Sunday, October 5, 2014

Generation sauna

As I lay on top of her, I asked if she had any condoms and she shouted in my ear, “I’m a lesbian!”
We went to the service station at the end of the road.
“Yeah, we’d better be safe,” she said.
She needed a pack of cigarettes but didn’t have money so I paid for the cigarettes and a pack of condoms and, for some reason that she wouldn’t say, a tin of motor oil.
“You’re paying with a credit card.” She huffed.

We met in Fremantle. It was one of those hot January nights where it was better to stay out until dawn than it was to go home and suffer in the heat.
We met outside the Hungry Jacks on the Cappuccino Strip.
 She sat on a public bench. She wore a faded grey Unearth shirt and no shoes and a black and white pimp hat that was all the rage back then. She was waiting for a friend at Metros–the bouncers wouldn’t let her in.
She drank a potent mix of vodka and OJ from a 2-litre OJ container. I let the liquid splash on my lips when she offered me a drink.
We started up a conversation about the man driving along the strip who had been flagged by a police RBT and tried to run and been tasered and held down and handcuffed by five cops. I was polling everyone in the street.
“Did you see it happen?”
“Five cops!”
She had the double-set of smile now/cry later tattoos on her sinewed biceps. At least she would have, if the smile now tattoo wasn’t covered by a plaster cast that ran from her wrist to her collarbone. The cry later tattoo face was the grunge is dead smiley.
I talked about her Unearth shirt. She didn’t really like hardcore just Unearth. What she really liked was Gabba. She was going to the Rainbow Serpent in Victoria in a month’s time. She asked if I liked Unearth.
I told her I didn’t like Unearth. I found them derivative of the bands that influenced Unearth. Like Converge, I liked Converge.
“What does converge mean? I’m so dumb.”
I told her the definition of the verb, and how it related to hardcore and punk and how people, like punks and hardcore kids, converge on a shared goal or ideal or ethos or band, like Converge. I also started telling her about convergence in technology, I don’t know, but she was so drunk and possibly dumb that she kept on wanting to shake my hand.
She loaned me her hat. She told me that if she gave me the hat, it was an excuse for me to find her and see her again. She loved that hat, an ex-girlfriend gave it to her. She made me promise to give her the hat back.
I said OK. We exchanged phone numbers. She said her name was Jen. I told her, “I’m Sean.” I asked what her last name was. She hesitated and said, “Saunders.” Her number was Jen Saunders in my contacts.
I walked up and down the strip and back to her. When she gave me the vodka and OJ I did not pretend to drink.
“Do you want to watch me piss?”
“No, not really. But I’ll come with you to make sure no one rapes you.”
She pissed in the carpark under Hoyts Millenium. I played lookout. In hindsight, I don’t know how she did it with the full-arm cast.
“Do you want me to show you my favourite spot in Fremantle?”
We walked to the West End.
“I’m a lesbian, by the way,” she said. “I want to let you know, nothing is going to happen.”
“I wasn’t expecting anything.”
She told me that a couple of times and I gave the same answer.
She led me down a side street past a backpackers, and down a back alleyway and up some concrete steps to a landing overlooking an empty construction site. It was pitch-dark and there was no railing at the top so it wasn’t safe.
“Why is this your favourite place?”
“Because no one else knows it’s here. People on the high street walk past here all the time, and would never know about it. It’s quiet and safe.”
She offered me more Vodka. Something fell out of her pocket–she fit into her jeans tight–and down into the building plot below.
“Oh no! That was my phone! I have to get it.”
“You’re kidding, right? Just come back tomorrow morning, when you can find it, and get it then.”
“No! The specialist is ringing me first thing to arrange an appointment about my x-rays. I can’t miss that call.”
“I’m not climbing down. I’ll break my neck.”
“I need that phone.”
I had to physically stop her from climbing down into the plot: it was three stories high and her right arm in the cast was set in a permanent bent elbow.
“Let’s walk around the block and see if there’s any way to get into the site.”
I got her down from the landing and we walked around the block and she wouldn’t give up about her shitty Nokia in the building plot. I told her it was probably broken but that made her more anxious so I dropped that line of conversation.
Around the corner there was a boarded-up entrance to a house or store and she pushed open the door and we went inside. Inside was a construction site. Through a chain link fence we could see the building plot.
“Oh my god,” she said. “You’re looking for my phone, for me.” She moaned in the dark.
We looked through the fence.
“We can’t get in,” she said.
I looked through the fence.
“You’re trying to help me.”
She moaned and bit me on the shoulder, through my shirt. I didn’t look around at her. Did that just happen?
I pushed on the fence and the fence swung open. I stepped into the pitch-black building plot and fumbled for my shitty Nokia and pushed buttons on the mobile so that the screen would stay lit and I could stumble around the weeds and bricks and dust and I found her shitty Nokia on the edge of plot against the wall and when I walked back into the construction site I told her “I found your phone” and handed it to her and we kissed our lips mashing together and she used her tongue not sure whether she had to lead or whether I had to lead and if she wanted me to.
“Come home with me.”
“My god, I’m so weird with my sexuality. Are you sure?”
“My weird sexuality. You really want to fuck me?”
“Do you want me to come back?
“Yes, I want to fuck you.”
When I said that she smirked.
We walked from the West End back to the Luna Cinemas where I had parked. We held hands. I held her left hand. She staggered and bumped into one of the poles on the high street outside the late-night kebab shops.
“Are you OK?”
“Yeah, my arm is fucked, it can’t feel a thing.”
“How did you break your arm?”
“I was hanging upside down on a swing in a park and I fell off the seat onto the ground.”
Like a true gentlemen I unlocked and opened the passenger door for her and in the shadows away from the prying eyes of latenight clubgoers she pushed me against the car and we kissed open mouthed her definitely taking the lead with the tongue now and she fondled between my legs feeling my dick through my jeans and at that moment I realised not discomfort but not excitement either.
“Are you OK to drive?”
“Let’s take a taxi.”
“Where do you live?”
“I can drive.”
“Are you sure?”
I probably wasn’t drunk.

She told me about her lesbian lover: Cupcake.
“I have a good thing going with her. I don’t want you to think that anything is going to come from this between us.”
“What is going to happen with us is whatever, but what I have with Cupcake is special, and I don’t want to ruin that, so don’t think anything is going to come from this.”
“Where’s Cupcake tonight?”
She shrugged.
“Is she home at your place? Her name is really Cupcake?”
She smirked.
Her place was a house down the Canning highway by the Canning Bridge in a boulevard of deciduous trees.
“You live here?”
“Yeah. I work in the mines, I’m twenty-three years old and I make a thousand bucks a week.”
She had locked herself out of the house. We had to break in. She dragged the recycling bin up to her open bedroom window and, surprise, both my arms were working, I climb inside and unlock the front door.
No one else was in the house.
She made us a couple of Vodka and OJ’s sickly sweet Harvey Fresh. She filled the glasses to the brim and as she swayed and staggered and served the drinks there was spillage over the drinks cabinet and the sides of the drinks cabinet.
I cleaned up with a tea towel.
“Why are you cleaning up?”
“Don’t you pay me to come over and clean up the mess?”
“I don’t pay you to clean up,” she said and paused and looked at me and I had to think, how drunk are you exactly?
Inside her bedroom I took off my shoes and sat on the edge of the bed. She told me to pick some music on her computer as she went to the toilet. I looked through the folders and it was mostly Gabba shit and I didn’t play anything. There was a bunch of MSN chats from her other dyke friends asking what she was doing tonight, where are you, wanna chat, are you still up, lesbian solidarity sorta stuff.
She came back to the bedroom, her clothes were on, and fiddled around with the standing-fan in the room stinking hot and humid and I offered to help her but she got pissed and insisted on doing it herself and dragged the fan around with her one good arm. So I sat on the bed and she got the fan where she wanted it and switched it on. Then she turned around and pushed me back onto the bed and we kissed.
“I have you in my fuck position,” she told me.
She snatched a hand-full of my hair and pulled. I sat on the edge of the bed, longways now, and I was surprised not only how she could undo my belt and unzip and push down my pants but how rough the palm of her hand was. I was also surprised when she pulled and wanked on my erection then stopped and her hand rubbed and whacked my balls hard like they were a clit or a pussy. I held her wrist and pushed her back onto the bed and lay on top of her and said, “Do you have–OK, you know this part now.

I had to break in again when we got back from the service station. She still didn’t have a key.
“I’m going to sex a sexy man,” she dirty-talked, or tried to.
“Lucky you, I’ve been to the gym.”
She snatched at my hair. I pushed her hand away and I held her shoulder-length brunette hair.
"You like it rough? You like to be in control?” I said and yanked. “You're not. I'm in control." I yanked her hair again.
She lay on her back and I pushed up the Unearth shirt and her stomach was 8 per cent body fat and I felt down her stomach and traced the faint line of pubic hair from her navel to her pubic mound. I pushed down her jeans and underpants until her bush and pussy exposed and I traced her lips and rubbed her clit and pushed my thumb inside her and she stared at me with dull bloodshot eyes and tensed and I got the sense that I was never going to turn her on.
“I want to see your tits.”
“I can’t get my shirt off.”
My hand crawled under her shirt but her arm was a massive unmoving log between us.
“This isn’t going to work, we can’t fuck with my arm like this.”
I put my shirt back on. We sat at the outside backyard table and smoked. Her feet were covered in dirt. I hadn’t put my shoes back on and my feet weren’t much cleaner. I wore the hat.
“It’s cool we won’t fuck. I know heaps of dykes and bi-girls who are going to want to fuck you.”
“I’m still not giving you the hat back.”
A fluoro orange jacket hung from the hills hoist. I always liked it when the backyard had a hills hoist, it reminded me of when I was a little kid. 
Conversation dry I sat on the edge of the bed and she stood awkward in the bedroom entrance with her jeans unzipped around her thighs.
I couldn’t take it anymore and I stared at her and licked my thumb and her piss and come.
She definitely moaned this time and she leaned forward and fell on me and we kissed sloppy violent and past the open window, dawn light streaming in, walk a guy and girl, the housemate and Cupcake.
I pushed Jen off me and zipped up my pants and pulled on my shoes and stuck my socks in my pockets before I heard the key in the front door.
Jen’s too drunk and her arm too broken for her to zip up her jeans.
The housemate and Cupcake come in through the front door. Cupcake was short and wearing pink jeans. She ran past me and into Jen’s bedroom and jumped on top of Jen and straddled and pinned her on the bed and they shared a sweet Lesbian kiss and cuddle.
I stood in the kitchen watching and the housemate is gay and he started telling me how they’ve been at Metro’s tonight and he works there or something and he’s had five dexies tonight and he’s talking to me like a fucking munted space martian he’s making so much sense.
Cupcake and Jen hadn’t moved and nobody asked why her jeans were like that not yet.
I shouted out from the kitchen, “See you later, Jen!”
And Jen or Cupcake called out, not moving, “Bye!” and I’m out the back door and around the house and in the car and starting the engine and pulling off away from the Applecross house.
      Then I wound down the driver’s side window and drove the boulevard and turned at the roundabout and went past the strip of shops and waited at the lights for green and the heat was unrelenting.