High noon in Hamburg

But not in the dangerous “Will Kane wants to kill Frank Miller”-way, rather in the “two blondes meet each other, totally excited, like two six years olds in a champagne-bar”-way…:-)

It was last summer, when Eliza’s pictures were presented at my escort agency’s website and I was charmed from the very first second. And curious. “Who is this girl?”, I thought. So I asked Jana to ask Eliza if she’d maybe like to have a little chat with me. The “little chat” was a one hour and a half phone call that made us want to meet each other instantly…

And so we did a few days later. High noon in Hamburg.

When I rushed up the last steps to the champagne bar, I saw her sitting there already with two glases of bubble water in front of her. Eliza… Tall, wiry, elegant like Grace Kelly, shy like Bambi, but also somehow cool like Marlene Dietrich, but in a rather decent way – to be clear: a total knock-off! And I? Because of being five minutes late I was just stressed, and she didn’t make my racing heart calm down… I was sooo excited! Honestly, I felt like a little girl at her first day at ballet school. *lol*

So in the beginning we were kind of very different. She was kind of “calm”, I was “loud”. We both knew how important this meeting was. It wasn’t just about two escorts getting to know each other. Since our first conversation we felt close, like friends. And I knew that we might get even more than friends. Like I, just two or three years ago, Eliza was at a point of her life where she thought about her attraction to women, was searching for an answer, not knowing if her imagination had anything to do with true life, meaning: to really have sex with a woman… She wasn’t just a naive young girl playing around or just pretending, she was so honest to herself and me, she was just: Eliza.

I was so full of thoughts, I remembered my feelings, fears and excitement before my first time with a woman, I was so thankful for her honesty, of course also very afraid to not attract her, so full of feeling responsibility to (if she’d want me to be her first) make it a beautiful experience for her, it was just overwhelming.

But all the talking made her warm up and me calm down, we got closer to each other, and as the comfortable feeling grew, we decided to rock the shops a little bit. What shall I say? In the end our sympathy from the very first second for each other turned out to even make us love the same bags and shoes! And that just had to be a good sign, right? *lol*
When we sat down for some coffee hours later I was no longer nervous. She made me feel safe, welcome. I think, she felt the same. And now, I noticed so many fabulous details I wasn’t able to see in the champagne bar. Her scent, her smile and glance of her eyes, her grace and confidence, which was everything but arrogant – did she have a license for all that? I felt so attracted to her and had to control myself… Pain, sweet pain… Especially when we said our goodbyes and I asked her to take her time to find certainty.

When she wrote me the message that, yes, she’d love to have her first time with me, I again felt like this little girl in ballet school – sooo excited!!!

A “barely legal” threesome

Berlin. The Adlon. A suite with the best view on the Brandenburger Gate. The sun is going down. The fireplace burns. Music is playing. Good stuff. Clapton, the young Prince, José Gonzales, etc. The perfect chemistry. This handsome French man I haven’t seen for far too long. Me. And this Hungarian cherry on the cake. Far too young. From behind she looked like the young David Bowie. A tiny pussy and almost no breast. Okay, I found that out later… But she had a face like the young Leatitia Casta… And, God damn it, she knew it! When she entered the suite with those leather leggings, Grandma’s lace curtains turned into her top and those much to bitchy Louboutins for her age – I was just breathless.

We ordered some wine and water and got to know each other a little bit better. Not only the fireplace made the temperature rise… I felt I just needed a shower to cool down, change into something “less”… And when I came back to the living room, wrapped in my lingerie and the bathrobe I found you both, exchanging kisses, hugging, touching. To shorten it: it made my shower useless – it got hotter and hotter.

After joining you and some hot kisses you asked me to surprise our little girl. So I went back to the bathroom and put my strap-on on. I was so excited! I heard you coming into the main bedroom. And when I opened the two wing door of the bath room you both got quiet and stunned right away… The way you looked at me – it was just priceless…

I felt I needed and wanted to be gentle, so I asked her how she felt, if she was excited or rather shocked. She just smiled at us… I just had to tell her that I wanted her to stay true, tell me if anything wouldn’t be a hundred percent perfect. I just wanted it to be a beautiful experience for all of us, I felt somehow responsible. And that turned out to be the perfect way. She was thankful, with us, excited, just like us, it was the moment I was allowed to see and feel and taste her 19 years old body, her almost non existent breast, the almost missing waist, her young boy’s ass, her tiny pussy. It was almost pervert. But she was it even more. It almost felt like she fu**ed me, it was overwhelming, incredible. And absolutely fantastic. Especially when I saw her giving you a blow job from the first row, while I fu**ed her doggy style. Hello?! I mean, how fabulous is that?

Well, you seemed to feel delighted as well… I knew I had to get rid of the strap-on, all wet because of my joy… You found my plug and were excited about us two feeling it. And then you fu**ed me, you and the plug in me, her eyes on us. Damn, you fu**ed me good. It was incredible. Her gentle hands and lips joined us. He was huge and hard, and so was our sex. Incredible.

But somehow… We didn’t want it to end too soon. So I grabbed my strap-on again. And surely our Leatitia shouldn’t feel unsatisfied. So you ate her pu*sy and I… I fu**ed you. And myself. Thank God I bought the right double strap-on. I had the biggest dildo in me and with the smaller one I gave it to you from behind. Each time I pushed it deeply inside your ass, I gave myself pleasure as well… It felt so great. I heard your joy, I felt powerful and was so grateful. Grateful for our pleasure, grateful for being allowed to fu*k you, grateful for being able to see you giving her head. It was so spontaneous, a real premiere for me, I was totally excited, it was an experience I will never forget.

The time flew, the excitement grew and so I asked you to come on her back, I just wanted to see you come. And you did. And I was allowed to have it with some strawberries. Thank you…

Dinner and “dessert” with Guns’n Roses – the perfect soundtrack for one evening in May!

You made your fabulous pan-fried oyster mushrooms. Afterwards we had the classic asparagus main course we cooked together. After we were finished I wanted to bring the dishes back to the kitchen when you stood up and turned on the radio. In fact you put in the Guns’n Roses Greatest Hits CD and smirked at me. “Welcome to the Jungle”, baby and instantly I knew it was time for dessert. I placed the plates back on the table and closed the curtains – we didn’t need any viewers  .

I was leaning against the table, barefoot, wearing nothing more than a tank-top and an extremely short skirt due to the hot weather and your presence. You came back and we started kissing. I couldn’t move my hips when “Sweet Child of Mine” started, I was pressing them against your hard c**k.  “Where do we go now, sweet child of mine?” To my knees, baby, definitely to my knees .

You seized the chance to free me from my tank-top –  Thank God I wasn’t wearing any panties . “Patience” was the best: slow, patient, perfect for your pants down and blowing you. Almost six minutes of pure pleasure. Licking your balls, your shaft, your pink pulsating lollipop, tasting the delicious drops of your anticipation, feeling every inch of your excitement, sucking it, feeling like Linda Lovelace . I got so wet…

But just when “Paradise City” started you lifted me up, placed my bottom on the table and fu**ed me, one leg on your shoulder. No kissing, no foreplay, just good old fashioned fu**ing. Oh baby - ”Take me down to the paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty. Take me home.”
Take me home.

You stopped, took my leg off your shoulder, turned me around, pushed me on the table, so my bottom was staring at your fabulous di*k.  Kind of “Knockin’ On Heavens Door”, baby. At first you fu**ed me the regular way from behind, my back extruded, me on my toes, my nipples touching our dirty plates, trying not to scream from excitement – my own and private “Civil War”. It was soft and hard at once. The music was loud and so was I.
Just pure perfection.

When “You Could Be Mine” started you changed direction and fu**ed me directly in my ass. I was pleasantly surprised. You fu**ed me hard. It got softer while “Don’t You Cry” and “November Rain”. It was just the fu*k I needed. It was breathtaking, astonishing, magnificent. Slow motion anal sex with you and your fabulous, huge “Mr. Dickelicious” –  the best dessert I’ve ever had.…

And we fu**ed and fu**ed and fu**ed…and stopped, when the CD was through. You left me, standing there on my toes, my tits still on the plates, turning my head, staring at you – no explanation from your side. You didn’t even look at me. I was just about to say something, when you pressed the “play”-button again, came back to me, kissed my neck and whispered in my ear “I’ll be right back.”

I was curious, still in a kind of shock, but I decided to shut up and just wait. A moment later I heard you coming back. I felt your hand on my hips, your breath near my neck, the other hand pushing the upper part of my body back on the table, right where you wanted it. And Mr. Lollipop just found his way back into my anus. Welcome back to the jungle, baby. But then I was again pleasantly surprised,  you obviously went to the bedroom to get my vibrator!!! And so you fu**ed me, Mr. Operator. You double penetrated me with your Mr. Lollipop and my Mr. Heartbreaker for another half hour.

Exhausting and incredible. The best dessert I’ve ever had. Thank you.

Ode to M.

You invited me to a formal event. I was excited. It was one of those big politicians’ parties. Everyone was there: celebrities of politics, business and media. We met at our hotel, as usual. Because of coming first (again: as usual, and I’m not meaning my arrival at the hotel ), I had the possibility to unpack, take a shower, enjoy the suite with the living room area on the one half and the bedroom with the open bathroom area on the other side. Just as I was lying in bed, making some phone calls, I heard the door at the other side of the suite. You were there! Finally! The phone wasn’t important any more. We kissed hello. As usual: passionate. With extras …..

But we were late on time. It was such a shame. We couldn’t stop nor start to dress up. In the end, tragically somehow, we managed to shower and discuss what to wear. It was so funny! You wanted to wear a grey suit, brought several shirts and ties, of which the white shirt and pink tie were our favourites. It was funny, because of all my brought along outfits you wanted me to wear the grey costume, the pink suede top and the white pumps. What a perfect, almost boring illusion!!! LOL!!!

We grabbed a cab in front of the hotel and somehow managed to be “only” 15 minutes late. Security check, the politician’s welcome-speech, let’s grab some drinks and something to eat, say hello to some friends, get into business. Perfect. As time went by we decided to explore a more quiet place of the garden. It wasn’t that easy, to be honest. Just as we came close the back of the stage and I was starting to touch your body politically incorrect the security showed up. Shit. Where did they come from? We somehow got out of that embarrassing situation and resolved quite fast, that it was time to get back to our “Oral Office”.

After a final delicious drink and some strawberries in Harry’s New York Bar we went up to seventh heaven floor. It was about 1 am. I couldn’t even think of what to do, after the door was closed. You just pushed me against the counter vis-à-vis the bed, a kind of extended desk on which the two sinks were placed. You lifted my ass on it and my legs on your shoulders. The skirt didn’t disturb you. You ripped off my jacket and so did I. Afterwards I opened your belt, the button, unzipped the doorway to pleasure. Your pants fell down, while you slid my Chantal Thomass string to the side. And then you fu**ed me. Oh God, did you fu*k me… There are no words for my pleasure and surprise. We hardly kissed, it was just pure concupiscence. It took me endless time to open your tie and shirt, to finally be able to touch your hairy, masculine breast. And just when I thought, it couldn’t get any better and was so close to come,  you stopped, deep inside me.

You looked me in the eyes and pulled him out. Rapidly. My legs fell down. You turned me around, pushed me to your left, against the sink. It was almost hilarious, how I got turned on by seeing you in the mirror with hardly any light in the room, standing there in your open white classic shirt, fu**ing me now from behind, my skirt a bit more up my waist, still in heels, my tits bouncing in my top because of the missing bra. It was amazing seeing you and your moves, your hands all over my body, your face, your eyes staring into mine through the mirror. I tried to turn a bit around to kiss you but after a short while you pushed my back deep down again and fu**ed me even wilder, harder, faster, everything! Oh my goodness, it made me crazy! Obviously it made you crazy, too. You enjoyed to see the desperate expression on my face, wanting to come and come and come and never stop. You slowed down a bit to keep control over you and me and after a while of slow-mo in front of the mirror we were both able to enjoy this special moment in a different, more pleasurable way. We had to celebrate the upcoming climax with a climax .  We both knew it.

And again, you showed me your determination and strength, when you stopped fu**ing me and went to the huge shower, our smaller version of the grotto of the Playboy Mansion, turned on the water, came back to me, still standing in front of the mirror, leaning against the sink, kind of in shock. You unzipped my skirt, dragged it down with my string, got rid of my top and your shirt, took my hand and pushed me under the warm water, showering down on us from the ceiling. You placed me in the middle, spread my legs, pressed my back down and my hands against the warm, black stone on the wall. The shower had the perfect size. Your back leaned against the opposite wall and gave you the power to fu*k me even harder than before. I heard your ass, smacking against it, again and again. I felt pure delight. I knew I was getting close again, fearing my wrists could brake. You couldn’t nor intended to control me or your horniness any longer. The reverberation in the shower made us sound even louder than usual. It was unbelievable. The water, the flesh, the noise, the warmth, the smell, your perfect di*k pulsating in my pu*sy, which obviously wanted to squeeze the last drops of joy juice out of him.

Oh my God,  ”what a great fu*k”!

When we finally crawled into bed, the world outside ours was bright already.

Homage to K.

A very fine bakery. Our kind of amuse-gueule. Or should I say… Foreplay? I was so excited. I was half an hour early. I sat on my suitcase. And walked around. Sat down again. Stood up. Walked around. Alternately watching at my cell and my watch – although my cell showed the time as well, of course. Did I mention that I was very excited? I heard the noise of the wheels of your suitcase first, turned around and saw you. Finally. Your face and body completed your words and voice. We said hallo, hugged. You seemed to be excited, too. I can’t explain why, but that calmed me down….

We had some cake and afterwards decided to have a drink before heading to the airport. Doesn’t sound interesting? But it was. Everything was a preview of the following hours. The cable fire in the café, the driving skills of the cabdriver aka the turkish version of Fernando Alonso, which gave me a good excuse to touch you. While waiting at the Check-In Area we warmed up a bit, were silly, fantasized about “doing it” on the pool table or in the kids playground area. Your smile was just breathtaking. Everything was a foreplay… And the knowledge that we’d still have to wait for at least three more hours until we’ll get to the hotel was just sweet pain. The flight, the underground-ride (I insisted on it! Hello?! This was London!), the short walk from the station to the hotel… The hours were filled with gentle fingertips touching one another, hungry. 

The hotel. Our room. The playground for the following hours. The thick carpets, the antique furniture, the wallpaper and curtains directly jumped out of a Jane Austen novel or Laura Ashley catalogue, mixed with this charming British mentality and sort of perverted and humid London air. It seemed promising, perfect. You told me you needed your time to “get into” our date. Hello?! After all this? What was it? Pure cruelty? You wanted to take a shower. Okay. But why did you have to undress in front of me and all those mirrors? Hello?! I tried to distract myself by unpacking. I wasn’t successful. I got too confused by the water steam coming through the opened bathroom door, you bastard… I caught a glimpse of your naked wet body when you got out of the shower and reached for a towel. Too much steam, definitely. I took a quick shower as well. And found you laying on the bed, obviously too inaccurately wrapped in your towel. You needed your time? Yeah, sure. You wanted to go for dinner? Honey, we won’t get out of this room. No way.  

And so I lay down next to you, my head on your chest, your arm embracing me, my legs stroke yours and finally we kissed. One thing led to another… And to be honest, it was like a sexual intoxication. Pure excess. Balanced with convalescence time, when we abolished the Evian-stock of the hotel and our sweaty bodies glued to another. There were ice cubes, honey, hot wax, your co*k, my pus*y, our sex-scent in the air and a lot of pure insatiable prurience. And as I predicted, we never left our playground.  

Half a year later we met again. A different city. A different country. The same aim. A cathedral we passed after you picked me up at the main station, where we shopped some Evian and whipped cream . It was drafty and rainy but our thoughts were hot. It was so lovely to see you again. We both enjoyed this consciousness. Our excitement was different today. The room was different today. Modernism met purity. I took off my jumper casually. You did not even cast the quickest glance at my décolleté which was yelling for attention. You bastard . Like half a year before we both took our showers separately, to calm down and get into the following hours.  

And there it was again. This perfect long, pink, astonishing hard di*k, stuck to your body. For reasons of politeness I just had to kiss your lips first, but then I just couldn’t resist. I just had to kiss, lick and suck him, get my protein drink. Knowing about your week of complete abstinence I was prepared for the amount of salty joy juice… For you it was a relief, for me it was just an appetizer . You were in a very, very, very good shape. We did it everywhere… On the bed, in front of the bed, over viewing the city in front of the window, on the armchair, in the bathroom face to face with our reflections AND in the walk-in closet, where for the first time of my life I rode you reverse cowgirl in front of the mirror… What a perspective!!! I saw everything! Your co*k seemed so huge, your balls were bursting and my pus*y was just so wet and tiny, she virtually inhaled him. It was just so stimulating, incredible, beautiful… I just couldn’t stop watching!  

Thank you, K.

Mein “Sommernachtstraum”

Ein schwüler Abend im Sommer. Es wird langsam dunkel. Ich bin zu faul, um Licht zu machen. Ich liege in Panties und Deinem Unterhemd auf dem Bett. Du hast es Dir gekauft, weil ich Bruce Willis in Die Hard so toll darin fand, Du eifersüchtiger Idiot. Im Fernsehen läuft nichts. Ich hab den Ton ausgemacht. Irgendwie erreiche ich keine meiner Freundinnen am Telefon. Ich starre an die Decke. Der Fernseher malt flackernde Bilder daran. Draußen herrscht Stille. Ab und an fährt ein Auto die Straße entlang und hört sich an, als sei es durch die Schwüle genauso müde und gelangweilt wie ich. Alle Fenster stehen weit auf. Aber die Vorhänge rühren sich kaum. Der Ventilator surrt monoton und bringt kaum Linderung. Ich klebe. Es ist unerträglich. Und Du bist mit Deinen Jungs im Biergarten ….

So langsam macht mich das wütend. Ich sollte mich klebrig fühlen, weil wir ES tun. Du kennst mich. Wenn mich ein Gedanke packt, läßt er mich nicht los. Ich drehe meinen Kopf zu Seite und schaue auf Deinen albernen Mickey-Maus-Wecker auf dem Nachttisch. Mickeys Arme zeigen, daß es viertel nach zehn ist. Okay… Du bist erst seit guten zwei Stunden weg. Das sind vier oder fünf große Pils. Da geht noch was. Also entweder mehr Bier oder… Ich grinse… Jep. Wenn ich jetzt bei Euch aufschlage und Dich entführe – dann geht da noch was…

Schlagartig bin ich wieder gut gelaunt und voller Energie. Ich springe vom Bett, kralle mir meine pinkfarbene Lieblings-Hot-Pants, schlüpfe dann noch in Flip Flops, binde meine Haare zu einem Pferdeschwanz und kralle mir die Schlüssel. Der Fernseher läuft weiter, die Fenster bleiben auf. Das alles muss warten. Ich bin ja gleich wieder da. Mit Dir. Aber das weißt Du ja noch nicht… Und wieder muss ich grinsen. Die Tür knallt, ich setze mich ins Auto und düse los. Von wegen Frauen können nicht Auto fahren! Die Klima kommt nicht gegen meine heißen Gedanken an. Ich klebe immer noch. Erst recht zwischen meinen Schenkeln. Aber dafür kann das Wetter nichts. Im Radio läuft “Summer Wind” vom Ober-Mafioso Frank Sinatra und ich singe natürlich lauthals mit. Ist mir doch egal, was das ältere Pärchen im Auto neben mir denkt, als wir an der Ampel nebeneinander stehen bleiben… Sie haben ja keine Ahnung, weshalb ich so gute Laune habe. Wie Du. Und wieder grinse ich.

Fünf Minuten später komme ich auf dem Schotterparkplatz zum stehen. Ich steige aus und höre Euch schon. Ihr seid die einzigen, die hier ein wenig Stimmung machen. Ich gehe zielstrebig auf Euren Tisch zu, Du sitzt mit dem Rücken zu mir, Deine Kumpels werden stumm, rammen sich die Ellenbogen gegenseitig in die Seiten, Dein Gegenüber streckt fast schon zuckend sein Kinn nach oben, will Dich darauf aufmerksam machen, dass Du Dich besser umdrehen solltest. Du drehst Dich um. Verdattert. Süß, wie Du mich leicht angesäuselt anstarrst. Erst da bemerke ich, dass ich immer noch schwitze. Meine Haare kleben an meinen Schultern, ich glänze. Und Dein Unterhemd klebt an mir, ist überall vom Schweiß etwas durchsichtig, vor allem am Rücken, unterhalb meiner Brüste, am Bauch und an der Stelle, wo der Gurt bis eben gerade auflag. Ich habe natürlich nichts drunter, meine Nippel scheinen sich durch den Stoff bohren zu wollen, Du und Deine Kumpels erahnt mehr, als mir lieb ist. Aber es nützt nichts. Ich bin hier mit einer Mission erschienen. Ich will Deine Cruise Missile in mir. Und das schnell. Ihre Blicke kümmern mich nicht. Ich atme also tief durch. Einmal. Zweimal. Und jetzt sind wirklich alle still. Ich schaue Dir weiterhin in die Augen und sage leise und doch unüberhörbar: Ich will, dass Du es mir besorgst. Und zwar jetzt gleich. Bevor Du oder irgendwer anders reagieren kann, zerre ich Dich vom Stuhl und führe Dich an der Hand wieder Richtung Auto. Irgendwer räuspert sich ungläubig. Irgendwer setzt sein Glas ab. Ich höre sie denken. Ich spüre ihre vor Neid schreienden Blicke. Ich drehe mich noch um und sage: Keine Sorge, Männer, Ihr habt ihn in einer Stunde wieder!

Wir gehen. Du bist zu angesäuselt, um etwas zu sagen. Du führst nur die Hand, die Dich eben noch von Deinem Platz entführt hat, an Deine bereits scharfe Cruise Missile. Und spätestens jetzt wissen wir beide wieder, wer hier die Hosen anhat. Wir fahren nach Hause. Das Radio bleibt aus. Deine Hand lässt meine nicht los, Du hältst sie auf Deinem Knüppel und wenn ich schalten muß, führt sie den Schaltknüppel mit mir. Zuhause angekommen, schaffen wir es gerade noch so ins Haus. Du nimmst mich gleich hier am Eingang, selbst die Tür lehnt nur an. Du schiebst mich auf die Kommode, auf die ich den Schlüssel legen wollte. Er fällt runter. Wirre Hände, die dem anderen die Klamotten vom Leib reißen wollen. Ich finger völlig ausgehungert an Deiner Hose, kriege sie doch noch irgendwie auf. Unser Atem wird hektisch, die Küsse gierig. Du hilfst mir mit einer Hand, Dein T-Shirt auszuziehen, Deine andere ist damit beschäftigt, mir die Hot Pants runter zu ziehen und Deine Cruise Missile ins Ziel zu führen. Es ist kurz, es ist heftig, es ist genau das, was ich jetzt brauche. Und endlich kleben wir aneinander und ich schwitze aus dem richtigen Grund. Du fic*st mich wie ein Tier. Druckbetankung mal anders. Und obwohl Du schon gekommen bist, bleibt er hart und besorgt es mir weiter. Kurz bevor ich kommen will, verharrst Du in mir und schaust mich an. Nein, so nicht Fräulein Sooo nicht..:-) Und Du grinst das Grinsen des kleinen Jungen, der nicht auf seinen Mickey Maus Wecker verzichten kann. Jetzt bin ich mal stumm. Ich weiß, dass ich nichts dagegen tun kann. Dass ich nichts gegen Dich tun kann. Du legst meine Beine um Deine Hüften und trägst mich Richtung Sofa. Du setzt mich auf der Kante ab, kniest Dich vor mich, stellst meine Beine auf Deinen klebrigen Schultern ab und ziehst mein Becken voll auf Deinen Prügel drauf. Ich könnte um Gnade winseln, aber es würde nichts nützen. Ich kenne Dich. Ich lasse meinen Oberkörper nach hinten fallen, spüre Deine Hand, wie sie das nun auch von Deinem Schweiß durchtränkte Unterhemd nach oben schiebt, um dann doch unterhalb meines Bauchnabels liegen bleibt, Druck ausübt.. Du spannst ihn an, pumpst nochmals einen halben Liter Blut in Dein Ding, entspannst ihn wieder, spannst ihn wieder an, entspannst ihn, usw. Und mit diesen kleinen fiesen Bewegungen lässt Du mich auf Deiner Cruise Missile unser Sonnensystem verlassen. Ich komme, lang und heftig. Mir ist schwindlig, als Du ihn raus ziehst und zurücksackst.

Und Du wolltest nur mit Deinen Jungs einen trinken gehen. Du scheinst grad das Gleiche zu denken, grinst mich an und sagst: Du hast ja auch voll einen an der Klatsche, oder? Du weißt schon, dass die sich jetzt das Maul zerreißen? Aber letztlich weiß ich, dass er mir dankbar ist. Dafür, dass er heut voll der Held sein durfte und die Jungs sich noch in ein paar Jahren daran erinnern werden.

P.S.: Ja, er war keine 55min später wieder auf seinem Platz im Biergarten. Natürlich hat es keiner der anderen Jungs gewagt, zu gehen und das Risiko einzugehen, diese Story zu verpassen.

Aber bevor ich ihn wieder hingefahren habe, haben wir es noch einmal unter der Dusche getrieben

Joining the “Mile High Club”

It was a fabulous week of shopping and fu**ing in NYC, followed by an even more fabulous week of pure relaxation in Florida. We were on our night flight back. The crew was just through with the catering and I reviewed our trip. Our mind blowing sex in the tub at the Four Seasons, the eyes of the cab driver in the mirror while we were “kissing with extras”, the sun, the drops of water and the sand on your tanned skin on the beach while you were sleeping…

Instantly I knew we needed a splendid finale. I couldn’t refrain from smiling and threw a glance at you. You were already asleep, your head leaning against the interior panelling. I grabbed my purse, pulled out my wallet and checked out my cash-situation. Alright. This might have been another pair of Manolo Blahnik sandals. But now I had a different investment opportunity in mind, one you’ll probably find even more inspirational.

I sneaked out of my seat, the wallet in my shaking hands, and went to the chief flight attendant. She was just talking to the gayest steward I’ve ever seen. I waited. Still shaking. Am I insane? I mean, I always had crazy ideas, but was it too much this time? There was only one way to find out. No risk, no fun . The steward went away. The lady looked at me, wondering what I wanted. “Can I help you, Miss?” Ok, now or never. “Excuse me…”, my voice sounded surprisingly calm. “I know this might be very inappropriate, but I wondered if this…” I handed her my 400 bucks“… might push my boyfriend’s and mine application for the mile high club…?”

The second of silence was terrible. She licked her lips gently and looked around, checking if there was still no one around. “Well…” she said, “I suppose the application form is in the little bunk, we sleep in on long distance flights…” and smirked. Oh my goodness!!! Did she just say this? For real?!? This must be a dream! But this was not the time to hesitate. And as if she was reading my thoughts she said: “You have 45 minutes. I’ll take care no one will disturb you. Follow me, please.”

While she was showing me the way to the place where the magic will happen soon, she asked me: “Where is the lucky guy sitting? I’ll go and get him.” I told her our seats and crawled inside. She shut the door and I had another second to doubt my mental sanity. I figured: a weak man has doubts before making a decision, a strong man has them afterwards. So I took off my clothes and laid there in my underwear. Thank God I was wearing La Perla . After a while someone knocked at the door, opened it and I saw you wondering “Honey, what’s wrong…?” You got it.  

Pimp my Cosmo

I told you where and when to meet. I wanted to have dinner with you in one of my favorite restaurants. Again it was delicious, I allowed you to choose the wine, we had a great sexy chat. After I paid I wanted to enjoy a Cosmopolitan in the bar on the lower floor of the restaurant. We sat down on a huge leather sofa, enjoyed the view over the sleeping city and gossiped about the loud “kids” next to us. You ordered a Whisky Sour, I had a Cosmopitan. Again the topic of our conversation turned to sex…..

I told you how sad I was because the season for strawberries was over now – meaning: I will have to wait to get my favorite dessert composed of strawberries with cream. Thank God I didn’t have to explain my interpretation of “cream” to you . With a smile I took another sip of my Cosmopolitan and suddenly had a fabulous idea… You saw the madness in my eyes when I put the glas back on the table and then came closer to you and whispered: “I want you to go to the restroom, take the rest of my drink with you and bring it back with an extra shot”. I made a not too short break. “Your cream.”  My hand touched your leg… “Now”. And a bit sweeter, while my hand wandered higher: ”Could you please do that for me?” 

You swallowed. You knew it was senseless to ask me if I was serious, so you emptied your glass all at once, stood up, took my glas and went your way.

While I sat there and waited the waitress brought us the new drinks you ordered on your way. I took only one or two sips and there you were back again. You and my Cosmopolitan with the extra shot. It was delicious…