Life in the House of Domination

I felt a sense of overwhelming power when I finally moved out of Rosie’s and my place.  Finally, I was free from the cats, from the stench, from the yelling and laziness that was Rosie.  I was provided with a large room in Silas and Yasmin’s home, with a double bed, furniture and a walk in robe.  I cooked the evening meal, and looked after the children alot.

It wasn’t as great as I thought it would be.  Silas and Yasmin often had ‘clients’ they took down to the dungeon, and I was seldom invited or allowed to come.  They would come up laughing and talking while I washed up, and I felt like an unpaid servant.

One evening I will never forget.  The children were at their grandparents home, and it was just the 3 of us.  I cooked a lovely meal, and we all were eating happily and sipping a bottle of red.  All of a sudden, Silas flew into a rage, and told Yasmin to undress at the table, then and there.  She sobbed uncontrollably, and I looked on feeling like I wanted the floor to swallow me up.  She begged to stay clothed, until Silas got up calmly from the table and came back with a riding crop.  A few hard whacks to the shoulder and she was soon undressing.  It was the most awful experience for me, I could have killed the bastard.  She sat there, thin, white, and naked, humilated and hurting, made to eat her evening meal.  The rest of the meal was awful.  After the meals were finished, I quickly retreated to the kitchen to leave them to it.  They fought.  He hit her and hit her, while she begged him to stop.  I packed the dishwasher with tears streaming down my face as I felt totally powerless to stop it.  They soon retreated to the master bedroom and everything was peaceful again.

When I went to bed in my own room that night, I had butterflies in my stomach, and I shook uncontrollably as I wondered if moving in here had been a wise move.

The next morning, Yasmin seemed calm and quiet.  I touched her hand and asked if she was ok.  She explained that Silas was often violent, and that their passionate relationship was tinted with wild arguments and that it was nothing to worry about.  She had no bruises that I could see.  I guess if anyone knew how to inflict pain without showing it, it was these people.

About a week later, we all had dinner one night and ended up drinking and laughing in the loungeroom.  Yasmin and I often ‘got it on’ just kissing and light petting type stuff.  She was beautiful and I loved these playful times with her.  Silas would look on deliciously, and this particular evening, he brought up some toys and started to get a bit rough.  Next thing I knew, I was on the floor between Yasmin’s legs, with a bare bottom while Silas whipped me hard.  I did whatever he commanded, and Yasmin looked on helplessly as I performed the sexual acts on her.  Soon though, my skin began to burn and welt, and each hit felt like a thousand beestings.  Soon I began to cry openly and beg him to stop.  He continued, telling me that I had no place here if I couldn’t tolerate his pain.  Finally, collapsing on the floor hysterically crying, he took a drag of his cigarette and stated “If you don’t play, you don’t stay.  Pack your shit, and get the fuck out of my house”.  Yasmin made me hot tea, and comforted me, apologizing and saying that it would be alright.  She offered that maybe if I performed oral sex on Silas he would let me stay.  I told her I would rather die first.

After only a few short weeks after moving in, I was moving out. I called a dancer girlfriend then and there, (it was after midnight) and she groggily agreed to come and get me.  I felt violated, used, hurt and abused.  Most of all, I felt like Yasmin had never really cared for me at all. I had been nothing but a toy to them.

Needless to say that was the end of my bondage career.  I moved into a nice home in the suburbs share accomodation and began to pick of the peices of my shattered self esteem once more.

At this stage in my life, I had 2 male friends, neither I had a sexual relationship with.  Both of them will remain forever in my heart.  Next time I will tell you about them.

My Dark Lifestyle Intensifies…

I waited about 4 months to sleep with Terry.  We saw each other regularly, he called constantly, we went out to dinner, and to the theatre.  I was an avid watcher at his club.  It was great fun.  When we started to sleep together it was wonderful.  Terry was a passionate and giving lover.  He was tender and gentle, nothing like the persona of being a hardcore bondage Master.  However all I ever was was another trophy that Terry had to achieve, and soon after we began sleeping together, the phone calls lessened and he was less available to spend time with me.  I knew that giving him my body, would eventually end ourphysical relationship.  I was hurt, no doubt about it, and couldn’t understand why if we got on so well, and seemed to understand each other, why we couldn’t pursue a relationship.  In all fairness, Terry did tell me right from the beginning that he was happy being single, and had no interest in a commitment to anyone.  Maybe he had been hurt and was bitter.  Maybe he just didn’t like me the same way I liked him.  Who knows.  I can tell you though, we did have a friendship for a couple of years on, and the sexual stuff eventually faded into the background to allow us to have a wonderful easy camaraderie.

I had gone to the ‘other’ club a few times and chatted amicably with Silas and the beautiful Yasmin.  We were all getting on very well.  However nothing prepared me for the shock of them turning up at my work one evening.  I was wearing a purple sequined bikini at the time, and a group of 40 something businessmen had just left my table.  I turned around, and here were Silas and Yasmin, heads together smiling at me like Cheshire cats.  That night, I gave them a show that they would never forget.  I was keen to impress them on my own turf, and I did as many contortionist moves as I could manage.  I couldn’t give a rats about Silas, I was wanting to impress my crush… Yasmin.  My god, it’s hard to convey how absolutely beautiful this woman was.  That night she was wearing red, a gorgeous off the shoulder chiffon dress with the most beautiful feminine red shoes.  After work, they waited up for me, and we all went out dancing together.  It was an amazing time, and little did I know that I was being groomed by them.  I was so innocent, only 20 years old, and all their compliments made me blush.  Soon enough, I was invited over for dinner, and was so shocked at how they lived.  They owned a beautiful 6 bedroom 2 storey home in Templestowe.  It was probably the one of the most beautiful homes I have ever encountered.  Dinner was like something out of a restaurant, and I was also surprised to find that they had 2 young children, 6 and 4 years old.

After dinner, we talked about the club, and how it works.  They explained alot to me.  They explained that inflicting pain, and talking down to someone, being powerful and mean, turned some people on.  Think about it.  If you have a pretty menial job, are told what you do all day by your Boss, and then come home to quite a bossy and demanding husband, you would find it quite sexy and raunchy to say ’shut up and kiss me’.  If you have a day to day lifestyle whereby you have no power, it may make you feel good to feel powerful once in a while sexually.

Now, stop and think of all the millions of people out there, who HAVE power.  The Judges, and Lawyers and Doctors.  Men, who for almost their entire lives, lived lives that are privileged.  They tell their staff what to do, a courtroom what to do, their wives and children what to do.  What a turn on to have someone tell you to suck their toes, or the heel of their shoe.  To have someone smack your bottom like a naughty child or pull your hair and call you names.  To have power removed from you, by someone who is sexy and dominating and makes you horny as hell, is kind of fun.  There are obviously different levels here.  If you check out the Internet, you will find literally thousands of dominatrix sites, whereby women conduct all sorts of painful torture to businessmen and woman(and others of course) who love to lose their ‘control’.  You will find most of them are not prostitutes, and do nothing sexual at all.  I’m sure you would be shocked at just how far some people go to inflict pain on others. 

That very evening, after several bottles of red wine, I was lead down into the ‘dungeon’ and had several things ‘done’ to me.  I experienced lighthearted fun bondage, with 2 people I trusted.  Wax for example, can be misleading.  The rate it cools depends on how far it has to fall before touching skin.  If you hold a candle close to someones body, and allow the wax to drip, it will be hot enough to cause painful blisters.  However, if you hold the candle up high, they will only feel a warm feeling of ectasy.  This can be made very intense by cold champagne. 

Weeks passed, and I was soon a much loved member of the Hardcore Bondage club, wearing sexy outfits, and conducting shocking and amazing shows with my 2 supervisors.  I had a list of ‘requests’ each time, and often the list was so long, I only had a chance to do a few.  It was great fun, and afterwards, when everything was shut down, our team of Bondage Masters would often sit and drink and talk about the evening.

At home, things had started to deteriorate with Rosie and I.  She had become very demanding, and every day there was something else that needed doing for her.  She had funded a nose job, and after she returned from hospital, she seemed to take me for granted and I was being screamed and yelled at at every opportunity.  We had eventually moved into a large house, and months later, I found myself still waiting for her to unpack boxes and clean up after her cats.  I was devastated at our beautiful home being treated so badly, and we often fought about the cat shit and the mess.

It all came to a head one day when I was having friends over for dinner.  I had spent hours preparing a beautiful dinner, and had roasted 2 beautiful chickens to be tossed through a warm blue vein cheese salad and to be eaten Al Fresco on our back patio. I had just finished arranging pink roses on my table decoration when I returned to the kitchen.  To my absolute horror 4 of Rosie’s cats were up on the bench happily devouring my lemon mediterranian chickens.  After screaming at them they finally scattered and I sat on the floor crying, devestated that my entire meal had been ruined.  I had ended up having to buy a couple of Safeway cooked chooks and squeezing lemon juice on them.  A poor and inferior replacement.  The very next day, I rang Yasmin and cried on her shoulder miserably.  She explained that I would be more than welcome to stay with them, if I was interested in doing some housework and looking after the children for free board.  I was delighted.  I told Rosie the next day that it was over.  I had had enough of her demands, her filth and her shitty, starving cats.  I was moving the hell out, and there was nothing she could do to stop me.

My entire life was about to change AGAIN.

 

‘Only the one who brings you pain, can take it away’

My very first hellfire club experience had fascinated me.  My mind was full of questions.  Why did some people enjoy being hurt?  How does being whipped feel?  How do facilitators of pain know when to stop?

As I begin this post, it’s hard to know how much to tell you.  This time was significant in my life, and I want to share with you not only how I became involved in this lifestyle, but what life is like inside the walls of homes with which dominance and submissiveness play the leading roles on a 24 hour basis.  It’s all very complex, and I really can’t go into too much detail without writing a novel, but I will do my best.

My first night at the ‘hardcore’ club (the one I mentioned earlier that made Hellfire look like childsplay) I dressed in much the same way as I did for hellfire.  All in black.  I had a few quiet drinks before Rosie and I once again made a move on our Saturday night out.  I felt much more confident this time, having more of an idea of what to expect, and how confronting it might be there.  I was very excited.

The club was held in a  small pub in an inner city suburb.  By day, you would never even know that this place was there, as we had to move down a small alleyway to find it. Once again, we went through the whole checking of id, and providing our invitation which allowed us to get in free.  However, that’s where the similarities ended.

This place was downright creepy.  The music (unlike hellfire which was hardcore heavy) was Top 40 type stuff.  There were LOTS more people, probably close to a few  hundred.  A wall on one side of the pub was absolutely covered in a large black tarpaulin, which was covered with hooks which held all types of weird looking equipment.

The bar was just a normal pub bar, and the barman a fat man with a long beard, he looked like a biker.  He was also covered in piercings.  People weren’t dressed in normal nightclub clothes.  In my skintight jeans and bodysuit, I was probably the most conservatively dressed person there.

My stomach was twisted in knots as I realized that one man had not only no clothing on AT ALL, but he also had a massive weight dangling from the end of his dick. The woman he was with, both of them looked around 40, had her nipples pierced, and her boobs were joined together tightly with a padlock.  People were walking around with cherry gags in their mouths, some women were topless, some men were bottomless.  I was 20 years old.  I didn’t know where to look.  Finally we reached the bar, and Rosie giggled nervously while I had a Jack Daniels on the rocks with a dash of coke(my favourite drink in those days).  When the warm drink began to penetrate my bloodstream my nerves disappeared and I looked around at the setting of this place.  Unlike hellfire, there were probably half a dozen ‘acts’ going on, all of them different, and ranging in intensity from light to hardcore. The first act was rather like the one at hellfire.  A fat, balding man, strapped to an A-frame like apparatus, being whipped with a cat of nine tails.  He was smiling.  The difference between hellfire and this place, was that he was naked and had a huge erection.  How totally confronting.  The next act was a girl, about my age.  She was on all fours, being led around with a collar on, and a lead by a muscular, good looking man.  She also had a gag in her mouth, and when she stopped to adjust it, he pulled at her roughly.  Weights hung from her pierced small breasts.  The third act was interesting.  A muscular man, with a balaclava on (obviously to protect his identity) lay on his stomach on a bed of red velvet on a massage like table.  Standing above him, was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen (to this day!!).  She had to have been 6 foot tall, wearing the most outrageous red patent leather stilletto shoes, with loads of buckles.  She wore a tiny miniskirt in the same colour and fabric, which hugged her tight, round bottom seductively.  As she bent over, you could see she had matching knickers.  Her top half was covered in a black corset, laced up very tightly, as her waist looked very small, almost unnatural.  Her creamy white breasts peeked out the top.  This woman’s crowning glory was her hair.  It was a bright, natural red, wavy and long, all the same length, down to her bum.  Her face was not heavily made up, just the basics, with eyeliner, mascara and red lipstick.  Her skin was white, almost glowing all over.  I would say she was in her mid 30s.  She was absolutely amazing.  She was using 2 thick white candles to drip burning hot wax onto this man’s back.  Between drips she would bend down and touch the hard layer of wax which was forming her red hair trailing on his sensitive skin.

The fourth act was a woman tied to a H shaped stand.  2 men, one short, one tall were having lots of fun attaching weights to her peircings.  She had everything you can imagaine done, her face, her nipples, her naval, clitoris and labias.  She was groaning in agony, or it may have been bliss, I’m not sure. The fifth act was simply a man.  He was alone.  There were people standing around watching him.  He was sitting in a large birdcage type structure. His hands were tied up with rope, as were his feet.  He had what appeared to be a small plastic nappy type pant on.  Weirder still, he was sucking a dummy.

The last act was one of the strangest.  A man wearing all black, with a moustache and goatee, small in stature, but quite muscular, was concentrating hard on bandaging up a woman like a Mummy.  He had done her head, it was completely covered, only a straw stuck out of her mouth so she could breathe.

This place, was by far the most bizarre and crazy I had ever been.  Why did people do this?  What was so fun about having hot wax poured over you?  Who really enjoyed being whipped until their back was red raw?

Finally, about an hour in, there was a break.  Victims were untied, weights were removed.  People headed to the bar to grab a drink and have a cigarette.  I smoked alot that night.  Before I knew it, 2 of the facilitators came up to the bar talking and laughing.  Rosie approached them confidently, asking if she could speak to the club managers. Two of them stepped forward.  The man who was doing the bandaging, with the moustache and goatee and the red headed woman.  I stood shyly near Rosie as she asked them a few casual questions, and explained where she was from. However, both of them were looking intently at me.  The woman extended her hand.  “Hello, my name is Yasmin, and this is my husband Silas, how are you?”.  I told them that my name was Tyra and that this was my first time here!!  They looked at each other and exchanged a look I couldn’t put my finger on.  Suddenly, Yasmin grabbed my hand in hers and pulled me away, mumbling something about showing me around.  A backward glance at her husband didn’t go unnoticed.  Her had felt smooth and cool in my own. I could smell the shampoo in her hair.  It was so shiny, and healthy looking.  “So, Tyra, what do you think of our little club?”.  I didn’t know what to say.  “It’s ahhh… different!!” I smiled. She laughed.  “It’s much more complex than people think you know, I would be glad to teach you about it sometime.”  As she finished this sentence, I felt warm, gentle hands envelope my waist.  I swivelled in shock, to find Terry from Hellfire, standing there with a lasivious grin. “Hey Beautiful, fancy meeting you here!”.  I laughed nervously, as I watched Yasmin return to her husband.

Terry and I found a nice comfy couch to sit on, and armed with my drink we began to talk.  The first thing I found out, was that he didn’t drink alcohol, or do any kind of drugs.  He was an engineer by day, and was also a Martial Arts instructor.  No wonder he was so fit!  He lived alone, had no children and was single.  He happily explained that he was too busy for a relationship.  He was growing more interesting by the minute, and we sat contently watching the goings on at the club.  We talked and talked until the early hours, by which time I was quite enebriated.  I was shocked when Yasmin approached and pulled me up saying that she wanted to talk to me.  I excused myself from Terry, to talk to her.  She explained that one of the men had requested to be whipped by me!!  As pissed as I was, I told her the truth.  That not only was I a complete novice in this regard, but I would not feel comfortable inflicting pain on anyone!!  She gave me a hug, telling me to come back next time, that she would teach me a few tricks.  I was completely overwhelmed by her beauty and easy nature.

As Rosie had gone home some hours ago, Terry offered to take me home.  I felt safe with him, and as we walked out to his black sedan, I knew that he would never hurt me.  When he asked if I would like to go back to his place for coffee I declined, when in truth, I was keen to shag him senseless.  But, I knew that the thrill was the chase, and if I gave in too soon, it would all be over before I knew it.  When he pulled up outside Rosie’s flat, he got out to open my door for me.  When I got out, he raised my chin and looked me in the eye.  His eyes were green like mine, and I didn’t fight him as he put his mouth on mine and kissed me passionately.  IT. WAS. BLISS.  His mouth was fresh and minty, and I could smell his ‘Joop for Men’ aftershave.  He was so gentle, with not a touch of urgency.  He nonchalantly handed me his business card, before mentioning he would be at Hellfire the following weekend, if I wanted to watch him in action.  Afterwards we could have a bite to eat maybe?  I shrugged, and explained that I didn’t know what shifts I would be working, and that I would have to get back to him.  As he walked to the drivers side, he said he would put my name on the door for free entry anyway.  As I watched the black sedan slowly pull out and disapear down the street, I felt so happy.  I felt sexy.  I wanted this man badly.  I was also completely enthralled with my new friend Yasmin and her strange club.  I worked out the hours in my head until I would next see Terry.  I think I had a crush, or maybe two.

 

Pleasure and Pain

The old Divinals song “A fine line between pleasure and pain” is amazingly accurate.

Rosie told me that the club “Hellfire” didn’t open until late, and as she was driving, luckily I would be able to have few glasses of red wine before we left to ‘loosen me up a bit’.  It took me ages to get ready, as I didn’t really know what one would wear to a bondage club.  I wasn’t sure what to expect really.  Whips, chains, loud music??  Not sure.  I ended up wearing skin tight black jeans to accentuate my small waist and round arse and longish legs.  I wore an off the shouder black bodysuit with it, with a satin black waistcoat and silver studded belt.  My hair was pulled up at the back, with red tendrils hanging around my face.  I wore black glass beads at my neck with matching studs.  I had catlike makeup, including dramatic eyeliner and simple lipgloss on my lips.  I doused myself in Rosie’s Coco Chanel perfume.  I felt good.

Rosie cooked that night, a beautiful italian pasta for tea, and after eating that and drinking a bottle of red, I was keen to experience a night out and learn something different about how the other half lived.  Rosie told me to keep quiet, and to keep an open mind.

It took us about 50 minutes to drive there and find a park.  I could see bouncers at the front door in black T-shirts, checking ID.  I felt butterflies in my stomach.  I felt nervous.  Who would I meet?  Did I look ok?

Rosie and I approached the door and she gave one of the men an opened envelope.  He opened the envelope nonchalantly chewing his gum and showed his partner on the door.  They both nodded and said “Welcome to Hellfire Ladies”.  Rose and I walked through a long dark hallway, and I could hear the pounding of the base through the walls.  We walked through a single door and discovered a small discreet room.  The floor was checkered black and white, like an Edwardian kitchen, and I couldn’t see very well, as there was alot of dry ice.  I could smell cigarette smoke, booze, and drugs.  The bar was lit up like fireworks, with sexy men in black fishnet shirts throwing bottles to each other and pouring fancy martini’s.  There were alot of people there.  Most of them were in one spot, crowded around some sort of show happening in a darkened corner.  Rosie yelled over the loud hardcore heavy metal music “Come on Ty, let me buy you a couple of shots to loosen you up a bit”.  Wide eyed, I sculled the 2 cocksucking cowboys, looking around at the way people were dressed, and watching the crowd grow thicker in that corner.  Curiosity got the better of me, and I told Rosie that I just had to go over to the corner and see what was going on.

When we approched, I couldn’t see a thing.  The crowd was too thick.  Rosie, in her black trenchcoat and forboding persona quietly pushed past the crowd.  We soon stood right at the front and I stood in awe, quite amazed at the scene before me.

There was a chubby woman, with just a black g-string on and ballet flats strapped with leather belts onto an A frame, artist style easel.  Her head hung submissively, and I couldn’t see her face.  Her back was red, and behind her was the most beautiful specimen of a man.  He was wearing black PVC shiny long pants, with big leather boots.  Around his waist he wore a studded belt, and on his torso a net black shirt, which showed a muscular physique.  On top of this, were 2 leather belts, in a criss cross patterned laced up over his shoulders, like a cross.  He was completely bald, and wore Mr Magoo style glasses that were clear rather than coke bottle but round and old fashioned.  He held a cat of nine tails whip, and in time to the music, he moved his hips and carressed this womans sore back.  I could see her writhing in pain, and he whispered sweet nothings in her ear as she nodded.  He smiled and didn’t take his eyes off her as a ‘helper’ from the back handed him bottled water.  I watched in awe.  He was sooo fit!  His body was gorgeous. Suddenly, he went from drinking from the bottle to laying into this girl with his whip!~ She whimpered.  He smiled.  He walked around a little, before picking up a ping pong bat like paddle.  He caressed her butt cheeks.  Stroked them affectionately. Then all of a sudden ‘BANG’ he laid into her with the paddle.  The crowd looked on amazed.  Finally, after about 20 minutes of this Mr Pain undid the bindings that held his victim and she hugged him affectionately!!  Wow, I thought, she must actually like that sick shit!!

Mr pain took on several more submissive women that night, I wasn’t sure whether it was all staged, or whether they were crowd members.  I did know one thing though.  I was turned on.  And I was mesmerized!!  We stayed until very late, around 3am, and finally, Rose introduced herself to Mr Pain and he shook her hand.  It was official.  Though not babyface attractive, his cool persona and expertise with whip made me think!  Rose introduced me and we made eye contact.  His name was Terry, and he smelt soooo good!  He explained that Hellfire was a fetish club, and that all the whipping as such was just for show, and no real pain was inflicted.

When Terry went back to the stage, he took my hand and kissed it.  ‘It was a pleasure to meet you Tyra, I hope we see each other again soon’.  By this time I was a little enebriated, and smiled dumbly as he returned to his work.

Little did I know that from that night onwards, Terry had me in his sights.  I was going to be his next innocent victim.

My Friend Rosie

I was so excited to be moving out of my Uncles’ place, that I never really entirely thought through moving in with Rosie.  Rosie was Italian and fat, and lazy as sin.  She also loved cats.  The day I moved my stuff in I was so glad to be free of my Uncle’s strict rules, but kind of disappointed at what Rosies was really like.  The first thing that hit you was the smell.  Six cats and 2 litter trays, you can only imagine the stench.  The apartment was small, only 3 tiny bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom and tiny lounge.   Cats are very clean animals, and when you can’t continuously keep their litter tray clean, they will find another spot to poo in.  Like the shower, or bath.  Gross.  I spent many a day picking up cat shit while dry retching!!  I was to also discover that Rosie was a hoarder, and had pile after pile of magazines stacked in every room, some of them reeked of cat urine.

There were also other filthy habits that Rosie had.  She had long, dark curly hair, and each time she had a shower, she would leave wads of hair blocking up the plughole and I would have to lean down and fish it out before I showered.  She never cooked a meal.  She mainly lived on take-away, and I cooked at night.  The first few weeks I spent my days cleaning. I would work my 12 hour shift, cab it home, and then sleep until about 11am.  I would then get the rubber gloves on and clean.  I scrubbed floors, threw out rubbish and removed cobwebs.  Sugarsoap and I became very good friends.

St Albans is NOT the greatest place to live in Victoria, it is full of drugs, and crime, and theft.  I discovered this from the locals who would smile lasiviously at me as they rode past on their pushbikes.  I once hung out all my white, brand new lingerie on the verandah on the clothes horse.  Over $100 worth.  It was gone within an hour.  Bastards. I was devestated! Poor little naive Tyra!  I never did it again!!

I soon developed quite a social life, and organized to have Sunday nights off.  They weren’t a big money spinner, and I was getting exhausted with the long hours at work.  On Sundays, Rosie would take me out.  Often it was to a newly opened club that she was promoting, and I would feel like royalty getting chauffeured around, being led through the velvet ropes like some sort of VIP.  Rosie had alot of connections, and I was introduced to many of Melbourne’s socialites of the time.  There were often drugs….. you could smell them, some with a musky scent some with a chemical smell.  Often the parties we frequented would have waiters passing around pills like horderves.  My answer to the offers was always the same.  NO THANKS.  In my entire lifetime I have never touched hard drugs and never will.  The prospect of being abused, unconsious, out of control or hallucinating in a  bad way didn’t ever appeal to me.  I would often get pissed, but knew that I was in control of my drinking, and could stop if I started to feel unwell or unsafe.

One evening, Rosie told me we were going to a new bondage club that had just freshly opened in Melbourne in a few weeks time.  It was said to make “Hellfire look like childsplay”.  What on earth was hellfire?  Hellfire was probably the most well known and popular S&M club in Melbourne at the time.  Before I checked out the ‘hardcore’ stuff, I better check out this hellfire first.  Rosie found out all the details and we penciled it in for the following Saturday night.  I was so excited!  My first bondage club experience!! What was I going to wear??

My Transformation…

The statuesque redhead swung expertly around the silver pole. Her perky breasts glistening with sweat, her muscular torso contorted and strong as she dances seductively.   Sequins on her tiny bikini sparkle with each swivel.  Wads of dollar bills stick out of a white garter glittering with red hearts.  Sparkling silver stilettos defy gravity as she expertly collects money from her hypnotised patrons.  Her lips ruby red and eyes lusciously large and green, she whispers sweet nothings into a client’s ear, her long red nails shiny and perfect.  Waist length red curls soften her face and fall down her curved sensuous back.

I am of course describing myself. My life had changed dramatically in the months that followed my initial interview with Richard.  Shy Tyra who wore conservative long skirts and high necked tops had become a goddess of the table top dancing club.  I was so happy.  My first night was ok.  I was exhausted afterwards, as a 12 hour shift sure did take it out of you!  The next day I was in agony!  All that stretching of body parts and dancing all night was a painful experience when your body wasn’t used to it!  I soon adjusted though, and any fat that was on my body was soon melted off by the strenuous dancing.

Just like in the movies, I had my own dressing room shared with all the other girls.  There were 3 or 4 girls whom I will never ever forget.  They were beautiful beyond words.  One was Beth.  My oh my was this woman beautiful!  She was a large girl, I would say a size 14. She had the face of an angel, and she was so popular, she would come into work only 2 nights a week, every few weeks, Friday and Saturday, and work only until 2am, unlike the rest of us.  When she was in the house, men lined up around the block to see her.  She had long blonde wavy hair and the most beautiful face you would  ever see.  A peaches and cream complexion and the most beautiful sapphire coloured eyes.  Long dark eyelashes and pink shiny lips.  The first time I saw her, I was completely blown away.  She didn’t dance like the other girls.  She just sat, in the middle of a table, whilst men of all ages, shapes and sizes pushed and shoved with dollar bills in their hands to get a glimpse of this goddess named Beth.  Her routine was simple… but very effective.  I cannot even imagine how lucrative this event was to her.  With a wreath of fresh roses propped on her blond curls like an angel, pink fingernails and toenails and barefoot she would simply sit, lady like, with her smooth tanned legs placed femininely, as if sitting on the grass at a picnic - she would cast a magic spell that no man could resist.  She wore a fairy like skirt of tulle and taffeta in baby blues and pinks full of glitter and sparkles and satin.  The skirt covered her plump bottom and legs.  Her top half was clothed in a white feathery bra, like an angel would wear in heaven.  She would look at a man and hypnotise him with her beauty.  He would sit, like in a trance and be seduced, as she moved rhythmically to the music, throwing her hair over him to form a secret place that only the 2 of them could experience.  She would look into his eyes like a amorous lover, as she slowly, painstakingly removed her top, and bra, to reveal her creamy large breasts, with the soft raspberry nipples hard and waiting.  The finale would be to remove her tiny g-string for a sacred glimpse of the secret rose between her legs.  Only 1 man would see at a time.  It was very secductive, like revealing an ancient tomb or magic button.  Men would watch this unfold, hoping, wishing that they could be the next customer before she disappeared out the back with bodyguards in tow.  I recall many evenings when she would simply sit while men showered her with money.  I don’t know how many men were lucky enough to be enveloped by Beth’s seductive powers.  Sadly, and rather tragically, she died in a car accident in Italy many years ago, only 12 months after I started working at Santa Fe Gold.  The press reported the accident describing her as a ‘professional dancer’ in a well known Ballet studio.  She was a big girl, I’m not sure how she would have been a ballerina, but maybe there was some skill behind all her moves!

The girls really varied.  There were lots of size 10 girls with small boobs and pretty faces, and then there were the big breasted girls with junk in the trunk.  There were girls like me, with average bodies but pretty faces, and girls with amazing bodies who were quite plain to look at.

I know that for myself, my long, red, curly hair extensions, weekly facials, long manicured nails, make-up techniques and fake tan, all helped me to keep my appearance pretty much perfect.  I also had montly waxing to keep my body hairless.

Contrary to popular belief, strippers aren’t whores, and they aren’t prostitutes.  They are Mothers, teachers, Uni Students, waitresses, shop assistants and every other career person you can think of.  Dancing was a normal job just like any other.  You worked, earned your money, and went home.  Afterwards, we would often get together with the bar staff and we would all head off to a neighboring nightclub to let loose.  Dance, drink and have a good time, before heading home.  We all became quite well known, and rarely waited in a queue or paid an entry fee.  We were like bait, and when people knew the Santa Fe staff were at a particular club, the velvet rope had a large line up.

When I was stripping, in 1994, table top dancing was very, very popular, and the money was almost unreal.  I would often count my earnings, and be shocked to discover that I had made $3000-$5000 in a night.  Many men had money to spend, and would stuff $50 notes into your garter if you were their favourite.  I also established loads of ‘regulars’ who would come week in, and week out to watch me, and only me dance and perform.  Back then, my self esteem soared to record heights.  I would be told regularly that I was the most beautiful woman they had ever seen, that I was a godess, a hornbag, and many other flattering comments.  I once was offered a starring role in a pornographic movie, and was often given business cards to ‘call him later’.  Each night a massive wad of business cards that had been stuffed into our garters with a wink were promptly put in the bin.  It was amazing though how many attractive delicious men came to strip clubs.  I was a shocking flirt, and would often wink and prick tease.  That was what kept them coming back week after week.  I heard many ‘I love you’s and had lots of marriage proposals.  The succulent environment, alcohol, good lighting, make up and all the other tricks we had were hard to resisit, and it was easy to blur fantasy and reality for our customers.  It was not uncommon to have flowers and notes waiting in the dressing room when you arrived for your shift.  It was a real buzz.

I had no competition with my sister.  I felt beautiful.  For maybe the first time ever, I felt like a an attractive woman.

I’m not sure how, but I always spent all the money I made.  I look back now and think about how much money I could have put in the bank, and the massive desposit I may have had for my first home, but I was too busy spending it on clothes, costumes and myself.  Having struggled financially growing up, it was time to spend without much thought.  I was here for a good time not a long time, life was good, and I was going to make the most of it.

Now I had some money up my sleeve it was time to move out of my Uncles’ and get my own place.  It all happened so perfectly.  One evening at work, I met a dancers friend by the name of Rosie.  Rosie was a fat, italian woman who was well dressed and kind.  She would come to the club to see all the girls each week, and catch up on the latest.  She worked in promotions, and wrote promos for local clubs and shows.  When I was introduced to her we got on really well, and when I explained I was looking for her  place to live, she told me that I was more than welcome to live with her in St Albans.  I was so excited!!  Finally, in Melbourne, I was out on my own, away from my Uncle’s annoying habits and yappy dogs.  Living my own life, a life that was so full of adventure!

Excitedly, I went home to pack.

Gypsy……Rose…….Lee! My Stripping Job!

The morning of my interview I smoked alot.  I sat on my Uncle’s back verandah and I smoked one cigarette after another.  What was I doing?  Was a stripper like a prostitute?  Would men get to touch me?  Just how much would I have to take off?  How would I get paid?  Would I make enough money to move out? Were they long hours?  Could I drink on the job?  Would the girls be nice to me?

I washed my curly hair, shaved my underarms, legs and bikini line and applied liberal amounts of body butter.  After faffing around with my hair and makeup  I chose an  ankle length floral green dress with no bra (my boobs were so perky and lovely back then!!) with a cross over back.  My olive skin was lovely, and it showed off the curve of my back, my hourglass figure and my nice boobs without revealing everything.

I said goodbye to my  Uncle, packed my handbag and got on the train for an hour long trip to the club.  It was mid afternoon, about 3pm.  When I arrived at the train station in the city I followed the directions the receptionist had given me and looked around me.  Everyone was so busy!  Businessmen rushing to their next appointment, well dressed ladies checking their watches as they drank coffees at roadside cafes.  I could smell freshly brewed coffee  and bread baking.  My senses were overwhelmed as I walked along the busy melbourne street, taking in the city scape.

Finally I reached my destination. “The Men’s Gallery”.  It was a very large brick building, quite forboding.  As I walked across the road I noticed a girl who appeared to be a painter entering the building.  She was wearing a pair of tight jeans, and a paint stained sloppy blouse that looked quite a few sizes too big.  She wore no makeup and her long dark hair was in a plait.  I opened a large heavy door to enter a small carpeted lobby.  I shyly shut the door behind me, feeling like I had no place here, and not knowing what to expect. I noticed the girl with the plait was leaning nonchalantly against the high topped counter chatting with a well dressed woman who was obviously taking money at the door.   They exchanged a few words and I wondered if they were friends as they laughed at a private joke.  Plait girl then flipped her large sports bag over her shoulder and disapeared through a single door that appeared to lead to a steep staircase.  I approached the counter and took in the woman behind the desk.  She was tall, statuesque, with a small chigon in her dark brown hair.  She had a turqoise scarf around her neck and was wearing a low cut black top which showed off her satin, ample bosom.  She smiled at me, and asked “What can I do for you, are you here to see Richard?”  I noticed her perfect white, straight teeth and I had to think quickly to answer her….. “Oh, ah, yes. I have an interview at 3.30″.  “No problem, take a seat”.  I turned around to find there were several red velvet loungechairs and a coffee table.  The table had several standard fashion magazines.  I sat nerously as a group of well dressed men in business suits entered the lobby.  Miss Chigon smiled warmly to greet them.  “Good afternoon gentlemen, that will be $25 please”.  The men paid and entered two black shiny doors.  I could see only darkness on the other side, and I was aching with curiosity.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity (about 20 minutes), a well dressed man in his early 50s entered the room.  “Tyra is it?” he stated, “follow me please”.  I entered yet another door and followed ‘Richard’ down a long hallway into a large office.  He closed the door behind him and started to fill out paperwork behind his desk while motioning me to take a seat.  He asked some pretty standard questions, height, weight, had I done this kind of work before?  He then said that he needed a photo of me in my underwear.  God help me, I had no bloody bra on!!  I blurted this out, and he said that was no problem, to just turn around and put my hands over my breasts. I then turned around and he snapped a quick photo with a polaroid camera and attached it to my file. The final statement was “You can start on tomorrow night shift, it’s 12 hours from 5pm to 5am, Welcome aboard”.  He also told me that they used ‘play money’ which the men buy at the door, from the waitresses or from behind the bar.  You could also use cash, however the play money lasted much longer as they were dollar notes.  10% of my takings would be paid to the club and the rest was my own.  I had 6 shifts a week of 12 hours.  I would be provided with 2 ‘tokens’ which would pay for 2 standard drinks a shift.  I could buy more if I wanted, however it wasn’t advisable to be drunk on the job, as this would be instant dismissal.  He told me that ‘Sunny Mckay’ was in today (I later discovered she was a famous pornstar of the time) and that if I was happy to stay for an hour, she would ‘train’ me.  I told Richard that that would be fine.  A quick handshake, and I was shown back to the velvet red couches.  Richard whispered to Miss Chigon who made a quick phonecall.   Within moments a medium height, blonde, seemingly quite plain girl dressed in jeans and bodysuit with a black leather jacket with glasses and a long plait came to ‘collect’ me.  I was also joined by another young girl like myself who looked just as nervous and overwhelmed as I was.  “Hi girls, I’m Sunny, please come this way”.  Finally.  She lead us through the big shiny black doors that the men had entered sometime ago.  As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I took in the scene before me.  The first thing that grabbed me was the smell.  It was a mixture of expensive perfume, aftershave, cigarette smoke and the undertone of a bar or pub.  The carpet was maroon in colour and thick and luxurious.  Large tables were spread throughout the club  with a sophisticated looking bar and a goodlooking young barman polishing glasses whilst chatting to customers.  There she was, the girl with the plait and the paint spattered shirt.  She was wearing red lingerie and a bright sparkling garter with a massive wad of the ‘play money’ as well as a $50 note stuck out of her garter.  Her long hair was out, curly and tumbling over her feminine shoulders.  She was writhing and her hips were swaying in time to the music. She spun and twirled as 2 men seated at her table watched in awe as she expertly flicked her hair around and looked at them seductively.  Her makeup was immaculate, and she wore diamond earings at her ears and a gorgeous black ribbon choker.  I also took in several other girls, all with long legs, perfect breasts and faces of angels.  One was spinning around a silver pole impressively in a pair of 7 inch patent leather stillettos.  Wow…. I was way out of my leauge here.  Sunny marched through the tables and up another set of stairs.  Finally we appeared to be on the top floor of the club.  It was empty.  It was amazing.  There was a massive long stage with silver poles at each end.  On the other side of the room there were several rooms with clear perspex walls.   Sunny sat down on the stage and asked us to join her.  For the first hour we just talked.  She explained all the rules.  No touching by clients, not at ALL.  Money (tips) MUST be placed in the garter at all times.  No money is to be tucked into bras or knickers, it was too dangerous, giving clients an opportunity to grope and grab.  NOT ideal.  Drinking was ok, however it was not advisable to be heavily intoxicated.  There was a full dressing room and showers provided for after your shift.  Bitchiness amongst the girls was common and we were told to keep to ourselves at first as to not cause dramas.  Our shift would involve a roster, 20 minutes on, 20 minutes off.  So, 20 minutes dancing on the tables, then 20 minutes break. Our breaks were ours to do what we wanted, we could sit out the back and rest, mingle with the crowd and meet prospective clients, play a game of pool or make more money doing ‘personal dances’.   In our break we could do ‘private dances’ which for a fee of $20 we could take a client into our ‘personal’ rooms and do a private strip for him alone.  No ‘bump and grind’ was allowed(rubbing your body onto the client’s crotch).  It was strictly a no touching policy, however a client could hold onto our hips if we were comfortable with it.  Most girls started their shifts in a dress or top and skirt.  Each tip would provide an item of clothing being removed, until right down to nothing.  All clothing was to be placed safely in the middle of our table. Your G-string could be wrapped around your wrist, as often men would take them.  We would then do ‘open leg’ which involved opening our legs wide so the client would get a good view of what is between them.  Admittedly, this threw me a bit.  A security guard was present at all times watching a group of 2-3 girls, so if there was ever a safety issue, it would just be a case of putting your arm up to signify you needed help, that is if he wasn’t automatically at your side.

After my introduction with Sunny I decided I had to go shopping.  I went and purchased a silver satin nightgown and white lingerie, a g-string and bra.  I then went to a speciality lingerie shop and bought myself 2 lacey white garters, for brides!  I noticed that the dancers in the club all had beautiful nails as well, and I would have to track down someone to make my nailbitten hands more attractive. My daggy old shoes would have to do, but a shoe shop was also in order.  I had alot to do, and no money to do it.  I just hoped my first shift the following day would be all I thought it would be.  I was so nervous, but more so excited!!  My first shift would be at the owners other sister club ‘Santa Fe Gold’.

All I had to do now was think of a ’stage name’ if  I could just survive my first shift.

A Fresh Start

As I hugged my Mother and sister tightly and climbed aboard the plane, I felt like I had been given a reprieve.  I had a fresh start, a clean break.  I will filled with a sense of adventure.  I had been born in Victoria, and even though I had visited once when I was 13, I had never been.  I was 20 years old, and I sat on that plane, with my handbag, my small suitcase and beauty carry on, and smiled.  I must have looked good!  I was dressed appropriately in jeans, top and jacket, with a pair of plain, modest heels.  To an outsider, I was a young, attractive woman maybe visiting friends or travelling for work.  Not escaping from a broken heart and a hurt filled past.

When I arrived, my Uncle met me at the airport with a big hug, and many apologies for what I had recently been going through.  He said that he had a wonderful roast dinner prepared, and we chatted amicably on the hour long drive home to his place.  I was amazed by how cold it was in Melbourne, and realized that I had very few winter clothes, other than a daggy tracksuit, a couple of pairs of jeans, and a denim jacket and woolen jumper.  I was living on the dole, and the meagre amount of money they provided was hardly enough to pay for my way with my Uncle, let alone buy myself a new wardrobe.

His house was a normal surburban home, with a basic garden and 1980s decor.  He was a long time bachelor, his wife had left him many years prior and he had never remarried, happy to live alone for the rest of his life.  Well, he did have 2 little dogs,his pride and joy.  As I was lead into the house I was overcome with exhaustion, and he showed me the basics of the bathroom, toilet, kitchen and where I would be sleeping.  I was fascinated to discover that he had a 12 person spa bath, heated…. oh what bliss that would be after a long day!  My room was small and modest, with a cupboard and chest of drawers for my meagre belongings and a small double bed spread with a multicoloured crocheted blanket.  I was told that I would be expected to help with the chores, including making my bed each day, and vacuuming, mopping and packing the dishwasher when it was my turn.  My room smelt faintly of mothballs, but by the time my things were all set out and organized the smell had dissipated and it smelt like my space, all impulse and incense.

The next day I went down and got the local paper to check out what jobs were out there.  I really needed a job if I wanted to eventually move out of Uncle Keith’s, and if I wanted some warm clothes!  There were millions of jobs.  Cooks, working in cafes, bars, waitressing, supermarkets, and retail.  None of them really sounded great. nally I came across a job that REALLY appealed to me.  I had fantasised about marriage since I was a small child, and this job was working in one of Melbourne’s top bridal boutiques.  Bliss.  Dressed in my finest interview clothes, my resume’ in hand, I caught the train from my Uncles into the city.  I gave myself a few hours to find the place, as I didn’t want to be late, and wanted time to look around the city.

Never in my life had I seen so many people!  I walked slowly and deliberately, looking all around me.  There were people eating breakfast on the run, people chatting on mobile phones(this was the early 90s when they weren’t as common as they are now!), people dressed oddly in big heels and skintight jeans.  There was so much noise, and traffic and hustle and bustle. I had never in my life experienced anything like it.  It took forever to find the bridal boutique, and by the time I found it I was not as well turned out as when I had left the house.  My clothes were creased from sitting on the train, and though I touched up my lipstick at a public toilet, my eye-makeup was somewhat smudged.  I tried to slick back my frizzy hair and sat waiting in  a large carpeted room with other well dressed hopefuls in the reception area of the bridal business.  When a 6 foot tall woman with slicked back dark hair in a cream knee length tailored suit called my name I nearly peed myself with nerves.

Not surprisingly I was way out of my league, with the first question being what my experience was in the bridal industry.  I ate a big fat hot-dog with cheese afterward and walked back to the train station, knowing instinctively I didn’t have the job.  They called a few days later with the news that I had been unsuccessful.

I needed a job and I needed one fast.  Living with my Uncle was fine, but I could not bare the thought of living there permanently, and desperately needed some money so I could be more independent.  The following week, I saw an interesting advert in the city paper.  The advert read:

“WANTED, EXOTIC DANCERS FOR INNER CITY CLUB.  NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY, FULL TRAINING PROVIDED.  MAKE $2000-$5000 A WEEK.  CALL ……………….. FOR AN INTERVIEW”

Hey, a house of burlesque like Gypsy Rose Lee?  I was slim, I was pretty, I loved dancing, I could make some serious money and buy a red corvette and for the first time everNOT worry about money!  I circled the ad in red texta and dialled the number.

My Suicide Attempt and the Aftermath

My mother has tried to kill herself so many times.  She has layers of scars from her constant attempts over the years.  I always wondered why she continued the same technique time after time after it was proved again and again unsuccessful.  Did she really want to die?  No.  She wanted attention.  She felt alone, and unloved and uncared for, and she wanted to be noticed again. The technique she used was the most graphic, the most shocking.  Exactly what she wanted.  I recall one time when I was with Peter.  She called me, at 1am to say ‘goodbye’.  She called everyone in her address book.  Family, friends, townsfolk, acquaintances.

Peter drove me, (I was hysterical) over to Mum’s over an hour away.  When we arrived there was an ambulance, police car and a myriad of other vehicles cramming the rural driveway.  I staggered in the doorway with Peter close behind.  Here was Mum, sitting at the dining room table, paralytic drunk with people all around her.  “Oh, people DID see to come to see if I was alright!!” she slurred.  Peter was livid.  This has happened many, many times with my Mother. 

The night I made the decision to kill myself I didn’t think things through very well.  I knew that I wasn’t going to slit my wrists like my Mother.  It was way too gory, and I hated blood.  I also hated pain.  So the most painless way was to take an overdose of something.  My problem was, that neither my landlord, or myself were drug takers, prescription, or otherwise.  So, when I raided the cupboards, hysterical and determined my search was fruitless.  I ended up with a full packet of paracetamol, a bottle of multivitamins and codliver oil.  Laughable really.  I took them though.   I took them all.  If it had been sleeping pills, I wouldn’t be here telling this story.   The amount of panadol I took was enough to harm me, however it didn’t.  I know now, there are many other combinations of drugs and alcohol, alcohol on it’s own, and certain medicines in liquid form that are highly toxic and would allow death to come within hours.  Ironically, now I have the knowledge, I have no motivation to kill myself, and have never again attempted suicide.

After I took my concoction of pills, I crawled under my bed to die.  I thought about hopping into the bath, just in-case I leaked bodily fluids and made a mess, but in the end I was just too distraught to move.  I called my best friend and told her what I had done, suddenly regretful and frightened of death.  She of course called an ambulance.  When the ambulance came I hid under the bed like a naughty child and ignored the urgent knocks on the door and the flashlight being shone into the locked house.  Fuck em’ all.  I wanted to die.  I did.  Since the ambos aren’t legally allowed to break into a house, they soon gave up and left.

After several hours, I finally got sleepy, and as I closed my eyes waiting for death, I had no idea that the following morning I would still be alive, and my attempt to end it all would have failed dismally.

The next morning I opened my swollen eyes.  Shit, I was still alive.  I was pissed off.  I just didn’t think I had the courage to try again.  My best friend arrived and spent the day with me.  My Mum came and picked up my few meagre belongings and took me home.  The poor landlord, it was a drama she could have done without.  I never saw her again.

Mum’s first port of call was to book me in with a Counsellor.  I talked to this lady for sometime, and she was incredible.  She gave me techniques to help me deal the grief and loss of my relationship, and explained that the obsessive behaviour I was exhibiting was in fact quite common, and didn’t mean I had any sort of mental illness.  She went on to say that in the circumstances, with my suicide attempt, and the loss of my relationship that it would be in my best interest to leave the area and move.  It was true.  Everywhere I went was a memory of him.  Restaurants we dined at together.  His home.  The places we shopped, nightclubs and hot-spots we frequented as a couple.  I needed a fresh start, to get away from my old haunts.

Mum and I discussed it in length, and she agreed with the counsellor.  Even a temporary trip away, to allow me to recover and heal.  If I was that miserable I could always come home. She called her brother who lives alone in Melbourne, (I had spent my entire life in QLD, though born in Victoria) and asked if I could stay with him for a short time, and if I enjoyed it there, I could eventually move out and get a job.  He agreed.  He is a lovely man, and really felt sorry for me.  I packed my clothes and knick knacks into a couple of suitcases and Mum bought me a one way ticket to Melbourne.

I felt scared.  I felt lonely.  I felt vulnerable.  Most of all, I felt excited.  Excited at what my future had in store for me.  I was healthy, I was alive, I was slim and beautiful and a kind, sweet person.  The world was my oyster.  Half the battle for me was believing it.

As I waved goodbye to my Mum and sister on the plane to Victoria I had no idea that I was about experience the most wild and exciting times of my entire life.

A Bowl of Cherries or Doomed from the Start?

The following morning, Peter knocked shyly on my door, with red rimmed eyes and an embarrassed expression. “Don’t you just hate it when you wake up and can’t remember what you did the night before?”, he asked.  I replied “I remember every moment Peter, and I don’t regret a second of it”.  From that day on, we just sort of became a couple.  I slept in my own room still, and snuck into his bedroom while the others were all asleep, and we would make love and talk for hours and hours about life, music and family.  Soon, it was apparent to everyone that we were together, so I stopped the facade and moved into his room.

As in love as we were, nobody appeared too thrilled with the arrangement.  My Mother in particular didn’t like Peter and wasn’t backward in coming forward with what she thought.  She often told him that our star signs clashed (He was a Leo, I’m an Aquarius), and I will never forget her downright telling him that we were certainly not well suited.  She felt that he was using me.  The evening ended traumatically, with me screaming while Peter drove home from Mum’s house mad as a cut snake and ready to kill someone.

Peter was from a Maltese family, and his family liked me just about as much as Mum liked him.  His parents were always very polite, but there was never any warmth or friendliness when I saw them.  We would go and have dinner over there, but I loathed it,  as I always felt dreadfully uncomfortable.  His sister Marlene hated my guts with a vengeance.  She was very attractive, newly married and up herself to boot.  She was rude to me on numerous occasions, and this also made things hard on me, as her husband was Peter’s best mate.

As a 19 year old, Peter’s family’s acceptance of me was really important, but it seemed the harder I tried to please them, the more they hated me.  They thought I was a slut, and cheap, and that I was ‘using’ Peter for his money.  As much as we tried to prove to them that we were built to last, they dug the heels in the little bit deeper to never accept us as a couple. 

I will never forget one showdown with Marlene.  She was very prim and proper, and was a ‘business suit’ kind of girl.  One day, after several drinks at a family gathering, she proceeded to shout at Peter from the top of her lungs “I can see you have absolutely NO taste in women Peter, I mean, we all know that only SLUTS wear anklets!! (I was wearing a handmade beaded anklet my sister gave me).  Peter promptly told her to get fucked as he dragged his hysterical, screaming girlfriend to the car with the whole family watched in awe.  I recall tearing the anklet from my ankle and saying “Happy now?”.  I think back to this time, and laugh at how influenced I was by these people.  What they thought really mattered to me.  32 year old Tara would have promptly told Marlene that if she judged someone on primarily what jewellery they wore, it was a good indicator of how shallow and immature she really was, and that if I wanted to wear an anklet I bloody well would!!  If only I could put my current head on those shoulders.

  After working full-time at the health-food shop for 6 months and catching the bus each day, I started to have unresolvable differences with my boss.  He was quite nasty and mean at times, and I dreaded my early morning to go to work.  Finally, one day I had had enough, and I just picked up my handbag and told him to get fucked.  No notice, nothing.  I just walked out.  I applied for a job as a checkout chick at woolies and got it.  I really enjoyed the work and was much happier.

Peter also had a business he ran from home in the evenings which I helped run.  It involved mainly answering phones all night.

Peter was a bit of a chauvinist, and as well as running the evening business, and working full-time at Woolies, I was also expected to do all the cooking, cleaning and housework.  Peter however, fully supported me financially, and my money from work was my own.  I was NOT a remarkable housekeeper at this point.  I was just so damned tired all the time, afternoons which should have been spent cleaning were instead spent sleeping, playing cards or going out.  I was a heavy smoker, and to this day I don’t know how Peter tolerated me smoking in our bed.  Our master bedroom stunk of smoke.  The beautiful flash white bathroom was covered in mould and the dishes were often left unwashed and the bin unemptied.  I also recall fishing mouldy bus driver uniforms out of the washing machine (he had quit his glazing job to drive buses) that I had forgotten to hang out, which had lived in the washing machine for days on end.  I also remember a leg of lamb which was left in the oven and was actually fly blown!  Martha Stewart I was not.

Peter became very demanding of me, and on weekends I often worked on the new landscaped garden I had designed instead of spending time with my girlfriends.  They would come over to take me to the beach, and I would be pulling weeds out of the gravel driveway, telling them that today wasn’t a good day.

As our relationship grew stronger, I asked him if we could get married.  We bought a beautiful ring that was $1000 (which was alot in those days) and his family, as well as my own were devastated.  However we soldiered on, and life continued. 

 Within 18 months things had started to deteriorate.  Peter had become less affectionate and seemed to be angry all the time.  When I mentioned an engagement party he would become aggressive and say that I was pressuring him.  I was.  No doubt about it.  I desperately wanted to marry him, regardless of what everyone thought.  I loved him from the deepest part of me and wanted to be his wife forever. 

Cracks began to show, and more and more Peter was late home from work, and would stay at a friends house for the night.  I was miserable.  I continued to work, and run the home business, and try to do my daily household responsibilities.  I was scared.  Scared of being alone.  Scared of being rejected.  Scared of being hurt again, like with my seal trainer lover.  I was so young and vulnerable.

The inevitable happened one afternoon when Peter had been drinking.  He gently told me while staring out onto the canal in our backyard (well, his backyard) that he thought we needed a ‘break’ so he could sort out how he was feeling.  He felt his feelings for me had dimmed and that he was feeling enormous pressure from both our families and just wasn’t happy anymore.  He went onto say that the pressure I had put on him to get married had scared him also, and he knew that he wasn’t ready for marriage yet.

Shocked, devestated and without any dignity whatsoever, with snot pouring from my nose and tears streaming down my cheeks I begged him not to leave me.  I begged on my knees for him not to kick me out.  My poor little heart was broken again.

He moved me out into a share accomadation some way away, and I bought a bike to get me to my new job working in a sandwich shop.  I continued to go over to his place for dinner hoping to reconcile but each time he seemed less and less keen to see me until he finally he told me that he wanted a clean break and that he knew we could never reconcile. 

I lapsed into an uncontrollable depression.  I couldn’t eat or sleep and I drank copius amounts of alcohol.  Nothing my friends said or did made me feel better.  Then  I had Mum pressuring me to ask him for money.  We had been together for 2 years, and I had done so much for him.  Landscaped the whole garden, put money into our car that he drove and ran the evening business with no pay.  But, as much as the solictor said I could walk away with $10,000 (Lets face it he had a 400,000 house, car and his business still, i had nothing) I just couldn’t do it.  I would always remember that his parents thought I was after his money, and I had to prove them wrong at all costs, even if it was a mammoth loss to myself.  I could have put a deposit on my first home if I had taken Mum’s advice.

Things began to spiral out of control, as I became obsessive with Peter.  I would call his sister, drunk, asking her to tell me where he was or who he was with.  I called his house obsessively and left hundreds of messages.  One night, after a night out with girlfriends, I staggered out of a nightclub, extremely drunk and jumped into a taxi to go to Peter’s house before anyone could stop me.  It was 3am.  I paid the taxi and walked around the back of the house to the sliding door.  It was unlocked.  I crept into Peter’s bedroom, climbed into his bed and wrapped my arms around his warm torso.  Asleep he was roused, and turned on the light. He was NOT happy to see me “Tyra, what the fuck are you doing in my house!!”.  He then proceeded to call a taxi.  I feined fainting and was devestated when he got one of the boarders and  they carried me by my ankles and wrists likee a dead body (not carrying me back into his bed in his arms as I had hoped) into the waiting taxi.  He paid the taxi to take me home.

The next day he called, and told me that if I continued to ring his phone, or tresspass on his property he would call the police.  He changed his phonenumber and put security locks and an alarm system on the house.  I had turned into an obsessive maniac.  That day I threatened him I would kill myself if he didn’t take me back.  He told me to go right ahead.

So, that March, just 19 years old, I decided to end my own life and teach this man a lesson.  I sat down to write a suicide note.  That bastard would pay.