be eaten up by this attack of shopping addiction.  I finished up at Prada buying a pair of runners for $1500.00 Australian dollars.  When I returned to Wills he was standing in the kitchen and he looked at me with dragged down with a load of designer label shopping bags and said “Oh my god!, what have you bought now?” he laughed.  He nearly fell off his chair when I told him how much the Prada shoes cost and he just looked at me as if I was insane.  I think I actually did experience some kind of insanity as I added up the receipts of all my purchases.  The amount was a ridiculous amount.  I was headed for financial trouble but told myself “Oh well, doesn’t matter, I will pay it back.......eventually”  I think Will also was detecting some strange behaviour about me but never really wanted to say anything.  I think he saw the change even before anyone else did.  I didn’t realise there was anything wrong with me.  But there was.  I was yet to discover it.

On the day I had to depart London bound for Melbourne, I arrive at the dreaded Heathrow airport departure terminal.  I said bye to Will, it was never a sad goodbye, we always were in contact and he was coming back home anyway.  But I remember in the departure terminal it was crowded.  Very crowded.  Will had gone and I was on my own.  Heathrow airport is so confusing and so disorganised you don’t know where you were supposed to check in.  So I just guessed which line I was meant to line up in.  All the lines at check in were enormous and the wait was hours.  It was ridiculous.  Anyway as I was standing there I noticed that I started feeling a bit strange.  I had a sudden headache and my body suddenly started aching.  At the same time I felt very sad.  It was like a panic style of depression that overtook my body and it was painful.  I thought I was going to faint and collapse as I kept blacking out on and off.  I was going to ask for help but I thought I would just ride it out and it would go away.  This strange bout of sudden attack of illness lasted for a good hour or so and then the pain went away but I still felt sad.  I didn’t feel content or happy or anything.  I felt almost numb.

I was relieved one I got to sit down on the plane as I could get some rest and hopefully this illness would go away.  Lucky for me I had some ‘wanker of the year’ sit next to me on the plane.  He was such a loser.  Apparently he was some Qantas executive and was sort giving me a bit of an attitude like deliberately bumping his drink on me and shit like that.  He was a complete fuckwit.  I’m not going to go into details as it’s not worth it and I wouldn’t waste any more paper space but the point is, is that it was not a pleasant ride home.  It just made me feel worse.

Once I arrived back in Melbourne I felt exhausted.  I felt more exhausted than I usually was from a holiday.  Especially if it was a holiday full of sex, which London was.  But I was not feeling myself.  I was due to go back to work next week and for some reason I was not looking forward to it.  In fact I had nothing to look forward to.  Life was feeling a little grim.  I thought I need to do something about it and get rid of this sad thing.  I was always an upbeat and energetic person and I did not feel like myself.  So I decided it was time for a career change.

I was going to take the plunge and apply for jobs in the travel industry.  I had to do it even though I knew the pay would be terrible but I needed to find happiness.  I was finding it difficult to be happy in normal life so I thought a career change would solve that.  It didn’t take me long until I found the perfect job.  It was a job working for a major advertising company and selling one of their travel publications.  The salary and conditions were great.  So I applied and got the job almost on the spot.

So after seven or so years for working for the bank it was time to go.  I made a good contribution to the bank and I actually liked working there.  On my last day at the bank it was an opportunity for everyone to express how they really felt about me.  It was a mixed reaction.  50% liked me and said they were sorry to see me go whereas the other 50% said they hated my guts and told me to ‘fuck off’.  People either loved me or hated me.  There were many people at the bank that I hated too, including one little creep of a manager, who I won’t name for legal reasons, gave me the shits to high heaven.  He was a little shit who got off on getting his employees into trouble and he better watch his back!  But enough of that, I’m going on to bigger and better things!  The rest of you can fuck off!

I started my new job, in a brand new Gucci suit, and arrived on my first day with enthusiasm and drive.  That was until I met the rest of the induction team I was with on our first day.  One word to describe them- WANKERS!

I’m sorry to say but that first impression of the company I was about to work for gave me great doubts but I was determined to give it my best shot.  In fact, I want and will excel at it.  I found the people that worked at this company were completely different from the people I worked with in the bank.  They all seemed so full of themselves and I didn’t understand why, I mean, if they took a good look at themselves in the mirror then that would change their attitude, if you know what I mean.  This was pure wanker territory and it was every man for him or herself.  Everyone was sales hungry.  There was this ridiculous team meetings that everyone had were they would cheer and throw bloody streamers in the air when someone gets a sale.  I mean, PLEASE!, Get a life but I just went along with it all putting on a brave face.

I actually ended up being one of the top sales reps at the company and was quite admired for my work.  I was getting a lot of recognition for my work too which was gratifying.  But there was something else going on in my mind and I didn’t know what it was.  The job itself was actually more demanding than my job at the bank and I kind of stopped going out on weekends.  My lifestyle was slowly changing and I was not aware of it at the time.  I continued going to the gym, missing out a lot of karate classes, hardly keeping in contact with friends apart from Will, my appetite was decreasing as well.  I didn’t feel sick but I didn’t feel as energetic and vigorous as ‘Jay’ normally is.  But one day at work, just out of the blue, some guy in my team said ‘Why don’t you smile very much?”.  I was stunned.  I didn’t know how to reply or what to say.  I didn’t realise I didn’t smile much.  I knew I was not myself.  But kept pressing on.  With life, that is.

After two or so years I was still working with the advertising company and had been relocated twice.  I went from department to department, all specialising in different mediums.  They were sort of promotions but sort of not.  It’s hard to explain.  Then I got another move.  I had to relocate to the Richmond office, where as I was working in the city at the time, and this move was mandatory.  Basically it was the same role as I was doing and the choice was take it, or lose your job.  So I took it even though I was happy where I was.

Once I started working for this department in Richmond the people were of a younger age bracket so I thought I would be able to relate to them a lot better.  I was wrong.  I was introduced to my new Manager.  Her name was Sharon.  She seemed quite nice at first and it appeared she had a lot of respect for her staff.  She gave the impression that she took a lot of pride in the company and valued her employees which I found inspiring.  I ended up working within a small team of about 10 or so reps.  Across the whole department there about five or so groups.

I was working with Sharon as my manager for about a year and was one of her top reps.  I noticed that since day one at started in the new location of Richmond, the other employees took and instant dislike to me.  They were either very cold towards me or gave me some sort of pretentious attitude.  I also noticed that homophobia thrived in this environment.  There were a handful of people I got along really well with but some reason they ended up either leaving or getting the sack for an unknown reason.  Thoughts about the company politics grew with suspicion that this was one company that thrived on ‘flexing their muscle of authority’. I found it hard to prove the homophobia.  I made a complaint about it that I overheard some guys call me a ‘fag’ and it was instantly dismissed, like I lied about it.  The thing is, is that I am quite straight-acting and don’t fit the clichéd interpretation of a gay man.  I also ensure to maintain my masculinity as I hate the label as ‘camp’ because I am not.  All my life I been pressured to prove my gender and masculinity. There were times where I went out to lunch at work, some work colleagues saw me and with my intention to buy a healthy salad, I bought a sausage roll with tomato sauce.  Just so I would not be bullied and verbally harassed.

I think it was the fact that some guy, being me, suddenly appears in their department wearing designer clothes, looking good, and does well at sales, spread jealously across the department.  They gave me an attitude because they thought I had an attitude.  But it didn’t make sense as the never gave me an opportunity to show that I really am a nice guy.  So I thought fuck ‘em, I’ll do my job to the best of my ability and if anyone pisses me off then they will get it!  That was my new attitude, I had no other choice to act in this way.

During that year I felt my mental health decline as well and it getting clear to me but was still in denial.  I was refusing to believe that perhaps the HIV was catching up with me and I was feeling down.  I was not very enthusiastic about life and my work environment was making things worse.  However because I was so determined to excel at my work it somehow kept me going.  I showed a lot of drive and it impressed my manager but I soon got a reputation for having a bit of an ‘attitude’ problem. Quite often my manager, Sharon, would take me away into ‘the office’ and talk one on one and give me a verbal warning about things like rude comments or being rude to customers.  I was rude to people, even my own clients, and I didn’t realise that I was even doing it.  Sharon was losing her patience with me and I don’t blame her.  But she herself had a dark side too which only I could bring out of her.  She had a bad temper and displayed it whenever one of her staff did the wrong thing.  But the thing was, if it had have been anyone else being rude to a customer, they would have been sacked.  As I was one of the higher achievers, she was afraid to lose me.  So she never sacked me, but she did threaten.  I then dubbed her as not Sharon but a ‘Shazza’.  This pretty much explained her general mannerism.

It had gotten to the point that Sharon and I had a love hate relationship.  She loved my work but hated my guts.  I just hated her guts which is a shame as she and I could have had a very good professional relationship.  I think I brought it upon myself and my selfish and stubborn attitude that was taking control of me.  I was trying so hard to cover up my depression and anxiety inside me.  I was suffering inside but I didn’t know who to turn to.  I didn’t realise I had a mental health issue but it was getting worse and worse.  Unfortunately my moodiness affected my relationships with people but I didn’t realise it.

She has said some cruel things to me in private which I never told anyone about.  Who would believe me anyway?  I had also encountered some advances from Sharon on a couple of occasions as I would consider sexual advances.  On Fridays we had casual Friday’s meaning that we all had the opportunity to wear casual clothes.  So I just wore jeans and a t-shirt.  As I had quite a well-toned athletic body my biceps and chest kind of bulged through my t-shirt.  On a few occasions Sharon would just casually walk up to me and just ask me a question whilst I was sitting at my desk and then as she was talking to me she would kind of rub her hand on my chest or biceps.  It was a bit of a real ‘feel’ of the muscles, not just a touch, and it was not accidental either.  I never reported it or said anything.  It didn’t really bother me but I thought if it kept on happening I would have to report it.  However it was a ‘catch 22’.  Everyone there hated me so if I made such a complaint it would be my word against hers.  So why bother?  They would always support Sharon, not me.

I also discovered that there were quite a few homophobic staff members in the department.  One day as I was walking out of the men’s bathroom I am sure I heard someone say ‘fag!’.  Over time though I found that people started to dislike me.  I didn’t understand it.  I never did anything to upset anyone.  Perhaps they were just jealous of my success in my work.  But I think there was more meaning to it and I think Sharon had a part in it.  You see, within this company, rumours were form of strong and effective communication.  There were assumptions started about me.  Some of things were that I was apparently a ‘drug addict’, ‘a manic depressive’.  I also heard a rumour that I was working as a prostitute.  I really can’t find anyone to blame for who started all these rumours as I have no proof, but really, I don’t care.

As time went on I began to hate the place.  But really, I began to hate the world and everyone in it.  As time went on I found more and more difficult to get out of bed in the morning.  Some mornings I would awake with intense body aches and pains and intense bouts of complete and utter depression and I don’t know why.  I kept ignoring it and thought it was just a phase I was going through, perhaps it was work stress, so I never said anything about what I was going through.  Not even to my own mother.  I loved my job but I hated my manager for the way she monitored my every move like a policewoman on a mission to get at me and hated everyone else that worked here.  They were a bunch of cruel gossiping losers.  So I started to lose my cool on several occasions.  I couldn’t help it.  Sharon made me so angry sometimes that it was like she was doing this on purpose to aggravate me.  So I would go into a complete rage and start throwing things around and punching the computer.  I would have uncontrollable brain snaps.  And each and every time, Sharon would take me into that same room and start yelling at me giving yet again another verbal warning.  But I think she had, had enough.  I was going too far.  But I think the reality was that she was actually going too far.  She was pushing the envelope.  She was heavily monitoring my every move, every phone call made, she was looking for any slight error in order to scald me.   She enjoyed and she wanted to see me suffer.  She didn’t want to sack me though, that would be too easy.  She found some sadistic way in wanting to flex her authority in front of me.  I became her plaything as she I had a weakness to retaliate.  Everyone else was terrified by not doing things by protocol, that it was usually me getting into strife.  I didn’t care though; I have had enough of office gossip and corporate bullshit.  In fact I have had enough of life in general and it was the first time I had thought of that.  I couldn’t believe I said it to myself.  I”I have had enough of life”.  What did this mean?

It had gotten to the point where I had come to some kind of end.  There were day I would look at myself in the mirror and feel sick to my stomach.  I saw myself as ugly, completely hideous.  I kept asking myself, where did that hot-bodied, cute party boy go?  I was getting older and feeling very unattractive.  I hated looking myself in the mirror.  All I saw was a dirty diseased human being.  The reality of the ‘fact’ had hit me like a ton of bricks and I said it to myself out aloud.  “I am HIV positive”.  It killed me to say it to myself.  I was no longer living in denial.  I had to take control of my life now and not ignore my HIV status.  I had to start learning to deal with it and accept it.  But I couldn’t.  I felt as though my life was coming to an end so I started to dwell on my HIV status, my abuse as a child and all the hurt from previous relationships.  I fell into the deepest darkest depression imaginable.  I was sick.  But there was no denying it anymore.  My health was starting to take its toll, I was in massive credit card debt and my depression was getting worse.  My life had suddenly went on pause.  I needed help and fast.  As much as I was confused about why I was felling the way I was I was so curious about what was going on with my mind and body.  As the saying goes “Curiosity killed the cat”, but in my case it was my “Personality that killed the cat”.  I was headed for trouble and it was about to get deadly.

Chapter fifteen............Punishment

Another day, another dollar, as the saying goes.  I thrived for excellence at work but I became so focussed on just getting the sale rather than providing quality customer service to my clients.  It was at this stage that I just didn’t care anymore about the actual job and our duty as loyal representatives to the company, I just wanted to get that allusive sale and get the recognition for it.  It was like I was seeking attention more than anything.  Unfortunately for me, there were a few other reps that were way better than me at our jobs.  I started to sleek down from the number one sales rep in the team slowly down to the bottom.  My boss, Sharon, gave me the benefit of the doubt and knew that there was something going on with me but never really said anything to me.  I think she was waiting for me to ask for help.  My job stats began to plummet including my sales figures.  Higher management started to take notice and kept an eye on me.  They thought I didn’t know how they were policing me, but I’m not stupid, I knew.  I knew that every phone call, every email, every move I made, they were watching me like a hawk.  I began to feel the heat and I was bottling it up inside.

There were some mornings, particularly if I had a gym workout or karate practice the night before, that I just could not get out of bed.  Literally.  My body ached from head to toe and my mind was running a hundred miles an hour with stress and anxiety.  It was at times unbearable.  So of course I would call into work sick.  Sick leave at this company was not looked upon very favourably as firstly we had a limited sick leave allowance and secondly it was this sort of job that you simply could not afford to take a sick day as you would get behind in your own workload.  You see, every reps workload, or list of client accounts, were designed with the assumption that you were to take no sick leave.  So one sick day and your workload would suffer.  You just get behind and more behind and more behind.  Then stressed and more stressed.  Everything was about time and time was money.  But from my first day, it simply led to another sick day, then another.  Then I would return to work feeling better.  I was very good with time management and multi-tasking and was very, very organised so catching up for me was not really an issue but the stress caught up with me.  It just made me feel sicker.

After a few days or so my boss would notice that I was getting behind in my workload so once again I was taken to ‘the office’ for the ‘private chat’.  I hated those chats.  It was in these chats where ‘she’, was supposed to diplomatically discuss your performance or lack of it and try to come to some sort of resolution.  I got sick and tired of her telling me off and trying to show her authority all the time.  So I bit back and she didn’t like it telling me I had an attitude problem.  And perhaps I did, but I didn’t care.

So another day in the office and once again taken to ‘the room’ for ‘the chat’.  She was deliberately monitoring everything I did.  For example, we all had our phone calls to clients monitored for service quality assessment and Sharon always found something that I did wrong.  She loved it.  She loved grilling me in that room.  The reason?  It gave her power.  But it is true; she did have authority over me, but power?  I don’t think so; I was not going to let her get the better of me.  Not this little black duck.  I began to hate her with a passion.  I think it was mutual.  She didn’t really respect her staff; she just wanted to work us to death so she would get that ‘top manager of the year award’ with a free trip to Paris.  That was the reality.  She couldn’t care less about us.  She got off on her authority.  I hate that fact.  Not that I hated having a boss, I could handle that.  It was the way she handled her staff and ‘Nazi-like’ attitude if you apparently did something wrong.   She had no tact, she just wanted to ‘flex her flabby muscles’ and tell you whose boss.  It started to drive me crazy.  And so were the rumours flying around about me.  There were all sorts of shit going around about my so called ‘bad attitude’.  Everyone was so cold towards me.  The fact is, I never really hurt anyone there, and they all brought it upon themselves.

Day after day I literally had to drag myself out of bed and face another.  “Oh god, how am I going to handle this again?” was my immediate reaction.  I remember the time I used to jump out of bed like a spring, open the blinds and got a natural high from seeing the first rays of sunshine.  This was no more.  I was dreading another day of being pressured at work and I don’t think I could handle another day of peoples shit and Sharon’s bossy-like attitude.  I couldn’t stand it anymore, I felt ill just thinking about it.  But I would make it into work.  I tried so hard to do the right thing and just shut my mouth.  “Just shut James and do your job and go home” I would constantly tell myself all day long.  But as I sat at my desk I could hear whispering and chatting behind the cubicle barriers saying all sorts of stuff about me and giggling.  I could not really understand what exactly they were saying but perhaps this was my paranoia setting it.  I don’t really know.  All I do know is that my mind was feeling like it was about to explode.  But I knew for a fact that there were a lot of rumours circulating about me around the office.  Some of them like I was a ‘fag’ or I was a ‘drug addict’.  Everyone avoided me.  I would into the office kitchen and a small group sitting at a table eating their lunch and chatting would leave when I sat down.  I felt rejected, like I was an outcast.  Nobody liked me and I didn’t understand why.  I know that I sometimes gave the impression that I had a slight attitude but it was only to those who displayed that attitude to me first.  I never was the instigator.  There were also rumours about me cheating at work and stealing peoples advertising proposals, which was complete bullshit.  Another thing which baffled me was that I always dressed well for work.  And I mean WELL.  I always wore a Gucci or Versace suit and always looked top notch.  A lot of the guys hated me for that.  That was obviously a jealousy thing but that’s their problem.

Quite often if I walk down a corridor some guy in the department, who I have never even met, mind you, would deliberately brush past me and sarcastically say ‘Oh sorry mate!”.  I felt like punching the shit out of him but I knew I had to control myself as I was already walking on eggshells.  Once false move and I would lose my job, and lose my future career which is what really was driving me.  I kept telling myself that all this shit I was going through with work would pass and it was just a phase.  But it was just getting worse as the days went on.  So did my sickness.  So there goes another sick day ticked off.

I return to work after two days sick leave.  My body was no longer aching and I actually felt quite positive.  In fact I was happy to return to work.  I gave myself a new attitude to strive to get what I want out of life and best the best at what I do.  So took with me to work a picture of a big gold dollar sign and stuck on top of my computer at work.  This was to fact me all day whilst I was in front of the computer so I would be constantly reminded that I was hungry for sales, hungry for money and to just go for it.  My boss Sharon looked quite impressed.  But Sharon that day had plans for me which I had no idea about.  During the morning tea break I decided to just work through it as I wanted to desperately catch up with my workload.  I actually happen to have an acute sense of hearing and can hear everything, even from afar.  I heard a bunch of guys on the other side of my desk cubicle laughing and giggling about the gold dollar sign I put on top of my desk.  I heard the words ‘wanker’ and ‘loser’ and so on along with their evil sounding laughs.  It was almost like they deliberately wanted me to hear what they were saying.  Everyone knew that I was kept an eye on by management so any false move by me and that would be it.  Everyone took every advantage to try and upset me.  They really got off on it, the bunch of fucking losers!  I tried to ignore it and did.

I had noticed that Sharon had put her headset on every time I made a phone call to a client.  That was a sign that she was monitoring my calls, it was obvious.  I hated it but everyone had to go through the same protocol.  Somehow Sharon seemed to monitor my calls more than anyone else.  I guess management were getting suspicious of how and why i was getting so many sales so they wanted to tap into my advertising proposals I did over the phone.  But I didn’t care, the reality is, everything I did was legitimate.  Was it just too hard to believe that maybe I was actually good at my job?  I was!  You just could not win with this company.  If you had bad sales results, you get written warning, which they loved to do, or the sack.  If you did too well and got a lot of sales they would question it.  What a load of crap!

Anyway later in the day it was about 3 in the afternoon and I must admit as I worked my guts out that day I was getting a little exhausted and feeling a bit stressed.  But I tried not to let it show towards other staff or especially my customers.  I had to call one of my clients who happened to be some psychiatrist.  The advertising account he had with us was quite substantial.  He had a psychiatric private practice and had been advertising with our company for years.  But this was the first time I was to have contact with him.  So after I did my usual research and proposal prep as we called it.  This was simply just a bit of written research we did in relation to the current adverting he has, the media he is projecting his brand from and style, target market and so on.  Along with that we had to prepare a range of relevant questions which was a business needs analysis to find out from the client their need for advertising and our recommendation to achieve their goals.  It was a very streamlined and professional approach we had and it was uniform amongst all the sales reps in the company.  The company took great pride in our approach to customer service I have to admit.  So anyway, I called the point of contact for the psychiatric practice and spoke to the ‘man in charge’, who will remain nameless for privacy reasons.  “Good after noon Sir, my name is James Ford and I am calling you from your advertising company and was hoping we can discuss your advertising needs for your next advertising plan” I said in a professional and assertive tone.  He just paused for a second and said “What?....you bastards!....all you want from me if money and every time I want something done you always get it wrong so you can fuck off!” he gasped in a very rude tone.  I was quite shocked and offended especially that fact that this guy was supposed to be a psychiatrist.  But I retained my professionalism and persevered.  “Well, I’m sorry about the past mistakes you may have encountered in the past, but as your new media solutions manager I am sure we can come to some sort of agreement....”I said in an even tone before he interrupted me.  “Well, first of all, J-A-Y, or whatever your name is!.....I don’t  give a shit about what you want, all I want is a simple ad that is not going to be overpriced like it normally is and secondly I want it done properly which I find that hard to believe as you are all incompetent imbeciles” he yelled sarcastically.  I took a deep breath then looked over my shoulder and noticed Sharon had her headset on.  She was listening to my call, like she always did to me more than any of my other work colleagues.  I had to control it otherwise I would be in deep shit.  This guy was going to be very difficult.  Then he just went on and on about how much he hated the company and how incompetent we were and how every year we apparently never do the advertising to his standards and requests and blah, blah, blah.  I couldn’t get a word in.  But we had been trained that in these situations where you get a frustrated customer and you just let them vent their anger until they finish.  He went on for 20 bloody minutes, non-stop!  Finally he paused and I could get a chance to speak.  I said “Sir, I understand your frustration.....”, then he interrupted me again and yelled “No you bloody don’t, you don’t understand anything and you don’t care about your customer!”  “That’s not true sir, I’m am actually trying to help you and I can assure you that I will everything in my power to try and rectify any problem you have had in the past and.....” Then he interrupted me again by screaming “You know fuck all!”.  I was starting to lose patience as he was one tough cookie yet not even giving me an opportunity to help him.  After all, it was some other idiot sales rep last year that stuffed up this advertising portfolio and now i am stuck with the shit.  It was all just not fair.  In fact it seemed that this year I was pounded with a lot of stuffed up client accounts that I had to rectify with nasty clients.  No one else seemed to have many complaints.  I had the most.  This was not right.  But this guy I was trying to negotiate with took the cake.  He was just a pure insult to me and to the company I was representing.  I saw myself as an ambassador for the company and tried to portray my company in a good light, even though I had my doubts about the way they managed the company; it was just a professional thing to do.  Then the nasty psychiatrist started to get personal.  I could feel Sharon monitoring my call with angst just waiting for me to stuff up by either giving out incorrect information or god      forbid, be rude back to the customer.  By rights, it was actually policy that if a customer’s verbally abuses up in any way we had the right to hand up on them.  But it had to be within reason and if we ever did that we had to have a bloody good reason otherwise, yes you guessed it, you would receive the one and only written warning.  The company loved giving those out.  It just gave themselves confirmation that they were the boss, it was pathetic but there was no avoiding it if you got one.  Then the psychiatrist, as mentioned, got personal and started to insult me.  “You couldn’t care less about your customers, all you do is sit behind a computer with a stupid earpiece on, you probably went to a public school and didn’t go to university, in fact you probably haven’t even got an education.....” he went on sarcastically.  This took the cake.  I could not stand being insulted like this.  I was just waiting for him to start using profanities so I could hang up.  Then he said “All you are James, or whatever your faggotty name is, is a loser with no future.....”   That was it, I barked back.  “Well, SIR, you obviously are not displaying your so-called psychiatric degree with me by tone you are using, and by the way, how dare you speak to me in that manner!”.  Sharon said ‘Right!, that’s it!”, took her head set off and slammed it down on her desk and walked over to me and said.  “I want you to tell the customer you will call him back !...do it, now!” she demanded as I was speaking to the customers.  So I did.  Then she yelled “Come with me!” and I followed.  I knew what I was in for next.

We both entered an empty office and she slammed the door behind her and said ‘Sit!”.  “I’m not dog!” I gasped  “You don’t tell me to sit like that, that’s how you tell a dog to sit Sha-ron!” I said sarcastically.  Her face was red with anger and so was I.  I was furious with the crap I just had to deal with by that arsehole customer.  She was furious that I barked back at the customer. I had every right to, he was a prick.  Pure and simple.  “We at this company MUST be diligent to all our customers!” she demanded with her back straightened and looking at me right in the eyes.  “That guy, insulted me Sharon, you heard it for yourself!” I yelled back.  “No he did not!” she yelled back.  “He did!” I screamed.  Then she got off her chair and walked closer to me.  I thought she was going to hit me.  I was fuming.  I had to control my anger.  I took a lot of crap from angry customers in this company but this one made me beyond angry.  Plus with the way Sharon was treating me.  This was not fair.  I was not in the wrong.  The customer verbally abused me.  I had every right to be angry, in fact I should have hung up the phone.  But I didn’t, I actually did the right thing.  But not according to Sharon.  She looked at me right between the eyes and said “One more time that I have to bring you in here and YOU ARE FINISHED!” she yelled.  I gave a sarcastic laugh and walked out the room and went back to my desk.  For the rest of the day I did fuck all.  I sat there surfing the internet pretending to work.  I have had enough.

The next day I walk into work a minute late deliberately.  I was pushing the envelope, I wanted to see her reaction.  Lateness at this company, even a minute late was not tolerated.  It was either a verbal or written warning.  I have used up all my nine lives.  But I was also feeling quite ill and my head was spinning.  I had no energy, and my body was completely fatigued.  I tried to ignore it and just carry on.  The team were already having their usual team meeting.  I just slammed my bag on the desk and casually joined in the pathetic group where they were talking about ‘wanky’ ideas for sales and stuff, I really don’t know.  They always did some kind of so-called motivational games and shit.  It was so childish, I felt like I was in kindergarten.  I just stood there with a smug look on my face.  Sharon didn’t even look at me.  I was staring at her and thing to myself “Just one day bitch, I’m gonna get you!”

The team meeting finished and immediately Sharon yelled “Jay!, I want to see you in private, now!”  Everyone looked at each other as if to say ‘here we go again’.  That’s exactly how I was feeling.  I didn’t care anymore and I was just too sick to care.  I had no energy to fight her anymore.

In the room she led me to there was a woman from Human Resources sitting there already and she greeted me with a professional sounding ‘Hello’.  I ignored her.  I knew I was in trouble again and sat in a much laid back casual position, in a slouched position and chewing my gum.  Both Sharon and the HR woman looked at me with some kind of disgust.  “Jay, it has been decided by the company that we are giving you a written warning” Sharon said in a professional tone but with a slight smugness.  “Yeah so?” I said sarcastically.  “Well James, it has been noted that some of your calls are not professional and your behaviour needs to be changed” Sharon said.  “You really want to see me fry, don’t you Sharon?” I said slowly but in a deep voice.  She didn’t reply she just said “You have to sign this letter after you read it, and I will give you a copy, then you two weeks probation”  She continued in a professional tone.  The HR woman just sat there writing notes probably quoting everything I was saying.  This company would use any tactic to eradicate any threats.

As I return to my desk all the team members that were huddled around scattered back to their desks.  They were obviously gossiping about me being in trouble again.  I went to my desk, turned my computer on and slammed my fist on the desk causing it to vibrate.  Everyone went silent.  I was so angry I wanted to burst.  Then I stood up and yelled out “Well go on!” keep talking about me you bunch fucking losers!”.  That was it.  Sharon heard me and demanded to follow her.  Once again, back in the room but not the usual room.  It was another room which was actually the executive meeting room which happened to be empty.  I walked in with a huge smile on face trying to cover up my anger.  Her face was so red.  She slammed the door shut.  Then she paced up and down the floor huffing and puffing.  I just sat there with a smug look.  But really I felt deep sadness.  “Jay......I don’t know what to do with you anymore, I have given you so many chances, I know you want to do well and go far with this company and this is why I have faith in you, but you and your attitude have got to stop, NOW!” she screamed.  I tried not to show any emotion but then it happened.  I burst into tears.  “I am so sick of being policed like this, everyone here treats me like shit.....I am sick of it!” I cried.  She stood there looking at me.  “Sharon, unless people here start treating me with a little respect then I am not going to change” I said as tears were rolling down my face.  She just looked at me, she felt no empathy for me.  She had such an evil look in her eye.  She thought she had control over me and was not going to let that happen.  “The problem with you Sharon is that you seem to think that just because you are a manager you think you are better than everybody else, isn’t that true?” I said sarcastically.  The look on her face changed as if I had just found out her secret.  She was shocked.  Then she said “Just take a good look at yourself...you’re pathetic!” and then she stormed out the room.  I just sat there crying for next ten or minutes.

I return to my desk and just sat there in silence.  This was the end for me.  I could take anymore of all this company politics and what was going on inside my head.  My life was crashing down.  All I wanted what a chance for a career and I was actually really good at what I was doing for the company at that time.   It all just did not seem fair that I was getting this treatment from people whom are insecure and bullies.

For the next couple of hours I didn’t do anything except what I was going to do.  This followed with the unthinkable.  Taking a deep breath I picked up the computer from my desk and thrusted it down on the desk.  Bits of shattered pieces of plastic, glass from the monitor, keyboard buttons and everything else flew in the air in all directions.  The sound echoed throughout the office before it came to a dead silence.  Then I breathed out with such relief with a slight sense of guilt.  Everyone literally stopped what they were doing as it they were frozen in time and this sight amused me.  It sounds a bit sadistic but they drove me to this through the amount of discrimination and bullying I received, and with no assistance at all.  Next on the agenda was to just walk out calmly.  The deed is done and I am going home and I am never coming back.  So I packed my bag and left the office early without saying a word to anyone.  Casually I walked out, not looking back.

When I returned home that day I fell onto the lounge room couch and cried and cried and cried.  I don’t know what I was really crying about.  I knew smashing the computer in the office was a bad thing to do but it was spontaneous act of desperation.  Desperate for help and I needed it bad.  Then my body had a rush of agonising pain.  I reached for the Tramadol, swallowing about 5 or 6 tablets, it was actually three times the recommended dose.  But I needed it.  I needed to numb the pain.  All those hurtful names like “Fag”, “nerd, ‘poofter” and on and on were circulating all around me and I can hear then spoken out aloud clearly.  It was painful and I wanted to hurt myself.  I reached for another packet of pills and proceeded to take one after the other after the other.  I didn’t care what would happen.  If I am going to die I would rather I went out with a bang.  But as I started getting a bit ‘out of it’ I stopped swallowing the pills.  I don’t know why but I did.  With my body starting to tremble and about to lose consciousness I reached for the phone.  I called triple 0.  “What’s your emergency?” they responded quickly.

“I am about to die” I slurred.

Then I hung up the phone and fell asleep on the floor.

…………………………………….

There was a hard pat on the shoulder and I snapped out of my misery.  I looked around and it was him. Bob.

“So I am right?” he said with a smug look on his face.

“Fuck you arsehole…I am not, never was, never will, be scared of your pathetic, revolting, grotesque…..” I replied before being rudely interrupted by a female voice.

The voice sounded familiar and I prayed it was not her.  But it was. Sharon.  She stood next to Bob with a box.  It had my name on the box and it was in my handwriting.  It was filled with my belongings from my office desk.

“What goes around must….”she said slowly and sarcastically before I interrupted with a sudden thrust up from the floor, raised my arm that felt so heavy, I was panting. I punched Bob in the face from the right that also made Sharon fall to the floor.  That was perfectly executed.

“…come down?” I then finished with as I stood perfectly still and calm.

Without any warning, someone from behind grabbed me in tightly a bear-hug.  So tight in fact, it was suffocating.  It made me black out and I could not see.  Then I was falling.  The wind as I was falling was so excruciating painful that I screamed.  I screamed and I screamed and all I could see were sporadic flashes of strobe lights and the laughter of people with familiar voices.  It was evil and this was torture.  If I was to be treated like this just because I wanted to end my life then I would prefer to just walk right into the worst and most violent neighbourhood with a dangerous gang, give them shit, and let them bashed me to death slowly.

“Not yet, not ever”, I heard in my right ear.

Then I woke up and my right ear was burning red.  Somehow I kind of wished that this was real and not a vivid nightmare.  I awoke into a reality which is a new type of inescapable nightmare.  I really wanted to die.

…………………………………………….

Sometime the next day around 12pm…

After I awoke from a deep sleep on the couch, or perhaps a coma, there was not a thought to what occurred the previous day.  All I could be conscious about was that my body was in agony and I was so depressed and miserable beyond comprehension.  Once upon a time, I was in an autonomous routine of awaken refreshed at six am, prepare some hard core Java (some call it coffee), then open the blinds and curtains to a blinding but motivating sunrise.  Today was different.  I did exactly the same things in chronological order.  When I opened the blinds the sun was shining but all I saw was literal complete darkness like evil shadow.  This terrified me beyond belief and I hid under my doona on my bed for about an hour, just lying there in a foetal position.  I know, it sounds pathetic but just telling the truth.

My eyes were bulging red from the amount of crying I had done the night before.  I assumed I still had a job to go to though and realised that regardless of the prior events I need to inform my boss that I would not been in for work that day.  But I could not bear to speak to her, so I sent a text message.  She would have received the message but she didn’t reply.  I didn’t care though.  All I wanted was help.  I realised I am in trouble.  I’m depressed and I need serious medical attention.

.............................................................................

I made an appointment with my usual GP who I have a good relationship with and knows me quite well.  When I sat down in his office I immediately started to cry.  HE didn’t even look surprised.  I said that I think I have depression.  He said “Jay, I have known you for a while and I could see that your personality was changing, I could see it coming but I’m glad you are admitting it.  You can beat this and have taken the first step” he said with empathy.  He immediately took action.  I was put on anti-depressants and mood stabilisers and was referred to a psychologist for further evaluation.

I return home from that doctor’s appointment feeling a bit relieved that I have admitted my problem.  But I could not erase the deep sadness I was feeling.  The sun was shining outside but all I could see was darkness.  The feeling of not being at work at this time of the day felt strange.  Usually when you take a ‘sickie’ you have some kind of feeling of release.  But not today.  I felt trapped and very, very lonely.  I sat there on the couch the whole day feeling sorry for myself.  But I really felt quite hopeless.  I felt as if I had no future.  I felt that the fact that I was HIV was going to stop my life.  And it did.  I was a walking disease bomb waiting to go off.

Days have gone by and I have still not returned to work.  I was feeling worse and worse.  Life was empty and dark.  For days I lied on the lounge room couch, not even watching TV.  I was just staring at the ceiling.  Then I would go into bouts of such deep and utter depression and burst into tears.  I had no idea what was making me cry.  Whilst I was crying I began to get thoughts about all the negative things in my life such as my HIV, my massive financial debt, lack of friends, and the one thing I  treasured the most and was losing, my looks.  I would then go into one massive panic attack.  My heart felt as if it was going to pop out of my chest and I couldn’t breathe.  I wanted to run away but I couldn’t.  Then after a few minutes of breathing into a paper bag, the panic would dissolve away.

Day after day I spent every day sitting in my apartment thinking about the fact that my HIV has taken away my life.  The more I thought about it, the more depressed i got.  Then just I thought things could not get any worse I began to dwell on the past history of being abused by my stepfather.  A whole cocktail of emotions started to develop.  I felt anger, loathing, sadness and even psychosis.  I would get so angry thinking about the things my stepfather did to me that I would go on a rampage in my own apartment throwing things around and smashing glasses and screaming uncontrollably.  I was going insane.  But I needed help, badly.

The only person that knew about my HIV apart from my doctors was Will.  I really did not want to tell anyone else.  I didn’t want to tell my mother, not yet.  It would just make her worry about me.  I know what she is like.  I will tell her when the time is right.  But I felt so very lonely.  So just one day, out of the blue I rang a couple of friends that I used to party with during my ‘clubbing’ days.  “Hi it’s Jay!” I would say to Kim. “Who?” Kim replied.  “Jay ?......Oh yeah, I remember now, yeah umm, I don’t really have time now..” Kim said unenthusiastically.  “Okay, well, do you want to catch up at some stage?” I asked apprehensively.  She hung up the phone.  I thought the line must have cut out so I called back.  It went straight to voicemail but who’s kidding who here?  She did not even want to know me anymore and I don’t know why.

About a day later I saw one of my other friends from a while back down Chapel Street in South Yarra.  I called out to him and he ran off like he was trying to get away from me.  I began feeling rejected.  But I really wanted to pursue this further and ask why he was running from me.  I wanted to know why everyone was brushing me off.  So I rang him.  He answered.  I asked “Why did you run away from me?”  “Oh ,I, umm, didn’t realise it was you, how are you anyway?” he asked.  I thought I might as well just blurt it out.  “Well, I’m actually not that well, you might as well know, I’m HIV positive” I said with a lump in my throat.  There was a pause and then he said to my shock “Well that’s your own fault, isn’t it?”  I could believe he would say that.  “What do you mean?” I asked.  “Well, after the way you have behaved at all those parties and stuff I’m not surprised, so it’s your own fault” He said.  I was so offended that I hung up the phone and cried my eyes out.  I had never been so humiliated in my life.  I felt like society had just rejected me and I was just another statistic of a disabling sick person who was going to die.  No longer did I feel like a human being, I felt like a victim and an outcast of society.  If I happen to be just walking down a street and someone looks at me I would wonder if they are looking at me or my HIV.  Most of the time I would think they are giving me funny looks because I thought I looked sick or weird.  I felt like the whole world knew I was diseased and was avoiding me.  The truth is, I was trying to avoid the world.  I would try and stay indoors as much as possible so no one would have to look at me.  I could even stand to look at myself in the mirror.  All I saw was illness and a depressive pathetic soul.  I didn’t care about anyone or anything anymore.  But I also did not want anyone I really cared about to know what I was going through.  I would put on a cheerful persona to my mum so she would detect that I was sad, even to Will for a short time.  I wanted to fight this depression on my own for the time being.  I was ashamed of it.  I was ashamed to have HIV and ashamed to have depression.  In fact I was ashamed to be James Ford.  The Jay Andrews I knew was energetic, creative, determined, and stubborn at times but deep inside was caring and was also not a bad looking guy with a hot body.  The Jay Andrews I was now looking at was now none of what I just mentioned.  He is now a miserable, uncaring, selfish, depressive, unattractive and ugly human being.  I remember the days that I would just have to walk down the street and have sexy looks from both guys and girls and quite often I would whistled at by passing cars.  Now I don’t even get a second glance and people just pass me by ignoring me like I don’t exist.  Perhaps this was just a fact of getting older but reality was that I was not ready to be rejected like that.

I loved getting and writing emails to Will whilst he was working in London.  Even though he was so far away he still felt close to my heart for some reason.  I confessed to him that I was going through some mental issues and have stopped work due to depression and as expected he was so understanding and supportive.  I loved him, he was such a best friend.  I don’t know what I would have done without his love and support.  He was the only one now I really could trust and that kept me going.

The day arrived when I had to see that psychologist or counsellor or whatever she was.  She sat me down in her comfortable office.  She seemed quite nice and just asked me about my history and background.  I told her about the abuse from my stepfather and she shocked that I am still alive to tell the tale.  She made it clear that I obviously had mental scars from this.  I also went into details about my depression and the symptoms I am going through.  But I think I really shocked her when I began to describe the sort of nightmares I had been having recently.  I told her that I have dreams that one day I would be ‘snuffed’ on film.  She knew what the word ‘snuff film’ meant but she wanted me to elaborate.  I told her that I would have strange and disturbing dreams about being tortured and slaughtered in front of a crowd of laughing people.  It was like the crowd was getting off and finding it pleasurable seeing me be butchered to death whilst it was being filmed.  I think the psychologist nearly fell off her chair.  It was a disturbing dream and I hated then yet I was having these dreams almost every night.  I felt as though I was being stalked and that one day my time would come.  I felt like I wished the HIV would take me now and just kill me.  Just to get it over with.  I didn’t want to be HIV, I would rather be dead.  The psychologist said that I have a serious mental health problem and she would now need to send me to a psychiatrist in a hospital to assess me.  She agreed I needed serious medical attention.  My mind was completely unstable.  I was not normal anymore.

So I spent the next couple of weeks sitting on the lounge room couch.  Usually I was in a routine of getting up at 6 am and getting ready for work.  Instead I staggered from my bed at 6 am and sat in a stationery position on the couch staring directly into the wall in front of me and crying.  I don’t know what was making me so sad or even cry for.  The whole world around me looked dark and terrifying.  It got to the point that I had feelings of agoraphobia.  I would lock myself up in my apartment for day and not coming out.  The reality was that I was ashamed to be seen in public.  I was embarrassed to be me.  I was no longer James, I was a HIV depressive and anyone who looked at me would be looking at my HIV and depression, not me.  I was terrified of humiliation and rejection.

Will was still in London.  God, I wished he had been here though.  But nevertheless he was still so very understanding and supportive of my depression and always kept in contact and making sure I was okay.  I really did not want to worry him what with him so far away and all, so I just said “yeah, I’m fine”.  But really, I wasn’t.  Far from it and I felt like it was getting worse.

The Human resources department from work started contacting me asking about my absence but I still provided them with medical certificates but not disclosing the nature of my illness.  I was following doctor’s orders.  So my work bosses left me alone to recover from whatever it was I was suffering from.  I had a long think about my future.  But you know what?  I didn’t think I had one.  I didn’t think there was any way that I could eradicate the awful torture I had endured as a child just knowing that bastard had gotten away with it.  I needed closure.  So I contacted a solicitor and made a claim to get my income protection insurance.  I was going to need a good amount of time to get through the depression.  I won’t be returning to work for a while yet I thought.  In fact I was to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital as soon as possible.

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The medication and counselling for the next couple of months have certainly not taken effect as yet.  Every day I awake thinking “Oh god, another day, how am I going to get through this?”  But one morning I awoke and I had completely forgotten my identity.  I got out of bed and walked into the lounge with complete confusion and thought “This is not my flat!”  I had no idea where I was.  I could not even remember my name.  I don’t even know what company I worked for or what I do.  I thought I was going insane.  My memory had been completely wiped.  SO I sat on the floor for hours and thought about who I was.  Then I went to my wallet and saw the name on my driver’s licence ‘Jay Beau Andrews’.  Then it all came back to me, suddenly.  I don’t know what happened but it was like I was another person for a while but I was in a zombie –like way.

I was soon admitted to a private psychiatric hospital which just happened to be down the road from where I lived.  I was hesitant about doing this and felt like I had sunk to a new low.  Becoming a mental patient.  But once arriving at the reception desk at the hospital and been greeted and escorted to my private room I was pleasantly surprised how serene and peaceful the place seemed to be.  It looked like a nice place where I could just get my head around things and take time out.  It was more like a four star hotel but meals were served in a dining room.  The food was very nice too however dinner was served at a ridiculous time of five in the afternoon.  During the day there were many courses we could do like art classes, relaxation and yoga and discussion courses which I found helpful.  It allowed me to open up about my depression and I didn’t feel like I was the only one with this illness.  In fact it did not feel like a hospital and the nurses were all lovely.  But I still couldn’t help but feel like a mental patient losing his mind.

About a day later, one of the nurses came to my room and said there was a phone call for me.  I said “What? Me?”  “Yes” she replied with a friendly voice.  I had no idea who on earth this would be as I don’t recall in fact I knew I did not tell anyone I was going to a mental institution.  But I went to the phone with curiosity.  I said apprehensively “Hello?”  “Hello darling, it’s me. How are you my sweet?” answered a friendly familiar voice.  It was my mother.  I paused for second thinking how on earth did she know I was here?  I never told her that, well, I didn’t think so.  But I said in response trying not to express any surprise or shock “Oh, yeah, I’m fine how are you?”  “Yes, I’m good darling” she replied.   Then she just chatted about what she had been up to and Sam and Oma and so on.  I just kept thinking about how my mother found me here.  After the phone call I sat on my bed wondering what my mother was really thinking about knowing that her son was in a mental institution.  I mean, when you call this hospital they do answer it with the ‘psychiatric’ in it, so she would obviously know I was here for psychiatric reasons.  But when I spoke to her, she did not sound concerned, but she did sound sincere, as always.  I told mum that was a little depressed but I never really told her the depth of what I was really experiencing as I didn’t want her to worry.  My mother is a worrier.  She can’t help it, she’s a mum.  That’s what loving mum’s do.  But I think she wanted to call me just to confirm that I was okay and I think it satisfied her worry.  I was just concerned that she would worry too much about me and soon discover the extremity of my mental problem.

After a few days I felt the need to go home although my assigned psychiatrist there did not approve.  I had to convince him I was fine to go home.  They could not force me to stay longer anyway as I was a voluntary patient although was recommended by my doctors.  But I felt like I have had my time there and found it worthwhile to understand my illness a lot more and I just wanted to get back to my life again.  I just wanted to get back into the real world and try to live again.  So I went home and felt like I had just taken a mini peaceful holiday.

I was okay for a few days after my release from hospital but it did not take long until my mind started to play tricks on me and I started my self- hatred again through dwelling on everything negative and all the bad things that have happened to me in the past.  Perhaps I should have stayed longer in hospital to get the entire treatment but I did not want to be the cliché of a mental patient.  I wanted to work all this out on my own and I guess that was part of the problem.  I would not let anyone in.  I could not have the courage to confide in anyone apart from my doctors.  I was ashamed to have depression.  Ashamed to be James.  I wanted to old James back but I didn’t know where to begin the search.

The days of losing my memory became frequent.  About one or twice a week it would happen.  These were signs of schizophrenia.  But the question raised by my doctors is why now, why is it now that I am going through depression and dwelling so much on my past in my early thirties.  Why now all of a sudden?  Perhaps I was always depressed and was always trying to cover it up by going that one step further in life.  Perhaps my mind and body could not take anymore and just gave in and then everything had ridden to the surface.

I spent a lot of very lonely months and I guess it was self-inflicted.  Apart from Will of course.  Without his caring words of wisdom I wouldn’t have been able to cope.  I had lost a lot of other friends though.  Nobody else, my so-called ‘party’ friends wanted nothing to do with a HIV depressive.  But another person was on my mind.  It was Steve, or Stefan, I should say.  To cheer myself up if I was feeling sad I would sit there and think of the wonderful times we spent together.  I would rummage through heaps of photos from Cairns and Port Douglas.  But then reality kicks it.  Steve has gone.  This was for good.  I never heard from Steve after we said our goodbyes.  That was what we both wanted.  But I hoped, and I still do, that someday we will be brought back together.  I think I was kidding myself though.  That was never going to happen.  Buts it was nice to think about it.  He was my ultimate ideal man and I let him go.  See? Now that’s self-inflicted.  Another opportunity lost and what an opportunity it was.  I remember the day we were even talking about buying a house together in Cairns; I was doing research into a transfer within my company to work in the Cairns office and everything.  We were going to be like a married couple.  I think about the image of that now and it feels so beautiful but I know that will never be.  Stuff like that doesn’t happen to people like me.  I don’t deserve a man like Steve and I don’t deserve to be happy either.  I should be punished for the life of excess I had led and my over the top promiscuity.    I remember the day when I was child and we were at some camp and there was a Christian group there.  They asked the kids to write a letter to god asking him into your life.  I was the only kid who wrote that letter and I did it without even thinking.  I asked Jesus into my life.  I knew from that moment on that he would protect me.  But he has now punished me.  I am HIV positive.  This was my punishment for my life of adultery and sin.  I deserved it.  The more I thought about it the more depressed I got.  Then the more I thought about how lonely I was and the things I don’t have the more deeply sadder I got.  I was a mental mess beyond recognition.  So that said, tonight’s the night.

That night.  That awful night I will never forget and dread about it if I think about it now almost ended my life.  I ran a hot bath and sat a glass of red wine next to it.  Whilst the bath was filling up with water I swallowed a whole heap of Tramadol and Valium tablets.  Then I sat in the steaming bath.  I was actually hoping that the pills would actually knock me out before I would have the chance to even attempt my suicide.  I began to cry.  I cried heavily.  I was already in pain and I really could not bear another day.  I had nothing to be happy about.  I have no one to care for and nobody really cared for me.  No, nobody cares.  Who would notice if I was gone anyway?  Let’s be serious, who would really care?  I am a nothing, a void.  I must ne eradicated off this earth as I am just existing and wasting space.  It’s got to end.  So I took one big gulp of the red wine.  Then I found all the courage in myself I could gather and reached for the hairdryer which was switched on.  I had to do this and quick.  I started to cry even more heavily as if I couldn’t cry any more than I had anyway.  Then I turned on the hairdryer switch and it on full blow.  I shut my eyes and whispered to myself “Do it, just do it......just get it over with, you have to, it’s the only way out....”  Then I took a huge deep breath and dropped the hairdryer i the bathtub and immediately waited for the electric shock to kill me.  But then the hairdryer stopped and all I felt was a few of the hairs on arms and legs pull a bit.  That was it.  A failed and miserable attempt.  I was a failure, a pathetic loser.  I guess all that’s left now is that I have to live with this thing called HIV.  It was my punishment and that’s all there is to say.

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Chapter sixteen.....The Deed to be Done.

It had been almost a year since I had been absent from work.  I had my medication changed about a million bloody times as I kept getting severe side effect like uncontrollable shaking and so on.  The just could not get the medication right.  Then I was referred to a major hospital to see a psychiatrist there for further evaluation.  So once again I had to re live past events in my life which was not easy to do as some of them as you know were quite traumatic.  It was at this stage I practically has a whole medical team looking after me with both my HIV monitoring and depression.  In regards to the HIV I was physically quite healthy and was not on HIV medication as I didn’t need to be.  But I felt like shit and had no energy.  The doctors thought it was due to the depression.  But my psychiatrist found it quite difficult to diagnose me as I was displayed all sorts of traits of a range of different mental illness like bipolar, schizophrenia and so on.  So eventually they diagnosed me with Psychotic Depression.  However I had to see another psychiatrist which the insurance sent me to for their own evaluation of my income protection insurance.  This psychiatrist actually said I had schizophrenia.  So who know who is right?  All I know is I was depressed and that is that.

I was practically seeing one sort of doctor almost every day of the working week.  It was like a full time job in itself.  But I did want help.  I just wanted to feel happy again.  Then my doctor requested that I come in for a chat one day just out of the blue.  They said that I had been seeing a range of different doctors to get Tramadol and Valium.  I admitted to it but I did justify it.  I said that I was in pain.  And it was true, my whole body was in pain.  This was due to the amount of various karate injuries I had in the past and that mixed in with my depression, I needed relief.  Then to my shock he said that he needs to take action.  He told me I have an addiction problem and you will no longer be able to Tramadol or Valium from any doctor. I shit myself.  I needed those drugs to get through the day.  I was knew I was going to suffer.  But that was it.  I had no more pain relief and I don’t know how I was going to handle it.  We would have to wait and see.  But overall I was kind of relieved that I admitted I had an addiction problem.  I guess I was taking the first steps to recovery.  But it was not the drugs that was causing my depression, and the doctors knew that.  But they knew the Tramadol and Valium had to stop and I agreed.

The first couple of days without taking any Tramadol and Valium I was fine.  In fact I felt good that I didn’t need any drugs to get through the day.  I thought I could through this, perhaps I didn’t have an addiction.  But then a few days later, it started.  One morning I awoke in immense agony.  My mind was rushing and I felt nauseous.  I really needed that Tramadol to take away the pain.  My depression set in with the deepest and darkest hit that you could imagine.  The whole world was black.  I was emotionless but I needed pain relief.  I needed that Tramadol so I had to make an appointment to come and see my doctor.  That same day I staggered to my doctor pleaded, basically I got on my hands and knees, begging that I have some pain relief.  He refused to give me any drugs at all let alone Tramadol or Valium.  So I staggered home.

Every day I stayed inside my apartment shivering and shaking and craving for Tramadol.  I needed help, big time.  I was so sad and depressed that I had to tell myself out aloud “Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts” and the more I did that the more disturbing thoughts came into my head.  I started to dwell on those images of my stepfather abusing me.  Then I would think about that time when I thought I was lured not being killed on film for a snuff film.  Then my paranoia kicked in.  I felt like I was being watched.  I also began to think that perhaps those ‘snuff movie’ guys were looking for me after that event.  I began to think of all sorts of disturbing things.  But the one thing I didn’t think of was the fact of hurting another human being.  I had no traits of being homicidal, I could not bear to think of anything worse.  But I wanted to one person right there and then.  It was my stepfather.  I craved for revenge.  I still felt as if he still had control over my mind.  The fact is that so far he has gotten away with what he had done to me in the past.  I could not bear to live with that thought any longer.  I needed some sort of closure.  Perhaps suicide was the answer.  Even though I thought of suicide as being the perfect escape it was the enemy I was terrified of.  That enemy was called ‘pain’.  If there was any way to die without pain I would have done it right there and then.  But I couldn’t but told myself that one day I will find the courage.  I have to.

My employer was getting rather concerned about the length of time I had been absent from work.  I think they really just wanted to know what my diagnosis was as I refused to tell them and neither did my doctor.  But they displayed patience and kept saying that there would still be a job to go back to once I’m well.  I knew I was far from that yet.  This was just the beginning.

I continued to see a psychologist and psychiatrist on a weekly basis.  Both of them still a bit baffled as to why all my fears, insecurities and terror have risen to the surface now in my early thirties.  I didn’t know the answer to that.  But what I did come to realise is that all those years of an excessive lifestyle were a cover up or a mask to deny my abusive past.  During those years which I call my ‘party years’ I was always trying to be one step ahead of life.  Everything one person did, I would do but I would take it up a notch.  My whole life was full of lies and denial and I felt ashamed now.

I had discussed the nightmares about me being ‘snuffed’ on film to my psychologist and psychiatrist and both again are confused as to why I have these disturbing nightmares.  I told them that I felt like I was being stalked or watched and that my time was coming.  They called it paranoia.  I called it a fact.

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Every day was just a struggle.  I had no energy yet I was in good physical health.  I had desire to do anything and I mean anything.  Even if I did a simple task like washing the dishes I would have to sit down afterwards huffing and puffing like I had just ran a marathon.  I was exhausted.  I had no idea what was happening to me and neither did my doctors.  They just dismissed it as being symptoms of psychotic depression.  I hated it.  In fact I hated everything and anything.  I hated the world.  I blamed the world for what I was suffering.  I had stopped going to the gym along with starting to eat badly like missing meals and eating junk food.  I didn’t even realise I was doing it as I had always been a bit of a health freak.  So my health started to decline and so were my looks.  I just didn’t care anymore how I looked.  I would walk down the street and gone are the days when I would get sexy looks from guys and girls.  Now I just get bumped into and ignored.  My days are over and I was not ready for it.  I was not ready to get older.  But most of all I was very lonely.  I felt as though I was the only person in the world suffering from depression.  It was a dark world I was living in.  Then one night, as usual, I was sitting on the couch dwelling about the past events of my stepfather abusing me.  I would cry and cry and cry until I fall asleep.  Only this time the mental anguish was too unbearable that I had to put a stop to it as I cannot go on any longer.  Without any delay I reached for a shiny clean kitchen knife and went to my dark bedroom.  I kneeled at the end of the bed crying to god.  “Please God...” I cried “Please, end my misery, I can’t take any more of this sadness.....please just kill me.....I’m begging you” I don’t think I had ever felt so depressed and ashamed of myself.   I felt dirty, I felt disgusting, I felt tortured, I felt numb with pain.  I didn’t even think about it.  I just did it.  I sliced my wrist with the knife feeling an instant burning pain with blood pouring out and dripping down my arm and onto the carpet.  But the cut was not deep enough to die from.  But I just could not do another cut, it was too painful.  I was a coward and bandaged up my wrist in shame.  But once I bandaged my wrist I felt a sense of relief that I actually took step one towards suicide.  In fact it is awful to say this but I actually felt a rush of adrenaline about self-mutilating myself.  I wanted to do it again.  Only this time I put my same bandaged wrist against the bedroom door entrance and smashed the door on my wrist causing it to sprain.  I was hoping I had broken it.  But I didn’t.  But the pain felt good.  It was like this my deserved punishment.

I had told my psychiatrist and psychologist about my suicide attempts and how I was self mutilating myself.  I even told them about one day just out of the blue I wanted to hurt myself and see blood so I stuck knives up my fingernails just to see my own blood.  All my doctors were now concerned and was in danger.  They had put me on suicide watch and arranged with the psychiatric team from the hospital to check up on me from time to time.  I don’t really know this but I think they may have also informed the police just in case.  But I am not sure of this, but I would not be surprised.

The withdrawal effects from the Tramadol and Valium were taking their toll on me.  Day by day I could not do anything.  I was paralysed but I begged for pain relief from doctors and they would not give me anything apart from the stupid anti-depressants and anti-psychotic drugs.  Neither were working.  In fact we have had to change the medication several times as I was just getting severe side effects.  My psychiatrist knew I was in danger of hurting myself but did not recommend another trip to a psychiatric hospital as the first time it did not help so that would not be of any use.  I think my doctors were quite helpless at this stage.  But really, it was up to me to try and get better.  I wanted to get better as I went to every doctor’s appointment and took the medication as directed.  I did everything that the doctors ordered but was getting no results.  The fact remains that I was mentally scarred for life and it was not going to go away.

I kept in regular contact with my mum and Will but I would not disclose the true pain I was going through.  I just told them that I just had mild depression and told mum I had stopped work due to glandular fever.  I didn’t want them to worry.  But the problem is that I had and always had an issue with opening up to people.  I wanted to fight this battle on my mind, but perhaps I shouldn’t have.  But I was too ashamed of myself of what I was going through that I was embarrassed about it.  I would cry myself to sleep every night.  I would even sometimes talk to the pillow next to me as if it was Steve lying next to me.  It was my dream to have been caressed in that way.  That was not to be, but it was nice to dream about it.  But months and months have gone by, still not at work, still crying every day and pretty much became a recluse.  I developed a fear of society.  Every time I went outside, like just to the shops or something, I would hear laughter and think that they were laughing at me.  Perhaps they were?  Or perhaps I was just paranoid?  After all, I too would laugh at someone like myself as being as ugly and weird looking as I am.  I was a nothing and worthless to society.  So I became a recluse.  For days I would not come out of my apartment for fear of being teased or laughed at.  I was ashamed of how I looked and was conscious about my HIV and depression.  But I kept telling myself that one day, just one day, I will do it.  My escape.  The deed to be done is coming.  One day.

It had been almost a year I had been absent from work.  If you ask me what I did during that year I really could not tell you.  It felt like just existing and living was a full time job in itself for me.  I did not really do anything apart from the odd trip or two interstate for a few days break.  But that’s it, nothing else.  I spent every day feeling sorry for myself.  But there was something else on my mind that needed sorting out.  It was stepfather.  The fact that he knows he has gotten away with what he did, killed me.  I loathed him.  Every day the hate grew and grew.  I had to get revenge and I didn’t care what I had to do.  I didn’t care about the circumstances.  But I knew I had a problem of letting go of the past.

I would discuss the issue of my stepfather with my psychologist regularly and she really did not help matters.  She basically just kept saying, “Let it go, let it go”.  What? Was she kidding?  How can I possibly let go of the anguish I was put through.  The images of him abusing me are tattooed on my brain.  I can’t let it go.  It was impossible.  Then one day I was required to see another independent psychiatrist regarding my income protection insurance.

I saw this psychiatrist and once again, like for the millionth time went through my past history.  Her reaction when I discussed the abuse was frightening.  She was shocked to the core.  She knew that I was in no position to get back to work yet.  But she also gave me some advice that no one else had suggested and it got me thinking.  “You realise that you could lay charges on this monster?” she said to me.  “What?, even after all these years and yet we have no evidence?” I asked “Of course, you can, you don’t need evidence these days” she replied.  It got me thinking.

The next few days I was thinking about what the psychiatrist had said to me regarding laying charges.  I could very easily do that but it would just open up a whole new can of worms.  I was not ready for it mentally.  I don’t think I had the energy or psychological strength to handle it.  But I still wanted revenge.  Laying charged on him seemed way too easy for him.  He needed to be executed.  Of course, that was impossible in this country.  But not impossible for me.  So I dwelled on it and dwelled on it and dwelled on it.  Then bang!  I was going to do it, I had to.  But then the thought would diminish.  I would end up in jail and all sorts of crap.  You see, the problem is the fact that no one else knows about this abuse I endured except me and my stepfather.  My mother doesn’t know a thing apart from the odd verbal abuse and slap here and there.  She or my brother do not know of what he really did to me and I never had the courage to tell them.  But there were so many times after their divorce that I wanted to tell mum.  But knowing my mother, if she found out what he did to me she would probably take the law into her own hands and murder him.  She was so protective of her boys.  I couldn’t bear to have my mother upset over this.  This was my own private nightmare.  But I kept telling myself that one day I will have my revenge.  I just had to work out what to do, that’s all.

Then one night I got myself so worked up that I wanted to do something.  I arranged to hire a car for the day.  Then that night I drove to his house in Glen Waverly.  The same house we lived in.  I am being honest here and I have no idea what I was doing at the time.  I do remember erratically driving to his house.  I think I crashed into several cars on the way.  I was in some sort of mental psychotic trance.  But I was full of hate.  I arrived at his home and parked my car outside his house.  I noticed the lights were on in his house.  He was there.  I now he was.  But all I remember is that I had a strong urge to get him.  I didn’t know what I was going to do but I wanted him to feel pain.  I wanted to kill.  But I just sat in the car staring at that house.  That house of horrors with a monster lurking inside.  Then I decided to ring his phone number and by chance that same phone number we had when we lived there was still the same.  He answered the phone.  It was him.  He answered with that disgusting British accent ‘Hello?’  I paused for a second.  Then he said it again “Hello??”  Then I yelled through the phone “You fucking pig!!!!!!”  Then I hung up my mobile and then sped off in my car.  So that confirmed one thing.  I was not a homicidal maniac.  I couldn’t do it.  But I really wanted to.  The reality is that I could bring myself to hurt another human being.  Perhaps there is some decency in me after all.  But the deed to be done could not be done.  Not this one though.  It was the other one.  Suicide.  It was the only solution.

The next day I had another appointment with my psychologist and I told her about how I drove to my stepfathers house and elaborated on the amount of hate and loathing I had developed that I just could not help myself but to do it.  She kind of understood though and was actually surprised that I actually did not take the law into my own hands by killing him.  I actually surprised myself.  Not only did I not want to end up in jail, I saw the fact of killing another human being as a disgusting act of violence.  It was wrong.  No matter how much the victim deserved it.  Even my step father.  But the thoughts about killing him were still there although I knew that was never going to happen.  I was not homicidal.  I knew that was wrong, very wrong.  In fact I am against war of any nature.

Another month, another month of emptiness.  I felt that there was no future for me although my doctors saw that differently.  They really believed that there was light at the end of the tunnel for me but I disagreed.  I eventually got paid my income protection insurance after a year of waiting, thank god.  I had used up all my savings and every bit of credit on all my seven or eight credit cards.  Even though I now had an income I was in serious financial debt.  That only made my depression worse.  Then the harassing phone calls started asking for payments of the credit cards.  I struggled.  The amount I was receiving in income protection payments were not enough to cover all the debts.  So one by one I had to arrange financial arrangements to repay back the debts slowly over time.  This would at least keep them off my back for a short time until I get back on my feet.

So there you have it.  I was dealing with the anguish of my abusive childhood, I was diagnosed HIV positive, I was in heavy financial debt and I hated myself.  My world was simply crap and I kept it all to myself.  My own little private nightmare.  I wished I was dead.  I really did.

So many times I visited the doctors and it was the same thing over and over again.  We were just not getting anywhere with coming to some sort of solution with my depression.  I was not getting any better.  The fact is, is that this was my time.  This was my time for my life to finish.  This was it.  I am being punished by god and I truly believe that.  I deserve it.  I told Will that I believed god had punished me but he disagrees.  Wills always right too.  So what was I to think?  My world was now just a tangled up maze with a cocktail of different emotions and feelings and I did not even know where to start fixing them.  The problem is that I could not let go of the past, I did not accept my HIV status, and my financial debt is the result of an excessive party lifestyle and the fact that I had to live off credit whilst absent from work on unpaid sick leave.  It all just did not seem fair.  Why me?  But my time was coming.  One day I will have the courage, you know?, that deed that had to be done....

Chapter seventeen......Someone flies over the cuckoo’s nest

Once again I saw my psychologist.  Going through all the past events from the previous week and blah, blah, blah.  That’s all I could call it- ‘Blah’.  I mean, what else can I talk to a ‘shrink’ about.  Although they are a lot more emotional and expressive than the psychiatrists, I don’t think they psychologists really know deep down inside my feelings.  They are always relating it back to the infamous Freud theory.  You know, the theory that everything you do in life is related back to your own mother.  But anyway, I attended every single one of those sessions, never missing any.  Which goes to show that I did really want help?  But I knew this was a psychological mess that only I can clean up.  I was not ready to do that yet.  But I was at a stage where I had gone beyond caring for myself stage that it alerted my psychologist.  I told her everything though.  Everything I did the previous week and exactly how I was feeling.  A lot of what I had told her had shocked her.  But in this particular session she realised I was in serious trouble.  I was behaving very erratically for example driving really fast bumping into cars with intense road rage.  I was also talking a lot about death.  My own that is.  She immediately contacted my psychiatrist.  After a discussion between them and them and me and then them again, blah, blah, blah......it was decided I needed to go back to a psychiatric hospital for intense treatment and evaluation.  I think they were concerned about my own safety as I talked often about suicide.  This time it had to be for a decent amount of time to get my head around things.  I agreed to this.  I really think I needed it.  It was either that, or the next thing, only god forbid.  I had to go back and this time I have to take it seriously as the first time I went I thought it was all a bit of a joke.  Let’s see what happens this time.

About a few days later I was admitted to another psychiatric hospital but this time I had a few rules.  I wanted a private hospital and I wanted a private room.  I felt like I was in charge of arranging a five star holiday, of course this was not the case.  My psychiatrist strongly urged me to go to hospital for treatment and to take it seriously.  But I started acting like a Diva.  After all, I has a top level of private health insurance so why not?  I asked for my own room and I want the best room.  I demanded it and guess what?, I got it.  However I was to be admitted to a different hospital that I never heard of before but it was supposed to be very nice.  So a few days later I arrive at the hospital this time feeling a bit more positive that this could be good for me.

At first, from the reception area, the hospital itself did not feel or look like the typical image of a sterile looking hospital.  However the rooms looked awful and looked like mental asylums.  There were even holes in the walls.  However I had to share a bathroom with another patient next door. This place was supposing were for either rich ones or those with health insurance.  The food was okay apart from the fact that dinner was served at the what I call the ‘elderly’ dinner time which was at five o’clock!, once again like last time.  That was ridiculous; usually I didn’t eat dinner at home until nine o’clock.  So of course, by nine o’clock I was starving again.

But I tried to make the most of it.  I had my own DVD player but there was a small TV in the room.  All the patients, after dinner, would gather around the one TV in the TV room.  I was the only one in my room.  I think the other patients saw that as a bit strange that I did not mingle much with the other patients.

After about the second day of my stay in the hospital I began to get to know the other patients.  They were all very unique in different ways.  One was there as he was recovering or sobering up from an addiction to alcohol, another woman was there cause she was having difficulties with her marriage, another woman was there cause she was depressed.  They were all there for different reasons.  But we were all there for mental reasons.  No one really seemed like the typical mental patient.  But they were all very candid and open about there reasons for being in the hospital and were very expressive about their feelings.  They would gather in groups out in the courtyard chatting about how they were feeling and so on and then there you have, here come the tears!   I hated that part.  It just depressed me.  I did interact with the other patients but I kept my distance.  I mean there is a certain level of relationship you can have with them.  They were always hugging each other when one of them cries and say ‘There, there, it’s gonna be all right.....” Yeah, well, blah, blah, blah, I say.  I just told them that I suffer from depression and that’s all they needed to know.  I think that didn’t go down that well as they wanted me to open up a bit more like the others.  But no, fuck that.  Why should I have to tell them?  This was my problem and I was determined to sort it out in my own mind, my way and not be influenced by others.  You see, that was the problem in the first place.  It was the expectations and influence from other people in society that caused me to become so insecure about myself.

About day three in the ‘institution’ and I notice that the other patients are sort of very distant from me.  Every morning when they saw me they would say “Good morning James’.  But today, everyone was ignoring me.  Then I enter the dining room and there were a group of patients huddled around a table chatting and once I entered the room they all sort of quickly got back in their seats sitting up straight and immediately stopped talking.  It was evident that they were gossiping about me.  Here we go again I thought.  I just didn’t understand that everywhere I go I seem to cause controversy.  Why?  Just because I would not tell more about myself to the others.  They all seemed to think that I had something to hide and it was not good.  That was not the case.  I was in the hospital for the same other bloody reasons as they were all there.  I did just not want to be too social.

On a daily basis there were a variety of classes you can take voluntarily such as art classes, yoga, and relaxation and then there were the discussion classes.  These classes were one where we had to be quite interactive and open up about certain issues.  There were classes such as ‘Managing anxiety’, and ‘Managing depression’ and so on.  I really enjoyed these classes and this was where I was usually the most talkative one.  Now if the other patients wanted to know more about my background then they should have been in those bloody classes!  That’s where I was open and honest about my own emotions.  I had to.  I felt the need to say just what was on my mind without having to talk to myself like I did at home all the time.  But as I was so talkative in these classes and not so social on the outside of these classes, I was dismissed as an outcast.  Now that was strange, almost a bit of a contradiction as we were all suffering mental issues anyway.  But it’s true.  They all thought I was weird, in fact, one girl who was a bit of an extrovert said to me “You’re a bit weird you know?”  I just looked at her and laughed as if I said ‘as if I could give a shit!’  The group she was sitting with in the courtyard just went silent as if I had dropped a bombshell.  I was so sick of being judged all the time.  Why should I have to justify myself to everyone all the time?  Then I couldn’t believe it, she had the nerve to ask me “Are you gay or straight?”  My response was “None of yer fuckin’ business!”  Then I stood up and walked out of the courtyard.  Because I have super-sonic hearing, and I do, well I mean, I have very good hearing.  I actually heard one of the male patients say “Well, I think someone had just flew over the cuckoo’s nest” as I walked out the courtyard.  I didn’t care.  So they think I am crazier than they are?  Big Shit!  I didn’t care about anything anymore and I was so sick of having to prove myself to everyone all the time.  I just wanted the world to leave me alone, at least just for a little while.  The rest of you can fuck off!!!!!

To top things off I was assigned to a sarcastic fat piece of shit, sorry, ‘psychiatrist’ that was so smarmy and sly and looked at me like I was some sort of outcast.  He really did make me feel worse about myself.  I wanted to get away from him and wanted to go back to my usual psychiatrist.  At least HE does not make me feel bad about myself.

After about a week I have had enough.  I wanted to go home.  I guess the good part about being in a hospital of this nature gives you time to think and it I like those classes that they had.  Apart from that, I really think that being in there just makes you think too much about your own mental problems.  I didn’t want that.  I was so sick of going through my background and history to every bloody doctor and nurse there over and over again.  I really just wanted to be alone and I think this is how I am only going to thicken my skin so to speak.  So I told my assigned psychiatrist at the hospital that I wanted to discharge myself.  He was a bit reluctant at first but I explained that I really needed some ‘me’ time.  I needed to be alone and sort things out for myself.  That is what I really wanted and that is that.  So I left the next day and went home.

I actually felt a sense of relief when I arrived home.  It was not that I did not enjoy my time in a psychiatric hospital, it was just that it was too sterile for me and just made me feel like a mental patient.  Even though it would not be fair to say that, but I did feel like one of those characters in ‘One flew over the cuckoo’s nest’.

At the end of the day I said to myself:

“Jay, snap out of it!....you don’t need a psychiatric hospital!.....you just need a life!.....”

Then it all started to make sense.

I mentioned many times in this story I have said that I am embarrassed about admitting I have depression.  It is after all, still a very misunderstood illness.  Many people think it is just a selfish disease.  Friends, who are now non-friends, when I had told them that I have depression they would say ‘Oh James, just snap out of it and stop feeling sorry for yourself’.  But snap out of what?  You can’t just snap out of depression.  It just does not work that way.  Many people also think that depression is a cry for attention and that it is just self-indulgence.  This is all bogus.

Depression is an illness and a serious one and I think the community needs more education about it.  Depression still is a bit of a taboo subject to some people which is wrong as it needs to be talked about and then people would be more supportive to those who need help.  I remember a time, I think it would have been about a few months ago, that I was feeling pretty low and that I called a depression help line.  This was the first time I had called one of these help lines as I was not a big fan of those things.  I mean, what can someone on the end of the phone line do?  Yeah, save your world?  But I called it.  Apart from the fact that I felt suicidal at the time the woman I spoke to seemed more interested in asking my age, my name, my address, my phone number, my email address, my employer and my jock size, no just kidding not my jock size but I would be surprised if she did ask me that!  She was doing most of the talking by asking bloody question after question, it was stupid.  By the time she had finished with her twenty questions she finally said “Okay, so what is your problem?”  I explained in quite frank terms that I was feeling very sad and so on.  I got the impression that she was kind of bored with people ringing her up telling their sob stories.  I don’t blame her, but after all, that is her job.  She didn’t really express much empathy at all.  It was such a waste of time and just made me feel worse so I hung up.

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Another day, another income protection dollar, so to speak.  It had been about a couple of weeks since I discharged myself from the psychiatric hospital.  I was not getting any better.  I had actually put on a little weight.  I think that was because I had temporarily stopped going to the gym.  I was getting daily exercise as I would actually do about 20 to 30 minutes of vigorous walking.  I did try and eat regular and healthier meals.  I actually was referred to a nutritionist and she was a really good inspiration.  She really got me motivated into nutrition again and I stopped eating those horrible microwave meals and started making my own nutritious casserole based dishes.  I also really started getting back into my fresh juices again.  Previously I was a bit of a juice freak with drinking litres of fresh juice every day.  Now I started to squeeze my own juice with fresh oranges, carrots, cucumber, celery, apples and my favourite watermelon.   So on a physical health level I was doing okay.  But for some reason my mental health was on the decline and I can’t explain why.  I think the longer I was away from the norm of ‘nine to five’ daily routines the more depressed and anxious I got.  I started getting panic attacks about three times a day.  For no reason.  I was also getting obsessive compulsive with checking locks and checking the timing on my alarm clocks and washing my hands all the time.  It was like my mind was experiencing a whole cocktail of every mental illness known to man and it was taking its toll on me.

I guess the problem for me was apart from the fact that I had to see some sort of doctor almost every day of the working week; I really had nothing else to do.  But the fact is that I didn’t want to anything and I don’t think I could actually handle doing anything.  I couldn’t even try and relax and read a book for longer than ten or so minutes before I start getting agitated and I get myself all worked up again.  I would all of a sudden get images of my stepfather and I would think about my HIV and it would just round and round in my head.  I just felt hopeless and useless.  I had no reason for living.  I just existed.  I was not doing anything.  I was not contributing to society.  I believed that society has excluded me.  I felt like a freak.  And I would dwell on all these negative thoughts for hours and hours until I would only start to cry again.  I was pathetic.  But I knew it had to come to an end.  This pain.  I hated it.  All I wanted was to be happy again.  That’s all.  That’s all I wanted.

I had been absent from work now by this stage for about a year now.  But I was not getting better.  I felt just hopeless and worthless.  I was even embarrassed to be seen in public as if someone was looking at me I would think they were looking at my HIV.  I was paranoid and conscious about it.  Having HIV made me feel dirty.  I felt disgusted with myself as prior to my diagnosis I saw people with HIV as dirty people.  Now I was one of them.  But I also thought I was immortal.  God was I so wrong.  That is why I believe god had punished me with this disease to make me realise the life of sin I have lived.  I agree with him though, I do deserve to be punished.  But not with HIV.  The reality is that living with HIV is not really as complicated as some people think.  No it is not instantly AIDS which a lot of narrow minded people think.  It is very manageable.  But that was just it.  The fact that you had to be so much more conscious about your own health that it would be impossible to have a day not thinking about the disease that you have.  I was also terrified to touch anyone.  That is why it had months since I last had sex, and you know what? I really don’t care about sex right at this moment.  It was like I was completely over it with a capital ‘O’.  I will explain what I mean with an analogy.  If you eat baked beans for dinner every single night for five or ten years straight, eventually you will get sick of eating baked beans and never want to look at another tin of them ever again.  This was case with me and sex at this stage in my life.  I have had so many casual partners and so much sex in the past that quite frankly I am really over it.  I just don’t care about it.  I have no sex drive left.  It has gone but I have inklings that this is only temporary for some reason as this is not normal for me.  After all, I used to be addicted to sex.  Not anymore.  I don’t even look at another guy down the street anymore.  I am just not interested.  In fact I just don’t really care about much at all at the moment.  I have nothing in my life to keep me motivated but I don’t really know how to get out of this tangled mental maze that I am stuck in.  But still, I would still keep in contact with mum and tell her I’m fine but I thought that this time I would open up to Will about the seriousness about my depression.  I needed to and I trusted him.  He was one of the only ones that I could trust and I craved for his understanding and words of encouragement.    The only problem was that he was so far away yet every time he emailed me it was like he was there having a conversation with me.  Only Will could have that effect on me.  But after I confessed my struggle with everyday life he became concerned.  I could actually feel his sorrow and empathy for me.  It’s hard to explain but I could almost feel him touching me with some psychic tenderness.  But Will being Will, he always made funny ‘cracks’ and jokes in his email to make up for the sadness he was really feeling for me.  I could feel that he was worried about me.  I think his greatest fear was me committing suicide.  He never mentioned the word- ‘suicide’.  But I could sense that he bitterly worried about me.  He always said to me in his emails that he only wished he could be there with me.  I wished that also but he was in London for his career.  It was beyond anyone’s control and I will not become a burden on him just because I am feeling sorry for myself.

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Along came the Melbourne Winter of 2009.  It was bitterly cold yet we were actually having a drought.  We did not get much rain it was just dark depressing skies and bitterly cold winds.  It did not help my depression at all.  In fact, every morning now became unbearable with pain, sadness and complete darkness.  I had sunk as deep in depression as anyone could go.  I would not go outside, not even if I needed groceries as I was terrified of the cold.  I still am, I hate winter and I hate the cold weather.  I have always been that way.  But this winter took the take and fed my depression even deeper.  There was no way out for me and I tried so very hard to tell myself ‘just be happy’.  I would tell it to myself out aloud once I awoke.  But it was the same every morning.  I would always wake up at around 8 am, head straight for the couch in the lounge room and sit.  I would just sit there in silence.  I had to.  My body awoke to some sort of intense agonising pain that I could not move.  I was totally paralysed.  The thing was I have tried to explain the extent of my daily pain to my doctors but they just never seemed to get it.  Their response was always ‘Oh, that pain is just a symptom of your depression’.  Bullshit.  There was more to it than that.  With the withdrawal of pain killers and Valium, the side effects of my anti-depressants combined with my lack of will to live and also dwelling on my abusive past.  It’s no wonder why I felt like crap.  But every morning I would just sit there in silence for about an hour until I got my head around the fact that I have go through living another day.  But I just didn’t know how I was going to do it.  I was also so alone.  So very, very lonely and I was living in such a dark world that I just was not coping with even the simplest of tasks.  But I really had nothing to do.  This was only because I did not want to do anything.  I did not care about anything.  I didn’t even care how I looked anymore.  But now it got to the point that I could even look at myself in the mirror.  I was a disgusting sight.  I felt ugly.   I had developed such a superficial attitude that if you don’t have any attractiveness than it’s not worth living.  That’s how shallow I got.  I was so used to getting a lot of attention during my twenties and having looks and a hot body that now it had all just dissolved away.  Where did I go?  There were so many times, especially during the time I was doing escort work that I would have loads of rich men offering to be my ‘sugar daddy’ and would offer me money and to live in their multi- million dollar apartment on the Sunshine coast.  I had these offers many times and each time I rejected it.  I could have had an easy life by now.  But as usual, another day, another opportunity lost.  But now I am all on my own and have to deal with the fact that my youth and vigour for a life with power and control is over.  I have just hit the age where your ‘hotness’ starts to diminish.  This is the age of thirty five and I hated it.  I loved the days of walking into a room and basically could get any guy I wanted.  Quite often a walk to the shops to buy a carton of milk many times ended up being a cruisy type of incident where I would get ‘cruised’ by a hot looking guy and had sex in the park amongst trees or something.  Now I walk down the street and.......nothing.  I don’t even get a second glance.  The funny thing is though and this is the honest truth, I don’t really look 35.  Many people I meet for the first time, like if I go into a cafe or something and the girl behind the counter “Oh do you mind if I ask how old you are?’” just as she was just bringing it up in conversation.  I would say 35 but quite often people say I look more like 27 or so.  I don’t look my age.  Though wrinkles are starting to gradually show.  My once perfect eyes are now developing crow’s feet and slight darkness against the inner eye.  Plus I have a grey hair or two.  They say that you should grow old gracefully.  The problem is that I am so used to getting attention and being admired by other hot guys that I am not ready for this sort of societal rejection.  The reality is that everyone will go through it.  Every ‘once hot’ guy will go through the same getting old thing.  It sucks.  But I am at a point in this stage in my life where I see turning the age of 35 as over.  I don’t believe there is a life for me beyond that age.

There was one particular event which was a kind of Déjà-vu for me.  About 5 or so years ago I was walking down the street that led to the cafe that is just down the rod from where I live.  I was looking quite pumped up and muscular and was wearing a tight sort of t-shirt and I walked past a building where a hot landscaper was doing the gardening for this block of flats.  When he saw me he literally turned his lawn mower off, gave me a sexy look and said “Mmm your hot....” and I just smiled at him back.  It was just a bit of flirting fun, nothing special.  But the same thing happened 5 years later.  I am 35 now, and I was walking past that same block of flats and I couldn’t believe it when I saw that same guy from that time.  He took one look at me and just looked away as if to say ‘nope, not interested’ kind of thing.  So that confirmed it.  I was no longer hot.  It was gone.  I had to face that my sexuality has disappeared but the only way I knew how to get it back was to get back to the gym.  And I will, but I am just not ready yet.  Once I get my body back I will okay but until then I am a nothing.  But I don’t want to contradict myself or anything but I am really not interested in cruising for guys anymore anyway.  I was over it totally.  I am over sex.  I have had my fill and I just don’t care about it anymore.  So what’s the point in going back to the gym anyway?  I really don’t want to attract anyone.  So why bother?  But at the same time I did not want to be lonely anymore either.  I just don’t know what I wanted out of life anymore.  I really felt that at this time in my life, it’s over.  It would be useless to try.  I didn’t want to be considered as ‘mutton dressed as lamb’.  So I have past the hump age.  I’m getting older, losing my looks, not getting any more attention, have nothing to do all day except feel sorry for myself all day, and at the same time I was in a lot of physical pain.  So who would really miss me when I was gone?  I’m going to have to end it.  And I will tonight.  From the words of the late greatest pop artist of the modern era, Andy Warhol, This will be my fifteen minutes of fame.......................stay tuned.

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I will remember the following night for the rest of my life and hope to god it does not arise its ugly head again.  I was about to enter a world so dark that you may find disturbing.  If you are easily spooked or offended then I urge you not to read this paragraph.  But I must write about this as a method of healing myself mentally and face up to my fears.  But I will explain.

It was this night that had changed my life forever.  It was this night where I had each the peak of severe depression and there was no hope for me.   This was the night that all my emotions have become so out of control that my mind and my body literally went physically numb.   It was this night where I sat on the couch in silence and in darkness, without any lights on, crying and thinking about every single bad experience from the past.  It was this night where I also thought of myself being the ugliest mutant on the face of the planet.  I got up from the couch like I was in some sort of trance and looked at myself in the mirror.  I was hideous, I had to look away.  Then I heard a voice whisper in my ear.  I couldn’t work out what these words were.  But it was a female voice whispering.  I thought it was my brain playing tricks one me.  But it happened again and I heard the word ‘snuff’.  “Snuff”, “snuff.....snuff....snuff...” She kept whispering this horrible word in my ear and I tried to ignore it.  But the more I tried to ignore this whisper which came out of nowhere the word would get louder and louder until I yelled out “I GIVE IN!!!”.   This was my time.  I had completely lost my conscious mind and I was being controlled by some other force.  It sounds silly but it’s true and I remember the whole thing.  I don’t even know why I did the following I am about to tell you but I got out my video camera, switched it on and sat in front of it staring directly at the lens.  I was staring right into the lens.  It was like I was preparing for something to happen.  I remember when I was just sitting there that I was thinking “Well, do it, get it over with, but make sure it is captured on film”  I was actually patiently waiting for my life to be ended.  I was ready and waiting to be killed on film.  I started to think of awful images of what methods of torture would these unknown beings would do to me on film.  These unknown beings were figures of my imagination.  But I was actually waiting for them.  Waiting to be tortured and butchered on film.  I thought of how lovely it would look to see my own blood gushing from my neck.  The pain would be so intense that it could in fact be enjoyable.  I was ready and waiting.  I thought perhaps they could blindfold me and start by chopping my fingers off one by one and imagine the amount of blood oozing down my body.  The images of gruesome death became more and appealing that now disturbs me as to why I was in that mind zone.  I had completely lost the plot.  But I had gone beyond depression and self-hate that I had to end the misery and I wanted the whole world to see it on film as there is a strong message to it.  That message is “See? This is what society has made me out to be, it is your fault that my life had come to this”.  I wanted the world to feel guilty for making me do what I was about to do.  I hated the world and even more hated myself.  But I lost patience after waiting for these ‘unknown beings’ to snuff me on film so I reached for my box of medications.  This was just a box where I kept every medicine and pills together in the one box.  There was everything from Panadol to Xanax to anti-depressants, everything.  Now I was not even thinking about what I was doing so I can’t explain what led me to take this action.  I started taking pills of Panadol.  A mild pain reliever.  I took one, took a swig of a Dry Martini, and took another one, then another sip of the Martini, and another one and another and so on.  I did this whilst a smile on my face like I was finally taking the plunge to the ultimate escape from this miserable world I live in.  I kept popping the pills whilst smiling and staring right at the camera lens and filming the entire thing.  I kept swallowing pill after pill.  I had taken around about 100 or so Panadol pills, which equated to around 5 packets or so but I think I took more.  This was totally over the recommended dosage, in fact what I was doing was fatal.  But that was the plan.   I took the pills one by one with sips of a Martini in between and just taking my time like I had no need to rush.  I wanted to die slowly.  It had taken about 20 or so minutes before I had taken all of the boxes of Panadol that I had in my medication box.  If there were more I would have taken them.  But even after 20 minutes I felt nothing, in fact, not even a twitch.  So I said ‘stuff it’, let’s make it a cocktail.  So I noticed that I had a entire packet of an anti-psychotic drug called Largactil.  The psychiatrist put me on these pills for a short time but had to come off them cause of the side effects of sleepiness and agitation.  So I thought this would be the icing on the cake.  So I took the box out and tipped out the packets of 50 pills and looked into the camera and said “See you all on the other side....and by the way, it you.....yes you that did this to me..”  When I said ‘you’, I really meant society.  I wanted the film to be a controversy with an edge.  This was a ‘snuff’ film like no other.  It was self-inflicted yet there was no blood or gore.  It was gentle but I felt it had purpose.  This had to be done and I was not backing out.  So I proceeded to take each Largactil pill one by one but without the sips of Martini in between.  I just wanted to die now.  I wanted the overdose of the pills to just put me to sleep so I never wake up and wanted this snuff film to be a lesson to society.  It did not take me long to take all the pills but I did it and once I finished I thought if I should take any more pills.  After all I still had Xanax and a whole heap of Sudafed and anti-depressants.  But I thought ‘no’.  Let’s just let nature take its course.  What I have done is enough.  But I will admit this though, there was a part of me that was hoping that I may not die.  But the majority of my mind was truly wanting to die.  I was just wanting to quick painless death, if possible.  I had no idea what effect all these pills would take on me but I sat there staring at the camera not saying a word and just sitting there waiting for the pills to take effect.  An hour goes by and still nothing.  I has not even gotten a stomach ache and I was not even getting drowsy.  But I knew the huge amount of pills were fatal and death was not far away.  Then I heard those whispers again in my ear.  I couldn’t work out this time what these whispers were saying to me but it sounded a bit like “your time has come, come to me, come to me. Come...come”, it sounded a bit like that, but I wasn’t sure.  But I didn’t care.  I just wanted my death to be quick and I was getting inpatient so  made another dry Martini, lit up another cigarette and sat back on floor again in front of the camera.  Then all I remember next is that I took one sip of the Martini and then I felt the veins in my head bulging, I could feel them and my head also started to feel really tight.  It was like my head was put between a vice and it was being squeezed.  Then I started to panic and I sort of came out of my weird suicidal trance and realise what I have just done.  I ran to the mirror and noticed that all the veins had popped out of my temples and my heart was racing but I think it was more of the panic attack.  But it was too late, I was not going to be a coward and call 000 for help.  I took all my courage and sat in front of the camera and said ‘This is it’.  Then all I remember is that my vision started going a bit blurry and found it hard to focus and then that was it.  I passed out in front of the camera.  I don’t remember a thing after that.  The pills had got me, finally.  And it was all on film for the world to see what pain and suffering they made my life.  It was society’s fault that it had to be suicide to end my misery.  The pressure of society and its superficiality is what killed me.

I awoke the next morning only to find myself lying on the floor in the lounge room with a camera facing me.  My immediate reaction was ‘Thank god’.  I was grateful that I really didn’t die or did I?  I could not believe that after swallowing all those hundreds of pills that I would still be alive so I tested it.  I cut my wrist just enough to feel it and see blood.  It confirmed it.  I was still here, I was still on this planet.  But ironically I was so very grateful that god had given me a second chance.  I don’t think he wanted me to die, not yet anyway.  It was not my time and I agreed.  I truly believe to this day that god was watching me whilst the whole event took place.  I didn’t need to get my fifteen minutes of fame via filming my own death.  What a selfish thing to do?  So that day that I awoke after this awful event I swore that I would get rid of the camera and the tape and get it out of my life completely.  I took it to the local rubbish tip later in the day.  I also realised that I had an appointment to see my psychologist that morning at 10 am as usual.  The funny thing too was that when I awoke that morning I awoke at the usual time I always wake up which was at 8 am.  It was like nothing had ever happened.  I didn’t feel any fear that I had actually tried to take my own life.  But all I did feel was shame and guilt and I had to apologise to god for that awful sin.

So I went to my psychologist appointment with a latte in one hand and felt pretty okay.  I was not sad.  I was not fearful about what I did the night before.  It was if god had erased the tragedy of it for me.  He didn’t want me to die and I appreciated that.  As usual my psychologist would start by saying “Well, what have you been up to the past week?”  I didn’t want to hide the truth.  It was time for no more lies.  I needed help.  So I just said it showing no emotion “I tried to kill myself last night”.  She just gave me a stare as if I was going to say next “Oh, I was just kidding!”  But I didn’t.  I said “I tried to snuff myself on film last night”.  She then knew I was not joking and she sat up in her chair and looked very concerned.  “So...what did you try to do?” she said nervously.  “I swallowed pills” I replied.  “What sort of pills?” she said with such curiosity.  “I think I took about over a hundred Panadol tablets and also a whole packet of Largactil”.  She was stunned.  “Jay, you do realise that you could have done a lot of damage to your liver, even though you might feel fine now, they is quite often a delayed reaction” she said with a concerned look on her face.   Now I was shocked.  I felt fine though.  But I was now worried.  Perhaps I was wrong.  Perhaps I was meant to die.  I suddenly felt an immense wave of depression wipe over me like it paralysed my body from head to toe.  My psychologist didn’t waste any time.  She immediately got on the phone and called my psychiatrist who was in the same hospital and said it was an emergency.  I just sat there.  She was panicking.  Pretty much immediately my psychiatrist got on the phone and they started chatting.  She told him of what I had done then she got off the phone.  I think I had started some sort of controversy now or something.  “You have to go to the emergency department” she said in a rush of panic.  “I feel fine though” I said in a relaxed voice.  “No Jay, you don’t understand, this is just the beginning, what you have done usually takes effect about now, you must go now to emergency” she said.  “And what if I don’t?” I said sarcastically.  “Well, then we need to take steps.....and I mean serious steps to ensure your safety....you are in danger James, go to emergency now” she said.  I didn’t understand why all the panic.  I felt almost 100%.  But I went.  I strolled my way through the mazes of corridors in the hospital to get to the emergency department.

I arrive at the emergency department.  All I was thinking about was how much of a waste of a day this was going to be.  I knew I was going to sit in the waiting room for hours and hours on end.  I had even hired a car for the next couple of days so I can do a few things like go to the beach.  I walked up to the reception desk at emergency and some girl who clearly did not want to be working there said in a sarcastic voice “So, what is your problem?”  “My problem....SWEETHEART.....I tried to commit suicide last night”.  She just stared at me and the whole emergency waiting room went silent.  “That’s right everyone!!!!....I fuckin’ tried to kill myself, you fuckin’ sticky beaks!” I screamed at everyone in the waiting room.  All I felt was rage.  “Okay, I have to ask you to calm down sir and can you tell me what you tried to do?”  “I swallowed a few boxes of Panadol and Largactil” I replied calmly.  “How many?” she replied.  “I don’t know, maybe a hundred, two hundred, who knows, all I know is that I took a lot” I said with a slight temper in my voice.  She said “okay, just one sec...” and then she quickly walked off and she went and spoke to some other woman in a white overcoat in the distance.  They were chatting and looking at me at the same time.  Then the woman in the overcoat walked over to me and said “Okay, I understand that you tried to overdose on some tablets” she said to me as if I was a five year old child.  “Yes!” I snapped back.  She then wrote on some form in front of me in big black writing “SUICIDE ATTEMPT-URGENT”.  Then she said “Okay, we need to get you in her fast, please come this way...”  She came to the emergency room entrance door and ushered me in some room that looked like an asylum room for mental patients.  I really didn’t still understand all the fuss they were making but whatever the case may be, they took this very seriously.  She asked me to lie on the bed and that we need to get blood samples as my liver is in danger.  I wanted to know what the hell was going on so I said “Is all this fuss really necessary?” I said in a sarcastic voice.  She looked at me and said “You are facing a fatality....Jay, you are in great danger”.  I started to feel a sweat of panic over me yet I was in a rage of anger.  I don’t know why I felt so angry.  Perhaps it was the fact that coming to the emergency room was such a waste of a day as I felt fine.  They all seemed to think I was about to die.  Then a male nurse walked in with a smile on his face and said “We need to get some blood from you as we need to test your liver”  “So what’s this going to achieve” I said sarcastically.  “Well, if we make it in time......we can save your liver.....and possibly you” he said in a serious voice.  I now knew that I was danger and felt scared.  Whilst the nurse was jamming some huge needle up my arm he asked me why I tried to kill myself as if he just didn’t understand the concept of it.  “Because I hate myself and my life” I replied.  He looked totally confused but didn’t reply.  I think he just thought I was just another nutcase coming into emergency.  That is also what I felt like too.  I felt like I had sunk to a new low point.  A mental patient losing the plot and going crazy.

I sat on that bed for hours with a needle sticking out of my arm and there was some gadget attached to it to capture the drips of blood or something.  I don’t really know what the hell it was.  But it actually stung, like it was quite painful.  I sat there on the bed for about five hours and no one, not a single staff member even came over to me to let me know what was going on or even to see if I was okay.  They really didn’t seem to give a shit.  I was getting furious and I wanted to leave.  But then a nurse appeared and said that the triage psychiatrist will come to see me shortly.  So I stayed there waiting patiently.

Shortly a friendly and kind of down to earth woman appeared and said “Jay?” “yeah...” I replied as if I didn’t really care less.  “Okay, I understand what has happened and we are waiting for the result of your liver tests and if we need to we can reverse the damage” she said .  I didn’t reply as I still really didn’t understand the fuss.  Then she closed the door and I expected to get the twenty questions again about why I tried to commit suicide? And blah, blah, blah.  But no, we just chatted.  For a psychiatrist she was a pretty down to earth one and really seemed to understand.  I was surprised as my experience with psychiatrists as that they are quite emotionless people.  But she was nice.  She made me feel just that little bit better.  She then said that we have to wait for the blood tests and that my actual psychiatrist wants to see me.  She also said that I need to go to hospital for a few days for observation and just get my head around things.  But not the psychiatric part of the hospital, that apparently was not a very nice place.  I had heard of awful stories about it which I won’t mention here.  But she said I would be admitted to Fairfield House.  This was considered a sanctuary for HIV people and supposing a nice place to be cared for.  I had also heard that Fairfield House was made for people in their last days of dying from HIV related illnesses or AIDS.  But it was a peaceful place I had been told and I would be welcomed there.  I said that would be fine but I asked how much longer do I have to sit here?  She didn’t know but she said just wait and be patient and someone will look after me soon.  So I waited.

I waited.   And I waited.   And I waited and on and on and on.  I had been sitting in that emergency room since 10.30 am and now it was five o’clock.  I waited for another three hours after I saw that triage psychiatrist and since then nobody had even come to see me.  It was quite pathetic but that’s how the public hospital system is.  I didn’t even want to come here.  I only came here because I was forced to.  If I didn’t come then my psychiatrist would have informed the police.  That’s how serious all this fuss was but I just felt inconvenienced.  I had plans for today.  I actually wanted to do stuff, that’s why I went to the trouble of hiring a car.  What a waste.  I was getting really impatient by this stage and was feeling quite angry.  I got fed up and I stood up and said to some nurse tending to another patient opposite me and yelled out to her “Excuse me!, can you pleeeeease tell me what is going on with me, I have been sitting here for hours!”  “Uh....I will go check” she replied slightly shocked as I snapped at her.  Then she went away.  I don’t even know if she went to check what exactly was happening with me.  I could be dying and they wouldn’t even know.  But she never returned.  I waited another thirty minutes and I have had enough.  I said ‘Stuff it, I’m goin’”.  The problem though was this needle thing stuck in my arm.  There was a long thin tube that was slid up my arm.  I thought ‘how the hell am I going to get this thing out without ripping my arm apart?’.  But I really wanted to get the hell out of this place.  I took a risk and started to pull the tube out of my arm.  It was truly painful and a gruesome thing to see.  It looked like there was some alien spawn coming out of my arm.  I couldn’t watch what I was doing so I closed my eyes and held my breath and pulled the tube out.  It was finally out, but then there was a huge gush of blood pouring out of my arm.  “Oh shit!, what have I done!” I said in a panic.  The blood just kept gushing from the inner part of my arm and I couldn’t stop it.  It looked like I was a victim in some gory horror movie.  I used the white sheets from the bed to try and stop the bleeding but blood just kept pouring out.  I think I had really stuffed up this time.  I didn’t know what to do but I knew I would really be in trouble if I don’t stop this uncontrollable bleeding.  It was making me sick just looking at the pool of blood on the floor and all over the bed.  It looked like I had been butchered to death.  I couldn’t believe how this little tube had stuffed up my arm but then again I am not medically trained and I really should have asked for a professional to remove the tube.  I had to think quick as I wanted to get out before someone sees me.  So I removed the pillow case cover and tied it around my arm as tightly as I could.  That covered up the puncture mark and held the bleeding off.  It would be temporary until I get home.  I put my jacket on, grabbed my backpack, ripped off the hospital patient name tag around my wrist and casually walked out the emergency room door.  Then finally I was free.

As soon as I casually walked free from the emergency ward I ran to where I had parked my car.  I wanted to get away from this place as quickly as possible.  At the same time I was in a complete rage of frustration.  I was frustrated that I was kept sitting there with no correspondence or attention and felt as if no one really gives a damn.  So neither did I.  I sped off in my car going at 100 kilometres an hour down a sixty kilometre zone.  I was in an erratic state of mind and no one would dare mess with me.  My mind took over my entire body with complete hatred for the entire world.  The lack of attention was like confirmation for me that the world really couldn’t give a shit about me.   So why should I give a shit about anyone else?  I sped all the way down Punt road, one of the busiest roads in Melbourne, speeding out of control.  I scraped past a couple of cars whilst changing lanes with an indicator.  I was lucky not to have cause a terrible accident.  But I was totally losing it.  Then some idiot decided to start reversing out of a car park space that was on the side of the road and he was simply in my way.  I came to complete halt.  I got of the car and screamed “YOU FUCKIN’ LOSER!!!!!”  The guy, about forty something and overweight was just in a bit of a shock and just replied in a slightly smaller voice “Fuck you!”.  I retaliated and wanted to start a punch on but a woman, who was probably his wife, got out of the car and intervened.  For some reason even though I was fuming with anger I just back in my car and sped off, all the way home.

The only thing I wanted to do was have a cigarette.  And I did.  I hated the fact that I had to have a smoke but I really didn’t care.  I was thinking with any luck these cigarettes would kill me on the spot.  Of course that never did happen.  But there was still some hours in the day left, it was only about 6 pm or so.  Plus I had hired a cr and I did not want to waste the cost.  I still had to do my grocery shopping.  I was still not in the right frame of mind to be in public but I had no food in the house so I had to go.  I had to just get it over and done with and I had a car so it would be nice and quick.

So I arrive at the supermarket.  I barged through the automatic doors with a bad attitude.  I didn’t want anyone to get in my way.  I thrusted my trolley through the aisles whilst pushing aside everyone else’s trolley.  The other people were just a bit shocked that I was doing this.  I didn’t even give it a second thought.  It was like my mind was being controlled by a outside force.  I couldn’t control the amount of hate and anger inside of me.  I hated everyone and I felt that everyone hated me.  The supermarket manager was keeping an eye on me as he had noticed I had been acting a bit erratically.  He didn’t do anything but he was watching me.  Then there was some stupid fat bitch deliberately standing in the way right in the middle of the aisle.  I said in a sarcastic voice ‘Excuse me please!”.  She just gave me a stupid attitude look and she didn’t move.  So I pushed my trolley right into her knocking her on the floor.  People around just watched.  They didn’t really react.  I think they were just too shocked.  But I just shopping and pushing my trolley as if nothing ever happened.  Then that woman walked over to me and said “You did that deliberately!”.  I replied “Well, I did ask you politely to move.....you fat bitch!”.   She then just walked off offended.  Well, she could have lost a few more pounds, that’s actually true!

I get home completely exhausted from the whole event of the day.  I just threw all my grocery shopping in the kitchen and sat on the couch.  I just sat there thinking that I had actually been acting erratically and that I needed to take stock of everything and realise that I must change my way of thinking.  Then it happened.  I broke out into a burst of intense tears.  I cried uncontrollably.  I hated myself and was trapped.  I also felt so alone.  But I also hated the world, I was on an edge of frenzy.  I didn’t know what I was capable of doing next and hated to think about it.

I began to drink that night.  I did not even have any dinner, I just did not have any appetite.  But I was drinking quite heavily.  This was something I don’t normally do as I had never been a big drinker of alcohol at all.  This was the first time I had really hit the hard liquor big time.  So it was dry Martini’s one after the other.  I lost count of how many I had that night but I know it was a lot and I was plastered.

It was around 10 pm and I got a phone call on my mobile.  It was that nice triage psychiatrist from the hospital emergency room.  “Where did you go?” she asked in a friendly and empathetic voice.  “I just got sick and tired of waiting around, I had to leave, I just have had enough” I stuttered my words out.  “Can you come to Fairfield House now and check in, they are expecting you and we have a room for you” she asked.  “I will be honest, I have been drinking tonight, so I don’t think it will be a good idea that I go tonight, but I can tomorrow” I said sincerely.  “Okay, come tomorrow, I will give you call about 10 tomorrow morning, now you get a good night’s sleep, okay?” she said with sincerity.  I agreed.  She really did sound like she cared but most of all it was like she completely understood why I was behaving like this and was willing to get me help.  And I really needed it.  Everything was coming to a deep dead end and this was the final straw.  I cannot do anymore stuff ups and I think this will be my final chance in life.  But right at that very moment, I really did not have any will to go on living and I don’t know why.

I awoke the next morning at the usual time as I do, around 8 am or so.  I was feeling quite sombre, almost numb.  Not feeling pain or emptiness, just emotionless.  I can’t explain it.  I knew I was due to go into hospital again.  But this time this was for ‘real’.  This was going to be a real admittance and I have to take this seriously if I am going to keep on living.  So I arose from my bed, made my morning coffee as usual, had a shower and packed my suitcase.  The whole time I did these daily simple morning ritualized tasks, I thought of nothing.  My mind was switched off.  Then I sat on the couch silently waiting for that phone call.  It was the call that the psychiatrist would call me to tell me to go into hospital at that moment.  But I had to wait at home for her call, then I would proceed.  This was my last chance, it had to be.

I sat there motionless and emotionless on the couch sipping water just hydrating myself as I drank quite a bit of alcohol the night before so I was quite dehydrated.  I did not really have any will to anything else so I just sat there with no emotion, no thoughts and no other thoughts to do anything else.  I sat there for several hours and finally at 2 pm she called me.  She told me to go to Fairfield House and just go to reception and they will take care of me.  I went immediately.

I got a cab to the hospital with one of those bloody chatty and nosey cab drivers that ask you ‘where are you going?’, ‘are you going to work?’, ‘what do you do for a living?”, blah, blah, blah.  I mean, I couldn’t get a can driver of this nature at such a worst time.  I basically told him ‘none of your fuckin’ business and just drive’.

So I arrive at the hospital suitcase in one hand and laptop bag in the other.  I arrive at reception only to be greeted by a friendly receptionist and told them my name.  They were expecting me but seemed surprised at my appearance.  I wondered why but I soon discovered that Fairfield House is mainly for those unfortunate patients who are really suffering, mainly from HIV related illness, some of them in their last days.  It was sad, but the placed seemed to be of a cheerful appearance with the comforts of home.

The doctors of the hospital immediately gave me the usual patient admittance examination when I was shown to my private room.  They were pleasantly surprised that I was so physically fit, and I was.  But my condition was purely psychological but effecting me physically.  I don’t think the doctors there got the ‘low down’ of why I was being admitted before I arrived.  I think they were expecting an old man withering away to skin and bone.  But instead they got me, a mental case.  But I was wanted to be helped as much as possible and co operated with the staff with all the blood tests and tests and more tests even though they got so very annoying.  I told myself that I was going to make the best of this time in hospital and really think about just what it is that I want out of the rest of my life.  I now had time to think.

The next day a psychiatrist came knocking on my door.  Yes, another different psychiatrist, and this one had no emotion at all.  His face looked like it was stuck in neutral gear.  Once again I had to go through my WHOLE life story, again.  I don’t know how many times I have had to do this.  I was completely over it but I kept my patience and told him again about what my life has been like so far.  Throughout the whole hour his facial expression never budged.  He looked like a robot and needed new batteries.  I really don’t know what his purpose was for me as I had my psychiatrist I already see on a regular basis and I was disappointed that he did not show up, instead he sent one of his colleagues and yet again I had to go through the trauma of discussing my past.

After that ‘shrink’ left, I thought to myself long and hard.  I thought, ‘why exactly am I here?’,  I really didn’t know the answer but I dwelled on it and the more I dwelled on it the more Valium I asked for from the nurses.

I had already spent a couple of days in the hospital, I felt quite comfortable there.  For the first time I did not feel like I was treated like a mental patient. I spent my days just trying to relax and think about the future.  It was difficult though as I still believed I had no future and that my life was coming to an end.  I had to hold on as my instinct was telling me that there was something good, something really positive ahead of me.  I just did not know what it was, but it was lingering in the distance.  I had to hold on even if it was just for a little while longer.

About three or so days after I was admitted to hospital I decided that I would go for a walk.  In fact I wanted to get a bit of cardio and get my blood pumping and walk home and back, pick up my mail and walk back to hospital.  My home was only down the road anyway, about 15 to 20 minutes’ walk so it would be good exercise even though it was raining and freezing cold outside.

The walk to my home surprisingly felt good and revitalizing.  Well, it was until I walked inside my apartment.  I walked in the lounge and noticed that there was a large piece of glass in the middle of the lounge room floor.  This immediately looked suspicious.  In a panic I checked the windows and ensured none of my belongings were stolen.  But everything seemed fine.  There were no smashed windows or anything.  I checked the bedroom and all was fine.  Then oh, my god, there it was!  The entire kitchen wall had caved in smashing and crushing everything in the kitchen.  I froze in shock.  I also thought ‘thank god I was not home’.  I could have been crushed.  I could have been killed and this terrified me.  This was wake-up call to stop feeling sorry for myself and being so selfish.

The whole kitchen looked like a bulldozer went right through it.  It was an insane mess and or looked unfixable.  For some reason this felt like karma and it was a sign.  It was a warning.  I truly believe this was god’s warning to pick myself up and stop feeling sorry for myself.  But strangely enough I did not feel so shocked when I saw this disaster mess in the kitchen.  I just stared at it like I took it seriously as a sign, it was a warning sign that I about to crash and I had to take action.

Naturally I called the property manager and explained what had happened and they immediately took action to have it fixed.  They were great and helpful and I could not have been more grateful for the property managers’ and landlords help with this disaster.  But as all this was being fixed I went back to the hospital.

It had been about a week now that I had been in Fairfield House. I had a lot of time to think about my future.  I received word that my apartment was back to normal and I could go home as the kitchen was fixed which was great news but I also felt it was time I take control of my life.

I requested to see a doctor and explained that I would like to discharge myself.  They said “Are you sure.....are you ready?”.  I looked at the doctor right between the eyes and said with such assertiveness and confidence:

“Yes!...yes I certainly am.....”

So I made my way home.  I walked inside my apartment, suitcase in hand, and felt as if I had just taken some health and wellness holiday.  I felt calm and relaxed.  The first thing I did was I sat on the couch in silence.  This was something I did a lot of whilst I was feeling sorry for myself.  But this time was different.  The sun was shining outside.  The apartment no longer not so much felt depressing, it was like I had a choice of it to be depressing or to fight it.  I chose to fight it.

I held my head high and spoke out aloud to myself.

“This is over Jay, this is it........You got a take control and getta grip!”

I went to the mirror and looked at myself in the mirror.  Although I was not truly happy with my appearance, I no longer saw the youthful hot handsome-like guy but I would not call myself ugly either.  I looked okay.  I accepted it.  I am getting older and have to accept it.  You can’t be 25 forever, nobody can.  Sure I am no longer that hot 25 year old that got the attention of everyone when I walked into a room, but I am not that bad for 35 either.  I want my life to start again, from now.  After ten years of still not required to go on HIV medication as yet, I was not as energetic as I was.  Something was not quite right but I was too stubborn to say anything, even to my doctor.  I was not feeling right, both physically and psychologically.  I think this will be the final year of being HIV med free and I need to get away from this city for a while.  That, in Layman’s terms, means I need a holiday to find myself.  This will be a challenge, not a luxury.

…………………………………….

Chapter eighteen……………So who do you love now?

Another year and another Christmas was approaching.  Although I love my family, who I only keep in contact are my mother, brother and his family, it was never, nor ever will be the same as it was when the extended family were together on Christmas eve.  As usual I make the trek up to Brisbane to spend the Christmas period with my family and then take off on a holiday after that.  Usually it was Noosa or Cairns and Port Douglas.  This time I decided to go to New Zealand again, and do it in luxury this time.  I know it sounds pretentious but it was business class all the way with five star hotels.  I planned to fly from Brisbane, to Auckland, stay for a few days, fly to Queenstown, a few days there, and then fly to Wellington, and stay a few days there.  First I have to get through Christmas day.

Don’t get me wrong though, it was always a joy to see my mum and my oma each Christmas.  Truly, it was.  I looked forward to it.  Mum, like always, was quite meticulous in her Christmas arrangements.  She is much organised with attention to detail.  Everything from the Christmas Eve barbeque with a sumptuous feast, Christmas day lunch with my brother, sister in law, and nieces and nephew.

I arrive at Brisbane airport and it was always nice to see my mum.  I always was a bit uneasy about how my brothers’ partner was going to behave due to her (how shall I put it)….her bizarre drunken sarcastic statements, often upsetting either my mum, or my oma.  Really looking forward to what tricks she will be pulling out of her bag this year.

Christmas eve was simple with a seafood barbeque with my mum, om and myself which was laid back but lovely.

Christmas day arrives and chaos begins.  My nieces (two of them step-nieces) and nephew scramble in with excitement.  Reminds me of how I used to act at that age.  We all head out the back patio and the adult instantly reach for the alcohol.  Of course, it is Christmas.  Everything began with small talk.

“How are you?

‘What have you been up to you?”

That kind of thing and then as more alcohol is consumed the ‘loud-mouth’ begins to drop to poisonous verbal statements that starts ruffling a few feather with vigour.

As usual I tend to lay low and just ‘zip-it’.  The observation of her guzzling down the Mexican piss (sorry, Corona’s) is a sight that is amusing enough.  Bring me another Martini and I will make it through the day.  Seriously.

Without doubt my nephew is like a mini-me of me.  He is full of vigour and love to play footy with his uncle Jay.  They were such valuable times with my only nephew and I felt he looked up to me like he put me on a pedestal.  I was a good uncle.  Well, I thought I was and in fact, was always told.  Not that I it was my duty but because I really treasured the time I spent with my nephew and niece who I adored.  But this day took a dark turn without warning.

After drinks and nibbles we headed into the lounge to open gifts under the tree.  The exchange of gifts went at lightening speed and I, like always, was the ‘giver’.  Also the one who ironically received the least amount of gifts (nor complaining though!, just sayin’)

Soon all the gifts were given out, underneath the tree was clear and I found myself with only two gifts.  One form my mum, one from my Oma.  Nothing from my brother and his bitch of a defacto gold-digger of a ‘leach’.  I was not bitter, just disappointed.  I knew the reason.  This was due to that I did not give a gift last year to my brothers partner for something else that offended our small ‘unusual’ family last year.  I won’t go into detail as it is too complicated and quite boring actually.  Quite simple she is a spiteful bitch.  Evil without remorse.  My brother deserves better and god knows what he sees in her.  He works so hard for his family but like always I cannot say anything.  I love my brother as he is the only one I have but she works him into the ground.  This time she has gone too far by totally ignoring me with no gifts.  But this is not about material things, it is what happened next that set me off.  The lounge was cleared of the tsunami of wasted Christmas wrapping and everyone cleared the room except my nephew and myself playing with a train set.  As he played with a train he said without looking at me but in a casual and soft voice;

“Do you like boys?”

“What?...What do you mean?  Who told you that?” I replied whilst giggling my jaw, knowing who is responsible for influencing my nephew to be so ‘inquisitive’.

“Are you a poofy?” he asked with an innocent chuckle.\

“Who said that to you mate?”

He told me who.  I stood up calmly, walked into my room, slammed the door and went straight to my bottle of Valium.

“Jay?”  Mum rushed over to my closed door whilst knocking.

‘Are you okay” she continued,

My brother rushed to the door and I knew he would make an attempt to burst in.  I am furious.  I wanted to smash something, preferably ‘her’ face.  (His partners, that is).

I rushed to the door and put the full force of my body against it. My brother tried to burst in.

“Open the door!” he shouted.

He took another go at trying to burst in but failed.  He may be larger than me but not stronger.

“You are fucked in the head mate!  Get psychiatric help!”, he screamed.

He was right but I was angry and upset and wanted to escape.  Once he backed off the door I reached for the bottle of Valium and swallowed half a bottle, probably about 25 of them.  The rest I spat back out into the bottle.  I really did not want to kill myself.  I just wanted to pass out.  I had enough and this was the last Christmas.

Minutes later I was out of it but conscious.  I remember my mum bursting in whilst I was laying on the floor.  She spoke to to me like I was an idiot.  She was right.  I was an idiot and felt like one but I just wanted out.

“Why are you doing this Jay?”

“What happened?”

“Speak to me”

She asked question after question after question with such concern but I refused to answer.  I was heavily sedated, with alcohol, but was able to answer, yet refused.  I regret that.  My mum was clearly upset.  I was just angry and wanted to die.  What my nephew said hurt me and I knew who was responsible.

My brother and his ‘tribe’ left.  I started to feel physically sick from the combination of sedatives and alcohol.  But the anger was overwhelming and god knows why, I began to feel hate towards to my mother.

As my mother came back to me lying pathetically on the floor, quizzing me with question after question, I suddenly got up, staggered around for a while, then grabbed something for the kitchen.  My mum fold me begging me to stop but I was not sure what as I was totally out of it. Apparently it was knife, but as I was so out of it, that is all I can recall.  All I remember is that I approached my mum with this object in the kitchen and threatened her with it.  But this is what I ashamedly recall.  I pushed my mum to the wall, not with force (I know that as I was tods that later), I held a knife to her throat and looked into her eyes.

“Go on, do it!  Do it!  Get it over with!” she said with a tear in her eye staring directly at me.

I dropped the knife and walked out into the backyard.  I staggered like a pathetic zombie into somewhere in the dark backyard, fell into a foetal position and cried uncontrollably.  I was shocked to the core to what I had just done to my mother.  My mum.  My mum who adored me from birth.

“How could I have possible even think about doing such a thing?!!!  This was it.

This is the end.  I am going to end it.  This is inexcusable and I am ending it now.  This is it”

This was the first time that I was really courageous (if you can call it that) enough to feel the pain of cutting my own throat.  I need to end my life.  My mum, my dear, loving mum!!!!!!!

Why?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I attempted to scramble around the dark to find something sharp as I can hear my mum calling out my name to find where I am.  I was desperate.  I needed to end it before the cops arrive.  I am done and dusted and I am craving to feel the pain and agony I deserved. My life is over and I am done.

But no.  The police arrive and I was quizzed in middle of the backyard and escorted by police car to the Hilton Brisbane to stay overnight before I departed for my luxury trip to New Zealand the next day.

This was surreal.  No other words to describe it yet I never want to experience it ever again.

Ever.

................................................................................................................................

Chapter seventeen……………Apartment 666

After four years of blood, sweat and tears, and there were more tears than anything else, I graduated with a Bachelor of Visual Art and a Bachelor of Communication.  Hard to believe my success it really did not sink in for a while.  With much praise from my professors I was urged by both those in visual art to get my artworks into galleries, and on the other hand, was encouraged to pursue journalism, but mostly script-writing.  I was leaning mainly towards doing my artwork as I was so attached to it personally and it was relieving due to the personal and autobiographical nature of my work.  The concept I dealt with aimed at identity and role play during childhood.  This was the many years as a child growing up I used role play as a form of escapism from the ordeals from my stepfather.  I often played, on my own, in a private space many masculine roles where power and authority was a major part.  In retrospect, it had something to do with keeping on top of things and kept me sane.  The physical aspect about my approach and process involved constructing shadows of figures of certain roles, where I constructed assemblages using domestic objects that juxtaposed into figurative shadows.  I was addicted to creating them and had many ideas, yet I still had in the back of my mind this idea about writing a film script.  But I continued to (try) and ignore that dream as I thought to myself it would never happen.  So after graduation it was time to move on.  I needed a change of atmosphere and craved a career with something I really wanted to do but what I was good at.  Another space is what was needed.

……………………………..

It has been about twelve years I have lived in that apartment in South Yarra and never had any real thought to move.  I just wanted a change of atmosphere, perhaps something larger with a backyard, or balcony.  This may be a challenge considering I still wanted to live close to the city.  Remarkably I found a literally perfect two bedroom apartment in Balaclava, which is on the other side of the Yarra river, still close to the city, just a little further out.  This was my first apartment inspection and I was instantly approved.  Obviously someone up there is starting to like me. (Thank you god).  So without delay I began to make the arrangement to move.  You know the drill; giving notice to my current agent, paying the bod and rent in advance, then the packing and cleaning.  Four weeks of what we are all familiar with, yet I was excited and had a good feeling about this new place.  So I actually had a ball packing and cleaning.

For the next four weeks of packing and cleaning I had experienced some strange occurrences.  At the time I thought nothing really about it but I often had a few accidents and it was on a daily basis, mainly during the last two weeks of cleaning.

There were many time I cut myself accidentally, hit my head and every other body part on something, even falling off the chair whilst cleaning the cobwebs off the ceiling.  It was a cycle of accidents.  Then again I am a self-confessed accident prone victim!  As my mum, she will confirm that.  However, these accidents just escalated over and over the closer the date to moving was approaching.  It was not as if I was being careless of rushing, as I really was not.  They just happened and no idea why as I did nothing out of the ordinary.  Strange but true, yet I ignored its relevance, if any.

……………………………………..

Moving day;

Yes!  Finally the day arrived and everything ran smoothly apart from the fact it was a forty degree Celsius day!  Of course it would be; this is Melbourne!  So the move carried on and a couple hours later I was officially in my new home.  It felt good and like an achievement.  I had met one of the neighbours already who seemed quite nice but not the others as yet.  Of course when you move stuff in there is a bit of noise, and unpacking boxes is particularly noisily with unravelling tape from boxes.  I don’t think the neighbours downstairs appreciated me unpacking after six pm, as they hit the walls as a sign to shut up.  I can take a hint, even though they could have done this with a bit more decorum.  Whatever, I would continue the next day.  So as only half the task is done, there was the unpacking to do and I am determined to get this done and settled so I can get back into my artwork again.

……………………………….

After settling in I spontaneously to progress back into my artwork.  I wanted to transfer my feelings and emotions onto canvas as a form of expression and just putting my emotions into a visual form.  I found it so stimulating, I almost got a natural adrenaline rush from doing my artwork that it led to another composition piece and another and another.  I soon had a whole portfolio collection of artwork.  All very personal and quite striking.  In fact some of them quite disturbing, but that’s the idea, it was designed to get reaction about my feeling about society.  Will came over soon to see my new place and was surprised with the look of the apartment.  We sat down, had a couple of my famous Martini’s, and Will’s ‘girly’ (but cute) giggle echoed throughout the building.  From a distance we heard a muffled word shouted;

“Fag!”

We both went silent for a moment but said nothing.  It happened again.

“Whore!”

“You hear that?” I said with a concerned tone.

“Uh, yep…..Sure did”, Will replied as he looked down into his empty glass.

“Whatever.  Just ignore it” he said.

Suddenly a door was heard loudly slamming repetitively and this was definitely deliberate.  But why?  We both just ignored it.  Will suggested I start keeping a log book as other things like this have occurred from time to time since I moved in and I had not experienced anything like this before. We didn’t worry about it as we really did not know where it came from and who it was, nor did we really know if it was directly thrown at us.  Like Will said I told myself “Whatever”.  However I emailed a letter to my property agent to raise these concerns and to find out if there is some kind of issue.  After all this is the right thing to do, not a whinge, just a concern which needs clearing up.

Later in the day I shown Will my latest completed assemblage artworks.  Will literally cried at one of my pieces and said it was quote: “fuckin brilliant, you have to have this in an exhibition!”  Maybe I was onto to something here?

I kept doing my art like it was way of communicating with the world.  It was so stimulating and like I was just getting something off my chest.  But most of all, it made me feel good.  I suddenly took an interest in art and started researching artists like Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein and Jean Basquiat.  My artwork would probably considered to be post- expressionism, but whatever.  I just like what I do and it’s my form of communication.  I had a few assemblages prepared and was basically ready to put on a show so I began writing up exhibition proposals.  I emailed, and sent, them out to multiple galleries.  Surprisingly I was accepted into an art exhibition at the Victorian Artists Society.  As this was my first exhibition I was a nervous wreck, but I got through it.

Soon after I was offered a place in an art exhibition competition in a boutique gallery in Collingwood, Victoria.  This again was a surprise and the opening went off!  My shadow and assemblage installation piece called “If I were a Tradie” created a lot of praise which was flattering.  In fact so much so that I was embarrassed.  During the exhibition I mingled with a lot of other artists and felt like this really was my home.  I felt like these are my type of people as we understood each other and our work.  Many think that artists are ‘wankers’ but let me tell you, they ARE NOT.  Beyond the concept, approach and process has a lot more meaning than you think and is not complicated.

With a glass of champagne in one hand, catalogue in the other, and immersed in an interesting conversation with another artist the curator of the gallery tapped a spoon on her glass to grasp the crowds attention.  Everyone gathered around the down stairs foyer of the townhouse style of the gallery and squeezed in to get the best view possible to find out who are the winners.

“Thank you all for coming to this event.  We were overwhelmed with the quality of entries this year.  And we have to say that this year’s competition has been one of toughest to judge”, the curator spoke to the crowd.

They announced the two runner ups which were no surprise as they were extraordinary paintings, and yes, I felt a bit of ‘art envy’ here.  Every artist gets that though; ask them, it’s true!  The winner was about to be announced by one of Melbourne’s renowned and established artists.  He proceeded to explain the process used in this winning entry and it sounded very much like my own.  Naturally I felt nervous, in fact, terrified.  I was not ready for success, not yet.  Will, who was always by my side, as a best mate would, accompanied me to the exhibition, and nudge me in the back slightly.  He winked at he and whispered in my ear;

“Its you”.

I shook my head to say “no, its not”.

And it was not.  It was another well deserving entry.  The feeling was a mixture of both relief and slight disappointment.  Time to move on and keep going though.  This was not failure, but a motivational tool, not just for art, but for life in general.

…………………………………

My proposals and hard work was beginning to pay off but not in monetary terms.  I found myself beginning to gain some attention with galleries around Melbourne was offered to be part of group exhibitions.  Galleries ranged from suburbs from Hawthorn to even the Yarra Valley.  Everyone is a critic so of course response to my work being very different was mixed, but mostly positive.  Will was usually quite ‘mute’ about my work and did not often comment on my work.  I always wondered about that and it was probably because it was a bit too post-contemporary for him.  That did not bother me but at times it did.  As I don’t have that many friends (since my clubbing days are over) I really did not know if I was heading in the right direction or not.  Post-graduation I had completed many artworks and was actually running out of ideas.  But perhaps I was running out of steam?  I don’t think it was that.  Every day I dedicated myself to create multiple artwork in my studio, which was my second bedroom.  On and one particular day I was working quietly in my room and kept hearing doors slamming, thumps against walls like someone banging their fists against the walls.  I had no idea why as I made little noise.  It was coming from downstairs, yet again, and I was sure I kept hearing words shouted out like “fag!”, “Poofter!” and “Nerd!”  It was repetitive but slightly muffled like it was shouted out from inside.  Trying to ignore it was difficult and even so to try and convince myself that it could not possibly be directed at me was even harder.  I had not even met any of the other neighbours so they don’t even know me.  I assume they have probably seen me, like taking out the rubbish, or getting the mail, I really don’t know.  It was beginning to concern me.

Later that evening I took a shower then sat in lounge room with a well deserved martini and simply sat on the couch to watch television.

‘THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!’ was heard and felt through the floor.

This was intense followed by a girl screaming out “I fucking can’t stand him!!!”

“FAG!”

“NERD!”

“DIE YOU FAGGOT WHORE!”

This was loud and clear as both a male and female from a unit downstairs from mine screamed it out at the top of their lungs from their courtyard.  This confirmed the fact it was directed at me.  Why and what for?  Then a handfuls of dirt, and mud, where through at my French door windows in my lounge from that same unit whilst continuing to call me names.  They were out of control and seemingly under the influence of something.  Then there was a brief moment of silence before a glass bottle was thrown onto my balcony in front of the French doors and smashed.  There was no other option but to call the police.  After several minutes the police showed up and I explained what happened in a nervous state.  The police were very quick to respond but explained that neighbour disputes are so common that they cannot intervene in their behaviour.  But this is not a dispute as I have no dispute, as far as I was aware at that time.  This was simply homophobia based on what I look like; a ‘fag’.

The police visited the offenders downstairs, and left after a few minutes.  I assumed nothing was done but then again what could they do?  I had no witnesses, I was not hurt, just shaken, insulted and those bullying name just hurt me.  It felt déjà vu, just like my very first year of high school where I was bullied, called a ‘fag’, ‘whore’ and a ‘nerd’ and spent my lunch break in a toilet cubicle, terrified of being beaten up.  I felt hopeless and helpless and could not believe it was happening to me at my age.  So filled up my glass with gin, a twist of lemon, lit a cigarette, turned off the TV and the lights, then sat on the cold tiled floor in the bathroom and cried.

…………………………………….

As the months go by, the harassment escalates.  With still no idea as to why these ‘ferals’, who do nothing (literally) but sit there all day bullying me through cowardly shouting out names to me, I struggle to work in my studio room.  The worst usually happened at night when they would throw garbage at my windows and doors along with the usual homophobic slander and calling me a ‘whore’ or ‘ugly whore’.  The police have by this stage visited the premises at least three times but their hands are tied.  They really can’t control them but what I find upsetting is that my property manager and landlord seem disinterested. This unfairness led to my decision to move but not without a fight.

……………………………….

After my one year lease expired I immediately started to look for a new place to live and I was destined to live this time in a house.  Ironically I found one in Brunswick and looked like an ideal property with a small but quaint backyard with lots of room.  Using the word ‘irony’ again, this property was the first one I inspected and applied and was approved.  The thought of the harassment happening again did not come across my mind as all I wanted to do was get out of that apartment.  Yet this was unfinished business and I filed court action against my landlord.  This was not a personal attack but fair justice as I lived in hell for months with no assistance and if there was something being done to try and control those pathetic, revolting, disgusting and insecure ferals, then I saw no progress.  It just kept getting worse.  There were other tenancy issues as well which I shall not get into but lets just call it neglect.

…………………………………

Packing and cleaning once again, whilst also preparing mountains of documents for court was high on the agenda for the next month.  Soon I moved into my new home in Brunswick.  I began unpacking as soon as I arrived, then stopped and was shocked about something.  It was dead quiet.  Really quiet.  I sat on the stairs for a moment and thought to myself that this is not real.  It felt silly but I thought that this home being so ideal, being found and approved so quick, and with very affordable rent seemed too good to be true.  Snapping out of it, I continued to unpack.

Spending day and night unpacking was exhausting especially as this was a double story house and in great condition.  It was just so quiet.  There was a strange thought in my head that popped up-I felt like I was being watched.  Paranoid?  Perhaps?  Whatever, I was too tired to care so I called it a night.

…………………………….

The next day;

Had an odd night’s sleep.  Probably call it a bit cold to be honest as there was no heating as I was promised according to the agents lease agreement and condition report.  It was the middle of a Melbourne Winter so I slept with about three doonas.  Yet I was keen to get out of bed and continue unpacking boxes and just get settled.

Staggering down the staircase, yawning and looking around the place that still seemed seemed unfamiliar, after all I just moved in, I went straight to the fridge to make the strongest plunger coffee possible.  Standing in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, I scratch my head and think, in a scattered way, about what I am going to do next.  Start with unpacking boxes in the bedroom?  The lounge room?  The…?  Oh fuck it!  Just start from the front room upstairs which happens to be my studio workroom.  This was the second bedroom facing the front of the entrance.

After a good dose of extreme Java indulgence and a bowel of oats with Manuka honey, I head straight to the bathroom, and jumped in the shower.

About a few seconds later I heard some kind of mumbling of words.  It is hard to explain but it sounded like single words spoken out aloud by a male and female.  For some reason I became a bit concerned and did not know at that time why.  So I just kept washing.  But whoever it was speaking out single inaudible words, the volume got higher and higher.

I put down the soap for a moment and I was sure I heard male and female voices yelling out slurs but not sure what because of the water running.  Call me paranoid and in fact, I actually told myself at the time that I was due to what I experienced before.  It was hard to ignore but it was the only way to be less conscious about.

“This is crazy to keep thinking like this” I kept telling myself.

I got out of the shower, dried, went to my bedroom and dressed.  It was silent.  I thought all was good.  I was just being paranoid.  Who could blame me right?  So it was time to just get on with it and begin unpacking the second bedroom which at the moment will be my studio room, but later I promised my mum she can move in here with me.  Mum and I discussed this a while ago and I told her that it is time I look after her and she really wants to come back to Melbourne so she could live with me for a while.  It would be good for her.

As I shuffled boxes around I heard some sniggering and it was quite close by.  Next door in fact.  I began kind of planning mum’s bedroom layout quietly talking to myself.

“I think mum should put her bed here….her dressing table here…and….”

“POOFTER!”

I froze.  I stood there numb.  No words.  No reaction.  No retaliation. No nothing.  I walked out of the room like a zombie and walked slowly down the stairs.  Then I sat on the very last step of the staircase.

“Not again” I whispered to myself with a dry mouth.

“I can’t handle this anymore”

“Why?”

“This is not fair”

“I wish I was dead”

Those last words I really meant at the time.  I really wish I was dead.  I was not capable of dealing with being bullied and harassed again for god damn reason by a couple of dole bludging insecure ugly losers!  And they are exactly that.  I have seen what they look like and was told by the agent what they are.

Pathetic.  Both ways.  Pathetic for them that they have to resort to bullying others to make them feel better about themselves but unfortunately no matter how tough you think you have thought you have gotten; nothing can prepare you for a repetitive dose of humiliation.  This is overdose and I wished I found a really quick way to die.  I can’t move again.  I won’t.  I shouldn’t.  I can’t.  I am done.

………………………………

After crying myself to sleep to the point where I dehydrated myself I awoke to think that it was clear to me I have once again moved to the wrong area where homophobia is rife.  But hang on!  This is not about homophobia.  This is about revolting people who are insecure and jealous of other people they find a threat.  People who are different and uneducated.  I fell sorry for them and not in a good way.  I wasted no time in raising my concerns with the property manager and she was shocked.  It was not long before I was granted to be released from the lease agreement to look for another place to live (again!).  Thankfully the agent and landlord were very helpful in securing a new property for me without penalty and I appreciated it as it was not their fault.  The agent and landlord were just as shocked as me.  But this was becoming not only a nuisance that I have to move again but depressing.  So with the help of my agent I found a new apartment and it time to move once again.  Please god tell me I am not going to go through hell like this again.  Please.

…………………………………….

Pack, clean, pack, clean, and bloody packing and cleaning again!  Then once again, and another thousand bucks spent on moving costs for removalists, bond, and all that jazz, I was in another apartment in Coburg.  Not exactly my ideal area to live in but it was a large apartment with a large backyard.  On inspection prior to moving in the place was very clean, spacious and quiet.  Yeah, I have heard and seen it all before with my eyes wide shut!

Moving into this place was probably the quickest move I have done.  After all, I am now a professionally experienced mover now.  Not exactly something to be proud of.  So I moved in.  Boxes and furniture everywhere like usual.  I really was over it and again it was very quiet.  The same scenario.  I was just waiting for the first “Fag!” greeting.  But no.  First night, so far so good.  Second day, still okay.  Then as I suspected.

“Fag”……”Fag”…”Fag”….”Fag”….

It was over and over by again!, a male and female voice, not yelling it just saying it from out their window which was directly above my bathroom.  So when I was in the bathroom they said it over and over.  But it got worse.  Much worse.

“WHORE!!!!”

This word cut deep.  I cannot even describe what it felt like being called that word.  It goes beyond the feeling of shame so excessive that it rips through my spinal cord.

If I go into detail you would be bored because it was exactly a carbon copy of what I experienced in the last two places I lived.  Again I am dealing with dole bludging, drug affected, disgusting, insecure, ugly and revolting jealous losers who have nothing to do with their miserable lives.  Simply pathetic.

I need not go further but this place was the worst for eight month of hell.  I was verbally abused, spat at, has rocks thrown at, my apartment physically attacked who damaged the property, walls and doors smashing at all time of the day and much more.  It was a mess and I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  This was unbearable.  Mind you, I have not done a single thing to upset anyone.  They do not know me, only seen me.  This is what the lowest scum of society acts like and they get away with it! The police were called seven times!  NO charges laid considering I had more than enough evidence.  Why?  So many reports made to the agent and landlord and the landlord did not even care!  She could not give a fucking shit!  Where is the fairness in this?  This is insane.  So what’s a boy to do?  I became an internet model.  Basically a ‘rent boy’ online and guys and girls pay me to strip, masturbate and all the stuff I used to do, yet not physically touched.  I had to.  It was not the money, it was like a form of self-punishment.  I did it for months and became very popular, but as expected, my popularity one day plummeted.  I went from the number one performer to something like number 5,081!  So I quit.  Again.  The cycle of harassment continues though.

At least after eight months of hell of the worst kind I was outta there and moved to another apartment, smaller, cheaper and if I am harassed again, then whatever.   It did.

“Fag, ugly fag, poof, poofter, nerd, dork, fag, fag, fag, fag, fag, and again……whore”

Not my problem, just let it go Jay and move. Again!  At least I will be able to save a lot more money by moving into a smaller place.  Obviously homophobia is still rife in the world.  I really do not think it will ever be eradicated as long as there is still insecure people out there whom are the one’s doing to cowardly slurring behind our backs.  But hang on.  How can three sets of tenants assume I was or am a ‘whore’?  I decided to investigate and report it to my property manager, who I might add was brilliant.

Then next day I recorded some verbal abuse and even took photographs.  I thought that this would be enough to have the bastards evicted.  As I walked out of my apartment I saw a piece of paper with a familiar face on it.  I picked up and looked at it with shock.  It me, my face, with the words;

“Looking for a blowjob, knock on the door of unit 5.”

I lived in unit 5.  These flyers were in every post-box.  Who on Earth would want to spend their time and effort to bully me like this?  My heart skipped a beat but then I went numb.  There is nothing I could do.   Cry?  Yeah, I wanted to but I am all dried up now.  But the question still remains; ‘How can people make such assumptions?  Why? And Who?’  There must be a source.

That night, when I lingering over that horrible ‘bullish’ leaflet, and just about when I was going to fall asleep, psychologically bruised, something strange happened.  The ‘who’ theory came to me.  The only way others would know about my past is those who now.  Obvious right?  It is.  You realise I had many, many clients and this world is not that big.  It was strange that some of the one’s who bullied me looked like dads in suits.  But it is not strange that dads in suits were also my popular clients.  Go figure, as one of them looks very familiar.  My inkling and investigation ends.  I pity them.

……………………………………..

Chapter twenty.......The final Chapter and it’s only the                                                                                                   beginning

March, 2016;

Although I have moved into a small and relatively quiet apartment, it was very affordable and I remained positive that this WILL be the last move for a while regardless if anything else would happen.  At least I will have extra cash, time to work, and time to write.  I have so many ideas and plans.

My ‘ironic’ career in visual art did not last long but I am not totally distancing myself from it.  Just keeping it low for a while and dabble in it like a hobbyist.  So I have not abandoned the idea totally, just taking a step back as I am going back to my roots.  This is officially stating confidently I am dead-set on pursuing a career in script-writing and journalism.  I know you may be a bit suspicious about my infamous reputation of my short-lived careers decision but this is the real deal.  I have always wanted to pursue this ever since primary and high school.  My true passion is in film, cinema and media.  I am fascinated by it and it such a unique form of creativity, so really, I am kind of blending together what I have learnt at university in visual art and communications, as I have been trained to write a professional film script.  So let the game begin!  I think I now have a thicker skin, and older, and wiser.  Bring it on!

Today, a few days after moving, I bought myself a diary.  I started planning.  Suddenly this influenced a new attitude.  For the first time in ages I actually wanted stuff to do although I realize it will not, and shouldn’t be easy.  I even started going back to the gym and started being back those biceps and abs that I was once famous for.

But it has been a rocky road and it has not been all smooth sailing though.  The times I would awake in the morning and sit on the couch in absolute agony and crying uncontrollably are gone.  Admittedly, there are good days and some not so good ones.  Not to the point of sitting feeling sorry for myself, but if only I didn’t have this incurable ‘thing’ living inside my body, I believe could have achieved.  A few months later I had made some very important life changing decisions.  These are decisions that had to be.  No more lies, no more deceit and no more pulling the wool over anyone’s eyes.  My days of over self-indulgence leading to selfishness are over.  I have learnt so much from my life’s mistakes but my ‘disability’ is not a death sentence and I have the right to have a future.  To study, to work, to have friends, make friends, and to live.  The one thing I hope for is equality for anyone who is different regardless of sexuality or disability.  On that note, one thing I have not spoken about in my memoirs is if my family know about my HIV status.  The answer is generally “yes”.  Obviously Will, my best friend, knows and he was actually the first person I revealed it to and the emotional support he provided me was incredible.  I do not know what I would have done without his understanding.  Imagine having no real close friend to tell this about?  I imagine this unbearable to think about and I thank god for a caring man like Will.  We have been the best of friends for over twelve years, maybe more, I think.  (I don’t count the years anymore as it is irrelevant).  Most of all, as you may also be wondering is if my mother knows.  She does.

I remember telling my mother years ago I was HIV positive.  Her response was not surprising as she is very protective of me, understanding and intelligent.  My mother could not have shown any more support.  She even said that she “loves me even more now that she knows the truth.”  She was so very understanding and showed no fear or disgust.  She is quite a modern woman so she understands issues like this.  It was such a great relief that she now knows.  It felt good as I do not need to mask it with shame.

To this day I still do not know who gave HIV to me.  All I do know is that it was definitely through sexual contact.  I am no angel and had quite a number of partner, did party hard, but was as sensible as I could possibly be.  It may sound hypocritical but again, I am speaking the truth.  Recalling the times where each day I spend the whole day in bed, where I was so paralysed with depression that I couldn’t move are still painful memories.  But there were also days that I felt okay, in fact quite good.  It’s been a rollercoaster ride.  But I’m making progress.

The depression was not as bad as it was.  But is still lingering there a little but only subtle.  The good thing is that I am not too conscious about it and the counselling and medication helps.  Then of course there is the HIV.  Going first onto HIV medication about three ago was terrifying due to all the horrific stories about side-effect I had heard about.  Fortunately I had not had any real severe side effects and look and feel healthier.  I am quite fit anyway and eat well and always had which probably assists my over health.  Today my viral load is undetectable, and t-cells are on the rise but I am still HIV.  I still struggle to accept I am HIV and it is only just now that I am beginning to feel less shame and what’s happened has happened.  I am still just a normal Aussie guy.  I am not straight, I am gay, by definition and if you have to label it, I am bisexual.  Sure I may look and act a bit different to others, but isn’t that actually the point of individuality.  So why do others fear those who are different?  Their insecurities are not problems of ours.

After all, I have actually had quite an exciting life, lots of ups and downs, all to the extreme.  So that was it.  I decided to write my autobiography and you are probably reading this right now.  This was my form of therapy and hopefully if someone like you finds my story interesting, then that would be a bonus, and flattering.

So here I am now.  I am still alive.  I am happy about that, but I have a while to go to find constant happiness in life.  I am working on it.

I am at the stage where I am really taking control of my life, I have to.  I think god was right.  There was a reason why I was put on this planet.

My health is pretty good, in fact my doctors are surprised how fit I am.  However there is still the issue of the odd panic attack or two and the lethargy.  Like I said earlier, I am working on it.  But I have taken stock of my life and determined to just get on with it.  I have been going to the gym for the last few months and have got my body back which has given me more confidence.  Ironically I am not out for vanity like I used to be.  Sure occasionally I get cruised by guys as I look a bit buffed but I am so not interested in a partner, let alone sex.  Ironically, I get more girls than guys flirting with me.  That’s all in the past.  I don’t need a lover.  I need my life.  That’s not too much to ask for, isn’t it?  My days of an over sexed drug fucked party boy are over and I am happy about that.  I am seeking more meaning and substance to my life.  Although I don’t want a partner, a lover, or even casual sex, I am not a loner either.  I am trying to be social.  After all, my days at the moment are visits to some kind of doctor every day of the week anyway.

Having two undergraduate university degrees is fine, but I want to immerse myself more in my true passion.  I have also made a decision to actually do what I wanted to do since secondary school.  To pursue a Master of Arts with an emphasis in cinema studies, do a bit of part time work in events and functions, and write scripts.  That’s on the agenda at the moment.  I am still doing my artwork on occasion, and now I have written my true life story to look back on.  A docudrama feature film script is on the horizon and it’s gonna be exciting, trust me.  The only hurdle is for me to do a proposal with a ‘blast!’

So here we are.  You know just about everything about me.  You may have your opinions and that’s fine.  But I want you to know one thing.  I think I’m going to be okay, but it’s gonna be tough.

Today, as I write this paragraph I had the thought of my age heading to forty. Oh my god, I never imagined myself at this age.  I never thought that the ‘once hot party boy’ could get this far and survive.  Unfortunately my admired image is gone but that happens to everyone as they get older.  I am totally fine that though as I have had my time.

There was a time I remember on one of my birthdays and I spent it alone and thought I shall do something like go to the movies.  For some reason I had some magnetic urge to see ‘Mao’s Last Dancer’.  It was such an inspirational movie that made me cry.  This was some kind of sign.  I remember a line that the dancer ‘Li’ said to his ballet teacher whilst he was struggling to excel at ballet dancing he said “I don’t want to learn to walk, I want to learn to fly........”   How true that sounded to me.  That’s exactly how I feel about life.  I have learnt to walk, I have lived a wild life, but now its crunch time to really embrace life to it’s fullest.  I have to, I won’t get a second chance.

That movie made me feel so relaxed for the rest of the day, like it meant something.  I don’t think I’ afraid of getting older.  Anyway, people say now that I definitely don’t look my age anyway, I look more like 27 or 30.  Which is a compliment, but it’s a superficial thing.  I do look after myself with diet and gym and look quite fit.  Very fit in fact if I look at myself in the mirror.  I look healthy too, like I have some kind of summer glow.  But all this vanity, even though I still look okay, doesn’t mean much to me anymore.  It’s what’s going on inside my head which is the problem.  Yes, sometimes I get the odd flirty look from guys and girls now checking me out.  Ironically more from girls though.  But I just don’t care about it now.  If they knew I was HIV with a mental disorder they would probably not even take a second look at me.

I’m not interested in anything sexual, I think I am all sexed out, like I’m over it or something, but I’m not a loner either.  I still get out and about and do stuff.  Who knows?, one day my prince will come.  I’m not actively looking but he (or she) is out there somewhere.

………………………………

Almost on a daily basis, especially during these warm summer days I spend a few hours a day in the Botanic Gardens.  I sit in a peaceful place in the gardens under a slight shade and taking in the peacefulness and just either think or do what I am finding addictive; writing.

But just the other day something strange happened to me that touched my heart.  So I will end my story with this.

I was in the Botanic gardens on a Sunday, the busiest day in the gardens, not really ideal for concentrating on writing so it’s a real test of patience with screaming kids everywhere.  But I sat there writing and noticed a small boy was standing in front of me as I was typing on my laptop.  I looked up and he just stared at me.  I swear, he looked like me when I was about 5 or 6 years old.  He just looked at me for a few moments with such curiosity.  Then he said, ‘”What’s wrong?”  Did I look upset?  I didn’t think so.

“Nothing, nothing at all “I replied.  Oddly he replied “I know”.  I was confused but still to this day thought it was just some kind of trance.  But it really happened.  Then reached into his pocket and handed me something wrapped in a rainbow coloured napkin.  You know, the find of napkins they have at kid’s parties.  I apprehensively accepted it from him carefully as he handed it to me as I reach over my laptop, still seated.  The napkin was warm.  I opened up the napkin and it was one of those party sausage rolls coated with a little tomato sauce on top, all this intact.  I swear, this happened.  I was stunned and looked at him, he smiled and said “You can have this one, I have had enough”.  “It’s from my birthday party” he continued.  I was speechless and was so emotional I had hold back my tears.  This was beyond irony.  But I managed to mutter the words “Have a great birthday”.  He replied “You too”.  Then his mother called him in such a familiar sounding voice:

“Jay-Jay! Jay, where are you?....Jay-Jay, come back here!”

Then the little boy gave me a cute little smile and ran off to his mother.  I thought I was going to cry.  It was such a surreal feeling.  As I watched that little boy run off to his mother I said to myself;

“Jay-Jay, I hope you have a wonderful life, but I also hope you know what you are in for, just be prepared for whatever life throws at you”.

I couldn’t type anymore, I was moved by this moment.  Then suddenly I looked up again and that little boy and his mother disappeared, like magic.  Did I imagine this?  Or was it real?  Or perhaps it was a sign?  Who knows?

This experience was both a wake-up call and felt like a sign that despite what I have been through it is not too late to start again, regardless of age, or feeling of difference.

As I write these final words to my story right now, sitting in the summer sun in the Botanic Gardens in Melbourne, I really don’t think I had such a bad life.  After all, what does ‘bad’ really mean?  Life is such a treasured asset we all take for granted and still I am trying to find the meaning to my existence.   Sometimes we experience things in life that we wish we didn’t.  But that really comes with the journey.  After all, we are all different, yet we are all human beings.  I think it is time that we as human beings, should start treating each other with a little more dignity and respect.  Don’t ever judge a book by its cover.  I guess what I am trying to say is that I am sick of being judged by people in society that don’t even know me and make judgemental comments or assumptions.  Get to know the person first, you may be pleasantly surprised.  What goes around comes around.  I truly believe that if you do some good, then it will be returned.  Trust me, I have learnt this the hard way.  But my journey of life has not ended yet.  In fact, I’m starting again but it is not going to be easy.  My battle of psychotic depression or whatever one doctor wants to label it, I don’t know, I have lost track of all the diagnoses they have given me over the years, I am still battling on.  But I can tell you this.  I will fight it and I know I can.  I am trying not to dwell over my childhood or my sinful behaviour in my twenties, I will accept it and move on.  I just need to convince myself of that.

All in all, I have had one hell of a wild rollercoaster ride of a life so far?  I think parts of it was fun......except the scary stuff.

All that sex, drugs and ‘sausages rolls’, will be in my memory forever and never forgotten but it’s time for Jay Beau Andrews to grow up.

Yes, I am still verbally bullied about my past from ignorant people but I think I have developed a thick skin just to tolerate it.

So I took a deep breath, pushed aside all my anxieties, told myself I can get through this tough battle and continued to type whilst eating a gourmet quiche.  Nothing wrong with eating quiche for just an ordinary Aussie guy.

Now if you don’t mind, I’ve a got a film script to write and this time it’s for real.  But today, my rent is due once again.

THE END.

Epilogue.

Ever wondered what it would be like to spend a day, or life, in someone else’s shoes?  This book does exactly that by creating the fictional character of Jay Beau Andrews.

You may be thinking that was quite a story with a lot going on.  You are right.  If you think it was the opposite, you are also right.  This is totally subjective.

This story as a whole is inspired by real events in my own life.

Jay Beau Andrews is not necessarily a representation of myself.  He is created as someone I can relate to in many ways, but also envy some of the attributes I wished I had, or have.

So apart from the fictional characterisation aspect there are many underlining themes relation to those we need to talk more about.  These are social issues that tend to be avoided for fear of feeling rejected or misunderstood.

Unfortunately still today there are a lot of nasty (and repulsive) people out there who just want to bring you down because they themselves have such pitiful lives.  This is called envy and jealously and although name-calling and bullying hurts, it does toughen you up and make you eventually realise that it is ‘them’ who are ‘ugly’.  Not you.

Bullying occurs because of envy and the fear of seeing another looking ‘different’ for whatever reason.  Remember, they are the ones who are sick.

If you are bullied it is because they are jealous about some quality you have.  It is true.

The other issue is about understanding your own sexuality and that it does not need to be labelled.  Discrimination is no longer tolerated and you have more power than ever to take action.  The story about Jay being forced to move from rented home to home due to harassment and bullying should never happen, but it does.  There is no law for this behaviour and this needs to change NOW!

I hope anyone out there experiencing anything discussed in this story will take something inspirational away and work it to your own advantage.

James Ford.