What’s a girl to do? Men are all the same. They’ll soften you up with dinners and flowers and chocolates and flattery, and just when you’re ready to open your heart to them, they pry your legs apart and shove their dick into your cunt. Wham bam thank you Ma’am.

Take this guy here. Charlie. We’re in a fancy restaurant. He’s looking over the bill finding out the evening has been more expensive than he had planned, and now he’s thinking how he’s going to cash in on me. Watch this.

‘How about we go to my place for a nightcap?’

See? Saw that one coming from a mile away. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy a good fuck as much as the next girl. But why does it always have to be on men’s terms? I mean, where do I come in? What makes men think that my lifelong dream is to get dry-fucked for three minutes flat in a creaky bed with unwashed sheets by a sweaty overweight paper pusher with a stinky dick and toilet breath? And all that for a fifty dollar meal and lousy small talk? A hooker won’t blow a guy for that.

I’m past the romance and love you forever thing. Those promises peter out as fast as their dicks shrink inside your cum-drenched cunt. All I want from a guy now is to get off my way. But there’s the problem. My way is not exactly the ordinary way. I mean, come on, ordinary sex is downright boring. Getting your cunt fumbled by clumsy fingers and then hump away as if at least one of you had a train to catch, I pass for that. Give me hot dirty sex. And I mean dirty! Give me a guy who is willing to go down on me, who will let me crawl and squat all over him, impregnate him with my odours, smear him with my juices. A guy who will surrender his mouth to me so I can give him a taste of all my stinking orifices. A mouth to snot and bleed into. Spray him with my urine, stuff him with my shit. I swear, the guy who wants a piece of my ass had better be prepared to get a good chunk of it. My way.

‘Just a nightcap? We can have a nightcap here.’

‘I got a cosy place. We’d be all alone. Whatever you’re in the mood for.’

‘Whatever I’m in the mood for? Uh uh, I don’t think so.’

His smile turns wry. He’s thinking about the bill he just paid.

‘W-why not?’

‘Because I don’t think you’re ready for what I’m in the mood for.’

He’s puzzled. He’s curious. I bet something is stirring inside his pants too. He wants it, whatever it is. Can’t be that bad. Or can it? I confuse him.

‘What are you in the mood for, then?’

‘Don’t ask. You don’t wanna know.’

‘But I do.’

‘Uh uh you don’t.’

He’s thinking, what on earth can she be talking about. There’s only room for sex in his mind and he’s laying out scenarios. Maybe I’ll whip his ass. Tie him to the bed. Kinky, he likes that. Don’t get that often from a woman.

‘Tell me.’

‘What’s your favourite fantasy?’

That confuses him even more. Women don’t talk about sex. They’ll sparingly give it out if you spin enough of the romantic yarn around them.

‘M-my favourite fantasy? Uhm, I… I don’t have fantasies.’

He’s only talked about sex with men. It’s easy with men. You know exactly what they think: the same as you. Ooh see that ass, it’s bouncing all over the sidewalk. What I wouldn’t give to dip my dick into that! And those tits, man she’s loaded like a cow. Ooh baby, whip my face with those, knock me right off my feet they will.

‘Oh don’t give me that. I saw you goggle all over that fat cow over there when she bent over to pick up her napkin. Your eyes were rolling loose in their sockets.’

‘No I wasn’t. I would never…’

‘Of course you would. You did. I saw you. You were practically drooling. Do you like fat asses? Is that your thing?’

He’s flabbergasted now. I could have hit him on the head with a sledgehammer and he’d be like this. I read him like a book and he knows it. It annoys him that I can see through him. He isn’t used to that. Women will either fall for him or ignore him. They never tell him off. Not on the first date, anyway.

‘Uhm, maybe I should just take you home. You must be tired. You told me what a hard day you had.’

So I did. He listened! Whaddayaknow, the guy listened. Didn’t care too much about that two minutes ago, though.

‘So that’s it? When the going gets tough, the meek retire?’

His facial control is beyond hiding his train of thought. What is it with this woman? She rebukes me like she was my wife, and now she’s teasing me again. What does she want?

I got him in a soft spot, there. Aussie guys do not like to be called meek. Aussie guys are tough.

‘OK. Tell me what you have in mind. Maybe we’re both thinking the same.’

‘Oh, I seriously doubt that.’

‘Then what is it you wanna do?’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘What question?’

‘What’s your favourite fantasy?’

‘What do my fantasies have to do with anything?’

‘So you do have fantasies? You said you didn’t.’

He knows he’s on a crossroads here. Aussie men don’t have fantasies. Aussie men don’t jerk off. They’re tough. They want sex, they grab a girl and fuck the living daylights out of her. No woman can resist their manhood. At least, that’s what they like to think. Truth is, all they ever want to do is crawl back up their momma’s cunts. They just can’t admit it, not even to themselves. But this guy, he knows if he wants something with me, he has to play the game. I have to keep him on the edge, though.