Places: Bavarian Woods
By John Yager
Some time ago I posted a series of four very short pieces under the collective title Seasons.

Many readers have since written to ask if I would do more of these little vignettes.

What follows is one such piece, part of a series called Places, based on my own memories of some of my favorite cities and locations around the world.

Andrew, thank you again for so much help, for good advice, for proofing and editing and, most of all, for making me look so much better than I am.

This work is copyrighted © by the author, 2003, and may not be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.

From Salzburg I drove south and then west, staying on the Austrian side of the border as far as Innsbruck. After two days there, I went north, crossed into Germany and headed towards Penzberg.

I still had three days on my own before getting to Munich for the start of meetings there. I was young and in search of adventure. I had a rented 300 series BMW, and, in the rear, camping equipment and enough food to last a week.

The campgrounds I chose were listed in a guide I'd picked up along the way. When I drove in that afternoon I saw a sign saying something about FKK. My German was almost nonexistent but I took it to be a recommendation like ones issued by the Automobile Association.

The guy in the booth at the gate wore no shirt and his bare chest was well defined and smooth. I didn't think anything about it.  It was a warm day and if he wanted to go shirtless, so be it. Besides, he was muscular, blond and cute. He was also about my age, maybe a couple of years younger. His English was good and his smile very appealing. He took my money and gave me a map which he marked with the camp site he'd assigned me to. It was nestled in dark woods beside the dark water of a little lake. The camp sites were large and unclouded and the bathing facilities, in a building about a hundred meters from my site, were clean and offered indoor toilets, decent changing rooms and hot showers.

I pitched my rainbow colored Igloo tent and changed into a pair of loose boxer style bathing trunks and rubber sandals. Then, towel in hand, I walked the hundred meters to the shore. There was a floating dock out in the lake but I saw no one else around. I was a little startled when I heard a male voice call my name in a rather questioning tone.

"John?" I turned to see the guy who'd checked me in. He was walking toward me and to my surprise and delight, he was completely nude except for rubber sandals not unlike my own, and a bright blue duffle bag slung over his broad shoulders. I'd only seen him standing in the little booth, visible only from the waist up. I'd assumed his bare chest was the extent of his nakedness. "I wanted to see if you were settled."

Totally naked he was even more appealing than I'd thought before. His smooth body was not overly muscled, but well toned. The golden hair over his dangling uncut cock matched the hair on his head, lighter even than mine. As he came closer I saw that his eyes were of a clear, bright blue. The perfect Aryan, I thought to myself. Fifty years earlier he'd have been an exemplary member of the Hitler Youth.

"Uh, yes," I stammered, my eyes fixed on his crotch.

"This is an FKK camp, you know. Clothing is optional, actually discouraged."

"Oh," I said, the truth finally dawning.

"I like your tent," he smiled, gesturing toward it as he came up to me. "Is the design significant?"

"The rainbow colors?" I stammered.


"Well, yes, I guess you could say it's symbolic."

"So you are gay."

"Well, mostly."

He looked at me questingly but said nothing and we stood there looking at each other as the truth sank in.

"My name is Rolf," he said, holding his hand out for me to shake.

"John," I said, still unsure of myself.

"I know, from your registration."


"So why don't you pull off your shorts and swim with me to the . . . mole. I do not know the English word.

"Pier," I said, "or dock."

"Ah, dock, we use that word as well."

He tossed his duffle on the ground and stepped out of his sandals.


"Well," I stammered, feeling somewhat ill at ease, then added, "yes," and slid down my bathing trunks. Rolf looked at me approvingly and smiled.

We ran down the grassy slope, over a sandy bit of beach and then into the shallow waters of the lake. We were twenty or thirty meters out before it was deep enough to swim. Rolf did a shallow dive and I followed his example. Then, side by side, we swam out to the dock and pulled ourselves up.

The sun was low and didn't provide much warmth. The lake water was chilling and we lay on our backs breathing hard, more from the cold than from our brief exertion.

After a moment Rolf rolled onto his side, facing me with his head propped up on one arm.

I turned slightly toward him and smiled. His cock was withered, pulled up into his body seeking warmth. I looked down at my own and saw it was the same. Unlike him, I was circumcised, so even less of my shy tool was visible than his.

"So, are you a student, John?"

"Once and future," I said. "I graduated from college last June and start graduate school in less than a month."

"And you spend the summer seeing Europe?"

"Yes. Actually, I'm going to a conference in Munich in a few days."

"Munchen is quite close, less than an hour from here."

"I know."

"Will you stay here at the camp until you must go?"


"I hope."

"Are you a student, too?"

"Yes, I will be in my third year this autumn at the Johan Wolfgang Goethe-University at Frankfurt."

"What do you study?"

"Law, and languages, of course."

"You speak English very well."

He smiled. "I also study French."

"I envy you."

"Americans do not study languages as we do."

"No, unfortunately."

"There is a joke, you know, which says there are three types of people. Those who speak three languages or more, we call multilingual. Those who speak only two languages, we call bilingual. Then there are those who only speak one language and those we call American."

I laughed despite myself.

"I do speak fairly good French," I said in my own defense.

"Well, then you can't really be American," he laughed.

We lay back on the dock and looked up at the bright blue of the sky.

"So what conference is it that you go to in Munchen?" he eventually asked.

"It's a conference on Annette von Droste-Hülshoff.  One of my professors is presenting a paper."

"A professor you had as an undergraduate, or one you will have as a graduate student?"

"Both, actually, she was at the college where I just finished but she's going to the university were I'll be in the fall."

"Ah, a female professor," he smiled. "She must be quite unique to demand your coming all this way."

"Well, yes, unique, but I was going to travel in Europe this summer anyway. When she found out I'd be here, she suggested I come."

"Is this female professor of any more personal interest to you?"

I rolled over and grinned at him. He clearly wanted to know if I had any sexual interest in Martha Bishop. I couldn't help finding the idea very amusing.

"None, Rolf. She's probably fifty-five, fairly large and I besides, I suspect she's a lesbian, not the sort of woman I'd ever be interested in."

"But there are some women you might pursue."

"Sure, some, but not Dr. Bishop.  Besides, if you're asking me about sex, I really prefer  guys."

"I'm glad." We lay back, again looking at the sky. After a few minutes, as our bodies dried and warmed up, Rolf said, "will you cook some food for yourself tonight?"

"I suppose so," I said, again rolling over onto my side to look at him. His cock had clearly warmed up. It had relaxed and lengthened and lay in a gentle arch over his left thigh. "I have a lot of stuff in the car."

"Could we, perhaps, cook something together. I have fresh vegetables and eggs and cheese. We could share what we have between us."

"Sure, that sounds great."

We swam back to the shore and as I found my sandals and towel, Rolf also gathered up his things. His duffle bag contained a towel and as he pulled it out, some other items fell out onto the grass as well, among them, condoms and a tube of lubricant. He smiled at me as he put them back into the bag, not at all embarrassed that I'd seen them.

"For later, perhaps."

"Um, yes," I smiled, "our evening entertainment."

It was odd being naked as we prepared our food.  By the time we had our simple supper ready, a cool, wet breeze had blown in from across the lake and we quickly took shelter in my tent.

I'd spread my sleeping bag open so it almost covered the available space.  It had felt a little damp and I wanted it to air, but now as I thought about it, it seemed provocative.  I had visions of  Rolf and me intertwined on it's exposed plaid flannel surface.

For now, though, it was enough for us to set facing each other, cross-legged and still nude.  His body was toned and more uniformly tanned than mine.  His cock was soft and dangling over his relaxed, low hanging balls.  I tried to be as relaxed and unselfconscientious as he seemed to be but it was difficult. I wasn't used to nudity but was finding I enjoyed it, not just for the obvious erotic reasons, but for the feeling of freedom it produced.

As he ate, Rolf leaned over and stretched his legs out, supporting himself on one elbow.  He reminded me of images I'd seen of ancient Roman or Greek diners, reclining among cushions.  The image was arousing and I felt my cock begin to harden, twitching and bobbing as it extended itself and finally rose up to full mast.  

Should I try to hid it? I wondered, but decided to let Rolf see my arousal and make of whatever he chose.

He smiled as he finished his sandwich and laid the plate aside.  

"I think I'll save my apple for later," he smiled.

He stretched out completely on his back and then extended one hand to grasp mine.  I lay aside the remains of my own supper and moved over to him.  He pulled me into an embrace, lying on him, my chest against his, my hard cock pointed up toward my navel and his. I felt him becoming increasingly hard under me.

We kissed, our lips tasting of cheese and mustard and desire.

He moaned, pulled back a little and then moved his lips to my ear.  He licked and nibbled, making the recesses wet and then blowing into them to make little chills jump down my body and into my brain.

"What do you like?" he whispered.

"Let's just do this for a while."

His mouth returned to mine and we continued to kiss, gently at first, but then with increasing passion.  I moved to roll onto my side, thinking I'd lie on my back for a while and let him lie on me, but he pulled his lips back and murmured, "no."

Okay, I thought, if he wants to be on the bottom, so be it.

His legs came up to lock me closer to him and we began to rock in a slow easy rhythm, our bodies molded together, our increasingly sticky cocks, sliding in unison in the hot, wet press between his belly and mine.

After a few more minutes he again moved his lips from mine and whispered, "fuck me."

"Yeah," I growled as I rose up to reach for the condoms and lube he'd left visible on the sleeping bag beside us.

I worked one lured finger into his ass and realized it wouldn't be a difficult process at all to open him up.  Rolf had obviously been fucked many times before and in seconds he was moaning again, wanting more than my fingers.  

I ripped open the packet and rolled the condom down my cock.  Then, kneeling between his legs with his knees over my shoulders, I slid easily and blissfully into his hot, gaping hole.

"Yes," we both hissed as I entered him and then "yes, yes, yes," as I began a slow grinding fuck.

It didn't take long; we were both needy.  In a few minutes I came powerfully, but too fast.  I'd wanted it to last, but as I froze mid-stroke and erupted, filling the condom, I felt Rolf also explode.

"Too fast," I moaned.

"It is all right," he smiled up at me.  "Next time it will be slower and we have three days."

The end.