In my 20’s and early 30’s I ran around like a maniac. Fueled by booze, drugs and pussy. I basically lived off cocaine, steroids, pills and alcohol. Sleeping with any woman that presented herself as available for me. I racked up a ton of notches on my belt. I thought I was the fucking man! However, there was a part of me that always wondered why I couldn’t find a “good girl” to settle down with. I would bitch about the chicks I met. Constantly classifying them all as “whores” and “bitches.” Never once looking at my own behavior or realizing that we attract what we put out into the world.
That thinking literally all changed in one instant when I was 27. For the next 6-7 years after I still attracted fucked up women with issues like my own. I just had become cognizant of it. It was like an alarm went off inside of me. More like I was hit square in the head with a 2×4.
I was in Australia, visiting some friends. I met these Aussies a few months prior on a trip to Europe. After spending some time with them I ventured off on my own up to Queensland. I hung out in Surfers Paradise for a couple days. While taking some surfing lessons one day I met a few Canadians. They mentioned a bar crawl that was going on that night in the area. So I put on my tightest shirt and went out looking to find some pussy down under. I was by myself on this guided bar crawl. Everyone was drinking heavily. We all made small talk and got to know each other. I remember these two goofy, little Australian guys who kept talking to me about gangs because I was an American. They repeatedly mentioned the “heaps of Crips” they had down under. Although, not pertinent to the story but Crips in Australia???? Anyway, I ended up breaking away from the bar crawl and went straight to my bread and butter; the strip clubs.
Once inside the strip club I continued drinking. I went about my usual ways chatting up the girls who were working. One brunette in particular took a liking to me. She got a kick out of my accent and my “American ways.” I was a loud, brash, cocky bastard and she was into that. As the night was wrapping up I invited her back to my hotel room. She told me she couldn’t leave with me becasuse That was considered solicitation. If someone saw us we could get fined. She told me to meet her at Macca’s (its what the Australians call McDonald’s) in 45 minutes. Then we could go back to my hotel room.
I wasn’t sure she would actually show up, but I had nothing better to do at 4:30 in the morning, so fuck it, I went. Sure enough she was there. She grabbed a burger and we went back to my place. When we got back to the hotel we headed right to the bedroom to have sex. I don’t recall it being very good. Looking back I knew jackshit about sex at the time. Of course I thought differently.
After we finished we were laying in bed talking. She told me she had to leave to get back to her “partner.” I was a little confused by the term and why she chose that word over and over again. I asked if she had a girlfriend. She then proceeded to tell me “Not exactly; my partner is a tranny and we have 2 kids together.” You may think that was the moment the alarm in my head went off. WRONG!
I started to ask questions about her partner and her life. She told me she was from New Zealand and she had been around transexuals all her life. Her father apparently pimped them. She also casually mentioned that her and her sister had done a porno together. When I say together, I mean together; as in incest!
Out of some sick sense of curiosity I asked if she still had sex with her partner. She told me her partner was beautiful and they still slept together occasionally. The stories just continued to go down hill from there. She said her partner was taking hormones and no longer had testicles. I asked if he had surgery to remove them. Without hesitation she blurted out, “Well he came home one night after a long meth bender and he finally got the courage to ask me to cut them off.” My face dropped. I thought she was kidding. But, with a completely straight face she told me cut off his balls with a box-cutter. Apparently he had to go to the hospital because he almost bled to death!
That’s when it happened. At that very moment I wasn’t even that shocked by the story to be honest. I was more taken back by the realization I came to about myself. It was literally the defining moment in my life when I realized I that I was the problem. All of my crazy relationship issues had one common denominator. ME! it wasn’t the girls, its was me. I brought all of this about because I was fucked up. Its the law of the universe. We attract what we put out there.
The next day I woke up a little hungover. It was a beautiful day so I headed to the beach. My phone went off as I was getting a bite to eat. It was the her. I suppose you can already guess the worst part about this story. Even after what I had learned the night before I still invited her over and fucked her again. Pussy is a powerful drug. Yep; its me not them.