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Three months after leaving New York as a galley boy on a Norwegian freighter and stopping at many ports in Lebanon, Egypt, Arabia, Yemen, Kuwait, then up the Tigress River to backwater towns in Iran and Iraq and peeling 60 pounds of potatoes every morning, washing pots and pans, scrubbing the galley floor, and enduring the intense heat of the Persian Gulf, we were in the Mediterranean again, heading west toward Spain where I had planned to sign off.
I was surprised when it was announced we had to stop at the island of Rhodes to make an emergency repair to the ship’s engine. I didn’t know what was wrong, but knew I was getting closer to my original destination of Europe. I had been frustrated that my plan to sign off in Lisbon and make my way to Paris and the Left Bank fell apart when Portugal was cancelled and our first port would be Beirut, Lebanon. I had no choice but to stay onboard, work, earn some money and then eventually, if all went well, sign off in Spain.
That goes to show you, plans and reality do not always go together. Still, I was experiencing a part of the world I knew little about and realized from the experience that what sometimes seems like a disaster at the time is often a blessing in disguise. An old Greek woman poet I met many years later said to me, “Life has more imagination than the mind.” I was stunned by her words but never forgot them.
What happened to me the day our ship docked in the harbor of Rhodes taught me to be open to whatever life presents and gave me a day I could not have imagined or would ever forget. I was given the afternoon to go ashore and believe me I needed a day off, so I was excited for the opportunity to explore this ancient island. All the sailors were given the day off after months in Muslim ports where women were not available, so you can imagine how horny we were. I was the only American on the ship. There was one Italian man and two guys from Germany, everyone else was Norwegian.
I went to a few bars in the center of town with the First Cook, my boss and a few other sailors. One of the bars was called the Kit Kat Club where many women wearing tight low cut dresses got the sailors to buy them drinks, sat on their laps, leaned their bodies against them, teased them and then would either leave with a sailor on her arm or walk up the narrow stairs to the rooms above the bar. I nursed a beer and watched the scene.
One older, very chubby woman with thin strands of hair growing from a mole on her chin came and sat next to me and said, “Hi, Johnny, buy me drink and we have fun.” I wasn’t sure what to do. She was definitely someone I didn’t feel attracted to and said no. She pouted, stood up then left and sat down with one of the other sailors.
I found the whole scene of watching the sailors getting drunk and getting raunchy with the women fascinating. My writer’s mind was observing everything then suddenly, I was stunned when a big fight broke out and I thought I was in the Wild West. It was a brawl with shouting, punching, sailors wrestling on the floor, throwing chairs, knocking over tables, breaking bottles while I sat in a corner observing the craziness. After watching the punches and chairs flying, I decided to get out of there before somebody grabbed me and threw me against the wall.
It was mid afternoon and I saw a place down the street that rented bicycles and motorcycles. I decided I wanted to explore the countryside and rented a bicycle. The man who owned the shop had a bushy mustache and a missing front tooth. He handed me a paper advertising a country café called Acadia and then in broken English said, “Nice place. You will like.” He made a fist and sharply punched the air towards the ground imitating thrusting and fucking. He smiled and winked at me then pointed me in the direction and said, “Not far. You must go there.”
I took the paper and decided to find the place. “Why not?” I thought, wondering if I would meet a sexy woman there and hopped on the bike.
I rode past the noisy bar where the fighting was taking place, then over the cobblestone streets of the old city, past the harbor and saw the stone base where the huge Colossus of Rhodes once stood, supposedly one of the Seven Wonders of the World. I could see by how far apart the marble bases were that the statue must have towered over the island before collapsing in an earthquake over a thousand year ago. Within five minutes, I was in the country riding my bike on a narrow dirt road next to the stone covered beach, noticing the blue green color of the sea and feeling the hot afternoon sun on me as I rode slowly up a steep hill, straining my legs, finding it was getting harder to pedal the bike.
I was about to get off and push it the rest of the way, when I went around a bend and there it was at the top of the hill–the Acadia Café, gleaming in the afternoon sun. I was sweating and eager to stop and get a cold drink.
I leaned my bike against a big rock and entered the vine covered stone café, feeling the coolness pendik escort of the thick walls. It was dark inside and no one was around. I stood in the entrance glancing at the empty tables, sawdust on the floor and a small wooden bar against one wall with a variety of bottles lined on a shelf behind it. I walked to the rear of the café where there was an outdoor seating area with several tables and a magnificent view of the Mediterranean. I decided to sit at one of the tables on the stone patio wondering if someone would see me. I was thirsty and after a few moments, decided to look around to see if I could find someone to wait on me. I walked back inside and coughed, hoping someone would hear me. A minute later, a small bald headed man with a pot belly appeared from a back room, carrying a case of beer.
He greeted me with a smile then put down the box and spoke to me in Greek. I wasn’t sure what he said but assumed he was asking me what I wanted. When I answered, “I want a beer,” he responded with surprised look on his face, “Ah, America. You are American.”
“Yes, I am from the ship,” I said, and pointed to the blue water.
“You are sailor,” he answered, nodding, narrowing his eyes, a slight smile on his lips. “I bring beer. I treat you good.”
I then walked outside to the patio and took my seat at the round table. I happened to glance back at him at the bar and saw he was talking to someone on the phone but looking at me. Our eyes met and he put up his finger and nodded indicating he would be a minute. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but when he brought me the bottle of beer and a glass, he said, “I want you to have good time at my café,” he said. “You will see.”
“Thank you,” I said. “This is very beautiful here.”
“Where from in America are you?” he asked in a thick accent.
“Philadelphia,” I answered.
“Yes, Philadelphia, I have cousin in Chicago,” he said, pausing. “I want to go to America some day.”
When he left, I sat back and looked out at the Mediterranean, drinking my beer from the glass, enjoying the view and the quiet. After a few minutes, I heard a sound inside the café, turned to see what was happening and was stunned to see a young petite woman with long dark hair wearing a tight very short black skirt and a white low cut peasant blouse that barely covered her large breasts. When I saw how the owner greeted her, I realized that was why he was on the phone. He must have called her and that was what he meant when he said he wanted me to have a good time at his café. Just like the Kit Kat Club, owners wanted women to seduce men to buy them drinks and that was why he called her.
Still, when she stood in the doorway between the café and the patio, our eyes met. She hesitated a moment, somewhat shyly, before walking to my table and I could see her breasts and nipples through the thin material of her blouse. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her as she came closer. I was dazzled by her dark eyes looking at me, her full sensual lips with a slight smile, her radiant olive skin, high cheek bones, and long wild dark hair curling half way down her back. I noticed her dangling earrings and around her throat a necklace with a small cross.
“May I sit with you,” she asked in a sweet soft voice, quite the opposite of the women at the Kit Kat Club and when I said yes, she sat in the wooden chair next to mine. I could see she knew why she was here but seemed a little uncomfortable and uncertain. I couldn’t tell her age but sensed she was young, perhaps eighteen, and not experienced with what she was called to do by the owner; yet, here she was smiling at me, looking into my eyes, leaning forward clearly wanting me to see her large breasts.
“I’m Annika. I would like to keep you company. Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” I said. “Hello, Annika. I like your name. My name is Arn.”
“I am glad to meet you,” she said and gave me her hand to shake and held it for a few seconds, before letting it go, looking into my eyes; a shy sweet smile on her lips.
She spoke excellent English with a slight accent and a soft voice and manner that was very different than the women at the Kit Kat Club. The contrast between that bar and the Acadia Café, high on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean couldn’t have been more different. I imagined the place in town was probably now a shambles after the fighting.
I couldn’t believe my good fortune to be in such a wonderful spot with a beautiful and sexy young woman who seemed both shy and brazen looking at me with big brown eyes, but there was something about her slight smile, her sensuous lips that was both innocent and inviting.
“Can I buy you a drink,” I asked, knowing that was what was expected and at the same time getting aroused by the way she looked at me, that slight sweet smile, how she leaned forward revealing her breasts and I felt my own expectations getting hard in my jeans.
“That would be very kind of you,” she said, smiling. “I like you. maltepe escort You have nice eyes,” she added, biting her lip.
“So do you,” I said. “You’re very beautiful.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, blushing slightly with that sweet shy smile, then surprised me when she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, causing her short skirt to rise higher, revealing her tan, smooth thighs. She had on leather sandals and with one foot pushed one of her sandals off, leaving it barefooted.
Just then the man appeared at the door. I asked Annika what she would like to drink. “I do not drink much but I would like a glass of white wine, thank you.”
I turned to him, “Would you bring Annika a glass of the local white wine.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding to her and then to me before disappearing into the building.
As soon as he left, Annika surprised me again by moving her barefoot to my leg, touching it with her toe and looking into my eyes, a slight playful smile on her lips as she slowly moved her foot up the inside of my leg, to my thigh, causing me to spread my legs, as she moved her barefoot to my hard cock, pressing the arch of her foot against the bulge straining my jeans.
She didn’t say a word, as she looked into my eyes, her foot moving up and down my hard cock, smiling slightly, clearly seducing me with her tantalizing manner.
“You want to have fun with me,” she said softly, moving her foot up and down my jean covered cock and I sensed she was playing the expected role.
Before I answered, the old man appeared with the white wine, placed it in front of her and glanced down at her foot pressed against my cock, looked at me as if he was not surprised at what was happening, knowing that his phone call had served its purpose. I wondered what their relationship was, but at the moment, knew it was clearly of mutual benefit. Their motive was to have me buy drinks and eventually buy her services. I knew she was a whore but sensed not experienced or comfortable in this role. She had a shy innocence and vulnerability about her that made her both devilishly sexy and angelic–someone who was being seductive because she was called to entertain me and have me spend money, but not completely in her nature to do. It was strangely appealing.
Without taking her foot away, she leaned forward, lifted her glass and I clicked my glass of beer against her glass of wine.
“To fun,” she said and laughed.
“To fun,” I said then took a sip of my beer while she moved her glass to her lips, took a sip, looking into my eyes over the rim, a playful smile on her lips.
“Do you like me?” she asked, holding the glass away from her mouth then took another deeper drink, finishing half the glass in one gulp.
“Yes, you’re very beautiful,” I said, looking into her eyes then at her breasts, noticing the nipples poking at the thin material, her enticing cleavage barely covered by the low cut blouse, feeling her foot pressed against my cock then slowly moving it up and down my throbbing erection.
“I like you, too,” she said. “You are American sailor and you want to have a good time.”
“Yes, I do want to have a good time,” I said, liking how blatantly honest we were being, how tantalizing and erotic, how amazing it was to be here on this hilltop in the middle of nowhere with this young, vulnerable, beautiful, sexy woman with her foot on my cock, her nipples straining against her white blouse, loving how she was seducing me.
With her eyes on mine, she finished her wine, licking her lips with her tongue then lifted up the glass. “Would you buy me another glass of wine?”
“Of course,” I said, but didn’t want to stand up and go for the owner with this big tent in my jeans.
“I will bring you another drink. I want to serve you,” she said, pressing her foot harder against my cock before removing it. She stood up and walked barefooted to the entrance of the café, her hips swaying slightly, her ass straining the tight short skirt. She turned and looked at me, knowing where I was looking and smiled then called to the owner, “Paul, bring us two more drinks.” She turned to me and smiled then added “Two glasses of wine.”
When she returned to the table, rather than sitting down, she stood in back of me and put her arms around me, kissed the back of my head then pressed her breasts against my shoulders and slowly moved her hand down my chest, reaching her hand between my legs and started rubbing my hard cock with her palm.
I closed my eyes, loving the sensation of her hand rubbing my cock, her large soft breasts pressed against my shoulders, her mouth kissing my head before moving to my ear, her tongue licking and tickling my ear lobe. She then gripped the length of my cock, squeezed it, “Mmmm, so big and hard,” she whispered.
Just then Paul cleared his throat at the patio door then came to the table with two glasses of wine. Annika glanced at him then stopped holding my cock and sat down across from kartal escort me. I thanked Paul and he nodded and smiled. Annika looked up at him, “Thank you for calling me and introducing me to this handsome sailor,” she said.
Paul nodded and looked at both of us then smiled, bowed slightly and left.
Annika then turned to me. “Thank you for buying me another glass of wine.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I said. “We’re here to have fun, aren’t we?”
“Yes, I want us to have fun,” she said, again lifting her glass to mine. “To fun,” she said and laughed, her eyes sparkling.
“Yes, to fun,” I added clicking her glass, smiling at her exuberance and vitality, still sensing she was performing, becoming what she was expected to be for me, but also hiding who she was and I sensed her sadness.
I took a sip of the sweet wine while she took a big gulp, drinking half the glass and I knew by the way she was drinking, she wanted to get drunk and was leading the way to both of us getting drunk, buying and drinking Paul’s wine. I knew that’s why he called her but didn’t care. I knew I was being exploited and wanted the wild adventure this afternoon was bringing me.
At the same time, I was curious about Annika and her life. I wanted to be a writer and left on the freighter to get to Paris where many of my favorite writers lived in the twenties. I was disillusioned with America, its crass commercialism and the emptiness that clashed with my idealism. I wanted something new and fresh. I wanted to feel alive. I wanted experiences so that my stories would come out of my life and become enhanced by my imagination. I wanted to meet people, hear their stories and spent many hours on the ship talking to the other sailors, learning who they were, what they had experienced. I remembered the old ship’s carpenter, now on his last voyage, heading back to Norway, how we often sat out on deck at night and watched the moon come up over the horizon while he told me stories.
But sitting with Annika and getting drunk, I wanted to know more about this sexy young girl, not sure how old she was. Who was she? Why was she a whore? Why was this beautiful, seductive young woman selling herself? What were her dreams and passions? What did she want for her life? At the same time, I wanted to fuck her brains out and take full advantage of what was being offered to me. Still, my writer’s mind was fascinated by life’s little twists and turns, how circumstances you never plan become events that can change your life. I wanted to know her, not just use her to satisfy my lust. She was beautiful and fascinating and I knew if we talked and felt closer, our time in bed would be more than animalistic fucking.
I took a deep drink of my wine and finished half the glass then put it down and watched Annika do the same, holding her head back, her long hair hanging over the back of the chair, watching her swallow and finish the wine, then put her glass on the table and look at me with that sweet but devilish smile on her lips.
“Good wine. I’m getting drunk,” she said, “Thank you, sailor.”
“So, my beautiful friend, who are you?” I asked.
“Who am I?” she responded, raising her eyebrows at my question. “What do you mean, who am I. Why do you care?”
“I’m a curious person,” I said. “I want to know you.”
“There is not much to know. I am a simple person. I live with on my father’s farm where we grow olives. I work hard. I am strong,” she said then leaned forward, paused and looked into my eyes, “but I am lonely for a man.”
“Is that why Paul called you?”
“Yes, Paul is my father’s friend. Very nice man and calls me sometimes to make money for me and him. Does that answer your question?”
“Partly,” I answered. “But does being a whore make you less lonely.”
“No, I do not like being a whore,” she answered, wincing at the word, closing her eyes and sighed deeply. “But we are poor so I do what I must.”
Our eyes met and we were both silent, her words resonating with acceptance and resignation. She took another deep breath and looked at me, smiled then looked away, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. She then turned to the doorway, “Paul, more wine,” she called.
“You speak very good English for a simple farm girl,” I said. “How did you learn English?”
“I go to the convent and learn English. I love to read stories,” she said. “Love stories. I like romance. I like passion.” She paused, “Not so much what I am told to read at the convent school.”
“I see,” I said, thinking about her words. “The convent,” I asked. “Are you religious?”
“I don’t know. I want to be, but I have thoughts and feelings that make it hard for me.”
“What do you mean your thoughts and feelings make it hard,” I asked.
She hesitated, looking into my eyes, bit her lower lip and just as she was about to speak, Paul brought out two glasses, removed our other glasses and put the big bottle of white wine on the table and said, “Enjoy!”
I looked up at him, aware that he wanted me to spend money and have a good time. We were already feeling woozy, but neither of us said anything when our eyes met.
Annika held up her glass to me, smiling, then biting her lower lip again, “More wine, my sailor.”
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