Foreigners as fetish: We love bonking blokes abroad claims rampant rambler Adrian Gillan.

Gay boys travel for it, and that’s official: half of us take at least three breaks abroad each year according to recent surveys – more than our straight fellows. And whether beach boy or city boy, we know what packages we’re really after, taking our own horny stereotypic psychological baggage along with us.

Some gays go rather generically for Asians or Orientals, for Whites, Hispanics or Blacks. But most of us can be rather more specific than these predominantly merely physical categories. We get turned on by the very national identities or global “brands” of the guys we’re about to strip down and man-handle. From accents to mannerism, it’s a kind of worldwide role-play, often driven by far-off, far-fetched fantasies, fuelled by all manner of inferiority and superiority complexes.

We assume a German will be lean and fit with a big ding-dong and put on a clinical, manly show. We guess an Italian with prove a well-proportioned and passionate performer. We bet a Yank will crank his clank like a right porn trooper. In Moscow I’m being seen to by some half-imagined pale but beautiful Cossack peasant with soulful eyes. The next day I’m in Belfast, sorting some tough Catholic lad.

It’s like having a virgin: my first bent Pole, my inaugural great Dane, South African or Brazilian. It’s the same thrill of unwrapping and then knowing the hitherto unknown. You’re not just mauling a member; it’s an all-American tool, a hot Spanish knob or a cool Finnish throbber. Those sweetmeat balls become Belgian bollocks or Norwegian nads.

And the more obscure the nation, the greater the coup! There are only two hundred thousand Icelanders on the planet; only half of them are men; and nearly all of them are gorgeous. And you’ve got one of their geysers - their national pride and joy !!

In the end, the pay off for these global ball games comes because sex is the great leveller. Regardless of the genuine or clichéd differences in our respective “ways of life”, a skilfully deployed appendage knows no boundaries, and you’ll always end up shooting across borders with your native tongues. All this is great for foreign relations - drawing together countless nationalities the world over. It’s nice to come home, but nicer to bring home memories of that holiday romance or bedroom or backroom binge.

Thankfully the feeling is mutual! Many foreigners seem turned on by a perceived British arrogance or reserve – all that imperial baggage in their closet rather than ours – or fall straight for the accent, however classy or common. It’s not a bad idea to start enunciating very clearly about what Prince Harry is really like the moment you enter the local gay joint.

Gay scenes are pretty similar the world over, all variations on a theme. You scarce need an adaptor to plug into the usual bars, clubs, saunas and parks. Touch down, find a pub, chat to the barman, pick up a mental map and you’ll soon find your ball bearings. However, don’t overdo the sangria, get frisky, and then risky! And, though doubtless true you don’t really know a country until you’ve shagged the locals, if you visit somewhere and that is all you do, you are not just gay - you are dumb and gay darling. So take a look around!

Of course, you scarce need leave a city like London where there’s a veritable global village down the local queer quarter. But that shouldn’t stop you playing host to our foreign guests - offering a warm, heart-felt passage on landing. And, home or away, the message is clear to all you migrant mollies, randy rovers and touring tarts: Don’t completely jettison your international preconceptions and don’t be afraid to hoist your own overblown flag a notch too high, for this is oft the best passport to naked, native nights of passion and lazy days full of foreign f****s.

Adrian Gillan