The Second Encounter with Sexy Vegan


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After an embarrassing post-gym groan in the health food store, I met a sexy vegan, who after forgiving me for accidently dissing the vegan diet, asked me to a vegan picnic on Saturday. He got my number, text and arranged everything. I cooked my first vegan dish – a roasted vegie salad. Yes, I admit Google was my hero and I found a great recipe online:

So wearing a cute sundress, plastic ballet shoes (I rang my bff Alice for fashion advice and she warned me not to wear any leather if I wanted to get any love from my Vegan man) I arrived roughly on time, only thirty minutes late – I didn’t want to be too eager and have that awkward first people to arrive can’t escape and talk to anyone else moment.

Sexy vegan spotted me straight away.

‘Amai’ he greeted me, I think I saw masculine approval and appreciation light those very sexy brown eyes.

‘Sexy vegan,’ I replied.

He pulled me into a full contact – and I mean thigh-to-thigh, groin-to-groin, belly-to-belly, chest to breast – hug. It was sublime. And it seemed to last an age. It was a really long, personal hug. It felt like he was indicating to the herd that I was his woman. I felt deliciously warm and womanly post hug.

He introduced me around, nobody asked if I was vegan or not. There was a picnic rug full of food, and people just ambled around: talking, eating, and drinking. It was lovely to sit around in the lazy afternoon sun. Sexy vegan kept by my side. Such good manners. A plus.

After thirty minutes or so, I realized I still didn’t know much about him. What he did, where he went to school, how single he was? So I switched gears from polite, general chitchat to the serious stuff.

I wasn’t subtle, ‘So, what do you do?’

He leant forward, his eyes warm and serious and offered me a tortilla with avocado and salsa. I opened my mouth and accepted his offering. Delicious.

He kept his body close, and smiled. Have I re-mentioned how much this man oozed sexiness. He was wearing a dark blue tee shirt that showed off his physique with a Buddhist prayer beads necklace, showing off that he was spiritual. I was getting aroused just sitting with him.

‘I’m a tantric body worker.’ He said, his voice low and deep.

I swallowed the tortilla whole. And promptly started coughing.

What the oath was a tantric body worker? I needed Google! Tantra was some Indian Kama Sutra sex position thing, right?

He gently rubbed circles on my back, which did nothing for the coughing but certainly soothed other parts of me, and offered me water. I took a sip.

He looked amused.

‘What’s that?’ I asked, trying for a non-judgmental tone.

‘I assist people, and couples, on their sexual energy and life force, through breath and touch.’

‘Oh.’ I was floundering.

He elaborated, ‘A woman might come to me for healing as she’s never had an orgasm, or has problems orgasming with her partner. A man might be concerned with sustaining erections or pre-maturely ejecting.’

He was still rubbing soft circles on my back. He definitely knew how to touch a woman, and how to look at her like she had been made just for him.

I swallowed.

He leant forward and kissed me. It was expert. It started with a soft brush of the lips. Then a nibble. I could feel him smile. Then his tongue brushed against my lips. I sighed. I could feel our breaths mingling; thank goodness I’d avoided the garlic hummus dip. Just when I thought he was going to really start kissing me. He softened off, pressing a few quick chaste kisses against my lips.

I looked up at him, soft and dreamy. It had been too long since I’d been kissed.

‘I would like to see you again. Cook you dinner.’

I smiled, shyly. I wanted that too. If he had taken my hand and lead me anywhere, I would have gone with him. I wanted to strip off his clothes and explore his body. I wanted to have sex with him. I wanted him. The need nearly hurt, it was so strong within me. My body was screaming out ‘This is the One’, have sex NOW!!!

‘That would be nice,’ I said instead.

His smile intensified.

‘Tomorrow night?’ He asked, running his knuckles down my cheek.

Wow, keen I love that in a man. Maybe he felt as strongly as I did.

‘Tomorrow night,’ I replied with a smile.

It didn’t hit me until later that I was going to his house for dinner. Which is code for dinner and sex. Which meant I was committing to sleeping with the second guy I’d ever slept with! I was officially breaking the vows of faithfulness I’d made when I’d married my husband. Terror and excitement. Arousal and fear.

I could do this. I was thirty years old. Most women my age had slept with twenty plus men. I had said that this is what I wanted: to have some sexual adventures. And this was the first opportunity post divorce that it had been offered to me, in an appropriate, non-sleazy manner.

I escaped the picnic shortly after, the terror making it hard to sit still and breathe. Old memories of abstinence club – swearing no sex before marriage, how strongly I believed in it – swarmed up. For twenty four hours I went to and fro between ‘I’m going’ and ‘I’m not going’ and ‘I can do this,’ and ‘I can’t do this’.

Until I got his text.

With his address and time to arrive.

And a xx at the end of the message.

Then I made my decision.

My Ex


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My brain is still hard-wired to think about my ex. For eleven years he was my priority, and all my synapses know him intimately. The round thoughts of him have turned sharp. Love doesn’t turn to hate. It turns to disappointment, to anger, to grief, then to nothing. I’m not at the nothing stage at the moment. I dread the day I find out he is dating someone.

He must be. Or must have. But at least now ignorance is bliss.

I miss having him in my life. Coffees in the morning, cuddles in the night, someone that is there for you – holding you when shit goes down.

Our relationship for the first seven years – was ideal. Passionate, connected, adoring, fun, and then we got a mortgage. When the ‘adult’ stage of responsibility: houses, kids, mini-van started to edge towards us – it also started to pull against the joints of our relationship. First small tears and arguments, then dislocation, then limbs being pulled apart. We weren’t humpty dumpty. No-one could put us back together. We no longer fit.  

So I still long for the idealistic, youthful, ‘us’ as a couple. I long for that free me. Sometimes I refer to myself as an old lady to the other students. They bound around the campus with fresh eyes and enthusiasm – while I limp about whimpering ‘coffee!’

Maybe, that’s one of the reasons I returned to uni and study. I didn’t want to be the adult version of me: the boring, worrying about money, anxious about the future, planning, safe, me. I don’t want to be her. I also didn’t want my husband: the boring, worrying about his career, anxious about making money, success driven, right-lane driving guy that he’d become.

We ended our relationship for many, many reasons. And I know it was the right decision, though sometimes I regret it. I wonder if we made the right decision. I long for him, yearn for him to come knocking at the door and lock his arms around me, whisper that he loves me.

Even now, the loss of him brings tears. I miss him. I miss us. Trying to move on, makes me think about him more. Makes his absence more real.

And it’s okay. The nineteen year old me is still in love with the twenty year old him. But the thirty year old is ready for someone new, something different.

It’s time to move on!    

What happened on Friday…



So as you know my flat mate Sarah invited me to be her wing-woman to the Sixster show, with backstage pass, and invite to the after-party. Despite the angry vibe of the music, which is not usually my thing, it was an amazing show. Jeremy, or J as he prefers to be called, the lead singer, is incredibly fierce on stage and compelling. Completely understand why Sarah gave him a bj in a restaurant’s toilets. He ripped his tee shirt off half way through a song, revealing rock hard abs and an un-manscaped chest. I admit, I drooled over Sarah’s man.

Anyway, after the show the party was held in the VIP area of Sebastian’s – which was ultra-sexy. Red and black were the pre-dominant themes, with the waiters wearing black latex. Apparently they could choose whatever they felt comfortable in as long as it was latex. Some dressed head to toe in it, and some, well one guy wore a latex thong. It was that sort of place.

Who would believe, that I would be in the VIP section with an up-coming band? I owe Sarah big time. Totally checked us in, and took some selfies for instragram and facebook. It was way too cool not to share.

Anyway, after Sarah and J disappeared (I won’t speculate) the drummer Benny, sat down next to me. He was 26, had a tattoo sleeve that he’d designed himself, wore a leather vest, a long necklace, and ripped jeans. He was a cliché and it worked for me.

‘You’ve got sexy eyes’ was his opening gambit.

‘Thanks’ I somehow choked out. He was mega cute. Long hair, muscles, and I could see the blonde hairs dusting his forearms. I wanted to take a bite out of him. See if he tasted as good as he looked.

I took a sip of my vodka, lime and soda – the alcoholic drink of dieters, and attempted a flirtatious smie.

He leant closer.

‘Beautiful eyes too.’

Didn’t he already say my eyes were sexy? Odd.

‘Thanks,’ it was time to change the subject away from my eyes because if he gave me a third eye compliment I was catching a taxi home.

‘So how did you get hooked up with Sixster?’ I asked, trying to sound confident and non-fan-fanatic.

‘We all grew up together. We started the band twelve years ago.’

‘Sarah said you just got signed with Sony, congrats, that’s amazing.’

‘No, it’s a lot of damn hard work.’

Shut down. I froze. That was rude.

‘So,’ he said, leaning closer, smiling sexily, ‘how bout we go to the toilets and you give me a blow job?’


Are you freaking insane? We’ve shared under fifty words and he wants me to get down on a urine stained floor in the public toilets of a club and not knowing if he has any diseases, STI’s, herpes, crabs, gonorrhea, or worse and give him a bj?

Not happening buddy.

How did Sarah risk it?

But I did say I wanted to try new things, have sexual adventures. My husband was the only person I’d ever kissed, had sex with or given a bj. But this? This seemed awful. Benny didn’t even know my name, didn’t care. And I realized though I wanted to experiment, I wanted someone who at least respected me or cared. I wasn’t ready for a full-on random sexual encounter with a complete stranger.

I grabbed my bag. Suddenly, the glamour seemed to stale. I was surrounded by drunk, sleazy strangers.

‘No thanks, I need to get home,’ I smiled, ‘and water my plants.’

And with no further argument, I walked away.

Attitude towards life!



A quick visual image of how I’m feeling atm!

I just jumped on the scales. So proud. I’ve dropped 2 pounds this week! Best decision ever to get a trainer. She slaughters me every session, but it’s getting results! And for those wondering, I’m doing a protein shake meal replacement to lower my calorie intake. So I’m having a really anti-oxidant plus muesli for breakfast with goji berries, cranberries, chia seeds, linseed, flaxseed, sunflower seeds, rolled spelt and oats. Then morning snack of fruit. Lunch healthy variable – I try to have salad or vege. And then dinner is protein powder, almond milk (for clear and luminous skin), banana, apple, berries, and three pitted dates blitzed in the blender. It’s super filling and gorgeous.

So woo-hoo. Attacking life!!!

Fear and Loathing: The connection between the film and my life


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My first introduction to Hunter S. Thompson was such that I didn’t realize I was meeting him. It was through Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, the movie starring Johnny Depp and Benicio del Toro and directed by Terry Gilliam.


It was released in 1998 and, for those who don’t remember, was a box-office failure. We watched it when it was released on DVD, my brother and I on a Saturday night. I dissed the movie, it wasn’t my usual rom-com fare, and I was too young to really understand it. He loved it though. He was good, he didn’t give me stick for hanging out with him on a Saturday night, he knew I had nothing else to do. Shae is a great brother. Was then, still is today. He was eighteen months earlier than me. Mom wanted to get the kid business out of the way so had us as close together as she could.

At the time, I didn’t know the movie was an adaption of a book, so it took another three or four years to really actually meet Thompson. We were assigned the Rum Dairy in Uni (the first time I went). We read it in our final year, and it was about dealing with the fears of growing old. This is when it clicked. I became a Thompson fan. I go through author crushes. When I like a book, I usually go back and read everything the author has written. It’s like going through the cupboards of a friends – or seeing someone’s home when they’re not expecting visitors. The more you read of an author, the more you get a feel for them.

Rum Diary was written in the sixties but not published until 1998, when Johnny Depp found the manuscript in Thompson’s belongings. It’s official actors do make a difference in the world! It also made me love Depp (way before his role as Jack in pirates of the Caribbean when the whole world fell in love with him).


Thompson also wrote Hell’s Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs. This launched ‘Gonzo journalism’ where no objectivism is needed, and the author writes their views, emotions and are apart of the story.

Today is his birthday. In our literary class, our tutor a woman in her forties, who completed a PhD in poetry, led a Hunter S. Thompson discussion. The fresh out of High School kids couldn’t contribute a lot. But there was another mature aged student – a woman who seemed my age who had also read him. I think the tutor called her Jo.

Maybe next class, I’ll to wrangle a seat next to her. One of my goals is to make new friends. My ex and I had a lot of other couple friends. And now that we’ve divorced, we’ve both lost friendships. It’s weird to socialize with four couples and a divorcee. I think they worry that divorce is catching. So I sort of feel like I did in High School, friendless. I spent the last twelve years trying to murderer all traces of who I was in High School, and I feel like the divorce has sent me back in a full circle. Instead of:

‘Hi, I’m sixteen, overweight and a loser.’

I get to say:

‘Hi, I’m thirty, overweight, and a loser.’

Well, at least I haven’t had any pimple or acne outbreaks. So that’s progress, right?


Vegan’s are sexy!


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So I had another gym workout. It’s like my trainer is punishing me for not exercising or going to the gym for the last three years. Grrr.

I was grunting and groaning, at one point during a sit up I got half way there, faltered and then fell back to the mat. Even during the cool down, ten minute stretching part I was sweating like a mo-fo.

But that’s not the embarrassing part. My trainer insisted I go to a health food store and buy a protein mixture made 100% from pea. Said that it was 100% natural, and didn’t have the hormone/estrogen concerns of soy protein formula’s.

The words that convinced me to buy it where, ‘you won’t hurt as much or for as long if you’re having it before and after our workouts.’ SOLD!

So after the gym, I toddled, again literally toddled as my whole body was a mess of hurting, aching, jelly (I don’t think I’ve developed any muscle yet) to the natural health food store. It smelled of incense and orange. There was only one attendant at the counter, so I found my own way to the long section of protein powders and body shakes. After five minutes of label examination I found the ‘golden pea’ protein formula. However, it was on the bottom shelf.

I started to lean down.

‘Aaaagggghhhhhhhh’ I groaned.

It was instinctive. I didn’t think about it and couldn’t stop myself. My legs hurt so much that it was painful even bending down.

‘Are you okay?’ Came a voice behind me.

There was no way my body would allow me to turn and see who in the position it was. So I grabbed the container, and slowly turned to standing. Biting my lip from groaning again.

And of course it wasn’t a shop attendant, or a little ole lady, or a person I knew. It was a cute guy, carrying a shopping basket.

Now, I couldn’t help grin. Cute guy, me, YES! This was fantastic. Maybe a groan in public wasn’t a bad thing. A Harry met Sally conversation starter. Thank you gym.

‘I’ve just been to the gym,’ I replied, going for a ‘I go to the gym a lot’ vibe.

‘Are you a vegan?’ He asked, pointing to the container. It had vegan approved stamp on it.

I fluttered eyes, ‘Oh God no. I love my red meat way too much, I could never go vegan.’

He stopped smiling.

SHIT! Was he a vegan?

‘I mean, I don’t really know much about it. Are you vegan?’

He nodded. My heart sunk. Fuck. He was really attractive for a vegan.

‘Isn’t it hard, just eating vegies all thetime? Do you miss meat?’

‘Nope, I eat like a super-healthy king. It’s the best I’ve ever felt.’

Well he certainly looked all sorts of delicious. He had a lean build, curly brown hair, brown eyes. He had just a cool vibe about him. Like a younger version of Joaquin phoenix


‘If you want to know more about it, we’re having a pot luck picnic over the weekend. Everyone brings something vegan to share?’

My smile increased to 100watts. ‘I’d love to come.’ Beats studying.

He withdrew his mobile, smiled, and said ‘What’s your number.’

And that people, is how it’s done!

Wardrobe Disaster!!!


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Sarah has invited me to be her wing-woman on Friday. I said yes, I mean it’s going to a sixster concert, with backstage pass and to party with them afterwards. Amazing right? This is exactly the type of life I want to create. No more Saturday nights watching shows I’ve saved on the hard drive or downloaded. And now that this season of Game of thrones is over, it’s a pretty easy choice to go out and get amongst it!

But I haven’t ever been a party girl. I know I need a little black number, high heels, dark, smoky eyes, red lips and slinky hair which also means that it’s time to remove my credit card from the Freezer.

Alex and Sarah – I hope you aren’t reading this.

I’ve got 48 hours ish to turn myself into a hot, confident, 30 year old.

I’d better buy some Bridget Jones, suck-it-in, underwear too.

My ex and I are still ‘facebook friends’ so is it awful that I want to take some selfies when we’re out and post them to show off? To kind of flip him off and say now that we’re over, officially, my life is better than it’s ever been. It probably is pretty shallow and petty, but I don’t care. I’m going to do it anyway!

By the way, I bumped into the hot professor today. Literally, bumped into him. I was getting my coffee (with my environmentally friendly eco cup), when I took a step backwards and into him, splashing coffee down the front of my new red dress. However, other than the coffee stains, I was looking pretty fine (if I do say so myself). I’d actually woken up in time to put makeup on, incase I bumped into any potentials, and straightened my hair.

‘Hi Amy,’ He said, with a sexy smile.

Melted to the floor, forgetting that I was supposed to be cleaning up my coffee mess.

‘Hi Professor Hot,’ Obviously, I didn’t say Professor Hot to his face. Or should I say thankfully I didn’t? I used his real name, but incase he ever reads this blog I’ve changed it. I also forgot to correct his use of Amy, instead of Amai. I was too awkward, I shrunk back in time to fifteen. Being an awkward, don’t know how to talk to boys version of myself.

Then we burrowed into banalities.

‘How are you?’ He asked, still smiling warmly into my eyes.

‘Great, I mean, other than spilling coffee over myself, great.’ Yes. I really was that awkward. So ashamed.

‘Good, see you in class?’

Shit, I forgot to ask him how he was or continue conversation. How to ask him if he had a girlfriend, or wife, or was single, and looking …

‘See you in class,’

Then the sniveling, man-coward that I apparently am, I turned and left the café.

I’m shaking my head at myself. I can’t believe I let a perfect opportunity die a humiliating, painful, death.

I still have four days to go before our next class.

Is there a book you can read, how to get your game on, but for women?

I might have to go Google that, because I’m in dire need of assistance!

Actually, I’d better go shopping first and google it later 🙂


Meet the Flatmates


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I’ve lived with my parents, my ex, and now housemates – strangers I met on Craig’s list.

We’ve sold the two-bedroom apartment that we purchased four years ago. I was a bit of a Sheldon with the decorating. I wanted it to look like something out of a magazine, we had funky patterned cushions, feature walls, we used the natural light to the best of our ability, had indoor plants, and all furniture chosen over months and months to find perfect pieces. Things that people, women, exclaimed over. Once off items, souvenirs from trips, art pieces picked up at via e-bay. I still feel a little sick thinking it’s been dismantled and sold off.

My friend Alice, who’s a bit of a hippie, said that furniture stored energy and memories, and that I should get new things for my new life. It made sense. And I was angry with Brad. I wanted to show that our old life meant nothing to me. That I’d moved on. That I didn’t care.

That was a lie too.

It’s been two years and nine months since I’ve had sex.

We didn’t make love, have sex, whatever, for about a year before we separated, and the divorce came through a month ago.

Wow, I’m so off tangent. I wanted to tell you about my housemates.

So I live with two others.

Sarah is 29, in retail, single, red-head (not natural), and is never home. She is out all the time, either dating, friends, family, she is always busy. Lovely, but way too chatty.

This morning, at 645am I zombie walk, pre-coffee, to the kitchen.

‘Hi,’ she chirps.

I nod. Incapable of words.

‘So how was your night? I had like, the best night ever. We went to Zero for drinks, then met these guys, and the six of us decided to go to Mecca for Lebanese. Then we realized, they were totally Sixster – this way cool un-discovered band. Anyway, the lead singer, Jeremy, asked me for a blow job. So we went to the bathrooms. I had just knelt down, when security came in and busted us. We got kicked out of the restaurant. Oh my god. Can you believe it? Like it was Denny’s or something.’

Seriously. That’s what she said. At 645am. Not cool Sarah. Not cool.

Then we have Alex, a a-typical, IT nerd. Lovely, but is home everynight. When you ask what he does, he will always say:

‘I have a team mission on to take out a horde, and loot a castle.’

Something to do with WOW. I had to google it after our first conversation. World of Warcraft. None of my friends are into online video games, but he loves it. His girlfriend in Scotland lpays it, and that’s how they met. They’ve been dating for a year but haven’t met. She’s coming across in the next few weeks, and if things are good between them (I think that’s a polite euphemism regarding if they want to have sex with each other) then they will decide whether she moves across, or he does. Depends on Visa’s. I wonder if Alex is a virgin? It’s a definite possibility. But he’s super lovely, but so shy. He only talks to me if I initiate.

If she doesn’t work out, maybe I should pop his cherry and end my drought. Only kidding. I’m not that desperate.

Give me a month.