The European Way

A gay sex stories: The European Way I have always been interested in the way people in other countries live. To broaden my horizons, I planned a trip to Europe. Italy, France, the Netherlands, and Greece were on my itinerary. I very much wanted to sample other customs, other societies and partake of their societal norms.

I was traveling alone because I caught my girlfriend fucking some dude. Yeah, I could have raised hell, challenged him to a fight. Could have done many things but I chose to leave her, and most of my stuff. I even left my toy poodle, Oui, Oui. I named him that because of his propensity for pissing on my shoes.

You might be wondering why I didn’t get physical with that guy who I found balls deep in who I thought was my woman. For starters, the guy fucking my ex was tons bigger than me. I could see he easily outweighed me by maybe 80 pounds. And, from the way he lay across my girl, I figured he had to be around 6′-6’2″. The nonchalant way he looked at me before resuming his pounding of my girl’s pussy told me he saw me as no threat.

Of course, he didn’t see me that way. At 5′ 6″ and all of 128 pounds, I am not an imposing figure. Look, I didn’t choose to be built like I am. At 26, I still buy my clothes in the boy’s department. Flared hips, narrow shoulders, most of my weight is in my bottom. Long slender fingers on delicate hands, tiny feet, you get the picture.

It was after a few minutes of watching the rutting couple and seeing my girl responding to what can only be described as a beautiful specimen of a cock, I left in tears. I knew I would never be able to compete with a man like that.

So now, with dry shoes and all, I was aboard a 747. First stop Heathrow. I was eager to put the past behind me and try different things. Perhaps I could even find meaning in my life.

I hadn’t planned on staying in England. I mean how many English restaurants do you see in America? Not too many, right? I do love to eat good food and am fortunate that I do not gain weight. Besides, I wanted to hit Amsterdam. I heard the weed there is great. And the weed and sex shows had been recommended by co-workers.

I boarded my connecting flight. In no time at all, we landed at Schiphol International and soon enough found myself in a city filled with cyclists. Sure, there were cars, buses, trucks, but bikes out-numbered them all. They were fucking everywhere and you’d better be careful when crossing the street at night. Like some farts, bikes can silent but deadly. And if like me, you’re stoned on some high-grade shit, crossing the busy Holland streets that led back to my hotel was like playing frogger.

I had visited the “Tea Room” at the concierge’s suggestion.

It was serendipity that the concierge took a liking to me. His name was Hans. Tall, blonde, handsome, with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, he was super friendly. He seemed genuinely concerned that I saw and enjoyed everything Amsterdam had to offer.

He smiled seeing that I had taken his advice and visited the Tea Room. That I was high was evident to even the causal observer.

He asked if I’d like to join him for dinner to which I readily agreed. I guess we looked a bit strange, the much taller man walking beside a very slight man. Hans didn’t mention my lack of size as he led the way to a Chinese restaurant.

I thought I was still stoned hearing a Chinese man talk with a Dutch accent. It was all pleasantly different and different is what I was seeking.

The food was excellent. Not like the stuff served in any Cinese-American restaurant I’d ever eaten in.

Hans asked what I’d like to drink. “Whiskey, please,” I smiled. I do enjoy a nice bourbon on the rocks.

I learned that in Europe, whiskey means Scotch. Hans ordered the same for him and before we left, we both had a happy buzz.

“Come with me, johnnie,” he said taking my hand. “Let me show you the world-famous red-light district.”

I scurried to keep up with the large man. I didn’t feel at all weird that he was holding my hand. For some reason, I accepted it as his way of not losing me even though the pedestrian traffic had thinned out considerably. I also figured it was how men walked together in Europe and I was determined to sample everthing they had ot offer.

Finally, after several blocks of row houses along canals, he slowed allowing me to catch my breath. “Look, johnnie. Look up at the windows. See the sexy women for sale?”

I did see them. There were many beautiful women in various forms of undress, advertising their wares. Hans explained that the state allowed for this as long as they were routinely inspected and tested for venereal diseases. “Prostitution is restricted only to this area,” Hans explained.

He led me to a bench along the narrow canal and produced a small pipe. Pulling a little sack from his pocket, Hans filled the pipe’s bowl and lit it. I watched him take a deep inhale before he offered the pipe to me. “Hashish, my cute little American princess?”

I took a big hit and coughed. Hans laughed heartedly. “It takes some getting used to, yes?”

We sat, each lost in our own hash dreams.

I don’t know how long Hans and I were in our fogged state when he roused me from my stupor. “It’s late, johnnie. I will walk you back to the hotel. Come with me.”

I stood on wobbly legs which caused my new friend to laugh and hold me close to make sure I did not fall.

We’d walked half a block when I put an arm around his waist. I did that purely for support mind you, and that is how we made our way back to my room.

I was so wasted that I didn’t fight it when Hans helped me out of my clothes and into bed. “Good night, my little princess,” I thought I heard him say and wondered who he was talking to as I fell into a deep sleep.

I was awakened by the knock on my door. “Room service,” they called out. “I have your breakfast.”

Give me a minute,” I called out pushing the covers off. I was surprised to see I was completely naked.

I hurried into a complimentary robe and opened the door.

The bus boy rolled in a cart with a pot of coffee, one cup, and some pastries which I learned were poffertjes. “Hans had me bring this to you, johnnie,” he said using my given name. Then, as he was leaving, he used the same term Hans had been using. “Have a nice day, princess.”

My mind was cloudy as the bus boy refused a tip and left.

I sat sipping the hot coffee wondering what happened last night. “Your first night and you got wasted,” I thought. I resolved to take it easy from then on.

My mind was still trying to figure out how I managed to undress myself when the phone rang.

The ringing was like a sledge hammer in my brain and I quicky answered it to stop the pain.

“Hello.”

“Ah, how is my little American princess this morning? DId you enjoy your first day in Amsterdam, my precious johnnie?”

“Oh, hi Hans. Yes I did, thanks to you. And thank you for breakfast this morning.”

“You are most welcome princess. I hope you aren’t upset that I took the liberties to remove your clothing last night. You were so out of it and so cute.”

That was I don’t know how many time Hans called me princess. I let it slide figuring it was some sort of European thing. “No Hans. I’m not upset that you undressed me. Thank you.”

“Oh, my sweet little American princess, it was my pleasure, I assure you. You have a cute little klit.”

He sounded so happy that I didn’t question his calling me his princess. Plus, I had no idea what he was talking about.

Hans told me he was working until 3 PM and to come down and he’d give me directions to art galleries and the house that Anne Frank was hiding in before the Nazis took her and her family away.

Amsterdam is an interesting place. The people, including the women were all tall, much taller than me. They were mostly blonde, and very good looking too. They were all taught English in school and yet, the spelling of a single word in their language could make a paragraph in America. Pronunciation of such words were impossible for me.

When 3 Pm rolled around, I was back at the hotel to meet Hans. I wondered what adventure he had in store for me this evening.

He again took my hand and led me to his flat. One narrow flight up, Hans insisted I go first.

“I need to get out of these clothes, my friend. Please, sit while I change.

His flat was a one room, what we in America would call an efficiency. Instead of going to his bathroom to change, Hans seemed not to mind disrobing in front of me.

I tried not to look but he kept talking to me and it is impolite not to look at the person with whom you’re are speaking.

I was not surprised seeing that his pubic hair was wispy blonde. I was surprised to see Hans had a very nice cock. Long and thick, hanging over nicely sized balls, he could have been a model for Michelangelo or Rodan.

“My princess likes to see her prince naked, yes?” Hans smiled at me making me realize I was staring.

Blushing, I managed to squeak, “Oh, um, well, I uh, you have a nice body.”

Hans walked over to me, his cock swing back and forth like a pendulum. Crouching down to me, he cupped my face in his hands and smiled. “Thank you, princess. I saw your body, felt the softness, how smooth it is, and what a nice zitvlak you have behind you.” He chuckled and stood upright. “My American princess has a cute little bump in her panties I see.”

I hadn’t realized that my dick had become erect.

Hans stood tall and still, his cock hanging very close. I could feel his eyes on me as I looked at his fine specimen of manhood and wondered if him referring to my underwear as panties was another European thing.

It seemed like forever and also like a millisecond before he turned away to finish dressing. “Maybe later, perhaps, yes?”

I had no idea what he was talking about then. I would learn soon enough.

Tonight, princess we shall visit a sex show. You Americans are uptight about sex. We Dutch aren’t so. But first, we stop at the Tea Room and get a nice buzz.”

I have to admit the stuff we smoked was kicking. One hit and I was flying.

“We go now?” Hans asked.

“I’d follow you anywhere,” I giggled.

With his hand on my back, Hans led me up the stairs and out of the noise that came from the upstairs disco.

We stopped at a Pizza Hut of all places to grab a quick bite. Ever the gentleman, Hans directed me to a chair which he pulled out for me.

“This is not so much pizza as it is flat bread with melted cheese,” Hans said. “Italy, I think Naples, that’s where you get real pizza. This is for snacking on, yes?”

I agreed that Pizza Hut wasn’t gourmet food but finished my two slices.

“Hold still sweet princess,” Hans said quietly as he used his napkin to wipe my cheek.

It felt weird him doting on me like he was. Weird but nice. I figured it was the European way. Hans made me feel appreciated. It was exactly what my bruised ego needed after catching m ex with that well hung gentleman.

When Hans took my hand to lead me to the sex shows his fingers interlaced with mine. Instead of resisting, I squeezed his large hand. We strolled like a couple without a care.

We walked hand in hand and I saw many couple like us, two men walking closely together. I decided I loved Europe.

If I thought Hans was taking me to a sex show that featured women and men together, I was mistaken.

As we made our way through the darkened theater, I saw many couples like us. On stage a slightly built young white male was orally servicing a much larger black man as he stood over his cock sucker with his hands on his hips and gazed out at his appreciative audience.

“That man has a nice cock, does he not? Hans asked me as we settle in by the stage.

“I’ll say,” I gushed seeing the long, thick, dark phallus shining with saliva.

Hans placed his arm over my shoulder and hugged me close. “Look at how that white man worships a cock, princess. He is much like you. Petite, delicate. Does he not look at peace?”

I couldn’t answer. I could only stare and wonder why I was so very aroused. “Maybe it was the hashish,” I thought.

I sighed when Hans’ hand dipped inside my shirt. His warm hand felt nice as he explored my frail chest. “Ooooh,” I sighed when his fingers found a nipple.

“My princess has a sensitive breast, does she not?”

The smoke, the dark theater, the black cock being worshipped not more than 10 feet away, and Hans’ hand on me had me feeling sexy. I lay my head against his upper left arm. That was when he took my right hand and brought it to his thigh.

As I watched the handsome black man enjoy his blow job, I wondered how it felt to be the fragile pale figure kneeling and slobbering over the dark angry cock. My hand began to rub Hans’ thigh, up and down, inside and out.

“Look at her, princess. See her small pink pecker leaking? The white girl is very excited, is he not? I bet yours looks like hers.”

“She does look as though she is enjoying herself, Hans,” I whispered.

I used my fingernails to scratch Hans’ inner thigh as my hand creeped closer to his crotch. I thought about how nice and big his cock was and how nicely Hans was treating me. I made the decision to be what he thought I was. Afterall, I did come here for new experiences.

Hans spread his legs, his knee touching mine. I knew what it meant. I took a breath and cupped his big balls through his trousers. I smiled hearing a little moan of appreciation escape my friend.

I reached for his zipper hoping to pull his cock out and give my new friend a hand job. Hans stopped me. “I only allow my girls to play with my dick. Do you want to be my princess, johnnie? Do you want to be Hans’ sexy princess?”

Hans detected my hesitation and assured me. “Princess,” he breathed in my ear. “You are in Europe now. Being my girl is the European way.”

I looked up in his eyes. Hans was sincere in what he told me. “I guess if you say it’s okay, then yes. I want to be your girl Hans. I want to be your princess.”

“My sweet American princess, you are now Han’s.”

He brought my hand back to his zipper. When I freed his erection, I wrapped my little hand around the hot shaft. We sat, my hand jacking off my friend’s cock and he rubbing my little boner through my pants.

I was unable to prevent myself from having an orgasm right there in that crowded theater. I squealed and chirped as I soiled my underpants and khakis with a tremendous orgasm.

Hans allowed me to gather myself then, without further ado, he pulled my face down and fed me my first cock.

Oblivious to those around us, I settled into giving my new friend the pleasure a cock like his deserves.

“That’s it princess, suck your man. Show your man you are his slutty girl.”

I knew what I was doing was so wrong but it felt so good. Hearing my man praise me for giving him pleasure made me feel truly his.

Hans held my head in his lap when he fucked his thick seed down my throat. I didn’t struggle at all remaining his cock sucker until he softened and pulled my face from his cock. “Maybe my American princess would like to be the girl on stage next time we come. Yes?”

“Whatever you want, Hans,” I told my man. “Your girl will do what her man wants her to do.”

We left the theater soon after Hans came and made our way back to the Tea Room. After a couple drinks and a joint, I was feeling like a real princess. When Hans escorted me to my room and undressed me, he smiled as he told me he would liberate me.

“I will bring out the princess you were born to be, my darling.”

Hans had me kneel on the bed facing the large mirror on the dresser. “Watch you become the woman you were meant to be, my sweet American princess,” he smiled at my reflection as he slipped his beautiful cock in my ass. Maybe I should have resisted, told him no. But I didn’t. The intimacy I felt with Hans was something I’d missed. I lay with my head down low, my chin in my hands as I watched my wonderful Hans fuck the manhood out of me.

He looked like a God. His pale skin glowing in the subdued light as he claimed me as his property, his American princess. My klit spewed my acceptance of becoming his princess. As Hans fucked the seed from my body, my heart filled with love for him.

“Perhaps this is the European way,” I thought as I felt his cock expand and jerk filling me with his own seed which would quickly grow and consume all of me.

To be continued. Your comments and email are encouraged.