Candid Confessions of a Shameless Sexaholic...Part One: Just What The Doctor Ordered by Erotika Sinn Page A

door, and was gone.

Chapter 8
     
    Well, that was a bummer. One minute it
looked like I was about to get an injection of alpha male right into my system,
and the next I’m sitting at home alone with no dick in sight. I was really
pissed off. I guess that meant my brief romance with Brad was all over. What
had it lasted…a few hours? Longer than many of my encounters with men, granted,
but we didn’t even get to the good bit. Anyway, it was more than that. Brad
wasn’t just another hunk of male hormones. He was something special, and…well,
I guess I had been hoping something special might happen, although I wasn’t
really sure what.
    What now? I
scoured the kitchen for chocolate and found a large bar of Cadbury’s Crunchie
hidden behind the microwave. Ellen is one of those annoying women who can eat
huge quantities of chocolate without putting on any weight whatsoever. But she
also knows I will binge on her chocolate supplies if I have a bad day, so she
hides it in obscure locations. It’s a kind of chocolate arms race. Ellen is
always looking for better places to hide it, and I am always decoding her
defence system and locating it. If it wasn’t for all the exercise I got between
the sheets, I would probably packing a few extra pounds by now.
    I plonked myself
in front of the TV with the chocolate and half a bottle of cheap red wine, and
began flicking through the channels. Surprise, surprise…nothing worth watching.
Just re-runs of American sitcoms and embarrassingly bad reality TV shows. They
should have tried making a reality TV show about my life…that would be a real
eye opener. I bet I could raise the channel ratings a bit. Never mind The
Farmer Wants a Wife – how about The Lady Wants Some Dick. Ha ha! And if you
said ‘what lady?’ then shame on you.
    Bummer. Here I
was, 22 years old, watching TV on a Saturday night like an old spinster. This
just wasn’t good enough. I was still on something of a higher from the jump in
the morning…and still pissed off at not getting a jump this evening. Fuck
this…time to go and hit the town. An hour, I was showered,  tarted up and
dressed to kill. Short skirt, low-cut top, and ‘please fuck me’ stilettos. I
was on the rebound, and determined to bounce back in style. Go fuck yourself  Dr.
Brad Fucking Bigshot King. You’re not the only man in town!
    I’m so glad men
think with their dicks. It makes life so much easier when you are in the market
for a little muscle. If you dress a little on the hot side, all you have to do
is go to a suitable bar, then take your pick from the guys that start hitting
on you. Guys must wake up in the morning with a neon light flashing in their
heads that says ‘Fuck Pussy…Must Fuck Pussy…’
    There is a bar
just a hundred metres or so from my apartment that is popular with rugby
players. They have huge plasma TVs that show every rugby game you could ever
want to see, and the whole bar is decorated with trophies, match-winning shirts
and all kinds of rugby paraphernalia. So you are pretty much guaranteed to get a
whole bunch of hunky rugby-playing types there on a Saturday night. And this
night was no exception. It was busier and rowdier than usual, and I soon found
that an English college rugby team was in town, doing a tour of Australia. I
got myself a drink, and sat at the bar as if I was waiting for a friend. I had
to fight off a few ugly gorilla types who fancied their chances, but it wasn’t
long before a good-looking guy with a boyish grin came up to the bar. One look
at his physique told me he was a rugby player, and as soon as he opened his
mouth to order, it was obvious he was English.
    His voice didn’t
seem to match his body. He looked like a professional boxer, with broad
shoulders and well-honed muscles. But he sounded like an English professor,
distinctly upper class. Kind of like James Bond with attitude. I love that
English accent…it really does things for me. I gave him a smile and fluttered
my