I don’t know – you ever get the feeling that your life is fucked up beyond repair? I’m only 24, but I already kind of think mine might be. And this isn’t just something that’s occurred to me in the last couple of weeks – I’ve known and I’ve known as early as high school, because me and my friends…we were weird kids.
We grew up in the Shire, a southern Sydney suburb with a beachy sort of culture, but we were like massive nerds, so on a Friday night, instead of doing typical Shire-kid activities like getting a Southern Cross tattoo or beating up someone from an ethnic background, what we’d do is we’d go and see a movie.
(That isn’t the weird part. Tonnes of people go to the movies. It was more what would happen after.)
So we’d get out of the movies and it’d be like half past nine or ten. At that point, the night’s still relatively young. The possibilities are still relatively endless. And it was the sort of thing where we thought, well, we’ve got Dad’s car, we’ve got a couple of hours to kill, why don’t we go down to Cronulla beach for a bit of a change of scenery?
And I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Cronulla, but it’s a pretty typical beach – you know: car park, water, and a shitload of sand. And what we’d do when we got down to the beach is, we’d create a woman made out of sand – in a similar sort of vein to how you’d create a sand castle.
I remember the thought process quite clearly. It’s not like we were all, “Oh man we’re at the beach! Sick! This is so awesome! You know what we should do? We should make a woman out of sand! Totally! That’d be sick! We should totally make a woman out of sand!” It was sort of more like, “Oh man… we’re at a beach. What are we going to do now?”
So it’d be pretty late at night, the lighting wouldn’t have been great and we were by no means professional sand sculptors…so as much as this sand woman was designed to be an accurate representation of the form and figure of an actual woman, she probably looked more like a big mound of sand. Actually no – that’s not really doing our design justice. Picture a three-dimensional gingerbread man with a massive pair of jugs.
As weird as this behaviour was, we haven’t even gotten to the disturbing part. The disturbing part was that after we made her (and after we gave her a name – we called her Wanda the sand woman because we were actually on Wanda Beach, which I feel was actually quite clever) we’d take it in turns pretending to make love to her.
And that’s the earliest I can remember thinking: “Shit. Yep. I ruined it. I ruined my life. I fucked it up. Shit.”
But just so you understand – this wasn’t like some weird sort of sexual thing, or anything, like you’d assume. It was never like, “Oh man, now we’ve got a sand woman we should totally have sex with her. Yeah man, it’s going to be so sweet, 1) because she’s made out of sand and 2) because we’re teenage virgins, and sex is all we think about.”
It was more like one guy – one fully clothed guy – thrusting furiously into a mound of sand, with a bunch of his friends watching. It was sort of more like, “Hey, look what Adam’s doing,” followed by long periods of silence.
I don’t think you’re with me 100% on the whole ‘it not being a weird sex thing’ thing, but it’s the absolute truth, at least on my part. I can’t speak for my friends, I suppose.
But, yeah…when you’re pretending to gang-bang a mound of sand it’s generally a good sign that your life is on the down and down. Kind of sad too, knowing I reached that low, low ebb at the ripe age of 17. As someone who had his first sexual experience with a sand woman, I would probably warn other against this sort of behaviour. There are other ways to spend a Friday night. It’s also a weird insight into the mindset of my friendship group at the time. In hindsight this made me more appreciative of women and their role in the sexual experience. Ask anyone who’s made love to a sand woman and they will agree that maybe it’s a poor representation.
Still, it goes without saying that I won’t be taking my future children to the beach. Not under any circumstances.