Friday, I learn The Twins have tickets for a Norwegian heavy metal band.
I look forward to a quiet evening alone at the hostel, reading Kerouac's On the Road. But before the night is over, Anne Black and Sugar Magnolia have both found me and made the most peculiar requests.
Anne arrives first.
"Jason?" she asks, introducing herself. "I'm Anne Black. Robert suggested I talk to you." I've seen her around the hostel. She dresses simply, wears no makeup, and is in her early 30s. With a little mascara and lipstick, she could be very pretty.
I invite her to join me and ask what I can do to help.
"It's a little unusual," she begins, handing me a paperback novel. It's what my aunt Bea called a "bodice ripper," a historical romance about the seduction of a well-endowed heroine. The author is Anne Black.
"Cool," I say, studying her bio on the back. Anne has written a bunch of romance novels and lives with her cat in Brooklyn. "Are you working on a new book?"
"Yes. That's the problem, it's a little embarrassing."
"Try me," I say with a sympathetic smile.
"My publisher wants explicit scenes. She says it's the trend these days. Real sex. OK. I get it. But I can't walk the walk. Everything I write is off. Stilted."
"And Robert suggested?"
"You could read the sex scenes and give me advice," she says, blushing and looking everywhere but at me.
"Sounds more exciting than old Jack Kerouac," I tell, holding up the cover of my book. "Do you have them with you?"
"No, but my room is right down the hall."
Anne's room is spacious by European hostel standards. A bed, side table, desk, and easy chair. Pinned to the walls are posters for her books, each with a buxom heroine in the arms of dark, handsome hero.
She prints out three chapters. Anne's sex scenes suck. And not in the good way.
"He buried his sword to the hilt?" I ask. It's one of many trite phrases and euphemisms in her sexual descriptions.
"Ugh. I know! I'm hiding behind cliches, aren't I?" she says, looking into my eyes for the first time. "Oh, my. You do have expressive eyes,"
"No fair changing the subject," I smile.
"I am, aren't I? It's a habit when I get uncomfortable. Any suggestions?"
"Yes. Read good erotic fiction. Lot's it. That's the easy part."
"And the hard part?" she asks apprehensively.
"You have to get comfortable with your own sexuality."
"I was afraid you'd say something like that," she tells me. "I guess it's pretty obvious I don't have a lot of experience... sexual experience."
"You've been pouring everything into your books. Living life vicariously through your characters."
"Damn, Jason. I spent about $10K on a shrink who took a year to reach the same conclusion."
"What did he suggest?"
"More to the point, what do you suggest?"
I thought about it for a while.
There was the obvious. Get a boyfriend. But I'm sure she's been in sexual relationships. Then I thought of Violet, the most sexually comfortable girl I've ever met. What did she tell me about her last lover? He asked her to masturbate for him. She did, reluctantly at first. But she soon she couldn't wait to do it. She lost her inhibitions.
Which gives me a wicked idea. I walk to Anne's side table, open the drawer and reach inside. I find what I'm searching for in the back. A slim, bullet-shaped vibrator.
The look on Anne's face is priceless. It begins with an expression of horror, morphs into utter humiliation, and ends in anger.
"That's private..." she hisses. Then stops mid-sentence and buries her face in her hands.
"Why the embarrassment?" I ask, sniffing the tip for her scent. But it has been cleaned. "I bet every girl and half the guys staying here have some kind of sex toy in their gear."
Anne doesn't respond. I turn on her toy and rub it along my cheek. That gets her attention. I stroke my neck with it, then lower the vibrating tip to my nipple and make little circles until my nip, what little there is, grows firm.
I have her attention now. I lift up my shirt and use the vibe on both nips, then let it trace up and down my stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in it's wake. I throw my shirt on her bed.
Anne's mouth is hanging open in surprise, but there is the beginning of a glint in her eyes that has nothing to do with embarrassment.
'What are you doing?" she asks, breaking into a shy smile.
"Never met a toy I could resist," I say, letting the vibe run down the front of my shorts. Anne's eyes follow. Partly it's the sexually-charged situation. And partly it's Anne's demure manner. But I'm already hard and the outline of my cock is abundantly visible.
"My cock is hard," I tell her. "Go ahead, say it. No euphemisms."
"You're... cock is hard," she whispers.
"Louder," I tell her, rubbing her vibe along my shaft.
"Your cock is hard," she says again. This time with a conversational volume. Her eyes don't budge from my bulge.
I decide to push my luck and unbuckle my belt, unsnap my shorts and lower the zipper.
When the khaki shorts fall to the floor, the outline in my briefs leaves little to the imagination. Each time I touch it with Anne's vibrator, my cock twitches in response and I hear her emit a little gasp. The little ridge of my cockhead is visible through the cotton briefs, as is a wet spot where a few drops of precum have leaked.
Anne continues to watch with rapt attention. After a few more vibe strokes and twitches, she looks up and we lock eyes. Her lids are heavy and there's the beginning of a far away, dreamy look.
"Do you want to see my cock?" I ask.
"She nods."
"Then ask me," I tell her.
"Show me..." she falters, then resumes. "Show me your cock."
I push my briefs to the floor and my cock bounces free of the elastic band. I run the vibe down the top of the shaft and it twitches gently. Then I put the vibe against the sensitive underside of my cockhead. Instantly, my cock goes into a spasm that's just a couple nerve endings short of orgasm.
"I'm close," I say, my breath laboring. Give me your hand.
