Can shoes lead you down the wrong path? If so can they lead you back up it again? My guest blogger’s story continues… see here for Part 1
The next time I wore my stripper stilettos was a full mooned Saturday night. My husband was busy at work and my ex was busy breaking my heart.
So I sent an SMS to all and sundry to say that I was catching a train to Kings Cross by myself.
I was wearing fitted white pants and a white halter and my stripper heels – the brazennest outfit I’d ever ventured out in. A guy I knew from work replied that he was at Dragonfly on a boys night out, but that he was sure his mates wouldn’t mind if I tagged along.
At Dragonfly I had my first experience of the VIP life, being greeted by the security guard, whisked straight to the front of the queue & into a roped off VIP section. It was a night of multiple firsts. I found a gorgeous young curly haired blonde girl crying in the bathroom because her boyfriend had been mean to her. When she pointed out her boyfriend all I could see was a 60 year old fat sweaty balding red faced man. But she said he always gave her really high quality cocaine.
I was in a little shock after this revelation and went back to my workmate to grill him about the world of drugs. Eventually around 2.00 am it was decided that under their protection I could try one quarter of an ecstasy tablet. To allay my fears about the particular pill being a “good” one of the guys had consumed the other three quarters an hour before I bravely consumed my tiny piece. The operation was very sombre and symbolic to me. Thinking about it now they must have been thoroughly amused by my innocence and the theatrical production I had created out of one little eccy. I later saw them consume up to seven pills each in a night.
That night the music felt better than it ever had before, reverberating in my soul. I danced with a Lebanese builder, the second most attractive man I’ve ever seen. And later that night (morning?) I looked in a nightclub mirror and saw a gorgeous blue eyed girl (me). She looked at least four times skinnier than any girl I’d ever seen in the mirror previously in my life. Early Sunday one of the guys drove me home on his yellow Ducati stopping at Bondi beach just as the sun rose (it was the looong way home!)
We went to a Greek restaurant in Balmain and talked about the bad reputation Lebanese men have in Australia. Then we walked to a bar and had some shots and I asked him to take me home because it was a school night. As we walked to the car he forced me up against the wall & kissed me terribly badly. I pushed him away and said “just take me home now please“.
As we drove across the Anzac Bridge his brand new midnight blue Monaro he pulled out the tiniest floppiest penis I’ve ever seen and instructed me to “suck it“. I just put my head in my hands and tried not to think about how drunk he was and tried not to wonder if he was on drugs and hoped that I’d make it home in one piece, which thankfully I did.
To be continued