I swear I can’t figure myself out; and I swear maybe I never
will.
Spending hours a day, days a week tearing it in the gym;
trying to win the impossible race to impossible perfection so that I can rip my
top off in a dark, dry-ice club and feel like I’m at least treading water. So
the neurotic scrabblings inside my head can be eased, daft of course because
you shouldn’t feed the trolls.
And last night in Fire, the last night of Fire for a fair
few weeks, I was flavour of the evening. Ended up rolling high on drugs and
hormones grinding against a 20 year old for 30 minutes, lost and soaring and
blind. And of course he was hot, because I only get with guys if they’re hot,
unless I’m in a dark room or so high I can barely see. This time I could see,
and I see where it’s going. So I make my excuses, and go. Leaving him on his
own looking mournfully at me. Put my top back on, take it off and put it back
on the right way ’round, then walk. Past the taxi rank, past the Hoist; past
the Griffin, going home.
‘You will call me, yeah?’
And I nod, and I’d like to, because he’s a sweet guy, and
he’s only 20, and he’s only been here 6 months. It must be lonely. So we’ve
been texting, and I had said maybe I’ll be free this evening, but I’ve spent
all day on a comedown in pyjamas and don’t see any reason to change that now
it’s dark, and windy, and Hallowe’en.
I think he just wants company, and a shag. And I’m sure I
want a shag. I must want a shag. He’s hot, and I’ve wanked twice today, and I’m
idly watching porn. But you know sex is kinda scary, sex with someone who knows
your name and knows your face, who could judge you, and analyse you, and decide
maybe no.
I’ve been running from that for a long time. It can’t go on.
I feel lingering stirrings of jealousy when I see everyone else lining up quick
shags or fuckbuddies, but I recoil at the opportunity myself.
So still I spend hours a day, days a week tearing away in
the gym; pouring protein down my neck and exhausting myself trying to win an
impossible race; so I can rip my top off in a dark drug hazed club and feel
that I’m in with a chance of being wanted; so I can be desired, but never held.
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