by Luke Davies
Lucy had red pubic hair. I put my hand on her cunt. My arm from wrist to elbow was rubbing on Candy’s inner thigh. Candy cocked one leg over Lucy’s belly. Things were beginning to melt. I moved up to the left of the girls, level with their waists. I kept my hand on Lucy’s cunt, my fingers exploring, feeling how different it was from Candy’s. Lucy took her right hand from Candy’s breasts and started playing with my dick. I leaned forward and started kissing her. It had been a long time since I’d kissed anyone else. It was a delicious shock.
Lucy’s breath, Lucy’s lips, the smell of her—it all tasted different. I really wanted some time to get down there and check out her pussy, but even though our bodies were moving slowly and wetly, everything in my head was happening at a delirious high speed. From one second to another I had no idea what would happen next. Being a drug addict basically meant trying to control your universe at all costs; for me, then, this business in the bed was a novel experience of vertigo and abandon and free fall.
Kissing Lucy was like being lost in a dream. Six inches to my right Candy was sucking Kojak’s dick. Everything was cool. As in okay. I watched for a moment, intrigued by what Candy looked like doing that from an angle I’d never seen before. She had the double-chin thing on the downstroke, like in porn movies, but then I guess everyone does.
We rolled around a bit and positions changed. I spent a while licking Lucy down below, and Kojak tried to go through the Kama Sutra with Candy. I kept my eyes open because it was nice looking at the color of Lucy’s pubic hair up close, the way the red seemed to disappear against her flushed and swollen skin.
Then things changed again. Lucy was up on all fours and Candy was lying beneath her and sucking her breasts. Candy’s body came out sideways from under Lucy’s stomach. I couldn’t help thinking of a mechanic, the legs jutting out from under a car. A naked female mechanic.
I sat on my knees with my legs spread wide at the groin. I spread Candy’s legs and pulled her into position toward me, lifting her up by the buttocks. It was like the docking of the satellites. I fucked her—it felt real nice—while her ankles swayed gently around my shoulders and ears like long stalks of grass in a breeze. All the while she nuzzled Lucy’s breasts, hidden under there like she was changing a brake line.
Meanwhile Kojak had gone down the other end, to fuck Lucy from behind.
“Ow!” Lucy shouted. She reached her arm around and pushed at Kojak’s stomach, pushed him away from her arse. He’d been trying to stick his dick in her tradesmen’s entrance, no lube, no nothing.
“Not there you don’t,” Lucy said, admonishing him as she might a headstrong child.
Kojak didn’t complain. He just started fucking her in the designated area, and then things settled down into a quiet rhythm. Of course I was loaded on heroin and Kojak didn’t use, so in the staying-power stakes I wasn’t about to be challenged. After a few minutes Kojak grunted a few times and came. His whole demeanor changed then. His clothes were on before his dick had even deflated. He pulled on his shoes.
“I have to go,” he said, backing out the door. “I’ve got business to do. Bye-bye, beautiful girls.” He didn’t say a word to me. But I felt good about the matter. Kojak had gotten a thrill. I knew that at some point in the future he would probably give us a little dope on credit.
The hall door slammed as he went out. I had a moment of insecurity, as if I had no power here, as if everything would stop now. With Kojak in the room, it might have only been for show and profit. But Candy and Lucy seemed just as into it now as they were before. I decided to take the plunge and keep the momentum going.
I pulled out of Candy and lay on top of Lucy and we started kissing again. Candy and I were both used to each other. I guess in a way we were both fighting over Lucy, who was new and unknown. But it was a friendly kind of rivalry. Candy started licking Lucy’s pussy. Lucy said, “It’s good now Kojak’s gone,” and I could hardly believe my ears.
Just the three of us. The situation began to dawn on me.
Really, this was paradise as far as I was concerned. That’s not exactly true: heroin was paradise. But me alone, naked, in a room with naked Candy and naked Lucy—our sole purpose to have sex, to do things with each other—well, I have to say I was pretty fucking happy.
It’s funny, though, I did feel a little strange about putting my dick in Lucy with Kojak’s sperm so recently deposited up there. But I got over that. We tried a whole lot of positions and three-way variations. There’s a chance on heroin that you’ll just never come, you’ll fuck and fuck and finally give up. But I was stretched to the limit of what being horny could possibly mean. I was sure something was in the offing.
In the end I was fucking Lucy in the missionary position and Candy was down between our legs, doing whatever with Lucy and licking my balls and scrotum. I’d never experienced the luxury of an extra tongue. Being on heroin was always like winning the lottery, but coming on heroin was like winning it twice.
My life was a lot like a cartoon, so it wasn’t surprising that I actually saw bands of stars swirling in front of my eyes and around my head for five or ten seconds at the peak of things. Then we all collapsed in a pile for a while.
I knew the next thing I wanted was a nice big blast. We had enough dope to keep our chins superglued to our chests for a good few hours. I felt so full of benevolence, I was tempted to offer Lucy some. But I realized that was taking things too far.
“Did Kojak leave you some gear, Lucy?” I asked.
“Yeah, there’s a little bit,” she said. Then she added nervously, “But only enough for me, really.”
“Oh no, that’s okay, it’s just that we don’t have enough to give you any,” I lied. “I just didn’t want you to feel left out.”
The three of us went back into the lounge room and mixed up. We all got completely wasted. For many hours we couldn’t even open our eyes to watch TV. We just dribbled a lot and mumbled shit that nobody understood. We burned holes in the sofa and on the carpet when our cigarettes, lit but unsmoked, suspended in our hands, smoldered down to long cylinders of ash as we drooped toward slack-jawed unconsciousness. It was the best kind of domestic bliss, the absolute absence of discomfort.
At dawn I woke to kids’ cartoons. Candy was asleep. Lucy had gone, leaving a note that said, “Nice to meet you both, see you soon.” Three weeks later Kojak told us he’d heard she’d gone to rehab. We never saw her again.
COLIN GETS LUCKY
Every now and then, despite the money, Candy got pissed off with the hard slog of prostitution. We’d try to make a go of dealing, so she could work a little less sometimes. We never reached great heights. Just kept using all that extra gear.
Lack of foresight would get us into trouble. It’s a lack of foresight to use a day’s worth of dope in one shot. Equally, it’s a lack of foresight to plan to stop when deep down you know that you can’t. The best intentions mean fuck all.
At such times you find yourselves adrift in anxiety, unprepared once more for the onslaught of stomach cramps and the hideous sweat, wandering the city with vague thoughts of shoplifting. This was problematic on a midwinter Sunday, when Melbourne was empty and windswept, like a scene from The Omega Man.
Candy and I were walking down Little Bourke Street, discussing who we could call and what story we could use to get some money. Then the gods intervened. We walked past a bank of phone booths, and one of them began to ring. We looked at each other. It was an odd event. Candy picked up the phone and I leaned in to listen.
“Hello?”
“Hello? Who’s that?”
“Who’s that?”
“This is Colin.”
“Hi, Colin.”
“Who’s that?”
“This is Candy.”
“Is that Lifeline? I want to speak to a counselor.”
“No, this is Candy. I think you’ve got the wrong number. What number did you try to ring?”
“So this is not Lifeline? Who are you?”
�
�I’m Candy.”
“Oh … So I guess I’ve got the wrong number.”
“What’s the problem, Colin? Why do you want to ring Lifeline?”
I gave Candy the thumbs-up. Someone in distress, or in an erratic state, could mean someone erratic enough to part with some money. Candy was thinking the same way. We almost always did.
“Oh, I’m just not feeling too good. I don’t know … Where are you?”
“I’m in a phone booth in Little Bourke Street.”
“A phone booth … no, you’re kidding me.”
“No, I’m not. You called a phone booth. Listen.” She held the phone outside the booth. “Hear the traffic? I’m in a phone booth. I swear.”
“That’s incredible,” he said. “Wow.”
“So, Colin, what is there to be so depressed about?”
“Well, everything, really. My wife hates me, I hate my job. I hate my life.”
“Where do you work?”
“In a pie factory in Preston.”
“Do you have many friends?”
“No, not any, really.”
“Maybe you could be my friend.”
“Why, what are you like?”
“I’m really nice.” She oozed such confidence when she said it.
“How old are you? What do you look like?”
“I’m twenty-four. I’ve got long blond hair. How old are you?”
“I’m thirty-two.”
“Well, maybe we should meet! I mean, what a bizarre coincidence, me walking past just at this moment and the phone ringing like that!”
“Sure, that sounds great. I can’t believe it. It is a coincidence! Well, when could we meet?” We could feel Colin’s mood, his day, his life, changing.
“I don’t know. I’m not doing anything … I suppose we could even meet today.”
“That’d be fantastic! I can’t believe it. One minute I feel like killing myself and the next minute I’ve met someone really interesting.”
“Oh, now you don’t want to go killing yourself. Otherwise you’d miss out on interesting meetings like this. But listen, I’ve just remembered something. I’d love to meet up with you today, but I’m desperately searching for some money to help a friend out. It’s a bit of an emergency. Something’s come up. It’s difficult to explain. But I tell you what, if you could lend me some money, then we could meet up today, and I could pay you back tomorrow.”
There was a short silence.
“What, you want to borrow some money off me?”
“Yeah. That way we’d have an excuse to see each other twice in two days. What do you think?”
“I’m not sure … how much do you need?”
He was faltering. Candy had to act fast.
“I need two hundred dollars. Listen, you could come straight into town now. Where do you live?”
“Coburg.”
“Right. You could just jump on a tram, be here in half an hour. We could go for a walk through the park, or a tram ride, go to a café. It’d be loads of fun.”
“Well …”
“Listen, the money’s not a problem. My friend, the girl who needs it, is giving it back to me tomorrow. So as I said, we could meet again tomorrow.”
“Why does she need it in such a hurry?”
“It’s really hard to explain. It’s personal. I promised her I’d help her. But trust me, it’s very important. A one-day loan. How can that hurt you?”
“Well … I guess I could.…”
“Yeah! It’ll be great. I’m dying to meet you already. You sound really interesting.”
“Okay, then, where shall we meet?”
Candy smiled at me. I punched the air in silent joy. I couldn’t believe she’d pulled it off. One minute we’d felt like killing ourselves and the next we’d met someone really interesting!
The plan was this: Candy would meet Colin at the Bourke Street Mall. She’d take him on a get-to-know-you tram ride, one circuit around the city center. Have a quick coffee at the very most.
We’d done a flit from Queens Road after we didn’t pay the rent for a couple of months, and now lived in the middle of the city, in a decrepit warehouse in a back lane. Candy would get rid of him within the hour. Then we’d leave straightaway to score. It was my job to arrange for the drugs.
Everything was perfect. Within two hours of the phone ringing we’d gotten two hundred dollars from a perfect stranger, got loaded, and prevented a suicide into the bargain. We felt good.
Candy told me about Colin. He was short, and he wore shorts, with white socks to the knees. A zip-up green parka kept him warm. His hair was greasy. He had dandruff and acne scars. He wore thick bottle-lens glasses that magnified his eyes disturbingly.
“It was so cruel,” she said, not knowing whether to laugh or cover her mouth.
“We got the money. That’s the point,” I said.
“He said he’d never met anyone like me.”
“Well, that’s got to be worth two hundred dollars,” I said. “Is he worth more?”
“Maybe just a few times. I mean, it’s not like he’s rich. I think he just saves his wages. I’d better play it careful. String him along. He’s pretty thick. Not all there.”
Over the next couple of months, somehow, unbelievably, we continued to get money out of Colin. Candy never fucked him. She never did more than meet him for a tram ride or a coffee. She never allowed him to see our place or know our address.
Somehow, the previous debt would be wiped, and then it was just the new problem of trying to get money out of him today, as if it were the first time.
I think Colin was falling in love. Candy told him she was an artist and that she lived in a complex of studios shared by other artists. Our phone, according to Candy, was the communal phone for all these bohemians. Candy said she lived alone in her studio and she didn’t have a boyfriend.
I was therefore the gay friend who lived in the adjoining studio. That’s why I answered the phone so often. Colin tried to have long conversations with me, digging for information about this incredible girl he had met. I fueled his curiosity with praise for her uniqueness. I sprinkled my praise with hints about her availability. I insinuated that she was unlucky in love and was really just looking for that “special man.”
I would ration her. Just to make him tense. A little bit of edginess and anticipation can go a long way in a guy like Colin.
We’d be having a good day. Lots of dope. Lots of money. The phone would ring.
“Hi, Colin!” I’d say warmly and loudly, looking across the warehouse floor to Candy.
She’d motion to me with her arms, No way!
“Mate, what a shame, you’ve just missed her. I heard her go out a few minutes ago.”
I mean, the guy worked in a pie factory. He’d probably saved a thousand dollars in four years. We really had to reserve him for emergency days. Other than that, we didn’t want him invading our lives.
Just when he thought his princess had left his life forever, she would call him, trying to act casual. He’d given Candy his home number. God knows what his wife thought.
Candy would keep the excuses coming, stories of misery. He was the only one who could help her, she’d say. On three or four occasions over two or three months, she got a couple of hundred out of him. And then eventually, as happens with johns, his patience began to wear thin.
When that time comes you bring out the secondary ammunition: tell the truth and see what happens.
On a dark, despairing Sunday, Candy changed tactics. I put my ear close to the phone.
“But I don’t understand,” Colin whined. “You’re always in trouble with money.”
Candy sighed. The sigh said: You are about to be the recipient of momentous news. You’d better be grateful.
“Colin,” she said, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m having a lot of problems. I’m a heroin addict.”
“A heroin addict!”
I don’t think Colin had ever experience
d such drama in his life. I imagined his heart pounding with this new excitement.
“I know,” Candy said. “It’s terrible.”
“A heroin addict! Well, that explains so much! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was so embarrassed. I’ve been trying so hard to stop, so we can have a better relationship together.” She chose her words carefully. “You know, a better friendship.”
“Well, why don’t you just stop?”
“It’s not that easy, Colin. It’s not that simple. There are some very heavy people chasing me for money. Once I get the debt out of the way, then I can start to think about stopping.”
“But how much money do you need?”
“Look, I need thousands. But, darling, it’s not your problem, it’s not your concern. I have to deal with this myself. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to help me with thousands. It’s just that today, it’s a real emergency. They want two hundred as an installment.”
I was scribbling furiously on a pad: “To show good faith.”
“You know, to show them my good faith. Or they’ll hurt me.”
“My God,” Colin said. “What sort of people are these?”
“You don’t want to know, Colin. You really don’t want to know. Will you help me, Colin? Can you help me?”
She sounded like some helpless heroine in Gone with the Wind. I would have laughed, only trying to get money for drugs was no laughing matter.
And somehow, yet again, we pulled it off. She pulled it off.
But once you’d gone into the reserve plan, you knew the end was in sight. You could now hustle someone like Colin without having to hide your sheer desperation. This was quite a relief. But it could only work a few more times, because now you were expected to take some kind of action, like going to a detox or drying out in the country. And of course you never did.
Some weeks later the thing came grinding to a pathetic halt. The final thing you do in the face of adamant refusals is get nasty.
We were sick. I sat on the couch listening to the conversation with a sinking feeling in my gut. Who else could we try?
Candy was hissing things like, “Surely you’ve got something in your house you can sell!” I knew the cause was lost.
