Auditions for Love.Com. Oliver Cross
in one afternoon, explaining that she was filling in for one of her staff and would not be home until late. With Megan cooped up and mum occupied at the gallery, I sent a text to the Paramedic to stay the night with me, knowing that she would be out before sunrise for her shift, and with mum none the wiser.
It’s funny how the occupation of a person can spice up the romance. It adds an element of fantasy and role play. She would always come straight from work, costumed up and ready for fun. The paramedic was young, vibrant and voluptuous. She would often push my limits, confidently taking me where I had dared not go before. My great challenge on this occasion would be to keep her quiet so as not to disturb the sick hermit down the corridor. I had busied myself through the day, which often consisted of a beach swim and run and preparing an elaborate dinner for mum and Megan in the evening, or in this case, the paramedic. My three months in Noosa would have been a perfect time to learn the art of surfing. What I learnt quite quickly though, is that it’s not as easy as it looks. Everyone has a surf story. Mine lasted thirty minutes. Like most Aussies though, I now claim to surf based on this experience.
As darkness fell, and my anxious heart beat intensified, a knock at the door signaled the arrival of my fantasy. I clumsily stumbled downstairs to greet her. We embraced passionately in the doorway, massaging each others curves. “Come on upstairs, I’ve cooked us some dinner”.
“Oh, where can I put my things”?
“Sorry of course, put them in here”, I motioned, leading her into my room. As I flicked the lights the bedroom door closed behind me. I turned and smiled, the look in her eyes suggested she wanted dessert first. She unzipped her duffle bag and turned it over, the contents of which began falling, bouncing and shaking all over my neatly made bed. “Holy crap”, I thought to myself, as I analysed the colourful and quirky sex toys scatted across my quilt. “Do you know what I want you do with these Mr. Cross”? She huskily enquired. I lied, I actually had no idea what you did with most of those things, but unlike surfing, I knew it wouldn’t take me long to figure out. We must have been fast asleep by the time mum came home. The paramedic shook me awake in the early hours. The sound of someone writhing in pain was shocking and grotesque. Megan was delirious at this point, bordering consciousness. Mum waved me to stay out for the privacy of her friend. “Call an ambulance Oliver”, mum instructed. “Oh boy”, I thought to myself. This is about to get weird. I paced back into my room to fill in the paramedic on the situation. She had overheard and dressed herself, which of course happened to be her uniform.
I’m certainly not the person to grant miracles, but the look on mum’s face when I walked back in with a paramedic thirty seconds later would suggest otherwise. I introduced the two sheepishly, and retreated outside to the driveway. The situation was all but too awkward for me. I phoned in an ambulance and within fifteen minutes they had arrived to my nightmare. A short time later Mum had escorted Megan to the hospital, and the paramedic had collected her toys and returned home for her shift. As the sun rose, I sat on the doorstep, just me, my coffee and the shit which trailed from the toilet, around the corner and into the bath. I’m not a parent just yet but I can attest that cleaning poo is a humbling experience. It turns out that Megan had run herself into the ground with anxiety and depression. The poor thing was dehydrated, weak and incoherent. It was a relief for me as I thought she may have simply overheard the shenanigans from my bedroom earlier that evening.
Mum and I sat up the following night, talking through the traumatic events of the eve just passed, a mixture of laughter and confession. Mum further enlightened me to the person she had become, insisting that we were both now adults, and that having a ‘guest’ over was okay. The two months of rest and relaxation passed quickly. I had become stir crazy on the sleepy Sunshine Coast, and was ready to head out into the world.
Chapter 4
Lonely in London
“I don’t consider them one night stands. They’re auditions for love”. ~ Tucker Max
For those who have not experienced the website Craigslist.com, I implore you to jump on to the dating/casual sex section and read what some people are posting, in the UK and US. It truly is a brave new world. Graphic pictures, fantasies and multiple invitations, no matter what your fetish, Craigslist appeared to be the place to live it. Both guys and girls were posting, those in town on business wanting some fun, wives whose husbands had gone away for the week and were in need of filling a void and sometimes requesting you bring a friend! No matter how obscene, if you could think it up, there was someone else who wanted to experience it with you! Black on white, Asian, swingers parties, sex in public places – it was like a candy store for sexual fantasies to be played out for real, with everyday people, and free!
My desire to travel the world was fueled after an adventure holiday with a friend to Nepal during four weeks off from the army. I fell in love with the third world. For people with virtually nothing, their generosity was overwhelming. They seemed so content with so little. Subject to an inability for a material lifestyle, I observed a value system based on family, friendships and your good name. I don’t consider myself a spiritual person but to travel Nepal is to experience an inner peace and simplistic happiness deep within. So it was here that the seed was planted, or the travel bug ignited.
Following the army I planned to spend six months overseas before returning home to study. I planned to spend half of my time working and travelling through South East Asia, and half in London to reunite with my sister and friends. When I finally arrived in London I was broke. I slept on my sister Pippa’s couch and looked for jobs on a daily basis, constantly harassing recruitment agents for any opportunities. The initial thrill of London was wearing thin. Initially, everything reminded me of the board game ‘Monopoly’ and the ‘Bed Knobs and Broomsticks’ movie, however as time passed I became bored and somewhat lonely.
Retreating to familiar territory, I posted a message on a unique website called Craigslist, in the ‘guys seeking girls’ column. It read something like this: ‘Australian guy visiting London seeking girl for fun and adventure’. Relatively harmless you might agree? Never in my life did I expect to receive so many interested emails in my inbox. Sadly and quite disturbingly, 99% of those emails contained pictures of men and their penises begging to suck my cock and perform all variations of graphic acts on me. What on earth had I written that had completely worked for horny gay guys and apparently repelled women? My inbox was filling quickly with opportunistic gay advances hoping to get a bite from any bi-curious fellows.
I can honestly say that my online dating intentions whilst backpacking were not to find love, however, were this to happen I would have been more than happy to pursue a relationship and begin the challenge of deciding whose country to ultimately reside in. My sister managed to make it work. She met her husband in a bar in Camden Town, London. A Turkish man from Istanbul had managed to capture her attention. As many cross-cultural couples experience, the early days were about managing expectations, discovery and compromise. There is romanticism surrounding the concept of a cross-cultural relationship. It’s exciting, refreshing and purely rewarding to bond with people from richly diverse cultures. Love knows no boundaries but like any relationship, a cross-cultural relationship comes with its own unique challenges. Ali was an Eastern man with Eastern habits which I soon learnt sleeping on their couch. My sister Pippa, however, was an outspoken and fiercely independent Western woman who was ignorant about Islam and indeed much of the world.
So I filtered through the emails one by one, delete, delete, vomit, delete and then… hang on, what appeared to be a legitimate response. She said she was a French girl, new to London also, and interested to meet. From my previous experience I now insisted on a picture and a phone call. For all I knew the gay guys were getting clever and I would walk into an ambush in Clapham Common! She happily forwarded a photo, my attraction was immediate, “ooh la la”, I muttered to myself. A date was promptly arranged.
The French lady’s name was Clara, and we decided to meet after work at a bar near the Marble Arch and close to Hyde Park. I’d never had much to do with the French, so I guess this was going to be a learning curve. Clara was a fellow traveller and truth be known, all travellers share a special commonality. Travel experiences