The Aussie

On my last day in Queenstown, New Zealand I did a wine tour excursion.  There were two Canadian girls on the tour who invited me to go out with them that night.  The one downfall to being with a group of 65-73 year olds was that they weren't so much down for the nighttime bar scene, so I was very excited to make new friends who knew where the bars were.

I don't know the name of the bar they took me to, but they knew all the guys there.  (Apparently, these girls had been in town a few days.)  They introduced me to this super hot Australian guy with a smile that could make your knees buckle.  And then he started talking and it got even better.  That accent is so sexy it makes me want (to quote Chelsea Handler) to take off my clothes and high five myself.  Seriously, a man with an accent could say any number of horrible things to me and I'd still have an orgasm right where I was standing.  But this tall pile of Vegemite only said wonderful things to me.

He said, "I think I saw you at the airport.  It had to be you.  I remember your reddish brown hair and your gorgeous smile and then I heard your sexy American accent and I had to meet you, but you were with a group of older people and you all looked like you were in the middle of something.  I was so upset I had missed my chance and now here you are!"

At least, he said something like that.  It was hard to concentrate on the actual words he was saying with that accent distracting me.  He definitely said the part about my sexy American accent, because I distinctly remember thinking I don't have an accent and if I do it's not sexy, but what a great way to try to get me in bed!  That kind of pick up can only work in a foreign country, way to not let the opportunity pass you by.

We talked and flirted over cocktails for a while and then...he kissed me.  Sadly, I don't remember how the moment started, I just remember we were kissing right in the middle of the bar.  I suggested we sit and kiss, like all the other people inappropriately making out in the bar.  He was a really good kisser and told me I was too, which, along with calling me beautiful, is like pushing my leg open button.

I said, "Would you think me a slutty American if I asked you to come back to my hotel?"  He said, "I really like you," and some other stuff that I didn't quite hear - accent, remember?  So we left the bar and got a taxi back to my hotel.  Once we were making out in my room we realized neither of us had condoms.  (It's possible I had already used mine up with the French guy, but that's neither here nor there.)  We went downstairs and asked the front desk if they had condoms.  (Of course they didn't, but I thought it would be funny to ask.)  They were kind enough to tell us where we could buy some.  It wasn't supposed to be far, so we walked.  And got lost.  And when we finally found the condom selling store, the Aussie realized his hostel was just across the street.  He had condoms in his room so he grabbed a few and we taxied back to my hotel (it was cleaner and I wasn't sharing a room). Then we...ya know...did it.

And let me just say this: what they say about Australian men is true.  And it's awesome.