It is imperative that before you read this entry — you read the previous one. This way you can get slightly acquainted with the girl in question. If you read this without first getting the background, it probably won’t make much sense.
Okay, so I’m getting ready this morning to go out and do some Budapest sightseeing but I go to grab a quick breakfast first. As I’m returning to the hotel, walk-by girl is coming out of the turn-style front door. I notice that she is by herself again. Doing the Jan Brady thing again. She finally speaks to me. No “good morning” or “how are you?,” just “he’s my brother.”
Basically killed two birds with one stone because now I’m having a great morning and I’m feeling awesome. The guy from last night. It was just her brother. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I smile and nod with approval.
I tell her that I’m just returning to get a Budapest card and my camera and then I’m going out to see the city. With that, she invites herself along. No problem with me. I return to the lobby, camera in hand (condoms in pocket, just in case).
One thing I have learned is that Hungarian girls love meeting non-Hungarian men but they are kind of hard to crack. They also don’t really understand the idea of nuance. So as I am kind of a wordplay guy, and I gamble on double entendres and sexual connotations — I have realized more and more that Hungarian women tell it literally. For instance, I though Kriszta would be a slam dunk but she spoke literally to me. As in, there isn’t an ulterior motive here, I’m not giving you a story… I work out after work so we can do that.
Essentially, they are direct. If they want sex it is going to be more like “I want to have sex” then, “hey, I’m getting off of work at 7 pm and my roommate doesn’t get home until 9:30 pm…” [read between lines and fill in blanks as necessary]
Hungarians don’t do that. And that took a long time to figure out.
Regardless, I agree to let walker-by join me and show me the ropes. After all, she is Hungarian and she’s originally from the Buda part of Budapest (I’m staying in Pest). I learned that she’s now living in Tatabanya (which is easy because her name is Tania — and through word association I’d go with tatas bang ya. Because they do).
We start down to the Danube and do all of the touristy shit: Chain Bridge, Matthias Church, Parliament, etc. She’s explaining this that and the other and we’re playing Frogger amid the cars on the main roads. Budapest is pretty interesting in that motorists give pedestrians the right of way at any point or place (except when they have a green light). But turning, driving side streets, etc., pedestrians rule, motorists drool.
Anyway — I try to remain interested but I can’t help but stare/drool over her boobs in this pink top shes wearing. She looks like a reject ballerina but for some reason it is a hot look for she’s possibly crazy. All I see are these beautiful orbs of flesh bouncing up and down when she walks, talks, stretches, goes in for a hug, points something out… its like this beautiful jiggle wiggle. Like she makes a turn to the right and then the boobs turn shortly after, carom off her arm and then settle back into the resting position. Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce. I’m officially in a trance. She notices. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed. We hop back on the Metro and retreat to the Deak Ter where she has me jump on the Yellow Line to go to Heroes’ Square. “Heroes’ Square” is famous in Budapest, but be aware, lots of hookers around just looking for you. “They can sniff out Americans and British boys like bloodhounds.”
And truer words were never spoken. I counted four in broad daylight. If my camera didn’t crap out, I would have shot about 10 minutes of the Hooker Hymn… and show you them in action. I was approached even though it was clear that I was with Tania. Apparently at night, there are like 100s — and dare I say it, they are attractive.
“Any other places you want to see today, Mr. Searle?” (Yes, I gave her my real name. Being Ryan Bingham wasn’t getting me anywhere.) Not that I can think of. We grab some gyros for lunch (which is the first good thing I’ve eaten in Hungary) and then just stare at each other. She blinks first…
“Let’s go to Gellert then now.”
“The Gellert Baths. You’ve been looking at me all day. I want to see you now. Fair is fair.”
So obviously I don’t have a bathing suit with me. She tells me that it isn’t a problem because I can get one there. And it obviously hasn’t been 45 minutes since I last ate, but we get there and it is amazing. So amazing, in fact, that I’m going back tomorrow to take pictures with a full camera battery. The exteriors only though — no cameras on the inside anymore (apparently). The baths are a sacred place to the Hungarian people. Beautiful, but sacred.
Fortunately there is Youtube for anybody that got to videotape before the current rules (best part is the old man in the speedo at 6:11 — but Tom is a little creepy, have to admit)
So there I am at Gellert with sanitarium and we enter the common places where men and women, and kids, and hotel guests interact. I have paid my entrance fee — which is 3800 HUF for 2 hours. Not bad — plus there is a discount if you duck out early. There are other fees and things to do but I don’t want a massage from Sergei, so I just opt for the pool experience… which in the common area is an actual pool. Nothing earth shattering. But it is the thermal pools that are what you basically pay for.
I mention to the front desk person that I need to also rent a bathing suit. That cost me another 100 Forint. Then I was given a bag with the bathing suit in it. The woman didn’t even ask me my size.
So I have my own little locker — which I have to walk by the private men’s clothing optional thermal bath. My childhood nightmare is alive and well. I put my stuff away and put on this suit, which I can only really describe as either a hefty bag or Fruit Roll-ups with a drawstring. It looked like a fucking diaper. A tight, going for a bike ride spandex-y diaper of thin plastic. So I start walking back to the common pool, but stop short at the thermal ones again. 38 degrees Celsius just sounds amazing. “But it’s naked dudes, Searle,” my brain says to me, “so fucking gay.” Then my heart says, “dude, you’re full grown now, and you’ve seen a grown man naked. No big deal, do it. You’re in fucking Budapest, after all. It’s already a little gay anyway. Just get it over with.”
So I say fuck it, I’m doing the full monty — it’s totally not gay that I’m in a soaking bath with a bunch of other naked dudes. Sounds gay but isn’t — the thing is like an Olympic sized pool. It’s not like we’re all hanging out in the jacuzzi. But, in the three minutes I was in there, I ascertained that Asians really do have the smallest dicks ever, back and ass hair is very prevalent in Europe, naked men don’t have any problems giving and receiving back rubs to other naked men, and finally (and possibly the one that everybody wants to know about) — the verdict on black people?
Jamie: “Myth. Busted.”
I now can say, definitively, that I know what truly was the real fall of the Roman Empire: the All-Male Budapest Bath Backroom Back Rub and Tugs. Any way that you try to justify them, they just come back to one simple thing: they are as gay as Easter.
So now I have an issue, I’m wet, and my suit is sitting outside of the pool and virtually dry (I had it when I got in but I took it off) — so as Gay Fest 2011 begins I need an exit strategy. Do I try putting the suit back on underwater? Hard stuff to do. It also makes you look like you are either jacking it or having a convulsion… which is not something that you need to show when in mixed company of all naked dudes. Do I towel it back to the lockers and start over again? Or do I opt for plan 3. And just like a boss, I just grabbed my shorts, my towel and air-dryed back to the lockers like Cuba Gooding in Jerry Maguire, or the black kid in KIDS (1995).
I dry off enough to fight a 5 minute fight with this not quite banana hammock, not quite bathing suit, more like hefty bag with holes for legs thing I’m supposed to be swimming in.
When the suit is dry, fine. Optimal phrasing “when” and “dry.”
I meet wandering eyes in the common room, “Geez, what took so long?” Sorry, had to go a little gay there for a bit, my bad.
So she’s already in her suit too — boobs are like pow!, body is tight, and she’s rocking boy cut bottoms. No visible tattoos and she’s like normal. But there is something still not right there. Like at any moment she’ll chop your head off and praying Mantis you. At that moment I don’t care though, because she’s looking good. I’m looking like an asshole in a plastic suit. Mugatu!
And then it happens, the phenomenon when water hits this suit, it shrinks down like a vacuum saver bag. I figured that I’m fine as long as I can stay underwater. So we start flirting and playing around, heavy petting, the whole nine. And well… it doesn’t take much for me to approach launch mode (just being real here), so I start doing the junior high dance pose. That’s the 1990s version, not the booty shakers of today. You know? The bent over puppet?The I’m half floating/looking at the floor position? The I’m-about-to-adjust-my-soon-to-be-raging-hard-on-from-Braveheart mode to hold-the-line mode.
…or as Shaun-T says, “take it to a flat back and fall over your front toes. And breathe… this is Insanity, ya’ll. Push, dig deeper!”
So in this position I successfully do the counter-clockwise shift to bring it into the north position and then re-tie the drawstring, concealing my fairly impressive half-chub that just needs a flirty smile or a come hither angle to circumvent 3/4 chub and go straight into headlining shows chub. This is a time honored trick that every guy has had to pull off at least twice in their lives. Usually the first time is when that first girl to develop boobs finally comes over to your swimming party and some other random time that doesn’t adhere to a schedule.
Since I knew it is now secure, I resumed my duties of pool frolicking. And before long our two-hour stint is up. In that time I forgot about my situation… and I get out and all of the air is sucked out of my shorts. So there I am — toweling off in front of men, women, children, and praying Mantis girl… and getting the once over from all within view of my crotch. I look down… and yeah, looks like a fucking bowl of fruit is being smuggled out of the Gellert Hotel. Women blush. Crazy train notices, “Yes, I’m satisfied. Hotel?”
And while we are enroute, she calls her room. No answer. We get back to the hotel, and it is daytime, mind you. Now I’m on the 6th floor and she’s on the second. We’re in completely different sections of the hotel. But she plays it cool and I just follow her. She opens the door, sees that her brother is out and then waves me around like I’m Willie Mays Hayes.
I enter, and before I even have time to click the door closed, she’s got my pants unzipped and going to town. It’s nice to be needed. And its the first time she’s shut up all day, so that’s nice too.
As is her technique. Everything is nice. Very, very nice.
And just like that, that European thing happens again: women taking off their own clothing. They foreplay themselves! I don’t know if there is a particular kind of company that just makes tearaway-inspired clothing for women but she’s out of her ballerina outfit and down to the panties in all of four seconds. It’s like Mark Madsen tearing off his pants to get in for the last 2 minutes of a blowout Los Angeles Lakers game.
Now you haven’t really had a moment of zen until you are getting a standing blowjob and the girl just takes off her own panties without even missing a beat. That is seriously fucking impressive. Talent. Eastern Europe has it.
Soon enough, I’m naked. And she asks about a condom, I reach for it and I’m ready to put it by the bed before doing my normal routine of caloric intake, but then I finally see/realize it. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the biggest bush I’ve ever seen. It was all over the place. I fucking KNEW something was off! So yeah, no reciprocation for her.
Come, fair lady to my bed, we go,
And verily sweet pleasure’s we shall know,
Yet, where thy belly meets thy limb,
I beseech thee give a trim,
For thy bush doth overflow,
My lady doth, hath 70s muff…
Zounds, it’s as prickly as a Christmas wreath,
Think, it may hide some baby birds, beneath,
Pray, shave it off to make a coat,
There are fur balls down mine throat,
Short and curly twixt my teeth,
But soft, what hair through yonder girdle grows,
To be or not to be put in corn rows,
Oh, it is beastly and unruly,
And it smelleth of patchouli,
And that offend my nose…
… but that doesn’t stop me from having sex… and we did. And then there were 26…
I’m just not quite sure if that was the exact moment she turned into Chewbacca (sounds 4 through 13 for a full-on play by play) – but it could very well be. I have never heard moans like this. Honestly. I mean I’ve been with some loud girls before, but it wasn’t even human. And it was just in the missionary position. I assumed I was doing well… but didn’t fully get the feedback until she was beyond the Chewbacca stage and into the audible stage. I was one hundred percentage not ready for when she wanted to change the position and go on top and force the action.
First it was the moans again, but then it was full on screaming rage. I’m quite sure the whole fucking floor heard her. I tried to get her to quiet down, but then she screamed out something that was so Olympic medal gold that I just let her say the most outlandish shit and just put it into my memory bank for some of the most hilarious comments of all-time.
In full voice:
YOU!!! HAVE!!! COLOSSAL!!! COCK!!!
I… FEEL… LIKE… STUFF… ED… PIG!
OH FUCK MY HOLES!
YOU! ARE! LIKE! HORSE! NO, ELEPHANT!
MY! POOHSY! SO SWOLLEN!
HOLY FUCK MOTHER BULLCOCK!
YOUR BALLS ARE LIKE GRANITE!
(um, what? lol)
And those are the ones I can remember, there were plenty more getting yelled to the Continental Hotel Zara guests. Hands down the loudest sex ever. Hilariously funny loud sex. Jesus lady, act like you’ve been there before.
So after we are finally finished, she wants to shower. Fine, lets go. I subtlely tell her that I’ll be even better if she manicures herself. I think it was, “can you get waxed at a salon in town in the next few hours?” Smooth. But she’s doing it! Lol.
Round 2 will be when her brother leaves again, and she’s sporting a landing strip. They actually have a template for that here. I laughed when I saw it at the store a few days ago — The Perfect Strip — everytime!
So, in conclusion, let this be a lesson to one and all, if you you notice a girl that is a little wired too tightly or just a wee bit off, but still looks kinda hot… pursue her. Chances are pretty good that she’s ridiculous in bed.
And who knows, maybe you’ll even get to hear “Holy Fuckmother Bullcock” someday too. Always a crowd pleaser.
Congrats, Tania, you saved the week.