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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