I whored myself. The ultimate permission. There was a messy bed that was free in the guest room of G’s sprawling apartment. So we did it there.
In 1998, or ’97, I can’t remember which, I was in Tucuman, Argentina, staying with a very respectable elderly lady, who was also a wonderful hostess. A bad stomachache stopped me from moving. I didn’t think I could go out that day, although I had pressing obligations in the city. I explained to my hostess that I was in pain, and that nonetheless, under some urgency, I needed to go out.
When she told me that she would make me some tea, I thought it was nothing more than a comforting gesture. But when she asked me back into her tiny kitchen to bring down a jar of leaves from a high shelf, I began to wonder.
“Este?” I asked, slowly lifting down the jar marked COCA, which was filled with whole leaves.
“Si,” she said…
I sat and drank. After half a cup, my stomachache was entirely gone. The coca tea had acted as a powerful local anesthetic. I went out into the city without a worry in my head.
Years later, in Europe, I found that cocaine is also used as an anesthetic for the uninitiated…
On a messy bed. High as shit. In the middle of a party which rendered G’s living room into a beautiful landscape of wreckage and debauchery.