My [F] trip to Italy – Part 1 – The Nightclub [MF]

*Hello everyone, it’s thewintertain2 again! For those of you who don’t know, I’m a Portuguese girl in my early 20’s. You can check my previous story here:*

*[I [F] rode a guy at the cinema. I had never seen him before](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/orxjza/i_f_rode_a_guy_at_the_cinema_i_had_never_seen_him/)*

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**Pre-trip**

Traveling abroad has always been something on my bucket list. Unfortunately, my family prefers to stay in Portugal for the summer vacations, and enjoy their time on the beaches on the south of the country. I can’t blame them, the weather and the beaches are amazing, it’s hard to complain. Still, exploring new countries, people with different nationalities, was always something I felt drawn to. When I started college, I also started working some occasional part-time jobs and saved up for all of the trips abroad I’ve done in the past few years. Most of my trips were made either accompanied by friends, or by my sister. Italy was the first time I flew abroad all by myself.

I’ve always enjoyed doing activities by myself: going to the cinema, to a restaurant I liked, to a music show to watch a band I was fond of. Traveling alone was, however, still a new experience. I was 20 at the time.

Italy happened by chance, almost. I saw an awesome deal with cheap flights to Milan. However, none of my usual travel friends nor my sister were available to accompany me. Feeling I had to seize the opportunity, and foreseeing that traveling by myself would be a completely different and fun experience, I decided to bite the bullet and book flights and a small Airbnb. I would be staying there for a week. From Wednesday to Wednesday. This happened sometime in April.

As the trip grew closer and closer, so did my excitement. But I also became more and more aware of what I was getting into. Traveling with friends always offers a safety net, someone to bounce off of. When you’re alone, you have to rely fully on yourself, or on the help of strangers. I tried not to ruminate too much on the worst scenarios: abductions, assaults, or anything violent, knowing that if I dwelled too long on those topics I would never have the courage to make the trip.

I focused on the positives: I could make my own schedule. I didn’t need to coordinate and sync plans with anyone else. If I felt like sleeping until late one morning, I could do so without feeling like I was hurting someone else’s plans. If I wanted to change my plans for the day on a whim, I could do so without anyone being affected by it. Besides, no one in Italy would know me. The possibilities would be endless, I found myself daydreaming about impersonating a completely different person: making up a name, an age, or a personality. I knew I wouldn’t do that, I didn’t have the patience to carve backstory thoroughly enough and then hold it against scrutiny if it came to it. It was a bit too much work, but it was fun to dream about.

**First days**

The day of the trip finally came. I flew early and arrived early. The first day was spent settling down in my Airbnb, doing some groceries, and buying some stuff that I couldn’t carry with me and, once all of that was taken care of, I spent the day exploring the vicinity of the apartment I was in. I was located relatively near the center of the city, and I just wanted to scan the streets, check what was different and what was similar to where I came from, and so I wandered aimlessly until it was time for me to get back to my apartment and have dinner.

The second day [Thursday] was the first day I actually had plans for. I walked through parks and explored them freely, I visited the cathedral and other landmarks and had dinner in a small restaurant. I was seated close to two Italian girls, close to my age, with who I ended up striking a conversation (in English! I don’t speak Italian). I explained that I was visiting by myself, which they were both surprised and curious about. I talked about Portugal, and about what I had seen that day. They talked about what I should see, what restaurants to visit and what areas to avoid. Eventually, we started talking about nightlife both in Portugal and in Italy. They told me they were going to a club the next day and invited me to come with them. I told them I enjoyed the idea and that I’d think about it. We exchanged contacts and, after we finished dinner, we all went back our own ways.

I had contemplated the idea of clubbing in Milan before, but one of the problems was not knowing where to go. Having their recommendation solved that problem. What I was on the fence about, was on whether or not I wanted a company that night: clubbing in a group is obviously safer, but it would kind of defeat some of the purposes of this trip, which was to experience things by myself, without having any strings tying me to someone else. I ended up deciding to go to that club by myself, without letting them know. If I bumped into them, cool. If not, cooler. If at any time I felt unsafe, I could simply call them and tell them I was in the club, and ask to meet. It seemed like a good compromise in my head.

**The Club**

The next night, I was stepping out of a cab and towards the club, my new Italian friends had mentioned. I was wearing an outfit that looked good without being too forward: a dark sleeveless crop top that covered me from my collar to my upper stomach, and dark high-waisted skinny jeans, and short heels. The top didn’t show any cleavage, but it was tight against the shape of my breasts and left my mid-riff partially exposed. Never one big into make-up, I had some eyeliner simply to highlight my eyes, and that was that. My hair was tied in a braid, and falling down over one of my shoulders. I also carried a black jacket, my phone, and a small wallet with money, and ID that fit in my pockets. I consider myself pretty though a bit “baby-faced” which leads to people commonly thinking I’m younger than my actual age. I have dirty blonde hair, green eyes, and an aligned smile. I’m fairly short (5’0/152cm), with a petite, lean frame. I was blessed by the gods of genetics with a really nice pair of breasts: they are big enough to stand out against my frame, but not enough so that they look out of proportion with my size. My legs and ass usually don’t draw as much attention, but they complement the rest of my lean silhouette quite nicely. I wouldn’t mind having a bigger bum, but I appreciate mine as it is. As I stepped out of the taxi that night, I felt good about my appearance.

I waited in the queue and eventually entered the club. I left my jacket near the reception and walked in. Only then did it completely dawn on me how alone I was. I had no one to dance with, no one to drink with. I could enjoy myself with abandon and, as they say, dance like no one’s watching. And drink. The prospect was both daunting and exhilarating. I was nervous and that was making me awkward, and somewhat lost. But can you really be lost if you have nowhere to be, no one to meet? And so I drank, beer at first. I danced, shaking off the stiffness and the awkwardness. I drank again. I danced some more. And I drank. And I danced. Eventually, I had found my groove, I lost myself dancing in the crowd. If at any point I felt awkward because everyone around me had their attentions turned away from me, I simply closed my eyes and the feeling faded until I finally familiarized myself with the sensation. It was liberating. People came and went. Some groups watched me dancing and invited me to share a step or two, others simply smiled. Guys walked past, girls as well. I danced and weaved through the mass of bodies, with the occasional trip either to empty my bladder or to replenish my alcohol levels.

Later into the night, on one of those trips to the bar found myself standing next to a guy who looked about my age. He spoke to me in English, after hearing me asking for a drink also in English. By his accent, I could immediately tell he was Spanish. Funny how in the middle of an Italian nightclub, the first person to actually strike a conversation was a guy from the country next to mine.

“Are you here in Erasmus as well? Where are you from?”

Ah, that explained it. I scanned the guy. I have to commend him on something not every guy does when approaching a girl in a club: he gave me space. Instead of closing in and towering over me, he stayed at a distance that not only gave me room to move without having to accidentally brush against him, but also to simply turn around and walk away. I don’t know if it was intentional, but I gratefully noted it.

He was taller than me (not that hard), maybe close to 5’7/170cm. He had a nice tan, buzz-cut hair, and dark stubble. He was a bit on the larger side, slightly chubby. He looked good, on a white shirt, sleeves rolled up on his forearms, and dark blue pants. A really nice smile: white and aligned, with cute dimples on his cheeks.

“Just visiting for the week! And I’m Portuguese” I explained.

He had the same reaction as I did at my mention of my country. I speak Spanish, but I’m more fluent in English, so I saw no need to change language, and since I didn’t offer to change, he kept with his heavily accented English.

He was excited about meeting someone else who wasn’t from around town. “I’m Javier by the way!”

“I’m Winter” [Naturally, the names are made up.]

“So, who are you with? Brought your Portuguese friends to the club with you?” The way he asked told me this was the subtle question a guy usually goes for when trying to scan if the girl has a boyfriend, or if she’s free to “be approached”. I didn’t pretend to be fooled by it,

“I’m with two Italian friends, they’re somewhere back there” I lied and hinted at the dance floor with my head. It wouldn’t hurt for him to think I wasn’t alone, even if I chose to stay in his company. A girl has to have her safety nets. “But I’m single if that’s what you’re asking”

That drew a laugh out of him, he had the decency of looking slightly guilty, but totally unbothered. Most likely encouraged by my direct answer. “I won’t pretend I wasn’t curious. You’re attractive, so I had to know.” the casualness with which he complimented me reinforced my image that he was giving me room to come to him, rather than shoving his presence onto me. Still, I pressed on his poor choice of words.

“You *had* to know? So, you need to know if all the attractive girls are single?” I chuckled, amused.

He laughed it off “Can we dance instead? I’m better at dancing than at English”

It was my turn to laugh. We agreed to order one shot for each of us, drink it together, and then hit the dancefloor again.

He didn’t lie. He wasn’t a good dancer in a traditional sense, he never struck me as someone who knew all the steps of the common dance styles (nor do I), but he knew the basics of club dancing: don’t step on anyone’s feet, when in doubt always resort to the main move of stepping on eggshells to the rhythm of the music and let the rest of your body do the work. At first, we danced in front of each other, rather than with each other. Slightly awkward, but we quickly got over it.

Guys, if you’re reading this, and you’re someone who is self-conscious about their club dancing, then I have a tip for you: Dancing in a club is not about striking those impressive moves, or grabbing your partner and drawing them into a complex salsa. It’s about having fun, letting loose, and feeling free to be goofy. No one cares, and if you’re able to laugh, you’re doing a great job. That’s what Javier did with me. The awkward dancing quickly evolved to us pretending to mop the floor together in tempo with the music, or doing something that mimicked the lyrics of the song, or drawing up moves like the Batusi (moving your fingers in a V shape in front of your eyes) and laughing at the moves the other one was able to come up with. Without either of us being a master at dancing, he was one of the best dance partners I’ve ever had. We laughed and laughed together as we danced. And you know what they say: *funny guys are dangerous, they make you laugh, and laugh and laugh, and boom, you’re naked!* At least that’s what I say.

I didn’t end up naked, not right away, but the dancing grew closer, the touches became more frequent. One hand on my hip here, another one on his chest there. We pulled the other for a particular move. We smacked each other’s shoulders playfully. We chatted in tids and bits. The next time we hit the bar, after agreeing to go for another drink, we were both giddy and much more comfortable with each other, already feeling some tension between our bodies, drawing us together.

“Race me on downing a beer” I dared him. I was pretty confident in my speed-drinking skills, even though I had absolutely no idea about his talents.

He seemed interested “What for? What’s the bet?”

“If I win, you dance with your shirt open” I had no idea why, but the prospect seemed immensely funny, more embarrassing than sexy, but I could always take some advantage of it if I wanted to.

“Alright, but you’ll be the one unbuttoning it!” he replied. It seemed like a fair request, so I agreed, and he proceeded “And if I win, you’ll give me a kiss. Wherever you want, you don’t need to kiss me in the mouth.”

I only smiled in response and nodded. I didn’t want to seem *too* excited, but part of me hoped I’d lose. The game was on. He waved a bartender, ordered two beers, and asked her to do the countdown. She happily obliged. “Three, two, one… *GO*!”

I tried my best, I gulped it down as quickly as I could, downing the ice-cold beer in quick big gulps. Just as I was about to finish my drink, I heard his relief, and his plastic cup being slammed on the counter. I had lost by the narrowest margin. It took us both a moment to gather our voices, shaking off the cold sensation.

“Double or nothing!” I’m not a sore loser, and the consequences for losing weren’t negative by any means, but I enjoyed the game, and I felt that I could beat him.

“What’s in it for me? I already won?” he was daring me to up the wager, and rightfully so. I saw through his scheme and didn’t feign surprise.

“If you win, not only do I kiss you wherever I want, you get to kiss me as well, wherever *you* want.” if he had any doubt that I was on the same wavelength as him, I was pretty sure they evaporated with my proposal. “And if I win?”

He smiled and distractedly bit his lip, thinking. I motioned the bartender to order an additional couple of beers. “If you win, not only do you get to unbutton my shirt, I’ll sit you on a stool and act like a stripper dancing for you!” the dumb smile on his face and the playful wiggle of eyebrows he gave me made me laugh. That would be fun.

We raced again.

I lost again. I coughed halfway through the beer only to find him finishing his own. Clearly, he had either held himself back on the first round, or I had considerably slowed down on the second one. Still, a wager is a wager. He mocked me by closing his eye and pursing his lips as if he were the Prince Charming going for a kiss, before laughing when I half-heartedly jabbed at his shoulder. He grinned at me and told me that I could call the bet off if I wasn’t comfortable. Little did he know.

In reply, I approached him and leaned on my tiptoes, and pulled him down to lean towards me, one hand behind his head. I leaned in and placed a kiss on his neck, just the lips. I let them brush open, gave a small bite, and another peck. Judging by how his posture stiffened as I kissed him, I could tell he was surprised. As I broke away from him, I caught the bartender discretely throwing a glance at us while she prepared a drink for another client. She gave me a wink, but soon my attention was turned to Javier again. The look he gave me was meaningful, to say the least. He led me by the hand back into the mass of bodies that was the dancing floor. There, he stopped me and leaned in to claim his kiss. I felt his stubble brush past my face as he gently kissed my ear, gently playing with his lips and teeth and then gently nibbling my earlobe. I felt that side of my body shivering and being covered in goosebumps. I didn’t let him break away. As he made to lean back to a straight position, I pulled him into a kiss. He tasted of alcohol, and most likely I did too. Encouraged by the kiss, I felt his hands moving around my waist. Their first stop was on my lower back, on my exposed skin, as he pulled my body against his, and they ended firmly placed on my buttocks as the kiss grew deeper and deeper.

The kissing quickly went from tentative to hungry to horny. We stopped, smiled, restarted. And again. And again. Eventually, I broke it off completely.

“Want to take this somewhere else? I share an apartment with my friends, we can all share a cab? There’s three of us, four if you’re included.”

Only then did it dawn on me that he most likely had other friends at the party. Without having met them, I didn’t exactly feel all that comfortable taking things to his place with two other strangers. I would have liked to at least warm up with them, or at least know that we were all sober. And so I proposed that he came to my Airbnb with me instead, though I let him know that he would not be staying overnight until the morning. I wasn’t unsure how nosy the neighbors or my hostess were, and I didn’t want unnecessary drama with me bringing a guy over. So he would come and go all during nighttime. Through conversation we found that my Airbnb only required a small detour from the trip to his apartment, so we could still share a cab with his friends, but I and Javier would hop off halfway through the journey. He agreed. Through a few more kissing and groping sessions, he texted his friends and we all met outside. That’s when I met his two friends: Diego and Sergio. I won’t go into detail about them, but they may or may not be included in future parts of this story. They were pretty good at making me feel included during our wait for the cab, naturally with the good-humored jokes such as asking Javier what kind of spell had he thrown on me, and the usual banter. I was happy to tag along and ended up siding with the two guys while playfully making fun of Javier. All in all, I finished the cab trip feeling comfortable if nothing else.

**Back home**

From the moment we set a foot inside the building, during the trip up the stairs, and up until the moment I had to open the doors to my apartment, our bodies were locked. To be fair, he carried me. By the time he put me down to open the door, the first buttons of his shirt were open, and my neck already had faint bite marks. The activity restarted as soon as we were inside my apartment. We left a trail of clothes on the way to my bedroom, and by the time I pushed him into my bed, I only wore my bra, panties, and pants, and he was only with his boxers.

I slowly peeled off what remained of my clothes, thankful for having the foresight to both pick matching lingerie (a plain black set), and to shave my legs and crotch right before the trip started. He took me in, taking measurements with his eyes. “*Joder*” he let out. I only smiled in response and moved to pull his boxers down. I had been feeling his hard-on ever since the first kisses in the club, it was about time I saw it. His cock, once free, sprung to life and stood at full attention. I climbed on top of him and kissed him, resting my weight on his body, skin against skin.

The first time you get naked with someone new is always unique. The first moments of skin contact, the exploration of a foreign body. That’s one of my favorite parts of casual sex. The intense hunger we had while climbing the stairs to my apartment was now replaced with a slow curiosity as we lazily explored each other’s bodies. He spun me around so he was on top and kissed me, before sitting on my thighs to admire my naked body. His hands moved to my neck, then traced my collarbones, and descended further to cup my breasts, gently at first, then with more intent, testing their fullness. My hands mirrored his exploration, going from his shoulders to his sides, and then to his chest. The next thing I knew he was littering my body with kisses, from my neck to my thighs. By the time he moved in towards my crotch, I was already completely on edge. My hips were thrusting upwards automatically to invite him closer. He started eating me out but I barely had time to enjoy it, by the time he was starting to include his fingers to the mix I orgasmed. To be fair, I’m naturally easy to lead to orgasm, even easier if I’m drunk, but his slow exploration of my body was exhilarating for me.

He laughed at how quickly I came. “Is this also part of the spell I threw at you? To make you cum before I get started?” I rolled my eyes at him but smiled. He had earned that victory and the right to rebut his friends’ earlier joke. However, as I rolled him around on the bed, he felt the need to come up clean: “Take it slow with me though, I’m just as close to exploding. This whole thing has put me on edge”.

“I appreciate the honesty, but you shouldn’t have told me that” I gave him the sluttiest smirk I could muster, and saw the struggle between pleasure and pain on his face.

The following 20 minutes were spent with me giving him the slowest, most methodical blowjob I remembered giving up until that night. Each time I felt him close, I slowed down. I wasn’t edging him, I simply deliberately picked a pace that would always leave him craving for more, in a struggle between wanting more pleasure but not wanting to cum. By the time I was content with my work, his cock and balls were glistening and there was a small stain of drool on the sheets under his crotch. I learned a whole new group of Spanish curse words during that small session. He was desperate to cum, and I shared the sentiment.

I got up from the bed and browsed through my bag until I found a pack of condoms. I threw him one and positioned myself while he put it on. By the time he was done, I was patiently waiting on the bed next to him, laying on my back and with my legs pulled up, holding my thighs and knees against my chest. The message was obvious, and he quickly obliged.

“I’m not gonna last lon-”

“I don’t care.”

That seemed to encourage him. He took his time to slide himself inside me. Once he was all the way in my eyes were trying to roll back into my skull out of their own volition. He thrust a couple of times tentatively, testing my wetness. I couldn’t be wetter. Then, Javier leaned over me, resting his weight on my bent body, and *damn*. He fucked me relentlessly from the very first second to the last. Caught by surprise, I moaned way louder than I usually would. He didn’t last long but lasted way longer than I thought he would after the warm-up he had gotten. I guess the condom helps. As he pounded again and again into me I felt my thighs trembling, living a life of their own. It was enough of a rush of energy to leave us both sweating. As he came, he pushed himself deep into me, forcing me to a state of bliss where, for a brief moment, my drunk mind even lost sense of direction.

He laid over me, spent, his cock still occasionally twitching inside my pussy. Once he was completely done I had to push him away because my legs were starting to cramp. As he flopped on the bed beside me, the emptiness his cock left behind almost pained me. I let him take a breath before rolling to rest my head on his shoulder, tucking it under his jaw.

We stayed put for a while, he distractedly played with my hair and ran his hand up and down my back while I traced his stomach, and thighs with my fingers. I watched him go from hard to a semi-boner, but never completely soft. I pulled the condom out of him and, taking the hint, he moved his arm around me to cup my breast. My hand moved to his cock, and I slowly started caressing his shaft. He started growing back to life under my touch. I shifted and turned until I was straddling his knees, leaning down with my face dangerously close to his now hard cock, messy with the cum from his earlier orgasm. I looked up at him again.

“Double or nothing?”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ot8dx1/my_f_trip_to_italy_part_1_the_nightclub_mf