the best things in the world are sex, drugs and alcohol
The next time I wore my stripper stillettos was in Melbourne. I flew there for a weekend with two friends. We booked a gorgeous room at the Park Hyatt, with an amazing shower I’d call sexy and leave up to your own imagination. The work colleague who gave me the ecstasy the month before was in Melbourne for work that week and he happened to have brought his two best mates with him. One of them was yellow Ducati guy. On the Friday night it all started off very civilized – probably because I wasn’t wearing my stripper heels that evening.
These men were in their early 30s and took us girls (in our early 20s) out for an expensive dinner. We felt like sophisticates. The champagne went straight to one girlfriend’s head so she went back to our hotel to sleep it off. My other girlfriend went to a club with one of the guys – a charismatic South American train guard who was widely known as a Lothario. Meanwhile I went for a drive in a hired car with my workmate and Ducati guy. It turned out that we were on an errand to pick up coke from the suburbs. After purchase they quickly finished off a gram and generously allowed me to lick the bag saying that was sufficient enough for a first taste. Turns out they were right.
Within half an hour I had babbled my whole life story, told them I had an eating disorder and thought I was obese, told them that I loved two men but couldn’t be with either of them, that I’d only ever had “relationship sex” and hadn’t had any sex at all for months because I was clearly hideous and unlovable. Then I took all of my clothes off and sat in the car crying and begging them to have sex with me. At one stage I asked if they had any condoms. They both stared at each other for an extended moment before saying “no” and taking me back safely to my hotel, like the gentlemen they were.
The next night we went out together again. My girlfriends and I got embarrassingly drunk and asked everyone in Melbourne for pills since I was suddenly *such* an expert in illicit substances. It’s lucky we didn’t find any that night. We were so drunk we probably would have died if we’d taken anything.
As it was, we imbibed alcohol until we passed out, somehow making it back to the hotel. At 2am I woke up still extremely drunk and made my way to the South American guy’s hotel room. He and Ducati guy were sharing the room and I somehow ended up having my first ever “overnight meaningful relationship“. I don’t remember much beyond them both having vibrating condoms. Who even knew such things existed?
The next time I wore my stripper stilettos was to networking drinks after an all day work seminar. My colleagues were letting their hair down and had invited their better halves to the afterparty. Feeling self destructive (fully experiencing the great heartbreaking debilitating sorrow of watching the guy I had been in love with for years having a grand old time with his girlfriend) I went entirely AWOL that night.
I smoked my first cigarettes (in plain view of everyone who knew I’d been vehemently anti-smoking for decades) and I literally flirted my pants off with the most well known and charismatic man in our industry. At some stage of the evening he went to find a hotel room for us and the only one he could find cost $2,700 a night (only the penthouse suite was available). Together we drank about 4 bottles of Moet & Chandon and he poured champagne over me and penetrated me with the bottle instead of having sex with me himself. Note to all = always completely remove the foil from the neck of the bottle first. At about 3am his wife called and he got up and left. I felt so sick and alone and dirty in that gigantic penthouse suite.
The next time I wore my stripper stilettos things turned out even worse. My best friend and I attended a thirtieth birthday party in Cronulla and polished off four bottles of wine between us. Then we hitched a ride to the city with some random people in a red Mustang convertible. They offered us pills and I took one. The next thing I remember was waking up to freezing cold cement grazing my back, lying in a fire escape, in a drenched and filthy city alleyway with a guy on top of me – having sex with me. I had no bag, no jacket, no money, no phone, no idea where I was or who he was or how I got there or where my friend had gone. The only phone number I could remember in the world was my (soon to be ex) husband’s. I asked the guy who had just been having sex with me if I could borrow his phone. Then I called my husband to ask for my girlfriend’s phone number.
She was absolutely frantic over my disappearance as she knew it was uncharacteristic of me to do anything remotely irresponsible. Apparently we were dancing at Q Bar & she jokingly said to me “I should write my phone number on your arm just in case” then she turned around to put her bag down and I was gone.
Security said I had been led out the door, holding the hand of a young, well dressed, good looking guy and since I looked so “out of it” they helpfully assumed he was my boyfriend and he was taking me home.
After learning all this, I asked the guy to take me to my friend’s house. I had a shower, climbed into her bed and slept for hours.
When I woke up, he was still sitting in the loungeroom waiting for me. He asked for my phone number. I said no. He reminded me that my husband’s phone number was in his phone, so he could always call and ask him for my number instead?
He rang me every Friday and Saturday for months but I never saw him again for obvious reasons.
The next time I wore my stripper stilettos ended up being the best night of my life – and taught me two important things.
The CEO of the company my best friend worked for invited us for a cruise on his boat. He arranged to pick us up at Darling Harbour. When the boat pulled in, it looked magical. There was a band playing on the roof, sparkling hanging deck lights… gorgeous women were walking around with plates of seafood and we drank expensive champagne. We felt like royalty. I really had no idea Sydney Harbour (and life itself) could be so beautiful.
Or so expensive – when we stopped for petrol the bill was $4,000 and it was paid without a blink. Throughout the night people (including the band & wait staff) disembarked at various jetties until there were only four men and us two girls left. We were really tired and decided to have a sleep in the boat’s master bedroom. I took my stilettos off.
At some wee hour of the morning the CEO came in and woke us up – and procured a glass pipe. Looking to my girlfriend for guidance she said “It’s ice” and held a lighter under the rounded end and smoked it. Of course I did too.
In the months since my first girl-kiss with the police officer, Id kissed a couple of girls (including this friend) as it seemed to bring less threatening consequences then kissing men. But previously I’d only done it to “show off” whereas this time there was no audience. Somehow, this, my girlfriend and I found ourselves having quite aggressive sex with each other.
After that ice-induced session we went back on to the deck where the remaining men teased us for being lesbians. Then they brought out guitars and I sang at the top of my lungs for the first time in my entire life. They all said I had an amazing voice. But I’ve never really sung again since then.
In the pre-dawn light my girlfriend and I then stripped off all of our clothes with no shame whatsoever and dived naked off the boat into Sydney Harbour. It was an amazing part of the harbour with stone steps carved into a rock face that hung over the water. We swam to the rocks and climbed up to the top of a huge cliff. It felt like at least two storeys high. And then we jumped in to the water just as the sun’s rays shot over the horizon. It was an awe inspiring life moment.
Around 8am we pulled into Darling Harbour and all went for breakfast at BlackBird Cafe. I was on top of the world. My girlfriend and I mutually decided that we didn’t like vaginas that much and that lesbianism wasn’t for either of us. But we agreed that at least we’d tried it with each other and we’d be able to laugh about it for years to come.
That day, I called everyone and told them that it had been the best night of my life.
But the ice come-down was the most terrible thing I have ever experienced. I was still immensely depressed a month later. Never, ever, touch methamphetamine as it is the most disgusting revolting drug ever invented.
The next time I wore my stripper stilettos was mostly uneventful… except for the part where I accidentally scraped the mirror surface off a few “squares” and entirely ruined the heels.
A week later, I met my new husband and that marked the end of my illicit adventures. In less than a year I had tried “everything” and knew it wasn’t for me.
That night I was wearing black leather pirate style knee high boots.