Welcome to How I Do It, the series in which we give you a seven-day sneak peek into the sex life of a stranger.
This week we hear from Ginny*, 29, a freelance writer who is currently based in the Canary Islands.
She’s been in a monogamous relationship with her boyfriend, Diego*, 34, for a year, and the pair have sex around six times a week. However, as they’re digital nomads, and living in a surf hostel, they don’t always get their alone time.
‘Having sex in a busy room or a bathroom isn’t so bad when you’re young and dumb, but now we’re a year into our relationship,’ Ginny says.
‘Lovemaking is a lot harder when you’re in a room of eight dirty backpackers — coughing, sneezing, farting. It’s not exactly the recipe for romance.’
The pair actually met in a hostel, and Ginny says it started out as a ‘typical holiday fling’.
‘It was never supposed to be more than a bit of fun, but as the romance went on, it has deepened into the best relationship of my life,’ she says.
So, without further ado, here’s how Ginny got on this week.
Warning: The following is, as you might imagine, not safe for work.
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Monday
We’ve been living in this hostel for about two weeks.
Diego has set hours at his job, so he leaves bed early, but he always comes back after getting dressed for a goodbye kiss.
I feel very loved, and I whisper a barely audible ‘I love you’, trying not to wake any of the other guests.
The hostel common area — where I set up my laptop to work — doesn’t open for another hour, so getting up is out of the question for me right now. I stretch out, enjoying having some space in this tiny bottom bunk.
Eventually, I start work. Later, I stop for lunch Diego and I go down to the beach to check out the waves. It’s a Monday in winter, I’m in short sleeves, and everyday consists of this little ritual. I love my life!
The waves are terrible today though, which means surfing is a no-go. We go back to the hostel to have a drink. We pass our room, and no one is in there — hooray!
We take our chances and start to make out. We’re on the bottom bunk of a small bunk bed, so we’ve been clever about hanging sheets, making the whole thing feels like our cave — a little oasis away from the chaos of hostel life.
Having sex in a hostel is all about being quiet. No big noises or deep breathing. This is really hard, but this level of control can also make it really sexy.
It’s also forced us to be very creative with positions. My favourite is lying on top of him, but facing upwards. We can be super silent and it makes me orgasm so quickly.
We have to be incredibly efficient. Take too long and someone may enter the room. This time we’re lucky, and we aren’t interrupted. He comes after me, clinging onto my body.
In the afterglow, we snuggle and kiss in our little cave. It all feels so cosy.
Tuesday
It’s a gorgeous Canarian day, and the heat is warm on my skin. I feel much more erotic in Spain than in the UK, where this time of year requires several thermal layers. Here I am barely clothed and my libido is on fire.
We check out the waves and they’re good, so off we go to surf. I gaze over Diego’s muscled body in his wetsuit. I want to tear off his clothes, but you know, patience.
Surfing instills a lovely thrumming feeling in you once you’ve finished your session. It’s an all-over tingly sensation that is not unlike an all-body orgasm. Maybe that’s why surfers do it so much?
We head back into the hostel to wash off our wetsuits and bodies. We’ve developed a nice little ritual of sharing a shower afterwards. We soap each other up and wash away the sand and seaweed. We grope each other in the shower, and then, like sly teenagers we sneak out of the shower separately.
We change and it seems like we’ll have the room all to ourselves for a short moment. We start to make out, but then we’re interrupted multiple times by different people entering the room, chatting, looking for items. It is irritating, and incredibly bad for the mood. Annoyingly, there’s no other opportunities for sex today.
Wednesday
Today, we don’t have very much time to ourselves. There are some small crises going on in the hostel, which as long-stayers, we get to be privy to.
Someone is jealous of someone. Someone stole someone else’s honey. A hostel romance is ending due to visa issues.
It’s nice to feel so social, so involved in my community, but it can be tiring.
On Wednesdays, the hostel organises a night out, so we all gather to head to a karaoke bar.
We don’t tend to stay very long at the mid-week parties, because as digital nomads, we don’t get to have the same carefree attitude to late nights.
Spanish people dance and sing around us. We dance to some reggaeton, some bachata. I love a man who dances, don’t you?
We slip away from the group and head back to the hostel. On other nights out, we’ve come back and f***ed in the bathroom. Not tonight though.
Too drunk, too sleepy, instead we cuddle in our bunk, lightly touching each others private parts. I fall into a cosy sleep.
Thursday
The hostel is fully-booked in preparation for the weekend, and the bed above us is taken. We’ve dealt with it before, but I’m always a bit afraid that if we have sex, someone will get mad at us or complain.
Then, I have an awful surf session, and get absolutely pummeled by the waves. Not a great day.
Later, in bed, we try to have a cuddle. It’s a bit difficult as it’s so busy in the hostel. People come in and out of the room. I keep almost hitting that point of orgasm, and then some disturbance happens.
I’m quite pent up and I’m getting annoyed. I can’t help thinking that if you come into the room and can hear us having sex, surely you should just leave?
I orgasm but I’m so full of nerves that it isn’t that pleasurable. When I leave the room, I feel a bit guilty. I hope no one heard us.
Friday
It’s the end of the work week, which means we can act like other travellers. I put lots of my energy into socialising with all the new guests, and I love learning all the little stories people have.
It’s wintertime in the rest of Europe, so the guests are a mix of surfers, digital nomads, travellers, and seasonally depressed winter escapees.
Everyone is always slightly shocked that we live in the hostel as a couple. ‘What about your privacy?’ they exclaim. At the moment, I am inclined to agree with them.
We look into cheap hotels to stay for at least a night so we can have some actual alone time. Thankfully, we find one, and we’ll head there tomorrow.
Tonight it’s another party night. I party so much here, it’s like I’m a student again. I get incredibly drunk and grind Spanish-style on Diego, feeling so loved.
On the way back to the hostel, we make-out by the beach. Everyday feels like it’s a holiday fling.
Saturday
I have the hangover from hell. I am definitely not a student anymore, and cannot handle Canarian style vodka portions.
We cuddle in bed and then have a nice coffee by the beach, our weekend ritual. At this point the barista recognises me, which feels so incredibly affirming. I am Spanish! Sort of.
It’s then time to head off to the hotel room. We check in and use the room to the fullest extent. I am as loud as I want to be.
I suck Diego’s c*** for a long time and he gives me head too. We strut around the room naked, and I’m reminded that our passion in the hostel, while powerful, is definitely only a small percentage of our love making.
That night, we have a date night at a local tapas bar. Everything just feels so perfect.
Sunday
I wake up in his arms but still fully stretched out on the bed. That feels luxurious when you’re used to sharing a cramped lumpy hostel bed.
I massage him awake and we cuddle and have spontaneous sex. Last night, we were loud and active but today, we are much more slow and deliberate. We look in each other’s eyes and express our love over and over. It’s quite magical.
We tear ourselves out of the hotel room, and at first, I’m dreading heading back to the busy hostel. But as we return, we’re greeted like long-lost friends.
People often ask why Diego and I don’t book into a private room in a hostel, where we can have privacy, and stress free sex. I can’t pretend we haven’t considered it, but I’d hate to sacrifice the camaraderie of a shared space (plus, it’s must more expensive).
Here, I’m sleeping in a room of eight people. I know their habits: the man who wakes up in the middle of the night to call his wife in South America every night, or the girl trying to stifle her worsening cold. And then there’s the guy above us, who loves to roll, roll, and roll some more until he finds that perfect spot.
Okay, It’s not so sexy but it’s so much better than being home in the dreary UK — and Diego and I are already planning our next hotel escape.
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