Africa baby!

I’m in Africa biatches!

As you’ve read, the lead up to my departure from Melbourne wasn’t exactly relaxing. Having finally made it out of 2017 and into 2018 slightly unscathed, it was time I gave my mind, body and v-jay-jay a mother-flippin-break.

My bestie, Mumma Africa, and I, based ourselves in Moshi, Tanzania. There I began my Melbourne detox.

I woke up early each morning, ate vegan meals, kept up regular yoga practice, went for runs, and did NOT drink alcohol for almost an entire month.

Yes, you noticed the almost. So there was this one Friday night that we got on the drinking train, literally a lethal Tanzanian spirit that poses as gin, yet costs less than water.

Rule of life; no alcohol that costs less than water is good news.

Three bottles down and shit got wild, Mumma Africa and I made our way to a mammoth club called Red Stone. It was teaming with hot Tanzanian gals twerkin their booties and a pelethora of beautiful men backing up on them glorious derrière. Normal me would have, could have, been one of the ladies being backed up on. However, my vagina was seemingly also going through a detox and I just didn’t have the motivation to interact with anyone other than my third bottle of Konyagi.

Mumma Africa on the other hand was NOT having problems interacting. Without me having witnessed the advancements, she had made her way into the arms of a gigantic, gorgeous, Tanzanian man. I took this, and my inability to stand straight anymore, as my queue to leave.

The morning after. I awoke in shambles, I crawled my defeated body to the toilet and discovered a disgusting mess of black tar filing the loo. I suppose you’d call it vomit, but it certainly didn’t seem human made. I realised with regret that it was in fact my mess. I tried to flush it away but a clogging situation started. In my hungover panicked state I MacGyver a solution: I wrapped a plastic bag around my hand and created a plunging affect with the force of my palm, gradually squealching my stomach bile away.

My day of hangover doom was at least livened by hearing the tale of Mumma Africa and her very fulfilling night with Mr. Mount Kilimanjaro, from her recall, she well and truely reached his summit.

The month of Jan was quickly reaching its conclusion and we would soon be beginning our backpacking journey. At our farewell drinks we got chatting to a Dutch friend about my almost sexless month. She informed me that in the Netherlands there is a term called ‘Panda Points’. You see, Pandas are only ready for sex once a year, makes sense why they’re going extinct hey? So at Uni in the Netherlands if you go a month without sex you get one Panda Point. The Panda Points accrue and if you reach 12 points, a full year without sex, your mates’ duty is to throw you a ‘Panda Party’ where only your attracted sex is invited, thus attempting to help break the points streak.

This was the most absurd/excellent Uni tradition I’d ever heard. I was ready to spread the word of this great tradition, however, I believed that I would NEVER be receiving my own Panda Party.

Yet here I was about to earn my first Panda Point!

Departure day arrived on the 31st of Jan, Mumma Africa and I spent the day sitting on a sweat box of a bus for 8 hours. Surrounded by people vomiting, and a bunch of live chickens in plastic bags, I slowly came to terms with the fact that I was about to put my first Panda Point on the mantle.

I awoke the next morning to learn that Mamma Africa had been sexting Mr. Mount Kilimanjaro. She had playfully mentioned that she wished he and his mountain member were in her bed.

Something I was quickly learning on the trip was that African men aren’t like the hard to get Europeans and Australians that I’m used too. He took her dirty talk seriously and said he would get onto a bus immediately. We both laughed, thinking surely he wasn’t serious, but Mr. Mount Kilimanjaro ain’t a joker, soon after our laughter subsided she received a selfie of him on the bus!

Whilst awaiting for his arrival Mumma Africa and I hiked the glorious Usambara Mountains, searching for chameleons and sending off the sun at a stunning and kinda scary look out.

Mr. Mount Kilimanjaro appeared and Mumma Africa was a goner.

It was now the 1st and my one Panda Point was already bothering me, as if sent by the anti-panda gods, suddenly two young men arrived to the lookout. Naturally, I sat my ass beside them and learned they were Uruguayan, and worked for the UN. Impressive. My eyes were scanning over both the new characters and though neither was particularly my type, there was a little something about one in particular…we’ll call him Wonky Boy.

We progressed from the viewpoint to a bar with the Uraguian’s and Mr. Mount Kilimanjaro in tow. Wonky and I got onto the topic of techno and our deep love of a dirty base. I knew he was impressed with the cute redheaded techno loving Aussie, and wasn’t too surprised when he asked for my number.

I also wasn’t surprised when moments after arriving back to my hotel room, Wonky Boy messaged filling me with compliments: ‘you have a nice crazy mind, I like that.’ Interestingly being called crazy really worked for me and I invited him around. We got under my mosquito net to avoid not sexy malaria and quickly got down to business. It was then that I previewed his wonky member in its full banana-bend glory. I’ve had one other wonky penis, and they can be really great for tickling new angles inside. I clambered myself on top and started to enjoy the affects of the sideways slamming when suddenly he was making pterodactyl noises signalling his all too soon orgasm.

I hid my disappointment at our four minute session while escorting him from the dindgy hotel and wished him the best. He was actually a lovely man and when I get my ass to Uraguay, he’ll be hearing from me, for techno party recommendations, probably not a banana-split.

And there you had it, I’d bid goodbye to any possibility of Panda Point number 2 and I attained probably my most random flag. To date.

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Leaving Melbourne with a Bang: Part 2

So here I was, mere days before my departure and I seemed to have exhausted all penis possibilities in my life. I made peace with this fact and was content to be celibate until Africa.

Silly me should have known, my life is not one of contentment.

At my going away event I met a pretty boy, we shall call him Devil Boy. After some steady flirtation, it was agreed that he and his friends would join my friend’s after party. We spent a few more hours flirting, getting wankered and me teaching everyone some yoga, nothing like showing a man what bendable positions can be achieved later on. Naturally the night ended where they all seem to, at Revs. I was beyond exhausted and really didn’t want to go, but Devil Boy insisted I come. We all piled into seperate taxis and I said I’d meet him there. But he never rocked up. I sat on the couch like a grumpy disappointed mess until I could no longer stand waiting, and left. I told a friend that if he rocked up to tell him I’d tried to wait.

Mere minutes after I got into my bed my phone went off. It was my friend informing me that Devil Boy had just arrived and was looking for me. She passed him the phone and through the techno he shouted that he was sorry but he’d been looking for his lost phone. I told him not to worry and that if he still wanted to see me he should ask my friend for my address. Whilst waiting to hear if he would come I spruced my room and myself up, then popped on a cute ‘come bang me’ nighty. My friend text again saying Devil Boy was on route with a napkin map she’d hand-drawn, how good are friends? I waited and waited, and sipped tea, and waited. I went down the street wandering if he’d maybe inverted the apartment and house numbers, I waited some more, I couldn’t contact the guy as he still didn’t have a phone, so disappointed yet again, I masturbated and passed out.

I woke the following day expecting an apology message etc, only to find my phone screen blank. I was completely mystified, had he bailed on me? Had his napkin map lead him to another horny and waiting girl’s home? Had he died? I at least wanted an explanation.

Another day passed and I arrived home to find some chocolates on my door step, attached with a note from Devil Boy. Turns out he did invert the house numbers and was banging at a strangers house at six in the morning. Anyway, I was bloody flattered by a box of chocolates from a guy who had failed to find his way to my place for a fuck. I invited him back over and our paths finally collided. His company in the soberness of my bedroom was interesting, he’s a devilish kind of boy that leads a devilish kind of lifestyle. However, he was fucking hot and he was in my room.

I had gotten my period that morning and decided not to let it ruin our plans, we started to get it on and I knew I was in for a goodie. He was a slowwwww fore-player, ravishing every inch of my skin, he finally started to make his way south so I felt it time to reveal that I had my period. It was apparent from the look in his eyes that he wasn’t in the mood to be a red bearded pirate. He didn’t seem to want to bloody his sword either. But you see, I have a way of making men change their minds. I said no sex was fine by me, but then stealthily began grinding him, knickers on. It took maybe two minutes before he changed his mind and slipped that throbbing beast into me.

Well guess what happened next, I, ‘a wannabe red head,’ had my first EVER orgasm from sex, on my period, with my menstrual cup in!!! I was in such utter shock after the orgasm-wave ran through me that I literally stopped fucking him before he’d cum. Now I know you’re probably shocked to hear this, and I have had orgasms, just never ones from penetration, I’m usually too up in my faux-red-head. He asked me if I was okay and I shared my story. He left that night with a big fat, not Dolmio, grin on his face.

And so it was, I had successfully tied up my year with telling my disrespectful English Boy where to go. I had re-fucked two old flames, one which I never want to see again, the other whose chapter I feel is not fully finished. And I managed to find myself a Devil Boy who broke my orgasmless curse.

Melbourne 2017: You chewed me up. But I spat myself outta there, via aeroplane into mother flippin Africa.

2018, come at me.

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Leaving Melbourne with a Bang: Part 1

I don’t know about you, but when I’m weeks away from leaving my country, indefinitely, I like to avoid important tasks like selling my car and occupy myself with unnecessary stresses such as men. Therefore my sexual debauchery continued up until my departure day.

I had been hanging out with Stoner English Boy. A month into our super casual fun time he decided to inform me that he had also been seeing someone else for a few months. He said he didn’t want that to change anything between us, he just thought he’d better let me know. FFS. I decided to play the cool chill chick and told him that it was fine and how about we just be mates. If you’ve read any of my other tales, you know how well that usually goes down for me.

I brought him along to my friends’ party and without my knowing, he invited his lady along.

When I said we could be mates, I didn’t ask to be his third wheel. Fuckhead. After multiple mates approached me asking, “is the guy you brought with another girl?” I’d had enough and politely informed him that he was an idiotic prick and that he should promptly bugger right off.

This incident felt like the cherry on top of an absolute doozy of a year with men and therefore left me feeling utterly finished with them. Luckily for me my one-way flight to Africa was coming up and I could not have been more excited to get the fuck outta Melbourne and into the land of the BBC, big..black.. you get my drift.

The only issue was… my lack of dick riding options for those remaining weeks in Melbourne. I needed a solution to fulfil my large sexual appetite. I couldn’t bare the idea of meeting new people on tinder, only to go through the bullshit small talk, and the potentially awkward dates. Or, if I did make it to the bedroom, finding out that they use their dick like a worm squirming around trying to produce moisture in the desert.

I therefore decided that seeing as the year had already reached its peak of utter fuckery, there could be no harm in throwing some extra salt on my wounds. On a desperate night out I messaged both the Pilot and the German requesting their sexual company. We’ve all been there.

The Pilot was the first to respond and I instructed him to come over. He arrived only moments later, as though he’d been waiting around the corner hoping I’d contact him, weirdo. If you’ve ever hooked up with an ex it can usually go one of two ways. For me, when I opened the front door, his look, his smell, everything that use to make me melt, had zero effect on me. We walked up the stairs to my apartment and he stopped me in the hallway to lift up my dress and eat me out, next to my neighbour’s door. Did I mention I use to fuck my hallway neighbour? So yeah the Pilot was still kinky and fun but when it came down to doing it, I just wasn’t into him. Whilst I was gettin it doggy style I saw my phone light up, I had a gut feeling of who it might be, and sure enough, it was the German. I was instantly disengaged with the man at my rear and stopped the session. I told him I was sorry but I wasn’t into it and escorted him out. The look of horror on his face maybe should have made me feel bad, but after all the crap he put me through, it felt fucking awesome.

I closed the door and scurried to my phone, the German had also accepted my invitation but not until the following day. Which was unfortunate, or maybe fortunate, I couldn’t really be bothered changing my sheets anyway. I certainly wasn’t thinking for a moment that fucking ex number two within the space of an evening would be playing with the Devil’s dick.

Unlike the Pilot, when I laid my eyes on the German, his look, his smell, I was a dead woman. We had the hottest ‘I’m a bad bitch for doing this’ session which featured an epic Melbourne thunder-storm, that seemed to crack alongside my thrilled moans of elation for having, probably my favourite dick, in and around my mouth.

Though we tried to meet up again each day before my departure, it never worked out. Fate probably had a small hand in not allowing it to happen. I had sworn to myself that it was just sex and meant nothing, however, in reality feelings of attachment were already budding within me.

Now with my plane merely days from departure, you would think my Melbourne tales were concluded… you would think wrong.

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My Leg Fillers of Late

Since the German, I have well and truly found my way back into the single gal groove. It’s funny how you can, unintentionally / totally intentionally, loose that when ‘not dating’ a guy for 5 months.

A summary of my leg fillers of late:

– The Native American / German, yeah another German

Found him on Feeld, an app for sexually explorative persons like myself. He came over for a ‘let’s meet and see if we wanna bang’ coffee. There weren’t exactly sparks flying but I was ready to jump onto a fresh D, and so welcomed the booty call which came the next day. We banged in my shower, and he actually managed to give fab shower head which I think is impressive af when you’re not wearing a snorkel. We moved our sesh to the bedroom and when he was about to reach his crescendo, he barked for me to ‘take his big German dick.’ You can imagine this is not the dirty talk I was wanting to hear.

Afterwards, he kept talking at me. He was one of those guys who likes to talk about boring subjects in order to ooze intelligence. I’d honestly rather talk about farts. So when he tried to go again I thanked him for the good ride, but would have to pass on round two.

– The Buff English Boy

I spied him at the beach, liked what I saw and delivered my number to his friends after eye-fucking him for an almost uncomfortable amount of time. We went rock-climbing as a date. A few girlfriends called me insane for suggesting rock-climbing as a first date. I strongly disagree and in fact think it’s the perfect first date; you get to do a ‘I’m a cool alternative Melbourne chick’ activity, you spend money on something other than alcohol, you don’t have to stare at each others faces, you get a work out, and you get to give them a view of your sweet ass as you ascend the wall.

Despite my TripAdvisor positive reviews on the date, I don’t think it was for him. He was this big bulky guy, but he clearly just does dead weights at the gym, never really applying his hulk strength into real life scenarios, like dragging yourself up a wall.

The whole time he was super self conscious and rather than just giving difficult reaches a go, he would freeze, then get off the wall and declare he couldn’t do it. I know what you might be thinking; ‘don’t give the guy such a hard time, maybe he’s scared of heights’ or ‘aww that’s endearing.’

But seriously, I had only just stopped seeing the most confident, egotistic, ‘just do it’ guy, and I found it really unattractive for someone to not back themselves.

We migrated from climbing to a bar, we took one step inside and the stale scent of alcohol and regrets visibly relaxed his big-ass shoulders. This was a man who needed liquid courage on his dates, one pint down and he finally started to warm up. I was meant to be driving myself home but he tactically bought me drink after drink, soon rendering me unable to drive, and therefore in need of accomodation… sly. Drinks turned to dinner and though the conversation was flowing I couldn’t help but feel that I was signing up to be his life coach. He spoke negatively about most topics and I spent the majority of the evening positively reframing his outlook. Still, with my belly full from the Thai swimming in a healthy amount of beer, I was enjoying myself enough to happily head back to his.

In the dim light of his bleak shoebox room we started to get it on. Not long into the session he paused to inform me that it had been a long time since he’d slept with anyone. Just what you want to hear when you’re balls deep in a 69’er. Eventually it was bed time and I began to chastise myself for becoming stranded, my bowels were making all too familiar rumbles that only lead to trouble. I spent the night spreading my ass cheeks apart to let my Thai/Beer farts seep out silently, overall it was a less than elegant experience. He drove me to my car in the morning, then text me that afternoon saying he’d had a great time. The guy did all the right things, but when you’re not feelin it, you’re not feelin it. I told him I too had enjoyed myself, however didn’t vibe a connection and I hoped he has a great life. #honestypolicy

– The Toothless Man

So I lassoed this guy from Revs. He was a barrel of laughs in the smokers area and when we got home, he sexily revealed his missing front tooth by taking out his retainer. At the unholy hour of 7am I thought this was the greatest thing ever. After our rendezvous he went offshore for work and we kept in Snapchat contact for about three weeks. They were meaningful Snaps, such as nudes with bitmojis of myself riding a surfboard over my tits, or him naked with a gun emoji over his dick. Upon his return I was showered with hook-up requests. The guy had obviously not rooted for 3 weeks and was a keen bean to ride his own surfboard on my tits. I was out one Friday and he kept hassling me to meet up. I picked him up and much to my disgust, he was bogan-wasted, and didn’t even have his fucking TOOTH IN. Like come on, it was our second meeting, if I can still manage to hide my flatulent nature, you can wear your tooth. We drove back to mine and he was a totally obnoxious uncool drunk, I was thinking how to exit the situation but thought fuck it.

The sex was honestly so mediocre as all I could focus on was the gaping hole in his mouth. Eventually I told him I was done and we went to sleep. In the morning he asked if he was drunk last night and I told him straight out that he was a wanker. He apologised and we had much nicer sex, then I waved him goodbye knowing fully well I’d never see the toothless man again.

-Ziggy

The next night, Saturday. I was at the end of a raucous girls night out. One of those nights where your friend lives about 5 mins away from you but getting home on your own seems unmanageable. So my friend, her housemate Ziggy, and I went back to theirs. Once settled on the couches, with some post party snacks in hand, the conversation naturally progressed to talking about threesomes. Ziggy says that she would love to have one, I reply that I’d be down if she got a guy along and she eagerly asks if I mean it. Wasted me was like yeahhhhhh I do em all the time (I’ve had two) and Ziggy’s like, well we don’t have a guy but I still wanna experiment, then shoots me a seductive look. I’m pancaked on a beanbag by this stage and happily reply ‘sure why not!’

Not really thinking about what I had just agreed too I stumbled off to the loo. When I come out Ziggy ambushes me with her mouth, we have a lil make out then my other mate declares that she is off to bed. So the three of us head upstairs, only I change my sleeping arrangements from a friendship cuddle with my mate to unknown girl-on-girl adventures with Ziggy.

We got into her room and went at it like dirty little rabbits. I watched us in the mirror and thought DAMN, people would pay good fucking money to see this shit. I was totally into this hot little bundle of fun, I liked having things done to me, and when it was my turn to be the giver I gave it a red hot go, fucking props to anyone who is a great pussy eater, it is a fucking maze down there.

After eventually passing out in a postcoital cuddle, we slept in, banged again in the morning and she was eager for me to cum but no climax was achieved. As soon as the morning session was finished our conversation transitioned from lovers to friends, we bummed around her room and talked shit for hours. When I was eventually ready to hit the road Ubers were majorly surging, so what does the legend do, she offers to drive me home. We both bitch about how hungry we are so stop off and get Ziggy burgers ;)…then she bought me my mother flippin burger AND chips.

Like WTF. No male has come near this amount of courtesy. The dude the previous night didn’t even have the decency to wear his tooth.

I dead set wish I loved a puss-pie. But I simply can’t deny, its D the that’s the apple of my eye.

XXXX

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Bye Bye King Kong

There are up tales, there are down tales, and there are tales that make you feel like you’ve just ridden a roller coaster with diarrhoea. This is one of those tales.

Despite my best efforts to remain ‘casual’ with the German, to keep my walls up, and my expectations realistic, I was inevitably, catching the hardcore feels. I mean really, who could blame me? We had rapidly slotted into boyfriend/girlfriend habits. We spent multiple nights a week together, cooked meals, did activities galore, and I even helped him study for his English exam.

We were by all accounts in a relationship, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He could sense my feels growing. On one occasion I was at Revs, standard, when he called wanting to see where I was. I tried to get him to join me in da club and he tried to get me to go home and bang. I didn’t want to leave my friends so we came to a compromise. I would go outside and fuck him, then we would split my cost back into Revs. We found some scaffolding and he hoisted me onto a platform, turned me around, bent me over, shimmied my dress up, and gave me that glorious German D. It felt like I was being fucked by King Kong on the top of the tower. Climax was reached and we romantically ventured back towards an ATM so he could pay the promised entry. I reached out and held his hand. I don’t need a reason but I did it because it was 5.30am, I had just been fucked over a scaffolding, and I had the scientifically proven post bang feels! Well he totally flipped out, he removed his had and told me that was way too relationshipy.

You’re probably thinking that’s a good indication for me to ditch this twat, but the two acts that followed allowed me to happily ignore the warning bells:

1. My Mum hired the German to paint my apartment and for four days we were at my place, me pottering around and him painting. I felt like a cute domesticated couple. I would sneakily take pictures of his hulk arms working that roller. When I could no longer bare watching his hot bod I swiftly undid his tradie pants and sucked on his dick like a Calippo.

2. He and I organised with two of my friends to hike Wilsons Prom. To prepare, we drove to the You Yangs for a practise hike. I crashed the car and had a complete panic attack. Crashes are bloody scary, plus it wasn’t even my car. Immediately on impact I started to wail. He had never seen me so vulnerable, but he instinctively grabbed me, told me it was fine and all that mattered was we were okay. He held and soothed me, told me I had five minutes left of being sad and then I had to start smiling again. His comfort changed me from a Negative Nancy into an Optimistic Ovaltinie.

I was obsessed with this yo-yo of a man.

Two days after the car incident I was out with my favourite feral lady friends. At 5am the girls called it a night but I wanted to solider on. I messaged the German and found out he was at Revs, trending theme here, maybe good things don’t happen at Revs? I went alone and as the Angel on my shoulder, who had been warning me not to go, had predicted, he was not entirely impressed at my gatecrashing ‘his’ night. I didn’t care, his friends loved me and I’m a fucking fun time. I was dancing away when I noticed him flirting with a girl with a beautiful back. I’m grateful I only saw her beauty from behind, not her face. My stomach instantly dropped out of my ass. His friends realised I was witnessing my own nightmare, and did their best to distract me. Not being able to handle it, I turned and went to leave.

Once I’d reached the exit I thought, Fuck This! I marched back and quickly found him, he’s a giant. I told him I can’t bare to see him flirting, that I know we’re not in a relationship but we’re going hiking in two days, and if he sleeps with her I wont be able to handle it. He was furious at me. How dare I tell him what he can and cannot do. I’m not his girlfriend. I acknowledged that I wasn’t, but told him “if you respect me, you wont do this.”

We went back upstairs, mind you at this point it was about 7am, I don’t know what I thought would happen, but I definitely wasn’t prepared for what did. I saw him walk straight back to the girl with the beautiful back and whisper in her ear. He then went over to his friends and I knew in that moment he was saying goodbye, he was going to go home with her. I felt like someone had just stabbed me in the heart. He turned towards me and approached me with his palms turned out in what felt like a symbolic ‘sorry, but this is happening.’ And well, I lost it.

After they left I hid in the smokers area, too afraid of seeing them catch a taxi together. Once I felt they would definitely be gone I ran downstairs, barely making it to the door before crumbling like a sad shortbread, the bouncers looked at me with pity and concern, asking if I was okay. I spluttered yes and collapsed into a taxi. The second I opened my front door I wailed and wailed. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I tried to roll myself a joint, I’m not the best roller though, so it was loose as fuck. When I lit it up, it caught on fire and nearly burnt off my eyebrows. I managed to get down a few drags and passed out.

When I eventually awoke, I had three missed calls from him. He was asking if I was still coming to the party we had planned to go to that day. He actually did that. I replied in the tone of Satan herself, that no, I would not be attending.

My friends came like an army, furious on my behalf, and armed ready to pick up my tear soaked crumbs.

The next day I called him to say he couldn’t come hiking tomorrow. And so followed four days of broken heart rehab at Wilsons Prom National Park.

That hike was one of the most physically, mentally, and emotionally challenging journeys I have ever taken. My two accompanying friends recount to me that they couldn’t get a word out of me on the first day. I was a robot, totally numb. My mind was playing a vicious game of tennis, one side was Sharapova, an angry wailer playing for ME and my respect. The other side Hewitt, saying “come onnnn,” forgive the German. I kept switching from Hewitt desperately wanting him there, literally imagining that he was next to me whilst we walked, like a fucking ghost haunting me, to Sharapova screaming “YOU DO NOT DESERVE A MAN WHO CAN MAKE YOU FEEL THIS SHIT.”

The battle went on and on and I didn’t know who would win. Then, half way through the second day of inland terrain we came to the ocean. I dropped my bags, stripped off my clothes and ran into the beautiful blue sea. I dived under a wave and felt a cleanse wash over me. I knew that Sharapova was going to win. I looked at the endless blue stretching around me and knew I deserved love and devotion not rejection and humiliation.

I took this strength of mind and ran with it. Yes Hewitt continued to pop up, but I could feel myself getting stronger and more capable of squishing him.

On my last night I wrote the German a three page letter, which I never intended to deliver. I poured out my soul, I folded it up and went back to my wonderful, supportive friends for a delicious Dhaal in the stunning surroundings of Wilsons Prom. Nature and my friends had picked up my crumbled body, bandaged it all back together, and started the cleansing of my mind.

On the drive back to Melbourne I felt like a new person. Ready to tackle whatever this wonderful, but sometimes unpredictable world has to throw at me next.

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Drink it like a Prima Juice

So here I was with a mysterious German’s number. Still being in a deep well of desperation for male affection, I immediately messaged him. To my surprise he responds instantly. We had some cheeky banter, including me stating that I hadn’t showered yet and perhaps didn’t need to if I was only going to get dirtier. A meet up at my place was arranged. The only problem was, I wasn’t there. I jumped off the couch and demanded that the girls drive me home. On the way I could sense their concern about me seeing another guy so soon after the disaster of the previous night. But I knew I needed this, whoever he was.

We pulled up at mine to find him waiting, while I got out of the car my gal-pals gave him the ‘don’t you fuck with this fragile bitch’ eyes. I turned to see him and wow. This was a serious monster of a man. So clearly European in what he was wearing and as tanned leather, he was overwhelming. As we walked up stairs, my mind was racing, was I even attracted to this guy? We got to my room, and his giant hands were quickly on me, then undressing me, then in me. Our foreplay was off it’s tits, he did this thing where he took my pants off half way and licked me out, but because my legs were bound by my own pants it was agonisingly hot, and this hot monster knew it. I no longer had doubts if I was attracted to him, this guy was a German-foreplay-God. After some sustained simultaneous sucking, we came back to head level and I asked if I should get a condom. ‘Let’s just take it slow hey?’ Was his response. Um, sorry what? I was flabbergasted, I felt like an overly keen, sexed up horn dog in a ‘three dates before sex’ romcom. ‘Oh yeah, slow, of course, I do that all the time…ha..ha’, I embarrassingly replied. Really I was thinking; what the fuck are we going to do then.

Well I needn’t have worried about what we would do, the rest of the day was an oral delight with round after round of head giving, some Indian takeout, and a movie in-between. I assure you it was more desirable than the image you may have just conjured, butter chicken was no where near genitalia.

I honestly never knew giving head could be so sustainable! I kept thinking he was going to cave and stick his dick in me, but no! Always, always with the head giving, or the mouth to mouth while hands fuck each other number. By the end I had resigned to being 16 again, when sex wasn’t the main agenda.

Along with the sexual side, this guy was a mindful being; anytime I said a negative comment he made me see the positive side of the situation, like literally forced me too.

He stayed the night, held me in his tree trunk arms and when I put my work clothes on the next morning, he sat me on his beautiful face one last time.

It was all the therapy I needed in one night. I was satisfied. I bid him farewell feeling confident that I wouldn’t see this mysterious German-foreplay-God again, and that was okay.

Two days later he messaged me.

The third time I saw him was at Revs for a Sunday sesh, I was having a very good time and BAM he was there, so I just, jumped on him, play it cool ey? He whispered in my ear that he wanted to drink my wetness again, so we promptly headed back to his. Whilst on route we were having that awkward ‘we both know we’re about to be naked and licking each other’s genitals, but for now let’s have casual conversation.’ He decides to inform me that last night, after a party, a girl had gone home with him, but he didn’t feel a connection with her, unlike the way he felt with me… WTF? I was so mad, who tells someone they’ve been with a different girl a few hours ago? I was silent the rest of the walk, deciding whether to just go home and leave this rude fucker. Then I thought ‘wait a minute girl, this guy is actually being honest, honest!’ Something I am so rarely gifted with. Yeah he was with another girl last night, but we’re not in a relationship. Really I thought, he’s paying me a compliment by saying he feels a connection with me. This knowledge of his ‘connectedness’ made the sucksesh all the more satisfying.

About five dates in he asked the dreaded ‘what do you want from this?’ Now, when someone asks you that, to me it is clear they don’t want seriousness, and I didn’t want it to end, so I casually replied that I was happy just doing what we’re doing if he was. And hey presto he said yep cool cause I don’t want a relationship.

A few weeks into hanging out, still no sex, he got a call from a previous lover saying she had a STI. He found out he had indeed contracted it and had to go on a course of antibiotics, not having sex until it was clear… go figure. Now the taking it ‘slow’ turned into not having that beautiful dick anywhere near v-town.

The sex drought lasted for two whole months. I am fucking serious. I think my hymen grew back.

Not being able to fuck gave me a new lease on life when it came to giving head. Getting him off from giving head had become my go to, so I had to make a sport out of it. Now I have never been a big fan of putting dick in my mouth. And I blame braces. When I used to give my first boyfriend brace-faced-head, I would ALWAYS get jaw-lock. It was horrid, literally I’d have dick in my mouth and have to stop because my jaw had gone into lock down. I was like one of those clown-heads at the circus you throw balls into. I began to avoid the sport of head giving altogether. So when the German came along, I knew I had to get my ‘head’ back in the game.

I did what any researcher in the field would do… I watched porn. I stumbled upon Riley Reid, a sexy-assed-gobbie-giving-Goddess. I was addicted to watching her videos on RedTube. I learned all these new Riley techniques; making eye contact while doing it, banging the dick on your face, licking that spot between their dick and asshole, and getting your tongue all up in that foreskin, I even licked the crap, not literally, out of this immaculately clean German’s actual ass.

If I met Riley Reid today I’d bow down to her sacred sucking mouth because the German bloody froffed my new found talents. And I mean literally, his cum was froffing like an empty keg. I don’t know if it’s a different flavour when it’s from Germany, but I couldn’t get enough of it, I sucked it down like a goddamn Prima Juice.

In the time when all this cum drinking was taking place, I had also taken my cousins advice and started seeing a councillor. She was helping me work through my challenges with men, and was able to give me real time advice on how not to become instantly obsessed with the German. I was playing it as cool as a cucumber and our ‘unnamed-non-relationship-situation’, was a healthy balance of activities, relationship activities might I add, such as movies, rock-climbing, smoking doobies, hiking around the Werribee gorge and me drinking his cum at the summit.

It was all going well, until it wasn’t.

The moral of this tale, really is, if you’re not a gobbie lover, as I never used to be, get a note-pad, pen, and a banana, and watch my mate Riley Reid do her thang.

Cousins to the Rescue

Hello loveliess! Are you enjoying my cooked dating life as much as I’m loving re-reading the stories? Seriously, writing tales of your life is not only hilarious but an excellent measure of your progression, or maybe regression?

I’ve been ‘spending time’ with a hot but arrogant AF German for almost 3 months.
He has complete relationship phobia, just for a change. Groan. Before I explain that I’d better explain how I met him. Surprisingly, or not, I have to tell the tale of another man first.

I met the English Camerman at a friend’s party, I sought him out because he was just my type; trendy and foreign. We talked of his photography and I used that ‘in’ to ask for his Instagram. Nothing eventuated at the party but the next day I boldly Insta-dm’d him. Jeeze, there are a plethora of platforms to get potential fucks these days.

My initiation resulted in weeks of flirty Insta banter, with him eventually being very keen on me.
I always seem to be the one putting myself out there, and when I do, 90% of the time, the guy loves it. What happened to shit you read in books, about guys seeing you on the train, tracking you down and sending flowers to your work declaring that they’d fallen in love with you the moment they heard you burp.

Things were getting real flirty and some cheeky arrangements were suggested. I was on the phone to a friend slightly gushing about this new boy-crush when she asked to see a picture. Simultaneously I was messaging him discussing how I was attempting to be a good girl and not drink that month. I stalked him on fb (I didn’t have him yet), screen shotted his profile pic and texted it to my friend while on speaker to her. Do you see where I’m going here…..? Yep, I sent a screen-shotted-stalker-photo of my crush, to my crush. What does one do in a situation like this? Own the mistake yeah? Nahh not me, I hastily replied ‘This looks like the face of someone who will make me drink’….kill me.

SOMEHOW he remained interested after that utter fuck up and an actual date was finally arranged. He invited me to come on a bike pub crawl with him and his friends, and then extended it to brunch and bike pub crawl, and then further extended it to brunch, bike pub crawl, and warehouse party. Fuck.

I can’t really express why, but the build up to this date was EXTREMELY stressful. Which is highly irregular, as random dates are about as natural for me as avocados are on toast. I think it was a combination of the nature of the… shall we call it ‘excursion date,’ my not knowing how to wear one outfit to suit all of these events, not owning a bike, and as usual, putting expectations and pressure into the thought/hope that this boy was maybe going to be a ‘real thing.’ #unrealisticexpectations

For my sanity I asked if my cousin could join,  she did her best to keep me calm in the 7 day lead up. When the day arrived and we were on our bikes it was honestly a freaking fun excursion. The only problem was, English Cameraman, in my opinion, was making zero effort with me. He didn’t hold my hand as we rode alongside the river, infact he didn’t ride alongside me at all. Whenever we all stopped to have drinks he even sat away from me. I was feeling paranoid and insecure, again rare feelings for me! When I consulted my cousin she agreed that he certainly wasn’t appearing ‘keen’.

My insecurities were MEGAFIED when at another pit stop one of his friends said that he should come to a party with him. A party that wasn’t the warehouse party which English Cameraman and I had already arranged to go to. He excitedly accepted his friends invitation and bought himself a ticket, without even inviting me. Non-keenage confirmed.
My cousin and I gave each other a knowing look that it was time to abort mission. We took ourselves home at the raucous hour of 8pm and put our sorry, tipsy selves to bed.

Some hours later I awoke to your typical, Saturday night ‘come get fucked up with us’ messages from friends. I thought fuck it, my Saturday night isn’t being ruined because some English-Prick-Cameraman didn’t recognise what a bloody redheaded fox I am. I got up, bid adue to my still sleeping cousin and hit the town.

My friends were the remedy I needed; they filled me with Jager-bombs, and refilled my sense of self-worth. I was having brilliant trashy times when I saw that English Cameraman was calling me! He asked me to abandon whatever I was doing and get into an Uber to the warehouse party. Naturally, I went.

By the time I got there I had developed a nervous tic. The party was BYO and I had made sure I was well catered, only to calm my nerves I consumed about half of it in the Uber. On arrival English Cameraman actually appeared delighted to see me, not to mention the warehouse party was insane, HOORAH! I messaged my cousin and the absolute trooper jumped into an Uber and came to meet us. Unfortunately, by the time she arrived the cocktail of: excursion date, being rejected, Jager-bombs that my friends fed me, Little Fat Lambs (excellent Australian drink) I fed myself, the vibe of the party, and the adrenaline of him actually being interested….Well let’s just say I don’t remember my cousin arriving.

You know those moments, when you’ve been completely fucked up doing god knows what and suddenly you come around? That moment happened to me with English Cameraman holding my shoulders saying “Redhead… Redhead, I am going home.” That snap back to reality was enough to know that whatever I’d been doing for the last few hours, for him to be going home, alone, without asking me to join, must have been some Brittany Spears toxic shit.

Once he left I turned to my cousin and asked her how bad the damage was, she confirmed, it was irreparable.

Immediately after his departure she took charge of the situation, situation being my dignity no longer existing, and began dragging my drunk ass home. Whilst stumbling through the crowd I got a bit off track and bumped into a wall, but when I looked up it was in fact a man, a man that I immediately started making out with. My poor cousin having already dealt with god knows what dragged me away from him.

I’d kind of love to leave the next part of the story out, but I think it’s really important, in fact the entire writing of this story has given me a sense of PTSD. Once my cousin managed to get me home, I charged my phone and decided it was a good idea to call the English Cameraman, at 7am. I called him 3 times and sent him 3 apology messages, until my cousin discretely, and firmly removed my phone from me.

After some rest I awoke and demanded my phone, I had a generic, not rude, but clearly implying ‘do not message me anymore’ message from the English Cameraman, and it broke me. I cried and cried about my hopelessness with men, my self-sabotaging habits, and my insistence on setting myself unrealistic expectations. So deep was my sorrow that my cousin suggested I speak to a councillor about these issues.

Some hours later, after calming down, my cousin said “well at least I got The German’s number for you.” Who?
“Ummmm, the random guy you made out with at the warehouse party.”

*A shout out to my cousin, who is always always there for me in my highest of highs, and lowest of lows. How wise you are beyond your years ❤

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I am a Fucking Unicorn

You know how when you go away on holidays you can become this whole other person and do things you might not do at home? Well I did that, but in my home.

It’s the start of the holidays and I have that awful realisation that I have no one to call on for day time fucks. So, naturally, I got my tinder on, found a dirty hippy Brazilian and had, what I imagine to be, typical South American fun. (Had some soreness with number twos that week if you get my drift. Look if you don’t, theres no helping you, okay we had ANAL.)

Friday – After a nice rectal relax I saw the Brazilian again, this time I could not quite handle his sexual appetite. After round two I just had to ask for a cool down. We were talking about sexual fantasies and I said mine has always been to have a threesome. He, like a kid who just found out they got to pick their puppy for Christmas, suggested we search for one together.

Saturday – I spend the day messaging Tina, a girl from tinder, who wants to hang out. Thought I’d give all things a go these hols. That evening at a friend’s, I hear about how my promiscuous pal and her partner use an app called 3nder (yes threesome tinder later updated to ‘feeld’) to have all their threesomes. I have every intention of going home at 12:30, then suddenly it is 10am and I’m walking out of Revolver. On my way out of the club I share a cab with an AFL player and almost get him to ruckman buck me.

Sunday – Doom day. Running on no sleep and unable to sleep I download 3nder, I play all day and rack up some pretty sexy couples who wanna do pretty sexy things to me – for example ‘human-centipede.’ I’m excited, I set a date for Thursday with Mr and Miss Centipede.

Monday – I finally meet up with Tina, we have coffee in the morning then dinner in the afternoon. She is 21, very mature, and hippie-esk. We drink wine, talk about life, then make out on the couch like two experimental school girls. I give her nips a lil suckle for fun times.

Tuesday – Whilst baby sitting, a hot solo guy from 3nder and I get chatting about the app and its prospects. He comes over that night to give me a demo of how he would bang should we have a threesome. It’s not bad.

Wednesday – rest.

Thursday – Mr and Miss Centipede want to confirm with me and I think, fuck it, what’s one more for the week? I meet Mr at a bar as Miss is running late. It is about a 5/10 tinder date – we are awkward and dry. Then the beautiful Texan Miss arrives and the date becomes a 10/10 with Mr also improving as a human. With his new confidence after wine no. 2 he says ‘Shall we go back to ours?’ So off we go in their Jeep. At theirs’ we have more nerve-calming wine until finally Mr says ‘So, let’s go to the bedroom?’ On the way to the bedroom we start undressing each other, kisses are dispersed evenly, Mr and I are gone down on, it begins a kind of rotation from there, yup me giving to both parties, cya pussy-lickin virginity! Once we all felt adequately licked/sucked, I jumped in an uber and took my experimental ass home.

So yep, I have had an outrageous home holiday, I love threesomes, and I have not one single regret. I love exploring my sexuality.

OH – and I discovered: the girl outside of the relationship in a threesome, is called a ‘Unicorn.’

Guys. I am a Fucking UNICORN!

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Wear a Dress and Don’t Change Your Panties

Okay so this story is very X-rated. I tossed up whether to actually share it as I know there will be varying opinions on my choices around the event. But if I am to become a TV show then full disclosure is a must.

Day following last post (date with sex-maniac, ex sitting across from me etc).

I get a text from The Pilot “how was your date last night spicy?” Typical crazy assed bastard has to let it be known that he knows I was on a date, but it doesn’t phase him and I’ll prove it by calling you a pet name and talking to you patronisingly.

Anyway, a series of replies followed, went along the lines of me calling him a stalker and attempting to make him jealous by not imparting the fact that I hastily got rid of the Ass-licking nutter.

One thing lead to another and next thing I know he asks me if I feel like being dominated, to which I reply, “of course.” And just like that he is on his way to pick me up requesting that I “wear a dress and don’t change your panties.”

I hop into the car with his delicious smelling self and he promptly demands I take off my panties and give them to him. He cradles them in his hands as we drive to an unknown location with my stomach churning as if I’d eaten an entire wheel of Brie.

Once at the beach and his dominating character had seemingly vanished, while walking along the shore, myself undieless, he details the perverse act he’d had in mind; take me to a park, undress me, tie his belt around my neck, walk me like a dog, and fuck me. Standard park activities. However, he no longer thinks he can do these things because seeing me again has made him confused about what we once were. Boo fucking hoo mate, this is a booty call, not a counselling session.

I tell him he’s got to be fucking joking, he cannot say such erotic things and then not go through with them. We sit on a park bench, you know those benches, that people walk past on the beach. He decides to check out my arousal levels with his hands. The juices had just started to flow, with another public finger banging when he removes his nimble pilot fingers. AGAIN he blabs that he cannot go on with this charade, so in a huff, we walk back towards the car, myself now aroused. And highly pissed off.

I tell him that I will be going to the toilet, he says he’ll wait for me, to which I shoot him a ‘you will fucking follow me or die’ glare. He obediently follows in behind me pand locks the door. Turns out me telling him what to do riles him up and he has a surge of dominance again.

Next thing I know I am as described; naked, tied up with a belt, and being banged over a very questionable public toilet to which I choose not to look into whilst in such compromising positions. The session ends abruptly and he collects all of my clothes and hands me only my jacket. I ask if I’m allowed to zip my jacket up, which he kindly allows.

We saunter back to the car with my bottom quite exposed.
Then disaster strikes, we are back in the car and apparently post domination is the time to discuss the reasons behind the break down of our relationship. It goes on and on and honestly I’m not saying much. ‘Nooo we can’t go back to what we were’ ‘yeass I’m sure he really liked me’ bla bla bla BLA over it.

We get to mine and I jump out of the car, lean over to him and say “I know we can’t be in a relationship but I really like having a belt tied around me and being fucked in toilets soooo call me again.”

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Don’t Date Self-proclaimed Ass-lickers. Just Modest Ones

HELLO I’M A WANNABE REDHEAD AND IF SOMEONE DOESN’T GIVE ME A TV SHOW OR SIGN ME UP FOR A BOOK CONTRACT STAT THEY’RE A FOOL. 

It’s 8pm and I’m rushing out of the house for date with super fucked up sexual talking , self-proclaimed ‘deep ass licker and pussy worshiper’. Get to date, man is shorter than hoped but I’m trying to push past that recurring issue. Ask if we should get a beer, Ass-licker says ‘I don’t drink beer’.
Strike 1.

We stand up to go get me a beer, whilst walking Ass-licker brings up some sexual inuedo we have previously been discussing over text, something about my panties being wet. Like woahhhh buddy, I’m a dirty bitch via text and in the comfort of my home but not at a fucking bar, well not with him. I deflect dirty comment with sideways glance that says ‘don’t say that shit to me at a bar in front of real people’.
Strike 2.

We sit down, he continues to attempt erotic conversation, I’m deflecting better than Williams in an intense set of tennis. Eventually trying to make normal conversation I mention that I play soccer, Ass-licker says ‘ooh so your thighs are strong to hold yourself on top of my face….at this retarded moment I have completely tuned out BECAUSE, WALKING IN THE DOOR IS NONE OTHER THAN THE MOTHER FUCKING PILOT AND HIS FAMILY.

For those not entirely in the loop, The Pilot is my most recent completely psycho X, who is still messaging me to this day but refuses to see me or date me because it’s ‘too unfair’.

The family sit two fucking seats away from us with The Pilot and I’s chairs literally facing each other. Ass-licker asks what has happened as I’ve completely tuned out of his D-grade public erotica and I tell him my X has just sat down behind him.
To which he responds ‘who is more attractive?’

STRIKE 8 MOTHER FUCKER YOU ARE COOKED.

To Ass-lickers credit he and I attempt to solider through the date, he does have an interesting career and tells me I smell nice, though he’d hoped I’d smell of ‘wetness’. I literally consider sleeping with the guy just to get out of the pub and because really he’s not thattttt bad, nice face, surely good in bed?

I go to the toilet and text the girls, tell them wtf is up and they tell me to immediately abort mission.

Upon returning to the table I tell Ass-licker we’re leaving, completey avoiding The Pilots eye range, though I can feel him boring into me, Ass-licker gives me a ‘yeahhhhh lets goooo’ look and we walk out.

Outside I say ‘I’m sorry man but this just can’t happen, I thought I was okay with seeing my X but I’m just not’. He is understanding, tries to kiss-change my mind, I am under-whelmed, walk home, scream over the phone and write this.

Your sincerely, my life is a TV show and I wish my hair was really red.

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