Disinfo: Sex and the Olympic City

Matthew Syed | Times:I am often asked if the Olympic village — the vast restaurant and housing conglomeration that hosts the world's top athletes for the duration of the Games — is the sex-fest it is cracked up to be. My answer is always the same: too right it is. I played my first Games in Barcelona in 1992 and got laid more often in those two and a half weeks than in the rest of my life up to that point. That is to say twice, which may not sound a lot, but for a 21-year-old undergraduate with crooked teeth, it was a minor miracle.Barcelona was, for many of us Olympic virgins, as much about sex as it was about sport. There were the gorgeous hostesses — there to assist the athletes — in their bright yellow shirts and black skirts; there were the indigenous lovelies who came to watch the competitions. And then there were the female athletes — literally thousands of them — strutting, shimmying, sashaying and jogging around the village, clad in Lycra and exposing yard upon yard of shiny, toned, rippling and unimaginably exotic flesh.