Foreign Affairs: Sexed up and Overseas

Like many college juniors I studied abroad my second semester. I couldn’t wait to leave the Goucher College bubble and it’s lack of thrill for the beaches and volatile political scene of Israel. The timing was perfect to escape a relationship starting to sour and a life that was beginning to feel too routine for comfort.
I had expectations: I anticipated filling my time with traveling, touring, taking interesting and stimulating classes, exploring the culture scene and hopefully finding a handsome Israeli soldier to wed. I definitely met most of these goals, except tying down a hubby. The attention I got for being an outsider, especially an American, made me scrap any idea of monogamy. In light of my sexual escapades with Middle Eastern testosterone, my experience in the “Holy Land” was far from holy.
I was fortunate enough to have like-minded, sexually honest and horny roommates. Our “foreign affairs” were always the main topic, nothing was ever held back – we talked about everything from penis size of the men we were hooking up with, to position specifics, recreating our fornications using cutlery to demonstrate details (we were a quirky creative bunch).
Although I had been to Israel several times before, I never was there long enough to scope out the Sabra sex scene in depth. The only sexual encounter with an Israeli I had before this semester experience was a one-night stand in Eilat, a city at the southern most tip of the country. It was 6 am and a hundred degrees – the AC was broken, he was humping hard and showering me with sweat and I was too sun burnt to enjoy what I had always expected to be an “exotic” experience.
Yet I was pleasantly surprised with the sexual feats I had this time around – maybe because I was screwing city guys rather than desert hillbillies. Whatever it was, being the exotic flower amidst a land of foreign dicks spoiled me. Attracting men abroad was so easy, and with so many choices and ease my motto became, “first come, first serve.”
I wasn’t even two months into my semester and I already had several random hook ups in clubs/bars/alleyways, was eaten out in a car parking lot and had my first threesome with two hot soldiers. By the third month I had upgraded to an orgy in a yacht party on the Mediterranean, and by the fourth month I was fucking in a five-star club bathroom. By the last month I voluntarily committed to temporary celibacy – being a player in demand was exhausting.
However, towards the end of my intense sexed-up semester, being the foreign chick didn’t feel so glamorous anymore. In fact I started to feel more like a piece of meat rather than honey to bees. The catcalls and feeling like a magnet attracting unwanted attention because of my obvious “outsider” appearance turned me bitter and resentful. I would lash out with a bitchy attitude to any guy who would innocently approach me and say in an accent I used to find sexy, “Vere are you vrom?”
“Not from here and I don’t speak English,” I would harshly respond, in English of course.
Don’t get me wrong – getting a taste of men and sex beyond borders is fun, at first and especially if you find someone you really click with – like several of my friends were lucky to find.
Going abroad changed me and opened my eyes in several ways. One thing I learned is how to appreciate and make the most out of love, lust and relationships on domestic grounds; sex and romance can be just as exotic and romantic at home, sweet home.