Too Rich Zurich


Me and Weasel were in some pub in Southern Germany playing darts and pissing it up, when some girl named Mary started chatting to us. She told us that she was on vacation, and we naturally figured she'd like to hop in the back of the VW bus for a busker's tour of Europe.

We told her that we were on our way to Zurich, and asked her if she'd like to "cum" along. She said that she'd love to, but she was travelling with a girlfriend and she'd have to ask her friend what she thought of it.

We made a date for the next afternoon (never expecting to see her again), but lo and behold there she was with her girlfriend, Baba Banana from California, and all their bags - right on time!

So we packed them into the van and started down the road to Zuriville. Weasel's girlfriend from Paris showed up on the train the same day (looking suspiciously at the two girls), and the five of us went barreling down the freeway in the direction of Switzerland.

Weasel had met some Swiss people while gigging in Carcassone the year before, who told him to drop by anytime he was in the neighborhood, and since he'd never been to Switzerland before he decided to take them up on it.

It took us ages to find this little town out in the middle of nowhere, and when we finally did, Weasel explained that he hadn't mentioned me and the two American girls to his Swiss friends. So the three of us were delegated to crashing out in the back of the van.

The first time we met Mary, she seemed like a sure bet. But when it came time to get undressed and hit the sack, she kept her bluejeans on. Baba Banana on the other hand took off everything except her panties and a T-shirt. Hmmm!

Of course, I was lying between the two of them, and since I'd spent most of the trip down talking to Mary, I figured I'd make a move for her. I mean you know if she's still got her jeans on it's usually (but not always) a foregone conclusion that nothing's going to happen. Nonetheless, I gave it a go.

When I made a grab for her, she jumped like I'd poked her with a cattle prod, and pulled the covers over her head. Nothing ventured - nothing gained. Something ventured, but still nothing gained.

Baba Banana rolled over and turned her back to me. Hey, that's just how I like it! I waited until Mary started softly snoring, and cuddled up to Baba.

Baba Banana was your typical California girl: Blonde hair, a few freckles on her nose, and very mellow. Cute and friendly

With her butt cradled in my lap, I started moving my hands around to get a handle on her boobs. It was chilly that night, and she was wearing so little clothing, I hoped she'd appreciate the extra warmth.

Just as I was about to make a grab for a pert little titty, she rolled onto her stomach. Hey, that's just how I like it! After a short wait, I just simply climbed on top of her, and began kissing the back of her neck.

She was right into it, and before I knew it, her panties were slipped down just far enough for me to slide my throbbing rod right up her surprisingly slick slit. For her to be that wet, she must have been hoping and waiting for me to make the move for a long, long time.

She loved it. We were getting it on, me laying on top of her laying on her tummy, "Hey, that's just how I like it" she whispered.

In and out more and more frantic, we'd forgotten where we were and who we were with. The shock absorbers were getting a heavy workout while my piston slid in and out of her cylinder. The van started creaking with the rhythm "ree-ah, ree-ah, ree-ah".

And then Mary woke up. I thought to myself, "Maybe she wants to join in the fun!" I've always found that there's nothing that makes people hornier than having somebody screwing right next to you. So, I reached over to Mary again. Her reaction was even worse than the first time, she jumped over as far away as she could and pulled the covers around in a straight-jacket cocoon. No way! Not that it mattered, me and Baba were having a great time without her. I just thought I'd share the wealth.

I reached uner Bab's belly, and worked my fingers down to her clit. The bed and her panties (she still hadn't taken them off) were sopping wet. Like greased lightning I started jiving her little love button, Working it tremelo bringing her up to where she's just about to scream, then backing off to give her a break to make her want it more, then slowly at first I began moving in circles getting just a little faster, just a little faster, faster, like some frenzied African rhythm, faster and faster to finally a short dramatic pause with only hand pressure, and then when she's caught her breath, bringing her off with a virtuoso flourish of combined long full penetration deep vaginal strokes all the way from the very tip right up to the hilt and the ultra vibra-finger boogie.

When she came, her whole body shook the van like a California earthquake - Ba-Whoom ROAR! I stopped, kept my erection inside her jammed all the way in as far as it would go, and held her mons venus with just the right amount of tension so she could get the maximum from her contractions. After several "aftershocks", she collapsed and heaved a sigh of utter and complete satisfaction. When she got her breath back she said "Wow!". Typical Californian.

Mary was obviously still awake, obviously trying to pretend she was asleep. And I felt sorry for her. In order not to prolong her agony anymore, I got my nut. Kissed Babs on the back of the neck (I still hadn't actually kissed her on the lips yet, can you believe it?), and once my withering weenie had slithered out of her, I rolled over and fell asleep with her bum once again nestled in my lap. Hey, that's just how I like it!


In the morning, Babs and I felt great. Mary looked like she hadn't slept all night, poor thing. Then Weasel opened up the van door.

"Hey, look I told my Swiss friends about you. And it's OK. You can come in and they've made breakfast for all of us!" Great!

The Swiss are world famous for their hospitality. They're always happy to see you come, but they're always happy to see you go. Which is to say, that they always like people to pass through to brighten up their lives and they treat you like a king, at first. But soon the moment of truth comes, and it's time to go. Because, after all, they don't really want you to come and LIVE in their already (according to them) overcrowded country.

This Swiss couple were as straight as could be. At first they asked if we didn't mind sleeping in the van in the cold Swiss night. But with a self-satisfied smirk I explained that there are ways to warm up even the coldest night. Everybody got the point. But Weasel was breaking his head trying to figure out if I'd screwed one of them and which one it was.


We went into downtown Zurich, the girls all went off on a little look about, and Weasel and me stumbled by chance into the underground shopping center which leads into the train station.

As we were strolling around, Weasel was looking at all the people walking here and there and said "Hey man! Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I wasn't thinking about anything except when I was going to get in Baba Banana's pants again. And he said "Come on, let's go get the instruments!!!"

For some reason it hadn't occurred to me to do a pitch then and there, but he was so excited he could hardly control himself. Within minutes he'd popped out the banjo, and even before I'd got my guitar in tune the coins were dropping like mad.

After the first set, we ran upstairs to the train station where we'd arranged to meet the girls. We started counting the money. I just looked at it and saw nothing but small coins. He said to me, "How much is this little coin worth?" After all it was his first time to Switzerland. I said "Oh, that's 50 centimes". The box was full of them! We divvied up the take. And he tallied it up in his head. Then I tallied it up in mine. Christ, it was a fortune! For a lousy 15 minutes we'd made more money than we'd made beating the streets of Germany for a week.

Weasel was more excited than ever. "This place is a fucking gold mine!!" he said. We were back in a shot. On this set, we met the original Swiss Hippy Mountain Boy. This nut-case geezer started dancing around like a madman, and then dropped a big bag of home-grown grass right into the box in full sight of everyone.

We grabbed the weed and high-tailed it up to the station again to count our loot, it was even more than before! And in less time!

In the meantime, Mary had disappeared. She caught a train to somewhere and that was the last we ever saw of her. We took a break and had a sandwich. But Weasel couldn't sit still, the thought of all those coins we were losing by not playing down there was making him ancy as hell.

I wanted to go back to the van and roll up a reefer of that Swiss Hippy Mountain grass. But Weasel reckoned that there'd be plenty of time for that later. His girlfriend took charge of the weed, while we raced down to do another quick set of tunes.

We were about three songs into the set when here comes the old nutter from the hills again. This time our Swiss Hippy Mountain Boy decided to join in with an out of rhythm jaw harp solo. His drunken dancing and the unending "doink-a doink-a" was starting to piss Weasel off royal. Luckily some Australian guy came and took him off our hands.

Just when we thought we were going to tear it up again, the boys in blue showed up. I had no idea what the laws in Switzerland were regarding street musicians, but luckily they didn't pull us in. They just politely told us to get out and NOT come back. Fair enough, I thought. But it put Weasel into a black shitty. He'd never seen so much money in his life in such a short time and here it was suddenly off-limits forever.

I didn't care, but Weasel's mind was turning in dark whirlpool circles. "Man, if we can make that much money down there ... Why did those fuckers blow us off? Damn!"

Somewhere we ran into the Australian guy again, we invited him back to the van for a wee smoke-em-up, but he didn't want to touch that weed. He said he'd been smoking that shit for a week and all it did was give him a headache. It was fine by me, I like grass better than hash any day. And the Swiss weed is, in fact, very good. As Mrs Olsen always used to say "It's mountain grown - the richest kind."

The Aussie told us about the Niederdorf. "If you guys wanna make some bread on the street tonight, that's the place to go!"


We took his advice. The Niederdorf is a street (like so many in Europe) where there's everything that night life can offer: bar after bar after bar, strip joints, hookers, restaurants, and tons of people out strolling looking for a good time. At about 10pm, when we decided that the street was throbbing enough to do a decent pitch, we set up on the corner across from the ZuriBar in front of a shoe shop on the corner. The McDonalds is there now, but it wasn't back then.

We were about half-way through our first set, when the people upstairs started yelling at us. At first we figured they were assholes and tried to ignore them. Then they lowered down a three-quarters full bottle of Southern Comfort an a string!

Well, naturally we drank to their health, both of us taking a healthy slug from the bottle. The next thing you know, they lowered down a plastic bag with two glasses and a load of ice cubes. We thought, "Well, welcome to Zurich!"

We set our glasses on the window ledge and continued playing. The crowd was getting bigger and bigger and was starting to clog up the street. We had our backs to the building, and suddenly we noticed that the whole edge was laughing and pointing up to the window above.

They lowered down a chair. Naturally since Weasel was the star of the show he graciously reclined. Then they lowered down another chair for me, but I didn't sit in it very much because I like to dance when I play.

There we were with our chairs sipping Southern Comfort, when suddenly the crowd went mad. We looked back to see what was going on AND THEY WERE LOWERING DOWN A TV!

What a scene! It was Friday night at the fights and some black boxer was beating the holy shit out of some white guy. But the crowd couldn't see that, because we'd turned the TV towards us.

The crowd had never seen anything like it, and neither had WE!! We played and played and there were hundreds of people throwing coins in the hat so fast there was a mountain of silver in the box. If Weasel thought we were making dough in Shoppyland in the afternoon, this was beyond our wildest dreams!

Then up comes some maniac Swede, who starts dancing around like a faggot next to the case. Weasel turns to me and says, "Oh-oh, here we go again". Then the Swede drops a 20 franc bill in the box, and does the drunken Swedish boogie. "Well, OK, we'll let him stay for a while."

The people upstairs are watching all this an egging him on like crazy. The next thing you know the asshole drops a FIFTY franc bill in the hat. Incredible!

Weasel, having a clearer head than me (not having drunk so much Southern Comfort), says "Man, we better get the fuck out of here before this guy starts going absolutely nuts." I'm riding the crest of the wave thinking "When you're hot, you're hot". I didn't give a damn, I was happy right where I was.

But Weasel gets adamant. We do one more song, and the Swede starts making totally obscene gestures while trying to look me straight in the eye. Definitely a queer. Pelvic thrusts and jacking off motions of a dick three feet long. "Yeah, well maybe you're right, we should call it a night" I say.

At this point the Swede throws his watch into the case. It looked like a pretty expensive one to me, and I was mentally calculating how much we could get for it at a pawn shop.

But Weasel stands up, and gives the poofter his watch back, puts away his Banjo, and in typical Weasel style he tells the entire crowd to fuck off. The Swede starts making a stink, screaming about the money that's no longer in his wallet (which I quietly cleaned up while Weasel was tring to talk him down).

Some of the Swede's friends drag him off, and the people upstairs invite us up for a drink. Weasel and his Parisienne flame, me and Barbara Banana all go up to our hosts' apartment.

They had an electric piano up there and instead of drinking myself into oblivion, I entertained the troops tickling the keys until they were afraid the cops would come. Me and Babs slept on the floor of the piano room, and fucked to our hearts delight. She'd never had a night like that before and the sex was just the sweetest icing on the cake.

Our hosts said they played with some local rock group and that they loved our music. We told them that we loved their TV and Southern Comfort, and there was still a little bit of grass to go around.

We then took all of our hard earned wages and drove around the most beautiful scenic spots in Switzerland. After a week or so the money was gone, so was Barbara Banana and Weasel's girlfriend.

We thought we'd go back and see our friends on the Niederdorf for a repeat performance.

When we showed up at the apartment above the shoe shop, we expected a hero's welcome. But in the meantime, their keyboard player had committed suicide, because some girl had left him.

Man, if I committed suicide every time some girl fucked me off, I wouldn't have been the cat with nine lives, I'd have needed 999 lives. What a jerk! Anyway we weren't welcome and a black cloud hung over the whole scene.

We ran into Pretty Richard, and were doing a street set with him on the "Dorf" when some guy who claimed to be the backup guitarist from Jackson Browne's band (then playing in Zurich) wanted to jam with us. He sat in for one quick set and then said he wanted to go back and get some mushrooms. We didn't believe him, but two sets later there he was with a pile of 'shrooms for us in his hand saying that he had to go.

We'd already arranged to go and play a set in the Oliver Twist, so we went down and got stuck into it. Weasel decided that the place was too noisy, so he got up on a little stool to stand out from the crowd. Somewhere in the middle of the tune, the stool broke and he collapsed to the floor. I kept on playing, and Weasel came up singing like it was part of the show WITHOUT EVEN MISSING A NOTE! Boy, he sure got their attention. They went wild!

One of the barmen, named Beat (BAY-aht), said that we could all crash upstairs at his place. He was really impressed with our "spectacle" and he loved Irish music.

Once we knew that we weren't going to have to play anymore the three of us split up the magic mushrooms that guitar player had given us and went up to Beat's place to party with him and his cute young American girlfriend Yvonne.

Pretty Richard was in a philosophical mood. He started into a discourse about how he reckoned that "busking was the most honest way to make money there was, because if the people like what you're doing they give you something - and if they don't like it, they don't give you anything." Sounded good to me, I've always been into making an honest living and his words had a ring of truth. Still, if it's the most honest way of making a living there was, why is it illegal almost everywhere? Precisely because it's honest? Hmm.

After about an hour an a half, nobody was coming off to the mushrooms. Richard and Weasel figured it was a burn (but a free burn nonetheless).

In spite of the fact the guy from Jackson Browne had warned us not to do more than a teaspoon apiece, Weasel decided to eat the rest of them (since it was a burn anyway like). And just as Weasel swallowed all the leftover magic mushrooms, me and Pretty Richard's heads started to go 'shrooOOOOM!!!

We both looked at each other, and knew that if WE were flying that Weasel was going to be in the outer limits in an hour or so.

Beat and Yvonne had a really small place, there was just one room with a shared bathroom in the hall. Richard and me had to sleep on the floor, and Weasel climbed in bed with the two of them.

I can't say we slept, but we did something similar in magic hallucinogenic firework dreams. Sometime during the night, Weasel got up and pissed in the hallway because he couldn't find the bathroom. This (plus all the noise we were making) really endeared us to all the other resident bartenders who also had flats above the Oliver Twist.

In the morning, Weasel woke up with a very guilty conscience. He said, "Oh, man. I think I did something really really bad last night."

Well, I never got the whole story straight, but while sleeping with Beat and Yvonne, I guess he'd tried it on with both of them. Nobody ever gave out the whole details but Weasel said something to the effect of "I felt like I was swimming in a sea of sex". Yvonne said he was "basically into himself". Beat wouldn't comment. Well, whatever happened it was enough to make Weasel feel sheepish for several days. It must have been pretty gauche considering that he was one of the most shameless people I've ever met.

Lots of buskers used to sleep over at Beat and Yvonne's. And I got to know them pretty well over time. I had a lot of respect for both of them, and we got into some really interesting conversations.

Once, I was back in Zurich and I thought I'd drop in to see how Beat and Yvonne were doing. They'd stopped living above the Twist and had got a place above the Cafe Wolf. Beat was out working at the bar, and Yvonne made me a cup of tea.

She said that she wanted to ask me a delicate question. I didn't mind, I'm always happy to be somebody's soggy shoulder. But I sure wasn't expecting what came next.

"Um, I don't know how to say this, but, um, could you explain how to, um, give a blow job? I don't actually want to DO it, I just want you to tell me what men like." I wanted to say that experience is the best teacher, but she asked me in such a serious way that I decided to cut the jokes.

She also told me that her boyfriend had told her that he would never come in her mouth. Beat, like a lot of Swiss boys, had an unrealistic chivalric vision of female virtue. I told her that it was no big deal if he came in her mouth, and in fact semen contains valuable proteins.

But not to get off the subject, I gave her the clinical rundown on the most sensitive areas complete with diagrams, and explained that it was a process of simultaneous licking, sucking and jerking. I told her that a lot of women hold it very delicately, but actually what men like is to be gripped firmly like a baseball bat. I told her how to lick the feathery flick while the dick was inside her mouth, and not to stick her tongue in the hole at the end (I hate that), I explained how to suck (like a baby sucks a nipple), and how to jerk (nice and fast when it gets towards the climax), and not to hold it too tight while he's cumming (otherwise the jis gets blocked in the tube and it hurts like hell). I also made sure that she knew that once he did shoot off in her mouth, not to stop sucking immediately but to continue sucking until he says to stop, because the afterglow has to be savored.

The lesson went on and on, and it was making me pretty damn horny. But there was nothing I could do about it, because she was someone else's old lady.

She thanked me for the information, and said that she had asked me because she didn't know who she could ask that wouldn't get the "wrong impression".

A few months later, just before Xmas, I was working my way north to go and see an old school chum stationed in Germany, and Zurich was on the way. The bread is always good in Switzerland just before Xmas, and I was trying to sock away as many Swiss francs as possible before taking a little vacation. I already had my train ticket and in the afternoon I dropped by Beat and Yvonne's apatrtment.

Beat was working again, and I asked Yvonne if I could just crash the night. She said, "No problem." And added that I shouldn't come back too early, because her and Beat had a little party planned. From the twinkle in her eyes, I knew just what she was on about.

The Cafe Wolf (where they do this horrible Swiss yodeladyhoo music 7 nights a week) always closes at 1:00 am. I'd already done as many street pitches as I could, and by midnight I was bored and horny as hell.

I knew I wasn't going to get any pussy up in Germany staying with my friend, his wife and two daughters. So I thought I'd treat myself to a holiday whore.

I went up to every hooker on the Neiderdorf asking the price, and every one of them said "100 francs". Even the ugly ones! Now I didn't feel like shelling out that much money for an ice-cold fuck, so I offered 50 francs. No takers. The price was a hundred take it or leave it.

I've never been able to understand how an ugly prostitute can charge the same price as a beautiful one. You'd think they'd be obliged to charge less or starve to death. Nonetheless, even the most disgusting hooker in town refused to put me out of my misery for my offer of fifty. God, was I horny.

I wandered around the streets hoping to meet somebody I knew, but no luck. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the time came to go up to the crash.

I went up the stairs, knocked on the door very quietly. And Yvonne let me in saying in a sing-song voice "I've been waiting for you." Well, that was nice, but not really necessary.

She said that they didn't have anywhere for me to sleep except in bed with them. The bed was huge and I didn't mind. Beat was already fast asleep snoring away.

I took off my clothes, and climbed into bed. Me on the left side, Yvonne in the middle and Beat on the other side.

I quietly fell asleep. But somewhere in the middle of the night, I woke up with my hand on Yvonne's pussy. I thought, "Oh, hell. What am I doing?" I certainly hadn't put my hand there on purpose. I assumed that Yvonne was asleep, and hoped that she hadn't noticed anything. I took my hand away, and rolled over with my back to her.

.I started to go to sleep again. Then Yvonne's bare bum touched mine. Back in those days I never wore any underwear, so I knew a bare bottom against mine when I felt one. I moved a little farther away so that our butts weren't touching any more. I thought that she was certainly asleep and not aware of what had happened.

Then her butt touched mine again! And she gave me a little push!

This time I decided not to move away. And our cheeks just "kissed" for about five minutes. I had been horny as hell all evening long and here's this chick rubbing her ass up against mine, it was driving me crazy!!

It finally occurred to me that maybe she wasn't asleep after all, and since, as Pretty Richard always said, "A throbbing hard-on has no conscience", I made a pretend yawn and rolled over so that my stiff cock was resting in the slot between her soft cheeks. I just left it there, the ball was in her park, so to speak.

Then she made a little humping move that let me know in no uncertain terms that she wanted me up inside her. I couldn't believe it! Here was her boyfriend sleeping peacefully in bed next to us, and she wanted me to fuck her!

Talk about receptive! My prick slid into her absolutely effortlessly, she was so wet it was clear that she really had been "waiting for me." And in retrospect, I realize that it was HER that had put my hand on her pussy earlier.

I started pumping her ever so slowly, in order not to rock the bed and accidentally wake up her old man. But she was hot as hell, and was groaning and moaning like to wake the dead.

I was scared to death! The last thing I wanted was for Beat to wake up and find his old lady getting fucked by one of his friends. I didn't mind so much for myself or for her, but I know from personal experience that it can be a devastating thing to wake up in the middle of the night to discover that the girl you love, cherish and worship is getting shagged by some scumbag right in front of your eyes.

She was making so goddam much noise, I was sure he was going to wake up any second. So I just pulled it out and retired to the very furthest side of the bed.

Needless to say, I couldn't sleep a wink. I had blueballs like hell, and my hard-on just would not go down. Here I'd been dying for a screw, then suddenly I'd found myself stuck up inside this guy's old lady - and without any possibility of getting relief. Oh well, I figured I could maybe get some sleep on the train the next day.

Beat had to leave for work at six in the morning. He got up, brushed his teeth, and walked out the door while I held my breath. He wasn't three steps down the stairs before I was stuck up her again.

She didn't want me to take her from behind like during the night, she laid on her back and I climbed on top, missionary style. She wasn't nearly as hot as the night before, which was kind of dissapointing for me. And in the daylight it wasn't nearly as secretive and exciting. I tried to give her a good show, but all that pent up jism just came bubbling out sooner than I'd have liked.

I got off of her, and she was still laying on her back with her legs spread wide open. I wanted to have a good look at her naked body when she said, "I know I'm not very pretty, but could you come inside me again?" I thought that was a strange insecure thing to say. Then I flashed on the blow job lesson she'd asked me for, but in the end I replied, "I just came inside you two minutes ago, and besides I've got to catch a train".

I wouldn't have minded seeing how well she'd done her homework as far as cock-sucking lessons were concerned, but I really did have to catch the train, and having had so little sleep the night before, I simply didn't feel like having another go.

We got dressed, she walked me to the train station, and saw me off. As the train left the station, she wished me a Merry Xmas with tears in her eyes.

Wow, what a trip! I never did see Yvonne again, but once while busking in Basel I ran into Beat. He was working at some discotheque where the decor was all pirates and boats. Beat sort of looked at me funny, maybe he knew, maybe she'd told him, maybe somebody else had told him. I just acted cool, and I distinctly remember avoiding asking anything to do with Yvonne.

Isn't life strange? I guess there's some things I'll never be able to understand.
copyright 2003 Jeff Brent

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