This episode is part of a series of Travel Tales, about Jason’s backpacking trip across Europe in 1995.
Swiss Miss
The gay clubs of Europe were a hell of a lot of fun, especially compared to the few I was limited to in Western Michigan. But I wasn’t taking this trip just to get laid in each of the capitals of Western Europe. Well, I was, but that wasn’t the whole point of the trip. I also wanted to experience the flavor of each country I visited. On top of that, I’m not really a big-city kinda guy, and even a historic big city is still a big city.
So I decided to get off the train in Lucerne, a small Medieval city in the middle of the Confoederatio Helvetica… better known as Switzerland.
The cheapish hotel I booked was only about half a mile from Lake Lucerne, or as the German-speaking locals call it, Vierwaldstättersee, which means Four Wooded Cities Lake or something like that. Anyway, it was a short walk to the lake, which is ridiculously picturesque, with a narrow, wiggly shape and mountains all around it. It’s almost fjord-like, except that it isn’t connected to the ocean (Switzerland being land-locked and all), and the mountains look more, well… Alpine. So after dinner the day I got there, I walked down to the lake and strolled along the shoreline, watching the swans, and enjoying the scenery.
I found a bench with a nice view, and took off my shoes and socks, to give my overworked feet a break. (Seriously: when you’re traveling, take care of your feet. There’s nothing worse than blisters and sore feet to spoil what should be an amazing trip!) The bench was also easy on my eyes, because it gave me a nice vantage point to watch the occasional pedestrians walking past.
I kept up an internal commentary: “Here comes a thirty-ish jogger in onion-skin shorts and running shoes… nice! And yes, there he goes… also nice! Now a forty-ish couple, holding hands like teenagers… isn’t that sweet? A wolf-pack of five high-school boys jostle past, each trying to assert himself over the others… now what’s the age of consent in Switzerland? A couple of girls more my age walk past in the opposite direction, apparently gossiping and giggling like schoolgirls… oh god, please stop that giggling, but otherwise the one on the left is kinda cute.”
I looked down at the sidewalk in front of me, and there was an envelope that hadn’t been there before: someone must have just dropped it. I looked right: the girls were about 20 yards away. I looked left: the boys were 50 yards that way. I grabbed the envelope and walked quickly (barefoot) to catch up with the girls.
“Entschuldigen,” I tried unsuccessfully to get their attention from behind. I kept walking and caught up with them. “Entschuldigen Sie. Ist dieser…” Damn. I had no clue how to say “envelope”, the brown-haired girl really was kinda cute, and my vague recollection of German possessive pronouns chose that moment to abandon me. I gave up and continued in English, “Is this yours? Did you drop this?”
The girls looked at the envelope, looked at each other, and looked back at me. “No. Sorry.”
Drat. “Entschuldigen.” At least the cute girl smiled at me.
I turned around and jogged to catch up with the pack of wolves. By the time I reached them, I was a little winded, but I’d at least remembered the German word for thing. “Oi!” I got their attention several yards before reaching them. “Ist dieser Ding…. yours?” The possessive pronoun was still out of reach. I blushed, and came to a stop as they did. I looked from one boy to the next. 1) Kinda cute. 2) Meh. 3) Maybe in a couple years. 4) Right now, please! 5) Wouldn’t kick him out of bed.
“Did one of you drop this?”
Right-Now-Please, a serious-looking dark-haired boy at the far side of the pack pricked up his ears, and reached for his back pocket. Finding the pocket empty, he swaggered toward me, and looked at the envelope in my hand. Sixteen. I think the age of consent is sixteen. “Das ist meins,” he said, extending his hand. “Danke,” he nodded.
“Bitte,” I handed the envelope to him and smiled. He took the letter, and stuck it halfway into his back pocket. I looked at his butt, thinking, Dude, that’s gonna fall out again! And also God, that’s a fine ass! He turned and walked away, and the rest of the pack followed. Kinda-Cute shot back “Thanks, fag!” in an exaggerated American accent, and the rest of them burst out laughing.
Bite me, … I couldn’t think of an epithet for a Swiss person. Damn them.
My mood spoiled, I retrieved my shoes and went back to the hotel to plan my evening. It didn’t take long to decide: I’d find a bar with some nice atmosphere and get drunk.
I wandered the streets around my hotel for a while, stopping into one place or another. Too expensive. Dress code I don’t meet. Everyone is at least 10 years older than me. All men and it isn’t a gay bar. Tourist trap. I finally found a place that seemed OK: maybe 20 or 30 people in small groups, a handful of solo drinkers, bright enough for me to look thru my guidebook, and a weird jazz trio playing in the corner.
I took a seat by the window. From there I could see just a sliver of the lake down the street. I ordered a bottle of Feldschlösschen (an unremarkable but drinkable Swiss lager), nursed it while people-watching, bought another, then turned to my guidebook. I was looking for something to do, to explore the city or the surrounding mountains, or maybe the lake. I’d seen couples on pedal-boats on the lake, and wondered if there were solo units I might be able to rent. (One of the hazards of traveling alone.) I wasn’t finding anything listed about that, but I circled some info about a place that rented them, and figured I’d start by checking there.
I heard a familiar-sounding giggle. I tuned it out at first, then heard the word “American”. I turned my head, and there were the two girls from the Envelope Incident, sitting at another table. They were pretending not to be looking at me, while obviously looking at me and talking about me in between draughts from their beers. The cute one looked over at me while I was looking at her, and immediately turned away. I didn’t. When she looked again, I smiled and raised my bottle, then took a drink. You know: to be polite. She blushed.
Her friend seemed to be encouraging her. She emptied her beer, stood up, adjusted her skirt, and walked over to me, as her friend watched.
“I see you have shoes now,” she quipped in perfect Hollywood English, with just a hint of an accent.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah… I was just letting my feet air out, when I saw your envelope.” I took a quick drink. “Except it wasn’t your envelope, of course. Duh.”
“No, it wasn’t. My friend and I argued about whether you really found it, or if it was a trick to try to talk to us.”
“No, it was for real. I found the owner.” I motioned for her to sit down. “Which side did you take… in the argument?”
“I thought it was for real. It was a stupid trick if that’s what it was… and you didn’t look that stupid.”
“Vielen Dank!” I thanked her sarcastically, with a big smile. I asked her if she wanted another beer, and looked over toward her friend to invite her over too. But the friend was gathering her things, and waved goodbye instead. I got it. I ordered one for me and one for the girl.
Her name was Elena, and she was a student. She didn’t say whether that was high-school level or college, but I didn’t ask her to clarify. I figured if she was old enough to drink, she was old enough to make her own bad decisions. We talked for some time. She was amazed to hear what I was doing, traveling all over Europe, especially since she’d never been farther than Paris or the Netherlands. And I was far enough into the trip to have plenty of stories to tell… leaving out the X-rated parts and especially the Q-rated elements. I asked her about things to see and do in Lucerne, and explained my plan to try the pedal-boats the next day.
“Where are you stopping?” she inquired.
I was a little confused by the question. “I’m not stopping until the UK.”
“No, I mean now, in Luzern. Where are you stopping here?”
“Oh, you mean my hotel? It’s… it’s… about a mile from here.” I took the hint. “Do you want to go there?”
In answer, she picked up her beer and emptied it.
As we walked to my hotel, I could see from her slightly unsteady gait that this was definitely a drink-too-much-and-make-bad-decisions night for Elena. As a gentleman, I was obliged to join her in that, and I’d already taken care of the drinking part.
“It’s so small,” she exclaimed when we got to my room.
“You haven’t seen it yet!” I leered, and unbuttoned my jeans. She giggled again like a schoolgirl. I was horny enough not to mind it anymore.
She put her arms on my shoulders, interrupting me from taking my pants off. “I can’t wait!” she whispered, but then kissed me. Her tongue slid between my lips and across my teeth. I put my hands on her hips and pressed my hardening cock against her.
She slid her hands down my sides, and under the waistband of my jeans. Her tongue explored deeper into my mouth, where I wrestled with it. She was scented with some flower I couldn’t place.
I disengaged from the kiss, but Elena didn’t, licking my jaw and kissing my whiskered chin.
She reached for my fly and unzipped my pants, then tugged briefly at my dick. I took half a step back, dropped my pants and underwear and stepped out of them. She removed her blouse, tossing it stripper-style onto the bed. I took off my shirt while she unfastened and dropped her skirt. As she reached behind herself to unfasten her bra, I kneeled in front of her, then slid her panties off her hips and down her legs. My cock swayed back and forth between my thighs.
I nuzzled my nose into the patch of hair that led between her legs. She giggled. I extended my tongue and licked the inside of her thighs. She let out a long, soft hum. I guided her to sit on the bed, then to lie back and spread her legs to give me better access to her pussy.
I admit: I don’t get off on pussy-licking for its own sake. I find a cock and balls more naturally entertaining. But I do enjoy it for the reaction that it gets, especially when done right. My tongue, nose, and lips probably won’t win me any awards, but they’ve won me some enthusiastic scalp massages and even some hair-pulling. And that’s what I got from Elena.
She didn’t say much – too bad: I like a talker – but moaned and grunted her guidance and approval. I do respond well to approval. From time to time I slipped a hand down to my cock and stroked it as I explored her lips and her clit with my tongue.
Her breathing became very quick and deliberate, as if she was trying repeatedly to blow out the candles on a birthday cake. I focused my attention on her clit, circling it with the top of my tongue. Her breathing paused. Both hands squeezed the crown of my head, as her breaths now came in deep, heaving sighs. I sucked on her as she came, moaning loudly.
Half a minute passed while she lay there, mostly still. She’d gotten me pretty fired up by this point, and I was ready to give her more than my tongue. I climbed forward, and kissed her left nipple, then her right. She giggled.
I thought about where my condoms were… I’d neglected to put one in my jeans pocket, so the most accessible ones were somewhere inside my pack. So much easier to just slide it in, right then and there. I started to move into position, thinking that if she let me…
But Elena put my internal debate aside. She rolled, pushing me off her, and onto my back. “Your turn!” she explained, wriggling backward between my legs.
My cock was sticking pretty much straight into the air, the tip oozing pre-cum. She reached for it, her fingers lightly tracing up and down the length of the shaft. “You were right: it isn’t small at all!” she laughed.
My breath caught and my cock twitched. I could see she was getting ready to suck me, but I really wanted to fuck her. I looked to see where my backpack was, wondering if I could grab it. I couldn’t see it (probably under the bed).
She licked her finger and ran it along the edge of my cock head. “Elena?” I started to ask. She briefly kissed the tip of my cock, picking up a drop of pre-cum on her lips. She licked her lips, then extended her tongue to lick my tip clean. Which took a few passes, because I was producing more.
My dick still ached to slide somewhere wet and warm, but I was quickly warming to the idea of that being her mouth instead. That would happen faster. Wouldn’t it? “That’s nice… do it!” I encouraged.
She covered my head with her lips, continuing to slide her tongue around it, inside her mouth. Her hand now held my shaft more firmly, using the little remaining slack in the skin to slide it up and down half an inch. My balls tightened, and I felt my pump priming. Fuck! I was about to cum, without even a proper blowjob!
My cockhead slipped from her mouth, and she giggled. And kept giggling.
I’d been pushed back from the edge.
Elena lifted her head, and let go of my dick. She smiled at me, still giggling.
On one hand, I was relieved by the reprieve, saving me from a premature ending. But I really wanted to get going again. “You good?” I checked.
She nodded.
“Whenever you’re ready…” A muscle in my groin twitched, and the head of my cock bumped against her chin.
She gripped my shaft and again engulfed my head with her lips. But this time she kept going, sliding further, my cock almost disappearing into her warm wet mouth. My balls tightened again.
Firmly griping my cock at the base, she pulled up on it, sucking as she did it. I felt my breathing hesitate. Down she went, firmly pressing my head against the back of her throat. Up again, this time wriggling her tongue around as my head cleared it. She repeated this four or five times, and I think I was holding my breath.
“You good?” she checked.
I nodded.
“Are you ready?”
“Ohyes!”
“I mean, do you want to… finish? Or take it slow?”
“Yes!” It was an honestly ambiguous answer.
She giggled.
That annoying giggle.
That sexy-as-fuck giggle.
I inhaled deeply, my head fell backward, I slid off my elbows, and I came!
My jizz shot upward, then splashed down like a failed rocket. Elena tightened her grip on me, and rotated back and forth, as I shot again and again. As it slowed to little spurts, she licked the gobs off me, first from my tummy then cleaning the dribbles down my shaft and on her fingers.
I quietly enjoyed the after-party. She climbed over me on all four, and kissed me on the lips. Her tongue again explored my mouth. I nipped at her lips. She licked my neck, making her way toward my ear. She gently bit my earlobe and played with my earring with her tongue.
Before long I felt the twitch of getting hard again. I was about to invite her to have another round – I still really wanted to fuck her – when she looked at her watch and said that she should be getting home. Her parents would be wondering where she was. “Parents?” I didn’t ask.
She dressed, and walked to the door. I followed her, still naked: it was obvious by now that I was ready for more. She smiled, and seemed to be thinking it over. We kissed and groped each other a bit, for what seemed like five minutes, my cock rubbing obviously against her clothing. But finally she stepped back, opened the door, winked, and closed the door behind her, giggling.
The sound of that annoying giggle echoed in my head as I spent the next five minutes vigorously jacking myself off.
