Perfected :: Her Body :: Greek Necessity :: Deep Throats :: Scrolls

Krazy House Girls Once, I got drunk and unbuttoned my black shirtdress all the way down to my waist. Dripping with sweat, my seventeen-year-old breasts barely contained in a plain black bra and gyrating like crazy. Anything goes there because that’s where I grew up. The first time, drunk on pineapple bacardi breezers of all things (I was *sixteen*, people. I never did it again. In fact, I couldn’t eat pineapple for six months afterwards), the smoke and lights were like a psychadelic trip. Everything was fuzzy and chilled, loud rock that verged on metal yelling from the sound system. Nothing like the last club I’d been to (my first) in Brighton, where ABBA serenaded the dancing queens and a pretty girl whose name I never quite caught pulled me to her and kissed me. I lost her in the crowd but my heart still skips a few beats when I think about her. But at the Krazy, androgyny is the name of the game. The men have long hair, the women have whatever, couples couple wherever there’s a spare bit of floor or wall or bench. I pressed my lips to one of my best friends, leaning against the pillar and grinning. No tongues. I caught the flu and couldn’t move for a week afterwards. I never kissed her again, more because the sudden random magic of seeing her sparkle in just that light was a one-off deal. With painted red lips and a black shirt a few sizes too small, I ran my hands through a girl’s tangled curls before being dragged away by the crowd. A couple of times I saw someone who came close to being my first lesbian relationship. Numbers were exchanged, texts randomly sent, and we kissed and groped drunkenly on the dancefloor whenever we met. And now I want to go back. Partly to show off, partly out of perversity. Bring my pretty, shiny girl to the place that formed me far more than the school with its graveyard and chapel and omnipresent crucifixes. Partly because I dare to do more there than I would in Edinburgh, the place where I am ostensibly an adult, the place where I can go home with a charming young man and do the sort of things I would never tell my parents about, the place where I can walk down the street with my Pride buttons and not fear reprisal. I want to do all those things I wanted to do then but hadn’t found the right person. Those things I *started* to do until she had to go and rejoin her boyfriend… I want to see how who I am now compares with who I was then, if there’s room for both of them in my life or if I have to choose. I want her to see who I was, where I come from. It’s a part of me I’m half-reluctant, half-dying to show anyone, but one I want her to see and like. And part of me doesn’t want to go back at all, to that city with its loud, obnoxious denizens and its ugly hospital that I could find my way around blindfolded. Because revisiting it is too painful, and when I order a drink from the bar I will remember ordering something then which scalded my throat and made my eyes water and made me forget for a split second the hell I was living in. And the terrifying confusing thing is, I want her to see that and see me for what I was as well as what I am. Maybe it’s because I have a clearer fix on Then-Kaite than I do on Now-Kaite. I don’t know. ______________________________ we have come so far :: it is over

Accomplishment :: The Moon :: Toga :: Night Flower