Travellers guide to smoking, shagging and sniffing; Part 3

ALWAYS leave room in your back-pack to accomodate for shopping. No matter how much you tell yourself that you already have everything you need and that you will not unnecessarily spend money on things you dont require...you will.

Self deception is a common crime and one that i committ all too regularly. From not shaving your minge before a first date to stop you sleeping with him straight away, to not taking your credit card with you on nights out to prevent you spending your entire wage...more often than not you will sleep with him anyway (and have to run to the bathroom and dry shave before doing so, probably cutting your vag in the process) and borrowing money off your mates to pay for more drinks. We should just save ourselves the bloody trouble.

Ok, so i may not have needed the vintage, leopard print maxi dress i picked up in Whiaheke the other day. But its never about need is it? You didnt need that second piece of cheesecake. You didnt need to shag your best-friends boyfriend. Of course our wants are often the things that get us into the most trouble, but theres nothing wrong with leaving a little extra space in one back-pack.

I am not faced with the heart rendering task of leaving somethings behind. I'm going to have to be cut-throat.

I think my PJ's will be the first to go.
Im planning on sleeping naked A LOT when i get to Aus anyway.

Romance at 12,000 feet

I never thought i would do it. It was a battle that had been raging for months between my heart and my head and for once it was always my head that would emerge victorious (if only it had chosen to be so forceful with my Ex).

But my guy friends from home, who met me in Queenstown were persistent and not usually one to follow the flock, yet also not wanting to be a great bit pussy...i eventually agreed. I handed over my card with trepidation, my eyes closed eyes and hands shaking, as if i was being asked to reach out and touch fire. Once i had punched in my pin i knew there was no refunds and no going back. I felt like i had just signed my own death certificate.

That night while the boys buzzed with excitement i took myself off to bed. A four day bender was the perfect excuse but really i was just too fucking nervous to hear them discuss it any longer. I didnt get any sleep.

The next morning i met the boys, puffy eyed and trembling. They too were considerably quiter, and i knew exactly why. We got to the Skydive site and i watched as the boys were paired with their tandem masters. All of them bar one (who was still a strapping 6foot girl) were strong, strapping 6foot tall men and i felt myself instantly ease. Not only did i feel that i would be infinatley safer strapped to one them, i also relished the opportunity to be strapped tightly to a tall, muscular man...even if it was 12,000 feet in the air and hurtling towards my death.
After a while i heard a voice behind me which sounded like a cross between a cartoon mouse and a child who had just inhaled helium. I turned around, not initially noticing who had spoken to me until i looked down. You must be fucking joking. My Tandem master, Steve, was my size width wize but at most 5 foot 2. I tried my hardest to fiegn a smile but i fear it was in vein and my unease immediatly shone through.

My face was contorted into a dramatic cringe as Steve stood behind me, strapping me up. I swear he even had to tip-toe to fasten my shoulder straps. I could see the boys sniggering and i gave them the finger. Oh they'd be laughing alright when i slammed into the ground at 100mph and they had to identify my mangled corpse. Oh then they'd be laughing the other side of their face. Fucking idiots. By this time i was visibally agitated. I wasn't the worst though. For all their confidence and excitement the previous night, one of the boys was nearly in tears. I looked from his tandem master to mine thinking 'what the fuck have you got to cry about asshole. At least you wont have Danny De'vito strapped to your back'.

We got onto the plane. I was with three of the other boys. They all quickly shot-gunned their order out of the plane and before i knew it...i was going last. Oh this wasn't bravery on their part as i quickly discovered. 'God i would hate to be last' they kept repeating. 'I just want to get it over with'. How chivalrous. Not.

So we reached 12,000 feet and i turned my head as one, then two, then tree fell out of the plane and into the lustrous, translucent sky. The wind was now swirling into the open plane like a boystrous little brother, teasing me, daring me to jump. I scooted apprehensivley to the edge of the plane where Steve told me to hang my legs under-neath its body. At this point i had relinquished all power into Steve's minature hands and i felt his body shift into its position behind me. I must say, i have had a number of men behind me in my time and considering his size, i find it ironic how Steve made me feel the most uneasy.
The wind was so loud now i could barely think, its volume broken only by the loud pulsating of my heart which seemed to be beating loudly in my ears. I think it helped that we didnt have a countdown and that i didnt know when it was coming. (seriously,whoever invented the countdown is a real mc asshole as it really does unnecessarily build tension-i think Richard Whiteley and Carol Vordeman are somewhat to blame for its popularity, not to mention the Swedish band 'Europe' who made a number one hit out of the concept itself. I remember havng my jabs done before i came out and everytime the Nurse was about to say '3' i pulled away. In the end she just stabbed me on '1'. Bitch).

So anyway, there we were, free-falling towards planet earth. Just me and 'mi midget'. I think 'free-floating' would be a more appropriate term for this mode of travel for it really did feel like we were being blown upwards by a huge fan, rather than falling at all. It was mind blowing and all my fears and worries were quite literally blown away. Steve grabbed my hands which had been firmly fastened to my body and extended them outwards. The scene was highly reminiscient of the one in 'Titanic' where Jack and Rose stand at the helm of the ship with their arms out-stretched. I considered saying 'i'm flying Steve' but decided that i had enough to deal with without cringing myself and my tandem master out. Besides if he was to suffer a violent, physical cringe it might jeopardise our safety (see, always thinking pracitcally i am).

Anyway, it was all very romantic and i wondered how possible it was for someone to hook up with their tandem-master mid fall. After all, they were already in prime doggy-style position. As we all know, fear is known to be one of the greatest natural aphrodisiacs so as we began to approach the ground, Steve's mouse-like little voice began to sound ever more seductive.

This ended with a rather uncomfortable landing where i remembered all too late what Steve had told me about lifting my legs to land and i slammed into the hard ground. Not hurt though...too high on adrenaline, i unattached myself from my master. Steve went to give me a high-five but i practically scooped him up and hugged him tighly instead. 'Look matey, you just saved my life, i think that deserves a little more than a high-five dont you?' I thought. He looked a little taken aback but Steve's not one complain. I looked at him for one last time. Men fall into many different categories. There is the 'make breakfast in bed for' guy (the one you sleep with and dont want to leave the next morning). The '3 am guy' (last resort), the 'fourth cocktail guy' (more commonly known as the product of beer goggles) but Steve was something new altogether. Steve was a member of a rather elusive category of men, one that only the very bravest and fear-less women will encounter. He is the '12,000 feet guy.' And although i see no future for us on solid ground, im sure our relationship would flourish amongst the clouds overlooking Lake Waktipu.

Oh Steve. We will always have our free-fall.

Regular old angel routine

The last few days have seen me tucked away down in Tauranga with my Grandfather. The weather has stayed exceptional and, having yet to master the concept of 'suncream' i am looking a little pink, resemling an under-cooked kebab. Ironically i also look as if i have eaten 20 of them...with a side of chips everytime. My diet must start tomorrow. It simply MUST!

My Grandfather and his girlfriend are the archetypal Grandparents. Lovely, kind and sweet. Even if a little...bumbling. And i must say, i am playing the role of angelic Grand-daughter with terrific ease and conviction. I am generous with my p's and q's (which believe it or not, comes rather naturally. After all, i may be the one that accidentally snogs your boyfriend but i wall ALWAYS say thank you after i do so). But i must say i feel like a bit of a fraud and i think two nights here might just be enough before my act starts to slip.

For example, the topic of 'current affairs' particually the modern social crisis (of which i believe me and my friends back home to be key players) comes up regularly and i keep finding myself condemning teenage drinking (with false enthusiasm i can assure you). 'i know isnt it awful' i declare with imitated disgust (all the while visions of me and my friend Liz stumbling back home from the club BUTT NAKED taking part in what we have now named 'the naked mile).
'And you should see how these young girls dress' My Grandfather says, shaking his head in dismay.
'I know' i find myself continuing 'these girls back home wear virtually nothing' (again my mind slips back to my bedroom in England to the regular Saturday night routine of getting ready where Emily exclaims 'i dont think my dress is short enough', in a garmett that if it was any shorter you'd be able to see what she had for breakfast).

A few days earlier at my Godparents house in Auckland i had emerged from the spare-room in my outfit for the days boat trip across to Whaiheke. 'Ok we'll just wait for you to put your shorts on and then we'll go' my Aunty said innocently packing up the sandwiches. I looked down at my dress. It wasnt that short, surely. But, not wanting to spark an unnecessary debate about the ever-rising hemlines of Europe i turned back to my room and put some shorts on. In my opinion it totally ruined the concept i was going for. Sort of leggy-chic, but nevertheless. My God-father is very passionate about global-warming and i was tempted to tell him that the receeding hem-lines were as inexplicable and inevitable as the receeding ice-caps. Only while the latter could spell the possible end of the human race, the former was probably resposible for the increased procreation of the species (illegitimate procreation, but procreation none-the-less).

I do feel like i'm betraying my own kind of course. Why i feel the need to so passionatley argue against them i do not know. I suppose i feel like, the more opposed to something i am, the better i am at hiding the fact that deep down all i want to be doing is lying comatose in a puddle with kebab smeared on my nipples. However, maybe i should cool things a little. After all, it was wise old William Shakespere who said 'the lady doth protest too much'. Perhaps im not as convincing as i believe and maybe when i say ''my friend' walked home naked one night' it is all too obvious that the friend to which i refer, is me.

Earlier my Grandpa was mid-rant about how my Australian cousin who i am to visit soon, is a heavy smoker. I told him i would do my best to wean him off it but really all i could think was 'free smokes, free smokes'. I felt like one of those cartoon characters when dollar signs light up in their eyes, but instead, i was seeing cartoon fags.
Similarly when Grandpa asked 'do you drink?' upon my arrival i almost laughed out loud imagining what my friends back home would think of the question. Instead of saying 'well of course i do Grandpa, crack open the gin', i sweetly replied 'i do enjoy a nice glass of wine Grandpa'. Still, i think cracks in my demure facade began to show as i finished my third glass while he still sipped on his first.

But you know, i've decided not to feel too guilty. Yes i suppose i am not being TRULY myself. But i'm not exactly going to divulge details of my debauchery to my elder family members. I do not want to be responsible for any premature deaths and i certainly dont want my Grandpa's grave-stone to read 'He loved his family dearly-except his wine-chugging, promiscuous Grand-daughter'. I think its just something you have to do to preserve a healthy relationship. I suppose thats the kind of logic that sees adulterers lying to their partners, but this is definatley different. Family ties are irrevocably fragile and i completely condone a few white-lies in order to preserve them.

Because really, unlike boyfriends, family are for life. Not just for Christmas.

Travellers guide to smoking, shagging and sniffing; Part 2

Never under any circumstances sleep with your roommate before establishing what level of ass-hole he is on. Give it at least three days and if you get ANY indication that he will behave like a class A cunt after your sexual encounter (this can be assertained by watching his behaviour with other females he has seduced and subtle questioning of his friends) then do not, i repeat DO NOT sleep with him. This will make the rest of your time in the hostel VERY unpleasant and you may even have to do the cringe-tastic post-sex room change.

If you really MUST shit where you eat...leave it until your last night and book an EARLY bus ride outta there

Dilemma: Food or sex, Solution: Food DURING sex

Maybe i just wasn't that into him. Maybe he just wasn't that good in bed. Or maybe i was just that fucking hungry. Whatever the reason for me reaching for my burger as *Jack headed South, continuing to go to town on my take-away while he went to town on me, i just can't decide. What i do know is, it was glorious.

The Ferg burgers found in Queenstown are like nothing i have ever tasted. Even my most worldy girl-friends would have a hard time getting their mouths around these beauties, no matter how many blokes they've deep-throated in their time. Perhaps this is why most of it ended up all over my bare chest instead of in my mouth, but give me a break, try pretending to be aroused when munching on at least half a cow. Luckily i think *Jack mistook my burger-induced groans for an orgasm as after a while he stopped. The thing that bothered me is, he was so completely obsessed with me that night that he didn't even find it disgusting (which i think we can all agree-it was). In fact, all he did was laugh and even went to lick some sauce off my neck. Now don't judge me too much. I wouldn't do commit this criminal act of sexual repulsivness with just anyone. But *Jack was so distinctly average that i simply didnt care. The opitome of a 3am guy (a guy you find just as the bar shuts for lack of anyone more fullfilling), *Jack had thick, dark shaggy hair and a smudge of stubble which i could help but find endearing under the 3am vodka spell. 'Rookie error' i thought an hour later when the spell had worn off and i had a nasty case of stubble rash from one ear to another.

But thats the thing, the sex that night was increadable because i really couldn't care less if *Jack went away thinking that my rolls were repulsive or my minge resembled the amazon rain forest. We did it everywhere that night, the shower, the sink....DANNYS EMPTY BED (haha fuck you asshole) and in the blinding light of the loo, with my legs behind his head i simply just enjoyed myself instead of trying to tuck my blubber away. I do think that for that very reason, some of the best sex i've ever had was with people i don't find attractive.
It's a bit fucking annoying. Like standing in Macdonalds trying to order. You OBVIOUSLY fancy the Big Mac and fries knowing that it will definatley hit the spot but also knowing that while you eat them you wont be able to stop thinking about the nasty workout you're gonna have to do to compensate. Then you've got the weight watchers chicken wrap...defiately ediable, even if a lot less satisfying but you know you can eat it without worry. Cleary Danny is the Big Mac and *Jack the Chicken Wrap. Therefore, My track record might be less impressive but at least ill be fucking skinny.

Jack's unattractivness was like a triple Vodka shot, causing me to loose all inhibitions. It was very clear that being picked up in a bar didn't happen regularly to him which only furthered my sexual confidence and desire to experiment. Why is it when we really fancy the fuck out of someone we close up? I know for me it's a fear of rejection and the feeling that if i play it safe then there's less chance of things backfiring. However, what i have come to learn over the years that this method isn't fool proof at all. In fact, it has fucked me over MANY a-time. See i believe the best people are like marmite, love 'em or hate 'em. Who wants to be in the middle and just be thought of as 'nice' or 'ok'? I call them 'mehs' because that is the sound people make when asked if they like them..'meh, they're alright i suppose'. Unfortunatly for some reason when i fall for someone i immediatly become a 'meh' and this is something i'm fucking determined to stop doing by the time i finish this trip.

So anyway, after our shower shennanigans *Jack romantically towelled me off, kissing my neck and looking deep into my eyes as he did so...(sorry i just gagged as i typed that-this isnt a fucking Danielle Steele novel buddy). Then he INSISTED on some serious pillow talk in which my gag reflex was given a severe workout. You might wonder why i didnt kick him out immediatly after all i had just slept with him and it wasn't like i would be kicking him out for forcing me to use a condom or anything. I realise it would have been perfectly within my whoreish one-night stand rights, but he HAD bought me the Ferg burger and he was just so sickeningly sweet. it would have been like beating a puppy with a bat. So i indulged him for as long as i could.

I did almost vommit when he told me he was 25 and had only slept with 5 people, to which i smiled sweetly and told him i had only slept with 6 and that this was my first one night stand.
'But Danny told me you slept with him the other night' He shot back. For Fucks sake. Not caring enough to make up a decent excuse i told him,
'First one night stand that i can remember properly...i was another level of drunk when me and Danny slept together'.For some reason this made him smile smugly and hold me tighter like i had just given him a life time supply of porn (or knowing this guy (as i barely did) a life time supply of smiles and furry bunny rabbits. Fucking pussy 'ol). Is it me or, if a girl you liked just admitted to not counting one night stands with strangers because she was too drunk to remember them happening, wouldn't you be out the door before you could say 'gonorrhea'?Anyway, a girl has her limits and when *Jack suggested we be'lovers' for the last few days of my trip i decided that enough was enough. I told him that i didn't want Danny to come back and see him (not because i cared about Danny i assured him as he immiediatly became jealous-err you're not my boyfriend mate)but because it would be awkward. He agreed this was the case. So not a complete dumb-ass after-all. So i marched him to the door so his insistence that he take me out for lunch the next day. I said that sounded perfect, knowing it was the only way to get rid of him but planning my escape route for the next day as i did so.

I was finally able to slam the door on him and his cringey self but not until i heard this.
The fatal line.
The nail in the coffin.

'ok, ill see you for snuggles tomorrow then'
Sweet. Jesus.

Nice guys keep walkin'

There is something very wrong with me. Why is it that spending a night with a guy who insists on telling me how amazing i am, how increadable my body is and how much he thinks he likes me results in me skulking around the hostel for the next day making sure i dont bump into him? In fact, somehow my painfully selective messy memory reminded me that we had arranged for him to come over and see me the next day for lunch so i made damn sure that i left my room a good hour early in order to 'accidentally on purpose' be out.

I thought i handled the whole affair quite glamerously to be honest, with my head scarf and big sunnies darting from pillar to piller i was sort of celebrity-spy chic. Very Jackie O. Sadly i bumped into the group of guys i was meeting from home on the trecharous sprint from the bathroom to my bedroom and was forced to divulge details of my sordid affair. I don't think they quite grasped why i was so keen to avoid someone who was so into me, but then, unlike my girlfriends they remain unaware of my penchant for steamy one-night stands and practical allergy to anyone who might want more from me than a quick tumble.

Soon the vodka was flowing and me and the boys were swapping steamy tales. I toned mine down significantly, omitting the dirtiest details like the 'bleeps' in a PG Eminem album. I truly didn't think they could handle it. They were horrified enough with the PG verions. This is all well and good but the worrying thing is, that a guy who sleeps with me, virtually ignores me AND chucks girls out for refusing to wear condoms results in me skulking round the hostel trying to 'accidentally on purpose' bump into him.

What the fuck. Yes i KNOW *Jack was M.C Cringe and i just couldn't get down with his 'cringe-dizzle' but to still want to get with someone like DANNY who clearly gets boners from the thought of impregnating strangers!!! I must have been dropped on my head as a baby or something. Either that or walked in on my parents having sex. I wish Freud was around to give me some insight into my warped pysche. He would probably just tell me i fancy my Mum though. Which i can assure you is not true.

I think my ex might have fucked me up more than i gave him credit for.

Travellers guide to smoking, shagging and sniffing; Part 1

Cigarettes and sushi are rapidly burning a hole in my pocket as it turns out that fags are a travellers crotch. Asking to borrow a lighter is the most efficient way to meet someone when being a lone ranger and i have quickly made firm friends with a number of chain smokers (which also happen to b my favorite kind of smokers/people).

It is also nice to know who to go to in order to bum a smoke.

This leads me to my second point. Prioritising.
What do i want more...a $10 box of sushi which, whilst being an orgasm in my mouth, will only go straight to my ever increasing waist-line and make it more difficult to get drunk (and pull)....OR.....be able to afford a few more drinks that night probably resulting in sexual deviancy (and STI's)

Now of course i would rather be fat than have aids BUT if i can master this condom conundrum i would rather be a skinny, starving drunk than chubby, sane and sober.

My parents have always wanted me to grasp the concept of prioritising, ever since my school days when i would be on the phone to the bastard ex until the wee hours of the morning on a school night. They would be so proud i have finally done so and chosen alcohol over food.

condom conundrum

Now condoms arent my favorite thing in the world. They are slimy, ugly and in my opinion, completely ruin the moment (and the sensation of sex). In fact, when im intoxicated, unless the guy is sane and sober enough to initiate it..i tend to forget about them altoether (bad girl...yes I KNOW). I am pretty much a walking advertisment for safe sex...you know, the example of what not to do. I may as well have 'want respect, use a condom' tatooed on my forehead (or fanny).

But i have realised that things out here have to change. PARTICUALLY as the other nigh a girl i was out with told me this rather horrifying tale about dear old Danny...Apparently he had seduced her after a night out as he did me yet she was unfortunate/fortunate enough to be kicked out having refused to use a condom.Me and Danny. A match made in heaven? I think not. I mean, i never conciously REFUSE to use one...it merley just slips my drunken mind...if i wake up in the morning having used one with my one night stand then i am very proud of myself (gold star for me).

This does not bode well.
I will be heading down to the clinic immediatly.

The face-rape

As is usual with rape victims (or so i have heard) post-traumatic stress often results in your mind blocking out painful memories of the attack. I believe my hazy memory was be more likely the result of extreme inebriation having been given numerous free 'teapots', but please dont believe this makes the event any less tragic.

I was doing my thing on the dance-floor with a good lot of Swedish girls who were challenging my alcohol tolerance like noone before (i always like to push myself though and i feel i may have reached a new personal best that night). Now i didnt believe he was THAT bad but then again in my drunken mind Wayne Rooney could give Brad Pitt a run for his money in the looks department and the fact that Camilla was dragging me away from him at every opportunity probably should have indicated the poor standard of his physical state.

Now it wasnt like i WANTED to get with him, but at that point i ws pretty much doing my 'oblivious dog' routine and being passed around the dancefloor like a limp puppet looking for my puppet-master. I suppose this guy took it upon himself to fullfill that role, but instead of taking control of my arms, he decided to take control of my intestines...with his tounge. I knew immediatly that he was European as (at the risk of obscenely generalising) my experience with European men is that they like to get to know your internal organs before they get to know your favorite colour. At any rate i knew he wasnt English because English guys will usually tend to stick a finger up your skirt on the dancefloor rather than go straight for your oesophagus.

Nevertheless i wrote the whole event off as standard routine, deciding not to press charge as it wasnt the first time my face had been raped and i doubt it will be last. I alwasy find these things extremely funny anyway and mortifying not for me, but for the guy...and his next victim.

However what i found in my inbox later that day was the more obscene, more lewd than anything my face or fanny has ever encountered. It appears that along with my mouth,my inbox had also been raped.

Hey Olivia,

Got your email address last week in Queenstown, and I thought let's mail you......! I know I was quite drunk that evening, and friends of mine told me that I had to feel ashamed because I kept stalking you all the time. Therefore I'd like to say sorry for that, hope it wasn't too bad.......!
Currently I am in Invercargill in a hostel, in two days I'll be back in Queenstown again for a couple more days. I don't really now what I told you (feeling ashamed again..) but my name is Leon van Exel and I'm from Netherlands and I am travelling for two weeks along the South Island. Next week I have to go back to Sydney where I am working for a couple of months. Now I am typing all this, I know this mail is very ridiculous haha.....
Maybe, if you want to meet me again, but in a more normal state you know, you can text me on...

Kind regards,

Leon Van Excel

Now i am no expert into the minds of rapists or the mentally insane (of which i suspect he is a member of each) but surely 'kind regards' is slightly too formal to sign off to a victim of mouth molestation. Furthermore, on what delusional planet would you believe that your victim would want to hear from you...maybe things are done differently where ever Leon Van Excel is from but serrrrrously men of Europe step your game up, get some common sense. If you meet some random girl in a club and your mates tell you the next day that you were stalking her, learn to appreciate the value of annonimity and the fact that it is one big world we live in and you will probably never see this woman again.

And, from the bottom of my oesophagus i implore you to beware the face-rape.
Men of the world, a tounge is like an iron. Dont use it unless you know exactly how it works or you WILL get burnt.

Loosing my NZ virginity

I guess i should have known about Danny when it was announced over drinking games that evening that i was his roommate and someone shouted out 'good to see your still walking'. Tragically, this only intrigued me more. Many of my more sensible friends would have requested a room change upon entering the dirt infested lair that was to be my room, but seeing the lads mags scattered on the floor and the insatiable smell of mens cologne pungent in the air, only made me more excited to meet my room mates ESPECIALLY having heard the rep that proceeded Danny (he even had my favorite name). For the first night he was an elusive character and i only knew of him what the lads told each other, to which i listened intently. His reputation certainly did proceed him, but i had met 'geezaaaas' before so i believed this wasnt new territory and being my roomate i anticipated a drunken hook-up or two.

My second day in Queenstown was spent predominantly bed-ridden after consuming-one-too many teapots in 'World Bar' the previous night. I had stayed in the girls dorm after be-friending some lovely lasses from London and had dragged myself back to my room at about 9am. I eventually crawled out of bed at 5 and on my way to the bathroom, looking like a drug-addicted prostitute who had just had a busy night at the brothel...i bumped into Danny. Now Danny was complelty average looking, nothing wrong with him, in fact quite cute, but nothing to cum in your pants over...that is until he opened his mouth.
'Alright darlin' he said in a laddish essex drawl. I melted and mumbled something about being hungover.
'Good night was it then? Heard you come back at 9. Lads room on the first night. Good on ya' he winked without a hint of judgement. I tried to defend myself with the story which was actually true (i only wish i ha got lucky that night), but he just laughed and went on doing what he was doing. At that moment i made it not only my intention, but my all-encompasing mission to get with Danny that night but ALAS he had a slowly improving case of the 'man flu'(week long hangover) and was staying in. FUCK was all i could think and although i had only just met him, for the rest of the day whenever i remembered his accent a tingling in my nether regions couldnt help but get me dissapointed.

Still, not one to be dissuaged i carried on and significantly drank through the hangover from hell.

That was the night i got face raped. Which i will detail in my next blog.

So apart from said face-rape the night was quite uneventful sex-wise and despite having a fucking fantastic night with a group of swedish girls i trudged back to my room with another girl with that tingling in my pants still unsatisfied. When we got back to the room Danny was awake and reading. He seemed more than happy to indulge me and my accomplice in drunken crime in smashed chat for over an hour and even encouraged us to read aloud from his book which was without a doubt the most crude literature i had ever laid eyes on. The scene Danny had been reading was a ghraphic account of how the misogynist protagoninst was sucking listorene out of his lovers pussy!!! The thought of Danny reading alone in the room and getting turned on only incensed me more but i was drunk and he had 'man-flu'...i didnt see it happening. Somewhere in between our conversation i passed out and was awoken sometime later to my friend saying her goodbyes. I quickly said mine, keen to go back to sleep but somehow found myself chatting to Danny....Even now, despite trying my hardest, i can not remember what was discussed but whatever it was cant have been too humiliating as after a while he simply said 'do you fancy getting into my bed?'
My hear pounded.
Did i hear him right?
Was my mind trying to fuck myself over and simply inventing things?
Was i, like a lost man in the desert desperate for water creating a sexual mirriage due to extreme hornieness??? All these questions flooded my mind only to be assuaged by him repeating his proposition. 'Well? he asked.
'Well' What you gorgeous arrognant son of a bitch. Of course i fucking fancy it. His accent added to his extreme arrogance made him irresitable. But doubts flashed in my head. 'I am a nice girl and nice girls dont simply roll across to their room mates bed to give out blowjobs', 'he is my roommate and this could be seriously awkward tomorrow', and the most overriding factor 'he is sober and i am smashed therefore while i wont remember all fanny farts etc yet he will have them emblazoned on his memory'.
OBVIOUSLY these doubts were quickly answered with 'fuck it' and i hopped, skipped an staggered over to his bed. The memories that follow are a flurry of kissing, 69ers and sex with nothing going hideously wrong (that i can remember).


Anyway, i woke up in my bed and for a brief moment forgot the sexual deviancy of the previous night. I slowly turned round to inspect the damage, groaning and cringing in my head as i did so. Dannys bed was empty and my pants were on the floor, perfectly positioned between our sides of the room. If i was in any doubt before about what had occured, i need not be for long. Scooping up my cum-sodden niks i sprinted to the bathroom, keen to avoid any post sex awkwardness. Looking in the mirror i violently cringed as i inspected my reflection. Picking a chip out of my hair i shuddered, hopped into the shower and attempted to wash myself of humilation for 15 minutes.

and so it begins...with a glass of wine

A glass of wine (or three)was all it took to steady my nerves. A lethal mixture of anxiety about flying and the sudden overwhelming sadness of saying goodbye to my family for 5 months caused a breif outbreak of tears which i quickly remidied with a large pinot grigio. The way i look at it, there are only two ways to relieve on-board anxiety...an orgasm or intoxication. Since i was in no hurry to join the mile high club with any of the men i could see in the departure lounge, the choice was an easy one.

I was seated next to a few guys from Uganda (i pretended i knew exactly where this was) and began the obligatory 'ummmm-ing' and 'ahhhh-ing' as they chatted about the turbulent political situation (which, after some number of glasses later, i decided i was an expert on and was passionatley inputting my point of view). I don't think i did the British rep any favours that trip as im sure my ignorance and more importantly, alcohol dependency shon through like the sun breaking the clouds at dawn.

After they left the plane i spent what must have been a good hour trying to work out just how sex-on-board was feasable...even desirable. First of all there is the logistical promblem of the positioning of the loos themsleves in relation to the stewardess' and i decided that unless the airline took to employing the blind or persons with an IQ the equivalent to a mentally retarded infant, sneaking in with someone else just wouldnt go un-noticed.

HOWEVER, more importantly, if i wanted to be penetrated in a position and lighting that would undoubtedly make me resemble a pregnant walrus who had just eaten another pregnant walrus i could initiate this myself...at home...without being in a shoe box stinking of piss. Now i accept that sometimes one just has to 'get ones end away' and if the opportunity arose up there at 20,000 feet then i probably wouldn't say no. But what i did conclude from all my detective work is that the mile high club is one institution that i do not aspire to join and instead, as i would discover later that week whilst riding a gondola in Queenstown, the quater half mile club is a much more logical fantasy.