I arrive back at the hotel safely, and, still awake, search for another married man I know who had put the moves on me the day before. Were he to know I was so eager for a good touch-my-toes kind of workout, would he have propositioned me too? Took his turn with me in the back alley too? Who knows. That night a black guy who’s a local there, who I don’t even know, is kind enough to flag me down a taxi. He tells me it was fun and even thanks me. As he does so, he pulls up my shirt, gropes and pulls on my tits. Mmmm, he plunges inside, hard, ramming until he comes. He deftly cups my buttocks, runs his hands across the smoothness of them, squeezes, and then jerks my thin thong aside. ![]() “Nice ass,” he says, summing up his view of me, as if he’s commenting on a football pass on television. With one swift movement, he unleashes my rear from its confines. The perfect quick access portal for us as we fumble about. I didn’t wear them for this purpose, but wow, I’m prepared like a naughty Girl Scout. I hurriedly help him unzip the back of my capris. He pushes me against the rough brick wall. We can hear them talking loudly somewhere nearby. The sounds of cops in the background fuel our urgency. This is the most banal of urges – the need to pump his unsatiated cock into a wet and willing host who also craves release. We move on, searching for a quick spot to fuck. The rocks are irritating and the beach is a bit too public, even for me. But my reasoning is hard to latch onto at this point, and I easily cast it aside, only thinking of the present. In some nearly vacant corner of my mind I recall that he arrived with a wife in tow, pregnant too. ![]() I wear denim capri pants that look painted on they are so tight, platform heels and a summery pastel camisole top. He takes me to a pebbled beach just outside of the club. He knows a slut when he sees one, and I’m all too happy to oblige and prove him right. I don’t even pretend he has any real audacity to judge my willingness so quickly.įace it. But I’m blissfully tanked, and haven’t had any other takers. As my veins now run with nothing but Smirnoff vodka, I let him lead me without even the slightest of refusals. It’s just a question of who from.Ī guy with a cheesy grin who I vaguely recognize as one of the other Soldiers on the trip with us seemingly appears from nowhere in the crowd. My girlfriends have long headed back, but I’m like an animal let loose from her cage, heat-seeking, not ready to end the party. I’m being whatever the moment demands of me. (Later I will feel guilty for my exploits, because he’d had my car spruced up and detailed and presents it to me with pride when I arrive home).įor me, the night is young. My current flavor of the month, a sweet enough American guy who dotes on me but wouldn’t know existentialism if it bit him in the ass, waits for me back in Germany. I ditch my constantly churning mind, absolve any worries, and give my body and soul to the music. ![]() Sweaty bodies with no names, no personal ties, no responsibilities but to have fun. Rhythm pumping in a nightclub somewhere near Barcelona.
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