Sex on the Beach

A holiday is not complete without sex on the beach. (The cocktail is not a respectable substitute, although can accompany well.)
Small tip: when given the choice of sun-lounger or sand, the correct answer is sun-lounger. Originally the image of tits and arse catapulting from an unbalanced sun-lounger terrified me into a mound of sand, second time round and I made the correct decision.


Man in the Sand

I met my sand encounter in true holiday style, on a tennis court. My interest in him was made quite clear by my mum who went to book some classes (the British must always take tennis classes when available, even if no interest has ever been shown in the sport.) When asked which instructors she wanted my Mother shamelessly told him she wanted him to be my coach, as I thought he was the most attractive. Yes, I was standing beside her at the time. (Who needs a wing man when you have family?)

He was young, (a given).
Blonde (obviously).
Cocky (believed himself to be in with a chance with me and my mother).
And not very talented when laid out on the sand (again, a given).

He was incredibly charming; asking me out to dinner and ordering wine. Dinner was at the hotel restaurant, on my room tab, I don't drink wine. Either way I'm abroad, temperatures are above ridiculous and there are half naked men everywhere, not getting laid is not optional. The most I got out of him in the way of conversation was that he was being stalked by a 16 year old in the resort; this did nothing for my questioning the standards I was willing to drop to for a shag and meant I spent the night anticipating having my hair pulled by little girls. After several overly dressed cocktails I hurried the evening along and agreed to a walk to the beach, partly because it had been over a week since I'd seen any, and party because dragging this out meant spending more time looking at a pretty face and having interesting conversations with myself. (If he speaks, remember to nod or show signs of attention, don't want to upset the pretty face.)

What I suppose you could call sex was unmemorable - hence the lack of description. If I could recollect much more I would share the antics of holiday sex, but unfortunately unmemorable seems to sum it up well. What I do remember in vivid detail however is a night of finding sand in every orifice despite stripping down in a toilet and leaving behind me half a grecian beach. This boy had been a tennis coach at a resort in Greece for the past 4 weeks, surely he should have been wiser than to give a lady the choice of sand or sun-lounger, (especially after one has been watching frolicking in the sand on MTV, false advertising if I ever saw it.) But considering the boys apparent lack of sexual experience it is possible he had not yet been met with sand in your nether regions. If you were wondering, I am calling him boy in the derogatory sense, but also quite simply because I can't remember his name. Guys if you want a lady to remember your name, learn to find the clitoris, it will serve you well.


Sun-Lounger Antics

Holiday romance number two had arrived on the same flight as me, I caught sight of him and his brother in baggage claim right when I was wondering whether agreeing to a holiday with the family (whether a free holiday or not) had really been a good idea. Presented with the prospect of spending 10 days with the screaming children grazing my ankles at the airport they shone out like a beacon. They were both gorgeous (lack of comparison probably helped) standing in Ray-Bands with their crisp shifts tucked in. They were little rich boys, the bonus being the drinks flowed all night, which helped to endure their impossible hearty laughs and incessant name dropping. I now know from where Russell Brand rents his flat, and how much 40,000 glow sticks from France costs for a 21st birthday party (sadly this information was no more interesting after 6 sambas and a fish bowl). The other bonus was their names had continuous comical value, obviously I can't state these for legal reasons, but image if you will the most pompous male names in the Queens english, repeat them in your best plumbed voice, now add Sambuca.

I had already sworn off brother no.1 after he insisted on explaining the rules of poker to me after I assured him I was no beginner. (Women can't play poker. Evidently neither can men as I cleared the table of his match sticks). However I amused myself by flirting with him none the less as we were sat beside his girlfriend. I use this term loosely, in fact I think she had been the only one to refer to herself this way as she had met the man three days previous, and had been sulking all night in the corner. Brother no. 1 had slept with one woman in 6 months. He had told her he wasn't a player.

Throughout the night brother no. 2 became more vocal with each unit consumed, and proceeded to do more than nod his head when spoken too. When drunk this progression in a gorgeous man is quite a revelation and we preceded to spend the rest of the night drinking, buying far too many glow sticks and getting covered in UV paint. You can always find a fellow Brit in Greece, they will be the only people unable to walk in a straight line, with street children zigzagging the streets with them trying to cover their bodies in more glow sticks. God Save Our Gracious Queen.

When drunk, horny and on the lap of a beautiful man at 4am the beach sounds like a wonderful idea, being now experienced in beach antics I took the lead towards the sun bed. To my great relief there were no "You've been Framed" moments and the bed complied with gravity. Unfortunately as it seems so did brother no. 2's penis. If you were ever wondering whether a penis that bends downwards when erect feels slightly like needing the bathroom - it does.

The Biter

There are many reasons I will not be calling over for round two after sleeping with someone for the first time, one of these reasons was demonstrated on Friday night when I decided to make a long overdue call to Sam's house after work one night. We had flirted none too subtly over the bar for longer than I care to remember. He was hot in the 'wish I was a rock star instead of working for my dads insurance company' kind of way, clean shoes - wore his vintage leather over a checked shirt with the collars almost as high as his self esteem. He was a ladies man and a player without a doubt, this isn't a complaint I'm making, quite the opposite. If I was looking for The Big Relationship I wouldn't have given Liam Gallagher jr. a second glance, (I'm not one of those 'oh but he'll change for me if I love him enough and agree to anal' kind of girls.) However given the qualities I am looking for (great in bed, non committal, pretty to look at, won't tell me he'll wait for me when I'm ready for him with a tear in the eye,) then Sam makes the list.

May this be a lesson to all of you, if you want a one night stand to turn into a two night stand, regular casual sex and/or a relationship then please take serious note of this chapter.

After a courtesy 'would you like a cup of tea' and momentary awkwardness of 'how did I end up in your kitchen being offered tea when the only words I've really said to you is 'would you like ice with that?' We made our way upstairs. The usual commenced when a guy is slightly nervous about the casualness of this encounter, he puts on a DVD to pretend the reason I came over to his house at 4am is to watch 'Home Alone 2.' Some men will still slide into their usual routines of needing to get a girl slightly drunk on at least a few rounds of cocktails and draw them back to their house with the idea of 'wouldn't it be nice to lie next to each other and watch a DVD in the quiet and get to know each other.' Men as a species are still not quite accustomed to women wanting the same as them - a hard fuck at the end of a nights work then back to my own bed where I wont wake up lacking my own coffee cup and toothbrush.
However I followed his lead and discussed the joys of 'Home Alone 1' compared to the less appeasing 'Home Alone 2' until he slid his hand across the duvet to reach between my legs and leaned in to bite me on the neck.

Let me make this clear now - I am not in anyway against biting, nibbling, running teeth along the body and any other teeth variety you can think of. Leaving a small bite mark on my thigh, shoulder etc is all quite welcome, (would be very hypocritical of me to say they weren't.) However I have limits, and these limits include biting me repetitively hard on my most sensitive areas - sensitive areas being the nipples and clitoris. (Yes clitoris - you crazy bastard.)

After one casual night with the biter my breasts were unable to be touched by me (or anyone else) for at least a week, this is a very unwelcome waste. I'm not one to blatantly pull away mid shag and condemn a guy for doing things wrong (thats one sure fire way to guarantee neither you or him are going to finish.) However the less obvious approaches of flinching, hair pulling and eventually a none too subtle 'careful!' was not enough to deter the biter. I drove out of his well kept drive unnecessarily sore, (not in the 'what an amazing night I'll be out of action for at least 2 days' way,) but with 'fuck me you're so dirty' in my head after having heard it on repeat for the last 20 minutes, a tally of no orgasms for me, and one less number in my phone.

I am slightly ashamed to say that I only sent 'sorry busy' or 'sorry who is this again?' in answer to many texts, I did avoid his head turn in the street and smiled sweetly when he turned up at the bar asking why I never text him back. 'Work is so busy love sorry,' (for all of you who have been fed this line - I'm sorry to tell you that work is never that busy, we can always fit in a good shag.) I could have been honest, but that would have been all the more time wasted, and unless I have been bought dinner or am planning on trying to fix these hiccups in the hope for a better next time I'm not going to play Agony Aunt to your biting ways. I want to make a formal apology to the women who succeeded myself, I hope your breasts will forgive me - may you be a stronger women than I.

Unfortunately men such as these are not fast learners. A year (and one girlfriend) on and I am still having his face pop up on my screen while facebooking, his persistence is relatively humorous otherwise I would have blocked his cute arse while applying vaseline to my nipples. After giving him a curt "have fun with that" and logging out when informed of his nudity, his smiling face popped up again the next day, inquiring for the 4th day in a row "how've you been lately?" While writing this I have had the following conversation:

Sam: "What you up to tonight?"
Me: "Just visiting the family."
Sam: "I think I'm just going to have some me time,"
Me: "Good idea."
Sam: "Lol. Naauuuggghhhtttyyy!"

The ability to turn every conversation dirty single handedly is truly a skill. This man is going to be a valued facebook friend for life.