Diplomats are an interesting bunch. While they serve their country in a foreign land, they are treated like rock stars juggling between promoting good will, accepting endless invitations to appear at the ‘right’ events while scheming for intelligence with soft diplomacy. After a few years, their contracts expire. They loose their special status and are promptly sent home to become ordinary citizens again. With only a few hours left in Sydney, this Italian diplomat decides to escape his long drawn farewell party full of air kisses and pleasantries for a one-off experience he’s been wanting to have. When he walks into my apartment in his chic Italian finery, he looks as suave as any Italian Casanova ready for a great fleeting romance. However, just like other diplomats, there’s a certain guarded mystery about him. After all, he is trained to be evasive without being rude. But I can tell (in a roundabout way) that his exhaustive schedule leaves some ‘unfinished business’. Despite being quietly spoken, he knows exactly what he wants as his bedroom eyes undress me while his wandering hand gentle strokes my back, moving further down as we talk. It doesn’t take long for his coy demeanour to dissolve into a passionate Italian lover who skilfully balances equal parts of passion and primal lust. He reads my body language expertly grinding, thrusting, lunging and moving his hips to vary his tempo in time with mine. Our chance encounter is a mix of fire and tenderness. Ever the gentleman, he thanks me by saying I will be forever remembered for ending his last night in Sydney on a high note and being the girl who saves his sanity by draining his balls before the long 20+ marathon flight back home. Not that I should blow my own horn... but I think I’ve done my country proud again!