“God, you are so beautiful.” This young man whispered into my face between kisses.
“Thank you,” I muttered between breaths. His fingers were brushing strands of my hair away from my face.
We were engaged in a clumsy dance of French kissing while taking our clothes off in my studio apartment in Vilnius.
Global Hookups on A Muggy September Evening
It was a muggy September evening. The humidity and sweat in my apartment you could cut with a knife.
It was just an hour before that I was meeting with this person for a drink. We were meeting at a little dive bar outside of the City Centre near the Cathedral.
He was about five years my junior, but stood at a towering 200 centimeters. That’s 6’6”, for you imperialists. He had an intellect of equal stature.
And he was gorgeous.
I invited him back to my apartment.
It was just a short walk away.
Not long after that, we were doing that aforementioned dance. It segued into a bed sheet tango while I breathed a prayer I wouldn’t die in the missionary position under his mass.
I repeated that dance several times that week. During subsequent visits to the city with boys no shorter than six feet, a package that makes you question what exactly they are feeding these men, and what seemed like professionally trained kissing abilities (still can’t get over the fact that I made out with a guy named Rostislav).
Another Reason for Solo Travel
There’s another reason I travel solo. This is why I’ve always chosen to stay in private hotels and not hostels. I want to be able to wander around aimlessly without any expectations and to not be burdened by an itinerary. To be free to see whatever I want, walk as long as I want, eat whatever and whenever I want, and to meet people.
Whenever I travel to a destination, it’s almost always assumed I will have a global hookups with at least one boy.
Some of these boys include a Dutch stranger I shared a hotel room with in London. There was my tour guide in Amsterdam. I remember my 24 year old Taxify driver. There were a British military officer and a Hungarian of underwhelming sexual prowess. An American Army man rooming at one of the nicest hotels in the city on the government dime.
The One That Stood Out
That last one though. I am pretty multiorgasmic as it is. But the dude sent me on such a rollercoaster that I burst into laughter after #16 because I couldn’t take it anymore.
I laughed and giggled as I looked at our reflection in the ceiling mirror. My nails were gently bedded into the skin of his sweaty, sinewy backside.
It was in that moment that I felt a happiness I had longed to feel since my years as a teenager with a burgeoning sexuality and an unquestionably poor self-image. Because I was no longer that person.
My Teenage Self
Never in my life would my teenage self have ever predicted this. That I would one day roam the world and live a life no longer caring about the things within my sophomoric self-loathing that seemed to haunt me every minute of my day.
Being a Confident Adult
It was something I thought about while watching the sunset on the banks of the Neris River. I was suddenly this confident, sexually self-assured 32 year old. I could enjoy global hookups without guilt and with strangers whom I would never see again. But they would remember me as a fond memory as much as I remember them.
I don’t know if travel was the knife that cut me loose or that maybe I am changing with age, but I do know that my life – and all that I value in it – hasn’t been the same since.
Join Annika and many other fun, freethinking ladies in Her Adventures’ new love, sex, and romance subgroup: Pillow Talk!