Mr Monster Truck

I drag my nails down his hard, tattooed arms as his fingers dig fiercely into my hips. We move completely in sync, we are both masters at this game. I dig my fingernails into his back and arch a leg over his shoulder, screaming as we complete the final stages of our dance. ‘Holy fuck’ I pant as I disentangle myself, rolling out from underneath him while artfully avoiding the wet patch. We lay panting together for a few moments and I drowsily give him a high five. Job well done. I gather my strength to climb over this monster truck of a man and walk to the open window, looking down at the tuk tuk drivers racing along the streets of Phnom Penh. What a city. What a fuck. I’ve just finished a week building houses in a village, and now I get to spend a week screwing, drinking, and exploring this incredible place. Do you know how cheap beer is here? I went out last night with the equivalent of $10 and stumbled home, well fed and with change. I love this place.

I pour myself a scotch as I reflect on the man starting to snore on the bed, holding the pillow instead of me. Mr MonsterFuck. I can’t say he is the intellectual I would have ideally liked… (I asked his opinion on current Cambodian politics and nearly poked my eyeballs out at his attempt for a response) but he is incredible in bed, with the body of an AFL player and is a far from the worst choice I’ve ever made. Also, he is going home to a different city.

I settle down into the daybed, with the bright afternoon sun filtering through the open window to tan my naked skin, ever so slightly covered in finger tip sized bruises. I smile wryly to myself as I remember my first time. I really set the scene for my life to follow, going home at 16 with this I guy I had met at a party – because he had bought me a four pack of vodka cruises. That’s love, right? We had to ask one of his friends for a condom, got chased by the police, had to sneak into his parents house, and of course he came and I didn’t. For the most part, it’s all improved from there.

​A horn blaring on the street below interrupts my trip down memory lane. The sun is starting to drop below the horizon, and the smell of the food from the street vendors below makes my stomach rumble. I glance back at the bed. MonsterFuck has awoken, and is engrossed in watching the singalong version of Frozen on foxtel. I sigh, and finish off my scotch. This is not my Saturday night. I slip into a dress, give the MonsterFuck a peck on the cheek and let myself out. I’ve heard you can get something called ‘Happy Pizza’ in this place, and tonight seems like the perfect night to find it.
Phnom Penh. What a fucking city.

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