Billy's Adventures in Romania in The Mamaia Resort (Black Sea)

The last day. The seawater hugged his legs and caressed his ankles as if begging him to stay. For that second, before the tide returned its characteristic coldness, the seawater felt warm. Pleasure and pain, joy and sadness. Relief.

These were Billy's deep strokes as he peed in the Black Sea. It was his last day in Mamaia, the last sunset, and this practice had already become a tradition: ostentatiously, mockingly pissing in the sea, on the last evening. He was done with her. That's how it was supposed to happen every year. The sea circuit in nature: pissing back into the sea all the water he'd swallowed when he'd had fun with his friends the other day when they'd held each other - one at a time, obviously - underwater until they passed out. Oh, and all this magic would end soon…

Billy didn't like the sea, he didn't like the warm sand either. What delighted him about the idea of ​​"sea" were the other two things that, in fact, mean vacation: the need to drink exclusively beer from the moment you wake up until you fall late at night and the girls. Billy liked chicks almost as much as beer.

This year everything went smoothly: he hooked on a chick for real and stayed with her for one night. I mean, he didn't always stay, he also did something else if you understand the subtle hint…

He hung it on the beach. She was topless and liked her tits. Simply. He went to her: she had already begun to blush from the sun, and said to her directly:

- Let me oil you, beautiful, because you might get cancer!

The princess giggled briefly and did not cover her tits with her hand. These are the two clear signs that your prey has fallen into your trap: they react positively to what you say and they don't cover their tits. So he anointed her with her extra virgin olive oil, then asked her to anoint him too.

- At least this way there is still a trace of virginity on me, he joked and they both giggled, happily.

They both laughed again hearing the burst of rhymes from the boiled corn hawkers on the beach. Poets of the sea, talents ostracized by a society lacking good taste, a sense of humor, a society that has lost its notion of beauty and that no longer recognizes art.

When the girl told him she hadn't eaten since the other day, Billy knew he had to be a gentleman. He howled, across a row of six deckchairs, at the itinerant poet and sacrificed a pint's money for corn. The conqueror tore it in half and gave it to the woman. They collided, as if it were that expensive champagne, with the name of a painter… Monet… and when the first cracked kernel of corn fell on the girl's exposed breast, he offered to lick her sensually from there. The girl quickly took it, but also threw it in her mouth: she was really hungry. Don't give up easily!

But Billy was a hardened Don Juan and knew how to handle such princesses: he first added her on Facebook and, charmingly, like all 327 of her profile pictures. He sent her dirty jokes via SMS and took her out on the town in the evening, to the terrace, where he bought her two draft beers.

They watched the sunset romantically, alone on the beach, curled up in each other's arms, cuddling and teasing each other like two lovers that they were. Okay, she was semi-aware that she'd gotten drunk, and more than that she'd gone down on her boyfriend, but sometimes it's not all about the details. And because she realized that she couldn't get away from him in any way, she let him fuck her. Time she fell asleep, peacefully.

Starting the next day, the damn whore didn't answer his phone or any of the 12 messages he sent her. He even unfriended him on Facebook. Billy got the hint: he didn't want to get involved in anything serious. Damn whore!

But now he was sitting with his feet in the sea, spiritually fulfilled by the uplifting greatness of the days spent in Mamaia. He peed at sunset, in the sea that he would not see again for a year. Pleasure and pain. Relief and torment. Yes, it really stung him terribly!

She should've used a condom, you damn whore!