My couch surfing host in Brighton, England, wouldn’t introduce me to his roommates because he was trying to keep his guests a secret. I literally had to hide in his bedroom to avoid running into them. It felt like a low-key hostage situation. The next day we went to a small country town called Lewes. He kept trying to get me to drink all day, and he wouldn’t stop hitting on me. He even nuzzled my neck on the bus … with his face. This was after he tried to seduce me in the woods, and I told him I had a boyfriend. To which he replied, “Well, your boyfriend doesn’t have to know.” To which I replied, “I just don’t like you.” After several arguments about whether couchsurfing.com is or isn’t a dating site (it isn’t), I thought to myself, “Being homeless would certainly be better than this.”
I couldn’t afford a hostel because my credit card was disabled, so I settled in for a long night behind a fish and chips shop where I had some privacy and I knew the wi-fi code. I tried to sleep, but it was no use. England is cold in May, and the sea air was unbearable. The night dragged on, but eventually the sun’s rays took mercy on me, and I decided to take a morning stroll along the beach. I was stewing in sleep deprivation and negativity when a man approached me. “Wanna make 10 quid?” The question startled me out of my bitter haze.
He asked if I would take nude photos of him with his phone. I’m a sucker for a good story, so I enthusiastically replied, “Sure!” After all, it was his body on the line, not mine. He paid me up front, gave me his phone, and then led me to some ally stairs for privacy. Standing at the top of the stairs for safety (I’m not a complete risk-taking fool), I nodded that I was ready, and he swiftly dropped his pants. I returned his phone after taking several nudes of him posing with his man parts. We exchanged kind words, and I thanked him for turning my day around. He didn’t expect anything else.
It’s not every day that you have a consensual flashing experience, but it’s troubling how many women deal with creepers like my couch surfing host on a daily basis. Maybe I’m being naïve about the consensual nature of the flashing because money was exchanged, but I can only express how I felt in each situation. I felt threatened by my couch surfer and at ease with my flasher. Moral of the story: I don’t care how you get your rocks off as long as you make sure I’m cool with it.
Alexandra LambGot a travel story worth telling? Write it in about 400 words and send it to [email protected]. If you’d rather tell your story, send a brief synopsis to the same address. Either way, your story should be true.
