When I was in my early 20’s I hung out with a good group of gay friends. They all basically had a massive crush on me at the same time which I sort of did and sort of didn’t realise (this was something I was going to have to learn to deal with a lot).

We used to hang at Gilligan’s, Phoenix, The Midnight Shift etc. Incidentally Phoenix is kind of where I lost my anal virginity. I met this hot black guy who both worked at The Albury and acted in porn. Apparently the two were synonymous. Anyway I just grabbed his dick and said sure that will do (it was very big) and we went out into the laneway at the back of the club and he fucked me.

I didn’t really enjoy it that much. He took about five minutes to finish and as he was walking away I said “Am I going to see you again?”. I was only 20 and just a babe in the woods I guess. Anyway I’m digressing this is not central to the main story.

A few years later, one of my friends, Bruce, told me he had a new boyfriend he wanted me to meet. So I went to this pub on Crown Street one day to meet him and fuck me sideways this guy was like in his forties! I played nice. His name was John and apparently he was (and no doubt still is) a barrister.

We all ended up becoming pretty good friends. I started to look up to John as he had life experience and was basically one of the pillars of our society. Then one night at Stonewall he tells me he sometimes blasts (injects) cocaine and that it’s fantastic. I tell him it doesn’t sound like it’s for me and he replies “Pet project, introduce Aussie Outlier to blasting coke” while strumming his fingers together like he’s Dr. Evil which actually he turned out to be.

Some time later I think I was technically homeless at the time as my family were trying the first of many tranches of “tough love” to get me to stop taking drugs (spoiler alert: it didn’t work). John has invited me to his lavish (but rented – get it together dude) apartment and cooked me a lovely dinner. We drank lovely red wine. I was really pissed by the end.

Then he says to me “Come to the bathroom, I’ve got something for you”. I remember those words exactly and vividly to this day because of what happened next. I went to the bathroom with him and he showed me intravenous syringes preloaded with cocaine.

Basically as I discovered not this night but soon after if you blast good coke you get instantly mega horny and want to fuck. John wanted to fuck me and he figured this was his best shot, pun intended. Unfortunately for him I have pretty terrible veins for shooting up and he clumsily injected me but he must have missed because I felt nothing and he got no sex. My whole forearm came out in a bruise he was so fucking hopeless at injecting other people. I wonder how he got any sex at all. Probably from hookers who could self administer. More on that later.

So my curiosity was piqued and somehow I found myself in the sphere of influence of another upstanding member of society who also blasted coke. A SHIT LOAD OF COKE. I was at his house one night and one of his friends adept at administration shot me up and holllyyyyyy fuuuuuuuck!

About 2 heartbeats after the plunger was pushed all the way in… the taste of petrol in the back of my throat and then… The RUSH. It was as if I was being propelled backward at great speed without actually moving. Sound becomes distorted as if only the high end of the audible range is heard. The thin veil of what we perceive as reality is ripped asunder and you perceive the true nature of the universe and you become one with it. You no longer perceive whoever or whatever is in the room with you. You are a GOD.

After about a minute the rush subsides and you return to the room in your mortal form but forever altered. Better. Now it’s time to FUCK. You are Alexander The Great and you can fuck whichever mortal you choose.

I looked around but all the mortals were unfuckable. So I went inside my head and created a sexual fantasy that was so visceral I may as well have been there. The people at Bob’s place were really cool though so we just chatted about shit but not about drugs. The rule is you DO drugs, you DON’T talk about them because that is lame.

It was a nice change of pace from all the twinks at DCM asking me if I’d tried this eccy or that eccy. Back in those days MDMA was called ecstasy (eccy) and they were always a different colour with some kind of symbol stamped on them or sometimes not. They were always fucking GREAT and would last all night long.

Blasting coke was a whole new level though. I pretty much became instantly addicted to it and spent every weekend all weekend at Bob’s house blasting his coke. He would probably have gone through up to 20 grams in a weekend at least. I shit you not. Not just him though there were always mouths to feed like mine. Unlike John though Bob was a perfect gentleman and never tried anything on me.

Just to be a good sport I did kiss him once of the dancefloor at Arq (yeah occasionally we’d get out of the house). He said something about fucking me stupid and I smiled like a dumb hooker knowing he couldn’t possibly.

Coke wears off quick though that’s the rub. Within 45-60 minutes. Then you have to blast it again. So in a big weekend well you might inject about 20 times I guess. Before long I learned to self administer. I was really good at it at first. There’d just be this line of neat little dots done the track of my my vein. I became a total junkie though. I blasted everything from ecstasy to Rohypnol. On Tuesday I’d have a shoebox with about 40-50 used needles in there. Just from one weekend.

This went on for many years. All my friends still hung out with me but they freely called me a junkie and I didn’t care because the shoe fit. It wasn’t any impediment to getting trade by the way. I think my sexual partners found it and more specifically me, maybe (morbidly? lol) fascinating. I never introduced anyone else to IV drug use except one time and it is something I regret to this day.

One time I put the needle all the way through my vein and got thrombosis. A significant lump swelled on my arm. I showed it to my doctor at the time and he said “You’re a junkie!” and I was like meh. It went down by itself. My veins started to turn on me though. I couldn’t inject easily any more. I was pretty much sick of it. Every night I dreamed about blasting coke. Every… single… night. It was all I dreamed about.

In my late 20’s I met a Dutch guy on New Year’s Eve at a dance party and we ended up becoming boyfriends. I went to live with him in Amsterdam for a while and when I came back I simply never touched a needle again. I was done being a junkie. Went there. Bought the t-shirt. It didn’t fit.

Other drug users can’t understand how I did that but for me it was easy. Being a junkie is shit. You end up harming yourself physically and psychologically. Also it’s just a really bad look to everyone except other junkies. Plus I had discovered SMOKING crystal meth…

The moral to the story is John was willing to introduce me to the harms of IV drug use just because he wanted to fuck me. He’s done the same thing to many many other guys who didn’t handle it as well as me. He’s a sociopath but even they can be fun sometimes I guess.