The Lover and The Prowler

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re staying at mine aren’t you?

At this point Twerk Queen steps in and tells him:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Artwork by @_monadoma_

A Rhinoceros Blowjob

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

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

We are now in Windhoek, the capital of Namibia.

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

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

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

‘Lekkkkkkker Bros!’ he chimes.

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

‘Drink up!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Only in the desert.

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

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

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

‘Holy crap, they’re young!’ I shout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you Universe for potential penis round two!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Are you going to bed?’ he asks me.

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

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

‘Hey Charlotte, Charlotte?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Some more beautiful snaps by myself and Lekker Boy!

Desert Tarzan and Slutty Jane

Since starting this blog I’ve been selective about whom I share it with. I am not ashamed of the blog, hell no, I am very proud of it, I just worry that some people will want to fuck (or not fuck) the ‘blog me’ and not the real me.

The following tale validates this concern.

It’s the morning after acquiring my first desert tale: Welcome to the Desert, and I’ve decided to tell my new kitchen colleagues about the blog. They are all intrigued, gathering around my iPad to hear Wear A Dress and Don’t Change your Panties read aloud. Mid way through, ‘…banged over a very questionable public toilet…’ Desert Tarzan walks into our stretchie. He is curious to know about the fine literature we are reading, I inform him that it is a tale from my own sex life. It is clear from the look in his eyes that he wants to be the subject of my next tale.

That night we head to our first desert party. There I discover the Rebar – a donation based bar to which you donate alcohol and / or your topless only bartending services. A pretty freakin fabulous idea – except for the ‘no flirting allowed’ sign! There’s just one downside, tonight the bartenders have been donated only whiskey, tequila, and rum… no mixers. Two cocktails later, and I am feeling like a rummed-up, wasted pirate.

From the heart of the swelling party, Desert Tarzan emerges sauntering his leopard print ass towards me. He asks: Is it really true you write a sex blog?

Yes, of course. I explain to him that I am a lover of sex, I have a lot of it, and that it’s a love I’ve always shared proudly.

Over the years I’ve realised that there is far too much taboo around open female sexuality and negative connotations surrounding the word slut. Slut – a word I choose to see in a different light. For me, being ‘slutty’ can be fucking empowering. While living my authentic life, I decided to document my sex tales to show that I am the only owner, the only judge of my own sexuality so if I want to slut around and sleep with seven guys in a week, that’s my prerogative.

Listening intently, Desert Tarzan showers me with compliments, agrees with my feminist beliefs and expresses his own similar views; wishing sex was more freely enjoyed by all. And then, as if casually asking whether we should go and get another drink, he asks: Should we go fuck?

Sure thing!

Our stumbling steps away from the party make it clear that we were both victims of the Rebar cocktails. We don’t know where we are headed to do the horizontal shuffle. I share my living quarters with the wifey, Zimbabawia in our intimate kitchen quarters of ten tents, while he lives in the jam packed DPW* quarters of 60 tents. I’m not up for gettin’ my Slutty Jane on in either areas so we decide to drag his mattress out and deep into the scorpion filled shrubs of the open desert.

We get naked under the new moon and crystal clear constellations, and he quickly descends on me, licking his way into my blog. It is hot, he is hot, oh and did I mention he’s German? After a sustained amount of time being eaten out, I pivot my body around to put his cock in my mouth. I truly love 69’ing. It’s the easiest position for me to have a clitoral orgasm. Being pleasured with a soft and wet tongue whilst simultaneously focusing on pleasuring the cock in my mouth, keeps my thoughts from sabotaging me and I can have the Big-Oooooooo.

We get to the condom part of the party and Desert Tarzan explains that he isn’t very into them. I explain that I’m not into STI’s. Unable to argue with this, he slides one on and it becomes immediately evident why he felt that way. His once tall and eager penis has become limp, shying away from its Latex-nemisis. I try to be firm on my stance of always using a condom with new sexual partners. Now that sex isn’t going to be a possibility, I instantly feel finished with the scenario; after all we’d decided to fuck, not to spend the night together.

Walking back to my tent alone, I decide I won’t get with Desert Tarzan again. I loved the spontaneity of the evening but realistically Desert Tarzan was attracted to me because of my blog. I understand this, and am delighted that he shares my feelings of sexual empowerment. However, I realise that I too had gone to fuck because of the ‘blog me’ and not the real me.

I am only fucking for the real me from now on.

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Make Love Watercolour by @tinamariaelena

*DPW – Department of Public Works

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.

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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