A Gay Cruising Story. John, our editor for the sexy travel details and cruising information, is eager to share his cruising adventures on the Italian island of Sicily with us and you. John and his future husband take you and us on a journey to warm, sunny, and summery climes on the Mediterranean. And while running into handsome Italian men, he met other queer people from around the world during Catania Pride. Don’t expect full coverage of all details regarding LGBTQ+ life in Sicily or Italy. But instead, enjoy John’s very personal (and intriguingly sexy) Sicily Gay Cruising Story and get inspired for your very own gaycation and gay cruising experience in Sicily with Couple of Men.
Hi – my name is John and I write cruising guides for coupleofmen.com. So far, I’ve written comprehensive guides on popular cruising destinations such as Gran Canaria, Sitges, and Amsterdam. I’ve traveled to many places, not all of which were primarily intended for cruising. That’s why I wanted to present some of these experiences from my point of view, and in a story format, rather than summarize them into a guide. In these stories, I aim to explore the intricacies of cruising, being in an open relationship, jealousy, excitement, and travel. I hope you enjoy reading my stories – let me know in the comments below what you think.
John Ripploh
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Getting lost on the island with hairy Italian men
“Sicily? You? Really?” This was the reaction I got from many friends and coworkers who found out about my plans to visit the Italian island. Having grown fatigued of my usual escapes to Sitges, Gran Canaria, and the like, the very notion of visiting a place not littered with rainbow flags and men wearing Speedos appeared strange yet exciting. While I obviously love those places for what they are, for once I yearned for subtlety and authenticity. Don’t get me wrong, I still hoped to meet others during my travels—but not in the way I was used to. Experiencing the destination was my top priority. Who I met along the way was only a bonus. But this time, rather than walking into a full bar or cruising a beach, I was hoping for a more subtle experience. More low-key. To catch someone’s eye in the open. Feeling the excitement of the unspoken attraction in a place that wasn’t made for it. A gay cruising adventure in Sicily.
Typically, my trips are very well planned. Activities, restaurants, bars, and everything in between are set into a tight schedule. This time, I longingly expected a looser, less structured holiday, knowing only roughly which cities we wanted to visit. I was taking the trip with my lover, who also longed for a change of scenery. We began our journey in Catania, unprepared, with only the impressions I had gathered from Mussolini’s Island. Before the trip, I had devoured this novel with great excitement, following Francesco’s story in the 1930s. Reading the accounts of young gay men congregating under the arches of the city’s railway, hiding from the oppression of fascism, and secretly meeting in the twisting alleyways of the inner city to get together at their dance hall painted a bittersweet (though mostly bitter) image of some gay history of the city I was about to explore. I couldn’t help but wonder how things had changed, and if I would be able to meet a man under the same arches as those boys stood.
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Siciliy – more than “just” gay cruising
The first couple of days in Catania gave us an enormous number of new sights, impressions, smells, and tastes. The city bustled with a mix of locals and travelers. Surrounded by the warmly colored stone buildings, shining brightly under a layer of grime and graffiti, we explored wherever our curiosity took us. We heard Vespas zipping along narrow streets and footpaths. Terrazzos are filled with people meeting for an aperitivo. Markets filled with bellowing men, announcing their wares for sale. These were the impressions that stood out. But throughout it all, we hadn’t met anyone. No secretive looks. No unforeseen conversations with strangers on the street. Not even under the railway arches, as I had daydreamed.
In contrast to the city’s beauty and vibrancy, we felt strangely alone. It felt as if we were among a herd of people, but never part of a crowd. It raised many questions about gay travel and moving to a destination that isn’t particularly known for gay tourism for us. We couldn’t strike up conversations with others because we lacked an intrinsic connection, which felt somewhat alienating. As if there were an invisible barrier we couldn’t break through. In dire need of someone to talk to, discuss, and share our experiences with, we hoped to find someone who could show us everything we had missed and not yet seen. Someone to reveal the local secrets to us, so we could go beyond what was accessible in plain sight, and explore the inner core of the city. To feel a more intrinsic connection to the city, we set out to explore.
On the third day, we finally admitted defeat regarding having a “non-gay” holiday, as we had set out to do before. We googled “Catania gay” and found only one top result: Buio, a gay bar in the city center. Proudly flying a rainbow flag outside their door, we were happy to walk into a place that felt somewhat familiar. We understood the rules and the game its patrons were playing. It was still early, and crowds were slowly gathering on the terrace and on the surrounding streets. Those feelings of being an outsider and alienation quickly melted away. While I hadn’t made any connections yet, beyond a little eye contact here and there, we knew that we had found a place where we could break through the budding loneliness of the days prior. Maybe we had found our personal railway arches, with a hidden dance hall. Perhaps this was what we were looking for all along. Drink after drink, our reservations melted away, and spontaneous connections began to form. Especially from the locals, we wanted to know: Where to go? Whom to meet? What to see? Where to go for gay cruising in Sicily?
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We ended up amidst a small group of local friends. Mixed in ages, they ranged from about 30 to 50, with some couples in between. One of them especially caught my eye. An older man in his fifties. His olive skin deeply contrasted with the white chest hair visible under his button-up shirt. His rolled-up sleeves revealed equally hairy arms, with visible veins. His younger boyfriend’s interest in my lover was clear, as shown by his bearded face. They exchanged glances throughout our conversation. Similarly, I felt the older boyfriend’s magnetism in the way he spoke and smiled at me. It was rare for us to meet another couple who shared our interests. It was clear they were slowly probing us to understand what “kind of couple” we were. Whether we played together with others or not. If we were open to exploring, or if we were “prudes”.
The prodding questions and subtle bodily contact, like a reluctant hand on the shoulder or on the knee, were indicative of the game they were playing, while the rest of the group engaged us on a purely friendly level. Elated and slightly inebriated, the group questioned us about what we had done so far and what our plans were for the rest of our trip. After we laid out our itinerary and intentions, however, the group suddenly fell silent, their smiles wiped off their faces. Scared we might’ve said something offensive, we searched their eyes for understanding, only to be met with cold stares. In utter disbelief, one of them uttered, “That is all very nice, but… you are going tomorrow, right?” They could tell by the puzzled looks on our faces that we were, in fact, not.
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From gay cruising to Sicily Pride in Catania
“…to what?” I asked sheepishly, and the small crowd erupted in a cacophony of Italian emotion and hand gesturing. “To Catania Pride, of course!!” Over what felt like hours, we were introduced to the details and importance of the day to come. We were overjoyed at the prospect of celebrating Pride in a city like Catania. Having been all too used to the gigantic prides back home in Amsterdam, and the anticipation lingering in the air before the festivities began, we started feeling a connection to the city in a way we hadn’t before. Drink after drink, we heard their gleeful stories while slowly inching closer to the older-younger couple, who grew progressively more explicit in how they touched and interacted with us.
Within me, I could feel the excitement for the next day competing with the sexual tension building up among us. I felt the adrenaline coursing through my veins, and I could tell my lover was on the same plane as me, as confirmed by our small “check-in” looks we kept giving each other through the night. The rest of the night blurred by. Arms around each other. A kiss on the terrace. A deeper kiss in the corridor to the bathroom. We are sneaking through the reception of our hotel with two unregistered guests. The relief of the fact that I still had packed condoms after all for our explicitly “non-gay-cruising-holiday”.
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Exploring Catania Pride
The next morning, after saying goodbye to our late-night guests, we dressed in what we thought was the most suitable attire for the occasion: shorts and a tank top. We then had a big breakfast to prepare us for whatever came our way. From our drunken conversations, we had retained the name of the main road the parade would take place on, and our plan was simply to show up and see what would happen. No matter what we had heard last night, we had no idea what to expect. Would this be a giant pride parade or a small group carrying banners? Would it be political? Fun? Sexy? Would it be sponsored by Vodafone, and every other pink-washed company like Pride at home, to capitalize on gay culture?
Catania Pride – definitely NOT what we expected
Full of anticipation, we made our way through the streets of Catania, and from afar we could hear a crowd approaching. We were met with a full-on parade. Thousands of people were marching in unity, holding political banners, dressed in drag, and blasting music from speakers. It lacked the corporate sponsors and logos we were used to from home and had a distinctly homemade feel.
And we were right: It was made by the people for the people and felt both fun and deeply political. We were immediately absorbed by the crowd and pulled along the marching route, stopping only every so often at a kiosk to stock up on beer and arancini. The rest of the parade passed in a rainbow-colored blur of Pride flags, disturbed only occasionally by the stern faces of disapproving bystanders watching from the sidelines with crossed arms. While their presence wasn’t intimidating, their glaring disapproval of these festivities underscored the importance of this gathering in the first place. It was clear that the people of Catania no longer had to hide under the railway arches; they were now out in the open.
After hours of dancing, laughing, and parading, we ended up on the Piazza Vincenzo Bellini, where we sang along to Bella Ciao! with a big group of locals. As memories of what I had read about Francesco and his life under fascism bubbled up within me, it felt validating to be able to sing this old anti-fascist hymn together in unity.
Where to continue after Pride in Sicily?
The parade and people started to die down. The loud songs started to quiet as we desperately tried to find something to do. It was too early to go home, and all the arancini we had wolfed down meant we didn’t need any dinner. On our way to find a bathroom, we passed a group of young guys scheming their next move. By their accent, they were unmistakably American, and the most audible and repeated word in their hectic plan-making was “beach.”
I walked over and asked offhandedly if they knew anything about an after-party. “Yeah, we’re all going to this party at a beach club, it’s going to be sick,” he exclaimed, with an intonation that sounded jockier than expected. We quickly made friends and decided that we could all share cabs to get to this party together.
After a loud, drunken cab ride and a few more introductions, I could hear the bass thumping distantly. The party’s moving laser lights illuminated the sand far above. It was nighttime, and although the sea wasn’t visible anymore, its ever-present roar seemed to be the constant undertone of the music. With our new group by our side, we felt elated to join the boisterous crowd for more drinks and fun. Aware that we were a big group of tourists, we danced among the locals, celebrating the end of this great day.
Gay Cruising after Pride in Sicily
Out of the corner of my eye, I also noticed how my lover was starting to dance very closely with one of our new American friends. In his 20s, he was muscular, wearing a tank top and a backward baseball cap, embodying the classic American jock appeal—something that left me absolutely cold, but I knew would drive my lover mad.
I started to feel the day weighing down on me. The heat. The exhaustion. The beers. Considering this was now the second night in a row of partying and drinking, I knew that I was ready to wrap up the day soon. I wanted to get out of here. I looked for my lover to try to get a cab to our hotel, but he was nowhere in sight. The dance floor was relatively small and manageable, so a quick glance confirmed that he wasn’t around anymore.
Curiously, I walked off from the dancing crowd to explore the surroundings. Maybe for some gay cruising on Sicily? Making my way through stacked lounge chairs and folded umbrellas, stumbling toward the ocean, I couldn’t help but notice I wasn’t the only one who wanted some time away from the party.
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Sicilian heat at the beach
Here and there, under the cover of the darkness, the moonlight illuminated, couples, triples, and little groups having fun with each other. Some people watch the moonlight romantically, others make out heavily, and some go more explicit. Among them, my lover, with his pants around his ankles, reclined on a beach chair, holding the American jock’s head between his hands. A familiar burst of excitement and jealousy coursed through me—a feeling I felt in the pit of my stomach. This wasn’t unfamiliar behavior, and it wasn’t out of the norm for our relationship.
When you aren’t monogamous with each other, you have to learn to accept that the sexuality of your partner doesn’t necessarily always include you. But jealousy always remains like a dark cloud hovering over your rationality, and it takes a good amount of willpower to regulate your emotions, and sometimes it just rubs you the wrong way. I sheepishly returned to the dance floor, hoping he’d cum quickly, so we could go home. I had had it, and all I wanted was to get to sleep. After what seemed like an eternity, and knowing that my lover took ages when he was a bit drunk, I finally saw his face pop up among the crowd. His eyes searched for mine, and while we remained perfectly calm, he could see that underneath the facade, I was pissed. “Let’s go home?” – and in that very moment, there was no better thing he could’ve asked me.
The gay beach close to Noto in Sicily
The next morning, we awoke in a sweat. It was a hot summer day, and last night’s dehydration made the morning even more painful. This feeling trumped whatever animosity was left over from last night, which we could write off as yet another party shenanigan we fell into. It was clear that we needed a change of scenery. No bars or thumping bass lines tonight. All we wanted was to nurse this hangover somewhere quiet. After gulping down gallons of cold water, I heard someone in the other room say, “I know where we can go.” “Am I going to like it?” I asked coyly. He nodded. Not long after, we made our way toward Noto. “I found this place online”, he explained, “I think it’s exactly what we need. As we drove along the highway, the scenery shifted from small villages to pure nature, and we arrived at a nature reserve.
We parked our car and hiked along a nature trail. It seemed as if we were far away from civilization, with no cars, shops, or roads in sight. The beauty of the natural dunes was only surpassed by the glorious display of the roaring ocean in front of us. Along the shoreline, couples were lounging in the sun, some with kids, some in groups of friends. “I read online that once we’re facing the ocean, we have to trek all the way to the right until we arrive beneath a massive dune.” As we walked along, the couples with kids became fewer and fewer, and more of them seemed to be couples of men. At the same rate the kids were disappearing, swimwear was getting sparser too, with many couples sunning in the nude. I was beyond excited. The very thing I had sworn off before this holiday was now exactly what I wanted and needed.
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Naked among Sicilian gay men
Surrounded by other naked couples of men, we took off our clothes and before even setting up our towels, took off running into the sea. Whatever hangover or negative energy remained from last night simply melted away in the cool water under the shining sun. The inherent sense of freedom, to exist without clothes in nature, to not be judged or afraid of others, felt very liberating—maybe even more so than singing Bella Ciao! in unison. Lying at the beach, surrounded by others enjoying the same freedom, felt like a small pride parade in itself. Void of political messages or angry bystanders, the beach encapsulated all the aspects of freedom I yearned for. We spent the day in and out of the water, occasionally leaving the other behind with the towels to have a nude walk through the big dunes, to see who we could come across. It’s ironic that the very thing that caused me to feel upset the day before was now perfectly fine. That’s the interesting thing about open relationships. Your boundaries are often contextually dependent – and while both days boiled down to having sex with strangers on the beach, it just pushed different buttons. Why exactly that is, I’ll never know.
Read more: Gay cruising tips: A practical, safe & respectful guide for men who love men
We enjoyed our day at the beach so much that we decided to return the next day. It was my turn to guard our belongings and towels when my lover returned from the dunes, exclaiming, “Look who I found!” He was followed by our two unregistered overnight guests from a few days prior. We hugged and greeted. They set up their towels close to ours. We were happy to spend more time together. Once we fully embraced the beach’s calm atmosphere, we cycled between going into the water, basking in the sun, and exploring the dunes. When it truly felt like nothing could disturb the perfect peace—that’s when it happened. I was suddenly awakened from my sleepy beach nap by what sounded like a high-pitched, unbalanced whistle. I sat up in shock, my heart pounding, and felt the whole atmosphere shift in a split second. Something was going on, but I didn’t know what. Couples around us scrambled, reaching into their bags, and… pulling up their swimsuits? All around me, men were fumbling to withdraw strings and Speedos to hide their bare bodies. Alarmed by their panic, I joined in and pulled up my swimsuit. Amidst all the commotion, I could identify the source of the whistling and shouting. A stocky, balding man, seemingly breathless from the effort of walking through the sand with his shoes on, in a uniform (albeit one with shorts), was blowing into a whistle, yelling, “Costumi da bagno! Costumi da bagno! Mettiti i costumi da bagno subito.” One couple argued back in Italian too fast for me to decipher, all the while gesticulating wildly.
Police rattling the moral cage at an official nude beach
An argument ensued until they, too, begrudgingly put on their bathing suits, and the man in uniform moved along toward the cruising dune. “What the hell was that?!” I whispered to our Italian company. “Just wait…” he said, staring intently at the uniformed man, who was finally disappearing into the dune. And just like that, all the tension that had just built up suddenly disappeared. Within an instant, all the swimwear came off again, almost simultaneously. Some stood up, rebelliously shaking their cocks in the direction of the dune, shouting and celebrating. The natural order of things had been restored. “They come along here sometimes… They don’t have any real power, but they like to give you a fine. Even though this is a nudist beach, they want to enforce the morals,” he said, wagging his fingers in air quotes, rolling his eyes, and smiling.
We ended up visiting the beach several days that summer. It was the only time we saw the man in the uniform, and we were never forced to put on our swimsuits again. But the event reminded me of how nudity and cruising are all components of our fight for freedom that others want to suppress actively. Liberty and freedom, it seems, are not solely achieved by waving signs at a Pride protest, but also by waving your dick in the sun—even in the face of authority. Our idea of not having another gay cruising holiday faded in light of our discovery of this gay beach, and I was once again happy to have found refuge among other men just like me. Those who refuse to wear a Speedo, even when they’re told to.
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John’s Sicily Gay Cruising Story
The final note from John about his Sicily Gay Cruising Story: This story is based on real events that took place in Sicily. Some names and events were changed in order to protect the privacy of those involved.
Disclaimer: The contents of this website were written with due diligence and to the author’s best knowledge. Please always be aware of the local laws and behavioral guidelines regarding cruising in public and public sexual encounters, even on the beach, in the forest, or wherever it might happen. Our cruising guides and cruising stories aren’t meant to support unlawful behavior; they’re meant to add an adventurous note to your trip.
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