I was reading a few posts of a blogger friend of mine who I really admire . . . her writing captured me & her replication of an event reminded me of a time in my younger days. No BDSM, just regular old sex.

I loved my grandfather. From as early as I can remember, I was with him as often as possible. It was kind-of awesome when, one day, he called me up & asked if I’d like to head on a tour of Europe with him. He was in his 80’s and didn’t think he could manage his bags. Of course, I agreed to head with him right then & there.

The trip was truly magnificent, though I could tell from early on that sharing a hotel room with my grandfather was going to take a toll on the, um, social aspects of the trip. At a nightclub in Prague, a shy looking brunette caught my eye.

“Hi, I’m John”, I introduced myself (I’ve found pickup lines fail nearly all of the time, especially when there might be language issues).

“I’m Marina” she responded.

We danced. I discovered she was a Russian student, had been in the country for two weeks. When dancing turned to kissing, the “where shall we go?” conversation was inevitable. And, without screwing on the dance floor (I was ok with it, she wasn’t), we really had no choice that didn’t involve getting a hotel room or risking a night in a Prague jail.

Walking home with blue-balls, I just repeated to myself “it’s worth it, I’m getting quality time with my grandfather . . . who goes to bed at 8PM.” I resigned myself to the fact this was simply going to be a nookie-less trip.

I figured that the rest of the trip would go like the following couple of nights: wonderful day with granddad while we view historic stuff, great dinner where I eat myself silly, then I drink myself silly at a bar before stumbling back to the hotel. All in all, this was an ok plan for a 22 year old me.

Then, the cruise started. We were taking a riverboat cruise up the Elbe – four nights, from Prague to Munich, stopping along quaint villages & taking walking tours – more historic stuff, more truly fantastic food, more getting sloshed & going to bed. I realized that this is just what rich old people do — the median age on the boat had to be 70. I appeared to be the only sub-40 person traveling.

When the fourth night approached, though, things were different. There was a labor demonstration going on at the final port before Munich (Wittenberg, if memory serves), and we were advised to stay on the boat that evening. They set up a film projector & showed Scent of a Woman, just as the tango scene came on, she & I made eye contact. This was the first I had heard “Por Una Cabeza”. To this day, I don’t know if it’s the music or the memory the piece stirs from the rest of my evening, but I get an erection every single time I hear this piece.

Put into a trance by the music, I made my way over to her. She was pretty, in a girl-next-door type of way with dirty blond hair that lay loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were a grayish blue, with freckles across the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t tall, maybe 5 foot 5 and had a figure that said “I may care what I look like, but fuck spending hours at the gym & fuck it if I want a cheeseburger every now and then”. She wore a white golf shirt & set of faded blue jeans.

“Can I buy you a drink?” was all I could think to say . . . I hadn’t had a drink all night, yet was drunk on the music.

“Sure”, she smiled at me & we worked our way to the boat’s bar.

I had bourbon, she a vodka tonic. She smelled of vanilla, and it took all of my restraint from simply running my fingers through her hair uninvited. She spoke perfect English, with a hint of a German accent. Her father, it seemed, was a US air force pilot & was stationed in Germany, so she grew up on a military base.

We took our drinks & went walking along the deck. I pulled the “clumsy male” move of dropping my hand & letting it brush against hers. We connected our pinky & ring fingers.

We stopped at a railing at the back of the boat, looking out over the river. The town was lit, in a storybook type of way, the night was peaceful, warm, with a bit of breeze. I realized that we had stopped talking.

She broke the two-finger hold on my hand & I started to mentally berate myself for being so clumsy when she traced her fingers up my arm, slowly, over the definition of my biceps, to my shoulder, and finally to the edge of my beard. My eyes involuntarily closed & my entire body pulsed.

“Can I kiss you?” I ask, opening my eyes, not knowing where this had come from . . . maybe it was the bourbon, maybe it was still the passion from the music, maybe it was the way the wind blew her hair, exposing the nape of her neck. I’m never this up-front, but I had to taste her.

“That’s not the question you want to ask,” she answered, looking me in the eyes, her head turned slightly to the side. “And the best questions, they’re simply answered with the word ‘yes’”, she replied, and my hands took her.

We kept the kiss going for some time . . . even now, I can’t tell how long the kiss lasted — impossibly long, yet over in an instant. My arms wrapped around her, one hand stroking its fingers through her hair, the other tracing its way down her back. With both of her hands, her fingertips traced up my sides – a move that would be ticklish anytime but in the heat of passion, it just further ignited me.

As her fingertips reached my shoulders, I broke the kiss off.

“I don’t have a room alone…” I started to say, as she put an index finger between her teeth, looking like a nervous habit.

“I do” she said, taking the finger from her mouth, leading it over my chest & then finding its way to one of my hands. She lead me up two decks and into her room.

Once the door was behind us, we again kissed. My hands, again, reaching to hold her near me, her hands tracing down my chest & then between my legs. My erection was straining to be released as her fingers traced the line of my sex over my pants.

“I was afraid you were all body & no engine”, she said, the German accent sounding just beyond cute with the words of an armed-services brat, & smiled up at me. I placed a hand on each side of her face & kissed her again, my tongue darting into her mouth, playing a game of tag with hers.

I let me hands drop to her sides, tugged her shirt free from her jeans, & let them rise back up, inside her shirt, lifting it as I did so. As I lifted her shirt over her head, I saw a rose-bush tattoo climbing along her left side. Green vine, green leaves, and black-to-purple-to-crimson blossoms peeking out from beneath her bra.

Before I could work my way to unfasten the white undergarment, she unbuttoned the top three buttons of my dress shirt, kissing my exposed chest & breathing in at the nape of my neck, her nails tracing their way down my back as she did so as she pulled me tight for an embrace.

I allowed my hands to trace from her sides, just over the line of her pants, & up the small of her back before finding their way to & unfastening her bra. As soon as the clasp was undone, I looked down & she looked up, allowing the bra to fall away from her large breasts. I allowed my eyes to feast on the display. The tattoo was a work of art, and the frame of her body could not have been a more perfect display piece.

As I bent my head down to kiss her shoulder, she finished unbuttoning my shirt, & pulled it apart, my “I like to swim every now & then” torso with just a wisp of chest hair exposed. She started kissing me at my collarbone (which happened to be just about where her mouth naturally was) & I let my head rear back in anticipation as she slowly kissed & licked her way down my chest, over my right nipple, and down my belly, before unbuttoning, and then unzipping my fly.

With a tug, my pants fell to the ground, my erection straining against the cloth of my boxers, and she tugged them down, too.

“Lie down” she said, pointing to the bed, and I sat down & then lay down on the bed, watching her. She unfastened her jeans, pulled them down with her panties in one fluid motion, and stepped out of them.

She worked her way to me & straddled my chest. My eyes drinking in every detail of her body as she traced finger down my jawline & then over my lips. I kissed her finger, & she traced it down my Adam’s apple, to my shoulder, brought her other hand down on my other shoulder & slowly slid her body down my torso, until the head of my penis touched the opening of her sex.

Slowly she lowered herself onto my painfully stiff member & we began rocking, “Por Una Cabeza” still thundering in my head. We moved together, like a dance pair dancing yet another waltz, though there was nothing routine about the experience.

Our hips rocked together, her muscles tightening around my cock as soon as I fully thrust, and relaxing as soon as I was about to reinsert. Perfectly synchronized, our hips pulsed & pulsed & pulsed.

Out of nowhere, she leans down & kisses me, a shriek emitting from her lips as she bites my lower lip and we slow our pace, her hips now gyrating in small circles, having graduated from the back & forth motion.

After a few minutes, I begin thrusting fully in & out, holding her body close to me. Still, our hips move in perfect unison & I let out a little sigh each time my penis retreats, only to hungrily re-enter her. As soon as her motions again move to the gyrating little circles, my entire body begins to tremble. I can feel myself ejaculating well before the orgasm reaches its peak, and when that moment comes, I keep my body pressed firmly inside of her, she gasps. Time feels like it has stopped.

I look into her eyes, she into mine & run my fingers along her back. She gives me a playful little kiss & runs a knuckle down my cheek. Eventually, my cock slides out of her, yet we retain our embrace, without words, drinking in the sight of each other, fingertips tracing skin.

She put her head down against my chest after we had both returned to a regular breathing pattern, sighed, and was suddenly breathing deeply.

“Are you awake?” I whispered, and received no response.

After several minutes of replaying the scene in my mind, I, too, drifted off to sleep.

Morning came with the captain’s call. She was nowhere to be found – though a note was written on lipstick on the room’s mirror. “That was amazing.” is all it read

I dressed & left the room, looking for the room number, but there wasn’t one. After snooping around, I found that I was in the worker’s area. Nobody around, however, spoke enough English for me to carry a conversation on with.

We disembarked that morning. I never did discover her name.