Winners and Losers

"Only losers go clubbing if they're over forty."

I related this little piece of wisdom to my nineteen year old neice while I was in Melbourne recently. She'd asked me if I intended to go clubbing while I was down. And I'd replied rather caustically to the question.

What I didn't appreciate, that as her favourite uncle, and she has eight to chose from, that she was sounding me out, to see if I'd go clubbing with her.

I'm considered cool by my neices and nephews. Because I'm an artist and because I'm gay. And although not the youngest of my siblings and their spouses, physically and I guess mentally I appear to be the baby of the family. A lot of my tastes in fashion, music and arts are much closer to my neices' and nephews' tastes. They also consider me fun to hang out with.

And in my family, you never ask a direct question of someone if you want something from them. You have to come side on. "Oh, that's a nice chocolate cake!" actually translates as "Can I have a piece?" Having grown up with this oblique style, I still continually miss the implacation, as I did with my niece.

At the time I'd made the comment, I was arrogantly dismissive of anyone my age or older who considered clubbing a fun thing to do. Why? I guess I was jealous. Or blaming them for the fun I wasn't having.

So come New Year's Eve, and what I am doing?

I'm in a gay night club on Oxford Street in Sydney.

And am I having fun? Sort of. For a little while. Until I start reminding myself that I came without friends. And it's New Year's eve and I have no-one to snog. I like the music and I dance for a bit. A couple of guys try to make passes at me, but I'm a lonely little satelite in crowded space. A decidedly frosty little moon out near Pluto. So I leave early, just as the headline DJ starts his set.

But my New Year's Eve isn't over yet. I've bought a second ticket to another club night for the 1st of January. A glutton for punishment? This time I'm going with straight friends from Newcastle. And during the previous week, I discover a lot of my other friends in Sydney are also going. Inexplicably, I begin to feel excited. And it's been years since I've felt like this.

The event starts at 4pm and we arrive at 11.45pm. It's crowded and the dance floor is already a heaving mass of sweaty male bodies (mostly, there's a spinkling of girls in there too). My friend, S, offers me an e. I normally steer clear of drugs. In fact, I'm a little puritanical on the subject, often prosetylising I can't really see the point or that I've never had a particularly good time using them. But for this night, my attitude is 'what the hell!" I put the pill on my tongue and with a wink, borrow some cute guy's water to wash it down.

S declares "Shirts off!" And I whip off my tank top and leap onto the dance floor - although, shuffle and squeeze my way is a more accurate picture. I'm dancing for about five minutes and discover that I've already lost the friends I arrived with, but have spotted some other friends dancing on the podium. I eventually end up spending most of the night with the podium dancers.

I won't say that the e kicked in. It sort of strolled up and said hi and I found my body had surrended to a delicious suppleness, that music was my musculature and dance was a hidden language I had suddenly mastered. I look out at the smiling faces and caught the wave and let it carry me. Everything was without effort. Now I was sandwiched between two very beautiful guys, then I was kissing one, then the other. I was dancing with a married couple, the wife kissed me, then her husband. And I couldn't stop smiling, and laughing. Where ever I went I seemed to get grabbed for a dance which often spiralled into a passionate kiss.

I cannot remember having so much fun!

The most beautiful thing about it was the lack of desire. I saw so many beautiful guys. Some I fancied. I even snogged some of the fancied. But there was no pang of rejection. It was just being civilised and shaking hands with your tongue.

I guess you can say I've now been converted. Not that I'm about to run out and become Sydney's biggest drug pig. Just that I can say that I've been invited to Sydney's Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Dance Party with the same group of friends and am really looking forward to it.

I'm approaching forty and hoping that I've got years of clubbing left in me.

Next time I'm in Melbourne, I'm going to ask my neice if she wants to go clubbing.

So I've joined the losers. But I feel as if I've won something.