I Had a S*xual Experience I Never Desired Because I Wanted to Be Pleasant

How the urge to keep the peace can make you do things you regret

A few announcements before this month’s special post…

How masculinity makes non-monogamy more difficult for men - July 16, 11am EST

In just two weeks, I will be interviewing Adam Darrow, author of the very personal, vulnerable, and sexy memoir Seek the Risk, on this topic in our next Community Hour.

You have two more weeks to read the book (or at least part of it), become a paid subscriber, and join us live.

If the topic of masculinity & ENM interests you, it’s a must-read.

The pain of your partner with someone else

Advice column last weekend (in case you missed it), featuring someone dealing with the pain of their partner being with someone else. AND a couple wondering how to deal with being ENM + judgy parents.

Now without further ado…

---

I Had a S*xual Experience I Never Desired Because I Wanted to Be Pleasant*

At a hostel in the ancient city of Taormina, Sicily, a pretty girl greeted me at the front desk. As she checked me in, a man standing behind her checked me out with a big smile in the way I’d come to learn Italian men do.

He was several years older than I, had dark thinning hair, and had the gaunt look of someone who was malnourished.

Even though I did not find him attractive, I was grateful for his gaze. I assumed he was the manager or owner of the hostel; thus he had an aura of power around him.

“Can I see your passport?” said the girl.

As I handed the blue book to her, the man whose name I’d learn was Maurice chimed in, “Oh, American! You look like maybe you are Italian too?” he said as he touched his hair and pointed at my dark locks with a face of pure adoration.

“No,” I said flattered for being mistaken for ‘one of them’. “I’m part Caribbean,” I added in an effort to explain my tan skin and hair.

Eventually, the girl led me to my dorm room. There, I packed a day bag and headed to the common area to consult my phone about what to do next.

As I scrolled through TripAdvisor, I heard a voice. “Hello.” I looked up to find Maurice paused in the doorway smiling wide.

“Hi,” I said with a grin.

“Do you have any questions?” he asked. “Everything all right in the room?”

“Yeah, everything’s great. I’m just figuring out what to do now.”

He walked towards me past the sun beaming in through the window.

“Well, there are the ruins, of course, you have to see, but you know what? I can take you around on my bike to see some things if you want?”

“Oh okay,” I said. “That sounds cool.”

“Yeah, there’s a really nice little village and a beautiful view up the mountain. I just need to do a few things around here.” He looked at his watch. “But we can leave around 5:00? From here.”

I had about an hour. “Great!”

I was excited about the idea of going around on a moped with a local.

And okay, okay. I know what you’re thinking. Why would you get on the back of a stranger’s moped on an island partially run by an offshoot of Tony Soprano’s family?

Well, I knew it was a risk, but Maurice managed the hostel, and it’s fairly common for the staff at small hostels to show their guests around.

Since he was connected with the business, that meant there was a layer of accountability that wouldn’t exist if he were a random guy I met on the street.

I knew who he was and where he worked. The hostel knew who I was and that I was meant to come back later that night. So basically if he were going to tie someone up and sell them into sex slavery, maybe I wouldn’t have been the best candidate.

Also, I think I could have taken him.

An hour later I met Maurice as planned. He was sitting in a chair waiting for me. “Ready?”

“Yes!” I replied.

I followed him out to his moped, he helped me put on my helmet, and I got on behind him. I wrapped my arms around his waist, holding on tight as we cruised through the ancient city carved out of the side of a cliff.

At some point, we stopped at an overlook with a view of the city and the ocean stretching out behind it. It was stunning. There, Maurice told me a little about Sicily, and how he’d come to manage the hostel for the last few years.

Then we hopped back on the scooter and continued up the mountain.

We arrived at a small quaint village and went to a restaurant he knew with a view of the sunset.

On the restaurant’s rooftop terrace, a few couples were sitting around. This felt more romantic than I would have liked, but I knew it wasn’t a date. If he thought it was, that was his mistake.

As I sipped my drinks Maurice became funnier, he seemed more nourished. I let myself smile more fully.

I enjoyed his company. I enjoyed the cocktails and antipasti. And I felt lucky to have this experience.

Still, I felt an itch in the back of my mind. It said that this was too good to be true. That he would eventually expect something in return.

But then I shrugged those thoughts away.

Just a week before that another Sicilian man, who owned the hostel where I’d stayed in Rome, had taken me around his hometown. He let me stay at his father’s home in the guest room. He took me out to dinner with his friends. He picked me up and dropped me off at the train station. And the whole time, he never made any move or asked for anything.

I was so touched by his generosity.

Yes, some people in this world are just nice.

“You are so beautiful,” Maurice said as we watched the sun surrender its last rays.

“Thank you,” I said. Trying to enjoy the compliment for what it was. Just a compliment.

“I want to show you just one more thing,” he said. It’s not far from here.

“Okay,” I said, “I’m down.”

We walked out of the restaurant towards his moped where he snapped a picture of me and my helmet.

As he handed me back my phone, he kept his hands gripped around it and asked, “Can I kiss you please?”