The blonde (let’s call her “Gretchen” and let it go at that) declined my offer with a smile (Ah… the perfect teeth that she exhibited; the most beautiful pot of yogurt couldn’t compete with their whiteness); they continued on their perilous journey.
A second time I intervened, to put them on their guard: “Be careful, lovely teutons, just a few meters from where you are there is a deep pool which, while more modest than that which you would encounter in the Indian Ocean, is nevertheless quite dangerous.”
The two saxons held their heads high, shrugged their shoulders mentally, as only the blonde germans can do, and continued on their way.
As you know dear readers, I never lie, the all-powerful god be my witness! But these two young featherbrains couldn’t perceive that and, as I forewarned them, the blonde (the pretty one) sank like certain distracted anvil can sink. She reappeared before I even had a chance to think of saving her and threw me a big smile while spitting up river water, in general something difficult to perform, but not for this ravishing blonde.
But my breathe was taken away when, like magic, the vaporous white dress stuck to her back revealing a divine posterior covered by a mini string of brazilian origin. Of this modest posterior covering, the only thing visible was the timid elastic around her waist. The part inferior, perhaps because of the current, was profoundly incrusted in a zone of obscure desire and of course it’s invisibility to the naked eye rapidly excited my young wolf libido.
Fishing for Barbel under these condition makes absolutely no sense, trust me. The most sexy nymph is no match for the torrid erotism of young German derrieres.
This led me to think that in 1939, if that jerk Adolf, instead of sending divisions of Panzers and other repulsive armored grey things would have sent, instead, regiments of blondes like this one, whose ass I could briefly admire, I know few of my fellow citizens who wouldn’t have become, on the spot, frenzied collaborators.