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Riding the trains through Europe can be a very rewarding and educational experience. At any given time, it is difficult to guess the nationality of the person facing you in the small six-seat compartments. Many of the newer trains have bus-type seating, but the older ones are broken up into compartments, with doors that close and curtains that can be pulled together to give a certain amount of privacy.
Europeans have so many national languages, as well as a wealth of dialects, that it is very hard for even an experienced ear sometimes to pick out the language being spoken. Although I have a bit of familiarity with German, having lived here for a few years, I was completely unable to pick up any words of the language being spoken next to me on one trip.
“Can you please tell me what language they are speaking?”, I asked the seatmate with whom I had been conversing in a mixture of my poor German and her excellent English.
“They are speaking German”, she said, then noticing my puzzled look, she added, “They are from Switzerland.”
“Oh”, I nodded. That explained it. Swiss German is about as different to what I normally hear as a thick Scots brogue is to American English.
If language identification is a problem for me, imagine how difficult it is to try to understand the social customs and mores of people of whom I cannot even Identify their nationality.
Some of my more enjoyable and memorable experiences on the trains have been with people with whom I shared no common language. We resort to smiles and frowns, with lots of gestures, to communicate as best we can. With all the finger waving and grunting, we might be on vacation from a school for the speech-impaired.
I will tell you about one of them.
I was on a train from Timisoara, Romania, to Bucharest. The train was in reasonably good repair and fairly comfortable, but took nearly twelve hours to make a trip that could be covered in much less time in more developed countries.
The compartment in which I found myself was full when we left Timisoara, but gradually emptied until there was only an older woman, who might have been around my age, a young girl whom I guessed to be in her late teens or early twenties and a boy who appeared to be about the same age. I assumed that they were her grandchildren by the way in which they related to her. She continually produced food and drink from an enormous carryall bag.
The girl was quite beautiful, but very withdrawn, the boy handsome, in that dark manner of the Romanian men. It had astounded me the day before to realize that I was the shortest person in the room with several students of both ages, as well as their professors, in a university meeting. I am a full six feet tall and they were all noticeably taller, girls and boys.
As the train rocked on, hour after hour, I began to envy the steady stream of food and drink being offered to the young people. There was apparently no restaurant car on the train, nor any rolling cart as I am accustomed to seeing on German trains.
Although Romania certainly has a national currency, it was not then known for its solidity, so German Marks were readily, perhaps even greedily, accepted.
I looked at a bottle of wine the old lady had brought from her bag and offered her some DMarks, which disappeared into the depths of her loose clothing before I could open the bottle.
Surprisingly, the wine was very tasty and of a good quality. Please forgive me for being surprised. Coming to a nation like Romania from the western countries is such a shock in so many ways, it is difficult to know what to expect and I usually try to keep my expectations low so I can be pleasantly surprised. In this case, I certainly was.
Apparently, the old lady was happy with our deal, because she began extracting meats, cheese, olives, bread and sweets from her bag, offering them to me. Whatever value of the money I handed to her seemed to be what the price happened to be. There was no change. If I gave more, she gave more.
After stuffing myself bahis firmaları on good farm-style food for a fraction of the amount I would have gladly paid for much worse in a restaurant, I settled back to digest my meal as the train rocked on through the Romanian countryside toward the capital.
Now that one of my senses was sated, my attention was caught by the quietly beautiful girl. Some of my other senses began to demand equal treatment.
Never one to miss an opportunity to capitalize on an unfilled need, the old lady reached over to her granddaughter’s dress and began to lift the hem. She cocked an eye at me.
I dug into my pockets to see what was left in the way of money. I don’t usually travel with much cash. Most European countries, including Romania, have automatic tellers at the banks and railway stations, where money can be withdrawn directly from your home bank, although it comes out of the machine in the local currency instead of dollars. (Amazing, isn’t it?)
I was running short. I had some small coins, one or two fairly small bills and the rest in larger denominations. I offered the small coins. The hem dropped. I offered the small bills, the hem got raised to just above the knee.
The girl sat impassively.
I pulled out a bill that was roughly equal to $20 back home and the angels sang. A smile creased the face of the old lady. The girl looked at me with affection and the scowling boy even smiled a bit.
As I watched, lustfully, the hem rose and rose and rose until a dark thatch, barely concealed behind a lace curtain came into view.
At her grandmother’s urging, the girl rose up to allow her underpants to be completely removed and to be given to me. I somewhat gingerly brought them to my nose and was overwhelmed with the delightful fragrance of her sex. A smell at once musky, fresh and erotic. I wondered what percentage of the total was due to natural good health, clean soap and exotic perfumes. They did not look like people who would have access to many exotic perfumes, so I had to assume that it was a predominantly natural essence.
I rubbed my face in them as the old lady smiled.
I pointed to the girl’s chest and offered another twenty. Very soon, I had a plain, white bra in my hands and there was a beautiful girl sitting right in front of me with her skirt around her waist, revealing a hint of pink lips through her copious pubic hair. Her blouse was left open, framing the most perfectly formed pair of breasts I could remember seeing since the old days at The Body Shop on Sunset, home of the “almost stars”.
The boy had now pulled his member from his pants and was staring at his sister, so brazenly displayed. His hand was idly stroking himself as he filled his eyes with her nakedness.
Was this the first time he had seen his sister naked, I wondered. Was incest as taboo here as it was back home, or did these people come from a portion of this society that looked the other way at such things? There were places like that at home, too.
The question regarding their standards of ethical behavior began to outweigh my need to ravish this vision of perfection in front of me. I dug deeper in my pocket and came up with around a hundred bucks. I waved it at the old lady and pointed meaningfully at the girl and boy.
The girl’s face turned ashen and she began to sling her head from side to side in violent protest. In contrast, the boy’s member appeared to have grown in girth.
The old lady whispered something in the girl’s ear, but she continued to object, strongly. Finally, the old lady must have found the proper form of inducement, perhaps it was a new dress, and the girl appeared to cave in and accept the reality that she was about to be fucked by her brother.
It may be that her reluctance was based on morality or something as mundane as the fear of pregnancy, but whatever it was must have been overcome by the latest offer.
She stood up between my legs and pulled her dress completely off, over her head, leaving her completely kaçak iddaa nude body a few inches from my ravenous mouth. I took each strawberry into my mouth, in turn, and sucked its sweet nectar very gently before allowing her to sit astride her brother’s lap. Her grandmother was busily preparing her for his entry by rubbing vigorously on the girl’s clit and trying to show the boy the right way to suck his sister’s tits. She had been smearing some sort of grease on the boy’s dick while I pleasured myself with the girl and he appeared to be on the verge of orgasm.
I had my own member well in hand and was stroking it, as well. Grandmother got on her knees and took my pole all the way down her throat. Whatever nationality they were and whatever language, customs, mores they used, cocksucking must have been one of their more common practices. That old lady was good! She knew more tricks with her tongue and mouth than anybody who had come before her to my place.
I pointed to myself and said, “Wyden”. The girl pointed to her grandmother and said, “Anna”, then to herself and her brother. “Katja” and “Ivan”. I smiled my thanks to her. She was still looking quite pale and unsure of herself. Her back was to her brother, whose large dick stood rigidly at attention in front of her black thatch, hiding the pink pearl I had glimpsed earlier. His hands were around her, mauling her tits and pinching her nipples.
It became imperative that I know whether she might possibly be a virgin. For some reason, it seemed that it would increase my pleasure to know that I had caused her to lose her virginity to her own brother.
The only way I knew to tell for sure was to look for myself. I moved Ivan’s dick aside and stroked my fingers through Katja’s moistening cleft. When I reached her button, a shudder ran through her body, causing her to throw her head back against her brother and thrust her breasts harder against his greedy hands. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought she might have had a small orgasm, from the radiant smile she gave me.
My finger was still lodged in her slit, so I pushed gently forward until her unbroken hymen prevented further penetration.
Aaaah! She really was a virgin! Perhaps that explained her initial reluctance in several ways. This seemed to change things in my mind.
While pondering this somewhat unexpected development, I began rubbing Ivan’s prick across his sister’s pussy lips and clit. Their combined moans must have reached the next compartment, but no one looked in to investigate. Anna was doing magic things to my prick and would have already had a mouthful of cum if I hadn’t been so engrossed in the girl.
Ivan didn’t give a shit. He had his naked sister sitting on his lap with complete freedom to play with her tits, and his prick was being rolled against her cunt. Katja’s pussy lips were now spread wide and so flushed with blood they had a pebbly appearance. I spread them around her brother’s prick to place it in better contact with her clit, but he was so long that the head of his prick was resting against her stomach.
I put Katja’s hand on her brother’s prick and showed her how to tickle his balls and use it as a fleshy vibrator. His hips were pumping from sexual instinct, causing his rod to rub up and down through her opening.
When he began to cum, the fact that he was cumming was not at all surprising. The amount of cum and the force of it were unlike anything in my experience. There is a stud in some porn flicks I’ve seen that shoots like that, but I had never seen such a display in person. His first shot hit his sister right in the nose and dribbled onto her lips. His second shot went over her head, to run down the wall behind them. After that, she held her hand over the head of his wildly pumping cock and deflected the stream onto her belly and her tits.
Soon, her entire stomach and chest were glistening with her brother’s cum. Her tongue flicked out and sampled the taste. I watched her savor it for a moment before deciding she liked it well enough to try more and kaçak bahis began scooping globs from her body with her finger.
Anna’s talented mouth and her grandchildrens’ show helped me to join the orgasm club. For an old lady, she could really suck a whistle. I don’t know why this should surprise me. Hell, she was probably younger than me and I was as hard as an iron bar and raring to fuck, so why should she be less ready? Perhaps it was because of my experiences with American women. Most of the ones I know think sex is only for the young.
Anna now surprised me greatly by holding a mouthful of my cum and transferring it to her granddaughter’s cunt. To make sure I realized what she was doing, she laid Katja down on the bench seat and held her pussy lips wide open as she drizzled my cum into the small, quivering cavern.
She was showing me that she wanted her granddaughter to have my child! She wasn’t eating Katja out. She was putting my cum in! Their culture apparently had no problem with sex and nudity, but did avoid incestuous pregnancy however possible.
Now that Katja was suitably lubricated and I had been shown what she wanted, Anna led her granddaughter to me and had her straddle my thighs, instead of her brother’s, this time. Anna’s exquisite mouth brought me rapidly back to sufficient hardness to penetrate her granddaughter.
The feel of Katja’s body against mine, with my stiffening prick lodged at the gates of her virginity were enough to complete the process for me. I pushed up against her tightness, but couldn’t get past the membrane.
Anna watched for a bit before taking matters into her own hands. She stood behind Katja and tried to lift the girl high enough to drop her on my prick, but wasn’t strong enough. Beckoning to Ivan to help her, she placed him behind his sister, with his rapidly rejuvenating prick smashed against her back, and lifted her until my prick was almost completely withdrawn.
Then with a loud cry, they both pushed Katja down, forcing her pussy down on my impaling prick, through the tough membrane and on down until our pubic hairs were entangled.
Katja was whimpering softly and sobbing into my chest from the pain. All three of us were trying to console her while her body was adjusting to its invader and recovering from the shock.
When she was beginning to show signs of recovery, Anna pulled her grandson on top of her and let him fuck her for a few minutes to generate some lubrication, then guided his prick into her asshole. Very effective form of birth control, that! You don’t have to come from an enlightened culture to understand some things.
Katja was now beginning to move around experimentally on my dick, testing the limits of movement that didn’t cause pain. She gradually warmed up to the point of full motion, then began to rise and fall on my lap.
Her grandmother whispered some instructions to her, which made me very grateful. That old lady knew how to fuck! If she taught Katja everything she knew about fucking while Katja still had her looks and body–oh my!
By the time we got to Bucharest, I was the most well-fucked person in town. If not, then I highly recommend the place. We exited the train as a white-haired American tourist and a perfectly respectable old country woman and her grandchildren. Although no words had been spoken other than our names, I felt that we had formed a bond and gotten to know each other very well. I hated to see them go.
I pressed my remaining currency into her hand as we parted, knowing that I would never see her and her grandchildren again. It was around $500. In a country where a college professor makes less than $200 per month, it should go a long way.
It didn’t feel to me as if I had paid for sex or had bought a young girl’s virginity. It felt like they had shared their meager possessions and their love with me and the least I could do was to give them my pocket money.
As I reluctantly walked away, I thought I heard something, but wasn’t sure. There was a lot of noise and activity in the station and even if I heard it, I couldn’t be sure who said it.
It sounded like, “Wow! Gran! That was totally awesome! I like Romania! Wasn’t that old Romanian guy something? What day do we do Italy? I can’t wait!”
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