Slut Bunk

In the English language, the word “promiscuous” has a pretty unambiguous meaning.

The first defintion in Merriam-Webster’s dictionary: “Having or involving many sexual partners : not restricted to one sexual partner or few sexual partners.”

Well, yes. Any American would understand “promiscuous” to mean exactly this.

So imagine my surprise when, trying to book a bunk on an overnight train from Rome to Sicily, I encountered two room options: “Donna” (women only) and … “promiscuo,” which does indeed translate directly to “promiscuous.”

Hmm… Was the state railroad offering “promiscuous” bunk rooms on its overnight train to Palermo???

I quickly texted an Italian friend for clarification. He explained that, in this context, “promiscuo” simply referred to a mixed-gender room. Apparently the word in Italian didn’t carry the same sexual baggage it did in English.

Without much choice, I booked a bunk in the “promiscuo” cabin. And while I knew this did not (necessarily) portend a slutty voyage, I started imagining how it might.

The same friend who helped with the “promiscuous” translation suggested that there was a small chance I could use Grindr to find some fun during this 12-hour train journey.

So soon after boarding my overnight coach at Roma Termini last month, I opened Grindr and updated my profile. I put my train number in the headline field, and in my bio wrote that I was looking for others on the same train.

And then I waited. The three other bunks in my room were filled with men who I felt relatively certain were straight, which was really tragic in the case of the grey-sweatpants-clad stud in the top bunk.

Nonetheless, I dreamt of my Grindr DMs exploding with other horny gays looking to coordinate a late-night tryst in a secluded corner or water closet. In reality, as I was rocked to sleep by the train’s gentle rumbles, I received only messages from lonely guys in the towns we were speeding past; usually, by the time I viewed the profiles, they were already many miles away.

I feel asleep before 11 p.m., feeling disappointed and pretty sure this “promiscuous” bunk would prove to not be very promiscuous at all. I awoke briefly around 4 a.m. to watch the train be loaded onto a boat (!) as it crossed from mainland Italy to Sicily, and then drifted back to sleep until we approached Palermo a few hours later.

I disembarked in the Sicilian capital with nary a slutty story to tell from my overnight train (though I did find it to be a super comfortable alternative to flying, and I’d choose it again in a heartbeat).

Still, I was optimistic that my time in Palermo would be redeeming. I had good reason to think this: I had messaged my Palermo misterb&b host while still in Rome a couple days earlier, and we almost immediately started exchanging nudes on WhatsApp.

😈 This is your spice warning! 🌶️ If you don’t want the rest of my uncensored report from my time in Sicily, now is a good time to stop reading.

When I asked if I could drop my bags at the misterb&b before exploring the city, he told me, “once you arrive you won’t want to leave.” I replied that I also wanted to see the city, not just the walls of the apartment. “I’ll show you my monument,” he texted back.

Well then. By the looks of it, he did have quite a nice monument that was, indeed, high on my sightseeing list.

And his wasn’t the only such monument I wanted to see: This man was only only half of the misterb&b hosting team, a married gay couple that rented out a spare room in their adorable city apartment.

When I booked the lodging earlier in the fall, I was partially drawn in by the gorgeous photos of the hosting couple posing shirtless on various beaches.

I had showed the photos to a friend, who immediately assumed they were a pair of dom tops that would want to absolutely destroy me. I couldn’t disagree. Though I’m usually not much of a bottom, I took this as an opportunity to get prepared; I purchased a new set of butt plugs and, in the weeks before my trip, started practicing for what I was sure would be a raucous threesome with my Palermo hosts.

Their apartment was my first stop after I arrived in town. They were both home, and welcomed me warmly. My room was ready, so I dropped my bags and then jumped in the shower. After, I pranced around my room naked with the door ajar, hoping to tempt them, or at least tease them, for later.

Then I was off for my day exploring the city. I made a pitstop for a breakfast brioche con gelato before bopping around the cathedrals and palaces of the ancient city center.

That night, I joined my misterb&b hosts in their living room for a bit of tea and cake. We all settled into the couch in front of a huge flat-screen TV, which was blasting some weird Italian gameshow or another.

I let my arm fall to my side and graze that of my host. He seemed pretty absorbed in his post-work phone catchup. Eventually I let my foot also touch his. Then his husband joined in the touching, massaging his partner’s dick over gray sweatpant shorts. The hour was nigh.

He was still on his phone, but he was getting hard. Quite suddenly he threw his arm toward me and grabbed my hard dick over my shorts. I took this as an invitation to do the same to him.