True travel sex stories. Any you're willing to share?

[m4same]

On 12/3/2025 at 11:40 AM, Whippoorwill said:

i noted that a few weeks ago Bjorn Andresen died at age 70. He was the blonde teenage actor (on the right in photo) who played Tadzio, the lissome highly sexualized youth in (openly gay) Luchino Visconti's Death in Venice, based on the novella by the same name penned by (bisexual pedophile) Thomas Mann. 

This naturally bring my mind back to Venice, Italy, often called La Serenissima. Serene, my foot. It is no accident that Venice is known variously as the City of Love (move over Paris) and the Queen of the Adriatic. Casanova, Ernest Hemingway, and other authors far and wide have sung of Venice's seething sexuality.

In my experience Venice is full of queens of the Adriatic. I was first there when I was 20, going across Europe with a backpack, and trying hard to avoid all the feelings that kept welling up about my peers and their cocks. My goal was to not jerk off all summer. Enter Venice...and..."the best laid plans of men," and all that. My friends and I were staying in a cheap pensione, with "shower down the hall." As it happened, there was a window in the shower, looking out on a small light well, chest height up. As I was showering one afternoon, there was a youth in the building across the light well also showering...a blonde northern Italian, maybe my age. Our eyes locked on each other, and soon we were both jerking off, imagining our lips interlocking and our penises rubbing together. Wham. Bam. Pow. So much for my summer resolution.

One of my favorite Venice destinations is the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, housed in an 18th c. unfinished palazzo. This was the home of Peggy, and a series of artist husbands and lovers, and is now a museum that is home to her extensive collection of modern art. When you disembark from the vaporetto, you are greeted by a bronze statue, Angel of the City, of a man on horseback with his prominent erection begging you to grab it. (There is a similar one in the Getty Center in LA).

The artist was Marino Marini, one of Peggy's many lovers, who was "artist in residence" in Peggy's bed for a while. Angel my foot. The story is that the phallus was originally removable (to function as Peggy's dildo when Marino couldn't get it up?) but it kept getting stolen so he had to weld it in. Peggy bragged that she had slept with over 1,000 men. Gay guys take note: we don't have a monopoly on that delightful hobby. 

The only piece of furniture in the museum is, tellingly, Peggy's bed...the headboard designed by another lover, Alexander Calder. It may be said that the history of modern art was written on this bed. 

Peggy was perhaps inspired by the once-popular Venetian practice of cicsbeo, where young women married older wealthy men, and by agreement, kept a young male stud close at hand for sexual services for the woman. Except in her case, she was the money, not some elderly cuckhold. 

Venice is a tight-knit renaissance-18th c. agglomeration of buildings and islands of no particular geometry, leaving corners and crannies just made for casual hookups. Knowing this, Venetian sidewalks are better lit at night than any other city I have visited. One night, some decades ago, I was prowling the city looking for a blowjob. And finally I found it...the cranny where some enterprising queen had unscrewed the light bulb. And indeed, when I arrived, he was lurking there waiting for his next victim. I was one happy victim. 

For all the seething sexuality of the city, there are no overt gay bars much less sex clubs, although of course the more stylish hotel bars attract birds of a feather. At some point, I was given (by a fuck buddy) a now-lost sex travel guide written by two gay Americans who had a van they traveled the world in, screwing locals day and night. The book pointed me to a public toilet just off the Rialto Bridge. This is the area of a busy public market and throngs of locals and tourists. Indeed, there is a proper public toilet nearby. But for the cognoscenti, there is (or at least was) a filthy (you're standing in urine) toilet literally attached to the side of a church, at which a jerk off, if not a blowjob, was virtually guaranteed. I loved that it was hiding in full view, and attached to a church to boot. Of course, we have since learned that were there are priests there is a lot of gay sex going on. 

But back to Death in Venice. It takes place in the Lido, one of the outer Venetian islands reachable by vaporetto. In the story (novella, movie, and opera all by the same name) an elderly German composer (played by Dirk Bogard, who himself was gay and living with a lover) is smitten with the youthful somewhat flirtatious Tadzio, which leads to the elder's throwing caution to the wind and ultimately dying from the plague.

A couple of decades ago I had my own Lido Death in Venice experience. No, I didn't die of the plague, but I went to the Lido both to take in the rays and to cruise the nearby woods (as noted in that gay sex travel guide). On the beach there was a remarkable scene...seven or eight teenaged Tadzio's, in the skimpiest of Speedos, playing, dancing, wrestling, and literally dry humping each other on the beach for all to see. I snapped a bunch of pictures, lest no one ever believe such a sight. (Unfortunately, for whatever reason, I threw out all my sex pictures in a fit of housecleaning at the start of the Covid lockdown.) I was however unsuccessful in luring any of them into the woods. They undoubtedly were going to one of their houses to fuck each other's brains out. If I were them, I wouldn't have paid any attention to me either. 

The next morning, I took one last cruise around the city before I left. Not a block from my hotel, I saws a magnificent specimen, tall, dark, handsome, black curly hair, wearing a tight body shirt and revealing pants advertising his significant bulge. We took one look at each other, and he signaled me to come down an alley and into his workplace, a clothing warehouse. We instantly tore each other's clothes off, and my god did he have the dick of death. There among the racks of women's frocks, he fucked me mercilessly, and I limped out one happy camper. This was years ago, but it is one of those experiences I will never forget.

Yes, Venice, Queen of the Adriatic...a city of fond memories that continue to inspire the occasional jerk off. 

 

I need to visit Venice