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Not long after the events described in Winning the Golden Ticket, I came across an online dating profile that stated the following:

****

USERNAME: GangBanger1950

ABOUT ME:

I’m looking to arrange a gangbang at a motel. Minimum 10 guys. I want you to fuck every hole I have, especially my arse. I want to suck your cocks and for you to come all over me and right down my throat. Really interested in golden showers. Piss all over me, in me and let me do the same to you.

PERFECT PARTNER:

Anyone who can deliver the above. Happy to meet beforehand so that we both know what we’re getting into. On our first meet, expect head as a minimum.

****

Now, this was my kind of filth, although I’ve never had a gangbang before, but I will cross that bridge if the opportunity beckons.

The profile sported no picture of the member. Her location was Cockburn Central, a suburb in Perth’s southern suburbs, about an hour’s drive from where I lived in Victoria Park. She described herself as a brunette Asian, 55 years old, B-cup breasts, Aquarius, divorced, slim with hazel eyes, etc. All rather generic but given that I was a Platinum member, I could email this anal, piss-loving stranger for free.

So, I did.

My profile was fully built out, with accurate descriptions about myself, what I was seeking in a sex partner, where I lived and a ton of current photographs. Fuck me, if the online dating site had asked for the number of fillings I had, I would have been honest about that too. That’s the handicap of online dating. The legitimate users are totally swamped by the fake, insincere, vain and arrogant profiles from people (mainly men) who think they are god’s gift to whatever gender they are targeting. A real person seeking a real mate on an online dating site is a seeming impossibility.

I waited a week for a response. I awoke to an email from the online dating site to inform me that I had unopened messages. I received this email every day. The unopened messages were mostly polite rejections from fake profiles telling me that they weren’t interested. Because they don’t exist. Australian online dating, and global dating sites in general, are notorious for padding out their member base with fake female profiles to entice men to upgrade to paid memberships. Indeed, the Australian online dating site Red Hot Pie was ordered by the Federal Court in 2010 to disclose that its operator publicly reveals that it created and used thousands of its own profiles, purported to be actual users from locations all across Australia, to send flirts or customised messages to registered users (men). Crippling fines shortly followed; such is the outcome of fraud.

So, it was without a sense of urgency that I opened my unread online dating messages. But there was a response from “GangBanger1950” who informed me that I was good looking and had all the attributes she/he/it was looking for. The name at the end of the message was Grace, and a meeting was proposed.

Grace?

Gracious, so this was a positive development.

I responded immediately as my cock had grown to enormous proportions at the thought of engaging in the type of non-mainstream kinks that have defined my existence since my teens. I thanked Grace for her quick response and affirmed my desire for — and commitment to – a meeting. I was tempted, but rejected the need, to inject some smut into my reply, so I signed off with my name and my phone number.

Later that day, I received a text from an unknown number that simply read “Hi, how are you Grace”.

I replied in the usual obligatory way which prompted the standard back-and-forth texts over a couple of days to establish credentials and bona fides. With some trust quickly established, Grace proposed to meet at the Parkerville Tavern on Tuesday, a school night.

Parkerville? That village is in the hills to the east of Perth. Grace’s online profile stated that her location was Cockburn Central, a southern suburb. Each suburb was about the same distance from where I lived, but something fishy was afoot. However, Parkerville wasn’t some place in the middle of nowhere. For one, my piss queen Sandra lived there, and my mate’s sister, Olivia, worked at the tavern. Olivia was a real beauty but was not interested in me, despite some not-so-subtle advances on my behalf. Still, we knew each other, and if she was working on the night when Grace and I agreed to meet, Olivia might give me some insight into Grace if she was a Parkerville local if I arrived before the scheduled meeting time.

So, Grace and I agreed on a meeting time, at 7pm. Given the distance, I had to travel to get to Parkerville, given the vague nature of the person I agreed to meet, and given the chance that my expectations could be dashed, I arranged some insurance. I called up Sandra and asked if she wanted to hook up. She was keen but didn’t want to travel to mine. Good news, everybody! I was willing to come to her. Sandra had three young children, one was autistic, which restricted illegal bahis her ability to host. If I came to her house, it had to be later in the evening when her kids had gone to bed, and the risk of being interrupted was not eliminated but significantly reduced. Sandra and I played more at my house because I was child free, and this freedom emboldened Sandra to let loose, and she did, without fear of being interrupted. Our sexual encounters in Victoria Park were greatly enhanced and more adventurous as a result.

Sandra told me to be at her place by 9pm. By the time, we’d satisfied each other, and I would return home, the time would be well after 1 am the next day. That would make it a punishing day at work with so little sleep, but these are the sacrifices we are willing to make.

To recap, my best-case scenario would be a meeting with a filthy fuck slut into the kinks that obsessed me that gave me a taste of her appetite, followed up by a more satisfying fumble with an established fuck buddy that possessed an incredible kinky outlook. My base-case was a meeting with someone that turned up but didn’t deliver any of her promises but compensated by an established fuck buddy but only wanted a by-the-numbers play. The worst-case scenario was a no-show at the Tavern succeeded by Sandra who might be too tired to play, or the kids were not compliant (it happened once before).

On the day of this impossible scenario, I knocked off work early. I had little supervision, and so no-one took any notice of my absence. I went home and showered, and at 5pm grabbed a bottle of wine for Sandra, hopped in the car and made my way to Parkerville, in the eastern hills beyond the city. Arriving by 6pm or thereabouts, I would have enough time to ‘case the joint’.

The sun was setting to the west just as I pulled up at the tavern. Lights were blazing, which indicated enthusiastic patronage. I’d visited here once some years ago in a non-sexual capacity, and found the tavern welcoming, if not all that busy. Tonight, though, was a different story. The dirt car park was bathed in flood light and was packed with patrons all close to the rear entrance. I struggled to find a free spot to rest that Landcruiser, but away from the tavern’s central car park was an overflow nestled against a bank of gum trees. There were no flood lights and a few other cars. In fact, the overflow was entirely private and might prove to be a perfect spot for some outdoor, backdoor antics, should the opportunity present itself. I was still convinced this was a fool’s errand, but there was always Sandra if events failed to pan out as planned. If I timed this well, there would be enough time to make my rendezvous with her without penalty. One way or another, my balls would be drained tonight.

After parking up in the seclusion of the overfill, I texted Grace to tell her I was on my way as promised. She responded simply that she would see me at 7pm. I walked the short distance to the tavern’s back door that was draped in light and entered. Sure enough, the place was packed with patrons from the surrounding hills’ suburbs, attracted by the $15 steak meal offer in the restaurant. There was even a two-man band in the corner of the tavern providing light entertainment.

I looked around for Olivia, my mate’s sister who worked at the tavern, but couldn’t see her. I sent a text to my mate and was told she wasn’t working this afternoon, so there went my source of local intel. It was just after 6pm, Grace was due at 7pm and about another two hours to kill in before my second deadline that evening, and the wait might turn into a lonely vigil. Still, there were compensations such as the numerous examples of hill-living eye candy that wore next to nothing in this summer heat. I ordered a beer and began looking for a seat, wondering whether Grace would turn up.

“Jason!”

I spun around and standing before me was Olivia, full of energy.

“Hi!” We embraced warmly, and I could feel the flesh of Olivia’s well-endowed cleavage press against me, causing a stir in my loins.

“What are you doing here?” She asked with a big smile.

“Here on a date,” I replied, nonchalantly.

“Not another blind date?” She asked, amused, “When are you going to stop doing those?”

“Well…” I began, looking at the ceiling for inspiration, but wasn’t required to complete the answer when Olivia burst into laughter at my embarrassment.

“So, you’re meeting here tonight?”

“Yep.”

“Anyone, I know?”

“I’m not sure, probably not,” I said, “I asked Sean if you were on tonight so that I might pick your brain.”

Olivia reached into her pocket for her phone. Nope, there was no message from her brother. Typical, he forgot to send it to Olivia on my behalf as I didn’t have Olivia’s number.

“Who is she?”

I explained all I knew but Olivia simply laughed and said that description could resemble anybody, as there were several Asian women in the Tavern, not one of them looked single. She must have noticed illegal bahis siteleri the look of irritation on my face because she slapped my arm and asked me whether The House could get me a refill. I assented, and we returned to the bar.

With a fresh beer, Olivia and I chatted for a few minutes before she went back to her work duties. I glanced at my watch at 6.35pm. I did the rounds of the tavern on the lookout for seats but was unsuccessful. Eventually, I found a wooden railing on the outside deck facing the Great Eastern Highway that I could lean against and browse my phone to kill time.

The minutes seemed to creep by, but I amused myself with repeated views of Grace’s online profile. Even if she didn’t turn up, reading about her desires would provide a lot of future masturbatory material. As the hour approached, I went on the hunt again for seats, but this time of night was peak dining and, as I walked back into the bar-dining area, it showed.

The only seats available in this packed tavern were a couple in the smoking area. I didn’t smoke, and neither did Grace according to her profile. The smell wasn’t too overpowering, but the area wasn’t as bright as the more sought-after areas of the tavern, which was good. There were several groups of tradies; smoking, drinking and swearing, a few couples and the odd person taking a smoke break before going back inside. I texted Grace my location and received a reply that she was on her way. Promising.

Seven bells came and went, but Grace hadn’t yet arrived. Not promising. Then suddenly, the door to the smoking area erupted with a bang which drew the attention of those patrons smoking. I looked up and saw this averaged-sized Asian woman in a flowery summer dress burst forth with a giggle. She saw me immediately and swanned over to greet me. Grace already had a cocktail in her hand, so the embrace was slightly awkward.

I offered Grace a seat, and we sat down, sizing each other up. She was most certainly Asian, slim with black hair that draped a little past her shoulders. Her breasts were larger than I expected, and she wore a bra that maximised the amount cleavage that could be displayed in that summer dress.

Grace was every one of those 50 years, possibly a few more but was in great shape. Her face had the usual age lines, but the skin remained supple. The crow feet behind each dark eye indicated a sense of humour and an ability to laugh easily. Traits soon confirmed but first the obligatory chit chat when meeting a stranger for the first time.

“You find this place, ok? Asked Grace with an unmistakeable Asian accent.

I explained that I knew of the Parkerville Tavern from an earlier visit and that my mate’s sister worked here.

“You make eyes at her?”

“She’s too much woman for me,” I replied, laughing.

“I too much woman for you!”

“You would chew me up and spit me out!” I said.

Grace erupted in a high-pitched laughter that drew the enquiring glance of many a smoker. To my ears, her giggling sounded like “hihihihihi”. After calming down, Grace imbibed her cocktail through the straw.

“So why are you online dating?” I asked.

“My husband, he no good in bed,” Grace answered, “He has little penis.”

Again, more high-pitched tittering, before she wiggled her little finger to emphasise Mr Grace’s lack of adequacy.

“I now look for real Aussie men to give me good bedroom time.”

“And gangbang time?”

“We see.”

Grace had much self-confidence despite her heavy accent and stilted English. She was born in Singapore but moved to Perth in her early thirties after marrying Mr Grace. They divorced last year and, given they had a childless, but career-driven marriage received a fair settlement of assets. This meant Grace was comfortably well off and was seeking to capitalise on her sexual frustration now that she was single.

“Are you enjoying online dating?” I asked, hoping to direct the conversation towards her list of kinks.

“Some up and some downs,” Laughed Grace, “More downs than ups.”

“Why is that?”

“Men lie about the size of their penis.”

“Is penis size all there is to a man?”

“No, but it helps.” Replied Grace, before taking a sip of the cocktail, “I have no orgasm with my husband.”

Grace then proceeded to make a frowning face before letting forth another burst of high frequency giggling.

“But you are having orgasms with Aussie men now?”

“Some, but not all” And with that Grace finished her cocktail.

I drained my beer and was about to go to the bar for new drinks when Grace said the smoking area was too smelly and wanted to accompany me. So, with that, we departed for the bar.

Being a lot taller than Grace, I waded to the bar and ordered the lady another cocktail and a beer for the gentleman. I caught Olivia’s eye, who was serving a different customer, and when she saw a petite Asian woman next to me, shot me a gorgeous smile and a wink in acknowledgement.

The sudden extra canlı bahis siteleri illumination that the bar provided enabled us both to see each other in full incandescent glory. I was not unimpressed at all. Sure, her age was apparent in the lines of her face, but this was not indicative of a life lived hard. On the contrary, Grace told me the marriage was happy, if sexless, but they had grown apart. The divorce was amicable, and they were still friends with the occasional catch up. The complete opposite from my divorce, but I digress.

I would estimate that Grace was all her 5″5′ in height, a tad taller in her heels but she only came up to my shoulder (the height disparity might make a 69 problematic). Her body was perfectly toned, and there didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on her, including cellulite. Grace’s skin appeared more tanned, or darker, than the usual Asian complexion. The skin that was on display was free of inked graffiti which was pleasing.

After thanking her for the cocktail, we scanned the room but couldn’t find any seats. The dining room was full, and the tavern was doing a trade in meals tonight. Grace grabbed my free hand and led to the exact same spot on the outdoor deck, where I was less than half an hour ago. This location had the same low level of lighting as the smoking area but was free of the smoke and the evening air was more refreshing than the stuffy atmosphere inside the tavern.

We nestled into our leaning seclusion, but to avoid prying eyes and ears, we had to keep the conversation somewhat hushed. Any further laughter from Grace would attract the interest of patrons. We engaged in more small talk when I felt I needed to ask about the location on her online profile.

“Why did you list your location as Cockburn Central when we are meeting up here?”

“If I have gangbang, I know this good motel. No questions asked.”

I saw Grace wink at me when she told me this. Discretion was something she wanted for her gangbang project.

“Why are we meeting here then?”

“I live in Lesmurdie,” Grace replied, “This is a nice place to meet, yes?”

The conversation then meandered somewhat, but given Grace’s senior role at the Education Department, she didn’t want anyone to know about her online dating activities and even less about her adventurous sexual fantasies. I suspected that Grace was the life of the office and of the party, but kept a tight lock on her personal life, something I could appreciate.

Grace was enjoying the freedom of being single to experiment and engage in fantasies always denied her by the sexually uninterested husband. Grace disclosed to me that for years, she secretly ordered porno mags and sex toys via mail order and would diddle herself into oblivion on days when Mr Grace was on the golf course, which was often. When Grace celebrated her fiftieth birthday, she said her libido went into overdrive. On one occasion, Grace plucked up the courage to go for a massage at a Cannington brothel. Her first lesbian experience was with an Asian prostitute, and she has been a regular since. As I listened, I wondered if this brothel as the same one my degenerate brother frequents, but I kept that thought to myself.

In the years leading up to the divorce, and with the unlimited access to free online porn, Grace’s desires turned kinkier. She had fantasies of being fucked my multiple men at once, but that she had to like and trust these men, they couldn’t be random strangers.

“I be the centre of attention, yes?” before letting off a muffled “hihihihihi”, “But my men must be tested. They must be clean. No condoms.”

“No condoms?” I enquired.

“No condoms for gangbang. Must have doctor’s certificate.”

Up to the minute of the gangbang doctor’s certificate, or a doctor’s certificate from three years ago? I thought it best not to interrupt the smooth flow of this conversation with such trivialities. Then I remembered! I forgot to grab the box of condoms that was in my bedside table. Damn! A condom might be available for purchase in the gent’s toilet. Must remember to remember, if the best-case scenario eventuates.

“I want my men toys to fill me up.”

Geez, I was getting hard now with all this chat about a gangbang. It was clear that Grace had put some planning into this fantasy.

“Just pussy?” I asked.

“No, not just pussy but ass and mouth too.”

“DP?”

“Yes!” Grace’s joke couldn’t restraint the next bout of pitched-up laughter.

I nervously looked around, but the darkness prevented me from telling if any customer heard what Grace said. The giggling was certainly noticed although there didn’t seem to be any offence taken. Goodo.

“You like anal sex then?”

“Of course,” Came the instant reply, “I love anal sex!”

The heavy Asian accent seemed to really elevate the sensuousness of what Grace disclosed. I’ve noticed that the taboo of anal sex is only shared by certain sections of western Anglo society and that women that don’t fit in that narrow category have no such moral objections. That’s not a hard or fast rule, and there are numerous exceptions.

“And water sports?”

Grace breathed out slowly. She pulled me down to conspiratorially disclose a confession.

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