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Camping Fusina

"Memories of my time at a small camping ground in Italy."

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As I reminisce about my sexual adventures back in the day, it would be negligent not to include Fusina in my writings. It was a small camping ground just across the lagoon from Venice. Many tour buses called in there and disgorged their young travellers for a night of rowdy partying around the bar. There was probably more bonking going on at Fusina each night than was happening in Venice.

My girlfriend Frances and I stopped there for a night in Oct 1970, a couple of days after a terrible Tornado had ripped through the camping ground. It tore roofs off buildings, flipped caravans and destroyed tents. A dozen of my friends had been staying there when the Tornado hit. Most of them were unharmed, just a few bruises. But an American guy died, and a friend of a friend broke her back when a tree landed on their tent.

Fran and I only stayed one night, we hitched rides up to Octoberfest in Munich the following day. An interesting piece of trivia: we hitched a ride up the Bremmer Pass with a black American guy in his little red Fiat Spyder sports car. I remember it as being a very tight fit. Fran and I, with our rucksacks, crammed in beside him. He told us Jimi Hendrix had committed suicide the previous day. Fran was quite affected by this news. She had seen him perform twice, the last time only a couple of weeks before.

When we met up with my mates at Thalkirchen camping ground, all they could talk about was what a fantastic place Fusina had been. And we all swore to visit there again.

As it turned out, I revisited Fusina three more times in the next two years. The first was in May 1971, after my mate Geoff and I stopped there for a few wild nights after our Morocco trip. We had spent two weeks travelling around Morocco, and after crossing to Algeciras, we drove up the east coast of Spain, stopping for a day in Granada, then selling our blood in Valencia to boost our flagging funds. Then, we drove across the French Riviera and into Italy. The aim was to stop in Fusina for a few nights, then drive to Rome, where we had arranged to meet some friends. But we wound up staying about five nights at Fusina, as we were having that much fun.

I don't want to sound like I'm bragging, but we were pretty popular with the female guests that poured into the camp each day, and the camp owner, Renato, asked us to stay on and work for him. Geoff was a whizz on the barbecue, and I did odd jobs. A paddock was next to the camp where Renato had chooks, ducks and pigs. One of my tasks was looking after them. I also remember helping spray for Mosquitoes, which could be a problem with the water nearby. But his main reason for asking us to stay was our evening partying skills. The camp had a reputation to uphold, and English-speaking guys were in high demand.

We had to decline his offer as we had our friends to meet in Rome, after which we decided to travel down to Sicily. However, Geoff kept in touch with Renato, and when we returned to London at the end of May, Geoff packed up and returned to Fusina to work there for the Summer.

A week after Geoff returned to Fusina, I travelled to the U.S. for my second stint at Camp America. When I returned to the U.K., I hitch-hiked down to Fusina for the first T-Day Festival, which was held in September of 71. The camp had changed. I believe a tour company had spent money on Renato building a bunk room for their young travellers. This meant there were now tour buses arriving almost every day, sometimes more than one.

The camp always had a young clientele. I remember Renato turning married couples with children away and steering them to a neighbouring campsite. He explained that the antics after dark got pretty wild. They didn't all take his advice. When I stayed there on my fourth visit, a married couple in their forties stayed a couple of nights in their camper van. They watched the goings-on the first night and, about midnight, hit me up about spending the night with them. The husband explained his wife had always fantasised about being taken by a European gigolo. Geoff and I had a good laugh afterwards at our being thought of as gigolos, but I guess that is what we were in many people's eyes.

I was tempted but turned them down. Today, I would jump at the chance, but I was not keen on being in the same bed as another man in my late teens. It's a shame. The wife was quite a stunner; I'd probably have learned a lot.

Anyway, back to the story. Geoff and I helped set up all the events for the T-Day festival. I don't remember half of the events, but there was a greasy pole, a yard glass drinking competition, running races, etc. 

You had to be pretty objectionable to miss out on getting laid at Fusina. As I said, a tour bus (the one I remember most clearly was Contiki) arrived most evenings, and often, there were only a couple of guys on the bus of twenty young travellers. Many of the girls were after some action. Geoff and I bonked a different young lady nearly every night. And one day, I slept with four different ladies.

Impossible, I hear you say! Let me elaborate.

The story starts three days after the T-Day festival finishes. As I mentioned, Geoff and I helped Renato with many camp tasks. This particular morning, he had me take a group of campers over to visit the Murano glass factory, which I did half a dozen times during my stays. We got back about 1:00 pm, and I helped out with lunch. Then, having some time to myself until dinner at 6:00, I wandered down to the pier to read my book and sunbathe.

When I arrived at the pier, I found I was not alone. There was a teenage blond bombshell sunning at the dock. I had a rough idea of who she was, as I'd seen four girls arrive while we were serving lunch. They had parked their light blue Kombi van on the other side of the Shower block to where I had my tent.

Anyway, bombshell was an understatement. She was fucking beautiful. She looked like a young Britt Ekland. She was well above my pay grade, and for a moment, I was quite lost for words.

However, I quickly came down to earth and tried to engage her in conversation. She was lying on a towel, wearing a mauve bikini. Nothing like the brief bum-bearing pieces of today, but pretty daring for the times. I noticed that besides her book and towel, she had a beach bag with a bottle of sun cream on top. So I offered to oil up her back if she wanted.

She sat up a bit, gave me a condescending look, then introduced herself as Astrid and said, "If you are after getting me into bed, I'll explain up front that I'm not interested. I have a boyfriend back in Oslo, and we will get married when I return."

Well, that told me plenty. I had thought she was Swedish, but now I knew she was Norwegian. And I didn't need to waste time thinking up any corny pickup lines. I could just relax and be myself.

I replied, "I work here at the camp, and my job is to look after the guests. So even though it is my downtime, I'm happy to rub some lotion on your back if you can't reach it."

"Go on, then," she replied, reaching behind to undo the strap of her top.

I reached over, picked up her suntan lotion, and, scarcely able to believe my luck, began rubbing oil onto her exquisite curves. Well, my eyes roamed all over her curves, and I kept my hands diligently working on her back. There were, however, deep red indentations where her strap had been biting in, So I began digging my fingers in and trying to obliterate this blemish on her otherwise perfect torso.

She lifted up, a hand holding onto her bikini to stop it from dropping away from her enticing globes and snapped, "What are you up to."

"You have a nasty bra strap mark, and I'm trying to massage it out. I'll stop if you like, but it does not look good, and I thought maybe it hurt a little."

Astrid relaxed back onto her towel and said to continue. I massaged her back for a few minutes, as long as I thought I could get away with, and we talked intermittently. She spoke fluent English, and I was to learn that she was also fluent in German and spoke pretty good French. She explained that she was travelling with three other girls in a van and would be happy to introduce me to one of them as they were all more accommodating than she was. 

What do you do in that situation? Well, you don't say yes, please, and look like a total jerk. So I just ignored her offer of her friends and kept talking. After a while, I rolled away to read my book. We talked intermittently over the next couple of hours. But I was careful to keep the conversation light and not annoy her with my usual sexual innuendos. At around 5:00 pm, I told Astrid I needed to help with dinner, and as I departed I said I hoped she would come party in the bar that evening.

No buses had turned up that day, so the night looked quiet. Which was something we actually looked forward to now and again. 

When Astrid and her three travelling companions turned up around 7:00 that evening, no more than a dozen people were in the bar. We had the music blaring out, probably Rod Stewart, Carol King, Led Zeppelin, etc. There was some good music around those days.

She came over and introduced her friends, and I introduced the staff and some of the other campers. All the staff had different party routines. Geoff had a considerable repertoire of dirty rugby songs. Renato and one of the other Italian guys played the guitar. I was the comedian. I had many funny stories, ranging from clean to outright filthy. I was very good at picking what was appropriate for the demographic on any particular evening. I have been told on more than one occasion I should be on the stage.

Some more campers wandered in as the noise got louder. It turned into quite a party, even though there were less than half the usual number of people there. I was tempted to make a pass at one of Astrid's travelling companions as they were all attractive, but I didn't want to appear to be that shallow, so I kept talking and having the odd dance with Astrid. I do remember dancing with her to 'Breads', Want To Make It With You. And as I belted out I wanted to make it with her, she laughingly told me I had no chance.

Later in the evening, I was cajoled into entertaining the party with some of my jokes. I started with some pretty clean ones, and once I had assessed what would be appropriate, I started telling some more risqué funnies aimed at what I knew about the various people there.

When I got to Astrid, I said she reminded me of Snow White and asked if they had heard about her getting kidnapped by the Dark Prince. To excited cries from her travelling companions of, "No, tell us," I began the story.

The seven Dwarfs came home from work to find Snow White was nowhere to be seen and no dinner prepared. Doc went next door to see if their neighbour knew what had happened to her. The neighbour told Doc that she had been kidnapped by the Dark Prince.

So off they go to the Dark Prince's Castle. 

As I marched around the table, I gave them the old Hi Ho, Hi Ho. Then, stopping next to Astrid, continued.

When they arrive at the castle, they find one solitary light burning in the tower. They climb up, standing on each other's shoulders to hoist their lightest member, Dopey, up to look in the window.

Grumpy yells to Doc, standing on his shoulders, "What's happening?" The message travels up via the five dwarfs to Dopey, who grabs the sill, hoists himself, and takes a peek.

"Oh,' she's on the bed," Dopey whispers.

"She's on the bed. She's on the bed. She's on the bed. She's on the bed. She's on the bed," travels back down to Grumpy.

Grumpy says again, "What's happening now?" And "What's happening now? What's happening now?"  What's happening now?" travels back up the column via Doc, Sneezy, Bashful, Happy, Sleepy, etc.

Again, Dopey grips the sill and peers into the Dark Prince's bedroom.

"He's kissing her. He's kissing her, he's kissing her, he's kissing her," gets passed down by the excited dwarfs.

I took this opportunity to plant a brief kiss on Astrid's cheek. I kept this up for several more times, with Snow White starting to lose articles of clothing. This is one of those jokes you can draw out as long as you want.

By the time Dopey tells them the Dark Prince is removing her knickers, the line is getting very shaky. And a chorus of husky dwarf voices mumbles, "What's happening now? What's happening now? What's happening now?" Back up to Dopey.

Dopey lifts his head above the sill and gasps as he sees The Dark Prince insert two fingers between Snow White's tender thighs. The Dark Prince hears Dopey gasp and jumps off the bed.

Dopey cries out, "Oh God, he's coming." And a chorus of, "So am I, so am I, so am I,  so am I,  so am I," reverberates down the column.

Of course, I had been acting out the removal of all these items from Astrid throughout the telling, and she, along with all her friends, was in fits of laughter. Everyone in the bar called Astrid 'Snow White' for the rest of the night. I've always wondered if the new nickname stuck.

I wondered if she may have mellowed enough for me to have a chance by the night's end, as we seemed to be getting on so well. But just before midnight, at the end of a dance, she leaned in, kissed me on the lips, and said goodnight. I watched her walk over past the shower block around to their van.

I wasn't disappointed, as I'd had a bloody great evening. Some single girls were still at the bar, but I wasn't interested, so I slipped away to my tent for an early night. No way did I want to sully the memory of such a lovely young woman.

However, as dawn broke the next morning, I was woken to the sound of my tent zip and the silhouette of a female form climbing through the opening. It was Astrid. I went to say something, but she pressed her finger to my lips, warning me to keep quiet. She was wearing a cotton shorty bathrobe with nothing under it. And after struggling in the tight confines of my one-person tent, she straddled me. 

Although it was still dark, the shower block lights had come on at 6:00, so in the dim morning light, I watched in awe as Astrid spat on her fingers, slid her hand between her legs and lubed up her folds. She lowered herself onto my morning hard. 

She did all the work, and we hardly said a word. I held onto Astrid's smooth hips, watching my cock driving into her. She fucked me until some quiet squeals and moans began to escape her mouth. Then, to silence her mounting desire, she slumped down onto me and smashed her lips to mine.

She lay still, and I had no doubt she was riding out the urge to climax. Then after a couple of minutes, she sat up again and whispered to me, "Oh fuck, I can't hold on. I'm going to come."

I pulled her hips tightly to mine as her orgasm spasmed through her body. It was a very different experience for me. It was usually me doing all the work. Striving to get the lady of the moment to come and wanting it to be good so she wouldn't tell her friends I was a lousy lay. I just lay there soaking up the experience, and when she finally rolled to my side, I took in the view of her extraordinary beauty.

"Have you come," she asked.

"No. But it's okay. That was the best I have had in years."

Without any preamble, she pushed herself down my body and took my semi-hard prick into her mouth. Breathing hard, I inhaled her rich, distinct, womanly scent, and a familiar feeling began to rise in my loins, letting me know I was not going to be able to hold out for very much longer.

"I'm going to come," I warned her.

She mumbled around my jerking prick, "That's alright, I've only tasted one before. You can come in my mouth."

Those words did me in. My cock convulsed, and I spurted pure Ecstasy between her sucking lips. A feeling of euphoria gripped me; gasping and groaning, I thrust into her mouth until the after-orgasmic sensitivity became too much, and I pushed her away to lie beside me.

She swallowed the lot, and as soon as she regained her breath, Astrid got on her knees. She awkwardly pulled on her robe, picked up a towel that I hadn't noticed earlier, and said, "Don't you tell a soul?" Then she was out of the tent and off to the showers.

I lay there contemplating what had just happened. It was like an out-of-body experience, more like a dream than an actual event. Finally, I got myself up and went over to have breakfast.

The girl's van drove past while we were having breakfast on the patio. We waved them off, and then the guys started recounting who had slept with whom. I kept quiet. Not because Astrid had told me too, but because I didn't think anyone would believe me. Geoff had spent the night with one of Astrid's friends, and one of the Italians had fucked another of her friends up against a tree. When they turned to me to find out how I had gotten on, and I shook my head. Renato piped up, "He nailed Astrid. I saw her leaving his tent this morning."

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There were cries of "No Way!" And when I modestly tried to deny it, Renato cried, "Bullshit, she looked well fucked to me," I realised it was useless denying it any longer, but I did hang my head and tried not to look proud or boastful. I took a fair bit of ribbing the rest of the day. 

So Astrid was number one. Not that there was ever any competition or keeping of numbers.

At about 3:30 pm, a Contiki bus arrived with over twenty Aussie, Kiwi and Pommie girls aboard. Renato was not there, so it fell to me to show the tour group where the bunk room was and how everything worked. The driver and I helped carry the girl's bags in. I was asked if there would be a party that night, as the girls were looking forward to it. I told them every night was a party and I'd see them all there.

One of the girls took me aside as I was leaving. She pointed out her friend, Sally, who was keen on me but too timid to approach me. The girl she pointed out was nothing spectacular, especially after my having been with Astrid only a few hours before. But she was far from ugly, a petite little thing that would typically have gotten my motor running any other day. I gave her a smile, which had her all flustered, and snapping her head away, she walked out of sight behind some bunks. 

But in the light of all the ribbing I had taken that day, I had determined I would not pick up a girl that night, as it would diminish what had been a special experience, and I didn't want to sully the memory of Astrid.

Slowly, in the next hour or two, the group gravitated to the bar and began ordering drinks. Every time I interacted with the girls, I was aware that Sally was eyeing me up. I was experienced enough with women to know I was in if I wanted her, but I was still determined to stick to my guns and have a chaste evening.

However, just before dinner, Sally plucked up the courage and came to the bar to talk with me. She asked if I had a cabin and mumbled that she would like to see it. When I pointed out my tent next to the shower block, she looked disappointed. Thinking no more of it, I continued working the bar and helping with getting dinner set up.

Soon, the girls all disappeared back to the bunk room to get their glad rags on. Just after 6:00, they reappeared and chose some seats out on the patio, ready for Geoff's barbecue. Sally's friend approached me and said, "Sally needs some help." Can you go to the bunk room? 

Naively, I finished what I was doing, stepped out the back and wandered down to the bunk room. I had an idea Sally might want more than just conversation, but I thought I would be safe in the daylight. Still, I was thinking about how to keep some distance and not upset her. When I walked in, Sally was sitting on her bunk waiting for me. She had a short skirt on with a tank top and had put a lot of effort into her appearance. And I remember that a surge of need flooded my loins.

It's all a bit hazy after all these years, but suffice to say, we wound up cuddling, and I found she was wearing no knickers. That did in all my resolve. Before you could gasp out, 'What the fuck is happening,' I was in a bunk just inside the door, donkey-deep in this young lady I'd only spoken a couple of sentences too. It was another 'out of this world experience'. She was not some wanton hussy, far from it. If you asked me to pick out a player from the group of twenty-odd women there, she would have been the last I would have expected to offer up her body.

I was giving it my all when her friend came through the door. She pretended to get something from her bunk and not to see us, but as she left, she called out, "Not so innocent now, are you, Sally?"

Sally was mortified, with her eyes closed she had not seen her friend. I tried to assure her it didn't matter and that that was what happened all the time at Fusina. But I couldn't convince her to come to dinner and party with us all later. I finally extracted myself and went back to the bar.

The whole experience was not very memorable, and if it hadn't been for the rest of the night's happenings, I would never have remembered her. She had laid there like a wet sack throughout. I hoped she hadn't been a virgin, as it was not one of my better efforts, and I did aspire to make every effort to please any girl who honoured me with her virtue. 

I asked her friend sometime that night if Sally was alright, as she never showed her face. The friend told me not to worry that Sally was a prude and had tried to tell everyone the whole trip that she was a virgin and was now super embarrassed. I'm sure she hadn't been a virgin. She had not been very tight, there was no blood, and she showed little signs of discomfort, even though I'm slightly larger than average down there.

So that was number two.

Around 8:00, a Protea Tours bus arrived. It had twelve South African girls on board. They were hoping to have the bunk room, but as the Contiki group had snagged it, Renato directed them to a spot close to the ablution block.  The lights were always on until 10:00, and there was a spotlight on that end, just for this situation.

Four of us staff went over to give them a hand. I helped two girls who were setting up their tent. They were like chalk and cheese. One was extremely outgoing and gave me a lot of sexy banter. The other was quiet as a mouse. I don't remember their names, but they were Afrikaans, and their names reflected this so will call them Veerle and Famke.

Veerle was about 5'9", well built, and handsome. She was very outgoing and let me know she wanted to party hard and was up for anything. Famke was the opposite, petite, about 5'2" and, as I already said, quiet and shy. I was quite taken with Famke. If I haven't already mentioned, innocent, shy, petite women push all my buttons.  But I realised from the first words that Veerle would not let me out of her sight.

Once they had their tent up, I left them to sort out their gear and returned to the bar to help clean up and get the place ready for the night's party.

As the place started to rage, and several girls had already dragged me to the floor for dances, Veerle arrived and possessively cut in. I didn't mind, as the last thing I wanted was to take up with one of Sally's tour companions. Isn't it funny that when you want to pick up a woman, there are none interested in you? But when you have a woman, free, easy women seem everywhere in droves.

Veerle made it plain that I was hers for the night. I would have been over the moon to know I was likely to score most nights. But really, I would much rather have snuck off to bed. My reticence just seemed to make Veerle more determined, though, and she almost screwed me on the dance floor, much to the delight of the guys that had been giving me shit earlier that day. However, an unwritten part of my job description was entertaining the guests. So I stayed and partied on.

Around 10:00 pm, Veerle told me she needed a shower, and asked me to show her where it was. Of course, I replied that she knew very well where the shower was. But she replied in her broad South African twang, "Eish boy. You will know which ones have the best pressure. I had a terrible shower yisterdie."

I reluctantly followed her across the drive, knowing full well that she was after more than a shower. She led me to her tent, where she stripped to her panties, wrapped a towel around herself and dragged me off to the shower block.

I picked the one I always used: no soap. I knew that was not what we were there for. Veerle dropped her towel and began to rip my shorts and ' T' off. She pulled me against her and leaned back onto the wall. Then, she gripped one knee and pulled it under her chin, took hold of my overused prick, and directed it into her willing, wet gash. I think she called it her Poes. Then as she got going, she started yelling at me to fuck her Kant. I wasn't oblivious that some of those outside the bar probably heard us, but she didn't give a dam, so I just kept hammering away.

I'm not sure how long we had been at it, But she sounded like she was about to come when the door opened. And Famke was standing there watching us. I went to pull away, but Veerle held me tight, not in the least concerned about being caught fucking. It's a bit hazy how things progressed, but Famke got in the shower with us, still dressed, and Veerle and I helped her get out of her clothes. Veerle informed me that Famke was still a virgin and asked if I would like to rectify this. This was music to my ears. Suddenly, I was interested. I hadn't turned Veerle down, but Famke would have always been my first choice on a normal night at the bar. 

I asked Veerle if she was not jealous of me doing Famke. But she just laughed, "Fuck no, it turns me on. It's well past time she lost her virginity."

With that, Veerle stepped behind Famke, held her under her arms, and lifted her up against her chest. I spat on poor old Roger, but because he was pretty wet from having just slipped out of Veerle, Percy slipped in surprisingly easily. And I'm not that small. I did however take it slow and was as gentle as I could after the revelation the Famke was a virgin. Once I was embedded, I took hold of her knees, pushed them up to her chin and took all the weight, freeing Veerle to cuddle into Famke's back and play with her tits.

Usually, I would have had trouble stopping myself from climaxing quickly with such a pretty young teen. But having come twice that day, once only a couple of hours earlier, meant I was going to be able to hold out for as long as I wanted. Then the fucking water ran cold. This often happened when there was more than one bus in the camp. We broke apart with the shock of the cold water hitting us and exited the shower to hear some hoots and hollers from some of the gang standing across the road on the patio.

We scurried away to their tent, where I wasted no time in climbing on top of Famke. I took my time with her, treating her tenderly and trying to get her to climax. Veerle was lying close beside us, fingering herself and trying to get involved. Which I wasn't exactly pleased about. 

When I came, as per usual, much sooner than I wanted to, Veerle tried to get me to roll over on top of her and give her another one. But I was buggered, so a bit annoyed with me, she pulled on her dress and went back to the bar to look for more action.

Fearing that Veerle would come back with another guy, I got Famke to pull on a nightgown, and we slipped from her tent to mine. We fell asleep in one another's arms. I made love to her again the next morning as the sun was coming up.

Later, just before the Protea Tours bus left that morning, Famke came over and asked for my address, promising to write. I never did get a letter from her, as when we got back to London, my mates had moved up to Golders Green. So, if she did write, the letter was never forwarded to me from our old address.

So that was three and four. Not your typical day, but it was not the only time I had more than one lady in a day at Fusina.

There is a P.S. to this story. 

Four days later, on the eve of my last day in Fusina, Astrid's blue Kombi drove into the campsite. It turned out the girls had gotten down as far as Rome and then had a vote about returning to Fusina. Astrid's travelling companion, the one who had slept with Geoff, was keen to have him again.

They were only going to stay one night, as they needed a couple of days to drive back to Oslo. Renato talked to them about their proposed trip home, found they were passing close to Antwerp, and arranged for me to join them the next morning. The plan was that I would leave them at Antwerp, hitch to Oostende, and catch the ferry back to England. 

Astrid didn't look entirely happy about the decision to have me travel with them. I understood why; it was obvious by the looks she was giving, that none of the girls knew about us and that she wanted it to stay that way.

As soon as I managed to get Geoff alone, I warned him not to let the cat out of the bag about Astrid and me. He was already chatting up Astrid's friend, and I was scared he would start teasing us.

I, on the other hand, had no idea what was going to happen. There was a tour bus in with plenty of free girls on board. More than one girl from the bus was vying for my attention. So as the party raged, I gave Astrid no more attention than was appropriate and made sure I divided my time between as many women as possible.

This all sounds like I think I'm 'God's gift to women'; nothing could be further from the truth. I've had plenty of nights before Fusina where not one lady wanted to know me. But you could have had B.O. and looked like a pig and still found a woman interested in you at Fusina. That's just what the place was like.

Over the next couple of hours, I had several dances with Astrid, and I managed to get plenty of laughs out of her. But she played the part of being not at all interested very well. Towards the end of the evening, when people were sneaking off to bed, one of the Contiki girls tried to drag me out of the bar. I looked over at Astrid and got a 'Don't you dare' look. So I untangled myself and soon snuck away to bed.

Just after midnight, not that surprisingly, I was woken by the sound of my tent zip opening. And Astrid, dressed in her cotton robe and carrying a towel, slipped into my tent.

This time, I took control. I pushed Astrid onto her back and dived between her legs. Pushing my tongue through her blond pubic hair and searching out her slit, I worried her relentlessly until she had a small orgasm. She reached down and pulled me up the bed and, unbelievably, gave me a very passionate kiss. If nothing else, this had me as hard as an iron bar. It turns me on when women don't mind tasting themselves.

I ran my fingers over Astrid's thighs and buttocks, then lifted her ankles over her head. She let out a blissful groan and opened wide for me. She even helped guide my aching member into her gushing love glove. I was in heaven, definitely one of the most beautiful women I have been with in my life.

I somehow managed to hold off my climax until I felt her coming again. Absolute Ecstasy!!!! We orgasmed at almost the same instant. But as I slumped down beside her, I found we were lying in her gooey mess. It may have been partly my mess, but in the dim light, I could see that most of the wet patch had been made long before I had come. And there was no mistaking the smell of an aroused woman. It was just as well this was my last night, as I was going to have to get my sleeping bag to a dry cleaner.

We fell asleep, it was hot enough that we didn't need to use my ruined bag, and we didn't wake until dawn. I was keen to go again, but she hurried off, telling me she needed to get to the showers before one of the other girls noticed she was not in her tent.

Slightly disappointed, I lay contemplating my good fortune. But soon, I had to get up and pack all my gear. We got on the road before 9:00, and I remember it being a little awkward talking with the four girls. Astrid was scared that a sneaky look or comment would give the show away. I, on the other hand, wanted the world to know, but I diligently played the part.

When they dropped me off on the outskirts of Antwerp, they all climbed out and hugged and kissed me goodbye. Some kissed me quite amorously, not Astrid, though. I just got a peck on the cheek from her. Then, as she cuddled me, she whispered in my ear, "Thank you."

I'm not sure if this was for not letting the cat out of the bag or for the incredible sex earlier. But I took it as the latter, and my feet never touched the ground until I arrived in London.

So that was Fusina. I travelled there another two times before I journeyed back to N.Z. But neither visit quite lived up to the 72 visit. I'd be very interested to hear if any of the readers also visited Fusina in the 1970s. And did they have similar adventures there.

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Written by mingemuncher
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