Day 3: Marina Club
or the grand finale of this marathon, I chose the new Marina SaunaClub in Nova Gorica, which is why, on this sunny midsummer Friday, after enjoying just one intense session at Wellcum, I’ll be in Slovenia in just over an hour.
The drive from Austria to Slovenia goes smoothly, and with Aerosmith’s “Dream On” playing in the background, I find myself drifting into a long flashback of my previous visit to the Marina with good old Aleandro.
Back then, the club had only been open for a week, but I fondly remember the girls there—almost all former Andiamo girls—and the battles of that day.
First, with the charming Scarlett, who had the honor of “deflowering” me, and then with Soraya, who, along with the others, had moved to the Marina but returned to Andiamo after two weeks—so she won’t be here today.
It’s thinking about her that makes me regret not bringing her to the room again during my time in Villach.
Yeah, because the last time I saw her was great, and on top of that, it was marked by a rather unusual incident that both amused and flattered me…
I met Soraya during Gianni’s bachelor party, celebrated at Andiamo at the end of May, but I never really got to know her better because her attitude during social time is rather ambiguous, and her skills as a floor entertainer are practically non-existent.
However, from a purely aesthetic point of view, there’s little to complain about—she’s almost the perfect embodiment of my wildest erotic dreams, and every inch of her skin makes me think of one thing only: “Sex. Just sex. More sex.”
A couple of weeks ago, at the Marina, I was alone at the bar having a coffee while my buddy was busy working hard to maintain his “fish man” status in the jacuzzi downstairs; and Soraya, on the other side of the counter, was looking at me…
I watch her; she stares back. Then I get up, approach her, and she asks, “We’ve talked before, haven’t we?”
“Yes, at Andiamo. But nothing more,” I reply.
So we start chatting about this new place, and after two minutes—just as “Mr. Baldy” was beginning to twitch at the sight of this mating female—I decide to take her to the room.
At first, she seems almost too professional—very “detached” and not very engaged. Kisses and licking everywhere, but without much conviction. Then she focuses on the lower parts with decent technique but zero passion.
It should be said it was nearly midnight, and a bit of tiredness was in the air, but I wasn’t fully satisfied.
Noticing this, she spreads her legs wide and without beating around the bush says, “Touch my pussy, I like it.”
Taking advantage of the invitation, I straddle her face while she continues to pleasure the Royal Bird.
I enjoy eating that beautiful pussy and teasing her other irresistible hole.
Soon after, the long raven-haired girl, now excited by all the attentive tongue work, is sucking me like a woman possessed, but at one point she stops and presses her pussy against my mouth. I explore the wet cave with my tongue; she moves away slightly, I persist; she leans back again and rubs her feline body against my lips. I’m almost breathless but I don’t give up.
She shudders, moves away again, I follow, and the rhythm intensifies; another shiver with that frantic little ass moving.
I should catch my breath, but I don’t relent—I feel her vibrating.
We’re close. I don’t give in. She contracts, releases, lifts slightly, and… fuck, she sprays in my mouth.
It’s not a crazy squirt, but it catches me off guard—pleasantly so.
“I should ask for an extra,” I think amused as I spit out the juice of her pleasure…
She composes herself, grabs a paper towel to clean up the mess, and watches the scene Slightly pleased, she said, “You lick well, who taught you?” smiling at me.
“No one. But I really like pussy,” I replied, flattered by the compliment and still tasting her good flavor in my mouth.
Then she gently pressed her soft lips (her mouth) on mine for a moment, before going back down to my cock and fucking me.
She covers it (damn that condom, I hate it) and, presenting her ass to me, she rides me—first slowly, then mercilessly—so much so that I have to push her away to avoid collapsing instantly.
I quickly flip her over and enjoy the show in the mirror, but even though her slender body is irresistible in that position, I feel it’s not her best angle.
I flip her back again, and with her legs held tightly in the air between my hands, I finish the game, savoring the stunning sight of her tanned tits bouncing and those dark eyes staring at me with the look of a seasoned slut while I see stars and hear angels singing in chorus. “Hallelujah!”
A great experience, though it got a bit spoiled afterward, because as we were going down the stairs, I told her I really enjoyed it, and she took the opportunity to hint at a tip—too explicitly, even if with a smile on her lips.
To be honest, we didn’t exactly stay within the half hour, so maybe I would have left her a nice little extra, especially considering her good performance.
But trying so directly—even if just for fun—she played her hand badly.
So no tip for her; let her learn to behave.
Though she’s already pretty enough as is.
“Never had I seen such coolness in a single naked female, O wonderful and irresistible harlot with eyes as dark as the black night.”
So, as I was saying, I have fond memories of that first visit to the club, but basically it’s thanks to one girl who’s now somewhere else—so everything’s still to be seen.
Meanwhile, as I’m mulling over the past, at three in the afternoon I arrive at Ajševica 59 and I’m once again ready to “hit the field” (as a famous tipster colleague of mine named Scilvio would say).
I pass through the elegant decorated glass of the automatic sliding doors and approach the reception desk. The lovely young lady at the front desk asks me, “Is this your first time?”
I hand her the eighty-five euros entrance fee along with a simple, “No,” and she gives me the usual kit: slippers, bathrobe, towel, and a bracelet for the electronic locker lock.
Here, I want to take a moment to praise the bathrobes—they are exceptionally soft. While in summer they can feel quite heavy and make you unbearably hot, they’re incredibly pleasant to wear on freezing winter days (but we’ll get back to that when the time comes)…
I change clothes once again. I think this is the second time today that I’m putting my clothes away in a locker at a brothel, and I realize I’m starting to feel more comfortable wearing a bathrobe around people than I do with my clothes on.
The wellness area is quiet and all located on the ground floor. I immediately notice a “couple” coming down the stairs and a couple of young bears soaking in the hot tub. Two others, who had evidently arrived just before me, are still struggling with the lockers, trying to fit their things into that cramped space.
I take a quick shower and head up the stairs to the play arena.
The first return to the room is a bit of a shock, as my eyes have to adjust to the pervasive dimness. However, the walkways are well-lit, so there’s no risk of tripping over the many sofas filling the space.
It’s more difficult to spot and recognize the girls from a distance, at least until you get used to the darkness. But for someone like me who loves soft lighting, I’d say this kind of gentle illumination is actually quite pleasant.
Here, the air is clear—there’s none of that constant haze of smoke you find in other German or Austrian FKK clubs. Smoking is only allowed in a designated, cramped smoking room that feels more like a speck smokehouse. This keeps the rest of the venue healthier and more comfortable to be in. (And yes, I know it sounds odd coming from a smoker, but it’s the plain truth.)
I make my way to the bar and immediately notice there are about five or six girls in the room, along with an equal number of men. I order a coffee, when behind me I hear voices calling out: “Loveee, loveee!”
Shortly after, I get bothered by a couple of ladies I only know by sight and have no intention of getting to know better because they seem pretty unfriendly—nothing interesting, basically.
I go outside to get some fresh air and find Diana (a.k.a. Juliana) fiddling with her phone and smoking. I sit down and have a smoke with her for a bit, but I’m dying of heat, so I head downstairs briefly to drop off my bathrobe, then come back upstairs with just a towel wrapped around my waist.
And I can assure you, I’m not doing it to show off my confetti-thrower physique or my rather flashy and blasphemous tattoos—but the heat was truly unbearable, and I just couldn’t resist.
I pass by Diana again, who briefly looks up and murmurs something about my tattooed back—something the girls never see except in the rooms (and it’s been a while since I had an intimate encounter with her). So, I tell her I’m going to get some sun, say a quick goodbye, and settle on the first sunbed I find.
I spend about forty minutes there, with the sun holding up well until a big cloud rolls in and tiny raindrops start falling. If it weren’t for the pool, you probably wouldn’t even notice, but I decide to head back inside anyway.
I go downstairs for a shower, then immediately hit the sauna followed by a cold shower. Meanwhile, a guest is getting a massage from a beautiful masseuse, and there are still a couple of burly guys in the hot tub, which seems really popular with the customers—it’s never empty.
Kind of like Emma’s “pussy”…
The saunas, on the other hand, are little used, which I don’t mind at all. I grab the soft bathrobe again and return to the dimness of the upper floor.
An orange juice at the bar with the usual background voices: “Loooove, shall we go to the rooome? Looove!”
Well, those pesky ones are everywhere—you just have to ignore them, and sooner or later they all give up.
All of them, except the “NanaBastarda.” She wears you down by sheer persistence…
I stretch out comfortably on the large, cozy couch piled high with cushions near the smoking room. Those cushions are pure bliss—I relax completely. A young, inexperienced girl comes over to bother me, but no luck—I don’t like her and politely send her away. Then a young brunette approaches me, petite but well-proportioned, and although she’s not exactly a knockout in lingerie, she carries herself right and seems calm. Plus, her face looks familiar—I can’t remember where, but I’m sure I’ve seen her before. So, I start chatting with her. She goes by the name Rebecca, and, wouldn’t you know, she’s Romanian like three-quarters of the girls here. She speaks with a strange Spanish-sounding accent and admits she’s a gypsy. Another little gypsy girl, in short. And I do like gypsy girls! (The pretty ones I meet in the Trombodroms, that is).
After a cheerful chat, I locked myself in a room with this gypsy girl. And I can say that, in the end, I liked her a lot — I spent about an hour playing with her. After enjoying my attentive oral skills, she eagerly set about fulfilling every one of my desires. As for her “enjoying” it, I can say that watching her arch and tremble repeatedly, like some damn vibrator possessed by Satan, was incredibly satisfying.
An hour or so later, after settling the bill with the lively and energetic Rebecca, I headed back to the bar. I had another coffee, this time without the background siren calls (I knew they’d get tired eventually).
But since karma is sneaky, when I decide to head back outside, I get stopped three times before reaching the door — first by Amira, who suddenly remembers me blown wildly at the cinema in Andiamo (I, on the other hand, will only remember the episode later on the highway heading back home), then by someone whose name I don’t even know but who includes bedroom in the first six words she says, so I’m not interested; and finally I find myself face to face with Krina, my dear NanaBastarda, who for a moment almost tempts me by clinging to me with her forty kilos of a tiny body Mignon-Mignot, but then I manage to gently let her go, telling her I was going to get some more sun.
I finally make it out the door and head to the last sunbed at the far end of the pool, hoping to hide from any tiny would-be pests on the prowl. Outside, there’s a lively group of middle-aged guys with a vaguely Nordic accent joking around the pool. A couple dive in, while the others exchange opinions about the clubs they know. Okay, clearly they’re seasoned playboys. Despite their colorful presence, I manage to keep to myself for a while. I’m sprawled on my sunbed, smoking and listening to the chatter of the others sharing stories of past adventures.
Then, while I’m fiddling with my phone, that half-wit Krina suddenly appears again. Even from the other side of the pool, she spots me right away and waves her hands wildly, muttering something I don’t catch. One of the middle-aged guys understands and replies, “No thanks, I’m just relaxing in the sun, blah blah blah…”
She looks at him with a mocking expression (she seems dumb but she’s not), and snaps back, “I wasn’t talking to you. I meant him!” pointing straight at me over the guy’s shoulder.
At this point, the guy senses the awkwardness, laughs with the others, and turns around to see who she means. Unfortunately, it’s me — just minding my own business down there in the corner. I shrug with a resigned smile, laughing along with the guys who give me moral support, then greet the pest from across the pool as she asks if I need her company.
“Damn annoying pest. If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve already slept with her in at least three different clubs and kind of see her as a mascot, I’d drown her in the pool. Maybe under the pretense of an underwater blowjob.”
And come to think of it, I always have pretty unloving thoughts about her, yet I keep sleeping with her between one newbie and the next. Oh well…
I push aside the thought of her giving me a blowjob underwater and shake my head with my finger pointed to the sky. Luckily, this time she doesn’t insist and walks away. But I swear sooner or later I’ll take her out…. Okay, maybe I’ll take care of her pussy first. …Then I’ll calmly take her out. ^^
Half an hour later, the sun hides away, and I head back inside, going down to the lower level for another sauna followed by a cold shower. Then I settle on the sofa again, but this time on the other side, near the dining area. I barely have time to adjust the cushions behind my head when in comes the friendly and plump “Marika who recharges you,” greeting me with that exact rhyming phrase. If she weren’t carrying about twenty extra kilos, she might even be a contender — she’s pleasant and playful. We spend about ten minutes there teasing each other, goofing around with the cushions like two idiots, even though I’ve already told her I’m in relaxation mode. Then, health restored, she retreats back to some dark corner of the place.
I’m thinking about grabbing something to eat when in comes blonde Anka, distracting me with her showgirl’s body. After she keeps rubbing up against me, I have no choice but to take her to a room, or else I’d risk hooking up with her right there on the sofa. Anka’s a nice piece of work — pretty and with a great figure, especially her tits. They’re not big, but they’re Beautiful with a capital B. I haven’t fully recovered yet (three days of hooking up left and right is starting to show, and I’m getting too old myself), so my performance isn’t the best, but she’s good and puts in the effort. So in the end, I wrap it up decently within half an hour while playing with her gorgeous tits.
I settle the bill and say goodbye to the blonde, then get back to what I was doing before — namely, food. I enter the dining room and stuff myself with a massive amount of cuttlefish, washing it down with a nice beer so I don’t choke. While I’m pigging out, I notice at the nearby table the colorful characters who were in the pool earlier — a group of at least ten men in bathrobes, freely chatting about pussy. I watch them absentmindedly and think about how wonderful all this is. But this time I don’t smile because my mouth is full of cuttlefish, and I wouldn’t want to risk choking — at least not before having another good fuck…
Meanwhile, Anka and a colleague sit across from me. Her friend is desperately looking for someone to give her a ride to Treviso. Anka, knowing I’d be heading home later, asks if Treviso is on my way. I pause for a moment, almost tempted to volunteer—but, of course, only for a little payment in kind (I was already imagining the girl giving me a blowjob while I’m driving on the highway). In the end, though, I decide it’s probably not worth it. Plus, I’d have to leave too early. So I tell Anka that Treviso is too out of the way for me and pass the request on to the others.
Still, I stick around with the girls, and after my second round of cuttlefish, they start giving me strange looks. By the third plate, I finish my beer and call it quits. I head back to the bar for yet another coffee (I’ve lost count by now), then step outside again, where I find the usual group of bears chatting about pussy. Emma and Anka arrive too, along with a few other familiar draculas. I settle down to smoke on a comfy lounger, confirming that the cheerful group is made up of some well-known characters from a forum. They present themselves with their own nickname and I recognize some nicknames; then I also hear my site mentioned (trombodromo.com (the predecessor of Travelsformen.com)and I can’t help but feel proud of it. It makes me laugh a little because they’re just a stone’s throw away and have no idea who I am (though they speak well of it, which makes me happy, since after all, I created it to provide information to those who seek it, remembering how much I needed it myself in the beginning). And even though they all seem like nice people, I don’t like being intrusive, nor do I want to be labeled by the young girls, so I just watch the lively group having fun. But let’s get back to us…
After enjoying the pleasant evening coolness and stifling a laugh at the funny little scene, I head back inside and see the lovely Diana about to light a cigarette in the smoking room. I join her in the smoky little space, and she greets me with a warm hug. She’s always sweet and charming, a true professional. But we barely have time to finish a sentence when suddenly her friend Scarlett rushes in, calling out to Diana about an urgent job. “There’s a lesbian show to do!” Scarlett says, all excited.
“Another damn nuisance,”I think to myself. And I picture her underwater giving me a blowjob, along with NanaBastarda, of course.
But before going off to do the lesbian show with her friend, Diana asks me if that’s okay with me. She’s way too considerate, and of course I tell her, “Go ahead, see you later.” The thing is, I only saw her again when I was about to leave, so I didn’t “review” her this time either. Whatever.
Time passes as I wander around the place trying to digest all those cuttlefish. I find Rebecca roaming the lounge too, looking for some company. We flop down on the sofas for a bit, and then I invite her outside for a smoke. She points out it’s cold out there, and she’s right — she’s only wearing a thong and a bra. So I say, “Okay, that’s a shame. I wanted to relax in the fresh air and then come back to your room, but if you’re cold…” I start laughing because I already imagine her next move, which comes instantly: “Alright, mi amor, but then you have to warm me up!” A predictable, cheesy line — but as she says it, she takes my hands and places them on her bare butt, instantly making up for the points she just lost.
We then move over to the large sunbed by the pool area, just beyond the outdoor tables, close to a couple of middle-aged patrons and right in the middle of the usual group of white bears who, still accompanied by the other draculas, are enjoying the cool evening air too—smoking, drinking, and chatting, more or less lively.
I lie back, messing around with Rebecca for about ten minutes before she insists, “I’m cold!”
“I’ve got this,” I reply with a sly grin.
Pulling her close, I wrap her in the soft, warm robe I’m wearing. She chuckles amusedly and cleverly slips a hand onto my crotch, stroking my Bald Brother under the robe, safe from prying eyes.
“Okay, let’s go to the room. You win,” I say.
We get up, and I have to adjust myself because Mr. Baldy is getting restless and the robe is wide open.
“Is it possible that whenever you’re around, I always end up naked?” I add, looking around.
As we head back inside, I notice the chuckles from a couple of onlookers and the sideways glances from some of her colleagues, probably wondering how this tiny girl—who, by the way, is the newest—manages to book more rooms than them, even though they’re objectively hotter. (But dear young ladies, beauty alone isn’t enough—you should know that.)
After that, we slipped into the room for another hour—or actually even longer. I won’t go into any more explicit details, but the young lady definitely vibrated again. What happened inside is too complicated to describe, but it was good. Let’s just say I’d recommend her to a friend. She really let go and I felt very comfortable with her, so I can say she was a great find. Still, I can’t quite remember where I’ve seen her gypsy face before…
We leave the room after about an hour and fifteen minutes, and after settling the bill for two hours, I take a reflective break with a coffee. When she returns to the lounge, I end my evening in her company, moving between the smoking area and the bar stools, chatting, joking, exchanging numbers to find her next time, and watching her dance as she rubs up against me with that soft, small little ass of hers. Small, but with a really nice little hole.
Then, although reluctantly and completely exhausted, I decide to start my journey very slowly, getting caught in all the August holiday traffic—tourists swarming the roads like mad—but none of it disturbs the memories of those intense days filled with gorgeous women that accompany me on this peaceful return home.
It was a magnificent experience, and I was able to directly compare the border Trombodromi most frequented by Italians, confirming my beliefs—that there really isn’t one better than the others. Each place has its own quirks, its strengths, and its flaws. Often, just one girl is enough to turn a boring evening into an unforgettable experience, but what matters most is the spirit of the playboy:
“That state of restlessness, curiosity and need for novelty, satisfied by union for pleasure not with one but with many.”
And while Ben L’Oncle Soul keeps me company singing “Soulman,” I’m dancing in my seat like an idiot, thinking back to the sweet and crazy Crystal from CasaCarintia, Pandora’s supersonic blowjob at Andiamo, and the missed chance to get lucky again with that stunning sex goddess Soraya. I also wonder when I’ll finally have the pleasure of hooking up with the angelic little devil Micky, whom I keep postponing for next time.
I realize I managed to catch the “lingerie day” in two different spots—that’s when the girls wear lingerie or swimsuits instead of being completely nude. Honestly, I didn’t mind; I like surprises. Then I remember the whirlwind session in the room with that wild cat named Kim at Wellcum, which was actually my shortest visit to a Trombodromo—but thanks to her, I can say I spent my few bucks well.
And of course, I can’t help but think about the place I was just a few hours ago, especially since I still carry the scent of that “vibrant pussy” Rebecca, who kept me company almost all evening and gave me some amazing feelings.
My thoughts drift away like clouds in the wind, and before I know it, I’m already home, as dawn is breaking and the dream comes to an end.
But this is not the end…
…It is just the beginning of another wait.
