It was three months after leaving New York as a galley boy on a Norwegian freighter and stopping at many ports in Lebanon, Egypt, Arabia, Yemen, Kuwait, then up the Tigress River to backwater towns in Iran and Iraq. I'd been peeling 60 pounds of potatoes every morning, washing pots and pans, scrubbing the galley floor, and enduring the intense heat of the Persian Gulf. But we were in the Mediterranean again, heading west toward Spain where I had planned to sign off.
I was surprised when it was announced we had to stop at the island of Rhodes to make an emergency repair to the ship’s engine. I didn’t know what was wrong, but knew I was getting closer to my original destination of Europe. I had been frustrated that my plan to sign off in Lisbon, and make my way to Paris and the Left Bank, fell apart when Portugal was cancelled, and our first port would be Beirut, Lebanon. I had no choice but to stay onboard, work, earn some money and then eventually, if all went well, sign off in Spain.
That goes to show you, plans and reality do not always go together. Still, I was experiencing a part of the world I knew little about, and realized from the experience that what sometimes seems like a disaster at the time, is often a blessing in disguise. An old Greek woman poet I met many years later said to me, “Life has more imagination than the mind.” I was stunned by her words, but never forgot them.
What happened to me the day our ship docked in the harbor of Rhodes taught me to be open to whatever life presents, and gave me a day I could not have imagined, or would never forget. I was given the afternoon to go ashore and, believe me, I needed a day off, so I was excited for the opportunity to explore this ancient island. All the sailors were given the day off after months in Muslim ports where women were not available, so you can imagine how horny we were. I was the only American on the ship. There was one Italian man and two guys from Germany, everyone else was Norwegian.
I went to a few bars in the center of town with the First Cook, my boss and a few other sailors. One of the bars was called the Kit Kat Club, where many women wearing tight, low cut dresses that got the sailors to buy them drinks. They sat on their laps, leaned their bodies against them, teased them, and then would either leave with a sailor on her arm, or walk up the narrow stairs to the rooms above the bar. I nursed a beer and watched the scene.
One older, very chubby woman, with thin strands of hair growing from a mole on her chin, came and sat next to me and said, “Hi, Johnny, buy me drink and we have fun.” I wasn’t sure what to do. She was definitely someone I didn’t feel attracted to and said no. She pouted, stood up then left and sat down with one of the other sailors.
I found the whole scene of watching the sailors getting drunk and getting raunchy with the women, fascinating. My writer’s mind was observing everything. Then, suddenly, I was stunned when a big fight broke out, and I thought I was in the Wild West. It was a brawl with shouting, punching, sailors wrestling on the floor, throwing chairs, knocking over tables, and breaking bottles, while I sat in a corner observing the craziness. After watching the punches and chairs flying, I decided to get out of there before somebody grabbed me and threw me against the wall.
It was mid afternoon, and I saw a place down the street that rented bicycles and motorcycles. I decided I wanted to explore the countryside and rented a bicycle. The man who owned the shop had a bushy mustache and a missing front tooth. He handed me a paper advertising a country café called Acadia and then in broken English said, “Nice place. You will like.” He made a fist and sharply punched the air towards the ground, imitating thrusting and fucking. He smiled and winked at me then pointed me in the direction and said, “Not far. You must go there.”
I took the paper and decided to find the place. “Why not?” I thought, wondering if I would meet a sexy woman there and hopped on the bike.
I rode past the noisy bar where the fighting was taking place, then over the cobblestone streets of the old city, past the harbor, and saw the stone base where the huge Colossus of Rhodes once stood, supposedly one of the Seven Wonders of the World. I could see by how far apart the marble bases were that the statue must have towered over the island before collapsing in an earthquake over a thousand year ago. Within five minutes, I was in the country, riding my bike on a narrow dirt road next to the stone covered beach, noticing the blue green color of the sea. I felt the hot afternoon sun on me as I rode slowly up a steep hill, straining my legs, finding it was getting harder to pedal the bike.
I was about to get off and push it the rest of the way, when I went around a bend and there it was, at the top of the hill: the Acadia Café, gleaming in the afternoon sun. I was sweating and eager to stop and get a cold drink.
I leaned my bike against a big rock and entered the vine covered stone café, feeling the coolness of the thick walls. It was dark inside and no one was around. I stood in the entrance, glancing at the empty tables, sawdust on the floor, and a small wooden bar against one wall with a variety of bottles lined on a shelf behind it. I walked to the rear of the café where there was an outdoor seating area with several tables, and a magnificent view of the Mediterranean. I decided to sit at one of the tables on the stone patio wondering if someone would see me. I was thirsty, and after a few moments, decided to look around to see if I could find someone to wait on me. I walked back inside and coughed, hoping someone would hear me. A minute later, a small bald headed man with a pot belly appeared from a back room, carrying a case of beer.
He greeted me with a smile, then put down the box and spoke to me in Greek. I wasn’t sure what he said, but assumed he was asking me what I wanted. When I answered, “I want a beer,” he responded with surprised look on his face, “Ah, America. You are American.”
“Yes, I am from the ship,” I said, and pointed to the blue water.
“You are sailor,” he answered, nodding, narrowing his eyes, a slight smile on his lips. “I bring beer. I treat you good.”
I then walked outside to the patio and took my seat at the round table. I happened to glance back at him at the bar and saw he was talking to someone on the phone but looking at me. Our eyes met and he put up his finger and nodded indicating he would be a minute. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but when he brought me the bottle of beer and a glass, he said, “I want you to have good time at my café,” he said. “You will see.”
“Thank you,” I said. “This is very beautiful here.”
“Where from in America are you?” he asked in a thick accent.
“Philadelphia,” I answered.
“Yes, Philadelphia, I have cousin in Chicago,” he said, pausing. “I want to go to America some day.”
When he left, I sat back and looked out at the Mediterranean, drinking my beer from the glass, enjoying the view and the quiet. After a few minutes, I heard a sound inside the café, turned to see what was happening, and was stunned to see a young petite woman with long dark hair wearing a tight, very short black skirt, and a white low cut peasant blouse that barely covered her large breasts. When I saw how the owner greeted her, I realized that was why he was on the phone. He must have called her, and that was what he meant when he said he wanted me to have a good time at his café. Just like the Kit Kat Club, owners wanted women to seduce men to buy them drinks and that was why he called her.
Still, when she stood in the doorway between the café and the patio, our eyes met. She hesitated a moment, somewhat shyly, before walking to my table and I could see her breasts and nipples through the thin material of her blouse. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her as she came closer. I was dazzled by her dark eyes looking at me, her full sensual lips with a slight smile, her radiant olive skin, high cheek bones, and long wild dark hair curling half way down her back. I noticed her dangling earrings and, around her throat, a necklace with a small cross.
“May I sit with you,” she asked in a sweet soft voice, quite the opposite of the women at the Kit Kat Club and when I said yes, she sat in the wooden chair next to mine. I could see she knew why she was here but seemed a little uncomfortable and uncertain. I couldn’t tell her age but sensed she was young, perhaps eighteen, and not experienced with what she was called to do by the owner. Yet, here she was, smiling at me, looking into my eyes, leaning forward clearly wanting me to see her large breasts.
“I’m Annika. I would like to keep you company. Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” I said. “Hello, Annika. I like your name. My name is Arn.”
“I am glad to meet you,” she said, and gave me her hand to shake holding it for a few seconds, before letting it go. She looked into my eyes; a shy, sweet smile on her lips.
She spoke excellent English with a slight accent, and a soft voice and manner that was very different than the women at the Kit Kat Club. The contrast between that bar and the Acadia Café, high on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean couldn’t have been more different. I imagined the place in town was probably now a shambles after the fighting.
I couldn’t believe my good fortune to be in such a wonderful spot with a beautiful and sexy young woman who seemed both shy and brazen, looking at me with big brown eyes, but there was something about her slight smile, her sensuous lips that was both innocent and inviting.
“Can I buy you a drink,” I asked, knowing that was what was expected and at the same time getting aroused by the way she looked at me, that slight sweet smile, how she leaned forward revealing her breasts and I felt my own expectations getting hard in my jeans.
“That would be very kind of you,” she said, smiling. “I like you. You have nice eyes,” she added, biting her lip.
“So do you,” I said. “You’re very beautiful.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, blushing slightly with that sweet shy smile, then surprised me when she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, causing her short skirt to rise higher, revealing her tan, smooth thighs. She had on leather sandals and, with one foot, pushed one of her sandals off, leaving it barefooted.
Just then, the man appeared at the door. I asked Annika what she would like to drink.
“I do not drink much but I would like a glass of white wine, thank you.”
I turned to him, “Would you bring Annika a glass of the local white wine?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding to her and then to me before disappearing into the building.
As soon as he left, Annika surprised me again by moving her barefoot to my leg, touching it with her toe and looking into my eyes, a slight playful smile on her lips as she slowly moved her foot up the inside of my leg, to my thigh, causing me to spread my legs, as she moved her barefoot to my hard cock, pressing the arch of her foot against the bulge straining my jeans.
She didn’t say a word, as she looked into my eyes, her foot moving up and down my hard cock, smiling slightly, clearly seducing me with her tantalizing manner.
“You want to have fun with me,” she said softly, moving her foot up and down my jean-covered cock, and I sensed she was playing the expected role.
Before I answered, the old man appeared with the white wine, placed it in front of her and glanced down at her foot pressed against my cock, looked at me as if he was not surprised at what was happening, knowing that his phone call had served its purpose. I wondered what their relationship was, but at the moment, knew it was clearly of mutual benefit. Their motive was to have me buy drinks and eventually buy her services. I knew she was a whore, but I sensed she was not experienced or comfortable in this role. She had a shy innocence and vulnerability about her that made her both devilishly sexy and angelic; someone who was being seductive because she was called to entertain me and have me spend money, but not completely in her nature to be. It was strangely appealing.
Without taking her foot away, she leaned forward, lifted her glass, and I clicked my glass of beer against her glass of wine.
“To fun,” she said, and laughed.
“To fun,” I said, then took a sip of my beer while she moved her glass to her lips, took a sip, looking into my eyes over the rim, a playful smile on her lips.
“Do you like me?” she asked, holding the glass away from her mouth then took another deeper drink, finishing half the glass in one gulp.
“Yes, you’re very beautiful,” I said, looking into her eyes, then at her breasts, noticing the nipples poking at the thin material. Her enticing cleavage was barely covered by the low cut blouse, and I felt her foot pressed against my cock, then slowly moving it up and down my throbbing erection.
“I like you, too,” she said. “You are American sailor and you want to have a good time.”
“Yes, I do want to have a good time,” I said, liking how blatantly honest we were being, how tantalizing and erotic, how amazing it was to be here on this hilltop in the middle of nowhere with this young, vulnerable, beautiful, sexy woman with her foot on my cock, her nipples straining against her white blouse, loving how she was seducing me.
With her eyes on mine, she finished her wine, licking her lips with her tongue, then lifted up the glass.
“Would you buy me another glass of wine?”
“Of course,” I said, but didn’t want to stand up and go for the owner with this big tent in my jeans.
“I will bring you another drink. I want to serve you,” she said, pressing her foot harder against my cock before removing it. She stood up and walked barefooted to the entrance of the café, her hips swaying slightly, her ass straining the tight short skirt. She turned and looked at me, knowing where I was looking and smiled then called to the owner.
“Paul, bring us two more drinks.” She turned to me and smiled then added “Two glasses of wine.”
When she returned to the table, rather than sitting down, she stood in back of me and put her arms around me, kissed the back of my head, and then pressed her breasts against my shoulders. She slowly moved her hand down my chest, reaching her hand between my legs, and started rubbing my hard cock with her palm.
I closed my eyes, loving the sensation of her hand rubbing my cock, her large soft breasts pressed against my shoulders, her mouth kissing my head before moving to my ear, her tongue licking and tickling my ear lobe. She then gripped the length of my cock, squeezed it.
so big and hard,” she whispered.
Just then, Paul cleared his throat at the patio door, then came to the table with two glasses of wine. Annika glanced at him, then stopped holding my cock and sat down across from me. I thanked Paul, and he nodded and smiled. Annika looked up at him.
“Thank you for calling me and introducing me to this handsome sailor,” she said.
Paul nodded, and looked at both of us, then smiled, bowed slightly and left. Annika then turned to me.
“Thank you for buying me another glass of wine.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I said. “We’re here to have fun, aren’t we?”
“Yes, I want us to have fun,” she said, again lifting her glass to mine. “To fun,” she said, and laughed, her eyes sparkling.
“Yes, to fun,” I added clicking her glass, smiling at her exuberance and vitality, still sensing she was performing, becoming what she was expected to be for me, but also hiding who she was and I sensed her sadness.
I took a sip of the sweet wine while she took a big gulp, drinking half the glass, and I knew by the way she was drinking, she wanted to get drunk, and was leading the way to both of us getting drunk, buying and drinking Paul’s wine. I knew that’s why he called her, but didn’t care. I knew I was being exploited, and wanted the wild adventure this afternoon was bringing me.
At the same time, I was curious about Annika and her life. I wanted to be a writer and left on the freighter to get to Paris where many of my favorite writers lived in the twenties. I was disillusioned with America, its crass commercialism and the emptiness that clashed with my idealism. I wanted something new and fresh. I wanted to feel alive. I wanted experiences so that my stories would come out of my life and become enhanced by my imagination. I wanted to meet people, hear their stories, and spent many hours on the ship talking to the other sailors, learning who they were, what they had experienced. I remembered the old ship’s carpenter, now on his last voyage, heading back to Norway, how we often sat out on deck at night and watched the moon come up over the horizon while he told me stories.
But sitting with Annika and getting drunk, I wanted to know more about this sexy young girl, not sure how old she was. Who was she? Why was she a whore? Why was this beautiful, seductive young woman selling herself? What were her dreams and passions? What did she want for her life? At the same time, I wanted to fuck her brains out, and take full advantage of what was being offered to me. Still, my writer’s mind was fascinated by life’s little twists and turns, how circumstances you never plan become events that can change your life. I wanted to know her, not just use her to satisfy my lust. She was beautiful and fascinating, and I knew if we talked and felt closer, our time in bed would be more than animalistic fucking.
I took a deep drink of my wine and finished half the glass, then put it down and watched Annika do the same, holding her head back, her long hair hanging over the back of the chair, watching her swallow and finish the wine. She put her glass on the table and looked at me with that sweet, but devilish, smile on her lips.
“Good wine. I’m getting drunk,” she said, “Thank you, sailor.”
“So, my beautiful friend, who are you?” I asked.
“Who am I?” she responded, raising her eyebrows at my question. “What do you mean, who am I. Why do you care?”
“I’m a curious person,” I said. “I want to know you.”
“There is not much to know. I am a simple person. I live with on my father’s farm where we grow olives. I work hard. I am strong,” she said then leaned forward, paused and looked into my eyes, “but I am lonely for a man.”
“Is that why Paul called you?”
“Yes, Paul is my father’s friend. Very nice man, and calls me sometimes to make money for me and him. Does that answer your question?”
“Partly,” I answered. “But does being a whore make you less lonely/”
“No, I do not like being a whore,” she answered, wincing at the word, closing her eyes and sighed deeply. “But we are poor, so I do what I must.”
Our eyes met, and we were both silent, her words resonating with acceptance and resignation. She took another deep breath and looked at me, smiled then looked away, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. She then turned to the doorway.
“Paul, more wine,” she called.
“You speak very good English for a simple farm girl,” I said. “How did you learn English?”
“I go to the convent and learn English. I love to read stories,” she said. “Love stories. I like romance. I like passion.” She paused, “Not so much what I am told to read at the convent school.”
“I see,” I said, thinking about her words. “The convent,” I asked. “Are you religious?”
“I don’t know. I want to be, but I have thoughts and feelings that make it hard for me.”
“What do you mean, your thoughts and feelings make it hard?” I asked.
She hesitated, looking into my eyes, bit her lower lip, and just as she was about to speak, Paul brought out two glasses, removed our other glasses, and put the big bottle of white wine on the table and said, “Enjoy!”
I looked up at him, aware that he wanted me to spend money and have a good time. We were already feeling woozy, but neither of us said anything when our eyes met.
Annika held up her glass to me, smiling, then biting her lower lip again,
“More wine, my sailor.”
I filled her glass and mine, then looked at her, taking a big sip, but I wanted to hear why her thoughts and feeling made religion hard for her.
“What is the problem? Why do your thoughts and feelings make it hard?” I asked, taking another sip of my wine and looking into her eyes, both of us getting drunker, but it felt good to be getting to know her. I was curious.
“I am told I should be a virgin when I marry but I am not a virgin. I love fucking and I do not want to marry like I am expected to do.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that. You told me you were lonely for a man. There is something so young and innocent about you. I know why you’re here, but you don’t seem comfortable. I can tell by how much you want to be drunk, you are not comfortable.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Please, I want to have fun and not think.”
“Does your father know you are here?” I asked, still prying, ignoring her request.
“No. My father is strict. He is why I went to the convent. My mother died six years ago when I was twelve. He would be angry if he knew I was here, but Paul always calls me when men are here. He is my father’s friend but he knows me better than my father. He is not strict like my father and knows I want money. We are poor and I like to buy jewelry and sexy clothes, and I want excitement.”
“Does your father know what you spend your money on?” I asked. “Does he know how you make money?”
“No, I must hide and sneak away. He would not like it at all. He thinks I am a good girl…and I am, but, you know, I do what I must to have fun and get what I want. I like to make men look at me. I want to be sexy.”
“So you are a good girl who wants to be bad,” I said.
“Yes,” she said and laughed. “I am a good girl who wants to be bad. Does that bother you?”
“Not at all,” I said, looking at her and could see both her shy innocence and yearning for excitement. “I think you should be the person you want to be. It’s your life. It’s important to be honest with who you are.”
“I like you. I like how you think,” she said and smiled, leaning back in her chair causing her short skirt to slide high on her smooth thighs.
“You want to be a free spirit,” I said looking into her eyes, then at her barely covered thighs.
“Yes, I want to be free and daring,” she said, spreading her legs wide apart. “I want to have fun and be honest with who I am. I want passion and romance.”
She smiled, looking into my eyes as she leaned back, her legs wide open giving me a glimpse of her red panties. She then started closing her legs then opening them, then closing them again, teasing me, then stopped, keeping her legs wider apart, clearly inviting me to look at what she was revealing, her eyes watching mine.
“You want danger,” I said, looking into her eyes, aware of what she was doing and also how drunk she was. “You want to be devilish.” I added, looking at her legs, her smooth tan thighs spread apart, glimpsing at the red panties, her skirt barely covering her crotch. As she leaned back, I saw her nipples poking at her sheer blouse. I saw the playful smile on her lips, her brown seductive eyes watching me, knowing she was teasing me, and liking it. I leaned back in my chair looking into her eyes and spread my legs apart. She then looked at my hard cock bulging in my jeans, biting her lower lip again, both of us knowing we were now teasing and seducing each other.
“You are right,” she said. “It’s my life and I want to feel everything there is to feel. I am also an artist. I love to draw and paint and write poetry. I want to have fun but I also am serious.”
“You are fascinating,” I said. “You are not as simple as you say you are.”
“Yes, I am simple, but my life makes it hard. I know what I want and I will do what I have to do to get it.”
“Is that why you’re a whore?" I said. “Is that why you are here to lure a sailor to your bed for money?"
“Yes,” she said and stood up, wobbling slightly from the wine and looked down at me leaning back in my chair, my legs stretched out towards her, my hard cock bulging in my jeans. I could see she was drunk. She smiled and came to me, spreading her legs to straddle me, her tight skirt high on her thighs straining against her hips. She then lowered herself, pressing her wet panty-covered pussy against my cock straining my jeans. She put her arms around my shoulder, then kissed me hard, opening my mouth with her insistent tongue.
I returned her intense kissing, our tongues swirling, the intensity growing, my hard cock grinding against her soaked panty-covered pussy. I grabbed her ass, squeezing and pulling her harder against my grinding cock, her tits pressed against my chest, our fierce kissing forcing moans. Our tongues fucked each others’ mouths as our drunken desperate lust took over, causing us to fiercely hump each other harder and harder through the barrier of our clothes.
Suddenly, holding her ass, growing more desperate, I lifted her up and pushed her down onto the table on her back, grabbing her arms and lifting them above her head and pounced on her, spreading her legs wide apart and continued grinding and humping her harder, wanting to rip off her panties, our passionate kissing driving us mad. She was lifting her ass off the table as we humped each other harder, causing the wine bottle and empty glasses to wobble as the table shook.
I released her hands and reached to pull her panties off of her, when she suddenly stopped, put her hands on my chest and started squirming to get away.
“Stop,” she said and started pushing me away. I wondered if she was changing her mind, deciding she didn’t want to be a whore, deciding this was wrong, that she was a good girl and didn’t want to be doing this.
I couldn’t stop. I was so hot and crazed for her, but she was strong, twisting and squirming then suddenly pushed me harder, forcing me off of her and jumped to her feet and dashed across the patio to a stairway leading to the second floor. At the bottom of the steps, she turned and laughed.
“If you want me, come get me.”
I couldn’t believe the sudden turn events but saw her run up the steps, stumble slightly, obviously drunk but made her way up the steep stairs to a door. I ran after her, and started up the steps.
She then pulled her blouse down revealing her tits, her legs wide apart, straining her short tight skirt, her hands on her hips in a playful strident pose and laughed.
“If you want to fuck your whore, come get me, sailor.”
She opened the door and ran into the room. When I entered, she was by the bed, slipping off her red panties, then threw them at my face and laughed.
“You think you’re tough, don’t you,” I said, moving closer.
As I moved, she squirmed out of her tight skirt and threw that at me which I caught and tossed over my shoulder.
“You’re asking for trouble,” I said.
She then got down on the bed, leaning her back against the pillows with her big tits hanging out over her blouse, her legs wide apart and her hand rubbing her pussy.
“This is what you want, isn’t it, sailor? You want me to be your whore.”
I moved to the bed and took off my jeans. I wore no underwear and my hard cock stood straight out. I saw her eyes widen, looking at my cock, her mouth wide open, rubbing her pussy.
I got on the bed, kneeling on my knees, moving between her wide open legs and grabbed my hard cock, getting closer until I was hovering over her, my cock just above her hand rubbing her pussy, looking into her hungry eyes, both of us drunk and horny.
“You’re so big,” she said, looking at it and then into my eyes.
“And you want it, don’t you,” I asked, realizing I wanted to reverse roles and tease her like she was teasing me.
“Yes, I want you to fuck me.”
“Too bad,” I said. “You think you can tease me and I’ll just give you what you want, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, lifting her hand from her wet pussy and reached for my cock.
I slapped it away, surprised at myself.
“I will fuck you when I’m ready, but now I want to make you crazy.”
I looked down at her, our eyes fixed on each other, knowing we were in battle of wills.
She lifted her ass off the bed, arching her back, her whole body reaching for my cock, her dripping pussy an inch from it when I pulled away.
“Don’t do this. Fuck me!” she yelled.
I smiled, looking at her hungry eyes. Her uncovered tits looked like ripe melons wanting to be devoured.
“You want it bad, don’t you?” I said, smiling down at her.
“Yes, fuck me. Fuck me hard! Let me be your whore!”
Her words excited me. I smiled, looking at her luscious breasts, her hard nipples, wanting them in my mouth and leaned forward, keeping my cock just above her dripping pussy while I sucked on her breast, my tongue licking her and sucking her nipple. I grabbed her other breast, squeezing and rubbing it hard, her gasps and moans growing louder, her hips lifting for my cock which I moved away, depriving her of what she wanted, knowing I wanted her crazed and wild with desperate hunger.
At the same time, I wanted to take her and fuck her silly, the wine liberating our senses, my hunger for her rising, her hot blood rushing to her swollen pussy lips, mine to my throbbing hard cock, both of us hot and desperate for each other. It was all I could do not to ram my cock into her dripping pussy.
I grabbed both of her tits and squeezed them together so I could take both nipples in my mouth, licking, sucking, biting, twisting, feeling her writhing and gasping as I devoured both of her nipples. She might be a whore who was here to let me fuck her, but I wanted more. I didn’t want to be another man using her. I knew I would never see her again after this day, but wanted both of us to have a memory that would last a lifetime, a fuck we would never forget.
“I can’t stand it,” she screamed. “I need your cock! Fuck me! Fuck me! Please!”
I ignored her and kept sucking and licking her nipples, determined to make her wait and not cum, to torture and tantalize her, hear her beg. She kept lifting her ass from the bed, reaching for my cock, but I held it where she could barely feel the head on her swollen pussy lips, but not have it.
“Give it to me. Fuck me. Please! Please! Don’t to do this to me,” she screamed, arching her back, giving me her pussy. “Fuck your whore!”
Suddenly, I moved my hands, grabbed her ass, holding her off of the bed, pulling her onto my cock, filling her, then drove her to the bed with one hard thrust, opening her, taking her, my cock deep in her tight pussy, the overwhelming sensation of her gripping my cock, our loud, breathless gasping screams filling the room.
“Yes. Fuck me, fuck me,” she screamed.
With my hands gripping her ass, I lifted her again, arching her back before driving her back to the bed with another powerful thrust that filled her tight pussy, her body sinking into the bed, the backboard banging against the wall.
“Oh, my god, yes, fuck me, fuck me,” she screamed. “Give it to me harder! Harder! Fuck me harder! I want your cock!”
“And I want your cunt!” I yelled, looking into her eyes.
I was out of my mind, crazed, drunk, our seductive teasing, our lust taking us to another realm where our primal animal instincts took over and nothing mattered but our need to explode in huge orgasms and cum all over each other.
She wrapped her legs and arms around me as I lifted her high off the bed, my hands on her ass, my cock deep in her pussy, then rammed her to the bed, pounding her again and again and again, each relentless thrust harder and faster and deeper. I was fucking her with all of my strength and felt both of us getting closer to that place where nothing in the world matters but our bodies and spirits climaxing together.
Somehow, I wanted this to last, to keep going, to reach somewhere higher, and with the next hard thrust, my cock going as deep as it could, I suddenly stopped, holding my cock deep and still in the cavern of her pussy, feeling the warm wet walls clutching my cock, her strong legs holding me in her depths, both of us knowing we wanted to possess each other, hold the wonder of our passionate joining for as long as we could, to not let go of the amazing pleasure we were bringing to each others lives.
I grabbed her hands, entwining my fingers with hers and stretching her arms above her head, my cock deep in her hot pussy, not moving, looking into each others eyes, knowing we were not only fucking, but giving all we could to let this sudden afternoon of lust take us beyond time and space.
Though we had been on the verge of orgasms, we were slowing down, holding each other, giving each other another kind of pleasure. I gripped her hands above her head, my hard cock deep in her wet tight pussy, pressing and holding her to the bed with a force that made her unable to move. Looking into each others’ eyes, we kissed each other, first tenderly, then with more intensity, my tongue opening her mouth, her tongue entering mine, and we kissed passionately, wildly, our hands squeezing each other's hands, her breasts crushed against my chest, the power of my cock forcing her to be still, the warmth of her wet pussy embracing my hard cock.
Annika then let go of my hands above her head, and grabbed my ass, digging her nails into me, holding me deep in her pussy and we slowly started moving, my hips swiveling, my cock slowly moving, filling her, rubbing her soft g-spot, and grazing her clit with the slow screwing motion. We looked deep into each others eyes, watching each other, seeing the pleasure on each others faces; our open breathless mouths inches apart, moving as one, as if slow dancing to music only we could hear. I moved my fingers through her thick dark hair, then felt her lift her ass off of the bed, her body telling me she needed more, wanted more, needed my cock to take her higher where she could feel the release that had been building all afternoon. Feeling her need fed my desire to give her what she needed, to take her and possess her. She was no longer a whore, here to entertain a sailor and fuck him for money, she was a beautiful, passionate, lonely, hungry woman who needed to feel wanted, who was drunk not with wine, but with longing for a man who could give her what she had been craving, and I wanted to be that man.
I grabbed her thick dark hair, wrapping it in my fingers and pulling hard, telling her to give herself to me with complete abandon, that I wanted her more than words could say; that I wanted to possess her, own her, conquer her and fuck her brains out.
“Fuck me! Fuck me hard!” she screamed. “Take me!”
Suddenly, our bodies moved faster, my cock slowly sliding from her tight slippery pussy, feeling her clutching me, a whimper coming from her mouth growing louder, pleading for me for me to take her and give her what she craved, needed, wanted. We were moving with passionate urgency to where we have been going all afternoon and when I suddenly reared my hips back, and drove my swollen cock deep into her with a hard, sharp thrust, she screamed at the top of her lungs, “Yes, oh please, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me hard. Yes, yes, oh please, please, give it to me harder! Harder! Oh my god, fuck me, make me yours.”
Her screaming made me grab her legs, lifting them over my shoulders and from this angle, pounding downward, thrusting into her with all of my strength, my big hard cock driving deep, ramming her juicy pussy like a jack hammer, fucking her as hard and as powerfully as I could
“Take it! Take it! Take my cock!” I yelled with each hard thrust.
“Give it to me, give it to me hard,” she screamed, fucking me like a cat in heat, her legs wide apart, her pussy completely open to my pounding, clutching my thrusting cock, her body tensing, lifting her ass off of the bed. She was getting closer to the edge, trembling, shaking, screaming at the top of her lungs, then convulsing in a huge wild orgasm. Her whole body shook, her pussy squirting hot cum all over my cock while I kept fucking her harder and harder through her orgasm, my relentless, savage thrusting fucking her like a wild animal.
“Fuck me! Fuck me!” I screamed, my orgasm rising with each hard thrust, and she exploded again in overwhelming orgasms. I did too, spurt after spurt of my hot cum gushing into her overflowing pussy, both of our liquids pouring down the crack of her ass and onto her thighs. My writhing body collapsed on her, feeling spasms from the aftershock quivering through me, making me dizzy from the biggest orgasm of my life.
I lay heavily on her, unable to budge, panting and gasping for air. Her body was under me, her breasts crushed against my chest. I kissed her shoulder and felt her legs and arms wrapping around me, embracing me, holding me to her, and in those exquisite moments, we were no longer whore and sailor using each other. Somehow, we had transcended who we were and became lovers wallowing in the warmth of discovery.
A breeze from the open window overlooking the Mediterranean brought in the sweet fragrances of roses climbing up the stone walls of the café. I could see a small balcony through the French doors, the sun setting over the water and pink puffy clouds glowing in the late afternoon sky.
I lifted my head and looked down at Annika, her wild hair spread over the pillow. I noticed tears in the corner of her brown eyes, but saw a smile on her lips. We didn’t speak.
She moved her hands from my back to my head, and pulled me to her lips and we kissed softly, tenderly.
Suddenly, realizing it would be dark soon, and there were no lights on the road leading back to town, I knew this amazing afternoon would have to end. I would have to ride my bicycle back to the shop before it got dark and go to the dock to catch the boat that would shuttle me and the other sailors to ship. I knew we would be leaving Rhodes later that evening with the repairs made.
“It’s getting late. I have to go,” I said, leaning on my elbow, looking at Annika’s pretty face, her radiant olive skin glowing in the fading sunlight.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said. “Why can’t you stay?”
“Stay!” I responded, stunned by her question. “I can’t stay. I have to go back to the ship. It’s getting dark.”
“Don’t you want to stay here with me?” she asked, looking into my eyes, “I want you to stay.”
I was confused. How could she expect me to stay on Rhodes with her? What was she thinking and feeling? I was a sailor; she was a whore who was called by Paul to seduce me into buying drinks, but I was also feeling a deep caring for her and was unsure what to do with those feelings.
“Don’t leave me. I want to make you a happy man. I will give myself to you. Please, stay.”
“No, I must get back to the ship. I am on my way to Paris. I can’t stay here. That would be impossible and crazy.”
“You said I should be a free spirit and be dangerous, so why can’t we be crazy and dangerous together?”
Again, I was stunned by her directness, her brown eyes looking into mine, urging me to stay and live with her, be her lover. I could see her innocence and wildness, her goodness and seductiveness, remembering her longing for a man in her life, someone to take her from her lonely existence to a place of being wanted and loved.
Suddenly, her words and the idea of staying with this beautiful, sexy, wild passionate woman excited me. My taking off on a freighter with no money was an adventure. My plans falling apart took me to places I had never been and experiences I would never have had. My adventure now brought me to Rhodes and this wild afternoon with Annika offering herself to me, begging me to stay and live dangerously, passionately: two free spirits tossing caution to the wind in order to feel completely alive.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” I asked, feeling the temptation of actually staying rise in me, to go with the flow, be adventurous and live on this island with this beautiful sexy woman who was both young and innocent, but also a whore; a woman who did what she had to in order to be the person she needed to be. I didn’t know what to do.
My mind was swirling with confusion and uncertainty. How could I stay, everything I had was on the ship, my books, my journal, my clothes. I would be sacrificing the money I had earned when I signed off in Spain--the money I needed to make my way to Paris and be where I planned over three months earlier.
“Yes, I am serious,” Annika said, reaching to pull me into her arms.
“How would I live if I stayed here? I have no money, no clothes other than what I am wearing.”
I rolled over to the other side of the bed and got up, looking down at her, our eyes meeting. She looked up at me with pleading eyes. I started to speak but couldn’t find words, so I went out onto the balcony and looked at the setting sun, the pink clouds getting darker, the last golden rays glowing on the water. Robert Frost’s lines, “For I have promises to keep,” came to my mind, aching in my throat as I whispered them to myself, knowing I had plans and things I needed to do in order to be the writer I wanted to be.
Just then Annika came out, standing behind me and wrapped her arms around my naked body. Pressing her body against me, I felt her breasts on my back, the warm softness of her skin on mine, the fragrance of her hair. She lowered her hand and held my deflated cock, caressing it, her fingers moving slowly, tenderly, her lips kissing my shoulder then whispering, “I won’t let you leave me. You can’t leave me. I want you to stay.”
She then turned me to face her and gently pushed me against the railing of the balcony, and got down on her knees, taking my cock in her hand and started licking me, her tongue moving slowly up and down my hardening shaft. All thoughts of leaving her left me as she moved her slurping tongue faster, looking up at me with those seductive brown eyes luring me into all that she was offering. The thought of my living here with this passionate, playful, sensuous woman was becoming more and more tempting, but my mind was swirling. How could I abandon everything I had on the ship, the money I had worked so hard to earn, my dreams of where I was going with my life.
When her mouth swallowed my cock, and she moved her hot mouth up and down my swelling cock, her mouth taking me deeper into her, sliding over her tongue to the back of her throat, I was losing it and knew if I didn’t stop I would explode and shoot my hot cum down her throat, and I would be lost in the ecstasy she was giving me. I didn’t know which way to turn or what to do.
Suddenly, I grabbed her hair and started fucking her mouth harder, feeling her speeding up, her hands gripping my ass, pulling me into her mouth, giving me the best blow job I had ever had and I knew I would lose this battle if I exploded in her mouth. Suddenly I pulled her mouth away from my cock, gripping her hair, looking down at her. “This is crazy. I have to go! I can’t do this!”
“No! No!” she yelled, saliva dripping from her lips, her eyes widening, looking up at me from the floor.
I tried pushing her aside so I could get my clothes and leave, but she grabbed me around the waist, pulling me to her, trying to stop me. My cock was still hard and I was struggling to hold back my urge to take her and fuck her on the floor but resisted and tried to reach my clothes thrown next to the bed. She was holding me by the waist while I struggled to move for my clothes and leave before it was too late. I was dragging her across the floor, her strong arms wrapped around my waist and I tried to squirm free, but she held on tighter.
“Don’t go! Don’t go! Stay with me! Don’t leave,” she cried.
“Let me go. I can’t stay,” I yelled, trying to get her hands to let go, to have her arms release me but couldn’t. She held on tighter, gripping me, holding on as I pulled, dragging her across the floor, trying to reach for my clothes. I couldn’t believe this was happening and felt like I was in a movie watching a man and woman in some exotic place, but realized it was me and Annika experiencing this excruciating scene.
“Stay! Stay!” she yelled.
I looked down at her desperately holding my thighs, her hair wild, tears in her eyes, sobbing. My heart was breaking seeing her crying, but I took her hands and pulled them from me, grabbed my clothes and started dressing, pulling on my jeans while she lay sprawled on the floor at my feet, looking up at me with tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I love you. I love you,” she cried. “I will make you a happy man. Stay with me.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I have to go back to the ship. It’s getting dark.”
She grabbed at my jeans as I buckled my belt, pulling me to her, but I reached down and swept her hands away. I pulled on my t-shirt and felt tears swelling in my eyes seeing the pain I was causing this beautiful sexy woman who was promising me every thing a man could want: passion, sex, life on an island away from all of societies’ stress and materialism, the danger and excitement of the unknown, the adventure of living for the moment, lust and freedom and the magnificent blue Mediterranean filling my days. Why couldn’t I write here, what was I giving up, why not abandon the ship, the money, my journals and stay with her and have what she was offering me.
“Please, please, stay with me, I want you to stay. I will make you happy,” she said, her voice filled with her desperate passion.
I sat on the bed, putting on my shoes, looking at her, sitting on her knees between my legs. She put her arms around my waist, holding me, looking up into my eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I love you. I love you,” she said in a quivering passionate voice.
I didn’t know what to think or say. How could she love me? She was a whore getting me to spend money and we got drunk and had wild passionate sex, but I also knew we bonded in a way that is rare, that it was more than fucking, and I could see through her efforts to seduce me, her sweet innocence; her desire to be more than an olive farmer’s daughter. She was an artist and ambitious to break out of the poverty and hard work of the farm, so she came when Paul called her to sell herself for money. She came so she could buy the sexy clothes and jewelry a young woman wants to feel alive, even though it was not enough to take away her longing for a man who wanted her and loved her.
I tried standing up, ready to leave, forcing her to release her arms. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet and put the money on the bed. She looked up and me, grabbed the money and threw it at me and shouted, “I don’t want your money, I want you. Stay with me.”
I couldn’t believe she threw the money at me but I let it drop to the floor. I opened the door and started down the stairs.
“The money is yours,” I said, feeling cruel and heartless, treating her like a whore, but still unsure if I was doing the right thing leaving this beautiful woman and the promises she was offering, still feeling the temptation to stay and be with her.
Halfway down the stairs, I looked back at her standing naked in the doorway, her wild dark hair, her brown eyes, her sad, pouting mouth, her breasts, hips, pussy barely covered with hair, her wonderful legs that had wrapped around me, holding me in her. How could I leave her? I wondered but turned, resisting my desire to run up the stair, take her in my arms and fuck her on the bedroom floor.
She followed me down the stairs and to the entrance of the café. I stopped to look back at her before leaving and she caught me and wrapped her arms around my waist and cried, “Please, don’t leave me.”
I pulled her arms away and continued through the café to the door and saw Paul at the bar look at me, then at Annika, naked and crying on the patio floor. I took more money from my wallet and slammed it on one of the tables to pay for the wine, and went to my bicycle, noticing it was getting darker and hoped I would be able to see my way back into town in time to meet the shuttle back to the ship. Fortunately, I was at the top of a hill so I was able to pedal and move fast down the steep dirt rode, wondering what I would do if I missed the shuttle, wondering if Life’s imagination knew more than my mind. Still, I rode into the town, over the cobble stone street, passed the Kit Kat Club, to the bicycle shop, waving at the owner as I leaned the bike against the wall and ran to the pier where I saw the First Cook and the other sailors boarding the boat, waving to me to hurry.
Climbing aboard, I sat down on one of the benches just as the shuttle pulled away from the dock, hearing the motor putter as we went through the harbor, past the two marble bases that once held the huge Colossus of Rhodes and saw the freighter that I had lived on the last three months, knowing in two days I would sign off in Spain and head to Paris.
I turned, and could see in the distance, the top of the hill and the Acadia Café, the empty patio, the steps leading up to the room where Annika and I had spent an afternoon I would never forget. For a second, I thought I saw her waving but it was too dark to be sure. I kept looking, and then I knew she was there watching the shuttle taking me closer to the ship that would take me out of her life. Tears swelled in me, my heart wrenched with pangs of loss, my mind wondering if I had made a mistake and then it was too dark to see.
I continued on my journey, signed off in Allicante, Spain, made my way to Paris where I stayed for awhile, sitting in cafes on the Left Bank before heading to Copenhagen and then onto the rest of my life. I never forgot Annika, wondering what would have happened if I had stayed, wondering about the decisions we make; the twists and turns that sweep us along and become our stories.
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/straight-sex/lust-on-the-island-of-rhodes.aspx">Lust on the Island of Rhodes</a>