WITCHY CHIN.

So there I was a young man .

In the prime of health. I was getting overweight and had greasy skin and pimples on my legs. I was feeding myself on a festering diet of coke, shoplifted candy, Wendys and the occasional Chinese feed* foraged homeless man style from nearby food courts. But I was always walking about and this exercise seemed to stave off any sort of cardiac death that might try to take me out IN MY PRIME.
I worked at Wendys. I lived a block away in the laundry of a group of half intellectual university students. This was the progression from my pissy smelling hole in the tree home. After the first payday I secured myself a place to live for 40 dollars a week in this laundry. I lived between the washer and the drier in a huge mounded nest of moldy smelling clothes I had bought for 2 dollars a garbage bag full from the Salvation army. When it was cold I would burrow deep into the nest, and when it got really really cold, I would just put another old man suit on. I wasn’t allowed in the house nor was I to speak to them unless spoken too. They called me The Troll or that Wendys Guy. I assured them I had a lot of cool things to say and they fobbed* me off in an ultra hip fashion with ” We know – That is why you are not to speak to us”.
What did I know eh – Just a greasy trench coat wearing runaway.
I diddn’t care I had my own thing rolling, cool stuff that they diddnt know about.
One thing they diddnt know about was that I put the drier on and loaded it with some of my clothes pile in the middle of the winter nights. Receiving the double whammy of warmth from the hot strange smelling air that blew out the back of the drier and then the hot clothes that I pulled steaming from the machine. I would put these super heated clothes on for a few minutes of life saving warmpth.
If you ever do this be very carful of the buttons. Those bastards tend to heat up a bit.
This “cool stuff that they diddnt know about” was my Friday nights.
Week days were spent working from 7 till 2 and then playing cards at the university where I would also occasionally shower in the gym chageing rooms.
Many week day afternoons were spent walking up and down Queen street until I knew the crazies and bums by name and until I myself had a name. It was Flaps Down. Given to me by the singer of burgeoning punk based pop band Nothing At All – “Flaps Down” because of this crazy Russian army hat I used to wear all the time with the big ear flaps continually up. It was probably more of a shouted insult than a cool nickname but it worked for me.

When Friday came I would finish work and start with a big Wendys feed and progress to downing a “Big Slam” One liter bottle of Mountain Dew as well as buying another to stash in one of the many inner and hidden pockets of my heavy trench coat. Into the pockets would go a six inch army combat knife, a heavy steel knuckle duster, a 10 inch long lead cosh taped around and around with duct tape, a butterfly knife and a small red vegetable knife that I had sharpened both sides of the blade of to turn it into an instrument of secret stabbing power. I also had a small glass bottle full of petrol but more often than not I left that one at home. Surprisingly at this point in my life I wasn’t doing any drugs…which is just as well probably. My drugs were mountain dew and walking about in my trench coat, furtively peering about about like a lunatic. I would also wear a brown cardigan, army pants and big black army boots that were two sized too big for me, but I stuffed the ends with socks from my clothes pile.

Up Queen Street and along a few side streets and up and along another long street I would stride! Past cafes and night lifers and movie goers and people driving by in cars. I was a kid from a small country town. The very whiff of traffic lights or some one hollering out obscenities as they whizzed past in a car was energizing and intoxicating to me. I would scream back at them and then buzzed from the whole rebelliousness of it would scream out into the night.
I was blazing my own trail man! Making my own way. While other 17 year olds were at home with mummy and daddy making sure they were in bed by 10 for school the next day, I was carving out my own little piss-ant section of existence. No one could tell me what to do. No one would know if I wound up face down in a dumpster. I could yell out and gibber into the night all I wanted.
Wait up… those people are looking at me… head down and keep marching.
I would arrive at the Ponsonby Community center. Most of the time I would see a friend of mine “RA” sprawled out in the bushes or half on the pavement half on the road. He would be absolutely munted* and some foxy young girl would be “taking care of him”. One time he had all sorts of strange waxy green stuff in his hair. I later found out it was melted crayon. Even at such a young age he was an incredibly complex rouge unit. He was also a young punk, only 14 years old – I was 17 and on a mission so I only nodded at his half shouted five eighths garbled incomprehendibilites, before striding inside.
He was doing his school of hard knocks training. I could not interfere.

The inside was a sweaty, crowed room of exploding noise. I would mosh to the frenzied melodies. I would mosh in a special way. With my arms held around my head to protect against blows and smacks, I would keep my eyes on the ground- occasionally diving down to grab a stray dollar coin, condom or bus pass that had flown from a partyier’s open pocket. I could gather from ten to twenty dollars throughout the night this way. I would occasionally find small bags of dope and many lighters which could be given away to older kids for a momentary and fleeting feeling of being appreciated. This feeling was like a little warm 40 watt bulb flickering on in my heart for a few seconds . . .

One night upon staggering exhilarated, bruised and gasping from the hall I saw a tall thin read headed woman eyeing me coldly.
She was in her mid 20s wearing a black leather jacket and rainbow striped tights ending in black Dr Marten Boots.
She had a slightly witchy chin…
Not incredibly pretty, nor wholly terrifying. Definitely a woman. Her long black painted nails drummed upon the wooden railing as she looked me up and down.
I tried to put on an air of experience and cool.
This may have worked… she suddenly smiled and I began to talk.
I don’t know what the hell I was going on about but before long she was leading me down the road to a park. She threw me down on the grass and in seconds I was kissing and fumbling. At one point someone yelled ” Get into it mate!!!” from across the dark and shadowy park.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FUCK OFF PRICK!!” She screamed at him before returning to me.
In the middle of the hot and heavy she leapt from me and said mournfully “Your just going to leave me like all the rest.”
This was followed by an unbelievably pitiful display of promising, pleading and cajoling on my part. I was not suitably conversant with my own hideous and savage male nature and did not know that my own lust, when properly slaked would seek to infiltrate and destroy any sort of sane relationship not based wholly on sex or food, in the search for more and greater amounts of sex and food.

After listening to my beggar worthy appeal she grinned and said “Ok Ill take you home.”
This meant a high probability of sex and thus I was accordingly hypnotized and helpless as I was driven to her place, striped of clothes and demanded to do this and do that now and no that’s too much and yes good but its not enough.

It is not the purpose of the story to provide the reader with a pornographic panorama. The final freaky twist is far too funny to bother with detailing the ability of a completely sex starved 17 year old to get another erection within a minute of spending him self or how it may be possible for said 17 year old to carry on through the night in this fashion, until finally after the 14th time no amount of goading by the red headed succubus could produce anything but a small drip that felt like equal parts knee cartilage and blood and caused the young man to scream out in agony, crawl to the edge of the bed and desperately attempt to unhunch the twitching ball his body had become.

All to The HOLE album Miss World, which played loudly and looped ALL NIGHT LONG.

To this day I cannot hear Courtney Loves voice without shivering.

Awakening form a depletion induced unconsciousness, I saw the woman ( lets call her Witchy Chin ) sprawled naked and oozing half on and half off the stained mattress on the floor that was her bed.

After getting up, silently removing the Hole CD from the player and hiding it under a book I took stock of my surroundings. I had no idea that the squalid, incense, ash and spilt booze soaked flat style living was a sure sign of financial, and moral destitution. Coming from living on a concrete floor with rats running across my face in the middle of the night, I thought she had it made.
The abundance of candles, crystals, sharp knives and animal skulls gave the room a nice pagan look.
The huge hand painted mural on the wall which depicted a gigantic bat winged, naked, red headed woman, holding a bloody knife and one foot raised up on a human skull, surrounded by kneeling black robed figures and headed in Ye olde timey script with “SATANIC BLOOD ANGEL” should have made me think twice about staying … but it thought it FUCKIN RULED.

I had put my penis into the vagina of THE SATANIC BLOOD ANGEL.

I crept down the hallway to the kitchen. I looked at the festering moldy dish filled sink and decided not to get a drink.

A skinny man on the couch said ” Prancing about in your just got laid underpants eh..?”
He had burns in the shape of pentagrams on his arms, a huge tattoo of a goats head on his back and was rolling a cigarette from the butts of the dead cigarettes in the ashtray.

I tried to smile and crept back to the room. Witchy Chin was awake and all smiles and hellos.
I put my clothes on and she took me to work at Wendys.

She was waiting for me when I finished. I was refueled and keen. She took me back to her house and threw me in the shower, complaining that I smelt like fries and burgers.
Back down onto the bed I went where I forced to perform unspeakable acts – the Hole CD had been found and continued to loop …