Oh Boy(s)

The other day my roommate asked me if I was keen to go to a pool party. Without asking for more information I instinctively said yes and transferred some money to the organiser.

Saturday morning, hungover as hell, I realized what I was getting myself into. 250 hippies were waiting at Bondi Junction for shuttle buses to take us to our unknown destination.

We arrived about 1h30 later in the middle of nowhere, in front of this propriety with the inscription: Woodstock. All of a sudden, the Flower Power party took a whole new meaning.

At the end of the trail behind the house lay a huge pool with a Jacuzzi, a pretty elaborate dance floor and a sheltered terrace with a wood oven where the owners of the place sold us scrumptious pizzas for 10$. The boys from 2026 events had done well.

The place was incredible, the music was mind-blowing, the people were beautiful and the sun was shining… There wasn’t one dull moment, not one second was I tired of shaking my bootie on the forever packed dance floor. It even came to the point when around midnight, the DJ had to beg for us to stop dancing because the buses were waiting to take us back to the city. Good times.

What did dampen my spirit though were the boys.

From the crazy Spanish guy, the touchy-feely Belgian, the Brazilian body-builder, the French dude with the tattoos who’s-been-here-for-9-days-but-thinks-he’s-the-most-Australian-of-all, the older-but-knows-he’s-still-sexy Australian, the cute-looking-uptight English boy, to the short and slimy drug-dealer, every phenomenon of the Bondi boy bread was here.

And they bored me to death.

Obnoxious, self-centred, pushy… They’d come to me (and all the other girls) to start a monologue about themselves. The worst was most definitely the French guy. I was having a friendly conversation with the uptight brit (the only one who actually bothered to ask questions about me) when tattoo guy butted in, and started to speak to me in French so that English boy couldn’t be part of the conversation. I could not for the life of me shake him off. So I decided to skull my drink and rush out of his way pretending to get a refill.

Later on I saw brit boy again and since I was actually having a nice time with him, I went over to talk to him again. He was nice. Until he said: “you’re going to be kissing me at the end of the night.”

– no, I won’t

– yes, you will

– no

– yes

– no

– yes.”

Dear lord. No chance in hell that was happening, so I danced away.

Those desperate sleazebags were almost pissing me off, so when some other body-builder came and asked me for a dance I blatantly said “No”.

My roommate thought I was being a mean bitch. Well poor guy hadn’t come at the right moment maybe, but I just couldn’t be bothered to waste more time with soul-sucking bores. He was probably too drunk and high to remember it 5 seconds later anyway.

Night was starting to creep up when another British boy snagged me in the lavatory queue. “I need to talk to you now.” Curious, I let him talk to me about the drama that had been happening in his group of friends and he was trying hard not to get involved in it by talking to me. I had noticed that guy some time ago, he was hanging out with a bunch of gorgeous looking guys and he was pretty damn cute himself.

I’d also seen him dancing with half the people at the party, guys and girls, so for some reason I believed he was gay (It seems I tend to think that half the male population in this country is gay). He was still one of those monologue types but his stories amused me and he was a good dancer so I decided I could stick with him for a little while.

A little while turned into hours, we danced, we drank, he introduced me to everyone we bumped into until I decided I wanted to sit by the pool and he followed me there. Turns out, he wasn’t gay. But even though he was very fit, he was still monologuing. And I had learned from recent experience that a guy who introduces you to his friends doesn’t mean anything. Quite the contrary, in this land, it might mean you’re just another prize.

We did kiss on the bus ride home. He wasn’t monologuing anymore but paying me very cute compliments and went as far as saying: “Don’t make me fall in love with you, I’m an emotional guy.” I wasn’t sure if I should’ve found this romantic or if I should’ve laughed because he hardly knew anything about me. In doubt, I just continued kissing him.

He walked me home, took my number, sent me a goodnight text and another casual text 36h later.

He was doing everything by the book and I could definitely feel a game coming on. And no matter how hot he is, I’m not sure I want to play.

I had a memorable night and maybe it was better to leave it at that?

To be continued…

Or not.

This is Woodstock


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