Although I would have considered myself to be rather experienced in the field of sexual exploration, by my 19th birthday it still frustrated me that I hadn’t sealed the deal, so to speak. It always frustrated me that I had never had a serious relationship but had numerous long-term ‘flings’ starting at the age of 16. I couldn’t understand how I would start something with a guy, only for them to decide a month or two later of fooling around that they weren’t into it which resulted in them moving on, and in most cases, ignoring me. I was sick of this repetitive bad luck and vowed to wait for the right guy to come along whom I would ‘surrender my body’ to. However, this was not to be the case.
I was on a week long getaway with a childhood friend of mine, with no expectations other than to have an injection of sun, culture, and great food and wine. We talked at length throughout the holiday about our boy woes, mine being that I hadn’t yet met someone whom I wanted to have sex with. We laughed about it, enjoying that liberation and freedom of being away from home in the balmy heat of southern France and celebrating our youth.
It was on one night that we went out to dinner that we met two young eligible French students looking for somewhere to go out. My friend C noticed that one of them was paying close attention to her and I noticed the same about the other. Perfect! One for each of us! We were persuaded without much hesitation to go for ‘un boisson’ with them in a small pub in the centre of the town. We had a few drinks with them and then moved on to a cocktail bar.
At this stage, we were quite merry and were thoroughly enjoying the company of the two handsome suitors. The bar was dark and dingy, with low lights, tacky posters, and cheesy club music blaring from a ‘retro’ duke box. We ordered several rounds of shots (which must have been watered down as they tasted like pure juice). It was hilarious. C’s man, Pierre, had a very poor command of English and I laughed as they communicated in pigeon English and French. In the end, there was nothing left to do but to walk in the direction of our hostel and bid them goodnight.
However, we realized that we had forgotten our keys and were immediately offered beds in the hotel rooms of our French companions. When we arrived, we were met by the sight of a two-story, two star ‘hotel’ with the facade of a traditional abode. Hilariously, they had also forgotten their keys and my man climbed nimbly up a street pole, inched his way along a large windowsill that was jutting out, and slipped without any difficulty in through the bathroom window of his hotel room. He looked like the cat who had gotten the cream as he ran downstairs eagerly to open the door for us. He cautioned us to be quiet and we giggled as we tiptoed upstairs to their bedrooms.
C went into Pierre’s room and I went into the other, my insides squirming with excitement and anticipation. We sat down on the bed talking for a few minutes and then we leaned in and began to kiss. I felt electricity between us, my body hungry for his touch. He unhooked my bra with deft hands and pushed me back onto the bed. He was easily the most experienced man I have ever been with and knew exactly what to do.
It was amazing. I let go of everything; all my preconceived ideas of what I wanted or what it would be like. I didn’t think, didn’t even wonder why I was doing it, I just did. It was spectacular. What made it even more fantastic was hearing him talk dirty en Francais. He was such a gentleman and knew exactly what to do. Although he was a liiiittle bit older than me at 25 years-old, for this one night, age didn’t matter. We didn’t swap numbers, didn’t add each other on Facebook, and I liked it that way. It meant that what we had shared really was for one night only. A brief but exhilarating encounter that will always be one of my finest memories. The following morning C and I left the hotel at 7 a.m., running through the tiny lobby so as not to be seen and laughed the whole way back to our hostel. It was a night I’ll never forget.
