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NZ Writing: Ecstasy and Ripped Fishnets

Sat 26 Jan 2013 In: NZ Writing View at Wayback View at NDHA

Ecstasy He was the type of guy that liked to have a good weekend. If he didn’t return to work on Monday with a drug hangover he felt like he really hadn’t played. He was a lawyer for some generic large law firm in the city. He could disappear amongst the many recent law graduates, keep his nose down during the week and not worry about the effects of his weekend. This weekend was no exception. He had been going to the gym all week to make sure his stomach was just so. He had also bought that bronzer his piece of trade had told him about last week. It was the type of bronzer you could use to shade you abs just so... it made them really stand out and it wasn’t too shiny and didn’t look that fake. He had bought dance party tickets and was going with that guy who was always on the cover of Express the one with the smile, that look just this side of fake and not too close to real. That guy who looked like his eyes told you he was thinking something but that something really wasn’t that challenging... he didn’t want to end up in a conversation about Derida or Baudrillard. He’d had enough of philosophy in stage one at uni. He bought that vodka ... you know the one that slides down your throat with not too much complaint and mixed well with soda and lime. He threw back a couple of shots before his shower. His flatmates were out. He’d bought a couple of ecstasy enough to keep him going all night... he wanted to have that sort of smile, just this side of vacant but not too far off meaningful. He took one, it should be coming on by the time he started exfoliating in the shower. The shower was hot and invigorating... he thought about Mr Express who should be here in about 30 mins... just enough time to shade those abs. The ecstasy kicked in. He felt great and so did his body, the water playing off it. He got out of the shower dripping and naked and went into the kitchen. He selected his favourite CD the Pet Shop Boys... yes; it had Go West on it. The sound boomed out of the stereo, it caressed his sensitive skin, it kissed it. He slowly towelled down his body. He didn’t notice he has dripped water all over the tiled floor in the kitchen. He started bump and grind away, imagining what he might do with Mr Express later. He danced vigorously into the kitchen onto the wet tiles. He slipped and fell striking his head on the floor... darkness, the sound slowly fading. It was strange how this felt with a head full of drugs... Mr Express stood at the door. He knocked loudly. “Damn that stereo’s loud; he probably can’t hear me because of the bass.” Ripped Fishnets I wanted to look cool. I’d seen this guy in a Hero festival mag wearing one and I thought... I could make that, I have a sewing machine and can use it. I spent a few months searching for the right PVC and finally I found it. I wondered how easy it would be to make a kilt that fit just right. In the seventh form I had done a short course in pattern making so I used those skills to fashion the kilt so it was cut just right. My friend had invited me to a party at his oh so fashionable Arthur street villa. It still is there it hasn’t been torn down for one of those ugly concrete slap architect designed freak shows that are turning up in Freemans bay. Everyone who was anyone turned up to these parties’ in the mid 90’s. I had picked out my outfit; the kilt was a major part of it... I wore ripped fishnets the kilt, a fluffy dark grey metallic jersey and a camo vest that had been dyed a darker shade so that the camo was just noticeable. I platted my shoulder length blonde hair... two neat longish pig tails. I pulled on my steal capped boots. I looked hot. I even remembered to wear my grey Calvin Kline’s... just in case. The party was full of those types of people you think you should know or at least you think should know you. They were always out, always at the Staircase on a Saturday night, or at least seemed to be. They were the types that turned up late to a dance party and said they had been there all night. The music was on the interesting side of hand bag. Some of it could even have been called Deep House. I hated it... I’d been listening to Nirvana before I’d left home ... maybe even a couple of disco numbers by bands like Chic and Rose Royce. I decided I needed to sit for a few minutes and take in the vista ... the sweating bodies grinding away to the latest Kylie remix... Better the devil you know... A man sat next to me. He was mildly aesthetically pleasing. We struck up a conversation. This was one of the times I hadn’t smoked myself into a non-communicative stupor before I left the house. Go West by the Pet Shop Boys started playing on ... pumping from the speakers. I smiled. He asked... “Do you like this song?” I mumbled something to keep from telling the truth. I song made me feel like an alien. He said he loved it and grinded away on the sofa. He turned to me and looked into my eyes. I thought ... Will I get to show this man my Calvin Klein’s? He leaned over, closer and closer and closer he came... “Did you make that skirt out of garbage bags?”     Patrick Graham - 26th January 2013

Credit: Patrick Graham

First published: Saturday, 26th January 2013 - 8:54am

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