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When I boarded my flight to Bali as a naïve, 19-year-old solo traveller, the last thing my mum said to me was “always wear a helmet and please, just don’t do mushies”.
The world of party drugs was entirely new to me, and the thought of them kind of scared me. My first overseas trip alone didn’t seem like the right time to start experimenting. Mum had nothing to worry about: I was well-versed in the art of drinking to the point of blacking out, and knew Bintangs cheaper than water was all I needed for a good time.
As my days of living the island dream ticked over, I got closer to making it home fully intact and drug-free. To celebrate surviving more than a month abroad with minimal cases of Bali Belly, only a few scooter-related injuries and no major disasters, my new friends and I decided to go large on our last night together. We planned to hit up one of our favourite bars for the last hoorah, play some beer pong, win a bottle of tequila and see where the night would take us.
It was then that one of the guys suggested taking a trip into Denpasar to pick up some magic mushrooms.
After almost five weeks of being with the same group of people, I felt comfortable enough with them and the situation to be tempted.
Fuck it, I thought. It’s my last night; I’m in a safe environment… what could go wrong?
I agreed to buy in, disappoint my mother and lose my hallucinogenic virginity all in the space of five minutes.
The taste – like dried up lumps of dirt – was nothing to write home about, and not gagging as we ate them was an achievement in itself. After about 20 minutes, they started to kick in. I lay on a bean bag, listened to the waves crashing and the sound of my friends laughing, and a feeling of contentment took over my body. Fireworks shot across the sky like big colourful planes going in every direction possible. I never wanted this feeling to end.
After what felt like an eternity, we decided to head back to our hostel to make a big pot of mie goreng. Amidst deciding who was the least fucked and most capable of taking passengers on the back of their scooters, I offered to wait for someone to come back and collect me on a second trip.
It was at that exact moment that Rodrigo pulled up on his scooter and instructed me to hop on.
“I’ll take you home,” he offered.
Rodrigo was the manager of one of our favourite bars, and although he was a little creepy and a lot sleazy, in my altered state of mind, I latched onto him and trusted he would do as he’d said. I had no bag, no wallet, no phone and no keys.
When we approached my turn off and he didn’t slow down, I started to worry. I tugged at his shirt and yelled in his ear that we were there and to please let me off. He ignored me and kept driving. Maybe he’s taking a different route, I thought, as we zoomed off with no signs of slowing down.
It wasn’t until we pulled into the gravel driveway of a house I didn’t recognise that I realised something was wrong. I didn’t know whether this was real life or if I was dreaming the whole thing. I got off the scooter and followed Rodrigo inside. He led me into a bedroom, took off his clothes and lay on the bed, completely naked with his hardening dick staring me right in the face.
I was frozen. I had no idea what my next move was going to be, but it had to be quick.
“Please take me home,” I pleaded. He continued to lay there, staring down at his penis, and then back up at me.
“No, I have brought you here. This is where you will stay; come to bed. I will take you home in the morning.”
I was scared, I was high, I was 19 and I had no idea where the fuck I was.
“TAKE ME HOME NOW!” I yelled.
I was running out of ideas and terrified of what his next move might be, so continued to scream.
“TAKE ME HOME NOW, OR ELSE!”
“Oh yeah, or else what?” he chuckled. His face was so smug I wanted to punch it.
This is where my plan had come to an end. I had no idea what to do next, but was filled with fury.
Then I looked Rodrigo dead in the eye, strode to the middle of his room and started pissing on his floor.
As the puddle grew bigger and bigger, he looked back at me, horrified at what was going on in front of him.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I had finished, and a large wet patch was left on the ground.
“I told you to take me home,” I said.
To my surprise, Rodrigo got up, got his keys, put his pants back on and stomped outside. He told me to get on the back of the scooter, and I obeyed, soaking wet from the waist down.
For what felt like hours, he sped around each bend so fast I was scared I might not even make it back. The sun was starting to come up.
When we finally arrived at my hostel, Rodrigo stopped at the end of the gang, told me to get off and drove away without another word. I walked back to the safety of my room, showered and climbed into my bunk bed, still trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Was I ashamed? Was I sorry? Absolutely fucking not.
I am still not sure what came over me or why I thought it would be a good idea to piss on a stranger’s floor, and in hindsight, it could have gone either way. I was just lucky it worked in my favour. Was it the mushies or was it self-defence? If there’s one thing I do know, though, it’s that if I ever find myself in a similar position, I won’t hesitate for a second before I do it again.
And no – I still haven’t told my Mum.
Cover by Ehud Neuhaus