IN BETWEEN DAZE....

Ooh, and it's all right and its coming on
We're gonna get right back where we started from.
Love can be good, love can be strong.
We're gonna get right back where we started from....

We closed shop. Just like that.  One day we were running a brothel and the next day we were hastily shoving our possessions into a rental truck and moving to a whole new life.  We found a cute little Edwardian detached house a few suburbs away and left the seedy world of prostitution behind us - well almost.

Matty was now working full time in the radio room of a taxi company and I was left with no job, a six week wait until I could claim social security benefits, but best of all without the stress of trying to make a failing business work.  I wasn't stupid though.  Our rental on the parlour was due on the first Monday of the month, we left on the last Sunday of the month with $1200 in our pockets.  Not only that but I had the phone numbers of a few regular clients so financially things weren't as grim as they seemed.

Amazingly the move, and Matty's becoming the breadwinner, seemed to change our relationship for the better.  Like all bullies Matty was in his element now that he believed he was in control.  For the first time in nearly 5 years he was playing top dog and I was under his control.  He happily paid the rent and gave me money for groceries and drugs.  Even more happily he now assumed he was controlling my drug supply and revelled in his misconceived dominance over me.

What he didn't know was the during the hours he was away, from 2pm till midnight 5 days a week, I was seeing regular clients at least 3 times a week, and was able to supply my own drugs which he had no idea about.  All I had to do was play housewife while he was home and when he was at work my life was my own.

I revelled in the freedom.  I revelled in the domesticity and I revelled in the ability to finally have time own my own.  To do what I wanted and how I wanted.  The change in both of us was incredible.  Now Matty felt he was in control he was happy to resume our sexual relationship, although we now had separate rooms.  In the mornings we would spend a few hours between him waking and going to work getting stoned off his rationed drugs and when he returned home I would wake up and we would spend a few hours smoking, munching out on whatever I had prepared in the evening, then end up having great sex before he went back to his own room to sleep.

This change of lifestyle also made a dramatic improvement on his health.  He was rarely sick and in fact his T-cell count rose dramatically.  It was 2 months of domestic bliss.  He worked, I went op - shopping in the adjoining suburb Newtown and refurnished the house with some incredibly cheap Edwardian furniture and turned our small back yard into an English country garden.

It didn't take long however before the rent money started running out and I had to start looking for a full time job.  Again, I could have fronted up at any of the gay or straight brothels and easily have gotten a job.  But I didn't want to.  I had seen enough and been through enough to realize that it was time to make a change.

Surprisingly two things happened which gave me both direction and hope.  The first was that my 'good sister' and her husband invited me up to spend a few days with them.  I had hardly had any contact with them for the past 5 years but I went.  It was a pleasant, if boring time.  They had two young daughters and taking drugs with me was out of the question.  It wasn't until the last day that my brother in law took me aside and gave me a really unexpected talking to.

He didn't judge me but he made it clear that he knew exactly what I had been doing and that perhaps it was 'time I grew up' and thought about my future.  He pointed out that while I may have assumed I was having the time of my life, that I had been steadily destroying not only my self, but also my chances of having a successful future.  It was definitely food for thought.

On my return Matty told me that he had managed to get me a job in the taxi company starting almost immediately.  He had made such a good impression on his bosses (that was part of his charm) that they were happy  to employ me on his recommendation.

I couldn't say no.  I didn't have any other career options and here I was being offered a full time job and all I had to do was show up.  I was confident that I could last 8 hours without getting stoned - the first time in years - but I was terrified that I would have to work with 'normal people'.  I mean all I had known for the past 5 years were prostitutes, pimps and clients.  I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to adjust.

I can still recall my absolute terror of walking up the stairs and knocking on the office door.  When it opened I was totally taken aback. The room was long and set up with two rows of work stations on either side of a manual conveyor belt which backed on to identical rows of glass booths which was where the radio operators worked.  What hit me was that the room was full of 'cool looking' people - hippies, drag queens, gay guys, lesbians.....it was obvious that this was a place I could fit in.

I was given a two hour induction in which I was shown the workings of the company.  It was a lot to take in but I was able to sit down and start work under supervision for the first hour and then eventually be left on my own to take the easiest calls (cash calls) and get my head around the conveyor belt system.

It wasn't easy.  This was pre-computer days so all bookings were written on different coloured paper slips (depending upon they type of booking) and then had to be placed into the correct chute for the pick up area.  By the end of the shift I was flying.  I had always had a polite speaking voice and my writing was neat and legible, I had no hesitation in sending any difficult calls to the supervisor (I mastered the switchboard easily) and by the end of the night I was told to come again the following evening where my roster would be allotted to me.  I was back in the real world.......It wasn't the most exciting or challenging of jobs (in fact it was quite monotonous to begin with) but it was a real, legitimate job and the start of a new life.....

To top it off, besides my own friendly social skills I had the added advantage of being Matty's 'friend' and everyone was keen to be as friendly and helpful to me as possible.  Life was looking good.  

It was a whole new world for me and I revelled in it.  New friends, new skills, and most importantly the dramatic realisation that I was good at something other than the sex industry.

DARKEST DAZE... (part 3)

Through early morning fog I see
visions of the things to be
the pains that are withheld for me
I realize and I can see...
that suicide is painless
it brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please.

Dazed and numb I waited until I was sure that Matty was asleep.  I crept out the back door and stumbled my way through the cold early morning towards Central Bus station. I had no idea how I must have looked but being early morning there weren't many people around to notice me.

It was still too early for the buses and I had to wait nearly 40 minutes for the first bus to arrive.  The bus station is located on one of Sydney's busiest intersections, a triangle between 5 intersections, one of them being the main road leading from the city to the western suburbs.  It was sitting here that I contemplated many times stepping out onto the road and letting a car or truck end all my pain and humiliation.

The bus station, with it's many interchange sections, was, and still is, a haven for the homeless, spending the night asleep on the metal seats.  Their garbage bags or shopping trolleys filled with their only possessions pushed tight against them.  No one paid any attention to me as I sat miserably huddled on a seat by myself.  I would look at the traffic, torn between throwing myself in front of a vehicle, and then look around me and see the refuse of society, asleep and oblivious to the cruel reality of my world.

I remembered my mothers words, 'no matter how bad you feel, there is always someone in the world worse off than you'.  And here, at the lowest of lows I could look around and understand her words.  So I sat and waited for the bus which eventually arrived.  This was in fact the hardest part of all.  The driver took one look at me ( I had no idea that I was bruised and the back of my head was matted with blood from where I had been bashed against the wall) and refused to take my money.  He just asked if I needed to go to hospital!  I told him, through my tears, that I had friends who would look after me and that's where I was going.

Arriving at Steven's apartment I was met by his wife.  It was not even 7.30 and Steven was still asleep.  Margaret, his wife, took one look at me and held me fast.  It wasn't until then that I realised how badly bruised and physically damaged I was.  She didn't ask any questions but sat me gently down and made me a cup of tea and passed me a bong and marijuana to go with it.  After a while she told me she had run a warm bath and led me there, helping me to remove my clothes.  I will never forget the look on her face as she undressed me and saw my chest and stomach covered in cigarette burns and bruises.

After the bath she came with ointment and carefully applied it to each of the 15 or more cigarette burns, which by now were starting to puss and blister.  I can't describe how I felt.  I was numb with pain, numb with shock and mortified that I had reached such a humiliating position.  My only fears were for my dog Toby who was still back at the house and possibly getting harmed by Matty.  I had no choice leaving him as I honestly believed that had I stayed, when Matty awoke he would have continued physically abusing me.

When Steven finally awoke and I got my story out he asked me what I wanted him to do.  I only wanted the abuse to stop.  I still loved Matty, I still wanted to run a successful parlour and I still  wanted to live the lifestyle I was living.  Steven assured me that I had nothing to worry about anymore but that I had to trust him.  Armed with enough comfort, assurance and totally stoned I let Steven drive me back to the house and leave me there to face Matty alone.

As usual with Matty, when he woke up, sometime around 12pm, he not only had no idea that I had even left, but was totally apologetic and upset with his actions.  He even went out and brought grass from somewhere so we could smoke together.  For the first time I could remember he not only packed the bongs but also took control of the business, answering phone calls, looking after the clients and telling the boys who had come to work that I was feeling sick and to let me be.......I don't think any of them believed him but they needed money so were happy to sit the day in the front room waiting for jobs and not bother me.

However, every time they came through the kitchen to use the bathroom, I was aware of their sympathetic staring and quiet understanding of what had happened during the night.

Shortly after 7pm Steven arrived accompanied by three enormous, Maori thugs.  With out any warning they simply marched through the house and into the kitchen where they grabbed Matty and commenced beating the life out of him.  Unbelievably I was stunned and scared for Matty.  Rushing forward to intervene and try and help Matty, I was held back by one of the heavies and forced to watch Matty getting bashed to within an inch of his life. To his credit he never once made a sound or tried to justify himself, he knew what he had done and he knew he deserved what he was getting.

When it was all over, Steven calmly said that he would be ending the business and we had one month to close up and move out.  He also warned Matty that if he touched me again that they would kill him.  Matty limped upstairs to bed and I spent an hour with Steven, getting lectured on my stupidity for allowing myself to get into these circumstances.  He also promised me that he would always have a place for me to go and money if I wanted to leave Matty.

So basically that was the end of my prostitution and brothel days.  Within two weeks Matty had found a full time job  and with Steven's help I managed to find us a house to rent.  It would be a calm few months.  Months where my lifestyle was compromised completely but months in which I was finally feeling safe......
  

DARKEST DAZE....(part 2).

Just gonna stand there and watch me burn
But that's alright because I like the way it hurts
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry
But that's alright because I love the way you lie
I love the way you lie
I love the way you lie

There are times in your life which are forever burned into your memory.  That night would be one of them.  After the beating and humiliation I had to sit there all night with Matty, following his every order like a dog.  Surprisingly we had a good night client wise and for every client that came in Matty would order me to mull up another stick, go down to the bottle shop and buy a bottle of whiskey and order a pizza delivery.


Any money we made that night was either smoked, drunk or eaten and that was including our partners profits.  

Around 10.30pm Matty was so off his face that he went upstairs to bed.  I took the opportunity of taking the dog out for a short walk and when I returned the 'boy' who had comforted me was sitting in the kitchen with another bowl of marijuana which he offered to share with me.  I remember bursting into tears and the boy telling me that I was a fool.  That Matty didn't love me and that he was wrecking the business.

Around 11.30pm our partner arrived.  This was unusual and I immediately realised that he hadn't come for a social visit.  He asked the boys to go home and then asked my about my bruising.  When I told him I had fallen down the stairs he grabbed me and said 'don't lie to me'...Then he looked at the books and asked for his share of the night's takings.  Before I could even think of a response he told me to go and wake Matty up and bring him downstairs.

Long story short, he calmly sat us down and said he knew that we had not only been spending the profits on drugs but he also knew that Matty had been physically beating me.  In his defence I finally explained to him that Matty had been diagnosed as HIV and that his actions were a result of his trying to cope.

Steven (our partner) put it clear and simple.  There would be no more drugs left on the premises.  He would visit twice a day and sell drugs to the boys and Matty and I were not allowed to buy any drugs until we had paid back the money we owed.  He also gave Matty a warning that he wasn't to physically touch me again.

Matty accepted full responsibility for his wrong-doings.  He apologized to Steven and promised that he would not harm me ever again.  He even cried and told Steven that he 'couldn't cope with his illness' and he 'couldn't understand why he abused me when he got upset'.  Steven left convinced that Matty would be true to his word.  

Without saying anything to me Matty then went upstairs to his room.  I was terrified.  I had seen the look in Matty's face and knew that he blamed me totally for the night's actions.  The 'boy' had left me about half a bowl of marijuana in the 'outside shed'.  I waited for a while and then went upstairs to my room to smoke it.  I had a big heavy 1930's armchair in the room which I pushed against the door to prevent Matty from coming in.

So I sat in my room, terrified, humiliated and wondering what had happened to the boy who could face anything the world threw at him.  I had been the victim of school yard bullying, domestic violence, physical violence and rape. I had always stood up to my bullies or found a way to compensate and at the same time keep my sense of self worth.

I had stood shoulder to shoulder with some of Sydney's toughest underworld figures and commanded respect from nearly every boy in the game.  Now I was a dejected, pitiful person totally dependant upon the whims of the boy I thought I was in love with.  

At around 4am, the drugs finished and me beginning to doze off, there was a loud banging on my door.  I thought I was safe.  The chair was too heavy to push and I had the option escaping via the balcony and running to god knows where.

What I had forgotten was that I had left my dog downstairs.  Matty quietly informed me that if I didn't open the door that he would kill my dog.  I believed him.  I opened the door to find Matty holding my dog in a stranglehold, the dog was quivering in terror.  The next few hours would be the lowest in my life.

I was punched repeatedly in the stomach, my darling dog rushing to protect me, was kicked down the stairs.  At this point I gave up and let Matty do whatever he wanted.  Verbally abused, blamed for ruining his life, he dragged me by the hair downstairs and threw me onto the bathroom floor before kicking me countless times in the stomach.

Unable to move or barely breathe he then pulled me up by the hair and demanded that I begin scrubbing the bathroom tiles with my toothbrush.  In shock and possibly with a little bit of 'fighting spirit' in me I refused.  Only to be smashed into the wall and held there while Matty lit a cigarette and began to push the burning end of the cigarette onto my stomach and chest.  After the first few burns I stopped feeling anything.  I was numb with pain and senselessly allowed him to continue.  This was even more frustrating for him and it was then that he again threatened to kill my dog.

I remember blindly apologizing to him over and over again and starting to scrub the tiles.  For the first five minutes he yelled and abused me for not working fast enough.  He punched me again and again in the kidneys.  I worked faster and faster.

Eventually he left me with a warning that if the bathroom wasn't spotless by the time he woke up he would kill both me and my dog.  I carried on, like an Auschwitz worker, terrified, tortured and numb for at least an hour before I could take no more. 

I couldn't take my dog with me, I had only one place to go, to Steven's.  I didn't have enough money for a taxi and had to walk over a kilometre to Central Bus Station to get a bus there.  I realised that I had to take the chance - it was either my dog's life of mine.  So bruised, battered, burnt and totally in numb shock I literally crawled through the early morning light and eventually got on a bus to take me to Steven's.......

DARKEST DAZE...(part 1).

Where lies your heart?
It's not there in the buckskin, baby.
It's not there in the gin
That makes you laugh long and loud.

You're a coward, James.
You're running away from humanity.
You're running away from reality.
It won't be funny when they rat-a-tat-tat you down.

Our period of profitability and good times lasted no longer than 3 months.  Matty, after his initial illness, seemed to recover quickly but nevertheless gave up his job and went on sickness benefits.  He refused to do any driving jobs and his only source of income was his fortnightly sickness benefits.

On top of that he spent up to 12 hours a day in his room sleeping.  He would go to bed before midnight and refuse to leave his room before midday.  Even this was only because our partner generally arrived around 1pm to spend a few hours going over the takings and getting stoned with us.  Generally he would fill the first bowl and then we would take turns buying off him to keep the party going.

We were making reasonable money but with Matty now on a lower pay and refusing to do any driving jobs our share of the profits was rapidly diminishing.  Instead of changing his lifestyle and following the doctors advice he seemed intent on doing everything he could to make his health even worse.  During his waking hours he insisted the mull bowl be constantly full.  He began drinking and started popping pills (downers) constantly.  This was on top of the medication he was prescribed.

Consequently he began to have rapid mood swings.  The slightest thing would set him into a rage.  Mostly this was aimed at me, but quite often at the workers.  We had to be on tenterhooks from the moment he went to bed till the moment he woke up. No longer could I wake up at 7am and start cleaning the house or put the washing on, the few times I did he came down and physically assaulted me regardless of who was there.

Generally he would grab me around the throat and push me against the wall, verbally abusing and threatening me, but occasionally he would lash out and punch me.  The fear and humiliation became a daily phobia, never knowing what to expect from him and never knowing how to act as it seemed no matter how hard I tried to follow his orders he would tell me that I had yet again failed and the beatings and verbal abuse would start again.

My only solace was the early mornings.  I would wake early and quietly do as much cleaning as I could.  At the time one of the drag queens was staying with us, sleeping on the lounge.  She wasn't a marijuana smoker but would always buy a 'stick' so that I could have a quiet smoke each morning.  Then I would take my beautiful dog out for a walk enjoying the peace and solitude of the amazing suburb we lived in.

One morning I returned and Matty had woken up early.  Seeing the half full mull bowl he accused me of stealing profits from him.  When Tamara (the drag queen) tried to tell him that she had paid for the grass and shared it with me he smacked her in the face sending her across the room.  Then he laid into me, with each punch telling me how pathetic I was getting people to lie to protect me.

Tamara left that day...I never saw her again, but she was quick to pass the word around and from that day we never had another queen apply for a job.  Matty's anger left as quickly as it came.  He sat and smoked the remaining grass while he 'made me' finish the house cleaning.

At this point I am sure many of you are wondering why I didn't just walk out?  I was in love with Matty.  I was dependent on drugs.  I was on a good behaviour bond.  Matty was constantly threatening me that he would inform the police, that he would tell my parents what I was doing (they had no idea that I was running a brothel), that he would harm my parents, that he would kill my dog.  At the same time he was constantly re-enforcing his belief that he only hit me because I was doing the wrong thing - that I wasn't following his orders. 

I was in constant fear not only of his violence but of the consequences that might follow.  I could be thrown in jail.  My parents would be harmed or simply cut me out of their lives.  My beautiful and loyal dog would be harmed.  I would be out on the streets with no money and even worse no drugs! 

After any violent session he would be all full of apologies (while insisting that I only had to do what he asked to stop him from getting angry) and follow it up with a night of romance and love making.  I was hooked in more ways than one.

When the owner of our rented house turned up one morning and told us that he knew we were operating a brothel and demanded we pay him double the original rental price we were stunned.  He had every right as our lease was strictly for 'residential purposes' and as we were running a business he could legally give us one week's notice.

$150 a week was not an issue with our partner.  He was still making a profit on top of the drugs he was selling to our workers.  For us it was a calamity.  We were already living from day to day and an extra $75 a week was almost two days without smoking.  Our partner had already made it clear that he would not accept credit so any drugs we smoked had to be paid for on the spot.

With Matty's insatiable demand for drugs and refusal to do any driving jobs, I was forced into a corner.  I was working as a prostitute, which didn't make the other boys particularly happy, and often rigging the books and sharing the takings with the boys.  Never knowing if our partner would walk in and find out.  He was a nice guy, but definitely not someone you wanted to cross.  I was in constant fear of being caught out by him or not providing for Matty and getting a beating.

Then Matty started drinking more and more.  A bottle of whiskey a day which at that time cost around $20.  When he was drunk he would get even more abusive and want to smoke more and more.  We started dipping into our partner's profits to keep smoking, all the while I was desperately afraid of being caught out by our partner.  So I began to rig the books even more.  The boys would get $40 and I would get $10 and nothing would be recorded.

When the drink and marijuana wasn't enough for Matty he started on 'downers'.  Back at Brett's Boys they had been easily available.  All the drag queens had a constant supply.  We had no queens working for us and so Matty would send me out to the doctors to get a prescription. This worked for a while, until one day after visiting 3 different doctors who all refused me, the fourth not only refused me but threatened to call the police and also to inform all the doctors in the area about me.

I had no choice but to return home with no pills, all the while hoping that we had made some money from clients and could pay for marijuana and another bottle of whiskey to keep Matty happy and me both relaxed and safe from another bashing.

Of course when I returned we had had no clients and Matty was furious.  In front of the boys he grabbed me around the throat and slammed my head into the wall.  Despite the boys trying to stop him, he easily pushed them aside and then kneed me in the stomach. I fell to the floor where he kicked me in the ribs and then did a knee drop onto my face.  Only the utter humiliation of being so helpless in front of the boys who had once held me in such high esteem stopped me from feeling the pain of my cheek bones splintering.

Once done it was over as quickly as it had started.  I was left to crawl to the bathroom and tend to my wounds while Matty waited for me to come out and 'mull up' for him.  We had no money to pay for it but I wasn't going to argue.  I was much happier to face our partner than go through another beating.  My only solace was that one of the boys came and sat with us (the other boys hid in the lounge) and bought a stick to throw into the bowl.

While we sat and smoked, pretending that nothing had happened, the boy all the while kept his leg (under the table) against mine in silent support.  I don't even remember his name now but I can still picture him and am forever thankful to him for being there for me.

Later that night life would change yet again.....

DARK DAZE / CHANGING DAZE

When I'm stuck with a day that's grey and lonely
I just stick up my chin and grin and say oh

The sun will come out tomorrow
So you got to hang on 'til tomorrow, come what may!
Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow
You're only a day away

I guess that's how I'd always lived my life and thankfully I always would.  With Matty facing a death sentence and me facing a prison sentence how else could I cope?  Yes, drugs got me through, but underlying all the calamities was a sense that something better was waiting.

 

 

Matty was continuously sick and after a month of his HIV diagnosis gave up his job.  This didn't make it any easier for me as he offered no help with running the business, only caring that there were drugs in the bowl whenever he wanted them.

So I was left to run the business.  Answer the phone calls, clean the house, do the washing, walk the dog, do the shopping, cook the dinner and ensure that drugs were always on hand. I started seeing clients again in order to earn extra cash, quite often aware that whilst I was upstairs doing the business, Matty would be downstairs letting the phone ring out.  It was only when our partner/drug dealer was there that Matty would get active and give the impression that he was working.

 

 

My trial date was fast approaching and I honestly don't know how I kept myself together.  My very expensive solicitor was telling me that at best I could look forward to was two years in prison, but I would be put in a protection wing.  That really didn't offer much comfort.

Eventually the big day arrived.  We drove down to Canberra in the morning with my parents following behind.  On the way I popped two Mogadon and we smoked two joints - there was no way I could face the reality of what was about to happen.

Strangely arriving at the Supreme Court of Australia, I was met by the prosecuting police officer who told me to be positive and things wouldn't be as bad as I had expected.  This was the last person I though would offer me comfort.

 

 

Even more strange was that when my convictions were read out the amount of drugs I had originally been charged with possessing had dropped from 27 grams to 11 grams!  The block of hash was still included and constituted the most damning part of my charges.  In a haze I stood and listened as the charges were read out, the police gave their statements and I was asked if I still pleaded guilty to the charges.

When I answered in the affirmative the judge sentenced me to two years hard labour at Berrima Correction Centre.  I was in a daze and didn't hear the rest of his decision.  It wasn't until my mother hugged me that I realized that somehow I had been given a reprieve.  The sentence had been re-imposed with a one year good behaviour bond!  Apparently this was largely due to the letter of recommendation from my mother's friend (still at that time one of the leading ministers in parliament) and the fact that Matty had submitted his medical records and a letter stating that I was his sole carer.

I had no conditions other than that I be of good behaviour for twelve months or otherwise the original sentence would be put into effect immediately.  The sun had come out!

 

Unexpectedly the sun came out in more ways than one.  In the weeks after my trial the demolition work on the neighbouring houses stopped and the rebuilding began.  Luckily for us the workers started at our end and moved from house to house so gradually the construction noise grew less and less.  Then our 'deranged' neighbours on the other side of us were evicted.  Admittedly in the first week they moved out we were inundated with hoards of mice, rats, cockroaches and fleas which we had to deal with by calling in the fumigators and closing down for a day.

 

This coincided with a sudden influx of 'new' boys wanting jobs.  Actually none of them were new - they were all ex Brett's Boys workers and friends.  I don't exactly know what happened but as I had expected with Colin in charge the place had started falling apart and the boys were desperate both for work and to get away from Brett's.

Even better was that quite a few of them came armed with phone lists of regular clients, something which I hadn't had the opportunity of getting and business started booming.  It was still mainly outcalls and weekend work but we were suddenly and happily beginning to make a profit and I had some support from my friends who were only too happy to pitch in and help with the running of the business. 

 

Our partner was delighted - not only was he making money after 6 months but he was also getting his former profits by selling marijuana tothe new boys. With no neighbours on either side of us we put up a tin covered extension at the back of the bathroom where we could not only smoke without the clients knowing but where we could also hear the phone ringing and door bell. It was almost like the old (new) Brett's Boys.

This period of profit and 'back to the good old days' was only to last for another 3 months.  Matty's sickness and coping strategies, combined with our landlord finding out that we were running a brothel would lead to the inevitable and traumatic crunch that always seemed to find me when I was 'at the top'.......

DARK DAZE...(part 4).

Out of hospital and six weeks before the cast on my hand was removed.  Thankfully I was eligible for 'sickness benefits' which allowed us to continue paying the rent on our house and buy food but not much more.

During that time I began searching for a new rental which we could use as our new business.  With Matty working and my drug dealer 'leaving it up to me' to choose the right premises I spent nearly every day visiting real estate agents and combing the classifieds for the 'right place'.

Eventually I found it, or at least I thought I had.  A beautiful late Victorian detached house located in the suburb of Summer Hill, about 6km away from the city.  It was everything we had been looking for.  The first/last house in the street, with 3 downstairs reception rooms and kitchen plus 3 upstairs bathrooms and bathroom.

To add to it's suitability it was hedged on both sides providing total privacy from the neighbours and directly opposite was a warehouse which fronted the adjoining street.  A driveway led from the front to a garage which had been turned into a 'rumpus room' complete with a toilet and shower - the perfect place for the workers to hang out and for us to smoke without the clients being aware.  The only downside was the location - still considered some distance from the 'gay scene' and the fact that the downstairs rooms were an abomination of period styles which clashed in every room.

At that time the 'gay scene' was still considered to be happening only in the eastern suburbs which was true for clubs and partying, but both Brett's and the only other gay brothel were both in nearby suburbs west of the city.

Matty was happy with the place but our partner (drug dealer) was not.  He wanted something closer to the city.  It was impossible to convince him that not only was the place perfect in terms of privacy and potential, but also that at least half of Brett's regular clients were living in the area, plus a great many lived even further west so this was an ideal location.  He didn't say no but he was adamant that we keep looking for a closer to the city location.

So we submitted an application form and with a promise of being notified of within a week we continued looking at dozens of houses. Maybe things would have been different if it hadn't been for my damaged hand, still in a cast, which started getting painful a few days later.

Strangely enough it was not where the tendons had been torn and repaired but in my fingers.  After a few days not only was the pain becoming unbearable but an awful smell was emanating from my hand.  On Friday morning I returned to the doctors only to be told that the cast had been fitted without 'spacers' between my fingers.  This had caused my fingers to push together and with no air space I had developed gangrene between my fingers.  Eeeeuuuw!

I was immediately put back into the hospital and on an antibiotic drip after being examined by the doctors. Being the weekend, my attending doctor was not returning to work until Monday and so I stayed, alone and unvisited by Matty until lunchtime on Monday, where the doctor assured me the gangrene was arrested and my cast was removed.

On returning home I had to wait until 6pm before Mattty returned from work with the news that he and my drug dealer had signed a lease on a house in Glebe and that we could visit the following morning.  I was really anxious about  setting up a parlour in Glebe - the same suburb as Brett's Boys.  After my 'home invasion' by Louise I had no desire to upset her anymore.

That evening my dealer arrived and assured me that the place was perfect and that he would have no problems dealing with Louise if the need arose.  I had no doubt that he was capable and began looking forward to our following day's visit.

I had misgivings from the moment we drove into the street.  Not only was the house in the poorer area of the suburb, where half the residents were in public housing, but the building itself was tiny and run-down and offered no client privacy at all.

The houses fronted the street with only a metre between the footpath and the front door.  Inside the house was a typical victorian working cottage - 2 up and 2 down as they call them.  The front door opened directly into the lounge dining area which was no more than 4 metres wide by 5 metres long and separated by a staircase which lead to the upstairs rooms.  At the rear of the house was a tiny kitchen leading through to the tacked on bathroom.  The rooms upstairs were equally tiny and offered no noise protection either from the neighbours or other rooms in the house.

Clients would have to walk in directly off the street in full view of all the neighbours and as the downstairs area was so small, the reception area would have to be the middle bedroom upstairs - it was so small that a double bed wouldn't have fitted in.  As for using the bathroom, clients would then have to walk back downstairs and through the kitchen in full view of both the workers and anyone in the kitchen - which became the only room where we could smoke dope.

With no option we went ahead and started advertising to clients and also for workers.  I came up with the idea of offering the workers a 60/40 cut instead of the usual 50/50 cut and we had a flood of boys and trannies within the first week.

The clients too were also interested.  Our first week was unbelievably busy with both in calls and out calls.  Then reality hit.  The downstairs rooms had sea-grass matting as floor coverings which were infested with fleas.  The clients could be heard grunting and groaning and even worse our neighbours were a family on welfare who had mental issues and spent their waking hours screaming at each other which could  be heard throughout the house.

As the weeks went by our in calls became fewer and fewer and most of our jobs were out calls which happened in the evenings.  We ripped up the flooring and polished the floor boards.  We put up bookshelves to separate the lounge area so clients could walk through without having to see all the workers, we painted the walls and did everything we could to make the place more welcoming and private.

All the while we were spending our days in the kitchen smoking ourselves senseless to alleviate the boredom and both Matty and I and the workers began running up credit with our dealer.  While we were busy it didn't pose a problem with him but as we grew quieter and quieter he began limiting credit to only Matty and I.  The workers soon realised that they could get better money at the other parlours and so began a cycle of new workers who lasted for a few weeks before moving onto other parlours where better money could be had.

It was a total failure,  Even more so when the adjoining terrace houses to our left were bought by the government and earmarked for 'public housing'.  Within 3 months of starting the business we were in the middle of a gigantic demolition and reconstruction project which made daytime work practically impossible due to both the construction noise and the constant cat calls from the workers whenever any of our staff left the house.  The clients began avoiding us in droves.

3 months in and we were going nowhere.  Louise didn't have to do anything except sit back and laugh.  Our workers were desperate and looked like it and half our clients would walk in and straight back out after seeing what we had to offer.  I'm sure that we actually helped Louise and Brett's boys as it was only 10 minutes walk away and our clients most likely headed straight there..

We were still optimistic and in our drug filled haze we truly believed we could make a go of it.  That all started to change dramatically when Matty began having sick days from work and at my urging went to the doctors.

5 months before I had caught him shooting up at Brett's Boys and knew then that something bad was going to happen as a result.  Matty returned from the doctors saying they had given him an HIV test and the results would be back within a fortnight...both of us knew what the tests would reveal.

Sure enough, two weeks later, Matty's results showed that he was HIV positive and had been so for around 6 months. Stupidly I reminded him of the 'shooting up incident' and his response was to beat me senseless - until I apologised.  Given his traumatic circumstances I believed that I had deserved his violent reaction and was soon consoling him and promising to stay with him and look after him, no matter what it took.

I would soon regret those words. Life for both of us would change in a way I could never imagine.....

CHANGING DAZE.....(part 2).

McArthur Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet green icing flowing down.
I don't think that I can take it
Cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again.....

Nothing would be the same again. I consciously made a decision that my past life was my past life.  I had to convince the Federal court that I was a 'decent' person who had made a mistake and for this reason I rejected both Louise's offer of  work and another offer of working at the only remaining boy's parlour in Sydney.

Matty who had given up his customs job a few months previously, made one phone call to his previous employers and they immediately re-hired him.  That was part of his charisma.  Not just on me but on everybody he met.  I, on the other hand was left to endlessly search for jobs in the 'classifieds' which left me feeling unwanted and unskilled.

My secretarial certificate was a joke as I wasn't a girl.  My past experience in retail and kitchen work were over 3 years old and nobody wanted to look at me.  In the end I took a job with a furniture restorer!

Initially he told me that I was not only unqualified, but also to old to qualify for the apprenticeship position that was offered.  In the end, my ability to classify furniture styles and name tools (my father had been a carpenter), and his inability to find anyone else, got me the job.

it was hard work and poor pay.  I spent my days applying paint thinner to old furniture and sanding them down.  The fumes were suffocating, as was working in a tin shed. I was earning a mere $140 a week ( less than I had been earning per day at Brett's) and working my fingers to the bone (literally).  The only high lights were the occassional visit to clients where we would spend the day in million dollar houses while we sat and delicately polished antiques for hour after hour after hour.

I was so poor that I couldn't even afford the bus fares to get to work (or forgo buying my now diminished supply of marijuana) and had to ride a bicycle through the narrow and busy streets of inner city Sydney.

My only break came when we visited a clients house during my second week of work.  He turned out to be a regular client of Brett's and when he got me aside and asked my why I was no longer there he then offered to visit me once a week at home.  His weekly visits and extra $50 made the difference between maintaining  both my drug habit and our beautiful rented house.

Six short weeks later it ended abruptly.  On Saturday morning after I had finished the house cleaning Matty and I sat down to enjoy our now rationed marijuana supply ( we were down to one stick a day).  Having used up our 'morning half' Matty insisted I mull up the remaining stick.  We got into an argument because I knew that if we smoked the rest of the stick we would have nothing left for the evening.....

Matty wouldn't take no for an answer, and I stupidly (even now I can't accept the fact that I was in the right), not only refused but picked up the drugs and went and hid them in my bedroom.  Matty's response was to drag me back from the room and smash my head on the coffee table.  In defence I put my hands out to stop my head from hitting the table.  I don't really remember feeling anything but the next thing I knew was that both me and the table were on the floor and I had blood shooting out from my right wrist.

My hand had hit the ceramic bong and as we crashed to the floor it smashed cutting my 'mound of venus' and wrist deeply. Blood was spurting everywhere.  I didn't feel any pain, only shock.  Matty was telling my it was my fault and even refused to call an ambulance, which after I had wrapped a towel around my hand to try and stem the bleeding I did.

Then I tried to ring my parents.  Matty just lunged at me, hitting me in the face as I desperately pleaded for him to stop and somehow managed to hold onto the phone and let my parents know I needed help.

The ambulance arrived and rushed me to the nearest hospital.  Here I told them that I had been cleaning out the garden shed and tripped over while carrying a box of bottles.  Whether or not they believed me I don't know but that was the story I kept to.  After finally getting to see the doctor where I was poked and prodded ('does it hurt' they asked. 'Only when you stick your fingers in'. I replied) They announced that I had severed two tendons and would transfer me to Royal Prince Alfred Hospital where a surgeon was available to re-attach my severed tendons.

I remember my father arriving at the hospital just before they anaesthetised me and sent me to surgery.  I stuck to my story of falling onto a box of bottles but I'm sure he didn't believe me.  All I know was that again, after a childhood of anger, violence and humiliation, my father had again stood by me.

Matty didn't visit me until the next day.  Even then he came with my drug dealer and his wife who brought me chocolate, flowers and two joints.  Contrary to popular belief that marijuana is a pain reliever, I actually found that it increased my pain levels and only smoked the first joint before succumbing to waves of excruciating pain and spending the rest of the night begging the nurses for pain relief.

It was during this visit that my drug dealer suggested that he would be willing to finance the opening of a new boys parlour if I was willing to run it for him.  With little option of working in a job for months (at least until my damaged hand had healed) and at Matty's enthusiastic urging I agreed......

To move away from the story of my life I want to let my readers know that the next (I don't know how many chapters) are dedicated to the victims of domestic violence.  We all associate domestic violence with the traditional images of men abusing their wives or girlfriends.  However in my experience, and I'm sure I am not alone, domestic violence frequently occurs in gay relationships.

How do you justify letting some one (especially someone who apparently loves you) abuse you both physically and mentally? How do you find yourself believing that not only are you the victim, but the cause of the abuse?  How do you change from being a confident, happy go lucky, ready to take on the world individual to a scared, humiliated and terrified of everything and everyone personality and allow yourself to be trapped in a nightmare world of abuse and torture?

Hopefully the following chapters will give you an insight into not only how it happened to me, but how it happens to millions of people. Love (or the incorrect interpretation of love), dependence (in my case on drugs and the fear of living in poverty) and emotional blackmail are just some of the reasons why victims put up with the violence and are too terrified to take the initial step to get out

I dedicate the next chapters to all of us who have been in this position and urge anyone who is currently suffering in an abusive situation to take the plunge and walk away.   I was to scared and dependant to for nearly 6 years....but almost 30 years on I am still here.  The physical scars are still visible and a daily reminder of my torment, but the emotional scars haunt me to this very day.  What happened to me changed my personality, changed my beliefs in human nature and set me on a course of life-long dependency on both drugs and the need to be appreciated and recognized.

You will be surprised, perhaps even scornful, to know that even today I still think of Matty as my one true love....this was the power he managed to have on me.