PARLOR DAZE ......(part one)

The road is long
With many a winding turns
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows where

But I'm strong

What factors choose us to make decisions that will affect the rest of our lives?  For me it was a combination of things which occurred during the early months of 1985.

My illness had cost me not only my job, but also my self esteem and my shield of invulnerability.  Being told that you have an incurable disease at the age of 22 is not something that is easy to come to terms with.  Luckily I didn't have to but the prolonged illness which lasted over 2 months left me feeling weak and vulnerable.


My relationship with Bill was starting to fall apart.  His main faults were vanity and selfishness. His extreme optimism and self confidence led me to question my own social skills.  Being sick and weak added to these feelings of insecurity.  My biggest problem was feeding my now out of proportion drug habit.  On a reduced income, Bill would often stay out after work, smoking with friends, while I stayed at home feeling wretched and physically having marijuana withdrawals if I didn't get to smoke at least once a day.

Bill also started a new hobby, ceramic arts.  This would be the death knell of our relationship.  The first week he was in the beginners group learning how to throw pots, the second week he had advanced to the 'professional' group, and by the end of one month he was creating ceramic tableware collections for 2 shops in Paddington.  Any chance of re-starting our clothes making stall was well and truly gone.  It had been Bill's flair for design and skill at printing which had really been the success behind our clothing range.  My dressmaking skills and design talent were rudimentary and our clothing sold on Bill's design appeal.  I had realized that early on in our venture, but while it worked and was fun I wasn't upset.

His friends also were not my friends, but rather people I socialized with and who tolerated me because of Bill.  I felt inadequate with my lack of skills and profession.  His friend's were all up and coming designers, wealthy Eastern Suburbs socialites, actors and artists.  My few friends were all outer suburban refugees, desperate to identify with a happening trend but without the skills or abilities to do more than dress up.

 While I was walking once a week 4 km up and down Sydney's hilly terrain to get a box of weekly groceries from a charity organization and then walking back again, Bill would be out with friends getting stoned and I was sure seeing another boy who he occasionally  would have at our apartment when I returned.  Always with other friends but after a few visits I could sense the closeness between them.

My ultimate reason for choosing the path I did was my desperate addiction which was now costing me $20 a day.  I had to be stoned from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed.  My friend from the diet company was returning to Queensland and offered me her two part time positions.  One was at a cake shop just off Darlinghurst Rd in Kings Cross, the other was cleaning jobs for 3 different elderly ladies living in either Kings Cross or Elizabeth Bay, which were all really, combined with Rushcutters Bay, part of the same big suburb.

The cake shop was fun and brought me back to my earlier days of working the streets.  I worked Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights from 4pm until 9pm, alone, and got paid $20 per shift.  On top of that I managed to always 'under-ring' the cash register by at least $10 each night, plus take home a litre of milk, a loaf of bread and cakes and pies to munch out on when I got home.

The bonus was that between 8 and 9pm the street girls would start their shifts.  Most were young girls already trapped into the world of pimps and heroin.  Many evenings when they started they had no money to buy food.  I was happy for them to pay later, or even better, for them to give me a handful of pills or some grass in payment.  Looking after the girls meant that I kept their pimps happy and whenever there was brewing trouble in the shop, usual in the Cross on a Friday or Saturday night, I wouldn't have to wait more than a few minutes before car doors started opening and the shop filled with big, scary pimps ready to sort out any trouble.  The bosses thought I was wonderful as I had managed to go for 2 months without being robbed.

The cleaning jobs were easy and enjoyable.  4 little rich old ladies who needed company rather than cleaning.  I would spend two hours chatting and doing limited cleaning as the places were spotless anyway.  Only the bathrooms and window cleaning were beyond them so I did that first before pottering around tidying and vacuuming generally propped up by lots of gin & tonic and chatter from the ladies.

With my government subsidy for sickness benefits I was earning about $180 per week.  $70 of which was my half of the rent...it wasn't enough to pay the bills and get stoned daily.  I only got through because of the extra drugs I exchanged for cakes and pies.

My decision to go back into prostitution came easily.  This was the only job I could do stoned.  This was the only job I had any real skill for, and this was the only job which would guarantee my lifestyle.  I didn't want to work the streets again so decided to try a parlour.  

I clearly remember the day I went for the interview.  It was raining and I stood for 30 minutes under a viaduct about 50 metres from the address.  Was I too old?  Would they want my look?  Could I really do this again?

I eventually summoned up the courage to enter and was immediately met by the owner, Graham.  I recognized him instantly.  He had starred in a really bad TV soap opera in the early 70's which I remembered distinctly.  He had played the part of the local butch thug.  The fact that I recognized him and that one of the drag queens recognized me from my Adelaide days got me the job.  He didn't even ask me any really personal questions.  He just advised me to 'tone down' my look for the clients.  'Be more boyish', were his exact words.

I was to start the next afternoon, Sunday, and work from 4pm till midnight.  The next stage of my life was about to spiral out of control, though I didn't see any of it until it was too late.

THE DAZE OF OUR LIVES.....

Those were they days my friend
We'd thought they'd never end
We'd sing and dance for ever and a day.....

For most of us our early 20's are possibly the best time of our lives.  Old enough to do whatever we want and young enough to not have to take responsibility for our actions.

The two years I spent with Bill were definitely the best days of my life.  We met at Patch's nightclub, the most popular gay club on Sydney's Oxford St at the time.

Bill was my age, blonde haired, blue eyed and gorgeous.  He was a wonderfully optimistic person who filled the room with laughter wherever he went.  We were the perfect couple.  We had similar backgrounds, worked in the same industry and shared the same tastes for life.

By the time he moved in with me I had my apartment decorated in a totally original Retro 1950's style.  All the furniture was signature piece and mostly bought from an amazing second hand shop on Flinders St in Darlinghurst. Kidney shaped coffee tables, a Dunlop 1959 modular lounge, polka dot lamp stands, teak Scandinavian bookshelves....

Bill brought little furniture as he had been living in shared accommodation but within a few weeks had transformed the apartment with his amazing eye for art and design.  He even made weekly still art displays out of unusual vegetables.

 He worked nights in a restaurant while I worked days.  On his two nights off our apartment would be filled with friends. Both of us were great cooks and enjoyed giving dinner parties.  Everyone getting stoned, listening to the latest music and then eating amazing dinners cooked by Bill or myself.

He finished work around 11pm and didn't get home until midnight.  Most nights I would catch a few hours sleep then wake up to eat dinner with him, get stoned and have great sex.  From day one the sex was amazing and even after we eventually broke up we continued having sex at least once a week for nearly 3 months.

On the weekends we would invite friends over mid morning.  Get stoned as usual and end up in Rushcutter's Bay Park having a late afternoon picnic with lavish pies and cakes made by Bill and myself before he went to work around 4pm.

Saturday nights I would meet him at Patches after spending the first few hours of the evening at The Exchange Hotel with my friends.  The Exchange had taken the place of Stranded and was the in place to be seen.  Being a hotel though it was only allowed to stay open until midnight so Patches was the next venue and straight across the road on Oxford St.  There were a variety of gay bars at that time but they were all very stereo-typed.

The Midnight Shift was for leather queens, Capriccios was for Asians and 'Rice Queens', The Oxford was for dirty old men and drug dealers but Patches was open for all and the best place to be.  Unlike Mark, Bill was as adventurous as I was with drugs and we took as many as we could.  Pills, speed, cocaine, LSD.  Either bought or gifts from friends, we never said no.

I was still doing clients once or twice a week, although Bill never knew.  I had to be careful as so many of our friends lived around the area that it would have been easy for me to be seen.  I would hang out at the Bottom's up Bar or the Bourbon and Beefsteak on Darlinghurst Rd, Kings Cross and buy a drink.  Generally it didn't take long before some old man would hit up on me and for $30 or $40 I would meet them at their hotel or apartment.  I didn't want to be seen in their company walking by any of our friends.

Bill was very artistic and when he saw my ability at making clothes he got the idea for us to start making and selling clothes at Paddington Markets.  We were both still working our normal jobs but managed to come up with a few simple designs and try them out.  At first I bought the materials for the clothes but then Bill put his abilities in design to work and started creating amazing prints which he would silk screen onto white cotton. 

Our clothes and designs were a big success but came at a high cost.  We put in lots of hours to have our collection ready every Saturday and most Friday nights I would stay up all night sewing to get things finished before heading to the market to set up the stall at 7am. On top of that we were either stoned or speeding most of the time and still going out on Saturday and Sunday nights.

Any money we made went straight back into buying materials and the small profits we made we spent on drugs and partying.  If we had been serious and sensible we could have gone a long way.  Every week we would sell most of our stock.  One of our regular buyers were a Rock Group called Mental As Anything who were a big chart phenomena at the time.  We even had our clothes, with me modelling featured in a Japanese youth culture magazine.

Being seen and mixing with the new wave of designers beginning to make their mark on the Australian fashion scene was a buzz and we were invited out to many parties,fashion shows and celebrity gatherings.

After a year of this I suddenly became unwell.  I wasn't sick but had completely run out of energy.  Within a few weeks I was finding it impossible to even walk the short uphill walk to Kings Cross Station without stopping to rest 3 or 4 times on the way.  My work was suffering and my boss sent me home one day, or rather told me to go to the hospital and have a check up.

This was the early days of the AIDS epidemic and little was known about it but a lot was feared about it.  I went to St Vincent's Hospital where they immediately decided I was a likely candidate for AIDS and took blood tests.  Afterwards they even sent me to a counselor to discuss the realities of being HIV positive.   I was shattered.  23 years old and being told that I had the deadly virus that was sweeping the gay world....before they even had the blood test results back.

After a 10 day nightmare of worry, not working and being stoned constantly to help me cope the results came back.  Apparently they could find nothing wrong with me!  It would be years later when I was correctly diagnosed as being a 'moderate anemic' which was possibly the cause of my sickness.

Or maybe I had contracted the infection and somehow managed to fight it off.  Years later I would go through the reality of living with someone with AIDS and even though we had unprotected sex both before and after he was diagnosed, and I had various exposure to his bodily fluids during his illness I remained uninfected.

My boss had rung me after a month and told me they could no longer keep my position open.  I was receiving sickness benefits from the government and also working a few nights a week in a bakery in Kings Cross for cash in hand.  I wasn't earning much but it was enough to get by on.  The biggest impact was that we could no longer afford to keep ourselves in drugs and I certainly was so hooked by this stage that any day without getting stoned was worse than being sick.

Eventually a mutual friend of ours, an older gay guy took me in hand.  He told me to pack my bags for the weekend and come and stay with him.  He fed me home made chicken soup into which he chopped whole bunches of parsley and which I ate 3 or 4 times a day.  He grew his own dope and allowed me to have 3 joints a day.  After 3 days of this treatment I woke up on Monday morning and felt 100% cured.  Another week and I was back to my normal self....

With our lack of income we had to give up the Market stall, which I hadn't been able to do during the 6 weeks I was ill and had no extra cash to start up again.


Now I had to find a job.  My solution would change my life in ways I never could have imagined.

DEATHLY DAZE.....(part 1).

Baby cried the day the circus came to town
Cause she didn't want parades just passing by her.
She painted on a smile and took up with some clown
and danced without a net upon the wire....

I'm like a cat with nine lives I've come to believe.  I have had so many close brushes with death that I sometimes can't believe it myself.

By now you will have surmised my character.  Risk taker, hedonist, loner, attention seeker and desperately wanting acceptance and recognition.  Conflicting characters all within the person that was me.

I left suburbia to join the parade.  I lived each day at a time with no thought for more than the next weekend.  The smile I painted on was the drugs and partying and the wire was the lifestyle I was living.

Even though I met my new boyfriend only a week after Mark moved out it would be two months of 'real' dating before he moved in with me.  In that time I worked days at the Diet Shop and 3 or 4 evenings a week I would head back to Fitzroy Gardens to prostitute myself.

In the two years since I had first worked the streets inflation had hit.  I could now get $30 or $40 from a client.  True there were cheaper workers around, but they were mostly heroin addicts or the fabulous Rowena...she was a Maori drag queen who used to stand outside of Coles Supermarket on Darlinghurst Rd and operate like a true spruiker, 'Blow job $5. $5 Blow job' was her catch phrase.

Years later I would work with her in a legitimate job and even though I realised that I had met her before it wasn't until I heard her say '$5' that I remembered who she was and where I knew her from.

By now I was what the Americans would call a 'total stoner'.  What had started as an occasional joint in the evening and on weekends had now become a 24 hour habit.  I would wake in the morning and have a session, work through the day half stoned, come home and have another session, work the Gardens and then return home to get stoned again.  It was costing me around $60 a week.

One evening, thankfully after I had just walked out of the Gazebo Hotel after seeing a client, I ran into two of my old flatmates in the street.  Even though we hadn't parted on the best of terms we were all happy to see each other and they invited me out to celebrate my old boyfriends birthday the following evening.

We had a fabulous night.  Starting at their new flat, getting stoned and dropping pills.  Then it was on to a trendy restaurant in East Sydney where we ate, drank and had a totally fabulous evening.  One of our freinds had LSD trips and after dinner we decided to all take one and head home.....

In the middle of Darlinghurst Rd I realised I needed to buy cigarettes and literally jumped out of the taxi while it was still moving, promising to meet back at my friends as soon as possible.  Totally off my face, with the LSD starting to kick in at 1am in the morning I realise that all the shops are closed.
It was a Monday night and even most of the clubs were closed.

I decided to go upstairs to Les Girls and use their cigarette vending machine.   Next door to Les Girls was a Greek coffee shop which was open so I went in to buy cigarettes there.  I was a menthol smoker and they didn't have any menthol.  As I'm walking out one of the owners who was sitting with a group of friends asked me what I was after.   He was all smiles and told me to come with him and he had menthol cigarettes back at his apartment.

Silly me.  I follow and we get to his apartment.  True to his word he had a cupboard with boxes of cigarettes and a big bag of marijuana which he offered to smoke with me.  Happy that I had ciggies and the offer of some free smoke I accepted.

I didn't object when he asked me to give him a blow job, but halfway through the door opened and his 4 friends came stumbling in.  Realising that I was in another situation and likely to get raped by 4 old, fat drunk men, I thought quickly.  I told them I needed to go the toilet and once inside saw my escape route.  A small sliding window.  Before I could even open it they were banging on the door and trying to get in.  I managed to convince them that I was doing number 2's to give me some time.

I squeezed myself through the tiny window and climbed out onto the balcony.  7 floors up and the only escape is through the sliding doors and back into the apartment.  Not where I wanted to be! By now the banging on the door was getting louder and more impatient.  Without hesitation I climbed over the railing and slid down so my hands were now holding onto the concrete floor edge.  Below me was another balcony with a rail, but about half a metre below my dangling feet.  I somehow managed to swing inwards as I took the plunge and just cleared the railing and landed on the below balcony, hitting my head badly against the rail as I landed.

(middle building between the yellow apts and blue apts).

Dazed, tripping and scared as hell my next piece of luck was that the balcony doors on this apartment were not locked.  I slid them open and headed towards the front door.  The elderly owner who I had obviously awoken didn't even have time to say anything as I rushed passed him and out through his front door.....

I didn't go back to my friends, but back home.  I had the cigarettes and grass at home.  I just wanted to isolate and finish my trip in the safety of my self and my home, which for some 'trippy' reason I decided to clean from top to bottom for the next 4 hours.

My second brush with death was to come a year or so later in my own apartment.  I had just been to Adelaide with a friend for 4 days.  We had driven there and back. A 1500 km trip each way and my friend lived on the western edge of the city.  He asked me if I wouldn't mind getting a taxi home from his place as he was too exhausted to drive through the city and back.

No problem, but as my friend had made me leave my marijuana at his house before we left (he was afraid we would get caught at the checking stations where you have to declare and dispose of any fruits or vegetables due to pest control) I smoked a big fat joint before leaving.

Arriving home very tired and very stoned I was surprised when no one answered the buzzer.  10 minutes of trying and still no answer.  I knew my boyfriend was home, so I buzzed a neighbour who let me in the front door.  Once inside it was obvious why no one had answered the buzzer.  My boyfreind was having a party and the music was blasting through the building.

No amount of knocking made them hear me.  So I decided to go around the back and use the wooden fire escape which led directly to our back door.  We had never used the fire escape and had only occasionally sat outside on the wooden landing.  Obviously no one else had used it for a long time either.

As I'm climbing up the last flight of wooden stairs (3 floors above ground level) the steps start to break under my feet.  I managed to grab hold of the railing as the last two steps completely gave way under me and crashed to the ground.  Once again I'm dangling in mid air, clinging on desperately and almost too exhausted to pull myself up onto the landing, but I did it.

I can see  my boyfriend though the kitchen window, I can hear the music, I'm waving my arms and shouting and all to no avail.  Finally I realize the only thing to do is get back down and go to a pay phone and try and call them.  To get down I had to climb down the outside of the fire escape, shimmying down the rough wooden poles, getting splinters in my hands, occasionally slipping just a little too quickly, but eventually managed to get there.

I haven't mentioned before, but ever since my childhood I have had a terrible fear of heights and still do to this day.

A week or so later, my boyfriend and I awoke one morning and realised that the 'boom box' from our bedside table was missing along with the $10 note which for some reason we had also left on the table.  My boyfriend had come home late and drunk the night before and managed to leave not only the downstairs building door open but also our apartment door.....

Nothing else was taken thankfully. The only trace of the robber was a large hole on our fire escape landing where the poor thing had obviously fallen through.  3 floors below on the concrete was a radiating circle of broken radio, one shoe and a large amount of blood.

NEW WAVE DAZE....(part 2)

Yesterday when I was young
The taste of life was sweet as rain upon my tongue
I teased at life as if it were a foolish game
The way the evening breeze may tease the candle flame

The thousand dreams I dreamed
The splendid things I planned
I always built alas on weak and shifting sand
I lived by night and shunned the naked light of day
And only now I see how the years ran away
 
Returning home again for a few months I was to find a new group of friends.  Still working at the menswear store I became a beacon for peers who, like me were into the new wave image.  There weren't many of us, but between other sales people in the mall and old school friends we formed a collective group. I wasn't the only 'gay in the village' after all.  But with my outrageous dyed hair and effeminate ways I was the most obvious.

We partied at each others houses on the weeknights and on Saturdays went to Stranded.  We were a mixed group of both gay and straight, boys and girls. Their friendship and our shared tastes made the next few months living at home bearable.

I changed jobs and was now working for a company making diet meals for rich, society women in the Eastern Suburbs.  The job was less well paid and hard work.  I was a kitchen hand , cleaner and took orders over the phone.  Our clients were too embarrassed to pick up from the shop so everything was packed and delivered daily.  There was no dress restriction so I was free to wear what I wanted and finally style my hair into the latest design. 
 
I vividly remember one day when I was shopping at the local fruit and vegetable market for work supplies.  It was an enormous barn like building with 10 checkouts and a public address system used by the workers.  I walked in wearing something I had made for a party the previous evening, out of green and white hessian.  White hessian harem pants and a green hessian blouse which had a long shawl which draped over one side of my face and down to the ground.  Over the P.A system one of the store-room boys announced 'Bloody hell, it's the Queen of Sheba'!

I met my next boyfriend at Stranded in early August and a few weeks later he asked me to move in with him.  Again he was older than me, but lived in the suburb where my job was which was a good enough reason to say yes.  He was a hairdresser and for the first two months we lived above the salon where he worked.  It wasn't a flash place but had a wonderful balcony with panoramic views across Sydney Harbour and was only a 5 minute walk to my work.

He wasn't my ideal boyfriend, but again he was generous and easy to live with.  The bonus was that I was now getting free haircuts and colouring!  Every week when the salon ran their training night I was the guinea pig for the latest cut or colour and started modelling for them at various award nights and hairdressing competitions.

We had to move after about 2 months.  Both of us contracted a really bad case of body lice which of course were infesting the building which was nearly 100 years old and had been a hair salon for at least 20 years.

The apartment we found was amazing.  Situated in the small and exclusive suburb of Rushcutter's Bay which is right on the harbour and the suburb neighbouring Kings Cross.  The apartment was huge with a 5 sided lounge room, small kitchen, bathroom and an equally large bedroom with a small balcony.  We were directly opposite the park and had great views of the bay and neighbouring exclusive suburb of Darling Point.

My boyfriend was really into Art Deco.  At the time you could buy the most amazing second hand furniture at really cheap prices in many of the inner city suburbs.  We had the apartment totally decked out like a scene from a 1930's movie.  Everything was 10 - 15 minutes walk away, clubs, bars, restaurants, but the location was an oasis of serenity, with the park across the street and the adjoining house, one of the few houses in the suburb, boasting an enormous tree filled garden.

We played our roles well.  He was the bread winner and I was the home-maker.  As a qualified hairdresser he was payed a lot better than I was and his clients were all wealthy and often gave him generous tips.  So he paid the rent and bought the furniture, while I bought the shopping and cleaned the apartment.  While he worked on Saturdays I would start my day getting high on marijuana and spend the next 3 hours happily cleaning away.  Our friends always commented on how clean our apartment was!

We lasted together for 14 months.  He didn't smoke dope but was a drinker.  In the evenings when I would smoke a joint or two he would down a bottle of wine...this wasn't a problem until we went out.  Then he would get really drunk and obnoxious with people, often getting close to a punch up - which he physically wouldn't have been at an advantage in.

After clubbing, it was always a taxi ride home as the risk of him abusing a total stranger waling home was too great and as we had to walk through Kings Cross the risk of him getting into a fight with another drunk yob was inevitable.

One night his salon held a hair show in a very straight pub.  I and some of my friends were modelling on the night and the place was packed with very drunk, very homophobic young guys and their girlfriends. I had made all the costumes for the event and they were as daring and outrageous as I could get.  It was a fantastic night and not only did the show go down really well, but the music we had chosen for our modelling was a big hit with the clientele.

After the show the DJ played our different songs over and over at the request of the patrons.  We had a great night mixing and dancing with people whom we would never have mingled with normally.  Everyone was having fun until my boyfriend had one drink too many.  He started abusing anyone and everyone around him.  My friends and I tried to control him but he was too far gone to take the warning.

My biggest worry was that, while nothing would happen inside the bar, there were at least a dozen young guys ready to take him outside and belt the daylights out of him, and probably us as well.  I remember threatening him to stop, after managing to stop two guys from dragging him outside, and then when he went in for a second go at them I just punched him in the face.

Bang!  I who had maybe hit someone once or twice in my life had knocked my boyfriend unconscious!  Funnily enough, while his work mates took him home in a taxi, the boys he had been abusing asked me to stay and bought me drinks for the rest of the evening.

The next morning my boyfriend told me he was moving out and that I could have the apartment. It was all very simple and civil.  Two days later he found a new apartment and moved out taking all the furniture with him.  I wasn't earning enough to cover the rent so that night after work I went up to Fitzroy Gardens and prostituted myself.  This was how I managed to cover my rent and bills and slowly start buying furniture over  the few months  Then boyfriend number 3 would come along.  Looking back, he was probably the only boy I truly loved and was loved by in return........

NEW WAVE DAZE.....

In a west end town in a dead end world
where east end boys meet west end girls..

So I was back where I started.  At home, living with my parents, far, far away from the lights and glamour of the city.  It really was a dead end world.

My parents accepted me back happily and after a few days life returned to it's normal, tedious outer suburban routine.  I celebrated my 18th birthday at home alone with not a drink or drug in sight.  My older sister was planning her upcoming engagement and all the focus was on her.

My mother managed to get me a job working in the same shopping mall where she was now working in our neighbouring town.  Unfortunately she was working in a trendy boutique and I got a job in a very conservative menswear store. It was totally the opposite of what I wanted but it was a job.

I had to dress in conservative clothes, gel my outrageous hair down flat each day and sell clothes that I wouldn't be seen dead wearing myself.  It was so old fashioned that when mothers would come in with their teenage sons and ask me  'did we sell anything trendy?' I would quietly direct them to the department store next door!

But I was good at my job and my work mates were accepting and friendly.  I worked all week, including Thursday nights and Saturday mornings.  I was stuck in a backward, bigoted world where my only safety was inside the shop.  Outside I was commonly abused by the local hoods, that was just about every boy except me!  One morning while I was having my daily coffee someone shoved their finger sharply in my back.  I turned around and a middle aged woman spat out loudly at me, 'your fucking sort ought to be locked up!'

One Thursday night I was even physically attacked inside the shop by a group of local boys, all drunk and determined to bash the shit out of the 'poofter'.  My manager and the mall security had to intervene.  Afterwards my boss told me it might be a good idea to change my dyed bright orange hair to a more conservative colour.

After 2 months of trying to stay away from my former life of drugs and the gay scene I realized I was kidding myself.  Funnily enough it was while watching TV one Friday night with my mother.  The movie was the Dianna Ross version of 'Lady Sings the Blues' - the life story of Billy Holliday.  The club scenes and drug taking took me back to where I wanted to be.

That week I bumped into an old school mate who was selling drugs and bought a block of hashish.  That was to be the start of my very long addiction to drugs that would last for the next 30 odd years.

The early 1980's were a defining time for both music and fashion.  Not since the 1960's and not again until the recent emergence of K Pop has music and fashion been so revolutionary.  I was right in the thick of it.  I was listening to bands like the Sex Pistols, The Clash, Siouxsie Sue and the Banshees, OMD, Toyah Wilcox, New Order, The Cure......anything that was New Wave, Punk and British.

Saturday afternoons after work I would head into the city to hit Paddington Markets.  This was Sydney's first alternative market for arts and fashion and the place to be seen.  Every week I would buy either a new outfit or new shoes. Each one as individual and outrageous as possible.

Back home again to get ready for Saturday night out.  I would spend up to two hours putting my outfit together and getting my hair gelled, spiked and hair-sprayed to the max.  Then it was a walk to the station with a big daggy coat covering my clothes and a large newspaper which I would hold open to cover people seeing my hair and make up.  The 9.30pm train to the city was full of drunken yobs going home or off to another suburban party and the risk of getting bashed was high.

My venue of choice was Sydney's trendiest night club, Stranded.  This was the in place to be and was located in the basement of one of Sydney's most historic, beautiful and expensive shopping arcades. It was a mixture of people and styles, most of us on the edge of the latest fashion trends.  The others were rich society boys and girls who came because it was the 'in place'.  But even their money didn't give them the advantage.

A select group of us were given automatic and free entry.  Often walking straight past a line up of 50 or more people waiting to get in.  Our first drinks were free and with both our fashion styles and dance styles we were the centre of attention.  It wasn't a gay bar, but it was the hottest spot in town and the clientele was mixed.  Some nights I picked up and went home with a boy.  Other nights I didn't.  Then it was either a 3am 1 hour train ride home, or crashing with friends in their grotty inner city flats.  Most weekends I crashed with friends and spent Sundays recovering and then eating out in the cool restaurants of the time.  By Monday I had enough money left to get me through to pay day for lunch and train fare but very little else.

The week nights I spent in my room, headphones on, listening to cassettes of my favourite music and smoking hash.  I taught my self to sew on a sewing machine and began raiding the second hand stores buying 50's and 60's clothes or materials which I would turn into bizarre outfits.

I managed to last just 6 months living back at home.  Around Christmas time I met a boy at Stranded who I went home with.  He had a small bachelor flat in Kings Cross and we would spend the nights dancing, before heading to his flat for sex and then a whole day on Sunday getting stoned on grass or snorting speed with friends.  It was a totally alternative lifestyle in which I reveled.

He was 24, which at the time, seemed ancient to me.  However he was convenient and not demanding and would give me anything I asked for.  A few weeks into our 'relationship' he asked me to move in with him.  I told him that his flat was too small for two of us so he found a house in nearby Surrey Hills.  This was the 'haunted' house I mentioned earlier in my story.  I moved in and conveniently broke up with him a week later.  He had no problems with me staying on.  The house had 3 floors and 4 bedrooms.  We were friends and it was convenient for both of us.

So besides my boring job in the suburbs, I was now able to live the life I wanted and would continue this way for the next 3 and a half  years.  The jobs, boyfriends, clothes, hairstyles and apartments changed, but the lifestyle didn't.

These  years would possibly be the best time of my life.

CRAZY DAZE.....

Four of us drove the 1700km from Sydney to Adelaide.  I was excited about life in a new city but shocked to find that I had come to a large town instead!

The two boys who had promised us accommodation dumped us on arrival as there parents flatly refused to have two unknown boys in the house.  Our only compensation was being allowed to sleep in the car outside on the first night.

The following morning I got my shit together and took myself and the other boy, Stephen, into the 'city' and paid for two rooms at the YMCA.  We explored the town, which took all of about 1 hour, but managed to find the two gay bars so at least had a plan for Saturday evening.

The Adelaide gay scene was in it's infancy.  The bars were small and very incestual.  Never a wallflower I dressed in my most outrageous clothes, spiked my hair and did my make up (it was 1981 and boys did make up then).  I was an instant hit.  Everyone wanted to know me and before the end of one week I had slept with a dozen boys, become friends with the show girls and owner of the bar and was offered a job performing one night a week.

Even better was that the 'Mars Bar' DJ was also from Sydney and at the end of the first week we got talking and he invited me to stay with him and his boyfriend, rent free, for as long as I liked.  Where-ever you are Glenn Molloy, thank you from the bottom of my heart.  You took me in and asked for nothing in return.

Glenn lived about 5km from the city centre in a 3 apartment complex.  His two neighbours were both wonderful girls who were into the gay scene.  We lived in each others apartments, ate, drank, laughed and life was amazing.  We partied 4 nights a week and the other 3 nights and 7 days lived in a haze of marijuana, magic mushrooms, LSD and what ever pills we could get our hands on.

Coming from Sydney I had seen some of the best drag shows and new the numbers off by heart.  I went shopping in second hand stores and bought amazing outfits from the 50's and 60's, an auburn wig, which my hairdressing friend styled into a long bob and the girls did my make up.  I looked like a young Barbara Streisand gone punk.

Of course it wasn't long before the bar owners offered me the occasional job with paying clients but these only happened once or twice a week.  Adelaide was not the sin city that Sydney had been.  Still with these few jobs, a paid spot once a week performing and getting dole money I managed to not only survive but have the best time doing so.

The nights were wild.  Clubbing until 3am, a different boy to take home nearly every night and not a care in the world.  I made wonderful friends, some of whom I would only know for the short while I lived in Adelaide, others would turn up later in my life back in Sydney.

The fun nights out and crazy days were too many to recount but I remember almost every day I lived there with fondness and nostalgia.

One of my favourite memories is spending the day in the 'city' with another drag queen, Adele.  We both dressed up to the nines, looking like Paris catwalk models and caught the bus into town.  Adelaide really was a 'hick town' back then and the locals had seen nothing like it.  We paraded through the shopping centres, sashayed down Rundle Mall all the while totally freaking out the residents.  Mouths were gaping, jaws dropping and those with cameras were clicking madly.  We even got to do a photo shoot with a professional photographer outside the steps of Parliament House.

It all ended quickly and unexpectedly.  I was already beginning to feel the 'tyranny of distance' living in a city hundreds of kilometres from anywhere.  Living a hand to mouth existence and missing the pace of life in Sydney.  Then one night I had a bad dream about my father and instinctively rang home the next morning.  Dad was in hospital with severe burns and my mother pleaded with me to come home.

Two days later I was on a train, which I nearly missed as my friends and I had partied all day and were late arriving at the station.  I had to jump aboard the moving train, totally stoned and just starting to go into an LSD trip.  Believe me, 15 hours tripping on a country train is not a thing I ever want to experience again!

I had spent 3 months partying wildly and would return home as the prodigal son and spend the next 3 months trying to redeem myself and being utterly bored with my existence before realizing that I was not cut out for the suburban life.  Another chapter was about to begin.

BROTHEL DAZE.....

Little Joe never once gave it away.
Everybody had to pay and pay.
A hustle here and a hustle there,
New York City is the place where 
They say 'hey babe, take a walk on the wild side'...

It wasn't NYC, it was Sydney and the brothel was located in the inner city suburb of Surry Hills.
This was not the Surry Hills of today, with it's designer warehouse apartments, modernized terraced houses and swanky re-furbished office buildings.  No, this was the suburb caught between urban decay and demographic change that was slowly starting to take place.

A suburb on the very fringe of the city which was a mixture of warehouses, small factories and businesses, Tooth's Brewery and Rupert Murdoch's newspaper empire. Of old terrace houses, steep streets, narrow lanes, remnants of Sydney's original China Town still lingering in the form of household mahjong gambling dens, and noodle making shops. While some grand old colonial houses still remained, most were tiny, vermin infested terraces, many abandoned with drug addicts squatting inside them, or housing elderly long standing welfare residents. 

Everything about the suburb in the early 1980's suggested decay and abandonment.  Belvoir Boys, the brothel where I would work for two months was no different.  Located in a tiny, two up, two down Victorian workers terrace, with the usual kitchen and bathroom extension at the back, it was a seedy brothel, but also a haven from what I had just experienced.

Being raped did not have a hugely damaging effect on me.  Even though I can still recall the night and some of what happened, I was so out of it during the whole experience that I was able to feel neither pain nor fear.  Being dumped, penniless and battered in the early morning was what I remember most.  This is when the shame set in and also the resolve to never allow myself to get in that situation again, or so I believed at the time.

The brothel (a few years later I would actually work in a 'parlour') became my home and saviour for the next few months.  I won't go into detail about the clients as later I will devote a whole chapter to this area, but I do remember my first.  A middle aged man on business from the North of England.  He paid $20 for a head job and near the end asked, 'eee lad, is it alright if I cum in your mouth?'.

My favourite, who also became an almost daily regular, was a young wealthy guy from one of Sydney's elite families who always paid me double and also bought me gifts. Clothes, a gold watch, my first bottle of aftershave - 'Grey Flannel' - and often took me out to lunch or dinner.  The one I remember the most though was an extremely elderly gentleman.  He was dressed in an old baggy suit and used a walking stick.  For this reason we had to go in the front downstairs room, which was normally where us boys would sit during the day.

He took off his jacket and shirt, then his trousers, and then his wooden leg!  We did nothing but sit together with his arm around me while he talked.  He told me that he was married and had grandchildren and had been secretly gay all his life but had never had sex with another man.  We both cried when he told me he first realised when he was buried alive in the trenches with another young soldier in WWI for two days.  They had clung together, fearing death and while waiting rescue they had fondled each other and kissed.  After being dug out they never spoke of the incident again.

The boys I worked with were a real mixed bag.  A few like me from suburban working and middle class families, escaping the tedium of their school and home lives.  Some purely professional  who worked the job like it was a regular 9 - 5 office job, and some really sad boys whose childhoods had been filled with both physical and sexual abuse, often by their fathers or other close relatives.

During the days it was generally quiet, except on weekends, so we would mostly watch TV, go into the city shopping, or often spend the morning at Prince Alfred Park at the public swimming pool.  In the afternoons and evenings it was all go.  We were busy from early afternoon until around midnight.

I and another boy, Jeff, were the two most popular boys there.  He was 19, tall, blonde haired and blue eyed.  I was 17 (and looked 15) and between us we saw probably 80% of the clients.  One Friday night I serviced 9 clients in a row, only stopping to shower before going straight back upstairs with the next client.

I was earning anything from $40 on a quiet day to over $200 on a busy day.  That was an absolute fortune both for me and most people back then.  6 months later, I would be back living with my parents again and working in a menswear store from 9am - 5.30pm (9pm on Thursday nights and 8-12pm on Saturdays) and earning $135 per week!

A few blocks away, and frequent visitors, were another group of sex workers of a totally different kind.  They worked for HOD (the House of Dominance) which was a famous and much frequented B&D parlour in Sydney at the time.  These guys were earning double what we were, generally with little or no sex involved, but the work was certainly something you had to 'be into'.  Sadly most of them had really horrific stories of sexual and physical abuse, many at the hands of institutions where they had been raised, or placed.  

25 odd years later, the much respected private college I worked for bought this very same building to use as one of their teaching campuses - they were both shocked and amazed when I told them of it's former use!

We also had drag queens working at the brothel.  The first I had really met on a personal level. I was intrigued and surprised.  The only transsexuals I had seen were either on TV or performing at the clubs and these were the totally over the top, in your face type.  The queens working at the brothel were nothing like this, in fact, except that they wore women's clothes and make up they were pretty much the same as the rest of us.

On Friday afternoons all the factories in the area would close at 2pm.  There would be an influx of  'straight' guys all wanting to see a tranny.  Whether or not it's specifically true in all cases, but I was told that most of these 'factory' workers came because it was cheaper to get a head job from a tranny than a real girl.  It was also pre AIDS days so the fear which later caused a sharp decline in the sex work industry for a year or two wasn't an issue.  

It was so busy that often the boss would get me to dress up shortly before 2pm.  One or other of the girls would do my make up and I would work as a tranny for the next 4 hours.  It was really easy work, and most of the guys didn't care that I didn't have tits (either implants or hormonal), they just wanted a head job from a 'girl'.

So for two months I lived on the wild side.  Loving every minute of it.  The clients were all easy and it felt much safer being in a brothel than working the streets.  The boys became my friends and confidantes.  We shared our lives, sometimes our money and looked after each other.

Then one afternoon I was on an out call and I received the phone call about Billy.  A few hours later I was being interviewed at Darlinghurst Police Station and being told my life was in danger from one of Sydney's most notorious underworld figures.  The ironic part of it was, that one of the interviewing officers, would later become infamous for being one of the most corrupt and dangerous criminals in Sydney!  2 days later I was in a car with two of the boys headed for Adelaide......and a whole new life.