When I settled in St. Kilda, Melbourne's beach-side, playground-suburb in the late 1950ies, a number of Continental Clubs already existed. They gave St. Kilda's night-live a touch of central European ambience that was missing in the still British-colonial non-night-life of the rest of Melbourne. The clubs' founders had migrated to Australia in the post-war years. Once the earlier intake of some 120,000 Displaced Persons between 1947 and 1950 was completed, the Australian Government decided to extend its intake of needed labour by signing migration-agreements with Germany, the Netherlands, and Austria.
Among the Austrians and Germans, it attracted many young men and some single women, then in their mid-twenties, that had after the turmoil of war and defeat not found their place in the harsh post-war world of their countries. Quite a few of them were ethnic-Germans that hat fled from the eastern parts of Europe in 1945.For many of them the West had offered no easy refuge and acceptance. They were willing to try a new life overseas. The opportunity to come to Australia at a cost of only ten Pounds, made it a more attractive destination than Canada.
Both August and I were such Ten Pound migrants. We had met as tenants in one of St.Kilda's rooming-houses. August was a nuggetty, no-nonsense Berliner; hard-working, and holding down a well-paid, responsible job at Dunlop Tyres. Conscripted in 1944 at seventeen into Hitler's army, he had survived the final six months of retreat on the Russian front to return to a city in ruins and no home or family. His parents had been killed in an air-raid.
August arrived in Australia in 1951, found work, settled down and, with some friends, got involved in starting the German Club in Barkly Street. Although I was so much younger in years and experience, August liked my company. We often went together to 'his' club.
On this Saturday night the club was already full, but August managed to get for us a little table some distance from the dance floor. Then he wandered off to talk to some friends. He surprised me when he came back in the company of two women. He quickly organised two chairs, and once the four of us were in close togetherness we got to know each other. August already knew one of the women, a German nurse, from earlier years.
She and her work colleague had come to town for a day of shopping and going to the pictures. In the evening they had decided to drop in at the German Club for a brief visit. They had to catch public transport to get back to the 20 miles out-of-town Mental Hospital where they worked and were in residence as nurses.
Both women were quite attractive. They were confidently at ease in their bodies but with no girlish softness left in their faces. In age they were closer to August's thirty-plus than to my twenty-two. On my own, I would have been too intimidated to approach them.
They were, however, lively company and talked freely about their lives and experiences. One, August's acquaintance, was originally from Danzig. Fleeing from the Russians she had found no real home in post-war West Germany and had come to Australia in 1951. The other woman came from Stuttgart and had arrived two years later.
Both worked as nurses in Sunbury's Mental Asylum. At the time, the Department of Immigration directed many non-British migrant-women to staff Australia's mental institutions and TB-sanatoriums. They made-up for the dearth of Australian nurses. These were deemed too precious and valued to work in the often unsavoury and dangerous conditions found in such institutions.
We shared quite a few drinks of brandy, hid in coffee-cups. Although unlicensed, in the German Club alcohol was more freely available than in the Austrian Club. There the police appeared often, going from table to table, lifting and sniffing coffee-cups in search of forbidden whiffs. The Germans had obviously reached some agreement with the constabulary, and their whiff-sniffers raided only rarely and never unannounced.
Anyway, to return to us, we had a good time. When the women made a move to leave, August easily persuaded them to stay. He would drive them home, he promised, all the long way to Sunbury. They readily agreed, we drank some more, quite naturally paired off, talked, joked and, of course danced. My partner, the Stuttgarter, felt warm and promising in my arms: She liked to lead and led me into dancing cheek-to-cheek and, eventually, closer than just heart-to-heart.
With August driving and his flame for the night next to him, my partner and I had the back-bench of the Volkswagen to ourselves. There was no gradual edging closer for us. We were merry without being too drunk to be enterprising. On climbing in, my woman wedged her shapely bottom as close onto me as she could get. Bending in even closer, her lips were on mine before the engine started. By the time August pulled away from the kerb I was hers.
She was a shamelessly demanding kisser that invaded with her brandy-rich tongue the depth of my mouth. When my hand reached out for her, she pushed open her jacket offering a welcoming breast.
Breaking free of my mouth after what seemed long minutes of a probing, demanding, teasing and brazenly suggesting dance of tongues, her lips closed in on my ear. The VW engine behind our back was loud, but I heard her sexily hoarse whisper. I loved her heavy breathing into my ear with which she told me that she liked "naughty boys that liked and knew how to kiss a real woman!" Then came her afterthought: - "So many men don't!"
She had decided that I was to be her 'boy' and, I suspected, took this pecking order not only for granted but delighted in it.
I can't remember whether her judgement offended me but I decided not to submit too meekly. I pushed her back hard against the backrest. With one hand cupping a breast and the other on her neck I found her lips hungrily open. When her tongue temptingly flicked into my mouth, I sucked it in hard and deep, locking it captive with my teeth. She quickly joined in this game, pretending she wanted to rescue her tongue, fighting its capture with throaty moans but, when released and breaking momentarily free, she quickly rushed anew into a shameless, more and more suggestive coupling of our tongues.
Our fighting kissing brought us quickly into a visible, undeniable and potentially embarrassing state of arousal. We were, after all, in a cramped and shared car, under glass, driving through a brightly lit-up city. Although far from at ease with this situation, my hand had slid-up under my woman's blouse and bra. There was no protest. As she twisted in and pressed harder into my, at first, tentative grasp for her breasts, her lips and tongue savaged mine with increased fervour.
Glancing down I saw that her skirt had slipped up on her thighs. They were temptingly waiting for my touch. When I reached for her knee, her thighs unhesitatingly parted. She brought her hot breath and a tickling flick of tongue to my ear. As my hand glided higher on the velvety inside of her unstockinged thigh, she whispered: -
"God, you are a naughty boy. Where are you going to stop? Are you?"
By then my fingers had already, unerringly found her pussy and soon one had slipped under her panties into a hot-wet welcome. She greeted it with a drawn out Yes-moan in my ear, before her lips again fastened on mine and the wild dance of her tongue let me know that this was where she liked my fingers to be.
At a traffic light, with the car stopped, she broke away from kissing. She dived down sideways, out of sight from possible lookers-in. She had gripped my wrist. My finger was held captive in her pussy.
When August pulled away from the lights, she scrambled up to continue our kissing. At the next stop at lights she again dived down, gripping my wrist not to lose me. When the car started to pull away, she pushed my hand under her buttocks. As she lifted and pushed down, three of my fingers, down to the palm, were pressed into her luscious cunt. I had never fingered a woman like that. As she rode and rocked on my stretched, clawing fingers and now wet-slippery palm, she was no longer just kissing. She was whimpering and moaning into my mouth, neck and ear, louder, I feared, than the VW's engine-noise. I was sure that August and friend could hear.
At the next stop at traffic-lights, it was a busy, brightly-lit city-intersection, in the ecstasy of her ride, she stayed momentarily upright. But then, realising that she was in view of everybody near the car, she threw herself sideways. Curling-up on the bench, her ass pressed and ground against my hand wedged against my thigh. As we pulled away, the engine-noise covered her scream as she convulsed, shaking and squirming in the grip of her orgasm.
After a long while lying still and recovering her poise, she sat up. She turned her head to me for a gentle kiss. Eventually, with a smile and in her friendly, normal voice she said: -
"God, that was some wicked love-making. I was greedy, I needed that. But how about you, my lover-boy?"
As her hand reached across in search of my painfully restricted, overheated cock she grinned at me, her eyes gleaming: -
"Oh, what a surprise. My boy is a little excited too. We need to do something about that."
Her eyes turned to the window. We were still in the suburbs. She grinned widely, giving me a quick little kiss: -
"With all these lights, I better stay out of sight!"
She slid down. Half kneeling in the foot-well, half laying across the bench she deftly undid my belt and unzipped my fly. With the dexterity and matter-of-factness of a nurse, she uncovered my cock for treatment. Resting her head on my thighs, she started to fondle and stroke my liberated member. When I dared to look down, I saw its moist tip centimetres from her lips, which seemed to move as if forming words. I reached down stroking over her shortish hair. She pushed lightly against my tentative pressure, then looked up at me smiling. Over the engines noise I had to watch her lips and guess. I thought I read: -
