I’m on holidays. I’m traveling around South America with the BFF. We have 3 weeks to see some cool stuff, spend ALL our money and make life threatening food decisions.
I have been here before.
Some things you yearn to do again but never get to. Some things you do. They’re never the same. Sometimes for the better and sometimes not.
The first time I was in South America I was traveling with my sister. I had a great time and I loved, and still do love, staying in hostels. It’s so much easier and natural to meet and approach people – get advice and have a more rounded experience. I feel.
But it does offer up some issues. How do you have sex in dorms?
Well there’s toilets, there’s the lucky time you hook up with someone who has a private room. And there’s just not caring who’s in the room and what they might hear or think they see under the covers. I have experience of all three.
You travel for long enough, you meet someone you fancy crazy enough and I promise you even the most chaste of you will go for it. It’s widely done and after a while you’ll just be less shocked by it enough to be able to do it yourself. But there are rules – somewhat. You wait til the dorm is pretty empty (generally in the middle of the day). Or everyone is pretty drunk and would be less likely to care. Or you hang up towels around your bunk (if you’re on the bottom). And you try not to scream the place down. You can’t get away with this kinda craic every night but it will be tolerated on a once off basis from your room mates.
But that’s not what I want to talk about. No.
In the 7-9 months that I lived in hostels I did have an amount of sex. Not as much as you’d think given that every night was essentially Saturday night. But not once – yes try to grasp this, not once did I come. Now worse than this, for anyone already putting 2+2 together, that means I did not come AT ALL for the whole time I was away. (which then included when I was living in Oz)
The longer it went on the more of a psychological barrier went up in my head. So not even with myself was I able to make it happen. It was truly not a great sex time for me.
Well – it was, there were more than a few lovely boys who I had very lovely times with – it certainly wasn’t any of their faults that I didn’t manage it. But it did start to bother me. I’m not at all sure what was causing it but almost a full year without a release is a disgustingly long time I can tell you. Disgusting and frustrating. (Ironically it was an Argentinean boy in Dublin who finally managed it)
So, here I am now, once again living in hostels. I have managed sex once. With a super hot Australian who is ridiculously pretty and funny and nice and decent. But I was too drunk to remember much of it. For this I am ashamed. What a waste.
I remember flashbacks of him being decent, of checking on my friend making sure she was ok given that we’d taken over the room. And the next day he came to see us off. Unprecedentedly polite I thought.
But whatever I know about that night, I know this; I definitely didn’t come. Damn it. It’s back.
So I have moved on to the next city and the next hostel as I have been writing this.Try as I might I can’t get the thought of the wasted night out of my head. So I am thinking, fantasizing and longing too much for sex on our long bus journeys. I can’t really remember the details of the Australian so the mind gaps are being filled by someone I’ve had and someone I WANT to have. The other thing to note (again another shameful admission is on the way) is that I seem to have left the ONLY book I brought with me on the fecking plane from Ireland. Feck sake. I didn’t notice this initially because I was having too much fun to be reading. So what am I to do? Well dear reader, I have to resort to the only thing that’s on the Kindle app (yeah, every person in the world now travels with a laptop/tablet and or a Kindle/Kobo. No one brings books) What is this lofty tome that is languishing on my phone app Kindle? It’s the second book in the Fifty Shades series. I downloaded it because I wanted to see if it was better than the first (I’m nothing if not thorough in my research) and it kind of is better but again, nothing that I could call challenging or stimulating. And I still think she could have fit all the key points from this one into the first one and it might have made for a better book.
So, that’s what I’m left to read. It’s lashing tropical rain here and we’re sitting around for the day. I’m reading that. And thinking of real sex and of real boys. And to my utter surprise I can feel some affect. I ignore it. I leave it. I hold off. I keep reading – thoughts of Boy 1 (who I’ve had) and Boy 2 (who I desperately want to have) swim in my head. I let it build and then without really deciding I get up and go to the loo in the dorm. I know there’s no one there and no one is due back.. I lock the door , lean against the wall, face first as if someone is taking me from behind. I know from the first touch that it’s going to work. I know that it’s going to be ok that I will be done in less than two minutes and I fight the thoughts of Boy 1 over Boy 2 – neither are who I should be thinking of …… and graciously my subconscious offers up something delicious from the book, of all places. The though is of a solid silver butt plug, cold and deliciously smooth, being pressed, deep into me. And I come, hard and gloriously and quietly. I double over with the weight of the release and I am so sated.
i taste my fingers afterwards, they are exquisite. I want to keep licking them. But if I go back outside doing that I’m afraid I’ll draw attention or worse – it might be smelt by others. So I stand there for another moment or two longer and then reluctantly wash my hands.
I’m traveling with one of the only people who knows me AND reads these posts. I hope she’s not upset when she comes across this one. She can probably tell which day it was!