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Brunch, ben wa balls, butt plugs and girl on girl beginnings…

There comes a time in everyone’s life… well ok, maybe not.

But there’s always a time in mine when I get asked such random questions that I often don’t see them coming and end up doing this…

 

One of my girlfriends called me up one day to advise that some her kinky friends are coming up from our nations capital and she had some unexpected work pop up, so would I mind being hostess to them while they were in Sydney for a night? She says they are a married couple and really lovely people. I say sure, why not. I don’t have anything on that night so it seemed like a good idea.

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2

How much, love? The night I nearly became a hooker.

Kings Cross, the seedy underbelly of Sydney.

The famous coke sign.

Well, at least, it used to be and to some extent I think it still is. Even though gentrification of the area has begun. There aren’t as many brothels as there were 10 years ago. The yuppies have moved in and started to call parts of it Paddington, Elizabeth Bay, Woolloomooloo in the hopes of raising their property value. Yet, this isn’t my Cross. Oh no.

My cross is a place for the weirdos, the queers, the hookers, the sexual deviants… It’s a place where you can find all kinds of things and people and no one bats an eyelid when I walk down the street in a latex dress with a fish tail. My partner holding my leash as we walk and instead of getting people gawking you get people smiling and nodding as you pass. It’s the secret handshake.

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