Travel is all about meeting the locals and you can’t any more personal than meeting them in the bedroom.
Just like each country has its wonderful idiosyncrasies, every bedroom is delightfully different. Having sex with a local in South Africa is nothing like getting it on in the Philippines. Random Vacay sent Jefferson Taylor on the most enviable of missions, asking him to get laid in five different continents. He duly obliged, although we’re unable to publish his photographic evidence.
Instead, in his truly original style, Jefferson gives us his notes from the bedroom, his intimate narratives of getting laid in five different continents. And before you tell us, yes, we know he’s an arrogant misogynist dickhead, but he’s funny and accepts that his sexual performances leave a lot to be desired.
Drunk Chick in Australia
Ah, Australian chicks. They’re so arrogant when sober, even the monsters giving off an air of you can’t touch this. But give them a box of wine or a few free shots and they’re transformed, dancing on tables with hitched skirts and sitting on laps to test out your package. And they’re easy to find. Travel down Australia’s East Coast and they’re everywhere, making good use of the free condoms provided by hostels. My bedroom notes are hazy, my mind inebriated by half a box of goon, Australia’s alcoholic answer to Viagra. But here goes…
Boobs are popping out of bikinis before sundown, couples sulking off into corners as buckets of tequila do the rounds. She can’t be pretty, certainly not in any pre-drunk light, yet I’m transfixed on a pair of wobbling breasts – and the fact that nobody else shows even the slightest interest in me. I play it simple. Alcohol mixed with flirtatious chat. More alcohol. This time with excessive compliments. Then even more alcohol until we’re tonging at the bar and my hands are allowed to creep precariously close to her crotch. One more for the road and we stagger off. The beach perhaps? “No, it gives me carpet burn” she mischievously shouts, her delightful answer confirming that this will be a no-strings-one-night-fuck.
It’s to the toilets of course, a used condom poking out from beneath a cubicle, the sound of diarrhea emanating from another. My fingers are already slipping into moist heaven as we crash open the cubicle door and within seconds she has my cock in her mouth. My head rocks back in pleasure but this is no easy night of personal pleasure. She becomes feisty and demanding, bending herself over the toilet and telling me to give it everything. By the time she starts to moan I’ve got a stitch from the effort. I can’t go on much longer and I soon collapse in a mess of satisfied drunken revelry. She sparks up a cigarette, pulls on her bikini, and departs with a kiss on the cheek. Two hours later I see her pulling another guy…
Torturous Courtship in Kyrgyzstan – Central Asia
As we sit on a darkened park bench I try hard not to laugh. After a week of torturously slow courtship I’ve reached breakthrough with Chynara, a Kyrgyz chick descending from a crossbreed of Russian and Mongolian. Which is sure to have its good parts, except I still haven’t reached first base. She plays the role as seductive protagonist, stringing me along with gentle touches and demanding I commit my love. She strokes my chest, running fingers down towards my groin but sidestepping the throbbing erection. I utter those three little words, the universal phrase for let’s get a move on. Chynara asks if she can sing me a song. She gazes into my eyes (evidently copying Hollywood) and gently starts with:
“I’m a big big girl, in a big big world,
It’s not a big thing if you leave me,
But I do feel, that I do do will,
Miss you much, miss you much…”
And we kiss. Her hands hold my cheeks as I run my fingers along her neck. It’s bizarre, and I have to disguise a throaty snigger as a cough.
Now things have changed. We escape to Lake Issyk Kul for the weekend, Chynara full of strict rules. On the first night we sleep together…fully clothed. On the second night there is a tantalizing semi-nakedness, my hands patted back as they attempt to explore. She’s timid and wide-eyed on the third night, giving me the lead and allowing kisses to follow elegant curves. There’s an almost overbearing honesty as she twice interjects to say “I’m excited now.” But the sex is lame and disappointing, her body tense and the anticipation getting the better of me. Within a couple of minutes its over, a jerky spasm filling with me shame. Surely I can put in a better performance than that? 10 days of courting for a brief pang of sudden joy. She might trump the list for best foreign notch on the bedpost but Kyrgyzstan turned out to be maximum effort for minimum reward.
Religious Danger in Mexico – Central America
I’m running down the corridor, this squat faced Mexican man shouting and balling after me. Her father perhaps? I could definitely take him, but I can feel the rage of his eyeballs from twenty paces, and I’ve grossly underestimated the influence of strict Catholicism in Mexico. She said she lived alone! And she ripped off her clothes with such zest that I doubted she regularly visited the confessional. Like many flitting romances around the world in 2014, I met this girl on Tinder. I rarely get matches at home. But in Mexico I was reevaluating my swiping tactics. Now I was a King, swiping away all but the hottest chicks and still getting matches.
“How are you.”
“Great. You’re cute. Let’s meet.”
As simple as that, a handful of messages and this dazzlingly bronzed beauty is drinking tequila with me.
She’s way out of my league, far far up the beauty scale yet laughing at the worst of my jokes. And being in her cramped single bed is heavenly, her bedroom expertise accompanying the lucid eyes and thick black hair. I move my hand to her clitoris but it’s swiftly removed, this image of aesthetics telling me to relax and enjoy her personal performance. And I’m about to explode when the door slams and she jumps in shock. Screams accompany her horror and I’m forced about in only my jeans. Who is this beast with his catastrophic timing! I don’t stick around to find out…
Quintessential Experience in Africa
Sleeping with a black women seems to be on the bucket list of almost every white male. In Africa, there’s certainly a lot of choice, the white foreign male enjoying a certain elevated status. And there’s an omnipresent air of promiscuity to all flirting, the local South African women unwilling to attract any cock tease accusations. I meet Grace in a Durban bar, her friends happy to leave her in my supposedly capable hands. Just as I’m desperate to sleep with a black woman, she’s eager to see what a white dick looks like. After just twenty minutes of chitchat the night is only going one way…
We’re barely through the bedroom door and she’s cradling my member, jerking it out and taking a close inspection. Probably not the size she was hoping for, but hey, there’s nothing I can do about it. Now comes Grace’s clothes, round droopy breasts falling out of a bra and sagging buttocks far more evocative when encased in tight jeans. Her naked body is a vague disappointment, but nobody’s perfect in this night of debauchery. As we flop onto the bed all that’s running through my head is “aids, aids, aids, aids…”
I can’t even get an erection without first fumbling for the two condoms in my wallet. Double protection. Of course. But I can’t feel shit and there’s a poignant lack of passion between us, summed up when she rocks onto her back and holds her legs up, inviting me to fuck as I see fit. She seems disinterested, yet when I stop her face crumples into apprehension (I’m later told that it’s not sex if the man doesn’t come). I go fast and hard and then offer the adoration that accompany my ecstasy. In the post sex moments I rest my head on her enormous bust and she smiles. Yet when I sidestep her flirtatious morning behavior I realize that this was never supposed to be a one night affair…
Classic South East Asia in Cambodia
South East Asia is for ugly foreigners. Hideous mismatches are everywhere, perverted old men taking their pick from the echelons of ultimate beauty. The sex is everywhere, from dodgy titty bars to chicks you meet on the bus. And despite what foreigners might think, the local women are smart. Except I didn’t know all this when I rocked up in Cambodia and met Rona, her breasts spilling over the table and her tiny shorts glued to the evocative cleft of her behind. Prostitute. No question about it. I kept ignoring. But she kept trying.
This went on for a week in Sihanoukville, Rona seeking me out in different bars and gradually winning my affection. Surely prostitutes aren’t so persistent? Particularly with so many foreign men to choose from. She sent me raunchy naked photos, obtaining my number in the process. She gave sensual head massages that hinted at dexterous bedroom skills. She kept touching until my dick went hard and she nodded, ensuring I knew that she knew.
So why wait. Back to the hotel for a session with this slim offering of delight. I’m imagining rough passionate sex, the kind for grabbing hair and filling the sheets with mingling excrement. But her raunchy style is merely a facade, a disguise that fills me with pity. Can I go through with it? With this timid inexperienced girl? Of course you can Jefferson! It’s like fucking one of those blow up sex dolls though, each hole extending the invitation yet none feeling quite right. Even after coming I’m not satisfied, so I keep going into the night, the same half smiling reaction accompanying every one of my moves.
Then I wake up. She’s gone. Which is a relief. Until I start looking around the room and take stock of what’s been stolen…