Six Flavours of Sin (11 page)

I mumble, "Hello."

"Would you like a drink?"

"Yes please."

Hang on, I can't find my hands.
I can’t feel my hands.

A cold Savannah is placed between my fingers. I can feel the cold slippery wetness of a bottle. Okay, my hands are still there. Thank God.

Oh look, it's Nev. Yay. I'm still not sure why he instils never-ending enthusiasm with his mere presence in everyone. Oh god, was it his breath in my ear just now? He's doing the manic beam at me.

He trips and falls at my feet, smiling at me. (He's like a cat, this dude. He falls head first, but when he lands, it's gracefully facing the right way as if he planned the whole thing. Bloody bizarre!)

Speaking of which, I guess we all dream of having men fall at our feet. But I didn't picture it like this.

SMASH.

"Cheers!"

Whoa, too fast, slow down dude.
R-e-e-e-e-l-a.a.a.ax.x.x..
(My world has turned into slow motion and his fast-forward gestures turn him into Neo from the Matrix.) His blurring Keanu manoeuvres are making me feel nauseous.

Mumble, "Cheers."

"Did I tell you that you're
fabulous
?"

I nod.
Oh my freaq
! Eeeeeeeeewww ... Lurch ... I think I'm going to be sick. Head spiralling like a Catherine Wheel. Wheeeeeee, nausea ... ugh, I feel like crap. Get
your hand off my leg.
Oh mommy! My head won't stay still. I feel as though I'm lying down but I don't remember lying down. (I can't focus on the hand that I can feel. Everything is blurry. Breathe slo-o-o-w-ly. Fo.o.o.c.u.s. There you are.)

Fuck dude, you are
waaaay
too close. Where the hell is Gary?

Oh look, Nev's lying next to me grinning like a happy camper. (Waaaaaahahaha, sorry I could not resist that one.)

Why does he only smile at me? Go away. I can't move.

"That's the best cake I've ever had. Did you make it?"

Deeeeeeelaaaaay ....

"What?"

Get your hand off me
.

Want to cry. Mommy! He's rubbing my arm and I can't move away. Running is out of the question. His face is about three inches away from mine and he's still beaming at me. Is he trying to seduce me? Is he mad?

"The cake. I want more."

Oh, I bet you do.
Uhm ... Gary would have a hissy if you told him you tasted my cake ... usually I would find that funny, but right now I'm just trying to hold onto consciousness, because if I pass out ... with you ... you fucking scare me dude.

I feel sick.

"Smoke."

Oh jeez. He's just moved his head right up to my nose. I can feel his breath. I was trying to distract him, send him off to get me a smoke because I'm spatio-temporally
paralysed. I am legless! Stop
breathing
over me.

"Hmm?"

(It's all flirty. Shudder.)

"Smoke ..." Croak ... head spin ... ugh ... "Please ..."

Phew, he just bounded off out of my vision. Phuck me.  This is insane.

I think I need some of Gary's starch. I've lost my bones. They've liquidated. I try lifting the drink to my lips. Why is it taking
soooo
long? After what seems like three and a half hours, I feel the cold glass on my bottom lip. Feeling like a toddler, I carefully tip it.

Wow, I am thirsty. I down the whole thing. Damn, I just remembered I need to
pee. That's just going to have to wait. Pity I'm not a lizard. I'd just grow some new legs so that I can walk again.

I've turned into the blob. A dizzy blob. I keep myself as still as possible, just waiting for the vertigo to pass. I hate this. I am never doing dope again. Now I know why they call it dope. You have to be a dope to like this! Who needs the date rape drug when you can have chocolate cake? Here have some cake, then you can't run away.

I'm in shit street and Kristy hasn't even registered that I'm being stalked. How can I be fabulous? He's known me for all of five minutes. Am I the only person to find that assessment scary?

…
Pause …

Chapter 20

The Ex Factor

…
Play …

After three and a half hours I could finally use my body again. And that was the one and only time I was ever stupid enough to eat laced chocolate cake. It was so laced, it put a corset to shame.

It was one of those enlightening weekends. I got to know Neville, vaguely. What I did like about him, is that he's intellectual and philosophical. At last I had someone I could really talk to inside the Gary entourage.

r

For two months I was happy. Really happy. Gary
used my name more frequently, he made coffee, he even cooked dinner. So when he sat me down on a Saturday afternoon, looking like he'd just swallowed arsenic, I had no idea why he looked so serious.

"There's no easy way to say this."

My eyebrows rise as my stomach clenches.

"I think getting back together was a mistake. I want you to move out."

What.
OMG this isn't happening. You fucking son of a bitch.

"Why?"

He seems dead serious too. This time he's not joking or messing with my mind.

"It's not working."

What do you
mean
it's not working? It's never worked
better
.

I am
not
going to cry another goddam tear over you. I am livid!

Ping.

"Who is she?"

"An old friend."

So you're still fucking me around? I hate you.

I nod and stand up, grabbing my smokes, "Fine. I'll be out by the end of the week."

"I'll help you move, find a place. I feel bad."

I nod. "Great. See you later."

"Where are you going?"

I glare at him, "That's none of your fucking business."

Wow, somehow he still manages to look hurt! He just booted me and
he
has the
cheek
to demand to know my business. Asshole.

He stands up and walks after me, "Woman, wait."

I keep walking.

"Stefanie."

Oh look, my name.
That
I respond to. Swivel and
glare
.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

Sure you are.

You selfish, self-centred, dumb, motherfucking son of a bitch.

I just give him the why-don't-you-go-put-your-head-in-a-furnace stare, then keep on walking. As soon as I'm out of sight, I sit down, light a smoke and phone Selene.

My throat is tickling, my eyes are prickling.

"Hello?"

"He just broke up with me."

"Where are you?"

"Down the road."

"I'm on my way."

I sit and smoke, pondering.

My solar plexus is so constricted, I feel ill. I'm so choked up with anger I can hardly breathe. What the hell did I do?

I stare up at the perfect day. Mocking me. A happy, sunny, blue day; a perfect mountain, in a perfect seaside location. I exhale my smoke and glower. I need to exercise to work off some of this anger. So, I start a brisk walk. He's colder than cryogenics, he is.

I am seething and ranting internally so much that I didn't even notice Selene until she yells "Hey."

Stunned with panic, I stop and stare wildly. Phew! It's Selene.

"Get in."

I get in, and her sympathetic expression just nails me. Now I feel emotional.

She says nothing, she just keeps driving. I laugh at her when we get to the pool bar.

Amen sister. Let's hustle some boys! And I think I'd like a seriously girly drink.

Wow. All it takes is fifteen minutes and I have a man flirting with me and buying me drinks. And I'm kicking his ass at pool. I Am Empowered. I do not need Gary. Maybe I should make that my mantra? I do not need Gary.
I do not need Gary.
I do not need Gary.

Selene giggles and gossips. When it's dark and we're starving she says, "Staying at my place tonight?"

I could kiss you!

"I'd love to. Right now I just want to kick him in the nuts so hard they'll look like baubles on a Christmas tree."

She throws her head back and laughs with abandon. Selene has one of those totally infectious laughs. It reverberates and booms and soon we're crying, we're laughing so much.

My laughter chokes. Shit. Everything I own is at his place.

I am telling you this woman is telepathic, "We're the same height. You'll fit into my clothes."

Smile! "I'll buy us dinner."

We're sitting at her kitchen counter, dishing up Chinese, when her home phone rings. She saunters to it and I take over.

"Hello? ... Hang on."

She gives me an austere stare, "It's for you."

"That's impossible. No one knows where I am."

She arches one eyebrow, "I think it's him."

Fuck.

I take a huge inhalation and walk to the phone, suddenly feeling afraid, "Hello?"

"Stef ..."

"Go away!"

"WAIT."

Grrrrrrrrrr! I wait in silence.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Don't pretend you give a damn. I am no longer your problem."

Shit. I hate tears. Why do emotions only visit you when you really don't want them to?

"Stef, I'm not sure ..."

"I am! It's over."

Slam
.

"Sorry."

(Don't slam your friend's phone, it's not polite.)

"How did he get my number?"

I hiss venomously, "He must have gone through my phone book."

Riiinggg
.

I glare at the phone. Snatch.

"Hello."

"Are you coming home?"

"Gary, it’s not my home. You just kicked me out.
Remember
?"

"Babes, I'm worried about you."

(You're such a liar! You're just saying that to be p.c. To make yourself feel better. Shagging someone else and then pretending you give a shit.)

"Oh, don't you worry about me. I'm going to be just fine without
you
. I have to go, we're going out tonight. I'll call
you
when I'm ready to pick up my things."

"I can drop them off."

"
You do that.
"

(Dripping scorn. Actually doing an Exorcist with it: I picture scorn hurling over the walls and slowly seeping like slime, down to the floor.)

"When?"

"
How the hell should I know? I’ll call you when I’m free.
"

Slam
.

Crap, I just did it again.

"Sorry."

"It's cool. I understand. If it rings again, just ignore it."

I nod, "I will. Selene, I'm so sorry to make my shit your problem."

"You didn't. I offered."

I gaze at her aquiline nose and full lips and smile, "I think you're the best friend I've ever had."

She smiles and pushes a plate at me, "Eat! You're going to need it. I think someone's going to be getting shit-
faced tonight."

I giggle, "I just might."

Chapter 21

No Show

One week later I moved into my own tiny apartment two roads away from the beast. Naturally all of my Gary friends were banned from speaking to me, or associating with me. (I like the way I get to lose everything, even my friends, because
he
says so.)

I told you he was spawned by the devil. I told you.

Right, so I have my housewarming that weekend. Gary and Alan move my stuff in for me, including my brand new bed, in the morning, and I'm finally free of my shackles by that afternoon. BUT. There is one thing I don't like about my new one-bedroomed hovel:
there is a mirror on the bedroom ceiling!

Right, so that makes masturbation out of the question. Freaky-freaky-freaky.

But, who cares right now? I'm delirious with freedom overload. All I want to do is
party
.

Oh right. Yeah, I forgot to tell you. My friends? My only friends? That would be the very nice crowd at work. And they're all the best people
ever.
They're all coming tonight.

I don't think my lounge suite will ever be the same. James makes it look like children's furniture. Julie and Frank are as bad as each other when it comes to flirting and
drinking. Shayne is the quietest man on the planet. Michelle can really drink for a nerd. (I think Shayne is perfect for her.)

Dianne has a really rubbish boyfriend, but they both pitched up. They like what I call, doof-doof music, the kind that gives you a headache without alcohol ingested. What I don't get is, she's fall-off-a-bridge-backwards gorgeous. Seriously, this girl makes supermodels look plain and gangly, she could have any man on the planet and she
chooses the guy with the cap, hunched shoulders, tattoos and appalling humour. (Check me calling the kettle black. If we were all saints we'd make better choices.)

I, like an idiot, did not eat anything. So, I am totally wasted by two-thirty in the morning, after playing coinage with sherry! (No, it's not a girl named Sherry, it's the fortified wine called sherry. Shakes head vigorously.
Learn from my mistakes please.)

Okay, right, so I've figured out what drunk really is.
This is the theory. Have you noticed how, the more you drink, the less gravity has an effect on you? And you feel all floaty? Well, that's why we start to feel sick – it's the zero gravity. They say that space travel is like that. That's why the zero gravity plane is affectionately referred to as ‘the vomit comet’. You see? I've figured it out.

Aw. James is so sweet. He regularly comes to put his arm around me and check that I'm feeling okay. So sweet. But let's be honest here. When are these people going home? I just want to sleep, now.

Selene leaves with Michelle. Then Shayne leaves, in what I would call a reluctant manner. How often is he ever going to see me this floaty? I think he saw opportunity knocking for thirty-two seconds. Anyway, to cut a long story short, everyone leaves except James. Now he wants to help me clean up
. Nooooooooooo.
Go away.

He's chucking the flirty hints at me so hard that I feel I'm playing paintball. (
Splat
.) I stare at his gigantic hands and feet and think he'd probably break my brand new bed – and me – in the process.
I - don’t - think - so
. I like you, as a person, but I can't ever have a boyfriend as humungous as you. And I'm not into a pity fuck right now from you, either. I will never have sex again as long as the mirror is hovering above my bed! Very, very, very, bad feng shui, dude. Just too much Def Leppard in that mirror.

Three coffees later, at more or less 3:45 a.m, he finally leaves, and I have the relief of passing out, fully clothed, on my new bed draped in fresh, fabulous linen. I dig this. It's the best! For years I've lived a monochrome existence. Now I can have checks! Blue and white. I don't do girly, pink, shiny or frilly, (pretend vomit at the thought). I like the masculine look. I hate fuss, it irritates me. (Like those pathetic extra cushions everyone and her mama has on the sofa! I move them, hate them, wish someone would have a bonfire where I can lose them!)

I watch my world spiralling as I wait for sleep. I hate that mirror, it's stuck on askew.

(Yes, I am a perfectionist. Symmetry is everything.)

I'm on a fun-house ride that refuses to slow down. I'm feeling rather ill to be honest. Lesson learned. Sherry and I are arch enemies and I'll never throw my money at her again. Ever.

One week later, I get crazy. Do you realise that I'm free? FREE. So, now I'm ready: I'm ready for a shag-fest without guilt. I'm ready to go head-banging with Selene and James.
I'm ready to get my own chop (tattoo for the rest of you). And I'm ready to make real friends that Gary can't steal from me when he finds a replacement better than me. Every two months it seems.

Item number one on the agenda: Shag
shag
shag
. Sorry if you find this offensive but I'm a biological human being. However, things aren't looking so hot because my day's entertainment is Shayne. He's taking me home to show me his fish. (I mentioned I'm interested in marine fish tanks.)

Now, Shayne is a nice guy. He's not a lot taller than me. He's got floppy, flat, straight brown hair. He wears spectacles and dresses like a financial nerd. But, I don't judge people on the way that they look. When it comes to men, I don't do type. I have only two requirements. Confidence, and you have to be stronger than me, and preferably (but not essential), taller than me. Oh dear, there's a flaw here. Okay, I cannot date a man shorter than me either. Who's going to get things off the top shelf if he's shorter than me? Na uh. That doesn't turn me on.

Right, so we've spent the whole day together and I am bored out of my mind now. I cannot speak about fish any more. There is nothing left to say on the subject. So he comes home with me, and I make coffee and chuck on some decent music.
Aaaah
, now you see: even a nerd has merit. Shayne then introduces me to Toto. Wow. What a kick-ass band.

(Where have I been? In a cave? That I've never heard this band ever. Oh wait. Duh! I was stuck in the AC/DC time warp wasn't I? And there was no stepping in or stepping out of it either.)

Now we get that awkward moment where he slides his arm around my shoulders, all casual like. My relaxed happy moment evaporates in a heartbeat, completely.

Just what the hell do you think you're doing?

I arch my eyebrows, "Are you coming on to me?"

He grins shyly, "I was trying to, but you ruined it."

I can't explain this to you but I react so badly. I feel rage. I shudder at the whole, ‘I want to cosy up to you
– which could take
hours'
thing.

"Shayne, if you want to fuck me just say so. The answer is either going to be yes, or no. I don't do the mating dance. I hate it."

Oooohkay!
I think I just blew ‘ladylike’ right out of the stratosphere. Shit. What is wrong with me? Poor dude is stunned into silence.

"I want to fuck you."

I cringe. I honestly didn't mean it like that; it was a bad reaction. It sounds horrible when he says it. So degrading and
eeeewww.

I stand, staring at him lounging on the chair in my apartment, and think, Oh what the hell? I have to break the ice, get out of the Gary shackles. It may as well be with you.

BUT, after Mr Crabs, and ‘I shag the world’ Gary, I have this thing about personal hygiene now.

"Fine! Take a bath and I'll meet you in the bedroom."

Waaaaaahahahaha. I am
sooooo
peculiar: I can tell he's never had such a weird proposition in his life. Look out boys, here’s the sad strange ex with ‘odd’ issues. She'll shag you but you have to wash between your toes first.

I am blushing.

So, I strip off and pull Victoria on while my victim has his bath. My new place does not have a shower, which would have made life a lot easier.

Cutting to the chase. In twenty minutes I have a glowing squeaky clean Shayne lying on my bed, and it's ready to have its virginity popped with my first post-Gary shag.

So I'm working my magic ... doing my thing. You know what my thing is ... a tongue here, a kiss there, a lick, a caress, hair everywhere. Oh, and I have to tell you something. Who knew? This boy is built like an Olympic swimmer. He's beautiful without his clothes. Really!

What the hell am I doing wrong?

How can I have failure? I'm doing everything I can think of and the bazooka still looks like my lipstick tube. It hasn't changed one iota. So I start asking, probing, questions.

"Do you like this ...?”

"Hmmm."

"Does that feel good ...?”

"Yeah."

Eventually, I sit back and whine, "What am I doing wrong?"

He smiles, "Jesus, would you just sit on me already!"

I am no Jesus, but
sure,
if that will work.

So I slip over him and do my Asian number. He writhes and moans and … and ... and ... oh for FUCK’S sake. When will this guy get hard? I'm actually tired, which is saying something.

"Have you come?" I pry.

"Ages ago. You're like a machine!"

What! When? Where the hell was I?

I slip off and stare at the lipstick tube. No way.
No way.

This poor man. How can nature be so cruel? His cyclops is still eight years old.

He grins at me, obviously pleased with the show. (Show? What show? Where?)

And then!
Then
!
Then
! He says, "You're like a dude."

What? Grrrrooooowl.
What!

(I think my face conveys this, because, hey presto, he doesn't look so relaxed as he starts explaining.)

"You just want to do it. No fucking around. No kissing, or cuddling. Just get it on. I think I like that."

(Well, that's just great. But loverboy, this will never work. You're the size of my tampon.)

I grab a smoke and light it. Buying time. I never ever thought I'd be one of those shallow women who cared about size. I always thought size didn't matter, only how you used it. I am so shallow. But now I know, to a certain degree, size definitely matters.

I look at his hands, then his feet. So it's true. He's got hands smaller than mine, feet smaller than mine. That does it, I'm staying the hell away from James.

Sigh.

What have I done? I just shagged a boy from work. This is going to be awkward.