Montreal: Montreal is bad news for me in every possible, delicious way. Every time I visit this Francophonic city, I seem to eat too much, drink too much and get into naughty troubles, seduced into excess by the mischievous locals. There’s something about the Québécois. The women are outstandingly beautiful and the men are sweet charmers. They take their earthy pleasures seriously, from food, wine, family bonds, and music to sex, with a graceful slower pace that feels more “South-of-France” than “North-of-Albany-New York.”
Flirting, for Montréalers, is an art form and social imperative. Everybody flirts with everyone, just because it feels good. It’s is not about getting into someone’s pants, as others may believe, but showing one’s charm, wit and tickling the world pink. Women flirt gregariously with everyone, and men are remarkably open to flirting without concern for gender or sexual preference.
Over and over, I watched totally straight men reciprocate flattering flirts from gay men. No over-compensating hetero blustering followed, much less fights or bashings. Everyone felt more attractive than before, and went their merry way.
I like to think of the Québécois as descendants of the French who were far too naughty for France.
Toronto: Although much maligned by rest of Canada as their pushy, over-achieving, self-absorbed sibling, Toronto ranks high in my Sexy City scale. Canadians from other regions tell me that Toronto is dirty and the locals rude, but it sure seems neat, clean and friendly from my American perspective.
Torontonians take their organizational capability seriously with a high degree of motivation to action and activism. They’re also deeply proud of their city’s great diversity. This extends to organizing resources, parties and fun for sexual minorities and special affinity groups of all sorts. There’s a reason why Toronto has the largest Pride parade and party in North America.
The party scene rocks. NorthBound Leather’s annual Leather Ball is a wall-to-wall high-energy dance party extravaganza with a professionally produced fetish-fashion show worthy of any Fashion Week. The dance floor is packed and writhing with well-muscled leathermen, dykes and hets alike.
The Pussy Palace is a unique and cheekily notorious bathhouse for women and trans. Once every so often, they take over a huge gay bathhouse for the night and make it into a delightfully debauched palace of sex positivity for women and trans. They’re so organized that locals take shifts as community-minded volunteer service providers. Yes, service providers. They’re good, too. Just take my word on this.
Taking their penchant for organization further, years ago when the police, raided the club, locals quickly formed committees and taskforces to address the injustice. Recognizing that the police were uninformed in the ways of sexual minorities, they turned it around to educate the law enforcement on better community relations with the GLBTQI folks.
Sydney: If you want sun, surf, and sexy boys and girls who know how ask for serious fun and get it good, don’t go to L.A. (L.A. women are constantly confiding to me about how bad the sex and dating life is down there.)
Go to Sydney, Australia.
It doesn’t seem to matter what orientation you are—if you don’t get lucky in Australia, you’re not trying. On the other hand, they hate “tall poppies”—that’s a person who has to stand out a lot. So don’t boast about how great you are or your success. Locals consider that sort of behavior one of the biggest turn-offs about Americans.
Of course, you have to learn to bend your ear to the sound of Aussie English and pick up some key local lingo of love. Here are some samplings for your multi-cultural education and foreign-fluid exchange:
“Root” is not part of a plant, nor is it something you do for your favorite sports team. Unless you are gang-banging them, in which case it would be correct usage. It means to have sex or to “shag.”
So if a “bloke” (guy) is called a “wombat,” he does what wombats do—eats, roots and leaves!
If a “Sheila” (gal) you fancy wants to show you her “map of Tassie,” you’re not taking a road trip to the triangular isle of Tasmania off the south coast of Australia (commonly called Tassie). Instead you’ll be guided to her charming personal triangular patch. You may find her wearing a “thong,” the floss-thin underwear or “knickers,” as well as a “thong,” the ubiquitous rubber flip-flop sandals.
Sydneysiders, as the locals call themselves, are gregarious, sunny in personality and tell you like it is (but not like they tell you like it is in New Yawhk.) They’re quite lusty and bawdy, but fortunately take rejections well, with a good sense of humor.
Kyoto: This one’s slightly off my criteria, but I just have to share it. As is true with the rest of Japan, the sex-positive movement hasn’t hit the local consciousness yet. However, Kyoto is sensual, languid, slow and seductive in a way that no other place in Japan is. Exquisite delights of the senses pervade the ethos of this ancient capitol, whether it’s the first, tender, fiddle-head fern floating in a clear broth, or the wet-silk caress of the summer air.
As a Tokyoite, where life is fast and stressed with an edge of desperation, Kyoto always beckoned like a harlot from a bygone era, versed in the mystery of arousal and knowing that desire is most delicious when prolonged and never fully sated. Even in conversations, the graceful residents of Kyoto delight in subtle innuendos and live comfortably with ambiguity. Just watch how the wrinkled old ladies giggle with twinkling eyes. You just know that they’ve had some fine romps in their day.
Of course, I’m still in the midst of my life’s travels, so more sexy cities will be added as I discover and experience new places! Got someplace you love the lust life? Let me know and I’ll add it to my bucket list!
Hot Cities from Part 1:
• San Francisco