Nothing Personal
The lights are pulsing and the music pumping. Standing in the line I can see the silhouettes of the crowd against the disco lights, all of them thrashing and convulsing to the music. I know on seeing all this I shouldn’t have come, but it’s six months now since I was out, six months and one day since I mixed with the retro-grunge crowd and did my best to look inconspicuous.
There was a time, a couple of years ago, when I was out every night and every night I never slept alone. But the smell of money lured me out of my bohemian nest and with each month that passed it seemed like more of an effort to get myself ready and get there, where I could prowl through the meat market and make my selection. Now I’ve got other responsibilites, less time, less motivation, less energy. There’s only so many days a year I can call in sick after a night out, and only so much money can be spent on escorts.
It’s not like I can’t be choosy you know. I’ve still got my looks and my body, they’re not going to start fading for another ten years or so, not visibly anyway. There’s still a few years left before I become one of those desperate thirty-somethings that hang around the fringe of your lot, eyeing you off as another possible before the realisation that age is setting in and there’s no chance, no chance at all for it to go any further than just one night.
So I’ll stand there at the bar or on the edge of the dance floor, watching you with envy at your youth, your vitality; hoping I’ll get myself drunk enough to have one last go at it and not get burned.
Not so long ago I was where you are while you were thinking about the next underage rave party. I once thought maturity meant experience and I was right; I’m matured, and I’m experienced. When I was where you are I went for people where I am now. Leading them in, making it tough for them. Working it so they’d hang on and I was guaranteed a pick-up at the end of the night if things didn’t work out with the less used goods. I’d take them back to their place—they were the young professionals with money for a wealthy pad and large bed with silk sheets—where I’d make them do to me whatever I wanted and do to them whatever I wanted.
In the mornings they’d wake to find me gone or on my way out. There’d be a note or brief discussion about if and when I’d call them, how things weren’t right for me to get into anything serious at my age, but that it was a wonderful night. It’s nothing personal, I’d say, I’m just not ready for a relationship right now. And so there I’d leave them waiting for me to call, maybe thinking about me for a couple of days, trying to kid themseleves that they still had what it took to be young. That was, before the realisation set in that there was no chance, no chance at all of this thing between us going further than just one night.
I always thought I’d only go for someone this age if I were drunk and desperate. Well, here I am. Drunk and desperate, and now I’m going for ones like you, hoping that if I can still get someone that age it’ll prove to me and everyone else that I’ve still got a few years left in me before I start touring the singles parties.
So anyway there I was, wishing I was home so I could be wishing I was here. Standing in the cold with no real prospects for the night. I lit a cigarette and looked up to see you watching me. Maybe the spark of the lighter, your drifting gaze, something—what did I care, I got your attention and was doing everything I could to hold it. I let the smoke trail slowly and seductively from my lips, pressing them into as much a pout as I dared without looking ridiculous or obvious. I looked you up and down and you me. You were pleasing on the eye and I thought the night had prospects. Then you looked away.
I turned my attention back to the dwindling queue. I may be older, but I knew what would happen if I made it too obvious I was interested. No, you weren’t getting another look until I got through the door and had downed at least a couple of bourbons, lest you came and spoke to me. I was pretending I’d seen you but not noticed you until later in the night, much later. That’s how the game was played. I shuffled and stamped against the cold, edging forward with the queue until at last I was through the door and at the bar.
As I ordered my first drink I cast a casual glance through the dull pockets of orange light in the corners and along the walls to try and spot you. Maybe you were on the dance floor, maybe in the toilets. Either way I wasn’t going looking. Of course I didn’t see you standing near the doorway as I entered, nor did I see you watch me go to the bar and look for you.
An hour later and I was feeling those six bourbons. I’ve got enough money these days not to get so worked up by happy hour, but I’ve got to keep up the appearance I’m still at that age where I’m saving every cent to spend on grog, and besides, it’s happy hour when the lookers are shit-faced and single. I thought I saw you in the background a couple of times, but it’s hard to be sure when there’s strobe lights and darkness blinding my vision. I couldn’t look too hard or you’d spot me looking hard and know I’m easy.
Eventually our paths crossed. We danced a little and talked a lot, not that we could really hear each other above the din of the techno and grunge, but your eyes were all telling and I could feel the fires fanning once more. But I didn’t care. On the dancefloor you made your moves, pushing closer and closer to me, eventually putting your arms around my waist and we locked lips for what could’ve been a few minutes, more likely an hour.
I took you home and let you do to me whatever you wanted, did to you whatever you wanted, and we pounded away for hours. In the morning I could still feel you, but when I woke properly you were slipping on your shirt and on your way out the door. You turned to me and smiled briefly. I asked you if I’d see you again and cringed in anticipation as I said it. You thought a moment, turned to face me, and said how you were too young for anything serious, that it was a wonderful night, but you weren’t ready for a relationship right now. Then you said, it’s nothing personal, and walked out the door as I watched the phone.