THE SEX DIARIES: Jan’s hands were wide and capable. I was ready to have sex on the beach, right there and then…

Life couldn’t get any better than this. I was in my late twenties and was sitting in a beach bar on the French island of Noirmoutier with Jan, a handsome German I had met a few days earlier. I didn’t dare think about what would happen that night, but I didn’t think about anything else either.

Every time Jan touched my arm, I felt a shiver. He might have accidentally touched me when he reached for his drink, but I hoped that wasn’t the case.

Jan’s hands were wide and capable, not like the boy I had just finished with in London who could barely open a bag of crisps. I was all set for a holiday romance, but I didn’t expect to fall in love on my last night.

Even now, all these years later, I still think about Jan sometimes, especially in the summer months. He is the spirit of the holidays of the past, before marriage, before I had children, before I was so insecure in a bikini, when I could just decide to pack my bags and go. When I was young and free and boys on the beach could still pierce my heart.

It was 2001 and I was on holiday with my brother, who is great company and who enjoyed chasing boys with me – sometimes the same boys.

“Our hands were all over each other, in each other’s clothes,” says Annabel Bond

We stopped in Noirmoutier, in the Vendée region, on our way south. White houses with blue shutters and red roofs pressed against the blue sky, salt marshes cut the landscape into glittering squares. Everyone travelled everywhere by bike.

The bike rental was where I had first seen Jan, two days earlier. In his mid-30s, he had a broad, friendly face and a slightly receding hairline that didn’t diminish his handsomeness. His French was excellent, his vest showing off his broad shoulders. He smiled at me before pedaling off expertly.

My brother and I followed, less efficiently, but soon we were overcome with happiness and we walked, cheering, to the Passage du Gois, a road to the mainland that is only visible at low tide.

As we rode through the glistening plains, I saw Jan ahead of us. My brother is a talkative man, so it was only natural that he waved to Jan as we approached. Perhaps my brother was also admiring Jan from behind, because he soon began chatting about the beauty of French cycle paths.

I didn’t say much; I was shy in socializing and I was busy admiring Jan’s calves. It turned out that Jan led bike tours to exotic places, hence the calves and the language skills. The next day we met Jan again, at a party in one of the villages on the island. Old men were squeaking tunes on their squeeze boxes; ‘throw the hoop’ and table tennis were on the sidewalk.

I’m good at vintage games (it’s the modern ones that amaze me), and while I was still shy with Jan, it was easier to chat while trying to throw balls into a bucket. He was funny and self-deprecating, even in English. He made a joke about Germans never joking, and he was cute with his little nephews. He had a sexy aura of competence.

When my brother invited Jan over for a beer after the fair, we sat on either side of him on bar stools, vying for his attention. I was pretty sure I had the advantage – Jan exuded heterosexual vibes.

We all agreed to cycle together to the town of Noirmoutier the next afternoon, our last day. By the time we reached Plage De Dames, it was too late for a swim, but the bar was open. Jan bought us all a beer, and then another. My brother isn’t a big drinker, and after a while he started to go off and chat to other people. Finally, I had Jan to myself! And the alcohol made it easier to imagine taking a walk on the beach, just the two of us.

As we walked across the uneven sand, we bumped shoulders, touched fingers, and leaned into each other.

When Jan put his arm around me, I fell silent. Suddenly I felt uncomfortable. But when I looked at him, he put his hand on my face and came for a kiss. My discomfort disappeared and I kissed him back enthusiastically.

We kissed for a long time. Then we lay down on the beach and pressed ourselves against each other. As I suspected, Jan was very capable. It was dark, I was tipsy from three bottles of beer, dizzy with lust. Our hands were all over each other, in each other’s clothes.

‘I suggested we go to the beach together, and I kissed him back longingly’

In my youthful exuberance I would have had sex on the beach right then and there. But Jan was wiser and resisted my attempts to undo his belt. ‘You should probably go home,’ he finally said.

“Should I do this?” My heart ached, which was ridiculous; I barely knew him. I hugged him and buried my face in his chest. I knew I would probably never see him again, and that hurt. Pheromones, maybe; maybe Jan and I were genetically extremely compatible. Or maybe it was easier for me to fall for someone who wasn’t available.

We emailed back and forth for a while. Unlike most holiday romances, I desperately wanted Jan to come to London or visit him in Berlin. But he didn’t suggest it, so I didn’t either. But I’ve never forgotten our night on the beach.

Annabel Bond is a pseudonym. Names have been changed