Sunday, December 18, 2016

When I was 23

I was crawling down the street one night. Trying to avoid the gutters. Strange things happen when you are 23. I am sure you can recall weird moments within those 365 days when you must have awoken, bathed in sweat, stinking like a worm floating in a bottle of tequila, and wondering that if it was Monday-  it would be a good idea to phone in sick.

But – it is the way that one day you are 22 and fine, and a few hours later you are 23, crawling along a vomit strewn pavement, putting out fags in the puddles, when suddenly, from behind, your behind is being assaulted – violently.

‘Rape – rape’, you scream, as between the humming in your ears comes the sound of tearing cloth. ‘Call the Police, for my arse is being savaged’. (Of course, as my mouth could barely hold a saliva sodden cigarette, it sounded more like ‘Ugh – ooh, ahh, bah- blah’.

Then – the ultimate pain in the arse. Huge needles penetrated my exposed buttocks. I collapsed. A huge weight pressed my face into my own vomit – and, just when I thought it was the end for me – a nice sensation of wet warmness flicked across my brown eye. I smiled – this was nice.

The pressure on my neck, the heat from my bleeding rump – the licking… oh oh – I started to fade away… but as I went into that zone where as when you awake you wish you were dead – a voice – as if from the heavens spoke.

‘Good dog, Rover. Now stop licking his bum hole and sit. And - you Sir, are being arrested for being drunk and disorderly in a public place.’

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