Parasite Sex

Our hitchhiking journey somehow turned into us making all meals and paying for petrol, so I suppose paid-hitchhiking journey is a better name. Another few 100 kms south and we arrived to the beautiful ‘beach’ of Cape Maclear. There isn’t actually an ocean in Malawi, as it is a land locked country, but the lake is 580kms long, is tidal and has friggin waves. Excitingly, being a Friday and a long weekend, the place was packed with NGO workers and volunteers having a weekend away.

After preparing another dinner we bid Bob goodbye and headed to Gechos, apparently the most poppin’ bar on the beach. We were settling into our $1 beers when we spotted Red Breast and the Israelis. I noticed a sultry looking beast of a man observing the dance floor whilst chain smoking. I liked his face, his height, and his seemingly hard to get attitude. The only question was, the 15 girls that kept popping up by his side, competition? Bring it.

I caught him on his next trip to the bar. He was a Dutchy having a weekend away from his placement in the capital, Lilongwe. I asked about his many lady friends, he said they were also from the placement and he was the only boy. Ahhhh I thought, makes sense, they are simply asserting ownership over their one and only hot babe. Right on cue, they cut into our conversation switching to Dutch and leaving me standing like an English only loser. He said he would be back and disappeared with the cock-blockers. I sulked back to the D-floor and lamented to my girls that I’d been cock-blocked. I moseyed on, sure that he wasn’t returning, when 30 minutes later I felt a strong tap on my shoulder.

Turned out the cock block girls needed to be walked home. From my point of view they had him under their sneaky little thumbs and were trying to get him away from me. But he was back. I asked what he wanted to do, seeing as he didn’t dance, what do you mean he said as hegrabbed my waist in a tango like grasp. The Dutchman twirled me around the dance floor in a hilarious, slightly embarrassing way, then turned my back towards him and grinned his dick into my rear until I was positively wet. I told him how horny he’d made me and he gleefully replied, let’s go.

We made our way down the beach and found a spot on the sand, like with the Frenchman, I was instantly jumped, only this time it was ALL about me. He fingered me and cheekily ate me out, shorts on. Fearful of the exhibitionism, though not as fearful as in Zanzibar, we moved to the sex inviting shadows. Feeling more secluded, I stripped him of his pants and started sucking on his lovely large Dutch cock. While I was pulling out my best penis playing party tricks, he scooped me to my feet right in time to save our dignity from being illuminated by a passing security guard’s flashlight.

We were caught between a lake and a horny place, with the security guard gone, Dutchman suggested, should we go in? Fuckin why not. We ditched our clothes and streaked into the lake, and there began the hottest submerged sex I have ever had. He was so big he could hold me up in the water and slam me from behind. With no bedhead to grasp onto, my hands flailed out in front of me doing some kind of deranged doggy paddle.

I should mention Lake Malawi is home to a parasite called Bilharzia, I wonder if getting rammed in the lake increases your chances of catching it?

We finished up, clothed ourselves, and before parting he asked if I was around for the rest of the weekend, yes I certainly was.

Red Breast and the Israelis joined our girl tribe and we spent the day paddling the islands. I saw the Dutchman back on land and we talked briefly about meeting at Gechos again that evening.

Evening came around and this time it seemed Gechos wasn’t the place to be. It was completely empty and I began to curse myself for not having asked the Dutchman’s number. Meanwhile, Zimbabawia had re-found her muscly man from the night before, Arnold – actually his name. The tribe plus Arnold dutifully accompanied me, moving from venue to venue in a desperate attempt to find the Dutchman for a re-run.

I can tell you – it is utterly infuriating when there’s a good fuck on an island and you cannot find it!

The evening wore on and I could no longer selfishly keep Arnold from getting Zimbabawia on her back, after all, they’d hired out their own hostel room. At least one of us finished the night with a dick.

The next morning I woke up feeling motivated. We were departing that day and I WAS going to find the Dutchman and get my brains re-banged out. I asked Bob when to be ready, at noon. Shit, only two hours. I raced down the beach towards where I’d seen him last, and as I approached his place someone jumped off the deck and came running towards me – the Dutchman. I acted cool as a cucumber, oh heyyy fancy seeing you here, I was just about to go standup paddle boarding, wanna come with me? Yep!

While filling out the board hire forms I spied on him writing 1995, 23 years old, not too bad. Whilst paddling to the island he told me that he’d been looking for me all the previous night, frustrated at not getting my number, he’d trolled tinder and Facebook hoping to find me. Oh the flattery!

We reached the island and realised we were entirely alone. Jumping off the boards and into the water we started getting wet n heavy. Conscious of possible tour boats arriving, we clambered into the jungle, found a big rock, and I sat upon his cock. Being on a hard surface allowed him to go deeper, which I wouldn’t have believed possible. I screamed in ecstasy, just as I imagine Jane would have when she first fucked Tarzan in the jungle. Whilst doing it, because the secluded island sex wasn’t ridiculous enough already, a couple of monkeys swung about overhead.

Looking at the sun for a clock I determined it was time to vamos and as quickly as possible we paddled back to the mainland. On the journey I brought up him being 23 and he sheepishly replied, I’m not 23. Oh 24? No…younger. How much younger? 19. HUH, but I saw your date of birth? Yeah I saw that you were older and was afraid you wouldn’t be into me if you knew I was young, so I lied.

Silly bugger, no need to lie, apparently I like 19 year olds now.

He walked me to the overlander, got my number, and wished me farewell.

In my absence it had been arranged that Red Breast would join our paid-hitchhiking journey, and so, four Aussies and one South African Bob hit the road again.

Fuck yeah to decent water sex.

Have you had it? I’d love to hear about it!

(To remain anonymous, you can make up your own dirty little sex name)

Baby, baby, baby!

Malawi! – Aptly dubbed as the warm heart of Africa.

We’ve already met so many legends; our first fellow Aussie – the lovely Red Breast, two Israeli sweethearts, and the entire expat community of Kande.

Kande is home to the farm stay ‘Kande Horse,’ literally a mystical forest cottage filled with farm animals featuring horses imported from Zambia. We made a fast bond with the pixie-ex manager who proposed a wild idea to us: let’s get naked and go bareback riding in the forest. Fuck yeah. We made flower crowns, plaited the horses’ tails, and trotted off into the rain. Once we were alone we preformed the acrobatic feat of removing all wet garments whilst on horse. Seriously try it. All the while Mamma Africa snapped a trillion outrageously fantastic pics of us before we returned to the stables and checked our vaginas for ticks.

Whilst in Kande we met a 60-something year old South African man named Bob. Bob was driving an over lander, solo from Tanzania to South Africa. We got talking and it turned out Bob was keen for company and we wanted a lift.

Our first hitchhiking adventure began.

Not long into our first day on the road it became apparent that our gal trio and Bob had some preferred travel style differences. Bob liked to drive flat out, with zero stops until reaching the destination in order to enjoy the evenings. We liked to eat.

Well, it was Bob’s truck, so we obediently starved for the first five hours of day one, until hanger took over and we demanded to be let out of the truck to buy roadside chips, fried in a sink.

On arriving to our first destination, Salima, we decided our transport payment for Bob would be cooking. We prepared a vegan meal and enjoyed our quaint hostel, Cool Runnings. We lacked one vital thing, other humans. Us and our 60-something year old pal were the only people there.

The next day, still alone, I began writing a new tale, when much to our surprise a bajaji (also known as tuk tuk in others parts of the world), that was bedazzled with flowers and lights, pulled into the carpark. Now, a bajaji in our remote location was a rare enough sight, but rarer still was what dismounted: two strapping young lads.

I practically slapped my iPad shut and jumped up to greet them.

Mamma Africa and Zimbabawia weren’t as keen on their company as my hungry self. I ran off to slip on a sassy bikini and joined them on the beach. They hailed from Switzerland and had been driving said bajaji around Africa for three months, and were headed to the capital of Malawi, Lilongwe, where they would sell it! Epic. I was the first mzungu they’d seen in about five days, while telling me this I detected some excitement in the eyes of the Bieber look alike.

Could this Swiss Bieber be my ‘Baby’?

Our private beach chats soon turned into about 20 local kids gathering around us and dancing to our music. We ultimately ended up having a beach dance with them, and Swiss Bieber’s sweetness with the youngins got another tick of approval.

After dinner, the Swiss boys invited us to cruise the bajaji into town. Zimbabawia and Swiss Bieber sat with me in the back and Biebs gave my leg a quick tight grasp, AKA he gave me the pending hookup confirmation, also found in such gestures as the eyebrow raise, the crooked smile, the head tilted towards bedroom, and so on. We drove the bajaji around aimlessly finding nothing more than 10 people gathered in halfway bars before deciding to return to our own dinghy hostel. On the road back Zimbabawia took over the handles and whilst gleefully dodging potholes swore that the boys would not be taking it to Lilongwe but instead should sell it to us.

Back at the hostel, best wing woman ever – Zimbabawia, took Swiss #2 down to the beach whilst I accompanied Swiss Justin back to their room. Once alone, he nervously kissed me, it didn’t go down too smoothly and our teeth did the dreaded clang. No bother I thought, whilst sitting myself on the bed, just a rocky start. We kept making out but it was all junty and teethy, and just frickin awkward. Realising that the awkwardness was coming from his nervousness, I mounted him and began grinding in an attempt to relax him, when a mere two thrusts in he abruptly stopped.

Just so you know, I haven’t errrrr done this in a while. Um done what? Sex. Oh yeah, how long? Like three years. Okay, how old are you? 19. Ahhhhhhhhhhh I see.

Well I thought, I don’t know if I believe the ‘sex three years ago’ tale, but he’s a sweet guy and I’m into it, so I told him that didn’t phase me. With the new knowledge that my Swiss Bieber wasn’t as experienced as I, I decided to take on the role of teacher. I grabbed his hand and put it in my knickers; move like this, that feels good, faster, slower, circular, deeper. All the instructions were ticking my ‘boxes’ so assuming it was doing the same for him, I went into his pants to see the ‘size’ of the response and… nothing.

Not a peek out of the pecker. I was wondering if maybe I should feel offended when again he seized all activity and exclaimed, with utter shame on his face, that he just couldn’t do it.

Well, that is absolutely fine I replied cheerily!

Because truly I was delighted at someone speaking their mind in a sexual situation, to be perfectly honest, when I was his age I got myself into a lot of situations that I didn’t know how to get myself out of. I hadn’t yet found my voice in the bedroom and did things I probably would more easily say no to now.

Upon reflecting, him saying he didn’t want to continue made me feel ashamed that I hadn’t asked throughout the session if he was okay. As much as I LOVE the act of sex, what I love most is the CONSENT and the feeling of SAFETY between two, three, or ten sexual partners.

I got dressed, gave him a peck goodbye, told him he’s a beautiful being and not to feel bad in anyway about what had/hadn’t happened, and left the room with my head held high.

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The Boogey Man is Real

One month into the trip, our next tribe member – the one and only Zimbabawia – arrived!

It was our first evening together in Stone Town-Zanzibar, which coincidentally happened to be the weekend of the annual Stone Town music festival – Sauti za Busara. Typical. To avoid Zimbabawia’s jet-lag we prettied ourselves up, illegally bought some discounted tickets, and got amongst the live African music. It quickly became evident that Zimbabawia and Mamma Africa had something in common, a lust for locals. Whilst Mumma Africa and I shimmied our undersized buttocks to a wicked Algerian band, Zimbabawia shimmied her healthier sized booty towards a beautiful Rastaman.

Yep, Mumma Africa and I need not have moved to a larger room for for the three of us as Zimbabawia wasn’t present the following two nights.

In fact she had to throw stones at the window to be let back in each morning.

With Valentine’s day approaching we travelled from Stone Town to Nungwi, home of the clearest blue waters I have ever witnessed. It felt as though we were on a romantic holiday for three; cruising on a dhow, snorkelling, stuffing our faces and working on our summer glows.

When Valentine’s Day arrived, us single ladies decided to treat ourselves to an epic seafood banquet. This is my 7th year as a single lady and I like to make a point of enjoying singledum in style, whilst surrounded by my gal pals.

Fuck You consumerism – tryna make me feel bad about not having a permanent dick in my life, I’m gonna eat a butter drenched lobster.

After said lobster, I won’t lie, my street shitting episode had resided far enough back in my mind to allow me to feel sexy again. I was feeling ready to get some. We headed to a local bar and I decided to give island-tinder a go. I came across one of those profiles that is so manicured-model-esk that you can only laugh and wonder whether they are real. Swiping right, we matched. It seemed as if chizzled French Man was real, and he wanted a piece of this redhead.

Some back and forth messaging and a mere 30 minutes later, him and his too hot to handle chizzled jaw were walking into the bar.

Meanwhile, Zimbabawia’s Rastaman had seemingly done a Mr. Mount Kilimanjaro and followed us to Nungwi, as he also rocked up to the bar. African men hey!

Our little Valentines female trio had become two on a semi-double-date. Mumma Africa headed back to our vacant room to have finger-fun via messaging with Kilimanjaro.

Sir Chizzled and I bid Zimbabawia and Rastaman goodbye and strolled to a nearby club. Although I was loving looking at his face, I was finding the language barrier a real drainer. Before reaching the club, in his undeniably hot French accent, he asked if we could sit by the shoreline while he had a quick ciggy. Language barrier aside, I knew what an ‘out of sight shoreline’ really meant, and agreed.

We weren’t sitting long enough to say croissant, when he pounced on me like a pastry loving lion. He feasted on my clothes and had me naked almost instantly. It was good fun but it was all on fast forward, he was fingering me and I was giving him hand, when I suddenly remembered something that might make me soil myself again… Zanzibar is a strict Muslim Island, where tourists have been known to be arrested for undergoing such ‘acts’ as I was currently partaking in. I was going to be Samantha in Sex and the City:The Movie. I was about to voice my fear, when suddenly, my hand was wet with cum. I guess without realising, my stress of getting caught had transferred into my hand and I got the job done faster than anticipated.

We quickly de-sanded ourselves in the ocean and headed to the club. To my utter bewilderment the entrance was a wall of foam. Apparently we’d come to a frat party? I literally had to wade through a two metre high foam wall to reach the bar. My mate Sir Chizzled came through behind me and somewhere between the recent cum on my hands and the foam now encircling his face, I lost all interest in him for the night. There’s just something so un-sexy about a dude jizzing in your hands and not even attempting to make you cum.

I left the frat party alone.

The following day after telling the girls my tale I received a message from Sir Chizzled saying: ‘you want to hide under the water? I owe you an orgasm.’ He may have jumped the gun the previous night, but I’m a sucker for dirty talk, and yes I was owed an orgasm. Unfortunately, by the time he arrived, severe sunburn boiled on my body and so our ‘hiding under water’ literally meant me remaining in my long top, pants, and hat. My camouflage attire didn’t seem to bother him and he held me in the water like a child, a child whom you do dirty things too. Fingers quickly found their way past my floating garments and into my bathers. The clear blue Nungwi waters did not make our mischievousness subtle. I was really getting into the exhibitionism of the situation when I realised that Sir Chizzled had a huge ‘bat in the hanger,’ a giant booger. He kept fingering me and I tried to keep enjoying it, but I couldn’t avert my eye from this huge bogey making its way into his moustache. Just when I thought I should tell the guy he swiftly grabbed my hair and pulled me in for a pash. I was still floating in his arms and had no physical way of stopping the act, I succumbed to the situation and made out with him, and his little friend.

With the water no longer a sexy place I decided to change our scenery. We headed to my room, myself about 7kgs heavier from my wet garments, and met Zimbabawia. We hastily talked and she said that Rastaman and her were about to enter the room also, I asked if I could please take Sir Chizzled for the first shift because all I really wanted was to bang and say bye bye. The legend agreed and in we went. It truly was a great session. We started in the shower and he used all his chizzled body parts to hold me up and bang me at various precarious angles. We migrated to the bed and though I didn’t get my orgasm, my vagina was happily pounded and sent us both into a post sex coma.

We woke sometime later and in utter confusion, I asked Zimbabawia if we’d been long… two hours! I had well and truly over used my sex slot.

Ah well, payback pending, and I’m sure I’ll find a time soon to repay it, in this new privacy-less, sex, and travel life of ours.

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The Brown Streets of Zanzibar

Zanzibar!

Now this is a holiday. We are living up the island life in Paje, eating crazy cheap seafood, bronzing our bottoms, and befriending three fabulous German lady friends.

Saturday night rolled around and we hit the local club with a healthy combination of wazungu’s (travellers) and locals, the live band was killin’ it and we all started swinging our hips to their African beats. Unfortunately, our dancing seemed to be some kind of mating call and we were instantly surrounded by men who didn’t seem to take the swinging elbows of ‘no’ for an answer.

My spirit animal is a lion, therefore, I do not do well with unwanted visitors to my pride. So, to avoid punching the next guy that gyrated me or my girls, I moved away from the dance floor.

There a mzungu guy came up to me and in a non-intrusive way introduced himself, saying he’d seen me earlier at the beach. Being the insane fantasizer that I am, I immediately had a flash to the scene of our wedding, and him reading his vows saying that he’d first spotted my glowing redhead on the tropical beach of Zanzibar.

Back in the real world, we danced, drank wine, danced, drank more wine, and eventually got into some PDA (Public Display of Affection), a rarity for me. The girls were ready to leave and I, realising how wasted I was, knew it was time to go. Beach Boy asked if he could join and vagina and myself slurred yes.

The only issue was that Mumma Africa and I were the only two occupying our 20 bed dorm. I had a quick discussion to see what she thought and the legend said she didn’t care if Beach Boy and I banged metres from her head. Beach Boy decided that wasn’t his jam and instead got the night watch men to show him where the private chalet keys were, he then helped himself to the room 14 key and in we went.

We got down on it and I soon had that not so fun realisation during sex of just how fucking wasted I was. The sex was fun but I could hardly see the dudes face. After two ridiculously hot rounds, we’re talking humidity hot here, I passed out in a pool of our sweat.

I awoke early, desperate for an AGB (After Grog Bog, aka: big shit after drinking) and rushed to the ensuite loo. I totally stunk out the place and tip toed back to the bed hoping the smell wouldn’t waft in after me and wake/suffocate him.

Getting into bed with my now soberish eyes, I looked upon this ‘husband material’ Beach Boy’s face, I could no longer see what it was I had been so into only hours earlier?

I woke him up and said that I thought we should sneak out of the room ASAP, to avoid being caught and made to pay. He agreed and we went about turning the sex/AGB stenched room into a seemingly unused suite. We stumbled around tidying up then houdinied out of the room like two sex criminals. I gave him a quick goodbye and off he went agreeing that if our crime was discovered we would split the cost.

Upstairs the girls were together having breakfast, with no worker in sight I ran behind the counter and returned key 14 then joined the girls. They all laughed at my perfect crime and asked to hear the tale. Mid tale Mumma Africa chimes in “where’s you’re other earring?”

Fuck.

Round two of stealth began. I re-stole the key, snuck in, tore the room apart, found said earring, cleaned up, snuck out, and re-returned key.

By this stage my hangover was raging but I accepted the German girls’ invitation to the beach, it was their last day and I had FOMO (Fear of Missing Out).

A few metres down the road in the scorching heat I was wet with sweat and feeling like a bag of dicks, my stomach had been gurgling and it suddenly gave a gurgle so loud that in stomach language, I can only assume translates to “Bitch, you in trouble”. I looked at Mumma Africa in wide eyed panic, and what followed was pretty much the exact scene from Bridesmaids, minus the wedding dress.

Yep, I painted my favourite white shorts, and the streets of Zanzibar brown.

You got that yeah? I shat myself.

Have you ever shat yourself as an adult? Better yet have you shat yourself during sex? Tell me all the dirty goss!

(To remain anonymous, you can make up your own dirty little sex name)

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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.