Friday 26 April 2013

The Russian That Got Away (Part 2)


I quickly turned in the direction of a nearby bar. I felt noticeably drunker than the Russian so I decided it would be in my best interests to challenge her to a bucket drinking competition. Somewhere in between my Red Bull induced buzz and my vodka haze I made the devious ploy to pretend I was sucking the drink as fast as I could through the eight or so straws I was provided with. There was something incredibly hot about a girl who could maintain strong eye contact whilst finishing an entire bucket of alcohol.

My brain is freezing!” She screamed as she dropped the empty bucket on the ground and crouched down, nursing her head in her hands. The pain seemed to distract her from the fact that I had fooled her into a drinking competition that only she was participating in.

At that very moment I remembered back to the Ukrainians in L’viv that Lionel and I had invited over for dinner. Not only were they complete retards when they drank alcohol, but they were also quite adamant that their vaginas weren’t to be touched until we had spent an exorbitant amount of time with them. I was secretly hoping Russians were completely different.

After a few hours of dancing and flirting back and forth we found ourselves alone on the sand comparing our hand-stand skills. I continued the flirting by announcing that she was no match for my “technically perfect” hand-stands. Our eyes locked, her smile was the biggest I’d seen for the whole night; it was time to kiss her. As I leant in she turned her head away as if to think I was going to whisper something in her ear. I decided to go along with it.

What are you doing?” I whispered

What do you mean?” She replied returning back to deep eye contact. She was noticeably confused.

I was going to kiss you, but you turned away.”

I don’t kiss until the second or third time I meet a guy.” She said slowly tucking her hair behind her ear.

This seemed to be the standard response from any girl originating from the east of Europe. I decided against a verbal response. I took her hand and pulled her body against mine. “Her breasts are a lot larger than I initially thought” I remember thinking to myself as I ran my hands up past her neck to the back of her scalp; lightly grasping a fistful of her salty beach hair. I felt little resistance as I pulled her head towards mine, our lips touching for the very first time. As expected from any Russian, she used a lot of tongue. It was as if she was taught how to kiss from watching porn and porn alone.

Let’s go get a drink.” She squealed as she grabbed my hand and pulled me off the beach and back towards the bar. We ordered two more drinks and downed them within a few minutes.

“I have to go home. I have a big day tomorrow and have to make sure I get some sleep.” She said displaying one of the biggest ‘sorry faces’ I had ever seen.

“That’s okay, I’ll see you tomorrow night.” I replied. I had decided that breaking the ‘rule’ of kissing her on the first night was enough. I would focus my energy on fucking her the next time I saw her. After exchanging phone numbers we parted ways and as I was now low on energy I decided to make my way home and prepare my body for the final two nights in paradise.

The following day the Russian and I exchanged a few text messages, but she had decided that she would be staying in, but promised to see me on my final night on the island. This would obviously mean I would have to seal the deal on my final night, which didn’t bother me, I just would’ve preferred not to of put myself under that kind of pressure.

The night played out like I thought it might have: get drunk, dance like a fuckwit, kiss random sluts, but all I could think about was having sex with the Russian.

I would spend my final day wandering through the tourist orgy that are the streets of Phi Phi. For lunch we decided to grab a bite to eat at the burger place across the road from our hostel. I was halfway through my burger when I received a text from the Russian.

Hey, I can only come out for a little bit tonight. Long story.”

How I was I suppose to secure sex with her if she only coming out for an hour or so? Should I just fuck her off and find another random girl to have sex with? A million questions were running through my mind at the same time, all of which were easily answered with “Find another girl, you’re wasting your time.” However something about the Russian made me look past seeing her as a conquest. Maybe it was due to my balls being unusually full of semen, but I couldn’t quite figure it out.

With Lionel successfully coughing up blood and shitting himself at pre-drinks I would be heading out with the two South Africans that were living in the room across from ours.

By 10pm we were drunk. The Russian said she was going to be arriving at 11.30pm so I had a little bit of time to plant seeds if the Russian refused to let me stay over.

By 11pm I had spoken to half a dozen girls, one of which was cute enough and seemed keen enough to rendezvous with once the Russian had decided to go home. She was half Australian, half Chilean; a 7 on the old scale.

“Hey!” The Russian screamed after spotting me deep in crowd of party-goers on the dance-floor.

She immediately hugged me as if she hadn’t seen me for years. As we both loosened our grip our eyes locked, our lips met and once again 95% of her tongue was rammed down my throat. Somebody seriously needs to go to Russia and teach public kissing etiquette in classrooms.

Over the next hour the grip of her hand seemed to tighten, her eye contact would linger longer than it had before and, if possible, her kisses were just that little more passionate, it was on…or so I it seemed.

Okay, I have to go now.” She blurted out

I’m coming with you.” I replied confident that she was horny enough to oblige.

No, I can’t have guests in my room, but I will come and see you at pier before you get on the boat in the morning.”

Sneak me in.” I suggested trying to keep my cool.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She said kissing me goodbye and disappearing back into a sea of buckets, glow sticks and cheap singlets.

WHAT.THE .FUCK.

My penis was furious. I had wasted two nights in Phi Phi on a game playing Russian.  Both my penis and I would stop at nothing to find redemption. My eyes darted across the beach, I was looking for the half Australian, half Chilean. I knew it would be a miracle if I were to stumble on her again, but it was getting late and she was my best option.

I decided to head back to the bar that I had met her in and by nothing else but pure luck she happened to still be there. She was with her friends who seemed to have met a group of guys. Perfect.

Oh hey there.” I said acting as if it was a mere coincidence I had seen her again.

Hey, where have you been.”

Around. I’m getting a drink, want to join me?” I replied maintaining strong eye contact and flashing her a cheesy smile.

“Yes.”

I had been fucked around for the past two nights. She was now alone with me and I was too pissed off to play any games. I decided to go for broke.

So where are you staying? I’m kind of sick of the loud music wanna go chill at your house?

She flinched. I could see that she was deciding whether on not she had heard correctly.

That’s a little forward, but I suppose we ARE on holidays.”

Game. Set. Match.

We were back at her apartment within 20 minutes. I took out my two days of frustration out on her vagina and ravaged her like I had been tied down and made to watch porn for the past 10 years.

I following day I would walk around the pier in search of the Russian for 30 minutes before I boarded.  I had been using a friend’s phone so there was no way of contacting each other. I would leave Phi Phi without seeing the Russian again.

- Gavin Madden

Wednesday 17 April 2013

The Russian That Got Away


For me, arriving home from a lengthy voyage involves catching up with friends and searching for a new job in order to save enough money for my next adventure. I will spend the first two weeks reminiscing; I like to start from the very beginning of my trip, remembering each fine detail as to allow my mind to fully immerse itself in the sights, sounds and even the smells of that very moment.

A lot of the time my attention will turn to the women I got to know on a naked level. Was I proud to of fucked them? How did I go from fucking a 9 to a 6 within one night? Did I put too much effort into making sure I tried to fuck a quality girl every time I went out rather than just to have fun?

On this blog I mostly talk about my conquests, not to brag, but along with the entertainment value, educate many of you as to what is possible when it comes to random stranger sex in a foreign country. I rarely talk about the time I didn't fuck a girl for two reasons A) Because it's not very entertaining and B) Because rejection is something you learn to deal with if you're fucking a lot of girls. Rejection simply doesn't affect me enough for me to have to write about it.

My most recent time spent reminiscing was different. I spent less time thinking about the good times, ridiculous sex, beautiful cities and the amazing food because the majority of the time I was thinking about the Russian girl I had met in Thailand.

It was the final leg of my six-month stint overseas. I had begun to make my way home to Australia and decided that a couple of weeks in Thailand would involve enough partying as to make it okay that I was to spend the following few months working in Australia. It had come to our final three nights and Lionel and I had chosen to spend them on the island of Ko Phi Phi in the south of Thailand.

Our bodies were a bit of a mess, but we only had a few days to go so we decided to push through, as we knew we wouldn’t have this opportunity again for a while. As we got dressed into our brightly coloured singlets, shorts and stupid green straw hats we poured what seemed like litres of Red bull vodka down our throats until it was time to hit the clubs.

We spent the next few hours roaming the clubs and dancing like we were slightly retarded. It was on the dance-floor at ‘Ibiza Bar’ that I spotted a girl dancing alone in the sand on the outside of the dance floor. Her hair was long, brown and wavy with a hint of blonde at the tips. Her eyes were bright blue, which created a brilliant contrast against her perfectly tanned skin and although her stomach was perfectly flat, she had a make-up free glow similar to that of a pregnant woman.

Her perfection was too much for me to just admire, I had to talk to her.

My feet started moving towards her before my brain had time to realize what I was doing. I pushed through the crowd of partygoers until I reached the other side of the dance-floor. She was now facing the bar, which gave me comfort in knowing that she probably hadn’t seen me staring at her for the past five minutes. I took a deep breath and gave her two light taps on her shoulder. As she turned around she looked in my eyes and flashed me a slight smile as if she was waiting for me to approach her the whole time.

Hello, I just saw you standing by yourself over here and thought you might need someone to party with.”

Yes, well I’m waiting for my friend to finish work” she replied in a peculiar accent as she swayed gently to the sounds of the thumping house music.

As she looked into my eyes I found it hard to concentrate on what I was going to ask her next. I usually pride myself on my conversational skills, but in this very moment I was like the nerdy kid at school that got all choked up even when walking to mediocre girls.

Oh okay, where are you from?” I said resorting back to standard backpacker conversation.

“I am from Russia.” She replied.

I should have known.” I remember thinking to myself.

As far as I’m concerned, Russia is the primary source of hot white women throughout the world. The closer you get to Russia, the hotter the white woman. Simple.

“…and how long do you have until your friend finishes work?”

“..about an hour.” She replied

Great well you’re going to party with me until then.

After a few seconds of weighing up the idea she obliged. I thought the situation was unfolding perfectly. I see a magnificent girl, I approach her, she agrees to hang out with me and I’m in Thailand – the one-night-stand capital of the world. I was convinced things would go my way. I was wrong.

To be concluded

Wednesday 10 April 2013

A Lesson Learned


My apologies for not posting in quite a while. My mind has been absolutely warped (seemingly beyond repair), however I have noticed my thoughts within the last few hours have begun to sound a lot like my old self again, so I am only now happy to share the happenings of my weekend with you.

On Saturday one of my good friends, Morgan, had organised a get together of around thirty people at his house in a suburb on the outskirts or Melbourne. As it was his birthday, he had decided that the best way to celebrate would be to buy enough drugs to keep the attendees completely fucked for the majority of the day. By 11pm many cans of beer had been cracked, the drugs had all but been snorted and the energy possessed by each individual at the party was enough to power a standard sized house; a situation all too familiar for many guests of the party.

The following is a rough timeline of the next 18 hours

4am: Many of the guests had left, with a few of the remaining still hopeful that our drug dealer would arrive to provide us with the substances necessary to continue partying a little while longer.

5am: Our drug dealer arrives with enough pills for us to find going to a club to be a sensational idea. If you are familiar in Melbourne club by the name of 'Revolver' you would know that people turning up at 6am is somewhat of a normal occurrence.  It’s the type of club that can attract some of the best looking women Melbourne has to offer, yet it also contains the majority of the city’s drug rats.

6am: Revolver is surprisingly empty, however we choose to stay for a little while to see if it picks up.

6.30am: I ran into a few people that I used to go to school with. During our conversation I mention that I had recently bought some pills that were supposedly the best going around and was saving them for a music festival that was in the near future. He had recognised the description of the pill I had given him and informed me that they contained hallucinogens and not the MDMA I had been hoping for. I remained skeptical, yet curious to do some research of my own.

8am – The drugs had to begin to wear off and the club hadn’t got any busier since we had arrived. We decided it would be best to leave partying at Revolver for another day.

8.30am – We arrive back at Morgan’s house. The house looked more like a brothel than somewhere somebody actually lived and most of us were keen to call it a night morning.

9am – I arranged a lift home.

10am – I arrive home to find my house completely empty; my sister was away on holiday and my brother was still at a friend’s house. I sit down on the couch, open my laptop and reminisced about the previous day. As I scroll down my newsfeed I remembered the conversation about the pills I bought for the music festival and I quickly open a new Safari browser to do a quick google search. Nothing.

10.30am – I have spent the last thirty minutes procrastinating, as I grasp the pills in my hand I am in three minds: Do I risk fucking up my entire festival by taking pills that have an undesired effect? Do I test one of the pills to see what they are like? Or do I sell the pills on as hallucinogens? With a mind and body that has had questionable amount of alcohol, drugs and sleep I make the decision to take half a pill and make an inform decision based on it’s effect.

11.30am – It has now been an hour since taking half a pill and it has yet to have an effect on me. I am now beginning to feel unbelievably tired, but I am keen to carry out the experiment until I have arrived at a conclusion.

12noon – Still nothing. I decide that taking the other half of the pill will give me a good indication of what chemical the pill contains, if any.

12.15pm – I begin the feel something, however it is nothing I am 100% familiar with. My vision seems to be covered with a cloud of smoke, however for now I am feel okay with my surroundings.

12.30pm – My heart is beating at an abnormal rate, I take my jumper off as I am sweating like an overweight, fully clothed man in a butterfly enclosure and my hands seem to be covered in a string like material. I am convinced the rest of my arms are covered in spider webs, but I am unable to clean them off my body.

1pm – Things are getting weird. I start to feel slight anxiety as the trees in my backyard seem to have the same texture as water, doorways are much smaller than I remember and the ceiling fans only seem to turn off when I’m looking directly at them.

I have little to no recollection of the following 9 hours, however I believe I spent the majority of the time laying on my bed pretending to ride a bike whilst laying on my back.

10pm – I break out of a trance like state as I hear my phone ringing. It’s a Maria, a girl that added me on Facebook only days beforehand. She’s cute, but after an hour-long conversation a few days ago I am convinced she is slightly psychotic. I feel the need to talk to somebody so I answer her call and am immediately calmed by the sound of another human’s voice.

She describes my weird topics of conversation as “arousing” and convinces me that fingering herself while I masturbate to be a good idea. My penis refuses to cooperate with my brain so I have no choice but to fake a few orgasms. Maria seemed to enjoy herself on the other end of the phone, but as I was still tripped out, I forgot where I was halfway through her orgasm and was convinced someone was screaming in agony down the other end of the phone. Terrified, I quickly hung up and it wasn’t until she called me back that I remembered what we were doing.  

Needless to say I won’t be buying pills in nightclubs again.

- Gavin Madden