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I’m an old man now and my health is just short of the grave, but you know, I still have the mind of a teenager. They have always said that at a certain age, people revert to their childhood and that must be true in my case. The thing is, although the body gets old and weak, it doesn’t always apply to the mind. My mind is as fresh with memories as if they had happened yesterday. Early in life I was aware of my sexuality. It took awhile to connect that with the other gender. This is to say, I was very slow to have sex with a girl. Sure, I learned very early about masturbation, almost by accident. It felt really good to rub my prick and one day it shot out stream of gooey fluid. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what it was. Guys didn’t walk around school saying, “Hey, I was really horny last night and got off checking out my dad’s ‘Playboy.’ ” It was always something you did in private and kept it private. Well, almost private. I must have been sixteen, and we were on a Boy Scout camping trip. Three of us were in a tent one night when my penis got very hard. I told the other guys that I could get stuff to come out of my dick that makes babies. They were all curious and said, “Show us!” That’s when I rubbed myself under the sleeping bag. I massaged my dick until I had a handful of cum. I showed it to my tent mates who laughed and said, “Hey, we do that all the time. We just wanted to see you do it.” From then on, it seemed better to keep these revelations to myself. There was no porn on the Internet because there was no Internet. In fact, computers were hardly known. Young males were left to speculate about having sex with a girl by looking at magazines like “Pussygirl” and “Lusty Babes.” They were enough for us to get the general idea and release a lot of our newly acquired reproductive juices. At seventeen, many of my friends had serious girlfriends. Their relationships were considered “serious” when they decided to enter a sort of teenage marriage called “going steady.” Going steady came with all kinds of advantages, just like friends with benefits. Clearly, some of my friends were treated to a few of those benefits. Girls said that boys were pigs because they liked to brag about what they did with a girl. I had a different notion about that. It seemed the guys who were getting little or nothing from a girl were the biggest braggarts, merely exaggerating their exploits. Those that were fucking their girlfriends said very little. In my case, I had nothing to brag about, nothing to exaggerate, no girlfriend, no sex, except for the self-help variety. Upon graduation from high school, I was still a boy virgin and at the same time very sexually active releasing all of that semen with the help of my fist. On the other hand, so to speak, I was yet to ejaculate inside a girl. The rhetorical question is, why? The answer centered around bursa escort my total lack of self-esteem and an imperceptible level of self-confidence. Kissing a girl was an uphill battle. On a memorable date in high school, we stood at her front door staring at each other. I was paralyzed, frozen. She ran out of patience and finally said, “Go ahead. It’s okay.” I pretend ignorance and said, “What do you mean?” She quickly turned and went inside. We never dated again. There was a lesson there, but I was slow to grasp it. Only in time did I recognize the subtle signs and not so subtle signs women give to a guy when they are interested in him. I was no scholar in high school. At eighteen, the draft board caught up with me, and I was quickly dispatched to basic training at Fort Sheridan in Illinois. Military training made me feel like being in a monastery for eight weeks. There were no weekend passes and no girls, in a word, “celibate.” Although that wasn’t a new condition for me, the training camp made me more self-confident and ready to branch out ready to fuck the first female hole in sight. Beauty was not a requirement, only a vagina. Following basic training, our unit was released and sent to Germany near a small Bavarian town. The time was during occupied Germany following WWII and the United States was one of the occupiers along with Britain, France and Russia. We soon found out that our enemy was Russia, and in Germany we were making preparations for a conflict with the Ruskies. At the same time, the Marshall Plan was just underway to support and rebuild Western Europe. So we were dealing with defense, reconstruction and girls. There had been a non-fraternization policy that called for a total ban on associating with Germans in any way. It had been somewhat relaxed before I arrived, but soldiers who had been in Germany since 1945 said it did little to keep them from what they called frau bait . Some GI’s took advantage of the desperate food situation by exploiting their abundance of food and cigarettes to ‘support’ the local German girls and their families in exchange for sex. When I arrived in Bavaria , this economic system of barter was in full play, only I wasn’t aware of it at first. It took me a few weeks to catch on, but I had no idea how go about finding a cooperative Frau or Fräulein . What I soon realized was that they would find me. This is how it happened. Wednesday was farmers’ market day in this German town. I went there to pick up a beer and a brat. My plan was to later find a beer garden and get drunk. While strolling along the stalls, a young woman was struggling to find enough money to pay for a few eggs. She was with an infant that looked about two years old. A person would have to have a heart of stone not to sympathize with her plight. It was only a matter of a few pfennigs. I dropped a few coins in the bursa escort bayan farmer’s hand to settle her account. She turned to me in surprise touching my hand saying. Danke, danke, danke. I knew little German, but knew she was thanking me. She was beautiful, absolutely gorgeous and about my age. I smiled back and said, “You’re welcome.” In broken English she said, “Ya, a GI from America ?” “Yes, from Indiana .” Then she repeated, “Danke, danke shoen.” She took the hand of the little girl and left. All afternoon, I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Every beer made her more beautiful in my mind. The next Wednesday I went to the market to look for her. Like the week before, she was there with her little tyke. I watched her for a few minutes before buying three jelly donuts. I walked up to her and said in my best German, “Guten Tag.” “Ya, Guten Tag,” she replied as if she recognized me. I smiled and pointed to my bag of donuts and motioned to a nearby bench. The three of us sat there for a minute with the small girl between us. I took out one of the treats and handed her the bag. She said, “Nein.” I didn’t get it. She was turning me down or to be more precise, turning down the food. I tried again and mimed the idea of eating. Then I took a bite. I could see by the child’s wide eyes and expression that she couldn’t wait to get her mouth on one. The fräulein shook her head, “no.” She reminded me of my pet cat that circled me with her tail high in the air, paw at my legs for attention, but was too proud to sit on my lap. That didn’t stop the toddler. She grabbed the bag and ran off, quickly followed by the fräulein . I didn’t see them again until the following week. Thinking that the donuts might have been their meal that day, I stuffed a bag full of food from the commissary before leaving for the market the next week. Again, the fräulein and her kind were there. This time I waited and watched. She mostly gathered up the discarded food paying very little. When it appeared she had finished shopping, I walked up to her. We both said, “Goten Tag.” She saw the bag I was holding and smiled, taking my hand as if to follow her. The three of us walked along a path by a river for a short distance until we came to a bombed out house. At the doorway, she motioned to the toddler to wait outside like telling a puppy to “stay.” The house was gutted, a shell of a building. In a corner out of the way of windows, she unbuckled my belt and pulled down my pants. Quickly and expertly she had my cock in her mouth. Once I was fully conscience of the situation, my prick hardened like a steel dagger being plunged into the throat of an adversary. But she was no adversary. She had me down her throat without a sound while she gently stroked my balls. We both knew I couldn’t last. I emptied my cock inside her sweet lips after no more than a dozen escort bursa strokes, and watched as my cum dripped from her lips. The girl was hungry and lapped it up swallowing as if it were her last supper. Before I could zip up, she took the bag of groceries and said, “Danke. I am Hilda,” and she left. I returned to the barracks in love. The same routine happened on the next two Wednesdays. Blow jobs were fine, but I was trying to find an alternative. I tried and tried to think of a way to fuck Hilda. She solved the problem for me. Although fraternization was frowned upon, the Army knew men and knew what they were likely to do. So, the Army issued condoms in an attempt to keep us from STDs or sexually transmitted diseases. Certainly they were against unintended pregnancies as well. Anyway, I was always well equipped with ‘rubbers’. The next time I went to the market to meet Hilda with my bag of groceries, she took me on a different route than on the previous weeks. We stopped at a partially repaired house and took me in a room with a bed, a table, a chair and a crib. This time Hilda motioned to the bed and said, “Nicht” or night. With a little English mixed in, she wanted me to come to see her at night. I told her Friday night, Freitag. I was getting leave for the weekend, so it was working out perfectly. Friday night couldn’t come fast enough. When I approached the house, a young German man appeared to be leaving. Every possible scenario filled my brain before walking in the door. Maybe he was a boyfriend, a lover, a relative. I was far too horny to care about any of them. Hilda greeted me with open arms wearing the traditional Bavarian costume revealing plenty of cleavage. This time I brought along a bottle of Riesling Rhine wine and a couple packs of Lucky Strikes. Neither of us smoked, but cigarettes were a proxy for money. She would have no trouble exchanging them for nearly anything on the black market. We sat on the bed sipping from the bottle. When it was empty, I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a deep kiss. Her hand was on my crotch fumbling to open the zipper. My dick sprung out of the opening the moment it was released. My hands were all over her breasts nearly tearing off her blouse. What I saw was a set of perfect tits just like the models in porn magazines. Hilda was busy massaging my cock while I pulled off her dress until she was naked. Hilda didn’t have the portly body of a typical Bavarian fräulein. A more beautiful body doesn’t exist. Her legs were long and narrow, and she had a forest of pubic hair covering the narrow slit I so much wanted to penetrate. I was frantic with lust. Hilda was clearly experienced. I was not. She noticed it from the start. Her soft touches directed me to the right places eventually helping me insert my rock hard cock inside her. I don’t know what she said in German, but it sounded sexy and romantic to me. She turned so that she was on top where I could see her glorious boobs. They bounced as she rode me, and she had the expression of complete pleasure. This is where a language gap doesn’t inhibit enjoyment or desire.
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