Rating: NNNNN
sex in the city is a beautiful thing, but when the city is not the one you call home it can be even better. It doesn’t matter if you’re travelling alone, with your partner or friends. Whether you’re single or in a loving relationship, the best laid plan for any vacation is one that includes sex.I first realized this several years ago when I travelled to the south of France. Renting a house in the cozy beach community of Canet-Plage with my friend Linda, I was ready to soak up the Mediterranean sun, the culture and history of the area and as many bottles of inexpensive wine as we could carry home from the market.
But my agenda also included being kissed by more than just the sun while abroad. Back in Toronto, I was in between boyfriends, so this was a perfect opportunity to sample something French other than the local pommes frites. I wasn’t looking for romance or a long-distance relationship. Just a taste of France, so to speak.
Early on, it appeared that the only thing of mine getting laid on this holiday would by my towel at the beach. While there was plenty of eye candy to feast on, most of it was accompanied by a wife and three kids.
“God damn it, I want to have sex,” I complained. “But there’s no one here to have it with.”
Someone must have been listening.
Venturing into the historic city of Perpignan for a day of sightseeing, Linda and I soon found ourselves in one of its most beloved buildings, an ancient church just beyond the cafés and shops of the main square.
Exhausted from walking all day, Linda opted to rest in a pew while I had a look around.
Entering a mysterious alcove, I took a quick inventory of the church’s other visitors. Like the beach, it seemed to be a magnet for couples and young families — with one notable exception.
At the front of the church, a man stood alone, his back to me. A strange recognition jolted my senses — a very Interview With The Vampire moment — as my gaydar kicked in.
I quickly withdrew into the candlelit alcove and pondered my next move. Was this something I should pursue? Was “Thou shalt not cruise in the house of God” one of the Ten Commandments? What’s the rest of this guy look like anyway? And what if he isn’t even gay?
As the stranger joined me in the alcove, my final question was answered first, and suddenly the others didn’t seem to matter any more.
His name was Alain, and he was an unemployed historian living in Paris but vacationing in Perpignan. Tanned, blue-eyed, brunette, handsome — and most importantly, interested — Alain seemed to be the answer to my prayers.
After a brief exchange consisting of equal parts broken French and English, I unofficially invited him to join Linda and me for a drink. The official invitation would be extended, of course, only after I’d discussed this with Linda.
“I leave you alone for two minutes — in a church — and you pick up?” Linda howled with laughter.
Drinks led to the decision to stay overnight in Perpignan. Linda rented a room in one of the local inns, as did Alain and I on the floor above hers. The plan was to relax for an hour or so and then regroup later on in the evening for a late dinner.
While Linda rested in her room, Alain and I did anything but that in ours. He was anxious to “make fuck” with me, and we wasted little time before stripping each other of our clothing. Our inhibitions closely followed suit as we tumbled passionately into bed, eager to enjoy one another.
Exploration of Alain’s body almost immediately led to uncharted territory for me. My French lover was uncircumcised. Sure, I’d seen an uncut cock before, but unless my memory was failing me, I’d never been intimate with one until now.
Initially, I felt like a novice again when it came to giving a blow job. I’d never introduced foreskin into foreplay before. But desire and habit soon overtook my neurosis, and it wasn’t long before I took the matter into my own hands. And mouth.
Sex in a variety of lovely positions followed, and (for the next couple of days we allowed him to stay with us in Canet-Plage) with great frequency. Alain’s sexual appetite was insatiable. He sought out every opportunity to “make fuck” with me, but I soon grew tired of it despite the quality of our sessions. Since one-night stands are intended to be just that, I bid my French lover adieu.
Time has taught me that while a stranger can be sizzling, vacation sex with a familiar face can be equally hot.
I fondly recall the first time I spent a weekend in Montreal with my then boyfriend, now partner, Craig. Sex in Toronto was plentiful and always had the right results, but finding ourselves in a hotel suite in Montreal somehow made it more intense. From the sofa to the bed, to the other sofa and finally onto the floor, we entered our sexual playground with youthful abandon, bringing love along with us for the ride.
And then we went to lunch.
