Chapter 30: Femke’s Surprise

Lydia

We were chatting with Femke, waiting for Mark after our training ride. Since we had come in her car in the morning, we needed a lift home. We didn’t have to wait too long.

Mark came round the corner in a massive car, a veritable oil tanker on wheels. When I saw that it had red dealer’s plates, I knew he had bought it, but since he was no longer a German citizen he couldn’t register it. Well, that meant I would soon have two cars registered in my name and one of them was larger than Holland.

“What in the name of all that’s ... What is that?” I asked, when he got out of the car, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Mark II Ford Granada station wagon, one year old and in excellent nick,” he explained.

“Well, that’s the luggage problem sorted,” Femke supplied dryly. “You can pile your entire belongings into that thing.”

“How much did you pay for it?” I demanded.

“Twelve thousand,” he said. “Top spec model. It was an executive car of Bill’s company. John finagled the deal. You wouldn’t get any of these babies for that price from a dealer.”

Meri jokingly elbowed me in the side. “You’ll have to show your tits in the Playboy every year to pay the insurance on that barge.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Mark corrected her gleefully. “You’d pay more on a Golf Gti. Insurance premiums are based on risk assessment. An executive car is usually driven by a chauffeur, so the insurance company sees those as less of a risk than a hot hatch driven by stoned yobbo with his cap on back to front.”

Meri

It was an oil tanker on wheels, but a ridiculously luxurious one. I definitely knew immediately which car I would sit in on the way to the Baltic coast. Lydia and I had piled in the back to let our chauffeur, Mark, do his job.

Knackered from the long training ride and sitting on what was essentially a very comfy sofa, we had both fallen asleep by the time Mark delivered us home.

I had always thought that the point of a camping holiday was the simplicity, but nothing was simple about our preparations. The more stuff we bought, the more we needed still. The street barge had to get a tow bar and a bike rack for the roof mounted. It felt a bit like nailing a tow bar on a Ferrari.

At first we had thought about taking the roll installations from the basement with us, until Regina pointed out that the noise would annoy nearby campers and that there were more than enough really good roads on that peninsula to ride on. Mark had reacted quickly and bought warning lights for the street barge and a sign saying “Attention! Cyclists!” in German and English. That way we could run a normal training program, and we would have a ‘team car’ with refreshments, energy bars and three backup bikes on the roof.

He even drove our actual team car during two training rides with our DS in the other seat, explaining to him the ins and outs of driving a car that protects cyclists training in normal road traffic.

By the time we were ready to go we had done every imaginable preparation. The big Ford had been modified into a very luxurious transport mule-slash-team car, registered in Lydia’s name, and currently filled up with everything but the kitchen sink. Five of the six bikes were on its roof, with the sixth one mounted on the roof of Femke’s aptly named Ford Escort. In comparison to the street barge, it certainly looked like a small side-kick.

Mark

Considering that we basically just drove from the North sea coast to the Baltic coast I had expected it to be a somewhat shorter ride, but we ended up needing seven hours to reach Prerow. For starters, the camping trailers were limited to fifty miles per hour, so the pace was relatively sedate, even on the Autobahn.

Additionally, the Autobahn network was much more sparse up there in the north, compared to central and southern Germany. We ended up having to go all the way south to Bremen, than back up northeast to Hamburg, Lübeck and then finally into the eastern part of the country. You could tell when we reached East Germany, just by the roads. They were immaculate.

Just five years ago those roads would have looked like the war hadn’t ended 45 years ago, but 45 minutes instead. Now they were all in top shape as the entire major road network of the East had been rebuilt after reunification. The roads here were now much better than in the western part of the country.

Sadly there were few people to use them. I hardly encountered any local number plates. Most of the cars I saw had number plates from far further south, but mostly East German. Nudist resorts still hadn’t caught on in the West. The few cars with West German number plates were most likely owned by people who had gone to the West after reunification. Considering that millions had done so, it wasn’t really an unlikely conclusion.

That was not to say the West Germans didn’t come to the Baltic coast, they did so in droves. But they went to more swanky resorts like Heiligendamm, Kühlungsborn or Ahlbeck, where you didn’t ditch the frock on the beach.

We ditched our frocks as soon as we had arrived, gone through check in, and the tractor had pulled our two trailers onto the beach.

Femke

At first my insecurities had hit full force when I noticed we were getting a lot of looks. Granted, one guy and four girls arriving wasn’t perhaps the most common arrangement around that place, but I soon noticed the most probable reason. The four of us were pretty much the only women around with completely bald pussies.

Now, for us cyclists that was more or less for practical reasons. You better get rid of any pubic hair unless you want to sand-paper your nether region on a five hour ride, but of course people didn’t know that. Ten years later we wouldn’t have stood out, but in the early nineties getting a wax hadn’t been a wide-spread thing yet.

Things were not made easier by the fact that as the resident muscle jocks, Mark and I had been chosen to shuttle all the luggage from the cars to our spot on the beach, so we had to run the gauntlet of inquisitive looks more than once. But after the third or fourth haul I noticed that people had remembered their manners and gave us but a passing glance.

Mark

“Shit!” Lydia swore as she unfolded and set up the small kitchen area on one of the Origami trailers.

“We’ve brought everything but the kitchen sink, but we still forgot something.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a gas stove. We need a propane bottle.”

“We can get one from the shop in the village,” Regina said. “Come on Mark. Femke, can we take your car? I don’t think we need the Exxon Valdez to fetch a gas bottle.”

“Sure,” Femke said and fished her car keys out of one of the fold-out cupboards. She chucked them over to Regina.

“Erm, you might wanna get dressed this time,” Lydia reminded us with a grin.

We left Lydia to tell Femke the tale of how Regina and I had wandered out of here naked in April and had spooked a couple on their bikes.

We hadn’t even reached the car yet when we heard Femke laugh out loud in the distance.

Lydia

The trailers and tents had been unfolded and set up rather quickly, but by the time we had stored all knickknacks, setup the kitchen and the electricity supply, it was evening. Mark was just putting the finishing touches to the wind guard, which was essentially a chest-high fabric fence around our temporary real-estate to keep the wind out.

Pitching your tent on the beach was a nice thing, but the coast has a tendency to be windy and you don’t want to find your entrance blocked by a sand dune in the morning when the night had been windy.

Finally, with all work finished, we could settle down with a drink around the camping table. Thankfully, due to our status as not-quite-unknown persons, we had been assigned a spot that was some distance from the other campers, so we didn’t need to keep our voices down too much.

I might have had a glass or two too many, and it was already near dark when I came up with an idea.

“Girls,” I said. “Why don’t we take this inside? I have a great idea!”

“Let’s hear it first,” Mark challenged me with a grin.

“Well, lover boy, a few months ago you said you could tell us girls apart blindfolded.”

“He would just have to fondle our tits,” Femke pointed out the obvious, not knowing the story behind the story.

“Blowjob,” Meri hinted ominously and Femke started to get the hint and giggled.

“You go empty you bladder and wash up a bit, big boy. I don’t want to have sand between the teeth.”

Obediently following Regina’s order, he grabbed his shower gel, a towel and trundled off towards the communal showers.

Mark

As soon as I came back I was led into our tent, sat down on the chair and was blindfolded.

“Okay, these are the rules,” Lydia announced. “Everyone gets a thirty second turn. No comments, no giggling.”

“Maybe I should have whacked off too,” I supplied dryly. “I’m not sure I’m gonna last two minutes.”

“That’s the point lover boy,” Lydia said. “Whoever scores the payload gets to choose a game for tomorrow night.”

“These are gonna be two weeks of fun,” Femke added with a giggle.

Lydia

I had drawn the shortest straw, so I was going to go first. But knowing that my sweetheart had gone without any for over three days, which by our standards was one hell of a dry spell, I still had a chance. I had done it before.

Alas, even my best efforts were in vain. I got a tap on the shoulder from Regina. My thirty seconds were up. Of course we couldn’t call out loud that the time was over, or he could have known by the voice who had definitely not just blown him.

I handed his hard rod over to Femke, metaphorically.

Boy, that girl was definitely not a novice at this. She even deep-throated him, which meant with her just 21 years of age, she had definitely had a well-stacked boyfriend before. Another tap on the shoulder and it was Meri’s turn.

I could tell he was close, but Meri didn’t manage it either, so I tapped her on the shoulder when her time was up and Regina took over.

She didn’t get to practice her magic for long. Perhaps ten seconds into her turn Mark went rigid as a board and grunted like a caveman. I could tell Regina had to try hard not to cough before she happily swallowed down his load with a shit-eating grin.

My lover boy went slack and was breathing heavily.

“Shit that was intense,” he said breathlessly. “Okay, first one was Lydia. That great technique is hard to miss. The second one was an absolute riot and unknown, so that must have been Femke. Third one was Meri, exquisite as ever. Fourth one must have been Regina, because I didn’t hear any glass being taken from the table. Lydia would have washed down the load with a drink. Regina doesn’t do that.”

Regina and Femke brought the other chairs in and we sat down again.

“Femke, you’re not a novice at being with big boys, are you?” I asked.

“I had a three-month fling with a guy who was even a bit bigger than Mark, but he was a total klutz with that pork sword of his. Hence only three months.”

“I’m surprised you’re not afraid of Mark then,” Meri noted.

“Lydia has been together with him for over a year and the two of you are obviously more than fond of him too. That means he must know what to do with it, else you would have run screaming, like I did back then.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Mark said. He and Femke clinked their beer bottles together and took a swig.

“So, what will be the game for tomorrow?” I asked Regina.

“Mark had all the fun tonight, so it’s our turn tomorrow. Let’s see if his tongue can identify each of us by the pussy. Since we girls are a bit slower to get going, he gets a one minute turn on each of us.”

“Brilliant idea,” Meri agreed enthusiastically. “But that leaves one problem. I doubt anyone of us will cum after just one minute. That means you’ll end up with four horny and frustrated girls.”