Since lockdown started, I've been having the most X-rated sex of my life.


I remember the exact day COVID-19 became real for me because while everyone else was panic buying toilet roll and stock piling hand sanitiser, I had mind-blowing apocalyptic sex on the couch of my f***buddy’s flat while his housemates were at the pub.

March 15: I ran a half marathon that morning – one of the last major events in the US city I was in before lockdown – while trying to process the latest news out of Australia that I would have to quarantine for two weeks when I landed in Perth the following weekend, and that the two weddings I’d planned my holiday home around were very likely to be cancelled.

Three days earlier, my entire company had been given marching orders to work remotely and shops, restaurants and bars were preparing to close their doors.

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As tensions rose across the city, people had already begun to socially distance and hugging was now off-limits. But my god, what that does for the libido…

Post-race. Two lines, one text. Me – “The world is ending. Wanna meet for a drink tonight?”

6:45 pm: I had barely made it through the front door before he had me pinned underneath him, sprawled across the tiny two-seater sofa, his hands hitching up my skirt and yanking down my tights. With the undeniably sexy risk of his housemates walking in on us at any moment, we made full use of every available position.


On top and gripping the back of the couch, I came hard in a Doomsday frenzy.

To my friends, that was my one last little coronavirus indiscretion. But ScoMo, forgive me, I’ve been a very naughty girl…

Emerging from 14 days in self-quarantine to a hot and sultry Western Australia was like feeling thirst in the desert and I was completely overwhelmed while on my government-approved daily walk to the beach.

Hot, tanned, muscular bodies littered the coastline.

The thing about hometowns is that they are often still home to lovers of the past.

Old flames that, if you’re lucky, can reignite any time you’re in town. When I was last here in 2015, I spent a few steamy weeks with a guy I’d first hooked up with almost a decade earlier – and a good deal of that tied to his bed.

Fortunately, he was still DTF and nothing gets those embers going like breaking the rules around a global pandemic.

On my first day of post-quarantine freedom, I didn’t even make it 12 hours before breaching the 1.5-metre barrier.

We’d met for fish and chips at the beach but by the time the sun had set, we couldn’t keep our hands or mouths off each other. In the shadows of a streetlight, I slid my hand under his shorts before he grabbed my arm and pulled me towards his 4WD.


We drove south along the coast to the quietest car park we could find and climbed into the backseat. Lifting my dress up and sliding my knickers to the side, I sunk down onto him, one hand covering my mouth to stop the guy on the other side of the parking lot from hearing me scream.

Public indecency has always been a fantasy, but isolation has made it a necessity.

Essentially, I’m (more than happily) stuck in Australia while furloughed from my job in the US, I’m living back at home, I’m not working, I don’t have a car and I’m secretly sleeping with the guy I met at a nightclub when I was 20 who also happens to be temporarily living back with his mum.

It’s like being teenagers all over again – irresponsible, reckless and always horny but with nowhere to go.

The next time things got out of control, we’d had pizza and beers on the sand while watching the sunset.

Laying on my back, he rolled onto me, slipping himself inside, so caught up we didn’t even realise how close we were to the beach path. Sliding off me as people walked by, we grabbed our stuff and drove to a more secluded part, where – when throwing my head back into the sand – I was so lost in one of the most earth-shattering orgasms under the stars, I didn’t even care who saw.

Thank god, because it wasn’t until we were done that we finally noticed the couple down by the water.

Facing our own kind of iso restrictions has meant making the most of his mum being at work in the middle of the day.


Already hot and sweaty from that WA heat, peeling off my itsy bitsy bikini and pulling down his boardshorts in his teenage bedroom feels like a porno.

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Then Easter Monday rolls around – a holiday weekend clouded in corona rules designed to keep us all under control. At the beach, police patrol, rangers are on standby and drones fly overhead but by the middle of the afternoon, it’s getting harder to resist lying next to each other.

Draping a black sarong over my body, he slips his fingers inside. Surrounded by people, I try hard to keep my moans in, my breathing measured and my writhing to a minimum.

I need more, but without the dark to hide us and his mum not at work, we’re running out of places to go.

Now remember that scene in 8 Mile, where Eminem takes Brittany Murphy in the factory up against a machine? After Titanic’s steamy car sex scene, it like was my teenage vagina’s second awakening and has been a HUGE fantasy of mine ever since.

So when he suggests his work, a mechanics out in the industrial area of Perth, I’m already wet.

Once inside, I wriggle out of my little black one-piece swimming costume, leaving me completely naked in the middle of the workshop floor.


Immediately, he grabs my waist and pushes me up against the side of a truck, his tongue making its way into my mouth. With his shorts around his ankles, he lifts me up and pushes himself into me. Arching my back over the roof, he thrusts hard and fast.

Surrounded by so many vehicles, it’s a breakfast buffet of possibilities. A moment later, my hands are splayed across the bonnet of a sedan, the smell of oil and paint in the air, as he takes me from behind.

Next, we climb into the back of a cherry red retro Combi, fitted out with a sofa. I slide onto him, his mouth already at my nipples, and with his hand on my throat I come again and again and again.

Not even kidding, I orgasmed three times. THREE. In a row.

This has never happened before.

His turn. We’re now in his office. Paper and pens fly everywhere as he lays me down on his desk. Leaning over my body, my head over the edge, he comes so hard he says he’s never going to be able to concentrate at work ever again.

Yesterday we got some air with a 13k hike through one of Perth’s largest national parks – thank god for its size or someone may have come across us while I was on my knees, his hand pulling on the back of my head.

I turn around to face the huge boulder we’re hiding behind and as he sinks into me, lifting my face to kiss me deeply, I’m struck by a dreadful thought.

It’s meant to rain this week. Where will we go next?