She was so fucking drunk that all I had to do was lick the sweat out 
of her armpits to get as loaded as she was... which of course I did, 
rolling her over on her back even as she squealed and struggled. 
Grabbing her hands I pushed them back hard, way behind her head,
arms spread out, her armpits fully exposed and then I went down on them, 
sucking hard, even as her legs thrashed about and she squealed all the
more...
 
I remember the night I first met her.
The minute I’d left my room it had all gone wrong.
The dark alley I should never have entered. A bad mistake.
But I’d had a drink or two and they’d settled in the back of my skull, 
sloshing about making thought a process impossible to accomplish tidily. 
The thoughts and ideas piling up on each other, turning to mush. Should 
never have turned that corner.

Meeting the crazed punk, who’d come out at me from the dark, his mind
on overdrive from a frantic overdose of gluesniffing, a long bladed knife 
in his hand, rasping – Gimme the money! Gimme the money or Ill kill you!
– And I knew I’d never have enough. I felt the colour drain from my
face, felt my legs buckle, felt the fear grip my chest, squeeze my gut.
Looked into his eyes and saw all life in them shut down, watched his
pupils opaquely dilate, saw his mouth slowly form words I couldn’t hear,
saw his arm draw back and start a long slow downward plunge, his lips
still forming soundless words. And I had fallen to my knees and that
had saved me. His knife had hit the wall and bounced off and out of his
hand. I’d scrambled to my feet and lurched off in a mad sprint from the
dark alley, never looking back.

Shaken and out of breath I’d entered the club.

And then, after a couple of quick desperate drinks, I first saw her.
Smelled the alcohol on her breath and knew I should back off. She could
only mean trouble. 

Oh yeah! I had known it. Known it all along.
But she’d kept looking at me. And I was hooked.

I didn’t like the thick vein coursing down her arms, didn’t like her
nervous gestures, didn’t like the way she played her chips. Just threw
them down, couldn’t give a shit. Meant nothing to her. But she kept 
giving me those quick little looks and I was easy meat

All she had to do was look at me, each brief sneak of a look was like
an electric shock that got my nerve ends exposed and quivering. Yeah,
they were bullets those quick little sideways looks. They bored holes
straight through my flesh, ripping and tearing, slicing tendons and muscles,
shattering and snapping bones... She could do with a look what the
gluesniffing punk had wanted to do with a knife. And she knew it too. 
Yeah, I was a fucking giveaway that night... Easier than a crippled
antelope on the African Savannah... If I’d stopped to listen I would
have heard the hyenas cackling...

It’s those fucking free drinks they push on you in casinos... “Cocktails,
cocktails” how can one refuse. I was easy meat and I was plastered. 
Never stood a chance.

She was plastered too.
Stiff and quiet, then.

And I knew I should steer clear of her. I could read the signs loud and clear.
The ambulance that had driven by, lights flashing, siren screaming, rushing
some suicidal fucker to the emergency room, the blood still pouring
from his slashed wrists, his brain writhing and gasping as it dried up, 
getting ready for the final blackout. They weren’t going to let him though.
They were going to sew him up and push him back on the streets. Let the
poor fucker meet his demons again, and he’s wounded now. All stitched up.
I should have realized it was a message, but I was too far gone.

I’d had another shot of scotch, felt the alcohol hit the back of my mind like
a hammer going through an overripe melon on a sultry summer evening,
just a soft smash behind the eyeballs, a flash of light so bright I was 
blinded, all thoughts and words flew out in all directions, crashing into
the side of my skull and bouncing around this way and that...  
Yeah, I never saw it coming. It seems that I’ve somehow fine-tuned a 
system for ignoring warning signs. A system so perversely subtle that the
orders get processed and put into action but without any trace of them 
ever registering on any level of consciousness. These thoughts come into
being in remote areas of my brain, areas that have been cut off from all
lighted areas, dark areas that struggle behind a maze of flooded capillaries.
Swollen capillaries just one microstep away from bursting. Areas free of
any rules and regulations, unfettered with obligations of any sort. And
these orders, they sneak out, creating subversive hell without any remorse
whatsoever. No responsibilities holding them in check, so that when the
warning signals burst upon me like a force 10 Caribbean hurricane I get
to ignore them completely. Oh yeah!  Trees can be torn from the ground,
their roots trailing like kite tails as they soar above me, houses can 
crumble and fall like decadent societies, whole neighbourhoods can 
be flattened in seconds, and all this in front of my very eyes and I will
not see a thing. Yeah, those sneaky little subversive orders can be
murderously effective. I will walk around the crashing, pounding, 
screaming, thrashing, obliterating, blinding, deafening, hysterical warning 
signs with a faint smile on my face, not a cloud of concern on even the
most distant horizon. Oh yeah.. I’ll walk through the open door and be
smashed in my face and never know why. And as I walk away, my face
a bloody froth, my mouth full of loosened teeth, my mind a mishmash of 
colours and doubts Ill just stumble along till I find a quiet spot, under a 
shady tree maybe, and there I’ll drop to the ground and look up at the
placid blue sky and I’ll hear myself mumble – What the fuck happened?
What was all that about?

Yeah I should have known.
It was as evident as the writing on the walls.
But I was easy meat that night. Wrapped up and ready to go.

Can I get you a drink? I’d asked. And she’d smiled and whispered yes,
her blue eyes locked on mine. And it took her forever to blink and 
when she did it was like I’d been kicked in the head..

There was an air of inevitability to it all that was as shocking as a slap in
the face. But I couldn’t have cared less.  You couldn’t have stopped me
with a rushing, out of control cement mixer. I was going to walk into her
arms and thighs as the praying mantis does with his mate, knowing he’s 
going to fuck her, but knowing also that it’ll cost him his head. It just has
to be. It’s out of our hands, out of God’s hands. It’s an animal thing.
Your brain is out of it, the cells have all clicked off, as one, suddenly. A
darkness has descended and all you can do is rush at that light that
beckons in the distance, nothing else matters ...

You’re like a caveman back in the old days. You carry a club, you kill
smaller animals,  you mate and you die. You don’t ask any questions. 
You don’t think.

The sun comes up, goes down, it’s cold, it’s hot, sometimes it rains.
Some things just have to happen.
And we happened.   

- That was nice, you surprised me – she’d said  – I didn’t expect you to
be much of a lover... I’m not easy to please – and she hadn’t even looked
at me while saying this, her eyes focused on the ceiling.

I still didn’t know her name and was waiting for the appropriate moment
to ask it. She hadn’t asked my name either but it hadn’t seemed important 
at the time. Again, another sign. Again I should have known better.

She lay on the bed, naked and uncovered, her ankles crossed, one arm
down by her side the other hand on her belly. Neither of us said anything.
The muted sounds of the town going about its business forced their way
into our room. The silence in the room though, was oppressive.
I can remember trying to think of something to say when she turned her
head just slightly and said – I think you’d better go – 

- What?  What do you mean? Is there a problem?  What’s the matter? –
I remembered later that on saying this I had pulled up the sheet, covered
myself.

- No problem... Nothing’s wrong... Just go..-
- But what’s happened? I don’t even know your name! –
- And I don’t know yours either... I know nothing about you and that’s
how I want it to be. Everything is fine. Now just go... – and then she had
added – Please – But there was no request in it.

- But.... can I have your phone number? –
- No... just go –

And that had been it.
I never saw her again. For a time I had left messages in her letterbox,
left her my phone number, but she never replied, never called me. I even
took to walking past her house now and again, acknowledging with
embarassment that I was hoping for a chance encounter. But that never
happened either. I never saw her again.

Yeah, for a while I was reduced to being a fucking adolescent again and
that was not a role I could play with any dignity.

I felt pretty bad for a time.

The whole episode hadn’t been good for my self esteem. My ego had
taken a beating and for a time it retreated to a shuttered room, where
it cowered in the dark, refusing to go out, battered and tender, bruised
and feeding only on self pity.  Oh yeah, it took me some time to get her
out of my system. 

How could she have just walked away from me like that?

What about the sex? What about those looks in the club? It had been
so good! So real and raw.  She wasn’t just a murky fantasy from a
drunken night. That night had been as real and good as it gets.

So what had happened?

In time of course it came to me, and it was simple.
Yeah, I’d been fucked. 
Fucked good and proper.