Certain things in our everyday lives trigger memories, a puppy crosses our path and we are reminded of our first dog, teenagers holding hands and the terse rejection from the prettiest girl in grade five once again brings back the sting and anger that almost destroyed me years ago. Well, so often when I am sitting in a washroom and I tear off a couple sheets of toilet paper, I drift back to my visit to Vienna. Yes, toilet paper. Obviously such a statement warrants an explanation.

Back in 1998, we were introduced to a beautiful girl singer who was touring Canada. Although born in Germany, she lived with her wealthy husband in the elite suburbs of Vienna. Over the years we became good friends through her other visits to Canada and via the internet e mailing each other at least once a month. Her husband is a fine wine collector and has sent some glorious wines to us as holiday gifts. They had invited us to visit them many times and finally when our finances allowed, we accepted.

Our trip entailed a month stay in their impeccably decorated villa where we were treated to the finest in European hospitality. Of course there were many tours of the city viewing its artistic and historic buildings and sites. One evening we were asked to dress in our finest because we would be dining at one of Vienna's exclusive bistros.

A five piece band was impressive playing every type of modern and classic melodies and we were pampered by a tall, dark and handsome tuxedoed waiter. Quite frankly I was smitten by the waiter and took glances in his direction every chance I could. When our eyes met fleetingly he would always return with a smile that literally melted me. Of course none of these exchanges were evident or visual to our gracious hosts.

During the course of the dining and dancing evening, I tried to explain to our talented hostess the melody of Frank Sinatra's famous "It Was A Very Good Year". She had never heard it so I began to sing the song to her softly.

"Entschuldigung, Ich verstehen nicht", she replied. ( I am sorry, I do not understand )

About then the band took a break and to my surprise, when the tavern entertained with taped music during the void, It Was a Very Good Year filled the air. I looked up at our waiter in amazement and he nodded again flashing his engaging smile. To be sure, I was truly blown away by the attention he gave to our table. Hopefully I did not make a fool of myself but I know I just sat and stared at him. When the band resumed play, he approached our tiny round table standing no more than a foot away, his crotch parallel to my face and asked in his Viennese/German dialect if there was anything else he can do for us. What a leading question and a silent, secret reply.

A wonderful dinner, few drinks and dance, I began searching for the men's washroom. I discovered it was down a flight of marble stairs secluded behind a set of double doors. If anyone has visited Europe, then you know every washroom in every location is manned ( or woman ) by an attendant. In this case it was an older woman. There is no toilet paper in the stalls so the attendant will offer a few sheets of toilet paper at a price and the higher the tip then naturally the more sheets of the precious paper. Again, a night of surprises. As I entered the washroom there he was, our waiter chatting with the old woman. Usually in finer establishments the urinals and stalls are located in different rooms. Our waiter smiled and walked slowly to the area that housed the stalls. Although I only had to pee, I offered the equivalent of five dollars to the woman who in turn gave me six sheets of toilet paper and a crisp, clean hand towel. I tried to be nonchalant and sauntered toward the separated toilet area. The immaculate room had four stalls and four wash basins. The waiter was standing by the wash basins smiling, ever smiling. I entered the stall across where he was standing, leaving the door slightly ajar and took my much needed piss. My flow splashed in the toilet until the force dwindled to a drip, the tell tale clue I had finished what I had come to do. Instinctively I used one of the sheets of toilet paper to wipe the end of my dick and deposited my semi hard, semi soft penis back into my pants. When I turned I could see through the small door opening he was still standing there. Funny, he was not smiling. He looked so serious. I pushed the door fully open but I remained inside the four foot square cubicle. It was only a second or two but it seemed like an eternity until he finally took a few steps forward and joined me in the stall. He closed and locked the door behind him.

I ran my hand down the front of his pants stopping at his crotch. He pulled his cummerbund up around his chest, unlatched his belt and zipped down his fly. I reached in and felt his already erected cock protruding through the slit of his boxer shorts. I slid his pants down and loosed his cock, seven inches of hard, warm to the touch cock. So engrossed I had not realized he had my belt untied and my pants hanging around my lower thighs. He wrapped his palm around my 6 1/2 inches of uncut, thick cock. "Sehr Schon," he said. Very nice? The exact words running through my mind about his cock. Still holding my hard on in his hands, he kissed me. Our mouths slightly open, no tongue, a gentle, erotic, firm kiss, lips to lips.

I slowly slid down his body and took his round, smooth bum cheeks in my hands and pulled his cock into my mouth. He responded with a muffled gasp. I took his cock deep into my sucking mouth, running my tongue up and down the solid ridges of his shaft and rolling my tongue around his tasty cock knob. I was lost in paradise when his body stiffened. I would have taken him all the way and even swallowed but I guess he did not want to come because he took me by the shoulders and raised me to a standing position. He kissed me again then lowered himself to face my cock. No way can I describe what he did to my cock. I had blow jobs before but never, ever like that. His mouth was warm, moist but not to the extreme of wet, silken like I was being sucked by velvet, loving, oh yes, he made love to my cock. His hands were like magic exploring my ass cheeks and balls, running his hands up and down the entire length of my bare legs and all the while sucking. My actions told him I was ready to come but he never stopped. My body was like a balloon filled with air, growing and growing until there was no more room to grow, ...and I exploded. He continued to make love to my cock and I shot again, he swallowed and moved his head back and forth fucking my grateful dick…and I shot the third time. My body was trembling, I was breathing hard and I held his head in my hands and fucked his mouth slowly giving him ..and me, the final miracle of sex.

He stood and smiled, that wonderful smile and I kissed him. We dressed and made ourselves presentable once again. He left first and I then became aware of the time. Really? All that happened in less than fifteen minutes? I tried to look natural as I walked by the old woman, she grinned and nodded. I nodded back, of course she knew what just happened, maybe that is why we were not interrupted while we were ah…..occupied.

No one at our table seemed to notice or care how long I had been away thanks to the band and the bistro atmosphere. But all things come to an end and it was time to head for home. Our waiter brought our tab to the table and we exchanged smiles, this time the smiles had deeper meanings. I paid the bill as a treat and appreciation to our hosts, 600 Deutschmarks including a very large tip for our waiter, around $550.00 in our money. Was it worth it? Every penny. As we were leaving I did not know the words to relate in German to thank our waiter so I asked my friend to translate, "it was the best service I have ever received in a restaurant," I said. He replied, "it was a pleasure serving you, I hope I have the opportunity to do it again. Danke."

I am sure my host friend had no idea the double meaning of his translations but come to think of it, he had disappeared for at least twenty minutes for his washroom break. Who knows?

Many times while I am fisting my own dick I fantasize about my German waiter and our mini tryst. Can you blame me remembering every time I tear off a sheet of toilet paper?