I’m
convinced that I will get lucky tonight.
This certainty is not because I am somewhat good looking
or self-confident, but rather, because this self-confidence
leapt in from my utter displeasure in life and the reality
of boredom. I have been immensely fed up with daily routines.
It feels almost like my soul is detached from living;
it only exists without virtue or meaning and continues
to strain itself everlastingly. I go to work, eat, socialise
and roam the streets with complete and utter disinterest,
inertly losing the touch of felicity. And somehow, out
of this mind-numbing exhaustion I have stopped caring
altogether and become absorbed in dull thinking.
I
hear the honk of Victor’s car outside. I yell at
him out of the window of my apartment to wait for a couple
of minutes. I do not feel like leaving. My apartment feels
comfortable. The heater was on all day and now it’s
just warm and cosy. I could just sit here and listen to
music, fade out into a zone of thoughtlessness. But I
cannot let Victor down, he has been planning to attend
this party since last week – I cannot disappoint
a friend in the last minute of his eagerly anticipated
event.
I lock the door as I leave and walk out onto the corridor.
It smells of shoes and food. The torn carpet is dirty
and the red colour is fading to black. I slow down my
walk as I pass room 213 and get closer to the door, hoping
for a noise of some kind that would initiate a presence
there – but I don’t hear anything, she has
still not come back. Room 213 is where Annette, the Norwegian
blonde lives. She came here as a student to study Fine
Arts and we had a few moments along the stairs while we
were both taking the trash out. We only stared into each
others eyes, without uttering a word, just the staring
and an occasional smile. Now that this unexplainable surge
of apathy in life has taken over my body I would not resist
talking to her, I’d be straightforward and honest.
I
see Victor smoking a cigarette outside of his car. He
is wearing the usual – tight black jeans with the
faded brown boots. A shirt tucked in with a short tie
and a perfectly fitted suit jacket. “Where the fuck
were you?” he yells.
“Sorry, I was just getting ready. I told you to
wait.”
“Man, you always take your time, you gotta speed
it up a bit. This is gonna be a good party – lots
of chicks and booze.”
“Come on then.”
We
get into his car and drive off. I still feel absent-minded
with everything and wonder if it was a good idea to go
with him after all. Victor puts on the Grey Album and
turns the volume up. He lights another cigarette and we
listen to Jay Z rap over the Beatles White Album. I stare
out into the traffic whilst Victor raps along with Jay
Z. I see everything fly past me at about 60 kph. It all
looks vivid. The music encapsulates this moment for me,
but I focus more on the Beatles than Jay Z and feel the
vibe take me through the streets of Fitzroy.
I take a cigarette from Victors pack without him offering
it. He knows I don’t smoke, but he does not say
anything. He smiles to himself – for I know he likes
it. It is always better if both friends are killing themselves
together and not just one.
We
arrive at this party and it’s just off Nicholson
St, North Carlton, quite close to my apartment. We could
have walked. The street is long and the Victorian Houses
stretch out far on both sides. The party noise is already
audible from inside the house. A set of balloons are tied
to the fence, a clear sign of a social gathering. The
door is slightly open, so we just push it and face the
chatter, the drinking, the laughter and the music. There
is a large crowd already gathered.
Small groups of people are seen crowding all over the
house. By the end of the night there will no longer be
small groups but everyone will mingle, shake each others
hands and come to know each other – building a larger
group, a bigger clique, like the set up of a network.
The living room is filled with eager dancers – the
party people who get drunk too easily, too soon. Victor
and I walk through, throwing glances from side to side
– fronting the people. He struts through with every
set of eyes following him, and I carry myself along not
caring about anything at all. Victor says hi to a couple
of girls who are standing and chatting. He introduces
me. I nod and excuse myself. I head straight to the kitchen
to look for the beer.
“All the drinks are in the bathtub,” says
a guy next to the DJ set. I walk through a small corridor
and find the bathroom. A couple of girls are in front
of the mirror, fixing their make-up. I kneel down and
take out a couple of beers. “Hi,” says one
of them.
“Hi.”
“Having a good time?”
“… Just got here, getting some drinks.”
“You want to open me a beer as well?”
“Sure.”
I open up an Asahi for her; put it on the sink and leave.
I have a feeling she wanted to continue the conversation,
maybe enter that whole episode of ‘getting to know
one another’, but I wasn’t really interested
– there was nothing appealing about her.
I head back to the living room, which is now the dance
floor. Victor is standing next to the TV set, chatting
with the two girls. I look around and see about ten guys
dancing and about eight girls avoiding their eyes. A few
girls in short skirts are rubbing up against each other
on the table. The sound of the music appeals to their
drunken state of mind and they get closer to one another,
bodily. There are sofas against the wall and a couple
of people are sitting down having a conversation. The
rest are standing around. A couple of guys are smoking
a joint in the corner next to the entrance. The thick
smoke floats through the room and the smell of marijuana
fills my nostrils. I move over there almost affluently
and ask for a drag. They offer without consideration.
After all, a party is a party.
I step away after a couple of drags and consider joining
Victor’s conversation, but I sit down instead. I
squeeze next to a guy who is drinking beer out of a cocktail
glass. He moves a little to his right to give me more
room. I don’t thank him. I sit down and just drink
my beer. I can feel the guy’s eyes glancing at me
in between sentences and I turn and look at him bluntly.
He reaches out a hand to me and says genuinely, “I’m
David.”
“I’m Adonis,” I say. He still holds
the hand in front of me until he realises I don’t
want to shake it. He places it back on his thigh. I look
across the room and see Victor now rolling a joint with
the two girls. He nods at me to join them, but I respond
with a negative nod. They walk off into another room.
“Do you know Jess,” the guy next to me says,
moving his pimpled face closer to mine.
“… No,” I reply with a look of disgust.
“So you’re Michael’s friend, the guy
who just moved in?”
“No, I’m not… I just came off the street,”
I reply with a tinge of arrogance.
“Sure,” he says, probably taking me for an
idiot.
I
don’t really know why I lied to the guy. Why I portray
this emptiness externally, but I don’t really care.
It does not bother me what people think of me at the moment
or even who I am. Who am I? I’m a being who just
exists in this vast space of human misery. Do I have a
name? Right now I’m Adonis, tomorrow I might be
Shakespeare. I am totally hypnotised in this phase of
irrelevance where every act of living is simply absurd.
I can sense that David is still interested in continuing
the conversation. He introduces me to another guy named
Mark and a girl called Ella. I introduce myself again
as Adonis and they tell me what a nice name that is.
“What do you do?” asks Mark.
“… I work on a farm.”
“Ahh, is it far away, do you live there as well?”
“… No, I live here.”
“What do you do on the farm?”
“I train donkeys.”
All of them laugh, but they don’t want to appear
rude and declare they are laughing at me, so they pat
my back and say that that must be a strange job. Mark
starts to giggle excessively, making a gesture with his
hand, touching his nose. He asks me if I want some coke.
I face him and say, “No, I’m already confident
enough.”
They laugh even more and Mark says, “I’m sure
you are, but this is good shit, un-cut.”
“… If you insist.”
He
pokes this little spoon from his key-ring into a small
plastic bag and scoops it up. He places it under my nostril
and I snort, really fast. I stay the same though, emotionally
motionless, physically immobile. They are still too curious
about my day-time job and want to know more about it.
The guys keep laughing and making silly gestures with
their hands, like ravers on the dance floor.
“What do you mean you train donkeys, what do you
train them?” asks Ella, whose blonde hair covers
her cheeks slightly. I pass a long look at her breasts;
the cleavage reveals enough for me to keep my eyes there.
After a second of licentious gazing I tell her gravely,
“I train the donkeys not to be lazy. They are patient
but stubborn animals and I give them lessons to be less
mulish and become more productive.”
They
all start laughing again, but Ella keeps a smile. She
stares back into my eyes and we have that moment where
two strangers find something interesting in one another
and wonder in their minds. That feeling spreads through
the body and becomes a sexual magnetism. Normally there
is that fear that drags itself along at this moment for
you don’t want the other person to lose interest
and you get confused and slightly shy for you don’t
know what the next move shall be, but I don’t have
that fear anymore. I simply look her in the eyes and tell
her with that ogle that this is it. She likes the confidence
and the straightforwardness. Mark gets up and says he
will get us all a drink. David goes along with him but
Ella stays. Once the empty space next to me is free, she
moves over. I see Victor holding up a joint in his hand
and wave at me. I wave back. We have this mutual understanding
with each other. No matter where we are, our eyes can
meet and understand each other, without holding a conversation,
it’s like some telepathic signal that transfers
understanding.
“You don’t really train donkeys, do you?”
says Ella whilst crossing her legs.
“I do, but maybe I don’t,” I say.
“What do you do then?”
“Well, what do you do?”
She giggles and says, “That’s not really a
party question is it?”
“Look, I don’t really give a shit what you
do!” I say with irritation in my voice. “…
I’m just trying to return the favour of conversation.”
I have a feeling that she would get angry and tell me
to get fucked, but I don’t care either way. If all
these people just dropped dead, I think I would simply
continue drinking until I passed out. But she doesn’t
get angry, my die-hard honesty appeals to her. She smiles
and hands me her beer for a sip. I take it and gulp it
down.
“You’re an interesting guy,” she says.
“You do not say much. If you don’t want to
talk about your job, that’s cool. What are your
interests, hobbies, you know … life?”
“Not much to it… The only thing I’m
capable of doing is kissing and fucking.”
There is a long pause. Her head tilts backwards in surprise
or maybe even curiosity and I wonder why I said that,
but I do not regret it. It is seriously the only thing
that I am capable of at the moment, otherwise if that
does not come along I shall just drink myself to sleep.
Either way, I’m feeling quite narcotic right now.
I wait for a reply but she does not say anything. She
is confused and my forwardness has really baffled her.
I face her and say, “Life does not interest me at
the moment, it’s a fucking bore.”
“But kissing and fucking does,” she says.
“… It fulfils.”
“Ummhh....”
She
takes another sip of her beer and hands me the rest. She
crosses her legs the other way around, probably avoiding
a cramp. Her legs are smooth and long. The skirt she is
wearing covers just half the thighs and I get aroused.
She stares at the people dancing and smiles. She turns
back to face me and says, “You know, bananas went
up in price.”
I laugh and nearly gush out a mouth full of beer. I keep
laughing without saying anything. I tell her she’s
funny.
“Thanks,” she says.
“I’m gonna kiss you,” I say.
“You are?”
“Yes, I am.”
I press my lips against hers and we start kissing. She
slips her tongue far into my mouth and presses her lips
hard against mine. I move my hand across her face and
hold it. My other hand slips on her thigh and I start
stroking the soft legs. She spreads her legs slightly
and I let my fingertips travel towards her underwear.
I can feel the heat from her pussy penetrating through
the silk fabric and I press my fingers against it harder,
rubbing it. She moves her mouth from mine and starts kissing
my neck. She reaches for my cock and feels it. She whispers
in my ear, “Follow me.”
She stands up and slips her hand into mine. We walk through
the crowded dance floor and slip away into a corridor
that leads upstairs. Mark and David are no where to be
seen. We go up the stairs and into another bathroom. In
the bathtub are more beverages. The lights are dim and
she closes the door. We start kissing fiercely and this
sexual attraction becomes slightly vicious and lustful.
She takes my shirt off and throws it on the ground. I
first let one of her breasts slip out from the cleavage
and I bend down and give her a good suck. She starts to
moan. Her nipple gets really hard and I realise that she’s
the nipple-type, the one that gets off on the nipples.
I take her top off and her bra. The breasts are perfect
- a handful.
I grab them intensely and give both tits a juicy suck.
She moans sultrily and starts to undo my pants. I squeeze
and twist her nipples sadistically, groping her tits.
She slips her hand inside my boxers and starts stroking.
I push her head down and she gets on her knees. “Suck
it,” I say with malicious force.
She smiles and fills her mouth with my cock. She sucks
it good. “Lick the balls,” I tell her. She
smiles again and says, “Yes sir.”
I look at her from the top while she does what I tell
her. I stroke my hand through her blonde hair and pull
it slightly with playful violence. She jerks a bit but
gets back to the sucking. “Good girl,” I tell
her.
I
look over at the wall in front of me and enjoy the blow
job. A painting hangs, depicting a sunset on a beach.
The sky is vividly coloured, lots of orange, red and yellow.
I stare into the painted sunset and think how boring this
whole thing is, how horny I am and yet not. How the world
keeps on spinning and how nothing pleases me during the
course of the spinning. Maybe if it spun faster I would
maybe end up at something more pleasing and agreeable.
I tell her to stop and turn around. She enjoys my forward
authority, she likes to be fucked - every woman does.
I grab her waist, turn her around and tell her to place
her hands on the wall. I pull down her skirt and underwear
and leave them hanging just at the knees. I stare at her
cunt for a second and observe the shaved passage, the
clear cutting, the means of access. I stick my index finger
in firstly and move it in and out slowly. I add my middle
finger as well and fasten them both deep inside. She turns
and tries to watch me, with her mouth open and her eyes
in a fixed daze of sexual delight. I spread the fingers
wide apart and start bending them downwards, slow then
fast, until I hear her groan profusely. The thick cunt
juice flows down my hand and I take my fingers out quickly
and stick my tongue in her pussy and start thrashing her
clitoris.
“You like that,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah… ummhh… fuck me.”
“You want me to fuck you, fuck you good?”
“Just fuck me… fuuuck me!”
I
slap her arse cheeks and give her a little painful pleasure.
It goes well together. I spit on my hand and rub it on
my cock. Then I mount it inside of her. She almost screams.
I put my finger in her mouth and press her head against
the wall. She sucks on it like she sucked on my cock.
I fuck her hard and she moans harder. I take my finger
out of her mouth, pull her hair, let it go and then spread
her ass cheeks with both my hands and slide my thumb into
her asshole. She moans so hard, she wants to scream. But
I put my hand back on her mouth and prevent it. I don’t
do this because I’m scared of someone hearing her,
but I do this because I want to keep her from breathing.
I want every breath to quickly die out. I want her cunt
to clench rigidly from disapproval and fear. I want to
rape her, to fuck her violently without hurting her. I
want to almost kill her. I want to pull her hair harder
and slap her arse cheeks till the skin reaches the colour
of purple. I want to see her dead without being dead.
I want to see her soul fly up in the sky, but not really
happen. These absurd images flash through my mind and
I don’t feel scared. No familiar notion of fear
exists from thinking bad thoughts. Am I a psycho? Am I
lunatic?
She
wants this, she wants to be fucked but I don’t want
to fuck her now. I’d love her if I could. I would
give her that pleasure of belongingness, that feeling
of companionship, the candle light, the intimate kissing
underneath the warm sheets, but here I am fucking a girl
who likes to take it like I like it in my dreams, in my
sexual fantasies and desires. It doesn’t please
me as much as I hoped it would and the intense feeling
of detached living strikes me hard and I think of how
empty I have become just from simply being bored. This
reactive state of emotion is severely dull. Boredom is
what makes humans vain. How did I become like this? Where
did it come from? I do not know. It came abruptly from
repetitiveness; my daily job in the office, my daily coffee
in the morning, my daily stretching in front of the television
and this continuing sameness has fenced me in this tedious
norm that desperately needed to deviate, to progress,
but it didn’t – I kept going until I turned
into this creature.
I feel Ella’s soft thighs tapping against my crotch
and I think of Arthur Schopenhauer’s philosophy
and his attempt to prove the vanity of human existence.
For if life, in the desire for which our essence and existence
consists, possessed in itself positive value and real
content – there would be no such thing as boredom.
But boredom does exist and it stems from lack of interesting
things to do or see, or hear. It is a very subjective
state where one can find something interesting while others
are falling asleep. But I’m not one or the other,
I’m another.
I have erased myself from harmony and happiness. And now
while this girl’s ass cheeks are touching my thighs
and I’m back to listening to her moans I tell her
to leave. She says, “No! Fuck me more; fuck me till
I come man!”
I take my cock out and wipe the juice from it. I’m
not even sure if I was hard all this time, my cock falls
asleep as soon I wipe it. She goes down on her knees again
to suck it and I push her away. “What’s wrong
sugar?” she asks.
“Everything is wrong… You don’t do it
for me.”
“Are you sure?” she says smilingly, “What
do you want… Like a little anal?”
I never knew that being so honest and straight forward
could get me laid this easy. I wish I used this cockiness
before, instead of masturbating all the time. She goes
for my cock again and wouldn’t let me go. She tells
me she can bring a friend.
“Maria is awesome. Big breasts, nice ass. You can
fuck us both, right now. Want me to call her?”
“No, you don’t have to call her. You just
don’t do it for me… Get the fuck out of here!”
“Fine… you prick.”
She
puts her underwear back on and fixes up her skirt. While
she’s getting dressed, she mumbles all sorts of
shit to me. I don’t hear her – I’m totally
oblivious to the comments. I stare back into the sunset
in the painting and think of this emptiness inside me.
I think deep to see if I can reach it. It is an abyss
and it’s unreachable. I feel like a clock that doesn’t
work. Useless.
“You know, you’re fucked up!” she says
whilst slamming the door shut behind her. I catch a glimpse
of her underwear sticking out from her skirt. No one can
get dressed properly in a hurry, there’s got to
be something out of the ordinary. That makes me smile.
I slide my back down against the wall and sit and try
to think of this rationally. This is just a temporary
dullness, a short-lived disinterest towards everything.
It happens, shit does happen and people do get bored.
If I was always bored and confused, I’d be clinically
depressed. But I’m not. I’m jovial most of
the time. Or am I? Sometimes one just can’t help
but think astray with thoughts that lead you to a different
universal scope, one that sheds all kinds of lights –
even the darkest kind.
I
walk out of the bathroom, grab a couple of beers on the
way and head down the stairs back to the party. I hear
loud mumble and chatter and it sounds jumbled, like an
unknown foreign language. There is a couple getting it
on on the stairs. He is going for her breasts, but she
shies away when my presence reaches them. I start to get
tense and ill-fated desires fill me. I want to do something
abnormal, unrestrained and disastrous. The DJ has changed
and the Clash is on, ‘rock the Casbah.’
I walk back through the dance floor and move carefully
past the dancers hoping to avoid any pushing and shoving.
I see Victor’s head close to another. He is kissing
one of the girls. He takes his lips away from hers and
motions her to kiss her friend. She does. I think to myself
what a crazy world. Everyone’s got to experience
something once. Ella is no where to be seen. I take a
seat in the sofa again and gulp down my beer, trying to
empty it in one gulp. My eyes start to water and I stop
half way, swallowing the remainder in my mouth. I watch
Victor get it on with two girls. The air next to him thickens
with jealously from the other guys who can’t help
but stare and admire. Then I smile to myself for the second
time this evening, and a familiar calmness fills me, like
the effect after swallowing a Xanax. I let it fill me
completely, let the feeling devour me, let it sink into
me; let it bloom like a flower. All this time my heart
was contemptibly aching, my mind accepting dread as normality,
and suddenly a daydream of common sense and logic smiled
and let me understand, maybe just for this second, this
crucial moment, that sometimes, even in the most improbable
and unlikely circumstances, reality can just become too
static.
