To start with, Venice is a dream city, apart from the huge number of tourists, the often-wet feet that one inevitably gets, and the slightly clammy condition of any carpeting in the hotels. I felt the invitation of my charming gentleman to accompany him on his culinary tour in Venice as a great privilege and sourced a very special red wine especially for our time.
My journey turned out to be a little bit chaotic (not surprisingly). Regardless of the fact that I had to change airplane twice from Berlin and eagerly looking at the baggage claim at the arrival, which apparently didn't want to spit out my small golden suitcase, I was already preparing in my mind for a stay with the sparse contents of my handbag only, which contained not much more than a toothbrush, skin cream and a brush, and for reduced options with respect to what I might wear in the next 48 hours.
After a percieved eternity my little suitcase jerked over the luggage belt and I was a quite relieved that I would not have to improvise with the meagre belongings in my handbag.
When leaving the airport building in hurry, the question instantly arose to me, either to take a share water taxi to Venice, thereby standing in intimate contact with members of a Chinese travel group, or to choose a somewhat more exclusive variant, i.e. a movie-like transport by means of an elegant wooden motorboat.
I preferred the latter. One should know at this point that it is not always a good idea to take a seat in an unroofed or unsheltered area, if a vibrant driver is at an even more vibrant speed with his motorboat and rushes through the sea, so to speak flying above the waves. Well, I neither went overboard, nor suffered a disc prolaspe, but a huge water spot spread on my jeans in a rather critical region, namely in my lap... Half wet, the hair lacking proper condition despite the well-known hairspray advertisement, I optically probably resembled rather a wet dog and I waddled towards St. Mark's Square, because that was our meeting place.
There I was, standing in my somewhat messed up state, waiting for my charming gentleman. You're wondering why we didn't meet right at the hotel. Joaaah, I asked myself the same question at this point at the latest, as I would have had the opportunity to at least briefly visit private rooms there in the lobby, change my trousers and straighten my hair. But well, now it was just as it was, I was in the middle of the crowded St Mark's Square in a vivid mass of people and my only clues as to what the gentleman looks like were glasses, dark hair, beige trousers and white shirt. Just like about another maybe hundred gentlemen strolling across the square.
While I thought about the fact that selecting such a meeting point was quite challenging by the gentleman, I felt a shy tap on my shoulder. As I turned around, a man resembling the epitome of the California Sunny Boy beamed at me with a broad, highly sympathetic grin. After a warm cuddle a sensual kiss followed, as if we were two lovers who hadn't seen each other for a long time.
I think in Venice you can't kiss any other way than just like that, even if you don't know each other yet.
After this very sensual greeting in the public, the gentleman led me to the advised scene of the coming passionate hours. The hotel was, as expected, located directly on the waterfront and one of the best in Venice. And, as I later found out in the glamour press, obviously the house of first choice for various Hollywood celebrities. In the retrospective I find the thought of having fornicated in the same bed as possibly one of my favourite actors quite appealing. But that's just a side note.
Of course, I didn't have to wait long for a first test sequence of the bed, but a certain pent-up anticipation was very aptly discharged onto my décolleté. I efficiently took the opportunity of a short power nap, which overcame my playmate for typical male reasons, for storing my clothes in the antique wardrobe.
The huge terrace with a view to the canal not only attracted my attention, but also inspired me to decant the excellent red wine, just to taste a little sip with this truly magnificent panorama. Speaking of the panorama of Venice, not of my body being in a slightly opened bathrobe and with somewhat disordered hair, blissfully tasting one of the best fermented grapes that I knew at that time.
Still pondering on the terrace, I felt a hug from behind from my still somewhat sleep-drunken companion, who had recovered a little from the first events. As I felt through my bathrobe, specific parts of his body had recovered definitely and poked at the thin fabric I had on my body. I turned around and responded to this joyful emotion that was meant for me with a passionate kiss, which was also reciprocated, wandering from my mouth over my breasts to my navel to... oh yes, where a male tongue (of course also a female) can provoke undreamt-of highlights. Leaning against the terrace wall with my bathrobe now wide open, my right leg stretched on a chair back, I was so virtuously licked to ecstasy that when I came, I gave out a little cry of pleasure.... With trembling knees, I pulled my pleasure donor into the privacy of our suite, only to dress his bulging cock properly and to take him astride deep into me and to lead him with swaying and realy slow movements to the eruptive finale.
The ritual washes and the associated restoration measures were carried out together under the shower. It was about time, my lover said, to bring the energy balance back up to an efficient level in the form of a dinner.
Did you know that in Venice it is possible to indulge in exquisite gluttony? If not, then you know it now. This only requires a top-class restaurant, which, due to its manageable size of less than 8 tables, guarantees a special closeness to the benevolent chef, who even comes up with further wonderful creations from his kitchen after the 6th course. It is worth mentioning that the sommelier was of similar excellence. Only around 11 p.m. we left this place of delicacies with the brave intention to walk back to where we had planned to continue rumpling up the sheets.
The fact that the bridges, which are found in Venice in an inflationary number, all look the same at some point is not really helpful if one wants to find the way to the hotel in the dark and through the numerous alleys. And so, you can't easily tell the difference between the locals and others who are wandering around with similar orientation problems. At some point, however, we reached our goal. The advantage of an unexpected night walk through the nocturnal city had a positive side effect, namely the tiring digestive coma of the culinary delights of the last hours had vanished for both of us, so that we could enjoy the charm of indecency once again by lifting my dress, presenting not only my rear view but also my non-existing panties and my strapped legs. What followed was a tender and deeply intimate act of eroticism until the early morning. An act, passionately sensual, which was just like our first kiss, as if we knew each other, known for a long time, perhaps from another life, who knows. And so, we fell asleep, two lovers in Venice, the city in which I had enjoyed excellent fornication according to all the rules of art.