Brief trip to Europe back in the seventies, February, off-season, cold. Landed in Amsterdam, fled south on train to avoid freezing, train to Milan, Italy. One night there, tried to hitch a ride further south. Train again, on to Rome. Hitching was not going to be a good travel method and getting jobs, which was the plan, was not going well either. My optimistic friend, Darryl, had talked me into a no-money needed tour of Europe on a spur-of-the-minute lark. We would stay in youth hostels for hardly any money, which was our budgeted means, hardly any money. So fine, we would do without, make do, get by, be tough, go hungry, whatever. We walked all over Rome and into the hostel at sundown. They only manned the desk for one hour to check in and then we were locked in for the night. If we went out after check-in, we had to stay out all night, no re-entry. The building was a 1932 Olympics dorm with all the marble removed from the walls, inside and out, solid, but unsightly. Also, no heat and cold water only. Showers were short. They did provide towels and a Continental breakfast of coffee and a roll with a little oatmeal. Had that Chocolate-Hazelnut spread for the roll, which was a hard Italian thing, very chooey and tough. Not much, but delicious when you are hungry.
Third night in Rome, Darryl went out early to photograph something in the morning light, I opted for more sleep. Darryl and I were the only guests in the huge open dormitory, took cots next to the back wall, seemed warmer there. Less drafty anyway. I was slowly awakening after being deeply unconscious, heard footsteps approaching, assumed it was Darryl, back from his mission. The footsteps echoed in the dorm, concrete floor and walls, with rows of army cots, no real beds. The footsteps came down our row and stopped by my cot, my back turned, I thought nothing of it, at first.
I rolled over and opened my eyes and my mouth, started to say, "good morning" to Darryl, but it was not him. There was a guy standing over me. A big guy I recognized as someone employed by the hostel, seen before helping in the kitchen where breakfast, such as it was, was dispensed cafeteria style on metal trays with plastic dishes and utensils. He was just looking down at me, rather menacing in his manner. No smile or greeting until, as a gesture of his intentions, he began to unbuckle his pants. Had he been back a little, closer to the cot behind him, I would have surmised that he intended to lie down for awhile. But he was up close and personal, inches from my face, with his trousers suddenly down around his ankles and hooking his thumbs in the elastic of his boxer shorts, he presented me with his genitals. Big genitals, to be sure. He stepped out of his pants, kicked away his shorts, and came at me. Eyes big, I just lay there and watched it happen.
I was, I suppose, surprised. I remember not expecting that to happen. I remember not having much time to consider it, or anything else, before he swung a leg over my cot and straddled my head, aiming his stiffening penis at my mouth, still agape, still trying to say, "good morning." Instead of anything coming out of my mouth, he was in. He was fast and smooth about it, pulling back his foreskin as he slipped it between my lips, all at once, kinda. I don't recall any real protest by me, and nothing but a sigh of satisfaction from him as he began to fuck my face and I began to swirl my tongue over the smooth, firm head of his cock. "American cocksuckers love Italian Sausage," he chuckled. I was not prepared to be offended, nor did I have any impulse to take issue. How he knew I would do the nasty thing for him, I cannot say. But, boy, did he have me pegged. Even though I was Darryl's bitch, back home, we had agreed to be very straight acting in Italy to avoid trouble. I was certain that we had never shown any overt physicality in or near the hostel. But somehow the guy knew he could do me, if Darryl was not around. He later gave me Darryl's breakfast in the kitchen, to go with the big mouthful of cum that I ate earlier in the dorm. The last night we were there, the guy woke me in the middle of the night and we coupled in the office, where I ate his sausage again. Good Italian stuff.