The Lover and The Prowler

So I’m a Gemini. For those who know anything about astrology it’s commonly known as ‘the twin’ — the dualistic persona. When it comes to sex, my louder persona — The Prowler, loves the freedom and empowerment of a one night stand. For years I’ve loved going to events, prowling a crowd, picking my mark and ending the night in bed with said chosen.

However, there is another side of my sex story. A side who has not had as much time in the spotlight — The Lover. She loves sex that is meaningful, and with a person whom she feels a deep connection to. Someone she can truly blossom with.

In this tale both the twins come out to have their say.

I will forever regard Windhoek as being the home to the world’s best couchsurfing-host-women, ever. Twerk Queen and her five sister’s humble home gives us our first glimpse of what it would be like to be a true local. Tucked away in the heart of Katutura Township, the thrum of music drifts from the numerous bars, children play freely on the street, prowling cats and dogs seeking scraps of food and with the right with a waft of the Single Quarters meat market fills the air.

The girls give us their bed, their food, their company, and even attempt teaching us how to Twerk (previously concluded by our tiny white asses as a physical impossibility).

The sisters are taking us into town with a group of their friends. Walking into a bar I am gobsmacked. It feels like we’ve walked into a Melbourne bar, the most obvious difference being our glowing skin, standing out amongst the dark chocolate crowd. Everyone is trendy as fuck and all walks of life are represented; there are hipsters, glam girls, gangsters, suits, you name it.

I’m positioned at the bar waiting for my GnTs and peering out at the sea of people, when the beat takes on a different nature. Oozing out of the speaker is a combination of jazz, soul and funk — I instantly feel my hips organically sway to the rhythm. It’s not just me; everyone around me is transformed by this music. Booties are shaking, hips are grinding, they’re fully immersed in dance, full of confidence, full of pride in their varying body shapes. And they are showing the fuck off. I froff this place.

Still grinning from this sight, a 6ft tall woman passes by. I recognise that she is a transvestite. Apprehensively, I look ahead to see what the reactions towards her will be… nothing.

This city is seriously blowing me away! There’s a transvestite and no one batting an eyelid! She is safe and accepted HALLELUJAH!

Let me explain. I’ve been travelling through parts of Africa e.g. Tanzania where being homosexual is still punishable by imprisonment. So now, coming to Namibia and seeing humans of all gender identifications, wearing whatever the fuck they like, dancing however the fuck they want; brings me pure joy.

GnTs in hand, I make my way outside to sit with Twerk Queen and her gang of guy friends. Somehow we get onto the topic of anal sex.

No no. That is only for gay people,’ declared one of the male friends.

I look over at his normally loud buddies and they are silent —not daring to disagree. Filled with confidence from this progressive place, I decide that this is a topic we can safely debate. And so that’s what we do; Mumma Africa, Zimbabawia and I proudly share our views of how men can enjoying all parts of a woman’s body and it does not make them gay.

As the silent friends start to find their voice and agree with what we are saying, I catch the eye of a beautiful man. He’s well over 6ft tall, wearing a bright yellow hoodie, and he’s looking directly at me. I feel myself instantly blush. He waves me over and I excuse myself from the conversation which has now evolved to tips for anal play.

Attendee introduces himself. Besides his strong facial features, impressive height, and stylish get up, he is also beautifully spoken and sophisticated. He’s effortlessly wooing me and The Prowler is letting him.

I’m here with my flight attendant friends,’ he boasts.

He introduces me to his glamourous colleagues. They tell tales of stop offs to Berlin; nights out in the Bergine; ocean dips in Lisbon and attending concerts in London. They come from another world and I am whisked away by Attendee’s stories.

Meanwhile, my gang’s night has come to an end and they are ready to to hit the road.

Are you coming with us?’ questions a suggestive Zimbabawia.

I turn to Attendee, uncharacteristically shy, and he replies:

You’re staying at mine aren’t you?

At this point Twerk Queen steps in and tells him:

She is under my supervision and YOU had better look after her. Give me your number. What’s your address? Call me when you get home AND call me in the morning!

Yes mam! She turns to leave but not before striking him one last watch it glare.

So that’s it. I’m going home with Attendee. Jumping into the taxi I hear the tiny voice of my The Lover protesting. I decide it’s just nervousness, this is my first one night stand, outside of the desert since Durban Boy.

We detour to get late night Nandos and take it back to his living room where the sharing of greasy food allows me to relax. As if a segway into the events ahead — we lick the chicken salt off our fingers and he invites me into his bedroom.

Again the nerves in my belly flare up. I sit awkwardly on his bed waffling on about the cool clothes in his wardrobe. Half listening, he pulls off his jumper to reveal a body I will never forget.

The nerves start to dissipate. This is what we’re here for. We’re not here to make friends. Not here to get to know each other. No. We are here for sex.

As he comes towards me I instinctively reach out my hand to caress this new, beautiful skin. Clearly wanting to do the same he yanks my top over my head to reveal my bra free (always) breasts.

Laying between my legs he takes each breast into his hands and tenderly kisses my erect nipples. He twirls my nipple ring with his tongue and I watch like a voyeur feeling the warmth grow in my body.

I gently put my hands on his spongy hair and encourage him to come up to face me. Finally, we kiss. Oh. My. God. My instant thought is to feel my own lips. Are my lips really that small?

Kissing him again I am in heaven. It’s like kissing the softest, most moist, beautiful black pillows. I’m only just getting started on his pillows when he lifts them off my mouth and moves them down along me; down, down, down, to pussy town.

I am wet with anticipation, if those lips felt like that on my mouth then… OMG he has arrived. He parts me with his tongue and moves his lips around my outer lips. His tongue gently strokes along my clit making me moan.

Because I find it hard to orgasm while the attention is solely on me, I swivel around so that I come face to face with his erection.

His dick; oh my gosh his dick. By now you probably realise I haven’t been with a man whose darker than my breakfast cinnamon. And now, as I take this beauty in my mouth, I am wondering, Why the hell haven’t I?

As usual the distraction of a cock in my mouth allows me to fully relax and come to orgasm. We come back to eye level and marvel at one another’s skin. Running our hands along each other we joke about our differences and then he enters me and colours are forgotten.

We are one union of pleasure, grinding down onto him I feel full of life, lust, and freedom — freedom to explore my sexuality while I travel this amazing continent. With this thought in mind Attendee climaxes and I drift off to sleep in his soft arms.

Yes, yes she’s asleep. Oh no, here she is, she woke up.’

My morning lay in is disturbed by Attendee handing me his phone.

Hello?’ I ask, quite confused. Twerk Queens commanding voice comes through ‘Girl you alright? I told him he has to bring you home’.

The phone call finally finishes with Attendee swearing that he is bringing me home soon. And then, silence falls between us.

We have nothing more to say to one another. Fascinating. How can there be so much language without words when our clothes are off. But when the morning comes it’s like we are strangers again.

When I jump out of his car I look at Attendee in his rather sexy uniform, yet I feel nothing. For the first time it dawns on me that although I love and respect my sexual freedom, The Lover, the connection seeking persona in me, simply isn’t satisfied with just penetration.

At this realisation, The Lover seems to be getting louder; ‘I tried to tell you!

I think it’s about time this twin had some time in the spotlight. I wonder who she’ll meet next?

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Artwork by @_monadoma_

A Rhinoceros Blowjob

We humans spend a lot of our time watching animals. We watch them in cages and tanks. We watch them on tv whilst listening to David Attenborough. We watch them in zoos and aquariums. We watch them on safari in foreign and exotic countries.

Our species seems to get so much enjoyment from watching animals. So I wonder… do they enjoy watching us?

We are now in Windhoek, the capital of Namibia.

As I collect the keys from a questionable car hirer, I feel grateful that our next outback adventure is about to begin. We said farewell to Impy and Rocks this morning; waving goodbye to Impy brought me to tears.

Luckily we’ve arranged to pick up two new travel buddies, thanks to the evergiving connections, from AfrikaBurn.

Before I even have time to ponder what travelling with men will be like, Lekker boy bounces into the car:

‘Lekkkkkkker Bros!’ he chimes.

Wearing high shorts, suspenders and donning a yellow ukulele strapped to his back, he hands us a bottle of viner (half water, half wine).

‘Drink up!’

Just as we’re processing this energetic, handsome and colourful being, the next one climbs in. He’s more tamely dressed, bespectacled, tall, dark haired and of course …handsome.

‘Hey, thanks so much for picking us up!’ Oh and he’s polite. Welcome aboard, Mumma Lover.

I immediately feel my energy recharging. Road trip round two, let’s begin.

We set off North of Windhoek, it doesn’t take long for the conversation to steer down the old familiar road — sex talk. The unfamiliar road, however, is that this time we have two male perspectives! We’re deep in the midst of a conversation about ‘pulling out’ when Mumma Lover explains:

‘I don’t cum inside a woman who I only have casual intentions with. Ejactuating in a woman is very intimate and I don’t want to be misleading.’

Revelation! I used to hate that The German wouldn’t cum inside me. Although this may not have been his reason, it’s interesting to hear another perspective. This is going to be an educational week.

We arrive at our first camping stop, the Spitzkoppe Peaks. Over 120 million years old, these rock formations seem to appear from nowhere, towering out of the flat desert at up to 1728m high. We pass locals selling giant crystals clearly unearthed from this sacred area.

The camping ground is rather busy. There are families, older couples with their bakkies and some serious rock-climbers — barely visible amongst the smooth formations.

We decide to camp as far away as possible from everyone. We want to connect as a group for our first day together — with the assistance of our leftover Afrikaburn goodies. Once we set up our tents we prepare for a trippy exploration of the area.

Afrikaburn taught me many lessons about tripping in the desert and these were the most vital: pack a fuck tonne of water; cover your head; and don’t bother wearing pants.

With water strapped to our bodies we begin our exploration of this unique area. We only make it a few mere meters when the giggles begin. Having spotted a dassie (a kind of desert beaver) Mumma Lover exclaims:

‘If I were to fuck an animal it would be a dassie. Look at that booty!’

Everything is ridiculous and we can hardly get a word out without breaking into hysteria. As we scramble up a steep rock face our laughter halts. Somehow, we have stumbled onto the set of a film clip…


A very serious group of people intently focused on cameras, lights and dancing all turn to stare angrily at us. We’ve obviously just bombarded the take. Unable to handle the absurdity of the situation our crew erupts into raucous laughter. I manage to catch my breath and shout to our audience:

‘Sorry, to disturb, but we’re tripping!’

Hearing this, their annoyed faces transform into laughter ‘Ohhhhhh!’.

Only in the desert.

As we leave the production we agree that with the sunlight fading, our bare bums are getting chilly and so we make our way back to camp.

We’re still reeling from the absurdity of the day when we spot them… A car of five have set up their camp right next to us — Fuck. We are not in a quiet mood!

Lekker boy and I stealthily climb a convenient spying-rock to check them out.

‘Holy crap, they’re young!’ I shout.

Not having been exactly subtle our neighbours spot us and introduce themselves. They’re an English couple and two (single) male friends. Seeing that we’re they invite us to join their camp fire.

‘We’ve been dying for a party,’ they grin while pulling endless gin bottles from their trailer.

It seems that the madness from the desert day will be transcending into the night. After finishing off the goodies — and all the gin, we climb the rocks and dance beneath the stars.

One of the single boys, Handsome English Lad, and I hit it off and banter by the fire way into the night. When my crew ask if I’m coming to bed I feel conflicted but my intuition tells me what to do.

We say goodnight to our rowdy English pals and collapses into Lekker boy’s tent. A feeling of regret starts to creep in, but then Mumma Lover farts and I come back to reality — grateful to have chosen pals over penis.

The scorching heat of the morning forces us to rise our sad, sorry, hungover asses out of a sweltering tent. After a couple of vomits (pole sana Zimbabawia), and a gallon of water we load back into the car ready for more of the wild, wild NORTH.

And wild it is. The gravel roads take us to the Skeleton Coast where we investigate masses of animal and shipwreck skeletons strewn along the eerie road. We literally race an ostrich with our Jeep —winning by a feather. And we make a pit stop at a questionable campground where the owner casually tell us:

‘Once I was stuck in that bathroom because a lion was outside.’ Fabulous.

By the time we finally arrive our wildest destination of them all, Etosha National Park, night is falling and we’re eager to get the fuck into secure territory.

As we drive through the high security gates of the nights campground we breathe a sigh of relief. Randomly choosing a place to camp we jump out of the car and burst into laughter; camped directly opposite us are the Spitzkoppe English Gang!

Thank you Universe for potential penis round two!

‘Hey! Fancy seeing you again. We’re heading to the viewing deck. Join us?’ beams Handsome English Lad.

Bringing wine and sleeping bags, we follow along to the campground’s man-made watering hole. Here the animals routinely come for their evening drink. The water is illuminated by a spotlight and a viewing deck has been built in prime position for watching the animals.

Just as I’m settling, in Lekker Boy slaps me. Looking up confused by the assault I gasp disbelievingly… a rhino is slowly approaching the water. Epitomised as the rarest, most volatile poacher-sought creature —it is simply mythical to be in this beasts presence.

As the night wears on everyone heads to bed, but I remain. Only Myself, Other Lad and Handsome English Lad remain on the entire deck.

Though I am happy to have seen the animals, my inner animal has another agenda on her mind. English Lad and I have been quietly flirting all evening but Other Lad doesn’t seem to have caught on. Instead he asks:

‘I’m going to bed, you coming?’ to my Handsome English Lad.

And then, English Lad says ‘Yeah alright’ and stands to leaves with him! Isn’t he feeling my vibes?

‘Are you going to bed?’ he asks me.

‘No,’ I responded, ‘I’ll just stay here a while longer.’

He’ll be back, I think to myself as I settle in to stubbornly wait. While waiting I guess I fall asleep because the next thing I know Handsome English Lad is waking me:

‘Hey Charlotte, Charlotte?’

Bleary eyed, I smile at the sight of him. I knew it.

Without breaking the silence he slips into my sleeping bag, and It. Is. On. His hungry hands begin to explore my body and I arch my back, delighted for sensual touch, eagerly anticipating the oncoming pleasure.

Wizzrd Sleeve was only a few weeks ago but when I’m in a habit of regular sex I find it so hard to suddenly stop.

Our breath is heavy and audible as we intwine our tongues and bodies together. His hands reach down to my underwear and slip between my squirming legs. Feeling my wetness he smiles and begins to migrate south of the sleeping bag.

He pulls my underwear aside and I groan as his lips finally meet mine. I love being eaten — and this public environment makes it so much hotter. Exhibisionism, licking, and penetrating fingers bring me quickly to orgasm. I let out an animalistic moan.

Having finally caught my breath I start to switch places. Now I’m in the mood to use my mouth as a pleasure tool. Handsome English Lad is at the mercy of my wet mouth and I quickly have him making his own animal noises.

Whilst enjoying my power over this humans pleasure I glance out over the watering hole — there standing still as the night is a giant Rhino.

I feel its eyes penetrate my own. I pause mid mouthful wondering, what to do?

Well, I think to myself, It’s about time the animals got to be the watchers. And resume swallowing him, deep into my throat.

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Some more beautiful snaps by myself and Lekker Boy!

Mother Nature and her Women

Quiz time! Which country is so wild that it has free-roaming wildlife; is the size of Alaska, yet has a population of only 2.5 million; and is home to the world’s largest sand dune?

Don’t know? It’s Namibia, of course!

If you and your pals want to be independent, badass explorers; if you can surrender to mother nature and be prepared to tackle anything she throws your way… then make Namibia your next holiday destination.

Mumma Africa, Zimbabawia, Impy, Rocks – our new Russian delight – and I have decided that the best way to get over our Afrikaburn hangovers is to get our asses back into the desert.

After picking up our bakkie (Namibian / South African slang for a ute or pickup-car) we bid farewell to our South African friends. Upon hearing our adventure plans, they bombard us with advice for Namibia:

Make sure the car is packed with food and water.’

‘Top up your petrol at EVERY opportunity.’

‘It can be days before you pass a shop or other humans on the road!’

‘You can wild camp* in the South but NOT in the North – the whole cast of the Lion King roams freely up there!’

Really, I think — how hard can it be?

The officers at the Namibian border crossing decide to make it hard immediately.

‘Excuse me, Officer,’ I ask in my sweetest voice, ‘but we notice you have written different exit dates for each of us and we are travelling together.’

Once we finally convince the grumpy officer to give us the SAME exit dates, Impy revs up the bakkie and we roll on in to the mysterious Namibia.

As we navigate our way towards Fish River Canyon, everyone’s eyes are fixed out the window. ‘Woahh,’ we breathe simultaneously. The road ahead is dead straight as far as the eye can see. Splayed across the horizon are layers upon layers of mountains.

‘SO many layers!’ Impy shouts, and the cameras begin to click. It takes another hour of the endless magnificent scenery before it sinks in — This. Is. It!

With the sun now setting, and not having seen a car since we crossed the border, we stop the car in the middle of the. Pumping up the one and only ‘Africa’ by Toto, we fling the doors open and dance deliriously on the road. Completely alone, utterly enraptured to be here — together — on what feels like a distant planet.

Carrying on, Impy’s happiness is magnified when she gets her first glimpse of African wildlife. Prancing alongside the car are a herd of springbok — the antelope not the rugby team.

But before she has a chance to appreciate the moment, a suicidal springbok decides to make a beeline for our bakkie. Now, as Aussies, growing up with kangaroos we are taught to slow down and hit them, NEVER to swerve. Impy, with her boss-bitch driving skills, steadily eases the breaks and — thump.

As we watch the springbok struggle back to its feet and limp away, we feel a mixture of relief and irony that the first animal we’ve seen — we’ve hit.

Fearing the appearance of more suicidal animals, we decide that now is as good a time as any to try our hand at wild camping. Finding a spot to pitch a tent in an empty desert is quite unnerving. Never have any of us been so alone, so isolated, on such an equal playing field with nature. Mustering up courage, we bravely reassure one another:

‘We’ve got this.’

With the smell of canned pineapple and chickpeas filling the air we sit on our camping chairs, rugged up against the cold night ready to eat our first gas cooker meal. Above us a spectacle of stars brightly. Total bliss. Unaware of the time, we simply follow the signal of nature’s darkness and soon slip into our sleeping bags.

Mumma Africa cooking up a storm

The next morning, we are already up and packing as the dawn pushes its way through the darkness. There’s a sense of triumph within the group at surviving our first solo night in the desert, but this is rudely interrupted when a motherfucking SCORPION scurries out from under the tent.


I guess the deadly arachnid decided to use our warmth as its home for the night. Cautiously, we shake out our shoes and shove them onto our naked feet.

But we won’t be deterred by an arse loving scorpion and a suicidal springbok. As we start up the bakkie and continue on our way to Fish River Canyon, we’re met with a glorious sunrise.

Impy pondering the canyon

Colour changes on the canyon

As a gas station appears, we remember our friends’ warning:

‘Top up your petrol at EVERY opportunity.’

Pulling up, we’re greeted by a perplexed gas station attendant.

‘Where the man?’ he asks.

‘Ladies only!’ we grin.

Driving away from our entertained servo man, our conversation turns to females travelling Africa solo. Why is it that Africa is viewed as such a ‘hard-core’ continent to travel? I mean, plenty of 20-somethings have been to India, South America and South East Asia. Why is it that when you tell someone that you’re travelling to Africa, you’re met with comments like:

‘Wow, you’re brave! Aren’t you worried about rabies?’

Or the most common:

‘But isn’t that unsafe for a woman?’

Our now hotly passionate conversation is put on hold as we veer off road for another night of wild camping. Unbeknown to us our evening is about to get…hard-core.

Hopping out, we each begin our nightly jobs: Mumma Africa and Rocks make the dinner, Zimbabawia and I put up the tent, and Impy lights the fire. All is well, and then we hear it… the spine-chilling yelp of a nearby creature.

‘Kinda sounded like a hyena,’ whispers Rocks.

‘WTF! It is not a hyena, they’re not in the south!’ I bark, horrified to hear her express my own terrified thought.

We’re all frozen. Barely moving, we point our torches into the darkness, looking for the source of the sound. Suddenly, the night is pierced by another yelp, this time behind us. Whatever the creatures are, they’ve got us surrounded.

Impy, Rocks and Zimbabawia sprint towards the car.

‘HONK THE HORN!’ I scream from the fire, too paralysed by fear to leave its flickering protection. The horn rings out and we wait.

The silence seems to last forever. Eventually, we decide a safe amount of time has passed. Totally rattled, we conclude that it was just a jackal (a fox-like creature) enticed by the smell of food.

‘What were you doing to protect yourself?’ I ask Mumma Africa.

‘Mmm, I held up the salt shaker?’

Our laughter manages to cut through the lingering fear and we find our way to bed — though we sleep with one eye open.

Morning comes and we drift down the sandy road towards Sossusvlei. For the first time in days we’re surrounded by humans — tourist humans. They’re all here for the same thing as us: to climb the famous red sand dunes and see the deadveli skeleton trees.

Looking up at the 325m high Big Daddy Dune, I wish with all my manifestation might that we will be alone when we get to the top — so we can take the most epic naked pics.

It’s a gruelling climb, but an hour later we are all willing our sandy socks to take the last few steps. As we reach the summit, our jaws drop in unison. The most glorious spectacle we have ever witnessed pierces its way into our retinas: kilometre after kilometre of red and white mountains meet the brilliantly blue sky. THIS. IS. IT!

‘Mmm, guys.. are we alone up here?’ I say in disbelief.

Looking down below we burst into laughter. ALL the cars and tour buses have miraculously disappeared. We are ENTIRELY alone. How’s that for manifesting? Without a word, we each strip off our kits, and what follows is, well… this!

Because I couldn’t not!

Mother Nature is a force to be reckoned with. Still, at the end of the day we are primal beings, made to co-exist with her. None of us will ever forget the feeling Namibia gave us of sheer human vulnerability. But we will also never forget nature’s reminder that we are powerful women — hear us fucking ROAR!

*Wild camp – camping in nature away from organised campsites for free!

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More pictures because there were too many stories to tell!

Bullsport gorge hike — pants optional
Impy freaks out over baboon handprints in the dust — ‘It’s like a human hand but a monkey!’

I discover a gnawed off zebra leg in the Bullsport gorge…yikes!

Road side discovery –suitcase filled with letters and other random items from desert explorers.

Kolmanskop; ghost town of Namibia abandoned and invaded by the dunes of time

A Feminist Man’s Adventure Into the Red Temple

The burn is over. My masculine energy wishing to fuck everything, has subsided. Now a softer, more feminine energy, desiring tenderness and affection has slipped in to take its place. I wonder if there’s anyone left in this desert who can fulfil such a need before my bus departs tomorrow!?

It’s time for our desert decompression; the festival goers have gone leaving a trail of us dusty volunteers behind to MOOP* the Tankwa desert. After a day of picking up glittery gems in the scorching heat, I plonk down on a sofa, swearing to myself that I will never again decorate my face with pretty plastic. Unknowingly, I have sat next to a familiar face. I had been a distant admirer of Wizard Sleeve as I watched him building an instillation, but never managed to forge a connection. Now sitting by his side I tell him My fringe needs a trim. He kindly offers I can do it? Closing my eyes, I surrender while this handsome stranger cuts my hair with weed trimming scissors.

The dinner bell rings and Wizard Sleeve and I depart together. Cutting my bangin’ new bangs has established a flirtatious bond, and as we walk past his tent we fight playfully ending up literally and figuratively, somersaulting into his tent. Landing face-to-face, our laughter ceases as our energy shifts from playful to lustful. Leaning in we connect for a long, deep kiss. My body responds to his gentle, yet firm caress, becoming aroused by the sexy spontaneity of the situation. My womb space is tingling as we break away agreeing without words that this will be continued later. But for now, dinner is beckoning.

Our final meal is small and sad; it feels so wrong. How can we be leaving our desert family? The farewell turns into a giant cuddle puddle* as I hold Wizard Sleeves hand amongst the bodies until he whispers Do you want to go back to my tent?

Walking hand in hand, I’m feeling giddy for the events ahead until my inner voice rears her head to interrupt — Isn’t it probably time you told him you’re on your period?? Yes. I have been selectively omitting this fact but Fuck it. I seriously do not believe that being on your period should mean you don’t get to be intimate. In fact, the first days that I bleed are bloody (haha) hornyyyy days.

Horniness aside, I accept that it is potentially quite rude not to inform a lover that my temple is currently red. So while he kisses my neck and grinds himself harder against my throbbing sex I finally utter I’m on my period…

Okay, well I don’t mind if you don’t?

Ohhhhh fuck yes! This tall, eccentric, talented man just got himself a gold star. There is nothing sexier than a man who understands and accepts that menstruation is a natural part of being a woman. That we experience this 13 times a year. And that some of those times we are bound to want to jump on a dick.

I explain that I have the menstrual cup in, I’ve had sex with it in before.*
As he slowly enters me, I gasp from the intensity of the sensation I am soaking wet with my own arousal and blood, plus the combination of my cup and his cock is like a double penetration. My senses are in overdrive and every thrust makes me moan in hot, messy, pleasure. We hold onto each other until one last liquid bursts out and joins the party. After baby wiping our bits to clean up our juicy mess, I drift off to sleep snuggled in his arms. I can’t help but feel disappointed that I don’t get at least one more night of this loving.

The next morning, it seems that the the Universe was listening to my plea. There has been a miscalculation of numbers and the bus is overfilled! We’ll have to wait until tomorrow night for the next one. YAHOOOO.

Having seen me miss the bus, Wizard Sleeve asks to hang out again. I tell him that I really want to spend the last night with my kitchen crew Great! Can I join? It disappoints me to say, but this request surprises me. The men I’ve been intimate with in the desert, other than Hawk Eyes, haven’t continued their affection towards me the day after. Wizard Sleeve is filling me up in ways more holistic than penetration. Blithely I respond — Of course you can.

After a movie, a cuddle puddle, and lots of treats from Dreadlock Pixie Queen, Wizard Sleeve and I migrate to my tent. This time I tell him that my period is really heavy now and I don’t want to have sex. Of course, he doesn’t mind at all, only asks Are you okay? Can I hold you like this? Wrapping his arms around me, he gently cradles my womb space, and transfers his genuine care into me. This unconditional kindness, seeps all the way up to my heart. I’ve never experienced a male lover, who not only respects and fulfils my desire for tenderness, but does so through his own embodiment of feminine energy.

Boarding the bus, I am now utterly serene and ready to depart. I love my masculine energy and the fun experiences it conjures. But just for a change, allowing my feminine energy to rise showed me that I also have the power to attract beautiful men, like Wizard Sleeve.

I can’t wait for more.

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*MOOP – Matter out of place. One of the guiding principles of all Burns is ‘Leave NO Trace’. MOOP is any object which does not naturally occur in the environment you have occupied. Working in the MOOP team gave me a disturbing insight into the enormous array of man made items we leave in our wake. If you spent some hours picking up glitter, plastic gems, baggies, feathers, gum etc off mother earth’s surface, you too may change some habits.

*Cuddle puddle – a comfortable area which becomes filled with 3+ humans intertwining limbs, eventually becoming a giant human hug. Ideal when feeling lonely, craving affectionate touch, or wishing to begin an orgy.

*Sex with a menstrual cup – Yes I have done this twice, both times it has been completely fine. No the cup cannot get lost, there is only one exit. It may however become difficult to remove — I once helped a friend remove her ‘lost’ cup.
For this tales interaction I kept the cup in as I wanted to reduce the mess. I now believe that emptying, and removing the cup before sex is a more logical method as there’s going to be blood regardless!

Group Sex at AfricaBurn

Group sex – I am fascinated by it. Two, three, hell maybe eight naked bodies caressing, sucking and entering my body. Bodily fluids flowing and a choir of moans and groans. Unfortunately I haven’t (yet) experienced this wondrous type of sexual venture.

Afrikaburn got me so damn close, I could practically feel the cum showers. With one dick in my hands, and another couple waiting nearby, it was all about to happen…

For the duration of the Burn, Red Breast and I become an inseparable duo. We both like the same music, both love the nocturnal life, both enjoy rinsing our away our evening sins with morning yoga, and we are both very drawn to the CexX theme-camp.

The CexX theme-camp, runs a range of day time sex based workshops. Enthusiastically Red Breast and I attend; polyamory conversations, BDSM introduction and a Shibari* demonstration. We watch in awe as the Dominatrix master, lovingly ties his Submissive in intricate knots, then with her consent he hoists her naked body from the ceiling. I am in awe of her total, surrender.

As we leave the workshops we are informed that tonight is a masquerade party; once the workshops end, the camp will become a Play Camp. We are invited to watch and join the evenings sex-capades.

The invitation tickles Red Breast and I’s most common interest: our curiosity of the entire sex world and desire to dive deeper into it. My mind is already making evening plans to be a very sinful, sacred, slut.

By the time the sun is setting we are overcome with curiosity, and decide to attend the party. We head home to baby-wipe our entire bodies, paying particular attention to our hungry vaginas. Masks are hastily painted on, our bags stuffed with condoms and off we venture.

On the far end of the Playa two red lights shoot into the air. Their distinct strobe makes it easy for sexual explorers, like ourselves, to find CexX by night.

Arriving, we are warmly welcomed by a boosemy, dominatrix facilitator. She explains the rules to us, consent is key. You are free to roam anywhere, but you must ask permission to join. People must in turn ask if they want you to join. To enter the play-rooms you must bring a partner, of any gender.

Removing our shoes we step into the common room, before us stands a crowd of masked people surrounding a naked being. He is strapped to a chalice, and a gorgeous latexed woman circles him with her flogger in hand. She is completely dominating, and yet so loving in her authority, constantly asking Are you okay? Do you want more? Everytime his response is the same, a pleading Yes!

After watching in awe, we head towards to the play-room, then pause. We want to go in, but nerves have frozen us. We decide that we first need some Dutch-courage, and we want to bring our own male-partner to play with.

Now in mission mode, we venture to the main stage and quickly squeeze our way, deep into the grimy, techno crowd.

There I spot my target: towering above everyone, his face is illuminated by a brilliant cheesy, base loving grin.

Signalling to Red Breast we work our way in front of him. I am feeling VERY forward tonight, so brazenly, I turn around and dance towards him will staring at his beautiful face. We lock eyes and he grins even more gloriously. I return his smile with my best I want to fuck stare. Incase I haven’t made myself clear enough, I stand up on my tippy toes and ask Would you like to accompany me to a sex-party tonight?

He bursts out laughing and immediately turns to his friends, they all smack their foreheads, clearly gobsmacked at this little Redheads forwardness.

Well, what’s so funny? I inquire unabashedly. It’s just funny you should ask ME something like that, because I’m a recovering sex addict. He chortles.

WHAT THE FUCK. Of course, at a festival of over 7000 people, I have targeted the sex addict.

Shit, well, I’m sorry to put temptation on your plate like that, I’ll leave.
Oh, no you don’t! You’re not going anywhere.
He greedily responds while pulling my ass into him, his already semi-hard cock starts to grind me through his jeans. Yummy.

Great! I smirk in delight, a sex addict should be quite a lot of fun. Suddenly remembering my partner in crime, I press my ass into him and say This is my friend, Red Breast, she also wants to find a friend to join her. Again he flashes that gorgeous grin and returns to his friends, moments later he brings an equally babin’, curly-haired-Dutchman.

With my ego in overdrive, I slip my hands into Sex Addicts pants, wondering what I’ll be riding this evening… I am not disappointed.

Our mission has been a success; we both have guys attached to us, and our self-consciousness is nowhere to be seen. It’s time to return to CEXx.

I can’t believe it, I’m finally going to get the cum showers I always fantasised about. As I stand daydreaming about our soon to be pleasure, disaster strikes. Sex Addict and Red Breast’s belongings have disappeared.

Sex Addicts backpack and boner have left the building. We try to cheer him up, but it’s useless. I watch him sulk off, alone into the desert night. I cannot believe the universe has sabotaged my group sex!

Red Breast isn’t interested in a solo night with Curls, so she too decides to call it a night.

Not me though. I sought out to have sex tonight and I’m gonna fucking have it.

I tramp back to the dance-floor and stalk around, soon I spot a full-length, fur-coat wearing hottie. He’s got long brunette hair, and he’s also Dutch, seems like a good last resort to me.

It’s now six in the morning and I have no energy left for dance-floor flirting, so I ask Last Resort Do you wanna come and have a coffee with me? Surprised by this odd request he agrees Sure.

We stop off at a Vikings table installation, and sit around a fire. While babbling about nothing, Last Resort leans in and kisses me. Pulling away from the kiss we agree to ditch the coffee, and make a bee-line for his tent.

There, in his pathetic one man tent, I finally get the fucking I’ve been after.

He’s so high that there is no cuming, just a constant hard-on that he continues to plunge into my mouth or vagina. We fuck again and again for hours in his dog kennel of a tent. With the sun well and truly risen, I am drenched in sweat while taking it from behind. Again.

Though this is what I wanted, by the seventh round, I am practically passing out on this mother fuckers cock. He goes back down on me, trying to lick me awake, but I am done. And as dry as the desert.

Finally, I gather my garments to leave and unzip the kennel, a waft of genital fumes floats out along with me. The day is glorious and with a pep in my step I skip towards home.

On my way I spy a long queue of naked humans. While admiring their divine shapes and sizes I learn that they’re queuing for a sponge n’ shower at the Body Suits theme camp.

Without skipping a beat I whipping my clothes off, and join the queue. Head to toe, I am sponged and washed, by two naked hunnies. The glorious freedom, and body celebration of this camp gives me a resurgence of confidence, so I decide to wear only my birthday suit.

Strutting confidently onto the Playa I spot a motorised skateboard, and jump on. The board kicks to life and my naked ass is driven, by a mystery human, all the way home.

Group sex or not, I fucking love this place.

Have you had group sex? Entered had fun in a play room? I’d LOVE to hear about it. Share in the comments below…you can remain anonymous ❤

Keep following my tale(s) on Facebook and Instagram

Photography by the amazing: @robynstrathearn

*Shibari – ‘To tie’ in Japanese. It is an artistic form of rope bondage. Try it, it’s sexy :p

It’s Burn Time Baby, Prepare for the Madness

Have you ever seen a person at a festival or a party that has gone completely over the edge? Someone spiraling so far off the road to reality, they’re like a human car crash; you’re afraid to look at them but you cannot look away.

I witnessed this at Strawberry Fields Festival. Paramedics were chasing after a completely deranged guy while he ran from the river, into the bushes, screaming so loudly it was as if he was giving birth to a demon.

I never thought I would understand what that guy was going through. And then I did.

After collecting our tribe; Mumma Africa, Red Breast and Impy, who has landed fresh from Melbourne. We enter the now unrecognisable desert with an accompanying 7000 Afrikaburn punters. We surrender our burn virginities with a ceremonious gonging of the Virgin Gong and a dust angel.

It’s burn time baby, prepare for the madness.

Imagine you’ve snuck down that hole with Alice. You heard that wild bitch going on about talking teapots and now you wanna see it for yourself. Entering a Burn is like entering a Wonderland.

As we step onto the Playa* our eyes are greeted with a rainbow of costumed beings, towering art installations and free roaming mutant vehicles*. The distant thud of a base invites you to it’s dance floor. Organised madness is all around. Adults and children alike have a gleam in their eyes; we are all grown children set loose in the ultimate playground.

And then that’s it, a quick visit to the Playa morphs into an entire night filled with techno, and unlegislated debauchery.

Waking up on a half deflated air mattress and wondering vaguely where Zimbabawia slept, I begin to shake off my dusty hangover – always easier at a festival. I assess my amazing costume selection which Impy has HANDMADE, and find my eyes gravitate towards pink, it’s Barbie day. While scoffing breakfast into our bellies the tribe decides that today shall be a psychedelic day. Excluding Mumma Africa – she is our non-trippy-tripper.

Zimbabawia and I stretch to prepare for the day.

Returning to the Playa we delight in the perks of this moneyless society; free coffee at Aliens, Sangria at Buyadonkey, pancakes Purple Pancake Palace.

While dipping in and out of the different theme camps I feel the prickle of electricity building in my body. I am pulsing with energy, it channels down through my body and arrives to my sex, where it ignites a fire. I start to sensually rub my womb where the current it strongest, I think I’d better go to the CEXx* camp, I need to fuck, right now. I sputter to the girls when they notice my wandering hands.

Recognising that there is no point trying to stop me when I’m in pursuit of some sexual fulfilment, they wish me good luck. I walk a mere 5 metres then halt. Instead of my sex, my chest is now alight. A warm orb is glowing where my heart is, it’s so big and warm that it feels like the golden egg from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The egg swivels around and points away from the Sex Ex tent and back towards the girls. I know what the egg is telling me: I must remain with my tribe.

Weren’t you were going to get sum? I was, but there’s a golden egg in my chest and it won’t let me leave. Fair enough. And onwards we journey.

The rest of our day is pure manifestational magic.

Zimbabawia guides us on a spiritual journey, we honour Mother Gaia acknowledging the ground we are journeying on. We look at the desert moon, who visibly waits, ready to emerge when the beating sun is gone.

My sexual energy returns, coursing through my veins, and pulsating in my cunt. Anytime I drift too far from the tribe, the egg grows hot and forces me to return to my girls once more. This forces me to deal with the arousal whilst in company, I desperately rub breasts and abdomen. Hysterical at my behaviour Zimbabawia instructs me to Take it off! Not needing to be told twice, I yank off my bralet giving myself better access to my warm titties.

We make it to You Are the Only One; our favourite dance-floor and for the first time that day we disperse. I am transfixed by the DJ and stare at him furiously while rubbing my breasts.

Time is moving rapidly and the sun begins to set, I suddenly feel self-consciousness of my behaviour. Paranoia quickly takes over and I remove myself from the dance-floor. Spotting Impy and Mumma Africa, I rush towards them, Impy calls out You see, this is why we need to have a notebook – to write it all down.

I am completely bewildered, how does she know what I’m thinking? I turn around, and who appears but the Prince walking right towards me. I run to him, Here I am he says as I reach him. We kiss and I collapse to the floor in a fit of laughter.

Here he is!

Mumma Africa and Impy come over Do you two know each other? We do. Replies the Prince, while they look down at me literally ROFLing in the dust. Before they can ask what I am doing I jump to my feet and run towards the sunset.

I have now entered the fifth dimension. I am that guy.

The following explains what I saw there, and what that looked like to the outside world.

As I run towards the sunset I became aware that all the divine synchronicity in my life has not been coincidental. Angel like women came to me and told me that I’m from the stars. That I am a star who was born on earth, and that with my true love I will return to the stars.

A man finds me deep in the desert, wailing on the ground, after trying to speak to me he realises I am in trouble. He throws me over his shoulders, and carries me back to the Playa. The girls, who have been looking for me, spot my bare ass flung over some guy’s shoulder. They freak out. The Green Dot* has been radioed and with the help of the girls they manage to get me into the car, and towards the Sanctuary*. Writhing and screaming in agony.

My refusal to believe what the angels are telling me, prompts them to take me through a tour of my life; I see myself being born. I listen to my Mum sing to me from my cradle. I run as fast as the wind so buoyant on my youthful legs. I sit on my Granda’s knee laughing as we watch Tom and Jerry together. Time catapults forwards and I’m at his funeral wailing for the unfairness of his untimely death. Another leap forwards and I’m being thrown onto my bed as the German undresses me, I throw chortle throwing my head back in delight. Now we’re at Revolver and I’m watching him take another girl home. I scream in agony from the pain in my heart. “Let it go” the angels urge me.

Inside the Sanctuary the girls watch on in horror as I deal with the demons of my mind. They are utterly unaware of what is happening to me (on the inside); all they can see is their friend transforming from an ecstatic laughing childlike-creature, to a screaming-tortured-soul. They are helpless, and trippin their dicks off.

Grandmother Willow (the tree from Pocahontas) grabs hold of me, she tells me to breath, tells me my name: ‘Charlotte’. She says I’m okay, that I can come back now.
It’s Zimbabawia, somehow she can enter my universe, in the form of a tree. As she coos me, telling me truths I slowly regain enough strength and grasp reality.

I finally come back. The relief on the girls’ faces is painful. They have just witnessed a living nightmare in the form of their best-friend. They are scared for me. They are scared of me.

Returning to the campsite we are all shaken and disturbed in our own ways. Impy wants me to talk about What happened? Where did you go? What did it mean?

I don’t know what it meant, I don’t know how to find the words to explain what the fuck just happened.

Visiting the medical team for a checkup they tell me it was dehydration. I had had a full bottle of water in my backpack but I hadn’t taken one sip, for in an entire day, in the desert.

Dehydration…that’s all it was…

Thank you to my tribe, and the amazing Sanctuary team, for guiding me, gently, back to earth. I am forever grateful. And will never again judge ‘That guy’.

Keep following my tale(s) on Facebook and Instagram

Photography by the amazing: @robynstrathearn

‘Collapsing into conscious depths’ image by the magical: @starbloom916

*Playa: an area of flat, dried-up land, especially a desert basin from which water evaporates quickly. This space is used as the centre of Burn festivals.

*Mutant vehicle:A motorized conveyance that is radically, stunningly, (usually) permanently, and safely modified. Larry Harvey likens Mutant Vehicles to “sublimely beautiful works of art floating across the playa like a Miro painting.” Licensed by the DMV, these vehicles are an important part of the Burning Man experience.

*CEXx: ‘A consensual, educational, Xploration of seX. A camp focusing on workshops and talks during the day, and discrete, sex-positive camp at night.’

*The Green Dot: Green Dots are the Sanctuary‘s mobile crew who are there to catch you if you wobble out in the wilds of Tankwa Town. Green Dots cruise the dust keeping an eye out for participants who are lost or overwhelmed by their experiences or environment

*The Sanctuary: ‘A calm place of safety where anyone having challenging experiences in the dust (and at our events elsewhere) are able to be helped.‘ ❤ ❤

The Pick-up Artist and the Sex-positive Blogger: Interview or Porno?

Wet and covered only by a teeny tiny towel, I dash upstairs hoping to make it to Shirley’s room before being spotted. As luck would have it I’m caught mid stairwell.

We’re both startled by one another. He takes in my seemingly naked form and starts talking – ‘Sorry’, I interrupt, ‘I don’t speak Dutch’.

‘I see you met Will?’ Smirks Shirley, the Dutch friend I’m staying with. She’s been listening to my stairwell conversation.

‘Yes. He certainly has a charm, doesn’t he?’

‘He sure does.’ She winks. ‘He’s a dating coach.’

I’m gob-smacked. ‘A what!?’

Shirley laughs. ‘He’s a pick-up artist (PUA)…He coaches guys in picking up women.’

‘I need to interview that man.’

And now here I am, at a restaurant in Amersfoort, -20 minutes early for our interview. It feels like a date: I’m oddly nervous. I mean, a sex-positive blogger and a PUA; sounds like the start of a porno to me…

So, tell me your experience of our meeting on the stairs the other morning

Well, I was on my way to the gym and then I saw this tiny girl with a nose piercing and wet hairs (loving the Dutch English), completely naked… and then I saw you having a towel on and I thought, who is this? This isn’t one of my roommates, who is she?…interesting. And so it was you. And I really wanted to ask your number, but it wasn’t necessary, you were first.

Well, actually, you messaged me first!

So a ‘Pick-Up Artist’ is what I’ve been referring to you as. Is that the title you give to yourself?

l call it ‘Pick Up’. In Dutch, it’s more ‘Seduction’; seducing women, picking up women, being better with women. That’s the main purpose. It’s about meeting women and being better with them, not being insecure. The purpose is being your best self and not just a regular normal guy, being different than other guys.

What do you define as ‘different’?

For instance, every guy says ‘Wow, I love your clothing style’ or ‘You have beautiful eyes’. 99/100 guys will give you a physical compliment when they see you in the Burning Man or wherever. I try to do (things) a little bit different, like I sent you a text message that I loved your energy, instead of your nose piercing or your lips, and that maybe sticks more.

Ah, but you clearly did notice my nose piercing, so when you text someone -‘I like your energy’, is it because you genuinely mean it, or you think it will sound better?

Yes, your nose piercing was the first thing I noticed, and yes, normally I would just think about the message and what sounds good. But now it was just really honest. I saw you walking up the stairs with this cute towel that’s a little bit too small, and I saw the friendly smile, and I thought, ‘Wow, this girl is friendly.’ It wasn’t like I was trying to seduce you or something, it was just honest. Sometimes I’m honest; I’m an honest guy. I saw the nose piercing and the cute energy. But, normally, I play a game.

Hmm, this feels like an exception-to-the-rule-moment; am I being seduced?

Okay, so tell me about The Game?

There’s this book, The Game, written by this bald, ugly guy – Neil Strauss. He’s a

40-year-old virgin; he just kissed this girl when he was 20 and that’s it. And then he found this secret group on the internet and within two years of spending time with them he became the best Pick-Up Artist in the world.

By transforming his appearance, he looked the best as he could, and by being this really quick talking, crazy manipulative guy, doing all these tricks and these games and just being GREAT, he could seduce any girl that he wanted.

Ten years ago, when I was 20, I wasn’t interested in girls. I just played badminton and did nothing with my life. Then I read this book and I thought, ‘I’m going to try some of this stuff.’ I met my ex-girlfriend a couple of months after trying some of these tricks.

Did she know that you were using these ‘tricks’ on her?

No. Later I told her about it. I kept reading more theory about it, but I couldn’t practice it anymore because I’m a faithful guy. But then two years ago our relationship ended so I started getting back into it, especially the online stuff – that’s my specialty, I think.

Which (dating) apps would those be?

In Holland they have Tinder of course, and Happn, but especially Tinder. I’ve developed this system called How to Seduce a Girl as Quickly as Possible. From getting her number to taking her home.

Can you please tell me about that system?

There are three phases:

Phase 1 – Seducing the Number:

So, let’s say we have a match. Charlotte and Will like each other’s pictures. From the match to the conversation I need to get your number as quickly as possible by being different than all the other guys, being real dominant.

Phase 2 – Seduce the Date as Fast as Possible:

When you have the number, spend maximum of one hour talking. Get to know each other a bit better. But be a bit mysterious, keep her interested, and then set a date.

Phase 3 – The Date:

Play a little game that I invented – Om Je Te Loren Kennen – Getting to Know Each Other, in Dutch. You give a question with two false answers and one right. You have to pick the right one from each other trying to read each other’s minds and tease each other with the false answers.

Phase 4 – Back to Mine:

After a few drinks I invite her back to my place.

What is the success rate of this system?

Most of the times when I meet the girl here, I take her home.

So are you expecting me to be a success story as well?

Well, you haven’t earned enough points yet. (What now !?!) That’s one of my main trademarks. I give these girls points; they have to earn the date and they have to earn to come back to my place. The reverse of how it usually works.

And do they know that they’re earning these points?

Yes, in the Whatsapp conversation I give them points for being funny and stuff. Some girls say it’s like being in a television show. And the prize is to see me.

Wow, wow, wowser.

Have you ever had girls not get on board with the points, who are just like ‘Fuckkk this’?

Oh, of course. All the time. On Tinder, girls have a lot of matches. Are you on Tinder?

No, but I have been.

You would have 300 matches a day if you swiped enough. I need to be different than the other 299 guys, so I introduce the point system. If they don’t like it, it’s easy. I just end the conversation and never talk to them again.

So you wouldn’t be interested in someone who wasn’t interested in the points?

Um, maybe. But I wouldn’t spend my more time on her. What happens is, guys I coach spend days, even weeks talking with one girl. Tinder first for a few days, then Whatsapp maybe a few weeks, and then she doesn’t want to meet, or when they do meet there’s no spark; it was all a waste of time.

Besides, maybe 50% of the girls online are just there to have fun. To swipe pictures and have a laugh with their girlfriends. A lot of girls give their number and then the conversation dies; because she doesn’t like the conversation or she has 10 other guys talking to her, it’s the wrong timing, the wrong time of day and she’s busy.

I think I’m ready to talk about the guys you work with.

Say you meet a guy who says he’s been talking to a girl for weeks, how do you advise them?

I tell them to cut it off and go to the next one. If she liked him he would have seen her by now.

In Holland we call it ‘Shoot with hill’ – you shoot 1000 bullets and maybe you hit two targets. I think that’s really sick.

‘Something Else?’ asks the waitress who has just come over.

‘You have to drink a little wine,’ Willrespinds, classically dominating. ‘I’ll take a wine, too.’

I feel confused. I wasn’t going to drink tonight.

‘I don’t agree,’ interjects the waitress. ‘You don’t have to drink any wine if you don’t want to’.

Feeling an immense sense of sisterhood with this bold waitress, and quite certain that she has seen Will in PUA action before, I order myself another tea. That damn dominance really did almost work!

So how are these guys finding you?

Through other guys that recommend me. There are a few other men in the Netherlands who are completely fucked; they treat women unfairly. They’re big fuckers; they say to these guys ‘I can teach you how to fuck a lot of girls’.

So what makes you different? Because to me your system seems a lot like teaching guys how to get laid.

That’s an option. But if you want to meet a girl, you want to get to know a girl better than just taking her home and having sex, I have different advice. It depends on what the guy wants.

Your point of difference is that you’re catering to what they are after?

Yes. I had this guy who wanted a girlfriend, I advised him to go slow and after a few dates with this girl, only kissing; she ended up being his girlfriend. If they had sex on the first date I think it would be spoiled already. I think it’s the same for women. Just spare yourself for the real thing and there will be more connection.

But what is my difference? I think it’s being honest, being real. There are a lot of these (PUAs) guys posting photos with beautiful women on their Facebooks and Instagrams; those are just models they hired from an agency. It’s fake.

The difference is I don’t ask a lot of money.

You get paid?

Sometimes. If the guy’s rich, then yes, if the guy is a poor student I tell him to come to Amersfoort, buy my lunch, and I’ll spend three hours with him working on his appearance, his confidence. I might not have all the answers but I like to help people.

So you’re actually coaching these guys on a lot more than the date?

Yes. I go shopping with them, because they wear these awful clothes from 20 years ago, or they don’t spend time on their appearance. You don’t have to look good, but you have to look your best. I take them to the… what do you call it… solobank?

Shopping centre?

No, the sun place for tans..

OHHH the solarium! Those are illegal in Australia.


Because people have gotten cancer from having them.

Oh, wow, that’s crazy. But you have a lot of sun, so it’s not necessary. Here, you look better when you’re a little bit tanned. Then we go to the hairdresser, and the barber for their beard. Then I take new pictures for their tinder profiles.

O yeah, there can be some bad profile pics out there.

Exactly. It’s just making them a little ahead of all the other 10,000 guys out there.

The pictures, do you go for the classics – one where they’re looking sporty, one where they’re holding an animal?

No, no, not with an animal, that’s clique.

I’ll tell you a secret. You can tell your clients that if they’ve been to Asia / Africa and they have a picture of themselves with a drugged-up tiger, they’ll be getting an absolute no from me, and anyone who gives a shit about animals.

So you’re a vegan?

No, a vegetarian.

Ah, not hardcore.

Nope, still too addicted to cheese.

What’s your talent?


When you started yoga you were this beginner, and now maybe you’re an expert. But it took you a lot of time, money, and training hours with the Yogi master. I think being better with women is the same. If I want to be the best at badminton, I have to practice a lot of hours. If you want to be better with yoga you have to practice. But if you want to be better with women a lot of people say, ‘why?’ ‘Why should you be better with women? It should just be a coincidence if you meet a girl.’

I think it’s good to be better, to practice for these situations. Like right now, 10 years ago it would be impossible for me to talk to you in this situation. I wouldn’t know what to say to you. It doesn’t help them (insecure men) only with girls; it helps them in real life. With other guys, at work, in a job interview.

I really love the aspect of helping men with their confidence, helping them feel happy about who they are by working on their appearance etc. I do believe that your appearance emanates a message to the world.

However, morally, I wonder: what do you think about if you notice a client sleeping around excessively? Does that bother you?

Yes, it does. I don’t meet these guys. I once met this guy in Amsterdam, at a forum called ‘Real Social Dynamics’ (RSD). It’s the biggest company in this industry. They make a lot of money. Guys go to their talks for a few hours they have to pay $3000. I met this guy on this RSD group, he wrote a post saying, ‘Who can help me score dates in return for money?’

I replied and said, maybe I can help you. He said he works 72 hours per week, has a lot of money and not a lot of time to talk with girls online. He didn’t want to waste time with talking, he just wanted to meet the girls, and then have sex with them, obviously.

He wanted to give me his account, I should seduce the women, set the dates and he would give me €150 for every date set. He wanted three dates per week.

I tried to convince him that it just takes 1.5 hours on Tinder and on Whatsapp to make a date with someone. I told him I’d meet for free and if he liked the system he could decide to pay me. He said – “If I don’t want to do it, other guys will do it for me.”

I didn’t do it, that’s not my philosophy. I want to help guys who are insecure, who are vulnerable, who are sweet. We’re talking about the Beta guys; the sweet guy who you would friend zone immediately, but who would actually be the best father for your children.

Unfortunately women are not naturally attracted to these types of guys. So they finish last all the time. And the stupid guys, the guys with the big mouths, they get the girl.

I do it for the Beta guys, who are actually really worth it to have a good girl beside them, to have a nice girlfriend, to have sex, and to feel good about themselves. That’s my philosophy. I’ve rejected a lot of guys that just want to fuck.

What do you think about P.U.A’s like Julian Blanch who was banned from entering Australia and Canada because of his tactics of dominance, of not taking “no” for an answer?

He’s from RSD, and yes he uses manipulation, and it works, really well.

Can you give me an example of manipulation?

A simple type of dominance is that I told you to be here at 8pm; I didn’t ask you.

Yes, I noticed that trick.

That’s okay, you’re still here.

[Fuck, shoulda made it 8.05]

That’s just a simple example; it’s not a harmful thing. His could be a lot more harmful.

It comes from this desperate attempt of being noticed by women. You see guys hear a lot of No; ‘No, I don’t like you’; ‘No, I’m busy’; ‘No, I’m with my friends’. They need to find a way around all these no’s, and so some guys come up with this crazy, manipulative stuff.

I think my theory is more human. Of course, I like to do some games and tricks, but it’s not bad. I hope. I haven’t had big complaints.

Yes, well I can’t say women don’t have plenty of their own games and tricks.

What do you teach men about body language?

There is this rule that if a girl gives you three indicators of interest you can kiss her.

Ha! Can I guess them?

Of course, tell me five.

Touching their hair?


Touching their lips?

Like you are now, yep.

(Insert me awkwardly laughing)

They laugh, and smile, eye contact, they touch you. They’re all small indicators, but they’re not even true. The rule exists so that the guy will have the confidence to go for the kiss.

If she doesn’t kiss back then you go home. No more wasting time. If you like someone, there is a connection, then there has to be a kiss. If you were out with a guy and he doesn’t kiss you by the end of the night, you will assume he’s not interested in you.

If there is a kiss then there can be sex, because there is attraction. Building attraction by being smart, funny, witty or what do you call that word?


Yes banter, and a bit cocky.

You’re describing my ex.

Why is he your ex?

Because he was too arrogant.

Hmm. I think the Beta guys I met can learn to be a bit more arrogant. But the arrogant guys, I don’t think they can learn to be sweet. So, in the end, I think the smart, friendly, friend-zone guy is better off in the world.

I believe that these ‘Beta guys’, their ability to be sensitive and sweet, that isn’t something they should hide away. They should be proud to be in tune with their emotions.

That’s true, and maybe you know that because you’ve had a lot of experience with the Alpha males, the arrogant guys, and you know now that you want more. But, naturally, women don’t want Beta guys; they’re not attracted them, they don’t want to have sex with them.

Way back when we were hunters and gatherers, women wanted to have sex with Alpha males because then they’d produce Alpha-children who were more likely to survive. It’s a survival mechanism. These days, you can have Beta-children and they can survive. But do they have lots of sex? No, a lot of them don’t. But they want to have children, too, which is most human beings’ main drive.

You believe Beta guys need to learn the Alpha ways to get more women?

I’ve done this now for two years and I was seeing a girl for maybe 8 of those months. I was really dominant with her, saw her only once a week (at this restaurant), had crazy good sex. She fell in love. But I wasn’t really there. And then I met this Romanian girl in Asia. I didn’t do any ‘pick-up‘, I was just my real self: being honest, not playing any games. We connected so crazily that I fell in love with her. And that was more beautiful than the stupid game thing.

But in the beginning it can really help insecure guys to get to know women. It’s a mask.

So this mask grows the confidence from within, and then they put it back on the shelf and they don’t need it?

Yes, I hope so.

Do you tell them this plan?

I let them find their way.

Is your mask on the shelf or are you wearing it?

After my 7-year relationship, I felt like a 16-year-old, I wanted to go crazy. I have times of wanting to go crazy. But then, in other times, I think ‘I don’t want to do this, I just want to find a special girl’. So I go into retreat. It’s just finding my own balance. Sometimes it feels really shallow. But maybe you meet this one girl who is really special.

The Romanian? [Is she a special girl?]

Yes but she’s in Romania.

Romania is not very far. Europe is small; I the Australian am here to remind you of that!

Well, that’s the tale of the sex-positive blogger and the PUA. I am dying to hear have you heard of PUAs? Have you ever used these tricks? Do you think these tricks have been used on you? Share your stories in the comment section!

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Please note: This interview focused on heterosexual dating. If you, or know anyone you know works in more diverse or non-binary dating realms, please contact me 😀

Sperm and Quirky Eggs

I often quote my favourite Tame Impala lyric by the wonderful Kevin Parker – ‘The only one really judging you is yourself.’ In this tale I go on a journey that some of you will connect deeply with, and some not at all…

Saturday fever is upon us again – this time the theme is RED. In classic manifestation style, Zimbabawia happened to find me the most divine, red ball-gown. It was hanging in a tree by the side of the road back in Malawi, and we bargained it down to a whopping $3.

Also read: Holes and Hippopotamuses

Stored at the bottom of my pack, it’s as if the dress knew it would be coming to this party. Degreased and bathed, I get her out and slip her on. She’s a slim fit, falls gracefully to the floor, and is licked with flame shaped golden sequins that rise from my bellybutton to breasts. In it I feel a surge of energy, the dress is charged and transforms me into The Desert Queen.

The rest of the kitchen crew have been busy sprucing themselves up, meeting in our living room, we decide to have a trippy night together. We share a sugar cube and role into the party like lava…lit.

The party is in the DPW living room, and yet I believe I have apparated into a Moroccan party. The *Fluffers have done it again, they’ve transformed it into a warm womb like cave; red drapes hang, pillows lay strategically around the outside, and a sea of beautiful red humans are milling about.

I spot Hawk Eyes, tonight is his birthday, I go to wish him a happy birthday and he pulls me aside. I just wanted you to know, the girl I mentioned is arriving tomorrow. If things had been different I would have been all over you these last weeks, and all the weeks to come.
I have a list of things I’d love to retort to this self-absorbed human and his self-absorbed speech, but I suddenly feel the sugar cube about to hit me like a freight-train.

Have you been to a party or festival and realise that your night is about to get real hectic real quickly? So quickly that you rush to safely deposit your valuables somewhere that your soon to be alter ego can’t fuck them up?

With the sugar cube train about to reach the station, I grab Zimbabawia and we take off to save my camera from my future self. While exiting the party, we stumble upon Arrows path – Arrows is an absolute gem in the desert, she is topless with arrows painted on her body facing different directions. Twisted. She inquires What are you doing? We’re on a mission! Can I join? Fuck yes!
Together we slap our hands above our heads to form a rocket, then take off on our mission.

On our 30 metre journey we decide it’s a good idea to keep a note of landmarks; a green tent, a bicycle with a bell, a toilet, a very shiny rock… It may only be 30 metres, but by the time we safely deposit my camera in Arrows tent, it feels as though we have landed on Jupiter.

With our mission safely completed, we begin to attempt to find the party. Obviously, not wanting to make things easy, we take a new route and stumble around the desert ‘landing’ on different planets. Assessing whether they are habitable, we conclude that the red party has the best atmosphere… and land our rocket.

Inside I spot Lanky in the corner, Hawk Eyes on the other side of the room, and Nimbin outside with his girlfriend. I position myself on the dance-floor far away from any of them. I am feeling positively charged and so full of power, that I want nothing to do with these unworthy men.

From my new spot I look around and observe that everyone is The party is heaving. From a brief glance at the different interactions going on, I can say with certainty that this is already the loosest party I have EVER been too.

People are naked, wrestling, roaming in the desert, howling at the moon – ecstasy is all around, it is simply vibrating. Whether it’s the kilometres from civilisation, the freedom of every individual in the room, the absence of judgements or responsibilities, the awareness that regular social norms and constraints don’t apply here – I cannot wipe the smile from my face. I’m twirling in my ball-gown in the centre of the dance-floor completely at peace, completely at home in myself… and then a Prince arrives.

A side note: If you’re a regular reader you may have figured out by now that I truly am a HOPELESS romantic. Clearly a storyteller, when I meet men, I love to imagine that if they end up being ‘the one,’ our first meeting is the tale we tell for the rest of our lives.

So when a guy I have never seen before (I know everyone in this desert) dressed as a Prince (red and gold royal jacket) approaches me, I’m feeling like the desert version of Cinderella.
Your dress is amazing. Do you want to dance? Dumbstruck I nod my approval and he edges towards me lightly taking my waist, he then begins to waltz me to to the techno beats. All eyes are on us:
The Desert Queen and The Prince.

After our waltz, we walk outside and sit on a conveniently placed party bench deep in the desert. Names are quickly exchanged and we begin to kiss. I see stars, our tongues are two galaxies weaving together and I think I might actually fall off the bench. Too soon he pulls away, I’m sorry I can’t do this.

Oh GOD what? Do you have a girlfriend? All I want is a good finger bang in the bushes.

He starts pissing himself laughing You’re great, and no, I haven’t had a girlfriend in a long time, I can’t, I don’t feel connected to people, I can’t give them what they want.
Totally stumped I move back from him, Well how do you know what I want?
Well, what do you want?

I sit and think, for a long time, not knowing what to say, and then it comes out:
I just want a real connection.
Knowingly he replies; Well, I can’t give you that.

I start crying into his shoulder, and he asks me why? It all spills out of me… time and time again I am attracted to the wrong men. Why do you think this happens? Leaning on his shoulder I am plunged into a vision. As though looking through a microscope, I see a vision of thousands of sperm swimming around hundreds of eggs. Some of the eggs are slightly brighter, warmer, quirkier than the others. When the sperm come close to the brighter eggs they are drawn towards it, they surround it, they want proximity to it. I see a particularly radiant egg and realise that it is me. I am larger than life, I am wild, I am free, I am loud, and I am proud. Sperm are drawn to me, they want a piece of my wildness, they want to feel my freedom. They think of me as some kind of drug that they’ll give a try this one time, see what it’s like, then go back to their previous ways.

Coming back I pull away from him, suddenly motivated by my vision, I tell him that if he knows he can’t give me what I need then he should go. He smiles sadly, then stands up and leaves. I sit for a while and get myself together. I can’t process what’s just happened, I wander back to the red party and slump onto a cushion. I’m exhausted, shattered, and pretty fucked up.

From across the room, Star Bloom gravitates to me – she’s one of those angels on earth, a pure and spiritual being that can make you feel loved and understood from a single hug. She wordlessly lifts me from the ground. As she leads me to the dance-floor I am overcome, somehow I am not in control of my body, Star Bloom is. She literally controls my limbs as we dance. I lean into her shoulder surrendering to her control, finally feeling safe and understood. Again I am plunged into a vision, this time I’m afraid, it feels so strong that I might collapse, I don’t want to collapse, so I resist.
Resisting causes Star Bloom to release my hands and leave, not uttering a word, as if she could feel I wasn’t ready to go where ever I was being taken.

I stand amid the chaos trying to decide what to do. I leave the party and feel myself heading towards Lanky’s container in a lonely desperation. Then with 100 x the force as the last time, the voice from within me bellows – You. Are. Finished. With. That! My legs LITERALLY turn from underneath me, away from Lanky’s container and in the direction of home. They start to run themselves home making sure I don’t have a chance to change my mind.

I am not fucking joking.

Inside our living room my darling crew members are there waiting to welcome me home. In control of my body once more, I collapse onto the couch and explain everything that has happened to me. I feel no fear of being judged by my desert family. Once my tale is finished the Desert Poet locks eyes with me and says You’re waking up, keep listening to that voice.

*Fluffers – Two crew members get the role of ‘Fluffers’; their job entails party planning, and looking after all the desert labourers.
Also read: Penetration of the Hawk Eyes

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Artwork by Starbloom

A Universal Fucking

Sometimes if you put all your expectations of a night into the hope of getting with a particular person, the universe just might make a mockery of you and send a totally different person your way.

*Make sure you’ve read part one of this tale: Penetration of the Hawk Eyes for the full juicy context!

Having finally shattered Hawk Eyes glass house, I sassily pivot on my heel and strut back into the living room. One of the veteran Afrika Burners, Lanky, has just joined, he is fabulously sarcastic (an Australian trait I’m learning South Africans share) and damn sexy.

I confidently sit myself down next to him, he casually looks up, and acknowledges my arrival with an unreadable smile, then passes me a blunt*. After a game of Werewolf, Lanky turns his body to face me as our conversation becomes intimate. Engulfed in our own banter-world, I am unaware of the entire group heading to bed.

Finally realising that we are alone, the familiar shift in chemistry washes over us.
Is this going to happen? Just as the thought enters my brain a newcomer enters the stretchie and I feel a surge of disappointment that our intimacy has been spoilt. The newcomer approaches us jollily, then awkwardly halts; clearly recognising the sexual forcefield emanating around Lanky and I, he quickly makes an excuse and scurries off.

With that strange and telling interruption over, Lanky announces I’ve got chocolate in my container, do you want to come have some? HA! When growing up you are taught to absolutely NEVER follow someone that offers you candy, especially if they’re in a van… Well. Lanky doesn’t have a white van, but he does have a white shipping container.
I practically cartwheel in.

Let me try to illustrate what fucking LUXURY a shipping container home in the desert is: Instead of a 2×2 metre tent, it’s a whole fucking container (Zimbabawia and I’s tent doesn’t even fit our bags inside). It has a real double bed with blankets (not children’s sleeping bags), pillows (not a bag of clothes), a bedside table, and candles. It doesn’t move in the wind, doesn’t get affected by sandstorms, it retains heat from the day – making the freezing night forgotten, and YES… it has a suitcase filled with fucking chocolate.
Chemistry or not, I wanted this guy in my desert life.

While he rolls another blunt I get to choose the suitcase items! One blunt and two blocks of chocolate later, we are flirting furiously. I am a genuinely cold human, I’ve found over my sexual years that my need for warmth tends to increase my success rate in the sack*… Feeling chilly, I get myself under the covers, he joins me and our legs quickly entangle. Legs become chests, chests become faces, and the make-out begins.

Have you ever been with someone who completely transforms in the sack?

As soon as Lanky’s tongue enters my mouth he morphs into a horny moungral. He attacks my clothes discarding my layers around the container. Once the offending garments are dispersed, he descends my pussy like a labrador at a BBQ. I am so taken aback by this changed human that I’m calling out: Laannnnnkkkkyyyy!?!? in a mixture of shock and pleasure. Surely containers are sound proof? Oh well, the wild woman cannot be contained.

Just reaching clitoral orgasm I am eager to return the oral pleasure, bowing down I’m almost knocked out by his cock. The thing is HUGE, so huge that I quickly touch the circumference of my mouth assessing whether it will fit? Starting slowly I lick the giant lollipop, rubbing my mouth and face all over it. I do suck on it a bit, but taking it all in is genuinely beyond my mouth’s abilities.
I’m beginning to wonder how the hell my yoni will manage…

We slide the XL condom over his XL member, then he leans over and blows out the candles. We are plunged into total darkness – shipping containers having absolutely no natural light so I can’t see my hand in front of my face, let alone the giant latexed beast that’s meant to be entering my cosy cave.

I fumble around in the dark laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation and accidentally poke my finger into his eye. Shouldn’t we… like maybe leave the candles on so we can see what’s happening?
Nah we got this.

Apparently Lanky and his lanky cock have a sixth sense for finding caves in the dark. He guides me onto my back and lowers himself into me. I am tense, anticipating his girth, but he is clearly aware of his own size as he gently eases himself back and forth, allowing me time to expand.

Once I’m wet n’ wild, I climb on top of him and start riding his invisible figure. I literally cannot see a thing, I might as well be fucking the universe. Something about the bizarreness of not seeing each other sets me off and I piss myself laughing while I’m joy riding the unseeable. Apparently wanting me to be more serious about the matter he flips me onto my stomach and takes me from behind. I shove my face into the pillows and scream as my pussy engulfs him, and then he collapses on top of me.

Still blind Lanky asks Will you stay?
If that’s okay?
He answers by reaching out and pulling me into a vice-grip-snuggle.

Naked, blind, and nestled into the arms of a different man than I had anticipated, I sleep my best nights sleep in the desert, wondering how little the universe cares about our plans.

Blunt -a rolled marijuana cigarette. Also known as joint, doobie, spliff

Sack – bed. “I’m real freaky in the sack”, “I’m hitting the sack” (Not sure why punching the bed means I’m going to bed, but it does #straya)

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Artwork by Unknown Artist

Penetration of the Hawk Eyes

Are you a glass house builder? You meet someone that you’re excited about and build a nice little glass house around them? One that prevents you from seeing their true selves. You prefer to keep that shiny glass exterior where everything about them is perfect, a lovely illusion. I’m so good at it, I could start up my own glass house real-estate company.

Everybody works hard in the desert, like really fucking hard. From sunrise till sundown, rain, sandstorm or flood – six days a week. Except for the Kitchen Crew; we work seven days a week, everyone’s gotta eat hey?

Our first Saturday has finally rolled around, and Zimbabawia and I are buzzing with anticipation for a BIG night, we’ve been told that Saturday parties are wild. I’m ready to get wild… and get laid. The anticipation has sent my dinner service peacock into overdrive, new crew members have arrived and I greet them with caffeinated enthusiasm. An outrageously sexy couple approaches my ladle, they are oozing confidence in this foreign land. I haven’t been to Burning Man, yet, but I am certain that these are old time Burners. Meeting the intense stare of the male, I am instantly attracted to his sexy hawk-ness, internally I give a single girl ‘sigh’.

Zimbabawia and I practically break pots doing the dreaded dishes. Finally finished, we slip on our bathers and head on over to the Official Desert Beach Party. Immediately I understand the party hype… The Fluffers* have turned the Pirate Ship Art Instillation into a desert beach; the Rebar is Hawaiian themed, everyone is dressed in beach wear, and an appropriate sandstorm has begun to brew.

After a hefty mushroom appetizer, myself and my new gal pal, Corneas, sidle into a red rubber ring. The ring quickly becomes an extension of our bodies; we see no option but to remain inside it ‘swimming’ on the dance-floor for hours. We literally cannot stop, how can we end this hilarious skit when everyone is so entertained by us? Swimming to the sandstorm beats and bopping butts with Corneas, my cup is continually filled and I’m as high as a kite. It seems nothing could go wrong… famous last words. The next thing I know, I’m sprawled out, alone and rubber ring-less, in the dust behind the pirate ship.

Zimbabwia happens to be dashing for a desert wee when she spots my shambled self, seeing the state of me determines, You need to vomit.
I’ve tried, I just can’t make myself do it.
Not skipping a beat she swiftly shoves her fingers down my throat and I begin projectile vomiting all over her hands. Friendship.

A disco chunder always does wonders. After ‘friendship level 100 activities’, I head back to the party, full of hope to carry on with the night. Standing on the side of the throbbing dance-floor I realise how in vain these hopes are. I make eye contact with the male half of the hot assed couple, Hawk Eyes, and he comes over Are you okay? I Admit that I’ve slightly overdone the Rebar, again, and can’t quite manage the dance-floor. He accompanies me to sit down and then doesn’t leave… We start chatting about his previous Burning Man experiences (knew it), and I’m feeling confused about his relationship status, so casually ask, Do you always go to Burns with your girlfriend?
Not my girlfriend, just a friend.

The energy between us immediately changes, we become silent, looking into each other’s eyes, awkwardly affirming with our gaze that we are both single and clearly ready to mingle. He’s leaning in and I quickly inform him I spewed a little while ago, just so you know. Apparently unphased by mushroom milkshakes, he keeps leaning in. The kiss is indulgent, I hold his face and feeling sexy post-vom in my bathers, I straddle him. Zimbabawia appears again, looking mildly surprised; she’d only just had time to wash the vomit off her hands and I’d somehow managed to start sucking someone’s face. She checks to see that I am happy and consenting, then laughs and goes back to the party. After she leaves, Hawk Eyes also ensures he isn’t taking advantage of me. Definitely not, I even gave a disappointed sigh when I thought you were taken.

Consent confirmed (VERY important, people), we abandon the beach and navigate towards the DPW quarters, and his tent. Apologising for his mattress-less, sleeping-bag-less floor, we decide to make a mattress out of our clothes. Upon the jackets and bathers we start doing that hot thing where you kiss and grind your bodies together, edging the penis closer and closer to the vagina but not letting it enter. I can feel the moisture between my legs beginning to flow in anticipation.

Finally, in a moment of pure will power, request a condom, Okay he replies, But I should tell you, there’s a girl that might be coming here soon, she’s not my girlfriend, but she is a ‘someone’, I just wanted to tell you in case you see me with her and wonder who she is.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Look, the reality of what he’s saying is way more reasonable than Nimbin’s; I have a girlfriend with a kid. However, what the fuck is with the timing? I mean, I had asked if he had a girlfriend just hours before. Then would probably have been a more appropriate time to tell me about this girl, instead of when his cock is in the loading bay, ready to enter my harbour.

In my state of intoxication and desire, I choose to ignore my intuitive anger and quickly forgive myself for not being strong enough to deny the throbbing penis, inches from entering me.

I go ahead and do the deed. His Hawk eyes penetrate my soul while his cock penetrates my body upon the hard, mattress-less floor. It feels fantastic.

Waking up I am as hungover as a 14 year old’s first night on goon (my first night drinking goon consisted of me vomiting in my hands and feeding the vomit to my best friends rabbits.) I leave Hawk Eyes sleeping in what now looks like a tent-brothel, and trudge my sorry ass to the kitchen. At lunch service I am pleasantly surprised, Hawk Eyes greets me with a kiss, sympathises that I have been working, and pulls his chair over to sit with me while I serve. Already feeling confused by this gentlemanly behaviour he further bewilders me by asking if he can stay and help clean the dishes!

Okay, you might be thinking WTF girl, this is how you deserve to be treated! Yeah, I know I do deserve to be treated as a queen, however I am just not used to this behaviour, and therefore am suspicious of it. The next two days are the same; he continues to flirt and sit with me during every meal. I am feeling fucking confused; is there going to be another girl arriving here that he’s involved with? And if so, that is pretty fucking strange as he’s made it quite obvious to the whole crew that he’s interested in me. Plus, the worst part is I’m developing a crush…
I don’t like it.

I decide to find out what’s really going on.

After dinner I ask Hawk Eyes if he wants to hangout, he agrees and we head to the living room (a giant stretchie, furnished with beat up desert couches and dusty carpets, luxury). We’ve just finished a flirty game of foosball when he leaves saying he’ll Be right back. But he doesn’t come right back. I’m about go to his tent to find him, when a voice from within growls No. Fucking. Way Girlfriend. You are not chasing after some dude that told you he has another girl on the way!

The voice trembles inside me so loudly that is shatters Hawk Eyes’ glass house into a million pieces. Who the fuck is this prick to tell me about another girl seconds before his dick enters me? Bullshit he told me out of respect. He told me to unburden his own guilt. As for spending each night with me at dinner, he was just keeping his image of the ‘good guy’.

I do not go after him.

Besides, Lanky has just entered the stretchie.

*Fluffers – Two crew members get the role of ‘Fluffers’; their job entails party planning, and looking after all the desert labourers

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