Slopping off drunk for sex

I'm somewhat defiant because I look at the things I got up to and I don't give a shit.

I don't know what I feel but whatever it is, it isn't regret. Never ever regret.

I say to myself that I've been blessed to have the opportunities and experiences some people may never have.

Instead of some boring, mundane and sterile life where the furthest you've pushed yourself is to wear a slightly edgy hat, I like to tell myself that at least I've done a lot more. And I'm not yet 30.

Of course I only say this to myself as a means to try and justify past behaviour. A cavalier attitude can help to hide a lot you know.

I put my validations to one side and I tell you this because maybe it's time I faced the story. I have faced fragments of it but never all of it at once.

All I can say is that I will never apologise for anything I've done because there's no-one to apologise to. In the end I have to face my own conscience.

You can judge me however you please. All you should know is that it is in the past and I am about to move on from it both now and I did so a long time ago.

Right...

So every Friday night it was customary for me and a group of mates to meet for a drink at our favourite bar at a pretty swish drinking establishment in Cape Town.

We knew the barman, we ran a monthly tab and we would usually be there for most of Friday night.

Of course, this being a regular event it soon became habit. And when things become a habit, to keep them interesting, you have to spice them up a little.

Soon Friday night drinks became Friday night drinks with a line or four.

That then morphed into Friday night with booze and substances and a turn at the local sauna. That's how this story ties in.

One Friday night I found myself particularly flush. I had done a lot of work, been paid and was seriously liquid, on many levels.

There's no need to explain or justify the rest.

In my drunken, drugged-up, fucked-up state I stumbled to a whore house up the road, hired two rent boys and dragged them off to an expensive hotel room I'd booked at the Waterfront in Cape Town.

I was 23 fucking years old at the time.

The one rent was about 30, blonde and very muscular, the other I remember had brown hair.

I remember standing in the lift with them at the hotel and saying "I'd love to watch you fuck him". Both of them were paid to stay the night.

In the bathroom, while they were undressing I remember doing substance. I remember watching and not being able to get it up because I was so fucked.

They rubbed each other up on the bed and I remember thinking that it was odd that neither of them were hard.

Of course they were not interested in each other. I would say that neither of them seemed vaguely interested in men anyway.

I lay naked on the bed as they romped around uncomfortably at the end of it. I tried to join in on a few occasions but I couldn't really speak. I was sniffing and gurning and slurring.

Suddenly, at about 6am I woke up, alone and naked in this expensive hotel room.

My clothes were strewn everywhere and thankfully all my valuables were on the bedside table.

All that money I had worked so to hard to earn, I'd blown on booze, drugs and the prospect of sex. I was too fucked too enjoy any of it.

After checking out of the hotel I remember walking back to my flat. I thought of the two guys counting the money I'd given them and I felt like wanting to cry.

I felt patronised, cheap, slutty, pathetic, remorseful, unhappy. Who could I tell about what I'd done?

In no time I was stood in the Greenpoint McDonalds, ready to smother any emotion with food. Big Macs were my friend then. They comforted me when I was alone and upset. I had no-one to hug.

It was a pretty low point but the worst was still to come.

Yeah, right now I'm not feeling so cavalier about this afterall.