The little vixen who was so concerned
about the sleeping arrangements.
I must have spent a year looking for a female companion chick to travel with, posting on various forums, but with very little success. At first I thought many females would be exhilarated to travel around the world, but over the years I came to the conclusion that most women want to settle down and produce a family. The fact that I’m not good at approaching people I do not know and spark a conversation also makes things difficult. But I do have the fortune to occasionally run into lovely girls while traveling and this site is dedicated to them.
I’ll have to begin at the group of girls who inspired me to start this page. Since they agreed or were tickled pink that I make this page for them, and don’t mind getting near the top of google for the keywords “travel chicks”, for search engine optimization purposes I am allowing myself to often use the word “chicks” on this page. I’ve always considered it a compliment anyway.
This Polish group of two guys and three chicks showed up one day from couch surfers and it was fun right from the getgo. The boys decided to stay in one of my tents, to which the girls just sneered: “so they could f*ck”, while the chicks were happy to stay in my truck. I showed them the various sleeping arrangement options, but as the evening came to a close and we had all drank a healthy portion of beer, one of the cuties asked in an enticing, vixen manner, to repeat the various options. I listed them again, and at the end I offered, “Or you could sleep with me. I’m a gentleman.” She squawked out a little chirp of glee and the dark haired one joined in with an overjoyed high five. I thought this was wonderful indeed and looked forward to the evening’s developments.
The night was winding down when the two grabbed their sleeping bags and started to get comfortable on my bed. I was lying in the grass rather drunk, contemplating when exactly I should “make my move”. But before that could happen, as I can be rather slow in this department, the third one asked where she should sleep. It was an awkward situation and I whispered out, “uh, I don’t know. I could sleep on the couch if you like.” Or perhaps I mumble-suggested for her to sleep there before I offered to sleep there myself. She gave a contented “no problem.”
I didn’t know what to do, and interpreted her response to mean that I should sleep on the couch, so I did, only to find her hovering over me, looking bewildered. She was startled to find me there as it appeared she attempted to crawl in. “Oh!” she said surprisingly. “I guess I misunderstood,” and went around back to join the girls. I lay there staring at the ceiling thinking, “You know turd bag, only you could blunder something like this.” The girls were busy snuggling next to one another while I fantasized myself in the middle, when they asked me to tell them some “sexy beddie-bye stories”. Now I felt tortured, and even moreso as I stumbled to think of something good to say. It was a typically lame effort and they weren’t too impressed either. Eventually I decided to put myself out of misery and announced that I’m giving up.
The next day I woke and, after they all went off to explore the shoreline, I took up my usual workspace position, lying on my bed. It was absolutely lovely, basking in a bed of flowers with different, sweet aromas. It was a heavenly day of work, with them once again lodged firmly in my place of yearning by evening time. However, this time, I guess they were all so impressed with my truck and hospitality that they felt the urge to offer me a bottle of Polish Vodka. It was sweet and delicious as they were, and I was so tickled to have three chicks squeezed together on my bed, adding more perfume smells, that I asked them if they wouldn’t mind if I hung out with them a bit. So I stood outside sipping the alcoholic punch next to wide open doors while they all lay on the bed chatting with me. Perhaps my glee and the fruity flavour of the drink carried me away but it didn’t take me long to polish off the entire bottle. That down I staggered my way to my distant sofa.
The next day they were impressed I could consume so much, but I wasn’t so impressed because I found myself lying on a totally wet couch. I don’t know which end it leaked out from but there didn’t seem to be the slightest resistance. At least it smelt like when it came in and I spent the next few hours washing everything in the sea, while they sat in a group on the other end of the beach, occasionally waving to me. My hangover was massive and I struggled slowly with my laundry, but eventually joined them for another nice evening, until alas, my favourite travel chicks left to catch their bus.
Amazingly, it was only a week later when I was visited by two more couch surfing travel chicks, and it was quite fun with them as well. Again I offered them my bed and said I could sleep on the couch, but this time they didn’t look too impressed with the foam mattress, which was exposed because I washed the sheets that day, and decided instead for the tent.
We partied several times and the local boys quickly fell for them. They hovered around us like flies all the time and eventually followed us back to my truck. We jammed some music around the fire, the travel chicks eventually retired to the tent and I barely dragged my African drum into the truck, as I crawled like a snail into my bed. But in the morning I learned that I had left my beautiful trumpet on the chair outside and evidently one of the boys took it with them. So overall, another unsuccessful encounter, but I did enjoy myself with them and that is more important.
Back to My Life – The Gypsy Traveler
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