One Hot Summer |

This continues from my last about Penny. It is a bit of a travelogue, touching on the , Drugs, and Rock n Roll era of the early seventies. But although this was a summer of ual excess, I’d like to point out that I did not bang every girl I met. Like any guy, I missed out far more with the ladies than I ever scored.

Curiously, If I went out with the sole intention of picking up a quick bonk, more often than not, I didn’t get a look in. I must have tried too hard or hit on the wrong ladies. Whereas when I was out minding my own business and was the last thing on my mind, then I often found myself in the most extraordinary situations. These are the stories I write about. Who wants to hear about dismal failures?

——

Three days after Penny and I said farewell outside my mate Brian’s flat, I disembarked from the ferry in Calais. I hoped to hitch to Venice, where my mate Geoff was working at the Fusina camping ground. I picked up a ride almost immediately. It was a woman coming off the ferry, driving one of those small Citroen 2 CVs that looks more like a baby’s pram than a car. I threw my rucksack over to the back seat and checked her out as I got in. It was very unusual to get picked up by a single woman, and the last time this had happened, I wound up bonking the lady driver in the back seat. But that would not be very comfortable in the back of a Citroen 2CV.

She drove me to Paris, took me to the other side, and dropped me at a Gas station. I’m sure she went well out of her way to do this. I remember she detoured alongside the Eiffel Tower. I’d seen it before, but was impressed as always.

After a couple of crazy rides with Frenchmen, I slept in a barn only a few miles short of Chamonix for the night. I remember it being freezing, even though I was fully dressed and wrapped in my sleeping bag. The following day, I made it to Chamonix, where I had breakfast in a small cafe. I then spent a couple of hours attempting to pick up a ride to take me through the Mont Blanc tunnel into Italy. Finally, a truck stopped, but he only took me up to the tunnel entrance and dropped me next to twenty other hitchhikers. I tried to talk him into taking me through the tunnel, but he wouldn’t budge and insisted that I get out.

I walked over to join the group waiting for rides, and to my immense joy, a single girl was waiting at the end of the line. Dropping my rucksack next to hers, I asked how long she had been waiting. She looked at me with a worried expression, and the look in her eyes told me that she hoped I would be her white knight and save her.

Worriedly, she said, “I hope you are not in a hurry. I’ve been here two hours, and I believe the people at the front of the line have been here two days.”

She was Australian, so I immediately felt some affinity with her. Fuck! Two days, not what I wanted to hear. I informed her I needed to be in Venice the following day. “Why is no one stopping?” I asked.

“They say everyone is scared of taking people through the tunnel, as Italian customs is immediately on the other side of the tunnel, and they check hitchhikers for drugs, which implicates the owner of the truck or car if any are found. The truck drivers won’t take the risk.”

As she explained this, I looked for somewhere to pitch my tent, just in case I was still stuck at the border at nightfall. I noticed a Rover with GB plates coming up the hill. A husband and wife were in the front, and two kids were in the back. Figuring it may be my only chance, I ran to the Rover and stepped around to the passenger side as they stopped. The wife wound down the window, and I asked if I could get a ride through the tunnel with them. 

Before she could answer, I blurted out, “I need to be in Venice tomorrow, and I’ve just learned that some people have been stuck here for two days.”

“Why?” The wife asked.

“I’m told they suspect hitchhikers will be carrying drugs, and customs searches people at Italian checkpoint on the other side of the tunnel. I assure you I don’t have any drugs on me. Not even cigarettes.”

The husband shook his head, but the wife said yes and told the children to move over and let me in. They had a roof rack loaded with their cases and covered in a tarp. So I raced back, grabbed my rucksack, loosened one of the tiedowns, and secured it on top. The boy hopped out, saying I had to sit in the middle next to his sister. I looked over at the line of hitchhikers and saw that I was getting filthy looks. I definitely broke some hitchhiker’s code by pushing my way in front of them. But it was the Australian girl I felt most awkward about, and I didn’t dare look her way. Scared of the look of betrayal she would have on her face.

The son looked about ten and gave me a look that said sitting next to his sister was a fate worse than death. And when I squeezed in beside her, I saw she was not a happy camper either.

She was a pretty girl, about twelve years old. As we sat in line waiting to be cleared by French customs, I noticed a distinct tension in the car. It was apparent they had all been arguing. I tried to ease the tension by smiling at the daughter and engaging her in conversation. She reluctantly smiled back and told me her name, then said in the next sentence that her brother was an idiot. I replied that all brothers are idiots at that age.

The brother interrupted and said some derogatory things about his sister. I replied that he would want her to introduce him to her girlfriends in a few years. He shook his head vehemently, “I hate girls.”

His mother turned to admonish him, and he reacted by asking why it was different for his father. “He hates girls too. Dad and you are always arguing, and he’s always talking about ‘ women drivers’.

Well, the car erupted. The mother told the son he was not to use language like that. The father denied he’d ever said that, and the son replied, “That was what he said all the time.” I knew I should have kept out of it, but I was scared this was going to end in myself and maybe one of the kids being ejected from the car.

So I waded in and played the peacemaker. Something I had always been good at. The jibes and accusations didn’t cease until we pulled up at the customs booth at the entrance to the tunnel. I handed my passport over, and with hardly a look at us, the customs officer waved us through.

As soon as we were underway, the wife turned and asked me where I was from and what my job was. For the next eleven kilometres, I entertained them with stories from my travels and told the odd joke to get them laughing. Even the husband began to lighten up, smile at some of my stories, and ask me questions.

When we exited the tunnel, we pulled straight into the queue for Italian Customs. In less than a minute, we were through. The officer hardly glanced at us. I saw a layby about two hundred yards up the road, and as the husband handed my passport back, I asked him to drop me there. But the wife interjected and said they would take me through to Turin, as they were all enjoying my company. 

I don’t think the husband was overly excited about his wife’s arrangement. And when he pulled over at the layby, I half expected him to override her decision. But the wife told him to take the kids to the toilets while we guarded the luggage. Hubby, somewhat reluctantly, gathered up the two children and walked off to the ablution block. The wife and I got out to stretch our legs and leaned against the car, sunning our faces. She was super friendly, almost flirting with me. I was somewhat relieved when the others returned.

When we were all back in the car and ready to get going again, the wife insisted that the son get in the front with his father, and she climbed in the back next to her daughter. Apprehensive, I climbed beside her, feeling her hip rubbing against mine.

We talked all the way to Turin. And as we reached the outskirts, I asked if they could drop me off at a gas station on the other side of town. The husband agreed. He had noticeably mellowed towards me. He must have realised things were much more peaceful in the car since they picked me up. As we got to the far side of Turin, the husband announced they would stop for lunch. I offered to pay, as I had the money that Penny’s mum had given me. But they wouldn’t hear of it, and I sat down to a meal of spaghetti, salad and a selection of breads. They told me they owned a holiday home near Livorno and could take me to Tortona, where they needed to veer south. This was music to my ears. If I got a good ride from there, I might be close to Venice by nightfall.  

They dropped me off at a Gas station just before the turnoff to Livorno. In the last few miles, the wife had asked me where I would stay when I returned to London. Once they heard I wasn’t sure yet, everyone in the car insisted I stay with them. Surprisingly, even the husband didn’t seem to mind. She climbed out and wrote down their address. Then reached up and kissed me goodbye. The son was the only one to see our kiss, and he gave me a cheeky grin. 

I often had married women flirt with me, and I always found it uncomfortable. So, I slipped the address into my wallet while she watched, intending to discard it as soon as they were out of sight.

I couldn’t have waited more than ten minutes before another English guy stopped. He was driving a  3litre Ford Capri, a car I dreamed of owning one day. He took me all the way to Parma, where I picked up another ride to Bologna. By nightfall, I was just outside Ferrara, a twohour drive from Fusina, Venice. I saw a road worker’s shed that offered some shelter to roll my sleeping bag out and spent the night there.

The next day was a bit slower, but I made Fusina just after lunch. Two and a half days to hitch from London to Venice, I reckoned that had to be close to a record. 

Geoff and Renato (the camp’s owner) warmly welcomed me and dished me some leftover spaghetti. After I had pitched my tent, I got a list of jobs that needed doing. As I explained in another about Fusina, Renato never charged Geoff and me. He was happy to have us there to entertain the travellers who arrived each night on the tour buses. But we tackled some of the camp’s jobs to cover our food and wine. We only had to pay for our beer, and often, he’d slip us that for nothing as long as we didn’t abuse the privilege.

Every night was a party. By this visit to Fusina, I had caught onto the fact that Geoff and Renato had some beer bottles filled with cold tea under the bar. And as I was to stay for nine days on this visit, I’d begun to have a wine with dinner, then a couple of beers to get in the mood before hitting the cold tea for the rest of the evening. The parties and women are just a blur now. But there are a couple of episodes that stand out on this visit. 

On the fifth night, a twelveseater Protea Tours bus full of South African girls arrived. My mate Geoff latched onto Helen, a pretty girl from the bus, so I began chatting up her friend Carol. We exchanged banter and laughs, and although she was not the prettiest girl in the bar, I got along famously with her.

A third friend (Briana) was travelling with them, and Renato took a shine to her. In my previous visits to Fusina, I’d never seen Renato play up once, so I was more than a little surprised.

Carol made it plain right from the start that she did not play around, and if I wanted a quick bonk, she could point out the girls on her bus who were free with their favours. I laughed, and when we were dancing, I asked her to point out these loose women. I could have picked out three of the girls she pointed to with my eyes closed. They were busy making eyes at every guy in the bar. But one quiet, petite brunette, I wouldn’t have guessed, and I was sorely tempted to make a beeline for her. But I didn’t want to be a cad, so I turned back to Carol and said I was happy to have a quiet night and talk with someone I liked. And this was true. Most nights at Fusina, I got a woman in my tent. So, the few nights we guys missed out were a relief as it was good to get a long night’s sleep.

As the party reached its peak and everyone was getting a little pissed, it came up that Renato owned a Speedboat. And the three girls began pestering him to take them for a ride. He was not at all keen, but when the girls mentioned skinnydipping, Geoff and I also began to pressure Renato.

He told us to head down to the jetty, and he’d go get the key. So, the five of us left the bar and wandered along the road to the jetty. The girls were all a bit pissed and were drinking from a bottle of wine. We stopped at the end of the road next to a shed and waited for Renato. He turned up, opened the shed, pulled out a red petrol tank and some life jackets, and then directed us down the path to the jetty.

We all cracked up when we caught sight of his speedboat. It was nothing more than a fourteenfoot dinghy with a fivehorsepower outboard hung on the back. The bow was enclosed for about two feet, with a windscreen and even a steering wheel. But I immediately saw the steering wheel was not connected to the outboard. Maybe it was attached to a rudder in the previous century, but not now.

When we all regained our composure and could stand up straight again, we decided that, having come that far, we would motor out into the bay and take in the lights of Venice. I must admit the promise of seeing the girls skinny dipping had a lot to do with my decision.

Briana climbed in first, super keen to steer the boat. She was a big girl and struggled to fit herself into the seat behind the wheel. We all piled in after her. 

Renato sat at the back, hooked up the tank and gave a pull on the starter cord. Wonders never cease. The motor started the first pull, and we puttered out into the channel. Then, the fun began. Briana would spin the steering wheel in one direction, and Renato would swing the motor the other way. Briana was getting increasingly flustered with her efforts, screaming, ‘There was something wrong with it’. The rest of us were almost falling out of the boat with laughter. She had no idea what was going on.

Eventually, we got out into the bay, and Renato got Geoff to drop anchor alongside one of the shipping channels. Much to our enjoyment, the girls stood, stripped, and dived overboard. I had my gear off and was seconds and dived in behind them, only to find we were in no more than two feet of water. I went about three feet into thick, squishy mud. Not at all happy, I tried to wash some of the mud off and climb back into the boat.

But the girls loved it. They began to have a mud fight with Geoff and then turned to pelt Renato and me with handfuls of stinky mud. Knowing the situation, Renato had not bothered to remove his clothes and was nearly tipping the boat over to duck the incoming handfuls of muck.

Eventually, we all cleaned up as best we could and motored back to dry land. The girls wrapped towels around themselves and headed for the shower. Seeing that Geoff was joining Helen in the shower, I joined Carol. She let me but again warned me there would be no funny business. But I got the chance. I gave her breast a playful squeeze anyway, and when she didn’t stop me, I tweaked her nipple. However, when I moved my hand up and grabbed a handful of the other breast, she pulled away.

“You promised. No funny business.”

“I didn’t. You just took my silence for agreement. But I’m sorry, it’s hard to behave when you have such a perfect figure,” and I pulled back and helped rid her hair of all the mud.

When we stepped out of the shower, she let me dry her with my towel, which was much cleaner than hers. Naturally, I was very free with where I placed my hands, and She began to show signs of arousal. But just when I was starting to believe I might get lucky, she reluctantly pulled away and walked away to her tent.

I didn’t bother to put any clothes on. I held the towel around me, walked to my pup tent, and crawled in. I lay there for about five minutes, thinking how much fun that night had been. I wondered if Carol would come and say goodbye in the morning or if I had burnt my bridges.

The thought had barely left my mind when I heard my zip being drawn, and Carol poked her head in the flap.

“Helen has Geoff in our tent, and they’re not sleeping. Can I lie with you for a bit?”

“Sure,” I rolled to the side and let her climb in beside me. I was surprised to see she still hadn’t dressed and had nothing but the towel wrapped around herself.

She spooned into me in the fetal position, and I wrapped my arms around her. There was a noticeable loosening of her body. She had been uptight about joining me. Accidentally, my hand landed on her breast, and as there was no complaint, I began to explore. Soon, I had her purring like a cat, and suddenly, when she started to get animated and vocal, she pulled away and spun around to face me. A surge of disappointment assailed me. I thought I had blown it, and she was about to scold me and rush away.

But Carol looked into my eyes, “I’d like you to show me some different ways of doing it.”

I didn’t bother to ask why the sudden change of mind but asked what ways she had tried before?”

“I’ve only ever slept with my boyfriend, and it’s always been the normal way.”

“Well, get on your hands and knees then. We will start with ‘doggy’.”

She was on her knees in a flash, which was the start of a fantastic night of experimentation. The dirtier I got, the more excited and adventurous she became. I even offered her juices up to her lips, and she sucked them up like they were honey.

We finished with another fantastic doggy fuck at daybreak, and I was sorry to see her leave. It was a nice change from wondering how to say goodbye without hurting the lady’s feelings as most nights ended.

At breakfast, Geoff reckoned he had had a terrific night. Said Helen was an amazing fuck. I just nodded my head and grinned. Words were not going to describe the night I had had. We looked at Renato “What,” he said. “I slept alone. The ugly ones always think I am too good for them.”

It was a while before we all stopped laughing.

There is a photo of Renato, Helen, Geoff, Carol, and me, plus some others that I will post in ‘ Photos’. They have jogged many other moments from that summer. 

From the day Geoff arrived at Fusina in late May, Renato had written the name of every girl Geoff had slept with up on the wall of the bar. In three and a bit months, there were eightyfour names on the wall. Helen was to be the last name on the list.

Two days after the girls left, Geoff’s wifetobe returned for the’ T’Day festival. She had been number fiftysix and fiftynine on the list (The only one that appeared twice). And the day after the festival, Geoff travelled with her to the Munich Beer Festival. They were married within the year.

I travelled to Munich with ‘TJ’, who is in the frontcentre of the photo. His was interesting. He was American and much older than us guys. Geoff and TJ have remained friends over the years. TJ was thirtyfive, whereas Geoff and I were twentytwo. TJ owned a nearnew VW camper van and travelled with a lovely Australian lady from Perth.

One night, TJ showed us photos of his exwife. She was stunning and had auditioned for some parts in films. At one of the auditions, she met up with Jack Lemon, the actor, and they eloped together. I think the affair only lasted a few months, but TJ was very bitter, sold the family home, and hit Europe. He never mentioned her again after that night.

Anyway, back to the . As I said, I arrived in Munich’s Thalkirchen Campingplatz in TJ’s kombi van. I set my pup tent up alongside, and the party began. Many people from the Fusina’ T’ Day festival travelled up, so there had to be more than fifty guys and girls in our group. Some were sleeping in their vans, but most were in tents like me. We partied all day and headed into the beer halls around 6:00 pm every night.

I paced myself the first couple of nights, but something snapped in my head on the third night, and I threw caution to the wind. I’ve never been a huge drinker. I could hold my own when I needed to, but the hangovers always hit me hard, so most nights, I knew when to stop. That night, however, I went past the point of no return, and the guys began plying me with one litre Steins of the house beer.

At some point in the evening, a woman latched onto me. I was well past the point of trying to pick anyone up. I was in my showoff, entertaining mood and was up on the table doing downtrows and being egged on by my mates to do silly stuff.

I was told later that she was slightly older than me and reasonably attractive. Some of my mates tried to lure her away from me, saying I’d be no use to her. But she evidently clung to me like a limpet and resisted everyone else’s advances. I was hers, and she was ready to fight off other women with eyes on me.

I remember her dragging me out of the beer hall, and we set off to find TJ’s van. I had absolutely no idea where it was parked. I’m surprised I was even walking. I was that drunk. But we came across a twelveseater Pacesetter Travel bus. I knew it was parked near us at Thalkirchen camp, as I’d tried to chat up some girls on it earlier in the day. It had a fulllength roof rack on top with a ladder at the rear, so I helped the woman up on top, wrapped us in the tarp bundled up there, and settled down to wait for the driver to return.

We must have fallen asleep, as I vaguely remember waking up, climbing down and crawling into my pup tent, where we must have fallen asleep again.

The next thing I remember is Geoff waking me up with a bowl of porridge, a coffee and some aspirin. I had the hangover to beat all hangovers. He asked me if I remembered anything about the night.

“I think I picked up a woman, and I think I fucked with her,” I mumbled.

Geoff fell backwards out of the tent, laughing. He laughed so hard that others in the camp came over to see what the noise was all about. And when he had calmed enough to speak, he stuttered out, “The prick thinks he slept with a woman!”

Everyone else cracked up laughing then. I just lay there, my head feeling like it had a Jackhammer inside it. I wished they’d all leave me alone. Finally, Geoff climbed back to sit at the end of the airbed and told me what had happened.

“Before daybreak this morning, half the camp was woken by the noise from your tent. The woman you had in there was yelling to god and anyone else she could think of about how good you were her. A good group of us, woken by the noise, gathered around, cheering you on. You sure you can’t remember it?”

It vaguely came back to me, but I didn’t remember much. Then Geoff asked me how I got home.

“I do remember part of that,” I replied. “We crawled up on top of that Pacesetter Travel bus, parked near the toilets. But I don’t remember the trip home. Just my waking up and climbing off the bus sometime in the night. It was cold.”

By this time, several people were sitting at the entrance of my tent, listening. It was pointed out that on the way back to the camp, a rail overbridge was under repair and covered in scaffolding. They mentioned that if we had sat up while going under that bridge, we would have been decapitated, as they had followed the bus, and it only cleared the scaffolding by two or three inches.

Then everyone began asking who the woman was. Some of the group had seen her with a guy before she latched onto me. An early riser had seen her leave my tent at daybreak and wander down to the other end of the camp. They said she was dishevelled and halfdressed. So Geoff looked around my tent, and under the airbed, he found her panties, a sock, and a head scarf.

After downing the porridge and aspirins, I went back to sleep and didn’t rise until midafternoon. And when I did show my face, I was not surprised to find I was the butt of everyone’s jokes. Even my mate’s girlfriends were all giving me hell. The main topic of conversation all day had been who the woman was. The consensus was that she was English, married and holed up somewhere in the camp in a tent or motorhome, not daring to show her face. No one ever caught sight of her again, and half the camp was looking out for her. Her panties were raised onto a pole beside someone’s tent, the pride of the camp for the next few days.

That night, everyone insisted I return to the beer hall with them. I wanted to have an early night. But as it was our last night, and I was travelling back to London with TJ and his partner the next day, I relented. After dinner and another couple of aspirins, I was feeling a lot better but swore I would not be touching a drop of alcohol. 

When we got to the Hofbräuhaus, I parked myself in a corner on the edge of our group and sat back to watch my mates making idiots of themselves. They were knocking back steins of beer and giving every Fraulein that walked past lots of cheek.

Around 9:00 pm, two German girls came and sat beside me. They were young and attractive, one of them especially so. I’ll call them Heidi and Ingrid. Heidi was the blond stunner, and she spoke really good English. Ingrid was a brunette and looked much younger. But she had to be eighteen, as they were really hot on underage people getting into the beer halls without their parents.

Heidi sat Ingrid beside me and leaned over her to do much of the talking, as Ingrid seemed very shy. My friends were all giving me incredulous looks, one of my mates throwing his hands in the air and mouthing’ you tinny bastard’. And it wasn’t long before some of the guys were over trying to chat up Heidi, the supposedly spare girl.

I must admit, I was putting all my efforts into Heidi and would happily have shared Ingrid with any of the others. But Heidi was having none of it. She made it plain to all who tried that they were only interested in me. And I started to think that a threesome was on. Even more so, when a short while later, Heidi asked me to leave with them and travel to Ingrid’s home.

You might imagine the shit I took as I was dragged out of the Hofbräuhaus by two attractive girls. My next memory is sitting with the two girls on a train travelling out into Munich’s suburbs. We had been travelling for over half an hour, and when we pulled into a station, Heidi made to get off. I leapt up to follow her, but she gave me a y kiss and said I was Ingrid’s now. I resisted, saying I wanted to go with her. 

Heidi leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I would love to take you home, but I live with my boyfriend, and he would not understand. I picked you up for Ingrid. She’s never been with a guy, so make sure you give her a good night.”  

With a flick of her hips, she snaked through the fastclosing train doors and waved to us as the train pulled away. I was gutted. Heidi was quite a stunner and had been leading me on, making me believe I would get lucky. She was right, of course—but not with her.

I sat myself down beside Ingrid again and tried not to let her see my disappointment. But she surely must have known. We exited the train at the next station and, after a short walk, arrived at a vast Bavarian house. It was even more impressive when she led me inside. The place was full of beautifully carved furniture. She led me past a fullsized bear carved from some exotic wood to her small guest quarters. Sitting me down on a settee, Ingrid asked if I wanted something to drink. I asked for water, and we sat and talked. I was unsure how to progress. When you are the instigator in a seduction, the steps are easy. But this was outside my comfort zone, being expected to perform and make love on demand to a pretty young thing that did not speak very good English.

I asked Ingrid if this was her home. “No,” She laughed. ‘I’m the nanny for three children under six. But the Parents have taken them to their summer cabin for a week, so I have the house to myself.”

Soon, we were in her bed, which was a large single. That wasn’t a problem, as I was on top of her for much of the night. I tried to relax and take it slow, wanting to make her first time memorable. But she was even more enthusiastic about getting fucked than I was. Luckily, I was still pretty knocked around from the night before’s drinking and managed to last more than a dozen strokes. Still, it wasn’t the best fuck I’d ever had, and I came before she had a chance to.

We lay there afterwards cuddling, and I asked her what she wanted, what she fantasised about, etc. She had no idea, so we lay there discussing different things she might like. She made me laugh when she told me she wanted to try everything. So I spooned into her from behind, slipped the old fella in and took it slow while playing with her lovely pert little tits. When she began to get agitated, I pushed her hand down between her legs and made her play with herself. She was very reluctant at first, but I was insistent, and soon, with my thrusting and her diddling fingers, she had her first orgasm.

She was over the moon. She spun around, kissed me passionately, and spoke German into my ear. I didn’t understand anything she had said, but it sounded pretty complimentary. I lay back, expecting to get some muchneeded sleep, but she began playing with me and asked if we could do it again in another position. I had not come and was pretty buggered. Still, I rose to the occasion and soon had her on her hands and knees, taking it from behind.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur, but I got little sleep. She was insatiable. I’d told her when we left the Hofbräuhaus that I had to be back at Thalkirchen Camp before 9:00 as my ride back to London was leaving then. (And TJ was a stickler for punctuality. I knew he would have the Kombi started by 8:50, warming it up. And would leave without me if I was not there.) Ingrid wanted to get as much in as she could on this first night of passion. She was pretty demanding, and when the old fella deflated, she’d go down and try to suck me hard again. It worked at least twice more during the night.

I must have finally fallen asleep on her, as I woke to find I was alone and could hear her out in the kitchenette rattling away. I was busting to use the loo and looked at my watch as I stumbled out of bed. It was 5:00 am. Ingrid called, “About time,” as I passed her. “I’m cooking you breakfast, and we have less than an hour before you need to be at the station.”  

She gave me a look that told me she wanted more attention before I left. So I relieved myself and then jumped in her shower for a quick rinse before joining her back in the kitchen. I didn’t think I’d be capable of much more action, but I was blown away when I saw her from behind, wearing nothing but a short apron. Her perfect, tight little bottom had Percy rising to the occasion again. 

She wouldn’t let me touch her until I had eaten. She had cooked up a meaty fryup. German sausages, black pudding, bacon, liver, and some meatballs in a rich gravy. There were eggs and toast, but I only remember all the meat. I cleaned it all up. I’d not had a feed like that since I’d left America.

I tried to get her to let me help with the dishes, but she pulled me back to her bed, saying I had to be on the first train at 6:45. So I bent her over the bed and took her from behind. I didn’t let her take the apron off. Her naked little halfexposed bum was so y.  

It was very kinky. She moaned about being sore, but when I said I’d stop if she wanted, she was adamant she wanted to continue. After a bit, I turned her over and undid the apron so I could watch and play with her tits. She liked me to twist them quite hard, and I pushed her into playing with herself again. That soon had her writhing around under me, and when she came, it set me off as well.

There was no rest for the wicked; it was almost 6:30, and Ingrid cleaned us with a flannel while I pulled my clothes on. The little vixen pulled on a thick sheepskin coat with nothing underneath and walked me to the train station. Fuck, I didn’t want to leave. Her employers were not returning for another four days, and she had asked me to stay. I don’t know how we would have gotten on, though, as she was having trouble walking. She was so sore.

I watched her until the train rounded a curve. Her sad look and innocent young face will stay with me forever. Ingrid had written directions for what bus I needed to catch when I got to Munich train station. She had jotted down the times and direction I was to turn when I left the station. I noted that she’d written that the bus arrived at Thalkirchen at 8:34 am. And to the minute, that was almost precisely when the bus pulled outside the camp’s gate. The only place I’ve ever been that is more efficient is Japan.

I crept into camp and began to break down my tent. TJ and his partner Toni were up and about. Toni came and asked me if I’d slept with both ladies. I tried to explain that I hadn’t and that I had stayed the night with Ingrid. But like most of the people who came by in the next half hour, she didn’t believe me. She said she knew I would get laid the second Heidi had sat beside me. I think the only person that believed me was Geoff. I told him what happened when we stopped that night outside Calais.

You will think this has to be over. But not quite. When we finally made it back to London on Monday, I found that the flat I would share with some mates did not become vacant until the following Saturday. TJ and Toni were going to a motor park, and several of my mates had already teed up to sleep on the floor at Brian and Phil’s. I could have pulled rank, as all my possessions were stored there, But I didn’t fancy sleeping on the floor with all the guys.

I remembered the family that had given me a lift through the Mt Blanc Tunnel and mentioned them to TJ. I told him of my reluctance because the wife had been so forward. But he told me I’d be an idiot not to see if their offer was genuine and that I could always say no. I checked my wallet and found the address. I saw it was in Barnet, which was a bit close to Penny’s and Lynn’s homes for comfort. But I said nothing, and half an hour later, TJ stopped his Kombi outside a very ornate row of terraced houses, saying he’d wait to make sure I was okay to stay. 

I rechecked the scrap of paper and saw that the mother’s name was Wilma. I tentatively knocked on the door, which opened almost immediately. Wilma was startled to see me standing there, then composed herself: “Oh, Dave, have you come to stay?”

Would that still be okay?” I asked, “Just until this Saturday. I have a room in a flat coming free then.”

“Of course you can. You’re lucky to catch me. I’m just about to race out the door and pick up Callie and Thomas.”

“Great. I’ll go get my rucksack. It’s in my friend’s van.” I raced back down the steps and told TJ that all was okay.

Wilma led me upstairs to the spare bedroom and told me to drop my rucksack on the floor and come with her to get the kids. I took note of their house as we moved through it. I knew they had money. I mean, you don’t own a holiday home in Italy unless you are loaded. But the house was much more upmarket than I had expected. My bedroom even had access to a toilet and sink.

We exited the house via the back door, crossed a tiny yard, and entered a back alley, where there was a row of garages. One was open, and I saw their Rover parked there. She threw me the keys and said I could drive.

“Are you sure?” I asked. It’s a flash car to let some stranger drive.

“You told us you had driven all over the world, and I hate driving this thing. It’s too big, and if I were to mark it, Bennett would go nuts. It’s his pride and joy.”

Why doesn’t he buy you something of your own? Something smaller.”

“You can’t get parking around here. We were lucky this garage came with the house. And you need a permit to park on the road anywhere in this suburb, and half the time, you won’t find a park within a mile of the house.”

I chewed on this as I negotiated the narrow streets on the way to Callie and Thomas’s school. The kids were over the moon to see me. And Thomas insisted he sat in the front. Callie complained bitterly, and I soothed her by suggesting she could ride in the front on the way to school the following day, assuming that I’d be driving them to and from school for the next few days.

That night, when Bennett arrived home, I offered to pay them rent, as I still had over £50 burning a hole in my pocket. He quickly shut me down, saying they did not need my money.

“It is good to have you stay. Wilma is much more amiable with you around. So stay as long as you like.”

Wilma also voiced much the same sentiment when I suggested paying my way, so I knew the friction I had felt when I first met them in Italy was not just a holiday thing.

As I had expected, Wilma tossed me the Rover’s keys to drive the kids to school the next morning. She did not come with us as she had arranged to meet with friends. Half a dozen Callie’s girlfriends were waiting when I pulled up at the curb outside the school. They mobbed her door, and all tried to get their heads around the pillar to get a look at me. I discovered what it must be like to be some smouldering hot movie star. She must have spent all the previous evening on the phone with her friends. Embarrassingly, she leaned across and tried to kiss me. I snapped my head around so she got my cheek, then pulled back and pushed her out the door. 

When I returned the Rover to the garage, I wandered down the row of garages to see if any looked unused. But they were all locked securely, so it was impossible to tell. I walked through the house and out the front door onto the street, hoping to ask some neighbours about free garages.

The first few houses had no one at home, but five doors down, I came across a place with a walker frame parked outside the door. So I knocked on the door and waited patiently, listening for movement inside. Finally, the door opened, and an old lady in her dressing gown asked me what I wanted. I explained I was staying down the road a bit. And the people I was staying with needed a garage. I don’t remember her name, but I’ll call her Hilda, as she reminded me of Hilda Ogden from Coronation St. She welcomed me in and offered a cup of tea. For the next hour, I got her life’s . She had kids but seldom saw any of them. Her husband had died several years previously. She had numerous jobs she wanted done. But best of all, she did have a garage, and if I would clean out all her husband’s junk, she would be prepared to rent or sell it.

Separately to the garage, we arranged that she would pay me for two or three days to do all her odd jobs. This suited me just fine. It was just the sort of work I loved doing, and the building Geoff and I had been doing up in Soho was on hold for a while.

I wandered back and found that Wilma had returned, so I told her that I had found a garage. She was over the moon but asked me to bring it up with her husband. As if she were to bring it up, he’d find issues. Another indication that all was not so good with their marriage, I found it interesting that Wilma did not flirt with me as much when her husband was not around.

That night, I joined Bennett for a drink after dinner, and we shared a fag. (Yes, this was a time in my life when I was a moderate smoker.) I brought up the garage down the road. Wilma was right. He immediately got his back up and asked if Wilma had put me up to it.

“No, but you know I’m driving the kids to and from school because she hates driving your car…she thinks she will crash it. So I told her she should buy a smaller car. She responded that you guys couldn’t because there was nowhere to park a second car. So I asked around your neighbours.”

It took quite a bit of persuasion to get him to admit that buying Wilma a car might make things a little easier between them. He finally agreed to come and talk to Hilda the following evening.

The next day. After I had run the kids to school, I called on Hilda and made a list of all the items I needed for her jobs. The back door was in a terrible state. The lock was buggered, and there was a cracked widow in the frame. I had asked Wilma that morning if I could use the Rover and get my tools from Brian and Phil’s flat. When I got to the boy’s flat, I took some stick about whether I had fucked the daughter yet. I replied indignantly, “She’s twelve years old. So, No! I have no intention of touching her. Then John wanted to know if I was the mother. I shut that down straight away as well. I’d actually been quite surprised at how restrained Wilma had been on that front.

On returning to Hilda’s, I called for all the items I needed at the local hardware store. Back at Hilda’s, I started on some of her jobs, and after lunch, I started cleaning up the garage. It was full of mostly junk; I think her husband may have used it mainly to escape for a smoke, as there was a leather armchair and ashtrays full of butts.

That night, when Bennett got home, I led him down to meet Hilda. As we walked along the road, he informed me that he had been looking at small cars and thought he would buy Wilma a new Vauxhall Viva—the Fastback Estate 1600 cc model, top of the range. I was tempted to ask if he was buying it for himself or Wilma, but I bit my tongue.

Bennett was your typical English upperclass twit. He looked like one and sounded the part. He spoke like he had a lemon in his mouth almost effeminate. But I found out we had something in common. As I queried him about buying such a hot car, I found he owned and raced an MG Midget. I asked where he had kept it and found it was stored at his car club. And he offered to take me out to see it one day and take me for a blurt around the track.

I started on the back door while Bennett talked to Hilda about the garage. They came to some arrangement, and we walked back home together. The kids had gone to bed, and Wilma sat with us until we got onto the cars, and then she left. Bennett proudly told me he had ported and polished the inlets and installed twin SU Carbs on his MG. He’d also had a freeflow exhaust made for it, etc. And I told him about cars my mates and myself had done up. I’m not sure what his day Job was, but he left each morning in a pinstriped suit with a bow tie. So, I never picked him for someone who liked to tinker around with engines.

When we finally called it a night and finished our drinks, Bennett said in a lowered voice, “Wilma fancies you, you know.”

I tried to casually wave him off. But he pulled a photo out of his wallet to show me. It was of Wilma nude and had been taken several years earlier. She was facing the camera, holding a fur coat open. I didn’t know what to say or do. I was very embarrassed. He didn’t even notice, just continued to tell me all his mates had fucked her. But he didn’t care. It was him who she married as if he were the lucky one. That astounded me. No way would I have married a woman who had slept with my mates, no matter how pretty she was. And Wilma was beautiful in the photo.

I lay in bed, evaluating what had just gone down. Was Bennett going to try and get me to have a threesome with them? I even thought about locking the door but must have fallen asleep, as when I awoke, it was morning.

I ran the kids to school, then wandered down to see Hilda. She wanted to sit in the garage with me and go through the boxes. It did not take long as she didn’t want to keep much. I asked if I could have the armchair. She told me to take anything I wanted. So I made a little pile just inside the door. There was a cabinet I thought would be good beside my bed in the new flat, so I pushed that over next to the chair and selected some crockery and books I wanted to read.

I went back to Wilma’s for lunch. She had insisted that morning that she would have lunch waiting at noon. While she was at the bench finishing the salad, I rang about a skip to put all Hilda’s rubbish in and was told they could deliver the following morning. When I turned around, Wilma was standing, coat open, flashing her nude body at me. I backed away quickly, telling her to cover up and that I couldn’t do that to Bennett.

She mumbled that he wouldn’t care and had told her he’d shown me her photo. She also said they weren’t in a great place, and he was no Casanova. I ate a very awkward lunch and escaped back to Hilda’s as soon as I finished. I worked until three, then went and picked up Callie and Thomas. Thomas showed interest in what I was doing down at Hilda’s, so when we got home, I took him with me and showed him how to change a tap washer. And then had him watch the tap when I turned the water on again from out in the street. He was quite chuffed that I had let him help.

After dinner that night, I was wary of getting caught alone with Bennett again, worried he would show me more pictures of Wilma. So when Wilma said she was going to bed, I up and excused myself as well. As it was still early, I sat in bed and read one of the books I had acquired from Hilda’s garage. When I heard Bennett leaving the bathroom. I slipped out of bed and had a shower in the main bathroom.

Back in bed, I lay listening to the sounds of the house. I sensed my bedroom door opening and clamped my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. It was Wilma, and she wasn’t put off for a second. She slid in beside me and snuggled into my back. She was nude, and I crapped myself and spat out, “What are you doing? Bennett will shoot us.”

“He told me to come and get you out of my system. So it’s not a problem.”

I went to roll away, not at all convinced and shit scared that Bennett was going to appear at the door with a shotgun. But she grabbed my old fella, and the unscrupulous little bastard immediately jumped to attention.

“Ooooh, that feels nice,” she said, sitting up and turning the bedside light on. She then threw the covers back and wriggled herself down for a closer inspection.

“What a beautiful cock. I’ve not seen one this big in years. Oh, you beautiful boy.”

I tensed up and tried to roll away. But she whispered for me to relax. Then I felt her lips envelop my knob, and a shot of electricity ran through the length of my body. I opened my eyes and tried to savour as much as I could of her naked body. But I couldn’t see much, just the top of her head, now bobbing up and down like a marionette.

I looked at the door, wanting to get up and lock it. But by this stage, I was a bit worried that the spell might be broken if I did leap out of bed. And I’d miss out. Because by this stage, I sure didn’t want Wilma to stop.

After a few minutes, she sat up. “Let’s fuck,” she said. She was breathing hard and told me she wanted my cock more than she’d wanted anything in a long time.

I reached down and lifted her, attempting to roll her onto her back.

“No, let me go on top,” she said. And she straddled me and pushed me back onto the bed.

As she lifted and lowered her soaking wet pussy down onto my shaft. I rolled my hips and attempted to get every last millimetre embedded. I took in her huge tits bouncing around inches from my face and leaned forward to take one of her nipples between my teeth. She lit up and began to bump vigorously up and down my shaft. I would have come, but all the noise she was making put me off. Sure that Bennett would appear through the door and wreak havoc, I tried to cover her mouth and quieten her down. 

Wilma twisted her head away. “Don’t worry about Bennett. He’ll be fast asleep by now and doesn’t care anyway. Not at all convinced, I reached down and found her clit, then worked it vigorously, trying to get her off and shut her up.

It took a while, but finally, she came with little squeals of delight. I went to withdraw as I was about to explode. But she pressed down on me and told me to come inside her. She got very excited when I came, and I think if I could have stayed hard, she would have gotten herself off again. As it was, she did not want me to withdraw.

I expected her to up and leave. But she lay beside me and wanted to talk. After a while, we dozed off, and the next thing I knew, I was being sucked hard again. It was the middle of the night, and when she had him standing to attention again, she turned on the light, saying she liked to watch herself being fucked.

This time, I insisted on pushing her onto her back. I wanted to take control. I slid two fingers along her pussy, opened her up, then went down on her. 

“Oh, you naughty boy. You have an hour to stop that,” then, letting out a soft moan, she told me that Bennett had never gone down on her.

Wilma returned to my bedroom the following night and insisted on spending the night again. I struggled to look Bennett in the eye the next day, but he never said a thing. He had to know what his wife had been up to.

He even helped me load the leather armchair and cabinet onto a hired trailer and reminded me about coming to the car club with him sometime. But after returning the Rover to them that afternoon, I never returned.

However, I did borrow Phil’s car and returned to Hilda’s the following week, as I had not finished all her jobs. But I ensured I kept a low profile and did not get spotted by Wilma.

That was the end of my summer of love. The following week, I got a job at Lasham Airport, near Alton, working on a Dan Air Comet refurb, and only returned to London for the weekends. I was there for two months. It was a long, dry spell, as I slept on the edge of the airport in an old Commer Van I had a loan of.