Dolomiti
As a woman backpacking solo, you get a lot of offers. Too many, really. Especially if you’re a fit and blonde-haired 26-year-old. It can sometimes ruin the experience. But after three weeks in Italy, avoiding leering dudes in cafes and enduring drive-by propositions from men on scooters, I realize that I’m actually quite horny.
I decide it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to pick some lucky fellow and take him up.
The hut-to-hut hike I chose in the Dolomites is a three-day commitment, traversing Tre Cime National Park. I’ve always wanted to see the crazy spires and narrow peaks of the Dolomites.
As soon as I start looking for a lay, all of a sudden there’s no suitable candidates. The hikers pacing me as I go are a group of German middle-schoolers and their dour chaperones, a retired but speedy couple from Atlanta in their late sixties, and a group of giggly girlfriends from Norway. Fun companions, but not what I’m looking for sexually.
By the third day, I’ve given up. Maybe I’ll find someone in Venice, later on.
The food at the huts is very good. It’s Italian with an Alpine influence. After burning thousands of calories a day on the trail, you can eat whatever you want. Lots of pastries and pastas. But I mostly go for the cheese.
I’m a cheese addict. I have an actual cheese journal. There’s Casolét della Val di Sole, soft and spreadable, very good on bread. Taleggio, with its golden rind and serious stink. My favourite so far is Stelvio, lots of complex flavour and hard enough to travel well. I have a big chunk of it with me.
It’s already very hot by midday. I lose my t-shirt. My nips are probably a bit too prominent to go about in just my sports bra, but hey, this is Europe.
The views are amazing. My map tells me that the razor-sharp peaks ahead are the famous Tre Cime towers. They look like some sort of massive decayed castle. The sky, with its piled-up clouds in the distance, reminds me of one of those Renaissance landscapes I just saw in the galleries in Firenze. The landscape below the peaks is pastoral meadows, with the odd cow and little farmhouse.
I’m having a perfect hiking day.
But then I hear it, coming up behind me. Awful Russian hip-hop. My pet peeve - someone hiking with a bluetooth speaker.
Use your frickin’ headphones, loser!
I turn around, ready to give this tasteless person the stink-eye. Then he bounds around the corner, taking the stone steps two at a time. Blond, buff, beautiful. Thighs like steel. The sexy package is somewhat ruined by his goofy-ass smile.
But definitely not completely ruined.
He gives me a salute. What is this, the army? Then some sort of chef’s kiss thing and a jumpy eyebrow.
He sings along in Russian to the rap song and passes me. His hiking shorts are scandalously tight and short, and his t-shirt looks like it's painted on.
He tries to talk to me, first trying in Russian, then in what I think is German. I think he’s asking me if I’m from Germany.
My judgey side is still mad about the stupid speaker, so I don’t respond.
With a disappointed smile, he flies up the trail. I can smell him, a slight trace of sweaty underarm and a stronger waft of cologne. Who wears cologne on a hiking trail?
I thought Russians couldn’t travel in Europe because of the war in Ukraine. He’s probably the son of some awful oligarch. Or worse, some soldier with civilian blood on his hands.
At a little creek crossing, he is there, sitting on a large rock. He’s now shirtless. His skin is so white it’s almost blinding. He gives me a jolly wave. He is rubbing sun block on himself. He gives me another suggestive eyebrow raise.
Russian machismo, I tell myself. Probably looking for a tradwife for his inherited dacha.
I look at his blue eyes and angular face. He is the textbook handsome Slavic man. A stereotype nearly. All that is missing is some tattoos, or a crisply pressed KGB uniform.
Good god. Now he is stretching his hamstrings and glutes, hands on the rock. He is posing for me, showing off his ass.
Which is devine, but that’s not the point.
What does he think, that this is some sort of mating ritual? It’s like I’m watching a nature video. I can hear David Attenborough’s voice-over:
”The Russian male, unaware of the Canadian female’s disinterest, preens and struts, but his performance is in vain ...”
I probably won’t come across a sexier suitor, but I have my standards. With a shake of my head, I continue on.
I reach a small lake ringed with fragrant forest. Cliffs hang on either side. I stop to splash water on my face. My feet are sore, so I take off my boots and socks and soak my feet in the cool water. It feels wonderful. I close my eyes.
A yell, and a splash.
A white naked body surfaces in front of me.
His goofy smile, then he ducks under the water and his perfect ass is visible for a moment.
My brain says, “what, you think you can just get naked and it’ll be on?”
But my pussy says, “it’s on.”
He’s won.
I strip down to my panties and wade into the cold water.
He’s watching, just his eyes and the top of his blonde head above the surface. He stands and I watch the water stream down his squared-off chest muscles. The pink head of a large cock breaches the water like some sort of curious water snake.
He holds out his hand.
I reach for it and he pulls me into him. His hand comes up to the side of my face and he is kissing me. Gently, tenderly. Not what I expected. I open my mouth and our tongues meet. He is a very good kisser.
I reach down into the water and find his dick. It is very hard despite the coldness of the water. I explore it with my hand and find that his groin is completely clean shaven, smooth. His balls are tight and hairless as well.
He takes a big breath and disappears under the water. His hands find my hips and my panties get pulled down to my thighs. I look down and see his blonde head in front of my pussy. He blows bubbles, some of them tickling my lips. I giggle. Creative, this one. I feel his tongue slowly rake up my vulva, opening me.
He comes up for air and I lead him back towards the shore. There’s a small alcove of rocks not visible from the trail.
We stand on the shore, kissing more. Some proper tongue-wrestling. I grind up on him and he squeezes my ass.
I lower myself to my knees and get a first proper look at this cock. It really is nice. Veiny with a mushroom-shaped head. He is so smooth. I have never been with a man with absolutely no pubic hair. It really does complement his equipment.
He moans appreciatively as I kiss his head. I tickle his pee hole with the tip of my tongue. He swears in Russian. As I suck him deep into my mouth, my prejudice comes back for a second, thinking he will try to throat fuck me. But he just continues to smile, his hands politely on his hips, as our eyes meet and my hand cups his velvety balls as I bob on his shaft.
I close my eyes and really get into it. I slip a finger into my pussy and find myself fully flowing. I bang myself slowly as I savour his cock, moving to his hairless balls while I jack him. He tenses and touches my shoulder, apparently not wanting to come just yet.
He pulls me to standing, then turns me around. I put my hands on a big rock and adjust my legs wide for him. More Russian swearing as he takes in the view from behind. He massages my pussy a bit with the head of his cock. I wiggle impatiently, so he slams it home.
Fuck. Really nice. Really, really nice.
He’s got his angle right, and he hits a lively pace straight away. My skin, still tingling from the cold water, starts to feel flushed. His hips slam into my ass and he reaches up to grab my tits. Both nipples in hand, he pumps with a frenzy. A surge of warmth runs through me as my pussy starts to contract, then a shattering, startling, orgasm hits me. My legs shake as he continues to pump.
I’m hyperventilating, pins and needles everywhere. But he’s not stopping. Without any notice, a second orgasm catches me and I’m squealing.
Shit this man is good. And he still hasn’t come yet.
He slows slightly and I take it for my cue. I pull away from him, drop to my knees, and start blowing him deep and fast. I grab his balls and reach around with my other hand to grip his tight ass cheek. My finger grazes his butthole. I can finally feel signs of his load brewing.
I fall back on my heels, open my mouth, and jack him as fast as my arm can move. A Slavic roar issues from him, and the first of about five spurts of thick creamy come erupts from his cock head. Some of it finds my open mouth, some flies up into my hair, more of it dribbles down my breasts.
I let his load sit on my tongue. I swish it around. He is slightly salty, but mostly sweet.
His chest heaving, he smiles down at me.
After we wash up in the lake, we go back to our piled clothing. I search in my pack and get some of the Stelvio cheese. I give him a piece.
His eyes light up. He tastes it and makes a happy sound. He does the chef’s kiss thing. He pulls out his phone and starts talking into it.
It’s a translation app.
“English?” he says, pointing at me and at the app.
I nod.
He taps it and passes it to me.
“Hello. My name is Pavel. I have left my country Russia and live in Bratislava. I work for a non-profit helping dissidents report corruption in Russian government. I think you are very beautiful and very good at sex. Your cheese is very good as well. Can I know your name, and maybe see you again?”
I read his text and hang my head in shame.
Not an oligarch’s kid, not a killer of Ukrainians.
He taps a button and the app changes to English -> Russian and he motions to me to speak.
I take the phone.
“I’m Olivia, from Canada. I’m a student, taking a biology degree. It is nice to meet you, Pavel. You are also beautiful and good at sex. I will add you to my Instagram. I’m glad you like cheese. I am going to Slovakia next week. Maybe we can meet.”
I give it back, and he exclaims with joy when he reads it. He leans in and kisses me. Again, he’s a really good kisser.
And he likes cheese.
I roll over a bit and point to my ass, and give him a nod. His limp cock jumps up immediately. We go back to the rocky alcove.
As I ride him reverse-cowgirl, his long, suntan-oil-lubed cock sliding into my asshole, the Renaissance clouds turn golden in the late afternoon sun.
Sodomy in the Dolomites, it has a nice ring to it.
I look back at him.
His smile isn’t really goofy, it’s adorable.
