As I reminisce about my sexual adventures back in the day, it would be negligent not to include Fusina in my writings. It was a small camping ground just across the lagoon from Venice. Many tour buses called in there and disgorged their young travellers for a night of rowdy partying around the bar. There was probably more bonking going on at Fusina each night than was happening in Venice.
My girlfriend Frances and I stopped there for a night in Oct 1970, a couple of days after a terrible Tornado had ripped through the camping ground. It tore roofs off buildings, flipped caravans and destroyed tents. A dozen of my friends had been staying there when the Tornado hit. Most of them were unharmed, just a few bruises. But an American guy died, and a friend of a friend broke her back when a tree landed on their tent.
Fran and I only stayed one night, we hitched rides up to Octoberfest in Munich the following day. An interesting piece of trivia: we hitched a ride up the Bremmer Pass with a black American guy in his little red Fiat Spyder sports car. I remember it as being a very tight fit. Fran and I, with our rucksacks, crammed in beside him. He told us Jimi Hendrix had committed suicide the previous day. Fran was quite affected by this news. She had seen him perform twice, the last time only a couple of weeks before.
When we met up with my mates at Thalkirchen camping ground, all they could talk about was what a fantastic place Fusina had been. And we all swore to visit there again.
As it turned out, I revisited Fusina three more times in the next two years. The first was in May 1971, after my mate Geoff and I stopped there for a few wild nights after our Morocco trip. We had spent two weeks travelling around Morocco, and after crossing to Algeciras, we drove up the east coast of Spain, stopping for a day in Granada, then selling our blood in Valencia to boost our flagging funds. Then, we drove across the French Riviera and into Italy. The aim was to stop in Fusina for a few nights, then drive to Rome, where we had arranged to meet some friends. But we wound up staying about five nights at Fusina, as we were having that much fun.
I don't want to sound like I'm bragging, but we were pretty popular with the female guests that poured into the camp each day, and the camp owner, Renato, asked us to stay on and work for him. Geoff was a whizz on the barbecue, and I did odd jobs. A paddock was next to the camp where Renato had chooks, ducks and pigs. One of my tasks was looking after them. I also remember helping spray for Mosquitoes, which could be a problem with the water nearby. But his main reason for asking us to stay was our evening partying skills. The camp had a reputation to uphold, and English-speaking guys were in high demand.
We had to decline his offer as we had our friends to meet in Rome, after which we decided to travel down to Sicily. However, Geoff kept in touch with Renato, and when we returned to London at the end of May, Geoff packed up and returned to Fusina to work there for the Summer.
A week after Geoff returned to Fusina, I travelled to the U.S. for my second stint at Camp America. When I returned to the U.K., I hitch-hiked down to Fusina for the first T-Day Festival, which was held in September of 71. The camp had changed. I believe a tour company had spent money on Renato building a bunk room for their young travellers. This meant there were now tour buses arriving almost every day, sometimes more than one.
The camp always had a young clientele. I remember Renato turning married couples with children away and steering them to a neighbouring campsite. He explained that the antics after dark got pretty wild. They didn't all take his advice. When I stayed there on my fourth visit, a married couple in their forties stayed a couple of nights in their camper van. They watched the goings-on the first night and, about midnight, hit me up about spending the night with them. The husband explained his wife had always fantasised about being taken by a European gigolo. Geoff and I had a good laugh afterwards at our being thought of as gigolos, but I guess that is what we were in many people's eyes.
I was tempted but turned them down. Today, I would jump at the chance, but I was not keen on being in the same bed as another man in my late teens. It's a shame. The wife was quite a stunner; I'd probably have learned a lot.
Anyway, back to the story. Geoff and I helped set up all the events for the T-Day festival. I don't remember half of the events, but there was a greasy pole, a yard glass drinking competition, running races, etc.
You had to be pretty objectionable to miss out on getting laid at Fusina. As I said, a tour bus (the one I remember most clearly was Contiki) arrived most evenings, and often, there were only a couple of guys on the bus of twenty young travellers. Many of the girls were after some action. Geoff and I bonked a different young lady nearly every night. And one day, I slept with four different ladies.
Impossible, I hear you say! Let me elaborate.
The story starts three days after the T-Day festival finishes. As I mentioned, Geoff and I helped Renato with many camp tasks. This particular morning, he had me take a group of campers over to visit the Murano glass factory, which I did half a dozen times during my stays. We got back about 1:00 pm, and I helped out with lunch. Then, having some time to myself until dinner at 6:00, I wandered down to the pier to read my book and sunbathe.
When I arrived at the pier, I found I was not alone. There was a teenage blond bombshell sunning at the dock. I had a rough idea of who she was, as I'd seen four girls arrive while we were serving lunch. They had parked their light blue Kombi van on the other side of the Shower block to where I had my tent.
Anyway, bombshell was an understatement. She was fucking beautiful. She looked like a young Britt Ekland. She was well above my pay grade, and for a moment, I was quite lost for words.
However, I quickly came down to earth and tried to engage her in conversation. She was lying on a towel, wearing a mauve bikini. Nothing like the brief bum-bearing pieces of today, but pretty daring for the times. I noticed that besides her book and towel, she had a beach bag with a bottle of sun cream on top. So I offered to oil up her back if she wanted.
She sat up a bit, gave me a condescending look, then introduced herself as Astrid and said, "If you are after getting me into bed, I'll explain up front that I'm not interested. I have a boyfriend back in Oslo, and we will get married when I return."
Well, that told me plenty. I had thought she was Swedish, but now I knew she was Norwegian. And I didn't need to waste time thinking up any corny pickup lines. I could just relax and be myself.
I replied, "I work here at the camp, and my job is to look after the guests. So even though it is my downtime, I'm happy to rub some lotion on your back if you can't reach it."
"Go on, then," she replied, reaching behind to undo the strap of her top.
I reached over, picked up her suntan lotion, and, scarcely able to believe my luck, began rubbing oil onto her exquisite curves. Well, my eyes roamed all over her curves, and I kept my hands diligently working on her back. There were, however, deep red indentations where her strap had been biting in, So I began digging my fingers in and trying to obliterate this blemish on her otherwise perfect torso.
She lifted up, a hand holding onto her bikini to stop it from dropping away from her enticing globes and snapped, "What are you up to."
"You have a nasty bra strap mark, and I'm trying to massage it out. I'll stop if you like, but it does not look good, and I thought maybe it hurt a little."
Astrid relaxed back onto her towel and said to continue. I massaged her back for a few minutes, as long as I thought I could get away with, and we talked intermittently. She spoke fluent English, and I was to learn that she was also fluent in German and spoke pretty good French. She explained that she was travelling with three other girls in a van and would be happy to introduce me to one of them as they were all more accommodating than she was.
What do you do in that situation? Well, you don't say yes, please, and look like a total jerk. So I just ignored her offer of her friends and kept talking. After a while, I rolled away to read my book. We talked intermittently over the next couple of hours. But I was careful to keep the conversation light and not annoy her with my usual sexual innuendos. At around 5:00 pm, I told Astrid I needed to help with dinner, and as I departed I said I hoped she would come party in the bar that evening.
No buses had turned up that day, so the night looked quiet. Which was something we actually looked forward to now and again.
When Astrid and her three travelling companions turned up around 7:00 that evening, no more than a dozen people were in the bar. We had the music blaring out, probably Rod Stewart, Carol King, Led Zeppelin, etc. There was some good music around those days.
She came over and introduced her friends, and I introduced the staff and some of the other campers. All the staff had different party routines. Geoff had a considerable repertoire of dirty rugby songs. Renato and one of the other Italian guys played the guitar. I was the comedian. I had many funny stories, ranging from clean to outright filthy. I was very good at picking what was appropriate for the demographic on any particular evening. I have been told on more than one occasion I should be on the stage.
Some more campers wandered in as the noise got louder. It turned into quite a party, even though there were less than half the usual number of people there. I was tempted to make a pass at one of Astrid's travelling companions as they were all attractive, but I didn't want to appear to be that shallow, so I kept talking and having the odd dance with Astrid. I do remember dancing with her to 'Breads', Want To Make It With You. And as I belted out I wanted to make it with her, she laughingly told me I had no chance.
Later in the evening, I was cajoled into entertaining the party with some of my jokes. I started with some pretty clean ones, and once I had assessed what would be appropriate, I started telling some more risqué funnies aimed at what I knew about the various people there.
When I got to Astrid, I said she reminded me of Snow White and asked if they had heard about her getting kidnapped by the Dark Prince. To excited cries from her travelling companions of, "No, tell us," I began the story.
The seven Dwarfs came home from work to find Snow White was nowhere to be seen and no dinner prepared. Doc went next door to see if their neighbour knew what had happened to her. The neighbour told Doc that she had been kidnapped by the Dark Prince.
So off they go to the Dark Prince's Castle.
As I marched around the table, I gave them the old Hi Ho, Hi Ho. Then, stopping next to Astrid, continued.
When they arrive at the castle, they find one solitary light burning in the tower. They climb up, standing on each other's shoulders to hoist their lightest member, Dopey, up to look in the window.
Grumpy yells to Doc, standing on his shoulders, "What's happening?" The message travels up via the five dwarfs to Dopey, who grabs the sill, hoists himself, and takes a peek.
"Oh,' she's on the bed," Dopey whispers.
"She's on the bed. She's on the bed. She's on the bed. She's on the bed. She's on the bed," travels back down to Grumpy.
Grumpy says again, "What's happening now?" And "What's happening now? What's happening now?" What's happening now?" travels back up the column via Doc, Sneezy, Bashful, Happy, Sleepy, etc.
Again, Dopey grips the sill and peers into the Dark Prince's bedroom.
"He's kissing her. He's kissing her, he's kissing her, he's kissing her," gets passed down by the excited dwarfs.
I took this opportunity to plant a brief kiss on Astrid's cheek. I kept this up for several more times, with Snow White starting to lose articles of clothing. This is one of those jokes you can draw out as long as you want.
By the time Dopey tells them the Dark Prince is removing her knickers, the line is getting very shaky. And a chorus of husky dwarf voices mumbles, "What's happening now? What's happening now? What's happening now?" Back up to Dopey.
Dopey lifts his head above the sill and gasps as he sees The Dark Prince insert two fingers between Snow White's tender thighs. The Dark Prince hears Dopey gasp and jumps off the bed.
Dopey cries out, "Oh God, he's coming." And a chorus of, "So am I, so am I, so am I, so am I, so am I," reverberates down the column.
Of course, I had been acting out the removal of all these items from Astrid throughout the telling, and she, along with all her friends, was in fits of laughter. Everyone in the bar called Astrid 'Snow White' for the rest of the night. I've always wondered if the new nickname stuck.
I wondered if she may have mellowed enough for me to have a chance by the night's end, as we seemed to be getting on so well. But just before midnight, at the end of a dance, she leaned in, kissed me on the lips, and said goodnight. I watched her walk over past the shower block around to their van.
I wasn't disappointed, as I'd had a bloody great evening. Some single girls were still at the bar, but I wasn't interested, so I slipped away to my tent for an early night. No way did I want to sully the memory of such a lovely young woman.
However, as dawn broke the next morning, I was woken to the sound of my tent zip and the silhouette of a female form climbing through the opening. It was Astrid. I went to say something, but she pressed her finger to my lips, warning me to keep quiet. She was wearing a cotton shorty bathrobe with nothing under it. And after struggling in the tight confines of my one-person tent, she straddled me.
Although it was still dark, the shower block lights had come on at 6:00, so in the dim morning light, I watched in awe as Astrid spat on her fingers, slid her hand between her legs and lubed up her folds. She lowered herself onto my morning hard.
She did all the work, and we hardly said a word. I held onto Astrid's smooth hips, watching my cock driving into her. She fucked me until some quiet squeals and moans began to escape her mouth. Then, to silence her mounting desire, she slumped down onto me and smashed her lips to mine.
She lay still, and I had no doubt she was riding out the urge to climax. Then after a couple of minutes, she sat up again and whispered to me, "Oh fuck, I can't hold on. I'm going to come."
I pulled her hips tightly to mine as her orgasm spasmed through her body. It was a very different experience for me. It was usually me doing all the work. Striving to get the lady of the moment to come and wanting it to be good so she wouldn't tell her friends I was a lousy lay. I just lay there soaking up the experience, and when she finally rolled to my side, I took in the view of her extraordinary beauty.
"Have you come," she asked.
"No. But it's okay. That was the best I have had in years."
Without any preamble, she pushed herself down my body and took my semi-hard prick into her mouth. Breathing hard, I inhaled her rich, distinct, womanly scent, and a familiar feeling began to rise in my loins, letting me know I was not going to be able to hold out for very much longer.
"I'm going to come," I warned her.
She mumbled around my jerking prick, "That's alright, I've only tasted one before. You can come in my mouth."
Those words did me in. My cock convulsed, and I spurted pure Ecstasy between her sucking lips. A feeling of euphoria gripped me; gasping and groaning, I thrust into her mouth until the after-orgasmic sensitivity became too much, and I pushed her away to lie beside me.
She swallowed the lot, and as soon as she regained her breath, Astrid got on her knees. She awkwardly pulled on her robe, picked up a towel that I hadn't noticed earlier, and said, "Don't you tell a soul?" Then she was out of the tent and off to the showers.
I lay there contemplating what had just happened. It was like an out-of-body experience, more like a dream than an actual event. Finally, I got myself up and went over to have breakfast.
The girl's van drove past while we were having breakfast on the patio. We waved them off, and then the guys started recounting who had slept with whom. I kept quiet. Not because Astrid had told me too, but because I didn't think anyone would believe me. Geoff had spent the night with one of Astrid's friends, and one of the Italians had fucked another of her friends up against a tree. When they turned to me to find out how I had gotten on, and I shook my head. Renato piped up, "He nailed Astrid. I saw her leaving his tent this morning."