#14c: Last family holiday? (Part 3)

[image credit: Alan Light on Flickr]

It has been a rather lovely week on this blisteringly hot island with nothing to do but eat, drink, sleep, swim and sunbathe. As predicted, my wife has kept her alabaster skin indoors playing games on her iPad, while my daughter and I have relentlessly worshipped the sun. The wifi is useless, but I have no need of porn when there is an endless parade of stunning, muscular, tatooed men in skimpy shorts walking past my sun lounger.

There is one guy in particular who has the good grace to wear sunglasses all the time so no one knows he can see them staring. He is so beautiful, so anatomically perfect that when he stands up and sprays sun lotion across his chest every woman (and many of the men) in the pool stop and stare without shame. From listening to his conversations, he sounds pretty thick, but his girlfriend looks like the cat that got the cream, so she’s obviously not with him for his mental dexterity.

As the week draws to a close on what may well be our last holiday together as a family, I have spent a lot of time in my own head wondering what holidays would be like in the future. Would I go to gay resorts? Would I be comfortable kissing and touching another man in public? What kind of guy would I want to go on holiday with? What kind of chap would I want to settle down with? Would I want to revisit old holiday destinations with a new lover, or would I prefer to explore new cities, countries, beaches?

I haven’t given much thought to gay holiday resorts before — I imagine them to be full of preening queens bitching about each other — but now I have seen all these young straight couples deeply in love (or at least lust) with each other in such a public way, I yearn for that too. And while it is legal and widely acceptable today, I wouldn’t want to make anyone else feel uncomfortable by displays of man-on-man affection. Mind you, when you’re in that bubble of early passion, I doubt you care very much who sees you.

But it also got me thinking about my physical ideals for the first time. I’ve always felt you don’t fall for the body, but for the person inside, which is how I always justified me falling in love with a woman, despite her not having a penis. But now I think, if I wanted to get into a long-term relationship with a man, it would have to be someone who fits a physical ideal, because I would want to keep wanting him in order to stay faithful and content. I look at David Beckham, who we’ve all seen every day in papers and magazines for 20 years and I think that there has never been a time in two decades where I would have said no to having sex with that man, if it had been offered.

I don’t really know what that ideal is yet — I guess I’ll know when I see him — but he would have to be a bit taller than me, a bit broader, a lovely smile and a pretty willy (not necessarily huge, but I’d want to enjoy looking at it — and let’s face it, some of them are grotesque!).

And, though I know this sounds terribly shallow, but I’d want someone I could frolic with in an outdoor hotel pool, so that everyone else on their sun loungers would think “now there’s a handsome looking couple”. Is that so wrong?

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Up next - #15: Three in a bed…

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