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The Day I Was Whacked In The Face By A Dildo

LOL at the guy behind me. Nice fringe my friend...

Sydneysiders aren’t exactly shy when it comes to sex. In fact I write this while listening to my neighbours participate in what can only be described as extreme S&M, ahh the delight of close-proximity apartment blocks.

That said, there is still a rather oppressing air of disapproval when it comes to an openness in regards to sex, one that came to light this summer as my girlfriends and I realised there was a 20-metre wide birth around our towels at Bondi Beach as people desperately tried to avoid listening in on our ‘bald vs. bush’ discussion. FYI bald totally won. Sex shops in Sydney are still these mortifying places to be caught at down seedy side alleys unless you’re 18 and checking yourself into The Cross for the first time. Most girls I know buy their ‘secret women’s business’ from discreet online stores, much to the annoyance of many of them when, on arrival of expected package, their rabbit has ears big enough to bite. And men? Well let’s just say that I am sure that they all have bookmarked with a pile of special socks and happy tissues in …

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3 thoughts on “The Day I Was Whacked In The Face By A Dildo

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