What's the sexiest thing that's happened to you on a trip?
 

Inspired by the various European love stories, and annoyed that "lust" seems to have been deleted, tell us your erotic story. Please, for this thread, no honeymoon tales, or "It was with my husband/wife." We'll see how long this thread lasts. (Feel free to register under another name for your contribution!)

Since this was pre-marriage, I can tell this story without changing my name. It's not exactly a love story but is rather amusing in retrospect. We were 17 in Florence (my best friend and I) where we were thoroughly annoyed with the Italian pushy men. (Did I mention we were 17 and blonde and thought of ourselves as "liberated" women "degrated" by all the Florentine men's comments.) We were in line to climb the Campanile stair when we hear these 2 guys speaking English-after 3 weeks in Europe we were thrilled to hear English. They turned out to be 2 G.I.s from the nearby base-on from Oklahoma and one from Boston who proceeded to convince us to go off on their scooters with them and explore the countryside. We left and didn't make it much outside the Centro of Florence but had a great day and ended up at the Red Garter bar (an American bar in Florence) until the wee hours. When our fine military escorts walked us back to our hotel, they tried their hardest to convince us to let them come up to our room (after a while of the European pressed against the wall make out). We protested, they got ticked, but little did they know that we were travelling with my friend's parents who had given us a "free day". They would have been in for a big surprise had they come up to the room and seen my friend's father there! We thought we were highly rebellious running around with these G.I.s whom we would have never looked at at home.

It was my first time in Paris with a friend. She and I were about to cross the street when two young men approached us, the taller one was one of the most handsome guy I'd seen in ages. I spoke not a word of French but my friend did and was answering whatever he had said. She turned to me and said, they want us to join them at this cafe across the street to chat and I'll tell you why when there. As we sat , he talked, she translated. It turns out I looked like his fiancé who died in a boating accident. I said ya sure, that's a unique pick-up line I have ever heard. When she told him what I said, he passed me a photo. I thought I'd faint, she did look like me and what was so weird was that she was wearing an exactly the same outfit I owned(I always more mostly French and Italian clothes) We saw eachother after that, showing me around Paris and to his Aunt's tea room, and wrote to me every week when I returned. He spoke of coming to school in the states so that he could be near me. I stopped writing back with that. I would never be sure if he loved me or he thought he did because I looked like a dead young woman.
That was long ago, one of the many stories in the Naked City.

OMG Swelter! A friend of mine owned the Red Garter. There was an explosion, a waiter killed; so it was closed down.

Cigalechanta, what a bad story. Was this recent? They were recently listed in a guidebook recently because I noticed it when we were planning our trip to Florence last October and got a good laugh out of it!

no this was long ago in the 70's, the placed reopened with the partner. The one I know now lives in Florida and had a bar before that in key West, where his son now has a Provençal restaurant.

Great thread...While in Madrid about 15 years ago. I shared a pension with two swedish girls and we played "strip yahtzee" all night. I recently tried to reinact the game with my wife and she looked at me as if I were crazy.

A beautiful AA FA I met on a ORD-LHR flight.
Sometimes faith is stronger than any planning. She was working the business class and we did exchange some words and smiles but that's as far as it went. I was staying at a hotel in the Bayswater area in London. The same evening on the way back to the hotel I stepped inside a pub in the neighborhood, ordered a beer and stood by the bar. Guess who walks in? She was on her way back from some shopping to her place in the neighborhood that she shares with 3 or 4 other FAs. We talked and shared a beer. I had to get back to make some calls and she wanted to go home as well. I decided to go for it and asked her if she possibly wanted to have dinner later. To my suprise, she accepted and also suggested a place. It was an Indian restaurant. I walked her back to the apt, and went back to the hotel. Picked her up about 2 hours later, and since the restaurant was in the neighborhood, we just walked there. I can't remember the name of the place, but it was huge and very busy. The host/owner? recognized her and we got a table ahead of some people. It seemed so natural but we were having a beautiful time. The dinner was great, the host/owner came around and bought us a bottle of wine. Finally after about 2 hours of talking, laughing and just having a great time it was time to leave. As we were crossing the street I grabbed her hand and she accepted. We did not let go for the rest of the night. I walked her to the apartment(I'm not the one night stand expert type of a guy) but I decided to give her a good night kiss. We kissed for some time and she invited me for a drink. Her 2 roommates were stretched out on the couch, watching tv. They were not from the same flight and I believe one was actually a UA FA. I started some small talk with them, but she grabbed my hand and we went back to her room. Needles to say, the room service at the hotel had one less bed to make-up in the morning. :-D
She had to go back and I had to go up north to Manchester next day. We said our goodbyes and exchanged phone #'s in the US. We did actually talk few more times but we never saw each other again. She is based out of Chicago and I live in Florida.
I have not talked to her now for about a year and that's fine, but it is one of the most beautiful, fun, exciting, memories I will always cherrish.
Funny thing is, as much as I fly with AA(over 100K miles this year) and half of the trips are to England, I never ran into her, although when I ask the other FAs, she still does the UK routes. Maybe one day! :-)

We were at the Red Garter July 4th 1989-what a trip that was-when I think about how stupid we were taking off with these two guys! I hope I never have a daughter so stupid!

I went to Italy in fall 2000. I was single at the time (well, still am...but I have a boyfriend now), and was traveling with my aunt on a tour, because I didn't have time to plan and she felt more comfortable that way.

Anyway, I became friends with a woman about my age (early 30s) who was traveling with her mother. My new friend liked our bus driver, and he was a big flirt. He promised to take her out when we got to Sorrento. She didn't want to go alone, and wanted me to come. I said I would if the bus driver brought a friend.

The friend, Massimo, was about 25, gorgeous, and spoke very little English. We conversed in a mixture of English, Italian, and Spanish (NOT easy), but then went dancing and exploring Sorrento and had a fabulous evening, without having to say much.

The evening ended very late, with me sneaking from his room to mine - a no-strings-attached, I'll-never-see-you-again night that was totally freeing (safely practiced, of course).

At breakfast the next day, the bus driver said he had seen Massimo earlier and he seemed a very happy man...I live with a fond memory of doing something that was quite out of character!

I was 16, and it was my first solo trip to France to spend my summer at my cousin house in Avignon.
Almost every Sunday, my friend and I in our scooters drove in different small villages to enjoys the festivals, the music and most of all the dancing in the square.
Being a big city girl this was new to me and I truly enjoyed this simple life.
One Sunday, while I was dancing with someone, I saw this cute guy watching me all the time..Finally, he came over and asked me to dance..We danced the night away....He was there in vacation, but was leaving the next day for Sweden.

He gave me his family address, because he knew that I was going to Paris later on, and his family lived near Chartres.
We became pen pal for awhile, but we were young,..and life goes on..

So in other words, AAFrequentFlyer, your name has more than one meaning!!

Patrick,

:-D

Gives a whole new meaning to the term "airline loyalty".

It was a gorgeous spring day in Paris when I first laid eyes on her. While strolling eastward along the Rue St. Louis en l'Ile, I happened to look to my right into a small shop and was immediately captivated. So, getting up my nerve, I walked in...and a few moments later walked out with my hand around her.

I paused and looked at her, amazed that it had been so easy. My pulse began to race as the blood surged through my veins. Paying no attention to others nearby, I drew her close for a kiss, and my lips were rewarded with one of the most delicious sensations I've ever experienced. Did she enjoy it as much as I did? I couldn't tell; she was expressionless.

Puzzled, I drew her close and kissed her again. And again, no expression. Was this that famous French nonchalance I had heard about, or something else? Perhaps a kiss was not enough. Perhaps she wanted more. So I drew her close a third time and this time I licked her. And then licked her again. And again. Still no expression. My ardor now turning to frustration, I shouted at her "What is the matter? You don't pull away from me so you must enjoy this, yet you show no expression of delight or desire. Why? S'il vous plait...why?"

Just then I heard a voice to my right say "Monsieur..." I turned to see a young woman looking at me, shaking her head.

"Monsieur, perhaps it is because you are licking an ice cream cone, n'est-ce pas?"

One of the sexiest things that ever happened to me was in Paris....

My best friend and I, both married, went to Paris for my 30th birthday. We were on the Metro, and I caught a gorgeous guy looking at me across the crowd. The whole time between my seeing him and when he got off at his stop, he just kept glancing at me and smiling. Nothing else happened, but for that whole ride this newly-30 married woman felt much younger, and very flirtatious, and it was a really nice feeling.

My best friend and I had a wonderful time celebrating my birthday in Paris (I'd been before, she hadn't), and the whole trip, plus the short flirtation on the Metro, are great memories for me.

It was a devastating break up with the love of my life back in London. Our time together was blissful, but it was not meant to be and he moved away - leaving me cold and lonely in a dark, wet city. I fled to Assisi to lick my wounds and nurture my spirit. It was an oddly warm winter day when i emerged from my room at a tiny pensione. I met a delightful Scottish girl on the bus the day before and we planned to meet up for a late lunch. While enjoying a few bottles of wine and couple of steaming bowels of rebollita together, I watched as a man stood outside of the window taking notes and making sketches of the building. He was tall, slim, dark thick hair, and wore glasses. I noticed this how strong and deliberate his hands moved across his sketch pad. In retrospect he now reminds me of Andrea Boccelli and gifted with deep brown eyes. He was wearing long pants, a sweater vest and a jacket. When our firt course was being brought out I briefly looked away from the window. Crestfallen when I noticed that he was no longer outside of the window. Moments latter, he entered the osteria with a young couple. He was even more handsome then I thought. I could hardly keep my eyes off of him. We had finished two bottles of table wine between us and just when I thought it was safe to continue starring, he turned in my direction and smiled the sweetest smile I have ever witnessed to this very day. He only glanced two more times in my direction and excused himself from his table before the other couple orderd their meal. My friend was also very taken aback at the presence the mystery man had. While walking alone back to my hotel I realized that I was turned around. I kept walking in circles. As I turned another corner, The Man was coming out of one of the apartments. We almost literally bumped into eachother. After excusing ourselves he walked off and I pretended to know where I was going. It started to get late and a bit misty. Quietly the rain started to fall and I took shelter under an awning and I found myself thinking of the love I had lost and began to cry. I turned to look into a closed shop window and when my eyes were no longer focusing on the pottery inside, I saw the image of The handsome gentleman standing behind me. What a shock! He started to speak to me in Italian eventhough it was obvious that I was not Italian. He then proceeded to speak to me in perfect English. He said he noticed that I had been walking in circles and asked if he could direct me. The streets were almost deserted and the rain began to pour. Just then we decided to go next door to a small bar for a coffee. Coffee turned into brandy and one hour turned into three. His name was Gian Lucca, he was an architect from Sienna sent to Assisi to oversee some retro fitting. The couple he was in the restaurant with were his cousins and the house he was coming out of was a guest house his aunt kept for visiting family and friends. Outside, the rain had stopped and the sky broke out into every shade of purple and blue. He asked me if I would like to see something really beautiful. We hopped onto his BMW motocycle and he took me to the top of the city for a meraculous view of the valley below. The chill of the wind blew my skirt up and around my body as we explored the narrow roads around the city. He gave me his cashmere coat to keep me warm. The sleeve hung down to my knees, but the weight of it was comforting and I could smell his cologne "Cerrutti" on the collar.

This is not my story I swear but one of an old roomate when I was single. She was taking a train across Paris and Italian military men were also aboard. She always wondered what it would be like to make love on a train and found out for herself with a beautiful young Italian that she'll always remember.

On a trip to Banff one winter, my friend and I met some nice, funny Canadians. During the evening we found out they were well known professional hockey players, little did we know, so that was why the bartender kept giving them free drinks. They were wearing expensive suits and looked like accomplished businessmen, tall and muscular to say the least.

Mine drove me back to the hotel, we sat and sipped drinks on the shore of Lake Louise, watching the full moon on the water and the blue outline of the glacier. We kissed as the water lapped on the rocks at our feet as we watched the stars in a bright panoply above us. He too gave me his coat and I could feel his muscles taut under his shirt, he was so strong yet tender with me. He sang a song to me in French, he is French Canadien and had a low deep voice and could hold a note for a long, sexy time and then blow the rest of the notes in my ear and down to my neck.

A few months later he and I we met for a week in Hawaii, we rented a Harley motorcycle and rode all over the island in the rain. It rained almost every day and we would be completely drenched with our clothes dripping and clinging to us as we rode on the edge of the sandy beaches. One day we _______ on a deserted beach and were surprised when we received a round of applause from some locals picnicing under some trees, the first time he received applause when he wasn't wearing skates.

We dated for years and I would fly out to wherever he was playing and we would have romantic times all over Canada and America, but, alas.... we never visited Europe together.

ttt for Marilyn

Thanks, Calamari, and thank you one and all for the thrills. I've been following the thread and enjoying the tales, but had a few surprise social events take up my time.

swalter, I had a few experiences like yours on my first trip to Europe following my sophomore year of college. As I recall, my girlfriend and I were followed all over Rome by various branches of the Italian military. We finally did spend a day and an evening with a couple of Italian college boys, but my friend was much more interested in her date than I was in mine. Needless to say, the situation became awkward -- what is worse than having 2 people make out in the front seat of the car while you are attempting to make polite conversation in the back?

AAFrequentFlyer, I had a hunky flight attendant (no, they're not <i>all</i> gay) seriously try to convince me to get off my SF flight in Dallas to spend the weekend with him. (Quite a bit of first class champagne had made its way back to me and my seatmate.) I was tempted, but figured my husband wouldn't appreciate it.

kaudrey, what a great story! Proof that we usually regret the things we didn't do, not the things we did do.

capo, I, too, can get very passionate about ice cream, especially gelato!

Natalia: oooooooo...you definitely get the prize for the hottest story! :S-

Aged 17, my first trip to Florence, on a study trip with school. We stayed at a hostel run by Monks near the Santa Croce - a hostel that seemed to be filled with nothing but male Italian university students who lived there during term time.

One day I was walking up to my room passed the old refectory when a young italian who was sketching beckoned me over. He wanted to draw my portrait (oh right, I thought, you want to make a bit of cash out of the stupid tourist). &quot;no no&quot; he said &quot;studente&quot;. Seems he was a student from the Accademia, preparing for his final exhibition, and he just wanted to draw me.

For the rest of the week we were inseparable, sneaking past the teachers in the early morning to meet him on the corner for a cappucino, walking through the piazzas before anyone else was awake, meeting on the roof terrace late at night to hear his melodramatic declarations of love.

We swopped addresses, as you do, and I thought no more of it, until I started to receive a series of letters from him, all beautifully illustrated with sketches of me and him at the bottom. &quot;I love you&quot;, &quot;come meet my parents&quot;, &quot;can't live without you&quot;, that sort of thing. I got a bit scared off - I was only 17 for crissakes - and stopped replying to his letters. 2 years later I received a final letter, containing a number of photographs - photographs of his latest one-man exhibition in New York, containing huge portraits in oil of ME!! The letter simply read &quot;Do you still remember me? Giovanni&quot;

Oh yes Giovanni, I still remember you.

Why would anyone want to &quot;register under another name&quot;? Obviously the sexiest thing I ever did in Europe was attend a four-day sexually-oriented get-together in Hamburg (it happens annually in August and attracts several thousand each year) and I've attended several times. And yes, it certainly did have it's romantic moments.
Other than that, going to Amsterdam and staying in a particular boutique-style hotel in which all the rooms are equipped with sexplay equipment.
If you want or really need to read details of what actually went on, well then I'd say you have been missing some action lately!!

JonJon, I hope you weren't cheap and opted for new sexplay equipment in theat &quot;high action&quot; room. You never know where the nasty used stuff has been before. Oh, and did it take you long to figure out the instruction manuals?

We found a hotel in Switzerland where the single beds were only 2 feet apart.

Is it true that the Swiss put single beds in honeynoon suites? I never found such a suite to know.

Like the old joke goes, hell is where the cops are German, the cooks are British, the lovers are Swiss, the French are the engineers, the Americans make the cars, and the Italians organize everything.
Heaven is where the cooks are French, the cops are British, the lovers are Italian, the engineers are German, the Japanese make the cars, the Dutch or Austrians make the beer, and the Swiss run everything. (Look who got left out.)

Bob, I think it usually goes: And the Americans pay for everything!

In college, over thirty years ago, I was hitchhiking with my friend Ellen in France, in the Dordogne. A young truck driver pulled over and offered us a ride. He was carrying a load of pork to Biarritz. Only two seats, so he moved over for me to share the driver's seat. Ellen sat in the passenger seat.

I am now between the driver and the gearshift. He is calling out instructions (in French!) to me to shift gears as he drives around the narrow roads. I am quite giddy, Ellen is hanging on and praying, and the driver is offering to take us to Biarritz where he has a friend for Ellen.

We got out of the car long before Biarritz. I've always wondered. And for my birthday last summer Ellen sent me a poem she had written about the coming of age of her son. Our wild ride was featured. My daughter asked why I was crying over the mail.

Wow, Kate, what a great story! I'll bet your jaw dropped when you saw the huge paintings. Not everyone can claim to have been a muse.

Bob Brown, toooo funny about the Swiss beds! Seems there are more doubles than there used to be. I can remember so many hotels where we were constantly rearranging the furniture to push the twin beds together.

JonJon, it's just a fun thread. Don't take it so seriously. Nobody is asking for the details of your sex life, unless you have a story you want to share. Attending a sexually oriented get together and staying in an establishment that offers sex toys as part of the package are both certainly racy stories, but I'm afraid your condescending attitude takes all the oomph out of it.

Sometimes I wonder who and how many have slept in the beds in my hotel room. Imagine what Jon Jon must have asked him/herself about the hotel in Amsterdam.

Travel tip #1,289 - always take lysol moistened clothes with you on your &quot;travels&quot;.

I hope JonJon sprayed Lysol on all that used sex equipment in his hotel room in Amsterdam.

I'm determined to start the New Year on a more charitable note. Maybe the &quot;equipment&quot; was not the sort we are imagining. Perhaps the room was equipped with things like handcuffs and trapeze bars. (Camille would have loved that, eh, Degas?)

Marilyn, I try not to rent rooms that have handcuffs, whips and swings attached to the wallks and/or ceilings. I almost missed a train once by making that mistake.

I jumped aboard as it was pulling out of the station, but was forced by the conductor to buy a ticket for the headboard I was dragging behind me. Do you know how hard it is to hire a welder on Sunday in Europe to release you from a pair of tricky handcuffs?

Marilyn and Degas -

You're both too funny. What a lovely way to end the year. Marilyn, from your initial posts, I've been hysterical with laughter, and Degas - sharp, sharp, I like that!

I always travel with ropes (doesn't everyone), for the two beds many hotels push together, that start to move as soon as there is any action up-top. The look on the face of the housekeeper is always something to behold, when they try to separate the beds to change the linens.

However, for me, the sexiest and most fun, was on a trip, on the then new Boeing 777 (back in '95), entering the new &quot;handicapped&quot; bathroom, large enough for a wheelchair or walker and for me the &quot;lightbulb&quot; lite up as I grabbed sweetie from his nearby seat - for the first time we actually enjoyed the Mile High Club.

We made many trips to &quot;that&quot; Lav (even though the flight attendent would indicate that others were open - we waited - and you could see her smile peaking, but made no further comment). Lucky for us it was a very very long flight - first time the two of us deplaned such &quot;happy campers.&quot;

And we're &quot;travel buddies&quot; - who never know where surprises will find us and we them!

Happy New Year to All!

Glad you're enjoying it, sandi, but wait a minute -- you always travel with ropes? Are you a mountain climber or do you want to elaborate on that?

Sandi, I sure like the way your creative mind works. A bold woman with &quot;special needs&quot; is indeed a wonder to behold. Nothing handicapped about you!

Well our bed in a Vienna hotel was a full double equal in square measure to our king. But it was as hard as a metamorphic rock! I think a plywood bunk with no pad would have been softer.
At least the springs did not inflict bodily harm.

Do you really think I can put my answer here? For the public to see? Some things are better left unsaid.

Aw, come on, earl. If you expect us to use Mr. Imagination, you have to at least give us a hint.

Maybe not sexy, but three instances (with different women) were quite funny. All happened ourside my home country in countries where English is not very common.

First instance: I used condom as always and during the act the woman said: &quot;I do not like gum.&quot; I had been chewing gum earlier and first thought I must still be chewing it. But I quickly realized I wasn't chewing gum so I said &quot;what.&quot; She repeated the word gum and then started laughing and quickly replaced with the word condom. We both started laughing so hard that we had to start all over again. But, anyway, I still used the condom.

Second instance, a woman came back to my rented apartment after we had spent time at a circus. The bed was in what was really a dining room. It had a huge chandelier with many lights. She wanted to leave the lights on, but they were just too bright for me, so without saying anything I got a stool from the kitchen and climbed up to start unscrewing some of the bulbs. Later, she told me that when she saw me get the stool and reach for the chandelier area, she thought I was going to propose that we try to copy (during the act) some of the trapeeze acts we had witnessed.

Third instance, we were on a small narrow sofa and during the attempt to mount my knee slid off the side of the sofa, I lost my balance and slid onto floor pulling her with me. Second attempt with her on top and suddenly she starts saying ouch, ouch (or some such in her language). Turns out she had gotten a cramp in her leg, so we had to disengage carefully and I rubbed the cramp out of her leg. Third attempt, well I started laughing so much about first two attempts that we had to call off the event for a half hour or so until I could attain the necessary state. Meanwhile she said, &quot;maybe we just aren't supposed to do this.&quot; But fourth attempt was successful.

This started out sexy and then had a bad turn of events and happened to a friend of mine:

She and boyfriend were romping on the floor of a pensione in France and one of the loops from a shaggy throw rug got stuck between her two lower front teeth. Nothing would loosen it, she was standing in the nude with a throw rug hanging out of her mouth.

They both started laughing so hard that they were both crying and everytime he asked her what she wanted to do about it and she she answered in a muffled ruglike way, this would set them laughing again, finally she wrapped herself in a sheet and he went down to the front desk which luckily had a night watchman and mimed cutting with scissors. The nightman eyed him suspiciously and surmised that he was up to something no good so he refused with a wave of the hand. The boyfriend finally led him up to the room, where my friend stood clutching the rug to her face then she lowered it and the man's mouth dropped open in horror and disbelief then his face turned to disgust and awe at the crazy Americans.

Mumbling to himself he went downstairs and came back with a sharp knife, which scared my friend (young at the time) and she locked the door to the bathroom and started crying.

After much pleading by the boyfriend she let only him come in and cut the rug loop. The next morning the word must have gotten around because the staff stood still and then laughed as they passed them in the halls and on the bill was a few extra francs for the &quot;ruined rug&quot;.