Loading...I thought I could feel the individual rays of sun on my chest, heating my skin and hopefully contributing to the tan I was working on that summer. Even through my eyelids the Greek sun shone a bright white. Sweat dripped down my temples. While I’d been at the beach for an hour and a half already, I’d only been tanning for 20 of those minutes, and I knew I had maybe 5 more, hopefully 10, before I had to jump in the Mediterranean to cool off.
I waited, thinking about my trip to Greece so far, taking stock in an attempt to prolong my time in the sun.
It was my first time in Greece, despite being half-Greek by blood if not quite culture, and I’d already been there for 3 weeks. I came with my father, a man who I’d never really known until my early-20s, which was why it wasn’t until now, in my late-20s, that I was actually making it back to “the fatherland.” Unfortunately, I was finding out that my father and I didn’t have much in common. Though a nice guy, our interests clearly didn’t line up all that well. As a result I was finding myself increasingly prone to strike out on my own, either to walk around whatever city, town, or village we were in, or to visit beaches, museums, or archeological and historical sites. For his part, he spent the time in the various apartments or hotels we stayed in working on his laptop. When not doing that, he would visit the handful of relatives in whichever village we were in, almost all of them over 70 and unable to speak any English.
I always went with him to visit the closer relatives, but after the first few weeks, I increasingly tried to avoid the more distant ones since the pattern was always the same: we arrive at their house and are offered something to drink; they speak to me in Greek; they are disappointed that I don’t speak Greek; they tell my father that I have to learn how to speak Greek; they talk to my father and occasionally address me with some generic question about what I do with my life and in particular why I’m not married; they repeat that I have to learn Greek; they repeat it again 15 minutes later; 30 minutes later; when we leave. My father was getting more out of the visits than I did, not only because he speaks Greek and can thus communicate with them, but because as his only son, I am like a trophy that shows to his relatives that he is a “real Greek man.”
I couldn’t tell whether 5 or 10 minutes had passed, but I knew that if I didn’t jump in the water immediately, I’d start to burn. Opening my eyes I sat up. The blue-green water of the surf beckoned me. I’d been told that the waters of Ikaria, the small island near the coast of Turkey I was currently staying on, were the cleanest in Greece. I stood and quickly, so as not to burn the soles of my feet, walked the 10 meters of sand and rock to get to the water. The sea was deliciously cool against my hot skin and before long I was up to my neck. I took a quick breath in and dunked my head. Turning around and letting myself float in the surf, I surveyed the beach. It was small and empty, my red towel in the middle and a small white boat on the left edge the only signs of humanity to mar the sand. The beach was at the end of a small valley about 30 minutes outside of the village I was staying in, and a handful of white houses dotted the slopes of the hills of the valley. A thick green line of trees and vegetation ran along the back of the beach, bookended by large rock cliffs. Only a small path through the trees offered a way back to the road. I enjoyed the peace, allowing myself to float lazily on my back.
Perhaps 15 minutes had passed, perhaps 15 more, when I heard voices. I opened my eyes to see a group of 7 people file out of the opening to the path: three women, three children, and one man. They were clearly Greek. Not only because this island, let alone the village, were far from the tourist traps of Mykonos and Santorini, but because I could also make out snippets of Greek floating across sand and water. They looked and acted Greek as well. The mothers, at least I assumed they were the mothers of the three kids, immediately began unpacking beach mats, towels, and inflatable safety arm-bands for the children. The children, all of which seemed to be girls between the ages of 6 and 8, ran circles around the adults. Rather than helping with the kids or the set-up, the man took off his shirt and slipped a snorkel over his balding head before jumping into the water. Very Greek.
Once the arm-bands were inflated, the young girls shed their clothes and ran to the edge of the water. Two wore child-sized two-piece suites and one only bottoms. They waited for the three women to join them. I tried to watch the women inconspicuously, not only because staring was rude, but because I didn’t want them to mistake my looks at them for pedophilic looks at the topless child. When they’d arrived, I’d assumed that the women were the parents of the three kids, but now that I looked closer I wasn’t sure. Two of the women looked to be in their late 30s or early 40s, their clothing was looser than what I’d grown accustomed to seeing the younger women of Greece wearing, and their bodies had an unmistakable softness to them that I associated with motherhood. Their hairstyles seemed mature rather than hip. The third woman looked younger. She wore a long patterned skirt and a tight maroon tank-top. Her reddish-brown hair was pulled back into a pony-tail. More than these though, her toned body suggested she was more likely in here 20s. I wondered if maybe she wasn’t the daughter of one of the other women.
The differences in the women’s bodies became clearer as they stripped down to the swimsuits and joined the girls, helping them into the surf. The two “older” women wore conservative two-piece bathing suites that covered but did not hide the softness of their bodies. Both had very large breasts that made my own back hurt in sympathy. Their thighs were thick and their behinds well padded. The bottoms of their dark colored suites stretched tight across wide hips, and soft bellies spilled gently above the waistbands. They were about 50 meters away, which was just far enough that I could only make out the overall features of their faces. They looked plain, not particularly attractive, but not unattractive. In short, they looked every bit like mothers. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help wishing that Greece were more like its European neighbors where the women went topless at the beach. Seeing them, I could understand the statues of round women I’d seen in the museums. There was something unmistakably erotic about these motherly bodies that echoed in the fertility statues of the ancient cultures in the area. The heavy, full breasts; the thick thighs ending in a soft wide bottom on one side, and the lush opening to a fertile womb on the other; the generous belly that could nurture a man’s seed. Of course motherhood was erotic, and mothers like these sexy. Alas, Greeks were a conservative folk, their historical connections to the Orthodox Church proving more inhibiting than the Spaniard’s connection to Catholicism. There would be no ample breasts bared to my view on this beach.
I was suddenly aware that, in thinking of these women, and particularly their breasts, I’d sprouted quite a proud erection that poked above the water like the mast of a boat, my swimsuit stretched across it like a sail. From where they stood in the surf it was unlikely the women could see me, which was not a comment about the size of my manhood, but about the distance between them and where I floated. The snorkeling man, however, was now swimming closer, so I allowed my body to sink in the water just enough to hide my erection, but not so much that it would be clearly visible underwater: he was wearing goggles after all.
I looked at the third woman, though now that I was no longer floating on my back, I had to work a little harder to stay afloat, and my attention was thus slightly divided. Her suit was white, or perhaps cream. It was certainly not skimpy, but neither did it appear as conservative as the suits of the other two women. The lines of the suite were clean against her olive skin. While her body lacked the softness of the other two women’s, she was still curvy. Her breasts and behind seemed half the size of the other women’s, but both were still full and round. Her body gave the overall impression of being firm and toned, the body of a woman that exercises regularly in addition to being blessed with a high metabolism. Like the others, she was too far away for me to clearly see her face, but even from this distance her features looked finer than the other two women’s, and I thought she would be best described as pretty. Seeing her in her bathing suite, I decided it was more likely that she was the early-20s daughter of one of the other women, maybe from a first marriage. That wasn’t uncommon in Greece. I had one cousin that had married a man and had three kids with him by the time she was 25, the age she was when he disappeared one afternoon while out fishing. After 7 years she’d legally declared him dead, divorced him, and remarried, having 2 more kids with the new husband by 36 so that there was a 17-year age difference between the oldest and youngest. But just as I’d decided against maternity and for sorority, one of the young girls ran up and the way the woman adjusted the girls swimsuit and arm-bands seemed maternal enough to give me doubts.
As they began swimming with the girls, I decided to stop ogling the three women and concentrate on letting my erection subside so that I could get back to tanning. I’d sufficiently cooled off and wanted to give myself some time to dry before heading back to the apartment my father and I had rented in the nearby village. Back on the beach I grabbed one of the two large water bottles from my backpack and rinsed some of the salty seawater from my body. I downed the rest of the bottle to rehydrate. Once on my towel, I lay on my stomach and grabbed the book I’d been reading earlier from my backpack. I read for 15 or 20 minutes before deciding to switch to my back; the book and sun were making me sleepy and I had to be more careful about burning now that some of the sunscreen had undoubtedly washed off in the sea.
As I turned over, I glanced in the direction of the others on the beach. The man was no longer snorkeling, and was now sitting and talking with one of the older women. She looked to be pulling some snacks out of her bag to give to the kids, who now walking at the water’s edge collecting shells and rocks. The other older woman was herding the children, and the younger woman lay on her stomach tanning her back. She lay with her head away from me and her feet pointed almost directly at where I lay. The skin of her back shone in the sun, likely with sweat, but also sunscreen or tanning oil. Now that I was on the beach, we were only 30 meters away. Because of the way she lay, I could see the younger woman’s behind much more clearly. The white fabric stretched tightly across the firm half-globe of each cheek, disappearing slightly between them in the beginning of a wedgie, making their shape that much clearer. The bottom third of each cheek was left exposed, tantalizing me, suggesting the sight and not just the shape of what lay underneath the suit. I took this in quickly as I turned over, attempting not to let my eyes linger on the women too long.
Lying on my back I could no longer read, so I closed my eyes, bunched up the legs of my swimsuit up to expose more of my legs, and let the sun begin to bake me again. As I tanned, my mind wandered a bit, floating inevitably back to the last image I’d seen before closing my eyes. I gazed at it like a picture, my mind picking up on details that hadn’t registered at first glance: the skin of her back shinning in the sun, unbroken by the strap of a bathing suit that she’d no doubt untied to avoid tan lines; the little fold of sweet bare flesh where her legs ended and her butt began. I savored these details in my mind. I could feel my penis begin to stir in the wet fabric of my swimsuit, and quickly tried to divert my attention. I thought about the panigiri, the village festival, I’d be going to later that night. I tried to imagine what that would look like. I’d heard a lot about them, with their Greek folk dancing and roast goat. This worked for a little while, my daydreams about the festival giving way to more abstract thoughts as I slipped in and out of consciousness, dozing lightly as I tanned. My mind must have returned to the sexual, perhaps it was the thought of young nubile village girls dancing, their hips and breasts swaying to the music, lips shinny with the grease of roast goat, and cheeks flushed from dancing and the local sweet wine. The image was fleeting, and it may just have been sleep itself.
Whichever, it was, I slowly became aware that in my dozing, I’d once again become erect. The thought was fuzzy and insubstantial, but as it solidified, I realized that I was on my back and thus more visible. I thought I felt eyes on me, so slowly, as if to seem nonchalant or at least not gain any attention that was not already on me, I turned away from the others on the beach and on to my stomach. As I positioned my head, I fluttered my eyes open just long enough to see what looked like one of the older women facing my way and leaning down to whisper something to the younger woman, who, while still on her stomach, also appeared to be facing me. I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected they were talking about me, that they had seen my erection. While not extraordinarily endowed, in fact, I am quite happily average in length if a bit above in girth, my proximity to them made it unlikely that they would have missed the tent I was pitching in my swimsuit had they let their eyes linger on me for more than a passing second. My ears felt hot, whether from the sun or their whispers I couldn’t tell.
I felt flushed and a bit embarrassed, but my erection refused to subside. In turning onto my stomach, my penis had been trapped between the towel and me, the weight of my body pressed my penis into my stomach insistently; my penis wouldn’t let me forget its hardness, which of course perpetuated it. I tried to think about other things. I thought about the ancient palace of Knossos I’d visited the week before. About the old tourists and older tour guides I’d shared the site with that afternoon. But that led to remembering the very attractive French woman I’d seen taking photos around the site with her similarly attractive, albeit generic, boyfriend. They both looked to be in their early-20s. Her dark blond hair had been in a ponytail held back with a clip and a few stray hairs seemed to constantly fall into her face, causing her to periodically brush them aside as she snapped photos. She was wearing a pair of shorts that showcased her smooth and shapely legs to about mid-thigh, and a somewhat baggy t-shirt with a nice neckline and a series of cutouts and ties in the back that exposed her smooth back and the strap of a black bra. Our paths had crossed several times and on one occasion, I’d been a level up from her and, looking down as she leaned forward to take a photo of a reconstructed mural, had accidentally seen down the neck of her shirt. Her smallish breasts had not quite filled up the black bra and I’d clearly seen one of her nipples standing out pink against the dark fabric.
Later that night as I took a shower at the hotel where my father and I were staying in Crete, I’d masturbated for the first time since being in Greece. I’d thought about the French girl. I imagined stumbling across her among the ruins, incongruously empty save for us and her boyfriend, with whom she was making love. I imagined watching them from behind, somehow unseen. Their naked bodies shone sweaty in the hot midday sun. She lay on her back atop a slab of rock that had likely been part of a wall in an ancient house. Her beautifully tapered legs were spread wide, her knees up. He stood between them, thrusting into her. Sweat beaded on his well-muscled back and dripped down his spin. I could see the cheeks of his sculpted ass clench with each thrust. His arms gripped her hips, and I could see he was pulling her toward him, the muscles in his arms and upper back rippling in time with their rutting. Her full mouth was locked in an O of pleasure, her heavy lidded eyes fixed on her boyfriend. Those same wisps of blond danced across her face. Her breasts, small and round like peaches, bounced pleasantly as their bodies. I’d imagined watching this as I leaned my back against the wall of the shower, supporting myself as I stroked my hard cock. In my fantasy, I’d become aware of the sounds they were making: his grunts, her moans, the wet slap of the sweat-drenched bodies coming together. I’d watched as she arched her back in orgasm, a wail careening out of her mouth between the white tips of her teeth and the red of her delicious lips. With a last violent thrust, he pushed himself deep inside her and came. They paused, their bodies united, and then with a graphic slurp, he withdrew from her and turned to face me. I could see a rope of come lewdly connecting the tip of his large, still pulsing cock with the glistening dark hole of her flushed pussy. They looked at me as if to ask if I’d like to join and at that moment I’d come, my cock squirting seaman halfway across the bathroom. Even in the shower my ejaculation had been audible. Two weeks without release having built the pressure in my balls to a surprising degree so that I could actually hear a spurting noise as the come rocketed out of the small slit at the head of my cock.
I stole myself back to the reality of the beach. Clearly this was not helping me lose my erection. If anything, my erection felt more insistent, harder. I began to worry that if I kept it up, I might end up with a wet-daydream. I knew I could probably wash the seaman from my shorts in the water without being noticed, but I still didn’t relish taking the risk. I tried to refocus. I thought about the postcards I wanted to write my friends and fam back home. I’d already written 7, but I had 6 more sitting back at the apartment and had thought of another 5 people I might want to write to if I could find their addresses. Soon I was thinking about the souvenirs I would bring back for folks as well. I knew I’d be bringing back a couple bottles of Greek alcohol for my friends, perhaps a backgammon board for my brother, and I’d thought about bringing back olive oil for my roommate, but that seemed almost too Greek, cliché even. My mom had asked for a statue, but I wasn’t sure what kind. I was pretty sure she didn’t want one of the cheesy replicas of the statues the Greeks had made of the gods or heroes of Greek mythology. Those were a bit tacky and way to touristy for her. She already had one fertility goddess statue that I thought was from the Middle East, so maybe the Greek equivalent of that would be good. I’d seen a few of those in the museums.
My mind began to wander over the different statues I’d seen in Greece, thinking about what might be good. My thoughts slowly became less structured, more fragmented. Images. I continued to sink deeper until, without quite realizing it, my stream of consciousness slips its banks and flows towards the two older women I’d seen on the beach, the way they remind me of those statues. Barely half awake, I fantasize about them as those goddesses. Their faces, not fully visible from where I’d been in the water, became even less resolved until they resemble the vague shapes of the statues. They have eyes, mouths, noses, but they are somehow not distinguishable. They are generic or maybe Platonic, the ideals of each, they can only be seen as shadows of themselves, as the essences of every woman’s face. They are there and not there.
Their clothes begin to dissolve, baring their substantial breasts capped with large, dark nipples and exaggerated areolas the size of saucers. They hang heavy and pendulous now that they are freed from the confines of their swimsuits. Their thick sturdy thighs and their wide padded hips make a series of creases in their flesh, a trio of lines that draw the eyes to where they meet, the dark, lush nexus of their womanhood, the openings to their life-nurturing wombs. Though covered with thick curly black hairs, the features of their vulvas are clearly visible. They are flushed, engorged. Their labia are puffy and parted so that I can not only make out the moist openings of their vaginas, but the throbbing nubs of their clitorises peaking from beneath their protective hoods.
These mother-goddesses recline on thrones made of rough stone covered by crude sheepskin fleece. The expanse of soft behind spreads underneath them, cushioning their fertile bodies. They resolve into one goddess who beckons me forward, her legs parted, inviting me to share the power of her fertility. Naked, I step toward her, my hard penis jutting before me like an exaggerated totem, the symbolic counterpart to her fertile womb. My penis throbs as if angry, veins pulsing visibly, almost grotesquely, along its length. The throne is gone as I step between her legs, our bodies suspended in a void. My penis is close to her, close to being inside of her. I can feel heat radiating out from her vagina, a humidity that spreads outward and makes my head swim. Her fertility is palpable, her body pregnant with the potential for life. I can see beads of milk blooming from her nipples. They drip down across the soft swell of her belly, nurturing droplets that contrast with the oppositional blackness of her pubic hairs.
I step forward and enter her. My penis slides between the soft folds of her labia and into her vagina. I do not “penetrate” her. It is not an act of violence. It belies the image of my penis as an angry throbbing implement. She envelopes me. It is like she is giving birth to me in reverse, my penis slowly being pulled inside her vagina, her womb, instead of a baby being pushed out. This is not fucking, but making love in its most elemental sense: it is a creation. Our act becomes inseparable from birth. My being inside of her is the counterpart to her fertility, the completion of her pregnancy that is always and already happening. Her soft warm body welcomes me deeper and deeper until in an orgasmic flash of pleasure that radiates out from our union, I have become the baby inside her womb. I am my own seed, her body nourishing me.
I startled awake, the images of my dream still dancing across the insides of my eyes. I was covered in sweat and my back felt hot. I’d clearly been roasting there a little longer than I intended, though upon inspection it didn’t feel like I’d burned. I realized that the others on the beach had left, and I was more than a little relieved. The strange dream had made me self-conscious. The birth-sex cycle of the dream and the unmistakable eroticizing of motherhood felt a little taboo. I put my hand on the front of my pants and was a little surprised to discover that I had not ejaculated in my sleep, but I still had an erection and now that I’d overstayed my welcome in the sun, it was probably time to pack up and head to the apartment. I was thankful that they’d left so that I could do this without the worry of their eyes scoping out my embarrassment. It only took me 5 minutes to don my shirt, hat, sunglasses, and shoes, and to pack my towel and book in my backpack. I took a swig of water from the second bottle before tucking that into my bag and set out walking towards the path.
By the time I reached the shade of the trees and thick vegetation, my erection had subsided somewhat. Having spent most of the last hour or two thinking of sex, I knew I’d need to masturbate when I got back to the apartment and I hoped my dad wouldn’t be around. About 20 meters up the path, but well before it’s halfway mark, I came across a scooter that had not been there when I’d arrived. I’d just decided it must have been from the group on the beach when I heard a noise to my right, so I was only half surprised when a woman emerged from behind a tree. She was smoothing down her long skirt and that and the startled and embarrassed look on her face suggested she’d just been peeing back there. I recognized her as the younger woman from the beach. Now that I was closer to her, I could see that she was prettier than I’d thought, though also older. I guessed she was perhaps late-20s, too old to be the daughter of either of the other two women. Perhaps a younger sister. She still seemed too young to be a mother, but definitely still possible given the young age at which many Greek women had children. I smiled and said hello in Greek, one of the handful of words I knew, as I approached the scooter. She said hello back and I passed her by.
I wasn’t more than 10 meters beyond her when I heard her say something. I was pretty sure she had sworn, given that this was one of the only other words I knew. I turned back and saw her kneeling next to the bike examining a tire. She stood up and looked at it angrily for a few minutes before seeing me looking back. She said something in Greek and gestured at her bike. She said something else and seemed to wait for me. As I walked back over she repeated the second phrase and held out her cell phone. When I got closer to her I told her that I didn’t speak Greek and, nearly exhausting my repertoire of Greek, asked if she spoke English. She looked startled and after a pause, told me no. She pointed at the tire of her bike, which I could now see was flat. She said something before then holding up her phone. She said something that sounded like a question and then gestured to me and to the phone. Her phone looked dead and I guessed she was asking to use mine. I shook my head and said “No phone,” to her. I had not bothered to acquire a Greek phone, which I’d already come to regret on a few occasions. She looked frustrated, but I thought it was because she understood that I didn’t have a phone. I asked her if she wanted help with the scooter, using some words but also gestures. She shrugged and gave me the universal gesture for “be my guest.”
Squatting down I took a look at the tire. I ran my hand and eyes along it until I found the culprit, a nail that had punctured the tire, likely from the construction site at the road at the top of the path. I pulled the nail out and showed it to her. She looked angry, but the flash of her eyes and her frown animated her pretty face and I had to make an effort not to smile. I tried to ask if she had a patch kit, but she didn’t seem to understand. There was a box on the back of the scooter and I gestured for her to open it. After a confused moment, she did. I looked through it but found nothing useful, just a helmet, lock and chain, a hand pump that would be useless without a patch, and the owner’s manual. I flipped through that but it was entirely in Greek and thus not at all helpful. In one picture, I saw that the seat of the scooter could lift up, so after fiddling around for a minute, I got it up. Instead of a compartment below the seat, there was the gas cap, which was disappointing. Fortunately, as I lowered it back down, the woman must have noticed something because she stopped me and pointed to the underside of the seat itself. There I found a small pouch and in it, a patch kit.
The two of us got to work patching the tire. The language barrier proved challenging in some moments, and irrelevant in others. As we worked, I couldn’t help noticing her body. The maroon tank top hugged her chest, and there was often a generous amount of cleavage visible to tantalize me. Though covered by her long skirt, I was still incredibly aware of her legs and butt, both of which would leave their impressions against the fabric often enough to be a distraction. I also had a closer look at her face, and I once more had to revise her age. I now guessed that she was in her mid-30s judging by the faint lines visible at the corners of her eyes. When I saw the ring on her left hand I decided she could be the mother of that one child after-all. This revelation was only slightly disappointing. I was still enjoying working with her; she was pretty and it was a pleasure to help out someone in need. We’d had to turn the scooter over to fix the tire and give ourselves the room to pump it up. We got the tire patched and inflated. Then we checked the pressure to make sure it wasn’t leaking. Realizing that we’d been successful, she gave a little shout of joy and hopped up. While the sight of her breasts bouncing was certainly delicious, it was the look of joy in her eyes that startled me; whereas anger had animated her face, joy made her gorgeous. I’d been trying to pull the bike upright again and her declaration of success had so startled me that I bungled the job and the bike started to tip over again. She tried to help me wrestle it back up but we failed and somehow both ended up in a heap on the ground.
I could feel the weight of her body on top of me. I was on my back, staring at the top of her head, her face pushed into my collar. I was surprised, not only because we’d ended up stacked like that, but because, god damn it, I had an erection again and it was pressing right into her flat stomach! I had no doubt she could feel it pressing into her any less than I cold feel her breasts pressing into me, a fact which did not escape notice by my penis, causing it to retain its hardness even through my intense embarrassment. Neither of us moved. I could feel her breath on my chest, the hairs of her head tickling my nose. After a solid few minutes, when it was clear that nothing was changing, she rolled off of me and lay on her back next to me. We didn’t look at each other, but I heard her whisper thank you in Greek. I responded with the Greek equivalent of your welcome, which really did exhaust my Greek. I thought she was probably thanking me for helping with the scooter, but also hoped it was somehow connected to my enduring erection. I did a body scan and found that it was indeed still erect, once again causing a little tent in my shorts.
I was mentally steeling myself to get up and slink away in embarrassment, erection and all, when she shifted position, rolling back towards me. Her mouth met mine as she lay half way across my body, her right leg caressing mine. She mashed her lips into mine, parting them slightly so that her wet tongue could slide through. Our tongues touched, dancing. Switching from passive recipient to active participant, I pushed her tongue aside with my own and licked the inside of her teeth. Her hand slid down my chest and began to fondle my hard penis through the thin fabric of my swimsuit. In response, I brought my hand up and cupped her right breast, her left being pressed against my chest. We broke the kiss and for the first time since falling, looked at each other. Her eyes twinkled and mine burned. It was clear what we wanted, there was little need for words at this point.
She stopped fondling me long enough to slide her hand down my shorts and begin stroking me. I relished the touch of her hand on my penis. Her skin as soft, and she caressed me with gentle confidence. It was a bit like finally scratching an itch that had been a bother for days. I wanted her badly and it was getting hard to be patient. We continued kissing as she stroked me. Since I’d been wound up for hours and hadn’t found release in around a week, I wasn’t sure how much of her focused attention I could take. Her bag was on my left and I could see her towel spilling out. I reached over and grabbed it. Breaking our kiss long enough to sit up, I did my best to lay the towel on the ground behind her before rolling us over on to it. She took her hands from my pants and with both hands, pulled my shirt up over my head. I followed suit by removing her tank top. Underneath she wore her swimsuit top still. She sat up enough to untie the strings of the top and I pulled it away, exposing her breasts. They were relatively large breasts; more than a handful, but surprisingly firm for someone that I suspected of being a mother at least once over. Her breasts were noticeably paler than the rest of her body. On the one hand, this was surprising since, as a Greek, I would have expected her complexion to more olive. On the other hand, it was also not that surprising since, as a Greek, she likely never sunbathed topless. Her nipples were a delicate pink that made my mouth water.
I wanted to spend hours caressing her stomach, breasts, and neck, to tease her nipples between my fingers and feel the delicious firmness of each orb in the palm of my hands, but I was too hungry. Instead, I leaned down and sucked her left breast into my mouth, nipple and all. She gave a short gasp when I did this, followed by a sharper one when my tongue began to flick her quickly hardening nipple. Her skin was salty from sweat and sea, though she also tasted vaguely like olives. I stopped sucking her left breast and switched to her right. This time I gave her nipple a little nibble. I could feel her pressing her hips into me as I did this. I’d hardly satisfied myself with her beautiful breasts when she deftly flipped me over onto my back. Somehow I managed to stay on the towel though. She began kissing my chest and neck. Our mouths met again for a passionate if brief romp.
After breaking our kiss, she shifted off of me. I was afraid it was over, but instead she began to pull down my swimsuit. My hard member popped free of the suit and she yanked them down and off my legs in a swift motion. My cock stood straight out from my body, its rigidity fighting against the weight of all the blood trapped in its length, keeping in engorged. I was hoping that she would put her lips on me, that she would suck me into her hot wet mouth and flick me with her tongue. I’d been told by a Greek friend that Greek women were conservative and not particularly into giving oral sex, so I wasn’t particularly expecting it, simply hoping. Then again, I’d also been told that this same conservatism made it all but impossible that I’d be doing anything other than furtively masturbating on this trip, and there I was with this gorgeous women whose name I didn’t even know. Unfortunately, she didn’t bring her mouth to me. Instead, she resumed stroking me with her hand. After a little while, she added her second hand, sometimes using it to stroke the shaft of my cock, sometimes using it to massage my balls. She looked gorgeous sitting next to me, her breast swaying slightly as she fondled and stroked me.
I was beginning to think that this was going to be the extent of our encounter. I had to admit that this disappointed me more than a little as I was literally aching to be inside of her, but I was also thoroughly enjoying what she was doing and had no intention of throwing a wrench in things by trying to get laid. Still, with every stroke she seemed to ratchet up how horny I felt. I reached out with my right hand and began stroking her leg. Pretty soon I’d worked it under her skirt. Her thighs were smooth as I slid my hand up until I found the bottom of her bathing suit. I began rubbing my fingers against the crotch of her suit. I could feel the humidity of her sex through the fabric. Slowly I located the edge of her suit and slipped my finger underneath. I could feel the sparse tight curls of her pubic hair matted to her body from swimming, sweat, desire, or all three. I located the slit of labia and began gently rubbing my finger along its length. She moaned softly in appreciation though what I was doing didn’t seem enough to distract her from pleasuring me. The longer I stroked her, the slicker my finger became, and the more it slid between the lips of her pussy until I was up to the first knuckle of my finger. Her eyes had closed by now and her strokes were becoming less focused.
I removed my fingers from under her skirt and her eyes popped open. She watched as I brought my finger up to my mouth and gave it a good suck. As the salty tang of her pussy danced on my tongue and its heady smell fogged my brain, I knew I had to taste her fully. She’d paused her stroking to watch as I did this, and I took the opportunity to sit up and kiss her. As we kissed, I imagined she might catch a hint of herself on my tongue. We continued kissing and I maneuvered her down on to the blanket. I began kissing down her body, starting at the neck I kissed over her breasts, down her stomach, and to the line of her skirt. I didn’t stop kissing and licking her even as I brought my hands up to the waist band and began to pull. After what might have been a slight hesitation, she lifted her butt from the ground and allowed me to slide her skirt and suit bottoms down. As she’d done, I slide them all the way down and off until she lay before me naked. She seemed a bit shy and turned away slightly as if to hid herself from me. I frowned and began kissing her legs, starting at her ankles and moving my way up until I’d straightened her back out and was licking my way up the inside of her now parted thighs.
I lifted my eyes as I kissed the inside of her legs and beheld her pussy for the first time. Her pubic hair, a reddish brown that matched the hair on her head and that I guessed was her natural color, only covered her mound lightly. Her labia were puffy and parted from my previous finger work. The smell of her pussy filled my nose. It was intoxicating: raw, powerful, musky, sweet. For a second my brain flashed back to the strange dream I’d had earlier and I thought I recognized the smell of this woman’s pussy as the primal smell of fertility, of womanhood. I savored the smell, just as second later I savored the taste of her on my tongue as I gently but fully licked the length of her slit. I licked her again and again, letting me tongue relax and flatten against the fleshy lips of her pussy. After a few moments I changed tactics and, making my tongue stiff, began probing her more deeply. First I explored the spaces between her inner and outer labia, doing my best to caress every millimeter of her flesh. Next I slid my tongue inside of her as far as I could go, burying my face in her mound. I circled my tongue around as if I were licking the inside rim of an ice cream cone, though this was far more delicious a dessert. Soon I began darting my tongue in and out of her. I could feel her lifting her hips gently to meet me.
Wanting to make sure I was not misreading her pleasure, I pulled my head from between her legs enough to glance at her face. Her eyes were closed, but her lips were parted and she was breathing heavily. As I returned my mouth to her quickly, so as not to prolong the interruption, I also looked at her pussy. She was certainly more flushed than before, and I thought I could make out the little round nub of her clitoris pushing from beneath its hood. Perfect, I thought. I went back to flattening my tongue and taking long licks from bottom to top, though this time I gave my tongue a little extra flick at the end to stimulate her clit. Soon my tongue read her clit like Braille, and each lick was punctuated by a slight moan that sailed to me from across her gently writhing body. I tried to slowly increase the contact my tongue made with her clit so as not to overload her.
Soon my caution was unnecessary as her moaning and hip thrusting increased in intensity, both things I took as a sign that my tongue was very much welcome on her clitoris. I focused my attention entirely on her clitoris. First I worked my tongue around it in little circles, making sure to always graze it with the edge of my tongue. Then I let my tongue flutter across it more directly. I kept my caresses light in the beginning, but slowly began to make more contact with her until I was stimulating her more vigorously. As my tongue continued to lash her clitoris with ever increasing intensity, her body lifting higher off the ground as she writhed in pleasure, I brought my left arm under her thigh and my hand up to grab onto her hips. Whereas before I’d had my hands on the inside of her thighs to help me keep them open, my new grip on her hips helped me hold on as she bucked and keep my tongue in contact with her clit.
I also brought my left arm down and under my chin. Now that I was concentrating my tongue on her clit, her pussy was wide open to my fingers. Slowly I inserted my index finger inside her, coating it with her natural lubricants. After a moment I added my middle finger. I gently massaged the inside of her vagina with my fingers, starting with the top wall and working my way down and around. When I got back to the top of her vagina, I began more firmly massaging her, pressing the pads of my fingers into her slick walls searching for exactly the right spot to press on. My fingers pushed in just on the other side of her pubic bone and pressed against some spongy flesh. I began to rhythmically massage this spongy tissue as if I were beckoning her towards me. Her writhing kicked up a notch.
Between moans she let out a string of words and I didn’t need to speak Greek to know that she was telling me she was close to coming, I could already read it in her body. The intensity of her movements and moans, the pulsing of her clit against my tongue and the flutter of her vagina around my fingers; all these told me she was ready for release. I pulled my fingers forward and held, keeping the pressure on her sweet spot. Her body tensed and held. I made a seal with my lips around her clitoris and sucked it into my mouth. Now fully exposed from beneath its hood, her clitoris was open to more intense stimulation. My sucking also pulled more blood into it, making it more engorged. I flicked her clitoris quickly and fully. At the same time, I relaxed my finger inside of her and began pulsing it quickly.
She exploded against me with a surprising moan of pleasure. Her thighs squeezed my head and my face mashed into her pussy as she writhed and bucked her hips. The walls of her pussy squeezed down on my fingers, which were now making a sloshing sound as juices gushed from inside of her and on to my chin. I desperately wanted to taste this nectar as it flowed from her, but I didn’t dare remove my mouth from around her clit.
At the peak of her orgasm, I stopped flicking my tongue on her clit and moving my fingers inside of her. But instead of removing either, I let them stay where they were, keeping contact with her body. Rather than coming down from her peak and allowing for that final release, this continued contact kept the electricity of the orgasm going. Her body remained tense. I kept this up until I was sure the anticipation was unbearable and then I resumed flicking her clit with my tongue and began fucking her pussy hard with my fingers. She exploded again almost instantly. Her moan resembled a wail this time, and the intensity of her body’s thrashing felt almost enough to break my neck. So much fluid gushed from her pussy that I began to worry she’d be dehydrated. A small puddle of it collected in my right hand as I continued fucking her with my fingers.
As she began to come down from her orgasm, she pushed my head away from her clit. Slowly I removed my fingers from inside of her and took the opportunity to drink her juices from the palm of my hand. She tasted sweet, with a slightly salty tang. I wished I’d had a way to collect more of her juice as it had squirted from her. I looked at her as she lay panting in front of me. Her body, shinny with sweat, lay naked before me. Her chest heaved with each breath, her nipples stood dark and hard atop her breasts, her skin flushed from exertion. Her knees had been up, but now that I was no longer buried face first between her legs, they’d fallen back down. Her legs remained parted though, and I sat between them. I pussy too was spread, and it resembled a plumb freshly bitten into, a deep juicy red. I could make out a pronounced wet patch beneath her from where the towel had absorbed her fluids.
While I’d been buried in her pussy my cock had become soft, I was so focused on what I was doing to pleasure her that I’d forgotten my own body. Looking at her now was quickly renewing my arousal. By the time she slowly opened her eyes, I was once again fully erect, my penis jutting towards the nexus of her spread legs. I wanted to be inside of her and I could feel the pull of her body. Before I could move or speak, however, she frowned, bit her lip, and then started to speak.
“No. Me no baby,” she said in thickly accented words, pointing first at my cock and then at her own pussy before shacking her hand back and forth. I knew what she meant. We could not have sex because she did not want a baby.
I began to reach for my backpack where I had a packet of 3 condoms, and tried to think about the best way to explain this to her given our language barrier. However yet again she spoke before I could. Perhaps misinterpreting my reaching for my bag as a sign of displeasure, she blurted something out in Greek. I stopped and frowned, clearly not understanding what she meant. She bit her lip again before slowly turning on to her side, pointing once more at my cock, and then pointing to her behind. I swallowed hard, once more picking up on exactly what she meant. She was offering up her ass.
It would be dishonest to say that I had to think about it before making up my mind. Truth be told, as soon as she pointed to her round ass, I knew I was going to bury my cock there. Of course knowing this didn’t negate the slight guilt I also felt knowing that I had the condoms in my bag and that we were perhaps proceeding under some slightly false pretenses. But there was no way I wasn’t going to proceed. In the seconds between when she made the offer and I accepted, I could feel my cock expand and harden even further. It almost hurt, each pulse of my body causing my member to thicken and harden. The head of my cock was already a deep red.
Once I’d accepted her invitation, she reached into her own bag and produced a small bottle of amber liquid: a bottle of olive oil. I now understood the shininess of her skin and the faint taste of olives. She must have been using it as tanning oil. It wasn’t surprising since the liquid had been used in Greece as a moisturizer for centuries, but as the market for olive oil raised prices, many people had moved away from using it on the skin. Clearly this woman hadn’t. She unscrewed the lid and poured a little pool into the palm of her hand. As she handed me the bottle, she began rubbing the oil into the length of my cock. Each stroke felt delicious. From base to head, she spread the oil until the entirety of my cock was slick and shiny. She continued caressing me, feeling my hardness, the length and girth of me in her hands. She was gentle but firm, and I thought she was communicating to me in her touch just how she wanted me to take her ass. Once this info was communicated through the media of my cock, she stopped stroking me.
She removed her hand from my cock and wiped the remaining oil on her breast. It was a matter of fact gesture, but it left a sexy hand shaped smear of olive oil that traversed her nipple. I reached down with my mouth and licked it off, sucking her nipple into my mouth in the process. I could taste the olive oil more strongly now, and it mixed deliciously with the natural salt of her skin. I let her nipple go and leaned back, allowing her to roll over onto her hands and knees. Her back was slightly arched as she pushed her ass toward me. Though I certainly needed no encouragement, the sight of her shapely bare behind would have crumbled anyone’s resolve. Her cheeks were soft and fleshy, round and smooth, but also firm and sculpted. The crack of her ass was tightly clenched, but I could see the lightly covered mound of her pussy peaking from between her things. To help her relax, I poured a little oil at the top of her crack and spent a minute massaging it into her cheeks. As I did so, I occasionally applied enough pressure to spread her cheeks open.
The first quick glance I got of her puckered asshole sent a chill up my spin. The anticipation was excruciating but exhilarating. Once she’d relaxed enough to unclench her cheeks, I pour a little more oil in her crack. This time I focused on getting the oil between her cheeks. I rubbed it in lightly, making sure to focus more on the area around the rosebud of her anus first before slowly increasing my attention there. Soon I was making gentle circles around her puckered hole, rubbing the olive oil into every millimeter of her skin. I could hear her moaning softly. With each circle of my finger, I increase my pressure. She let out a little gasp as my finger pushed inside her anus and I she instinctively clenched down on the invading digit. I continued to make gentle circles just inside of her asshole, and before long she’d relaxed once more. I dribbled a little more oil onto her anus and used my finger to work it into her.
She was ready. Or at least her anus was. My finger had worked enough olive oil into her asshole to both lubricate and relax her. While it would no doubt be tight, I thought she could handle it. I wasn’t quite ready though. My cock was definitely still hard and aching to be inside her, but I had one more thing I wanted to do. I gently removed my finger from her ass and placed my hand on the side of one cheek. With the other hand, I poured a small stream of oil at the top of her ass crack. As it slowly made it’s way down to her anus, but put the bottle aside and used both hands to pry her cheeks apart. She must have been expecting my cock because she seemed surprised when she felt my tongue begin to lick the oil that was dripping down across her rosebud. After a second, she pushed herself back into me. I used my tongue to explore the wrinkles of her anus, spreading the oil as I traced the texture of her asshole. The taste of olives mixed with the earthy musk of her anus, and made my cock twitch. I was almost worried the skin of my cock might rip off, it felt so hard. I tongued her ass just long enough to get a taste of her, and to feel the erotic charge of being that intimate with the hole I was about to be inside, but not so long that I’d licked up all the oil.
I stopped licking her anus and, placing one kiss at the top of her ass crack, straightened up: I was ready to fuck her ass. I inched forward until the head of my cock pressed lightly between her cheeks. I rotated my hips so that I slid up and down the crack of her, slowly working my way deeper. I placed my hands on either side of her ass and pressed so that her cheeks spread. Soon the oiled head of my cock was massaging the crinkled hole of her anus. She looked back at me, bottom lip between her teeth and nodded before dropping her head down. I gripped her hips with either hand and slowly but steadily pushed myself forward. At first he head of my cock compressed at the entry to her ass, but after a moment I watched her hole expand to allow me inside.
She gasped and I held still until she seemed to relax again. She was tight, and I slowly worked myself into her. I got a quarter of the way inside and then changed directions until just the head of my cock was inside of her. Once again I pushed slowly into her. I repeated this slow in-and-out, each time pushing a centimeter deeper into her tight ass. By the time I was three quarters inside of her, she’d begun pushing back into me. With my next thrust, I pushed all the way inside of her, my pelvis pressing into her behind. I paused to savor the feeling of being buried so deep inside of her ass, the tight grip of her anus like the ring of my fingers at the base of my cock when I masturbate. Slowly I slid out of her, delighting in the way the grip of her anus caressed the length of my shaft. With a pop, I let the head of my cock slide free of her ass.
Now that she’d had time to get used to my cock inside of her, I wanted to fuck her in earnest so I picked up the bottle of olive oil and drizzled some more along the length of my cock. I could feel her watching me as I did all this: she knew what was coming. Once again I pushed inside of her. This time I slid in a little easier, whether from my earlier work, the replenished olive oil, or both. Once inside, I gradually began to pick up the pace of my thrusts. Again, with each stroke I pushed deeper, until soon I was fucking her long and fast. I could hear her moaning and feel her pushing herself back into me.
With my right hand, I reached down under her to rub her pussy. She was wet. I wanted to slide a finger inside of her but the angle and my thrusting made it difficult. As my finger slide up and down the slit of her pussy, I found the hard nub of her clit and began rubbing it with her own wetness. She began pushing her ass into me harder, meeting my own thrusts. The sweaty slap of her ass against my pelvis mixed with the wet slap of my balls against her pussy in sexual percussion.
I tried to concentrate on her clit, but the increased tempo of our thrusts was making it difficult, and occasionally my own balls would obstruct my efforts. I also tried to concentrate on her clit because it meant prolonging my own pleasure. The electricity that ripped along the length of my cock with each thrust was pushing itself insistently into my brain, and only the thin veneer of concentration was keeping it in moderate check. With each thrust I felt her anus massage the length of my cock while the sensitive head glancing off the inside of her ass sent bursts of pleasure up my spine.
I was desperately flicking her clit, trying to get her to orgasm before I got there myself, but I soon realized it was a losing battle. I couldn’t keep consistent contact with her clit at this pace, and the only choice I had was to slow my thrusts or stop touching her. The considerate lover in my head chose the former, but my body rebelled. Even as I wanted to slow down, I felt some primal urge in the back of my head clamp down. Before I knew it, both hands were back on her hips and I was mercilessly hammering at her ass. The staccato smacking of her bodies coming together mirrored the jolts of pleasure our union brought me. My body began to tense, each muscle engaging itself in the effort to fuck this beautiful Greek woman’s ass.
With a growl, I came. Despite all of the pleasure leading up to it, I was still surprised by the intensity of my orgasm. As if on autopilot, my body kept thrusting in and out even as my cock exploded inside of her. I could feel the jets of seamen filling her up with each twitch and swell of my cock head. The orgasm lasted for longer than I could have imagined. As I pumped her ass full of cum, my body stayed tense, each nerve and muscle of my body firing and engaged. This orgasm was not yet a release. Finally, just as the pleasure was become so intense that it was painful, whatever primal demon had gripped me drained away. All my muscles released and I toppled forward onto her back. As we collapsed down onto the towel, our hot and sweaty bodies pressed together, I thought about what my Greek friends had told me about my chances of hooking up with a Greek woman: none. If I’d had any spare energy, I would have chuckled.
We lay like this for several minutes, our bodies still locked together. Once my cock had shrunk enough to extract myself easily, and my energy was restored enough to move, I lifted myself off of her and slid my cock free. A long strand of seaman stretched from the tip of my cock to her still gaping anus before breaking and leaving a streak of white across the tan of her ass cheek. Even as she squeezed her ass closed, a little stream of cum and olive oil leaked out. I rolled off of her and onto my back, the sticks and leaves of the ground barely registering.
The woman slowly stood up. Once on her feet, she picked the towel up off the ground and shook it out before turning to walk back into the trees she’d used as a bathroom earlier. As I watched her disappear behind the trees, I could see the rivulet of my cum now dripping down the inside of her thigh. Cleaning up was a good idea, but I couldn’t quite get the energy to reach for my own towel. Instead, sleep reached for me, and naked as I was in the middle of the beach path, I let it take me.