I promised my friend to translate my texts into English, but that’s not easy. Technical, machine translations are a good base, but making it the lively story like in Dutch, is hard work.
My stories are very bi-sexual, where no man is shy of bodily fun with men or women, everybody is eager to get to know each other in the flesh, enjoying great intimacy.
In short, an ideal playing field, I think. Read my texts as if your Dutch friend, with a thick accent, tries to tell you a hot story.
Not the queens’ English, but passable?
For now I can only link you in te top menu to the stories and musings in Dutch, the language of the paradise of lust at the North Sea, but here is a start in English:

The blogs translated:

Olivetti M24

Typing away on my Olivetti M24 my crotch narrows fast. My office fills with the faint smell of my love for 15 years now, Poison from Dior. But it’s morning and she is at home, taking a bath, her nips pointing out of the frothy foam.

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She was just in her thirties when she suddenly stood before me, luxuriantly wavy, copper locks over her shoulders, rounded in all the right places and wearing stilettos, which adorned her posture. She took me in her arms, a little too intimately for an uncle.

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Claudio, Scopiare!

We were wandering through southern Europe, that summer of 1971, in our old Ford Anglia Sportsman (yes, the one with a spare wheel on the bumper), and had driven up the road to the Castelfusano Country Club near Lido di Ostia, thinking it would probably be far too posh for us.

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Flowerpot and flokati

“Watch out, it’s a llama, it’ll spit at you!” I warn her just in time and the white rays spray across the glass coffee table as she steers me. Sneaking a peek, I see her lower lips glistening.

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Er is iets fout gegaan. Vernieuw de pagina en/of probeer het opnieuw.

and the fables translated:

  • Aphroditiae 1-1: Sex, a parlour game
    My dick always wakes up before my head. And now all the way wedged between tight buttocks. Now I feel why: my rod is gently massaged up and down with barely perceptible movements. My hand is lying on a belly, little finger in the curly hair.
  • Aphroditiae 1-2: Introductions
    Last week, after my move to this city, I had a few introductory talks as a senior partner of this larger architectural firm. Today the real work begins.
  • Aphroditiae 1-3: First Visitation: Karting
    In the pit stop we change karts and I see that all four of us are rather excited, somewhere between 135° and 180° from the south. Fred warns me to hold back, “you can be dangerously distracted” with a horny grin.
  • Aphroditiae 1-4: Second Visitation: the family
    I am dressed up in black shorts and ditto t-shirt. Because of the heat he only wears a white t-shirt and cycling shorts and I see his sex firmly locked in them. Big, as it should be. He makes the hug gesture and our mouths and cocks find each other in a fierce hug. If I was already stiff, now I have a serious hard-on in my pants.
  • Aphroditiae 1-5: Third Visitation: art!
    Paul comes from behind his easel, naked, erect and with semen crusted pubes. He looks attentively at me “You must be Ben” and puts a hand on my shoulder, grabs my chin and twists my head on profile.
  • Aphroditiae 1-6: Fourth Visitation: Stamina
    I just finished eating when my smartwatch says that I have to stay home for a test by two circle members. On their announces downstairs I let them into the hall, but when I look through my glass front doors I think I’m being tricked. Two hot cunts from an escort site. Geez!
  • Aphroditiae 1-7: Fifth Visitation – Survey
    The coffee machine has all my attention, when I am fully groped in my crotch from behind. Whispered in my ear “Ploughing in my garden, hey!” I turn my head and look into the blue eyes of Kees. He claws me hard down there.
  • Aphroditiae 1-8: Sixth Visitation: The Fat Lady
    “Marga’s waiting for you” and points to the room, where she just came from. They take me by the hand like a naughty little boy into a spacious front room, where in the center is a four-poster bed with voiles tied open. Around it three couches, as if it were an altar, a small version of the temple?
  • Aphroditiae 1-9: Seventh Visitation: the Ballerina
    Jenny enters in a thin summer dress. No, she floats! I drink her, her slender body, long ballet legs, mildly undulating bosom and handsome face with dramatically wavy dark hair, in dangerous backlighting…..
  • Aphroditiae 1.10: Rebirth in the grotto
    Jason kisses me awake and sets a breakfast tray on the bed. Sitting cross-legged, he slids open a croissant in front of me, naked and with his never quite flaccid cock shaking back and forth. Now I have to fucking choose witch to put in my mouth….
  • Not the intention 1 : Panic!
    “So, you could use company, tomorrow or so? ” She turns her cell phone and I see her friend Diane, looking at me dejectedly and tears all over. I know her to be a party girl, so clearly something is wrong.
  • Not the intention 2: Diane
    Travel unobtrusive, I had said. Diane with a red suitcase in a signal red, tight fitting and too short dress, which only accentuates her dark body, is a beacon on the drab platform when I wait for her train to arrive.
  • Not the intention 3: Le lendemain
    When I open my eyes, she’s standing in the doorway looking at me, her t-shirt just too short to effectively hide her -unwrapped- mons. Definitely from below.
  • Not the intention 4: Le Rocher de St-Agnes
    This morning she is gazing in thought at the mountains in the distance. I stand behind her and place my hands on her hips. A small sigh escapes her as I slip onto her belly and from there wander up to the base of her breasts.
  • Not the intention 5: Day of Play
    She jacks me off like a guy and whispers “This is your last seed in the air, I don’t want you too eager!” and I let go, and she feels me throbbing, my thighs and calves trembling with ecstasy.
  • Not the intention 6: ius primae noctis
    Somewhat guiltily I wake up. ‘Was not the intention”‘ haunts my head like a mantra and keeps my eyes closed firmly when I feel movement next to me on the bed. With a kiss on my nose, I dare to look. Her mysteriously dark eyes are shining, like nothing I’ve seen before, these weeks.
  • Not the intention 7: Remembrance and Goodbye
    “Where’s your nymph?” I’m asked and I explain that this afternoon she gave a guest lecture at the University on African sex initiation rites among the Guyanese bush blacks. “I was so proud of her, I sat beaming in my bench like I was her grandfather.
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