Adelaide is a city sticky with the residue of former relationships, each partner, once known and now half-forgotten, becomes an awkward locking of eyes at Zambies or a bus stop, writes Anthony Nocera.

I received a message on Grindr when I was around 19 or so that I’ve never quite forgotten. I remember screenshotting it but can’t seem to find it on my phone now. I remember it perfectly.  It came from a faceless profile with the display name ‘D’.

D wrote:

Hello, Anthony. 

It’s good to see you. You may not remember me but I used to work with you at McDonalds. You were 14 then but always very nice to me. I was hoping you would still be nice to me now. I would like to see you and maybe you could spit in my mouth.

Kindest regards,

D

And then he sent a photo. I recognised him. Just. 

I always thought the message was funny in its formality. The way he signed it off, ‘kindest regards’, as if it were a work email. I think of my work emails now and how the other day I was writing to a very important colleague and instead of writing ‘I hope you haven’t been too busy lately,’ my finger slipped between the ‘y’ and the ‘t’ keys on the keyboard and instead I wrote, ‘I hope you haven’t been too busty lately’. I might as well have asked them to spit in my mouth. 

There’s a stickiness to dating in Adelaide, loving here, fucking here. A residue that’s left after you date someone, flirt with them. A residue that, I think, holds you to them as they walk past you on the street, that forces you to hold their eye a little too long at a tram stop. It’s inevitable, in a place the size of Adelaide, that you’ll cross paths with an ex or someone former, and that residue will prevent you from gliding past them with ease. Like Velcro, it will hold you, hold you, hold you, frozen in place just for a minute and take you back to how you once where.

When you’re 19, for example, and on Grindr and you’re going out, the world feels like it’s opening up, perhaps for the first time. Revealing itself to you, finally. And then when you get a message, the world springs elastically back to its smallness. And isn’t it funny how a message can do that? How something so small can shift you so completely to somewhere else, and you go from having the whole world before you to sitting in your childhood bedroom again.

Brontez Purnell wrote in his book 100 Boyfriends about how in every relationship, encounter or dalliance that might stick you to someone there are the ghosts of every other relationship, dalliance or sticky encounter. “There have to be 100 ghosts in this room already and that’s just the baggage I’m carrying,” he writes, “There are too many men here”, and not in a particularly sexy way. 

To love in Adelaide, I think, is to be haunted by ghosts of lovers past, to be constantly pulled elsewhere or held in the awkwardness of the too-close proximity that the city lends itself to. To be surrounded by ghosts you just can’t seem to shake off.  It’s walking into the Apple store and being too-enthusiastically greeted by someone you sucked off one time when you were feeling a bit lonely, or getting an STI test at Shine SA only to have an ex walk in and plant themselves next you because ‘This is where I see my GP’.  And then you walk out of the little curtained-off cupboard where they examine all the other whores, with a little paper bag filled with a giant swab you have to sodomise yourself with and a cup to piss in. 

Even though I haven’t been single for some time now, it is inevitable, living here as I do, that I’m going to have to dodge one of those ghosts, or unstick myself from someone I used to be stuck to.

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PERSIAN DADDY

LOCATION SPOTTED: Walking up Bank Street at lunchtime
METHOD OF ESCAPE: Hid in the line for Zambreros until it was too late to leave without buying a second lunch.

 

I met up with a man once who insisted I only refer to him as daddy. I wasn’t very experienced… in fact, I don’t think I’d ever really hooked up before. He lived in a converted warehouse on the fringe of the city and took me straight to the back of his house where he had a second bedroom. Or playroom, as he called it. The room consisted of a giant bed with white sheets facing a huge wall-mounted plasma television playing porn from a website called ‘TERRORISED TWINKS’. This was an omen I chose to ignore.

“So what are Daddy and his boy going to do tonight?”

“Whatever you want to,” I said back.

“What who wants?” he asked, slightly forceful all of a sudden.

“Whatever Daddy wants,” I said, rolling my eyes slightly.

 

This was going to be dull. It’s not that I have anything against role play, but it’s just a lot of effort at the best of times… All these things to remember while you’re getting railed. Like, who can be bothered?

He got on his knees and pulled my pants down and started to give me a blowjob.  He asked if I wanted to sit up and watch porn while he did it, but I said No thanks.

 

“No? No WHO?”

I sighed, “No Daddy.”

 

I finished as quickly as I could and said thanks, and he said, “Mate, what was that all about? You’ve just got to go with it. Gotta volley, gotta keep up.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Sorry, I just… It was just a little… unexpected, I guess.” I paused for a moment, “Do you want me to finish you off or-”

He laughed, “Nah, I’ve got someone coming over soon who’s a bit more clued in.”

“Cool,” I said, “I guess I’ll go. Bye… Daddy.”

“You don’t have to call me that anymore,” he said as he walked me out the door. “It’s over now.”

“Noted.”

 

When I saw him on Bank Street, I could feel his spit on my skin and see all those terrified twinks in front of my eyes, and I felt like an absolute idiot all over again.

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TWO TOPS LOOKING

LOCATION SPOTTED: Peel Street
METHOD OF ESCAPE: Breeze past, confidently, quickly

 

I once spoke to a couple on Grindr – or one half of a couple – who were, as their name suggested, two tops looking for a bottom to share. At the time I didn’t have my face on my profile. I wasn’t completely confident or comfortable being too public with anything. They messaged me quite a lot because my bio said I was versatile and they were dedicated tops looking for a bottom. Throughout our conversations, they let me know that the two of them never had sex, any form of sex, unless there was a bottom there to help them out. I asked them what they did when they couldn’t find a bottom and they said, “What do you mean? Nothing.”

“So what happens?”

“We wait. We keep looking.”

I wanted to ask them what they did with their erections, if not have sex. Joust? Fencing? But I didn’t. I just responded, “Yeah, cool. So are you looking for a third to always have around?”

“No,” they responded. “We’ve got each other.”

I found it admirable, back then, that these two people lived with such conviction. I couldn’t imagine committing to someone, or something, so wholeheartedly.

 

I see them quite often around the city, always together, still together and still, I assume, looking. But they’re not just looking. They’re two tops having coffee. Two tops shopping at the Central Markets. Two tops checking out the latest exhibition at the Art Gallery. Two tops checking out the pigeon in Rundle Mall. I find them, their dedication to each other, looking and (mostly) topping, quite sweet. I still find it admirable, too.

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D

LOCATION SPOTTED: Across a bar, I think the Exeter
METHOD OF ESCAPE: A fleeting moment, we caught eyes as he was leaving the bar.

 

After he left, my phone vibrated. It was D.

 

Hello, Anthony.
I see you still exist and did not respond to my message. How are you?
I am disappointed that we could not organise a time to catch up or to spit in my mouth.

 But I wish you well.

Sincerely,

D

 

I responded.

 

Hello D
I do exist. I’m glad to see you do, as well.
Unfortunately I’ve met someone, so won’t be available to catch up.

I am otherwise good. I’ve been pretty busty lately.
I hope you are good, too. I hope you find someone to spit in your mouth.

I wish you well, too.

Kindest regards,

Anthony