A Eunuch's Love Life

The more personally intimate blog of the love life of an androgynous but not sexless eunuch in this post-modern world

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Parlour in the sun

Three weeks ago, I woke up on Thursday depressed and crying, and couldn’t get out of bed. I called in sick, and tried to think of anything that might cheer me up. There was a meeting at Parliament of sex worker activists, so I decided to join them, as I figured being surrounded by activists working on a shared problem would take me out of my own sad story. Of course, my boss was there. “So, sick are we?” she asked. ‘Yes,” I plainly answered, cos I certainly had been, and this was my therapy. An Upper House MP came in to get her script from the activists, as she was willing to be the mouthpiece for more respectful approach to sex workers, such as not unfairly targeting the skills that women tend to have more of, such as emotional intelligence and intuitive physical soothing skills. This MP, as it happens, is the one with a house guest in common with me, as she took over the sponsoring of the refugee who had stayed with me.

Another MP is a sex work customer of a friend, who was sitting next to me at this meeting, and I thrilled at the amazing perspectives God gives me.

Sunday night: Loose Ends (dance night at Phoenix). Best Friend turned up, and we headed off to Arq with friends. He offered me an E at 5:30. “It’s a school night,“ I resisted, only to be greeted with sarcasm about my goodyness. I took the proffered pill in my hand, and went to the loo, to have a moment with my own counsel.

I realised I didn’t want to be the sort of person who’d say No to the offer of joining the ecstatic company of Best Friend and his six very hot male friends. I sent the boss a text, “Just taken MDMA, won’t be in to work today, sorry,” and swallowed the capsule.

We were emptied out of the nightclub at 10am, and ended up in my Best Friend’s backyard, all day in the warm winter sun, a half dozen of Sydney’s brightest young things and me engrossed in meaningful intellectual conversation. Many of them are working boys, and I was and am very flattered that the cream of Sydney’s professionally gorgeous guys choose to spend their recreational time with me.

Tuesday morning the boss gave me a serious look and asked if I’d recovered. I let her know I was fine, I’d had an early night, and appreciated her understanding. She let me know that my message has provided much entertainment for senior management. Hey, I got away with it, and I’ve booked the next couple of Mondays off. Because I like to party, and I want my life to be more about friendship and dancing that turning up to the office on Monday morning.

Of course, even for a miraculous survivor like me, life still has its ups and downs, and it was when I was coming down from the Ecky on Wednesday I noticed my cat was ill, and took a while appreciating that the situation did not only seem bad because I was coming down, but was actually a really serious situation. Sometimes a bummer really is a bummer.

But I will long treasure the memory of that glorious Apollonian Monday in the sun!

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