All the time I was standing out on the balcony of Colleen Addison’s house fourteen miles south of Athens, in Voula, overlooking Greece’s Miroon Sea, and engaging in chit chat with her and the man who was introduced to me merely as Sam from the Economic Section, I kept thinking that I knew him from someplace but couldn’t place him.
He, on the other hand, seemed to remember me well and was giving a knowing little smile while we talked that I found maddening. It was burning me up not to be able to place him. It evidently was from somewhere in my past, and I wasn’t real anxious to dredge up some of my past.
I was on TDY—temporary duty assignment—at the U.S. embassy in Athens, where I was training the local employees of the American Cultural Center in the new computer programs that would enable them to churn out professional-looking publicity material without having to go to a printer. Colleen was the embassy’s cultural affairs officer and was doing what she could to make my stay less dull than it usually was when I was on one of these swings around Europe. She wasn’t holding this gathering of a smattering of embassy officers and Greek artists, writers, and actors for me, of course, but she had invited me to attend and had seen to it that a driver was available to bring me out to her place.
Colleen’s Voula house was quite a place, high on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean, with a long terrace off the back and good entertainment space. She’d been assigned the house in keeping with what her job was—promoting U.S. culture while pretending to have interest in promoting the culture of Greece, as if Greek culture needed promoting.
Colleen, Sam, and I had nearly run out of chit chat, especially as Sam seemed to be savoring something the other two of us weren’t privy to, when we were joined by a Greek god. I could only call him that because, while many Greek men were handsome and exuded macho sensuality, he was a man among men—muscular, dark and sultry with what was probably a perpetual five-o’clock shadow, as he was hirsute. His curly black hair seemed to grow perceptibly as we stood there talking. I was lost in his startling blue eyes.
“Pirro,” Colleen said, “You know Sam, I’m sure”—and the Greek god turned an indulgent smile on Sam, which was answered with one I perceived to be subservient, as if Pirro knew Sam intimately. The back of my mind was beginning to rumble toward a possible recognition of Sam. “And this is Trent Townson from Washington, who is out here helping us tone up our publicity systems. Trent is a short story writer too. Pirro is the star of one of the most popular Greek soap operas.”
I shook hands with the actor as we both juggled our cocktail glasses to another hand. His handshake was firm, I’d almost say possessing. My mind was beginning to stir possibilities with Pirro that went beyond conversation. The four of us spoke briefly before Colleen saw a Greek writer she wanted to introduce me to and then we walked off and left Sam and Pirro to entertain each other.
I felt a bit weak in the knees. I found the Greek actor beyond sexy. And it was while we were walking off that I at last placed Sam firmly in my mind—and blushed. I think it was the “knowing” look between the economic officer and the actor that had done it.
I had only seen Sam once before, but it was under the most compromising of circumstances. We were on side-by-side twin beds in a bedroom of the Delta Tau Delta fraternity at Duke University in North Carolina, where we were both being fucked by members of Miami University’s track and field team. I was being doubled by a shot putter and a long-distance runner. Sam, who was lying under a decathlon stud, was from the nearby University of North Carolina, also in Chapel Hill, and Duke was the venue of an all-conference track meet.
I was what was known as a “reliever” in my fraternity at Duke. It was a jock fraternity, and I was there by right of being on the swim team and highly ranked in the conference in that sport. But I also was there because I gave blow jobs and took cock on demand. That was the reliever part. When one of the other fraternity brothers needed relief, I provided it. I rather thought that Sam did the same thing at his fraternity at UNC. The day I had seen Sam, we’d spent several hours on side-by-side beds in my fraternity room entertaining a procession of visiting field and track jocks.
This definitely was part of the past—nearly five years previously—that I was trying to keep in the past. It had just been that one year for me. I’d pulled out from underneath it, gave up the fraternity, applied myself to my studies and to the swim team, and did extremely well. And I’d like to say that it was all in the past.
I hadn’t exactly turned to women, but I had kept my encounters with men to the bare minimum, and my current job with the government put me in danger for engaging in any homosexual activity. So, for the most part, I didn’t. For the most part. Luckily the State Department wasn’t as strict about that as other agencies were. That, I guess, was why Sam could be a Foreign Service officer. He was certainly more gay than I was. You couldn’t talk to the man or watch him walk and not know that he was gay.
There was no chance I would be getting it on with Sam here, of course. We wanted the same thing from another man, so it wasn’t anything close to a fit. We had kissed and fondled each other during that day, but it was more of a sharing experience thing—we each had a macho guy between our thighs at the time, fucking us. Some of the time that day I had two at once. We weren’t having sex with each other—not really. The Greek actor—Pirro—was more what I went for in a lover than someone like Sam.
But Sam was a danger while I was here. And perhaps I was a danger to him, as well, although he had recognized me and he certainly hadn’t acted like he was in any sort of danger. I resolved to stay away from him as much as possible—and hope that he wasn’t a gossip. My suppressed sexual proclivities weren’t something I thought needed to become part of this TDY.
Upon leaving the party, Colleen noted that later in the week she would be going to a beach to get out of the smog and bustle of Athens and figured I’d be ready for a break then too. “Want to do a picnic at a Greek beach?” she asked. “I know of several that will be virtually deserted and where neither of us will have to deal with a crowd of boisterous Greek artists for a couple of hours.”
“Sure,” I answered. “Nice of you to include me.” I momentarily hoped that she wasn’t coming on to me. I’d go along, to a certain limit, of course, for appearances sake. But she was a bit too openly flirty even for my limited taste in women. She was quite good-looking, though.
As it turned out Pirro was included in the outing too. I about melted when I came out of the hotel to get into Colleen’s Volvo convertible and Pirro was sitting in the front seat, all curly black hair—he was shirtless and had a magnificent, darkly tanned and hairy chest—blue eyes, and pearl-white smile.
I have no idea where the beach was that Colleen took us to—and don’t even know what direction from Athens it was in. We walked down from the road through a picturesque field of red poppies, though, to a line of tall rocks split by a curving rock-walled passage that ended at the top of a secluded beach. A stretch of something short of a hundred feet of white sand in a cove protected at each end by high rocks went down to the sea, which was so translucent that I could see to the bottom a good distance out into the water. There were shapes of smooth-topped rocks in the bed of the sea, but most of what I could see was an extension of the sand under a slowly rolling surf.
We parked the basket and blanket near the top of the beach. Colleen, a willowy sunshine blonde in her early thirties, pulled the halter top of her bikini off while I was opening up and setting out the two beach blankets she’d brought. She had breasts, but they perked more than flopped. Still, I took my breath in at how cavalier she was with the gesture—and how good-looking she was. She wasn’t exactly beautiful. It was more that she had accentuated her best attributes and seemed so free and uninhibited.
I gasped again when Pirro slipped off the shorts he was wearing and ran, naked, down to the water and dove into an approaching wave. I hadn’t caught a glimpse of his goods, but from the back, as he ran to the water, nothing dispelled the original Greek god impression I’d gotten. It was clear that these two were comfortable with each other—most likely in a sexual way. I began to reassess what I had taken to be Pirro’s sexual preferences.
Colleen nonchalantly busied herself in laying out what she’d brought in the hamper. She handed me a bottle of wine to open and then, with a smile, held a glass for me to pour it in. I was sitting cross-legged on one of the blankets. I’d slipped my T-shirt off. I thought the wine was for her, but she handed me the glass, stepped out of her bikini bottoms, and, giving me a smile, cantered toward the water.
As she entered the surf, Pirro, who had swum out to sea, careened up and out, like a dolphin, on an incoming wave, his arms spread wide, enveloping Colleen as their bodies collided, and they went down in a heap in the shallows of the water, Pirro on top of Colleen. They stayed there, laughing, him on top of her, for a long minute. I watched the transition as the moment dragged on. Her arms encircled his muscular back and her legs spread and knees bent, and they kissed. Coming out of the kiss, her head arched back and his face went to her breasts, and I could see the rise and fall of his bulbous buttocks. I knew he had entered her and that they were fucking.
I couldn’t help but be disappointed at this declaration of his preferences, although I had to admit that they made a handsome couple. It was curious, though, that they had brought me along, and more curious that they felt comfortable being so cavalier in front of me.
At length he struggled up to his feet, bringing her up with him. He lifted her off his cock, which then I could see was thick and long, and I gasped again as I watched her roll her buttocks up to him, and, holding the root of his cock in one hand, he moved the cock to her asshole and slowly entered her there. He stood in the shallow surf, holding her body to his, palming and spreading her buttocks, as she hooked her legs on his hips, locked her hands behind his neck and cantilevered out from his chest so that his mouth could get to her nipples. Using the strength of his hands he pulled her ass up and down on his cock.
I could tell the instant that he came, as she jerked and cried out and collapsed against him. He laid her on her back at the surf line and moved down her body, burying his face in her muff. She writhed under him and, again, I could tell the instant that she came.
I was hard and had drunk nearly half a bottle of wine without realizing I had done so. It wasn’t Colleen who I’d been watching.
Pirro rose off Colleen and slowly walked up the sand toward me, his now-flaccid, but still manly cock and balls hanging low. Colleen rose as well and walked out into the sea. I didn’t follow where she was going. My eyes were on Pirro. He flopped down on the blanket beside me. He’d picked up a couple of strands of a wheat-like plant on his way up the beach and just reclined next to me, rather close, and propped his head, turned toward me, up on an elbow. He couldn’t help looking like a perfectly formed, black-pelted Greek god.
“Would you like some wine?” I asked, looking over toward the basket to see where the glasses were.
“Later, after we fuck, don’t you think?” he answered in a nonchalant manner.
“After we—?” I turned back sharply. I was both shocked and exhilarated at his open, knowing declaration.
“I know men fuck you. Sam told me they did. That is a good thing, because you are beautiful and I am beautiful, and beautiful people should fuck. Did you enjoy watching me fuck Colleen?”
Oh, fuck, I thought, and then almost laughed nervously at the transference of the spoken word into my thoughts. There went any resolve I might have. That damned Sam. But, no, I knew I wanted Pirro to fuck me. If I didn’t know it before I’d watched him fuck Colleen, I certainly knew it now, when he was teasing me by moving that stalk of wheat around on my thighs. He dropped the stalk, though, and moved his hand into the leg hole of my bathing shorts and up to my cock. There was no keeping the secret from him that I was hard.
“I am going to fuck you, aren’t I?” he asked, raising those beautiful blue eyes toward my face, a little puppy dog expression on his face.
“I’d say you are going to do anything you want with me,” I answered in a low voice.
He laughed at that, and if his smile could be said to broaden, his did.
His arm moved away from propping his head up to encircling my neck. He leaned my torso back toward the sand and took my mouth in his in a deep, lingering kiss. His other hand was slow pumping my cock through the leg hole of my swim suit. I took his hardening cock in my hand. He rolled over on top of me, and our bodies writhed against each other’s in a dry fuck as the kiss continued.
He was moving fast, but I wanted him inside me now, so he could move as fast as he wanted. We were both hard enough to fuck. I hadn’t done this in months. And then it wasn’t with a Greek god. Full steam ahead. Consequences, if any, be damned. I spread my legs and bent my knees. I rolled my pelvis up and pressed down on his buttocks with both of my hands. I was still wearing my bathing shorts. If I hadn’t been, he’d already be inside me.
He came out of the kiss and moved slowly down my body, kissing and teething me as he went. The trunks slid off my hips as he moved down, and by the time he reached my cock, they were off my legs, and my cock was in his mouth. Colleen appeared beside us, settled down cross-legged above me, and moved my head to her lap. She ran her fingers through my hair while he sucked my cock and my balls. From time to time, she moved her finger to my nipples and scraped my nubs with her long fingernails.
But then she was raising her arms and receiving my legs at the ankles as Pirro raised and spread them, rolled my pelvis up, and started working my asshole with his tongue and teeth.
I was writhing under him, my head in Colleen’s naked lap, and murmuring, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” under my breath. I didn’t consider this a time to be more inventive with the words of what I wanted.
And then he was fucking me. He was crouched between my thighs and moving up inside me. The cock filled me and expertly kissed every inch of my channel. My ankles were hooked on his shoulders. He kissed Colleen on the lips as he started to pump me. This was no slow, languid fuck. He pistoned me hard and deep. I came before he did.
Without ceremony after that, we disentangled, and Colleen set out a lunch. Pirro opened another bottle of wine. Just another day at the beach to the two of them. I was humming and feeling in touch with every inch of my body that Pirro was gliding his hands on. Both Pirro and Colleen complimented me on how hard I was, how cut my body was.
It took me longer to eat than it took the other two. While I was eating desert—fruit and some sort of Greek pastry—Colleen was on her belly on the blanket beside me, half turned on her side, her torso turned up to Pirro, who was stretched behind and on top of her, one hand turning her chin toward his face, their foreheads touching, their eyes locked, while he pressed her thighs between his and pistoned her ass with his cock as vigorously as he had mine.
“Always fuck them in the ass if you’re going to come inside them,” he whispered at one point, as if he was giving me instruction. “No question of anything unwanted then.”
Colleen was moaning and telling him never to stop.
At another time, he muttered, “I’m an ass man, yes I am.”
I countered with a, “I noticed.” All three of us laughed. A cheery, little uninhibited group we were. I almost wished there were more of us here with the same comfortable openness. I don’t know why I was so nervous about my past being known. It certainly had cut some corners here.
He stopped fucking Colleen eventually and then nonchalantly rolled off her, turned toward me, took up a wine glass, and talked art and politics as if we weren’t doing anything unusual at all—and I suppose for Pirro and Colleen this wasn’t unusual.
He invited me to go for a swim with him, but half way down the beach he decided to show me how strong he was, getting behind me, snaking an arm around my waist, lifting my feet off the sand, and setting me down on his cock. He fucked me bent over in front of him with my arms and head dangling toward the sand and my feet off the ground. I didn’t care how he fucked me as long as he did.
We all swam and cavorted then until almost twilight. Pirro fucked me again in the backseat of the Volvo, with its top up, on the way back to Athens. I sat in his lap, facing him, my knees pressed into where the back of the seat met the seat, raised a bit off him, and his buttocks thrust forward on the edge of the seat while he thrust up hard inside me. I didn’t know while returning to the city what the orientation of the Greek capital was to the beach we’d visited any better than I had when leaving Athens earlier that day. I spent most of the ride with my face buried in the hollow of his neck and moaning.
It was all business at the cultural center the next couple of days. Colleen said nothing about the picnic, so I didn’t either. Pirro didn’t contact me—which was a bit of a disappointment. I didn’t see Sam again, but if I had, I would have thanked him for blabbing about me.
Sunday was the next day and the cultural center was open but not for business like I had to perform there. I tried calling Colleen to see if she could put me in touch with Pirro. Sunday was going to be an awfully dull day for me, trapped in the hotel with nothing to do. I’d been to Athens so many times that I was beginning to think I’d been here before all the old buildings fell down. And Sunday was a madhouse on the Athens streets. I couldn’t get Colleen on Saturday. I wasn’t surprised. The weekend was a busy time for a cultural affairs officer.
I was interested in a different kind of affair, though. And Pirro taking me like he had was like turning on a spigot. I walked the streets around the hotel Saturday night, looking for any signs of a gay bar. I wanted to get laid. But it was no go. Several men I encountered were willing, even eager. One or two would have been insistent if I hadn’t been careful to stay where many others were milling around. None were anything like Pirro was. I went to a regular bar and drank until I had a buzz on. In addition to men just looking to get laid where I had started drinking, I was hit on in these bars by three, maybe four—it got to be sort of a haze—prostitutes. But they were all women, although I couldn’t be completely sure about that last one. In any event, they weren’t what I was looking for.
I thought of trying to call Sam. Not to try to interest Sam in anything, but because he probably would know where I could get some action worth the risk. But I couldn’t get him on the phone either. I laughed at the thought that it probably was because he was off getting action.
At last I went back to my hotel room and slept until I could hear the room maids out in the hall the next morning, jabbering in loud voices to each other. I would have wondered if they didn’t know that the hallways echoed the sounds rather than deadened them and that they were disturbing a floor full of paying customers—but I knew better. It was their way to get the hotel guests up and out so that the maids could complete their daily work quickly.
It worked with me. I was up, showered quickly, and was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and at the door in less than a half hour. They were swarming around like buzzards and were inside my room almost before I could get out of it. I thought it probably was just as well that I didn’t bring a guy back to the hotel for the night. I couldn’t have slipped him by them in the morning—and couldn’t get anything going in the morning with them mouthing off in the hall. I’d probably also see the charge for an extra guest on the tab—the tab that had to be turned in to government accountants for recording and reimbursing.
The hotel had an outdoor café. I went down to it and saw him—or rather them—as I approached the tables. Pirro was sitting there and drinking coffee. Next to him was a thinner, more wiry guy, not hirsute like Pirro, but every inch yet another Greek god.
“You sleep late,” Pirro said. “This is my fifth cup of coffee. Sit and order breakfast. You’ll need your strength.”
I stood there, looking meaningfully at the other man, who obviously wasn’t Pirro but who hadn’t been introduced to me yet.
“This is Theo. He’s a cameraman on the set of my television program. He is interested in a double fuck of you, just as I am. Sam told us you let two men fuck you at once. Theo and I have often said we’d like to share. But it’s so hard to find willing young men—especially ones as beautiful as you. Those we’ve asked have wanted to see our cocks first and then they go screaming out into the night.”
Pirro laughed at that and Theo touched him on the arm and asked him a question in Greek. Pirro apparently repeated the joke for him and they both laughed.
I sighed. Sam, Sam, Sam. Sam of the big mouth.
“Sit, eat. Then you take us to your room and we fuck.” Pirro was smiling. Theo was smiling. I couldn’t tell whether Theo even spoke English. I guess it didn’t matter, though. He obviously knew why he and Pirro were here. He already was reaching out and running his fingers down the side of my thigh.
“You want to see Theo’s cock first? They have a men’s room here you could go to.” Pirro asked. “You’d have to promise no fooling around without me, though.”
I blushed, as the waiter was hovering nearby, waiting for me to sit so that I would order. Still, I found Pirro’s directness and openness arousing, and Theo’s hand on my thigh was heating me up too. The waiter, who wasn’t bad looking himself, gave me a smile and a knowing look, but he waited a few steps away from the table. “No, thanks. That won’t be necessary,” I answered.
I sat and ordered a big breakfast. While I ate, Pirro and Theo jabbered in Greek, all smiles and some laughter, and Theo occasionally reached over and touched me—like he was checking out the Pillsbury Dough Boy or something. The waiter was being very attentive to our table.
I made the mistake of asking Pirro what they were talking about.
“We were discussing the ways of getting two dicks in one man,” Pirro said. “Theo doesn’t quite know how we’ll do that. I told him we’ll manage. He thinks you’re a hot stud, by the way.”
“That’s nice to hear,” I said, not fully believing we were having this conversation, or that they were letting the waiter enjoy it as well. “Does he think I’m done yet?” I asked, as Theo prodded me with a finger on a nipple that clearly was pushing out at my T-shirt now. I was in full arousal. I had no intention of not doing anything Pirro wanted to do to me. I’d been doubled before. Sam knew that. And obviously Pirro knew that too. Sam, Sam, Sam, I thought.
Pirro gave me a questioning look, and I realized he wouldn’t have gotten the dough boy reference. I hadn’t said anything about it. But then he smiled and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll do you real, real good.”
I’ll bet you will, I thought. And they did. And they didn’t have any trouble with the doubling. I did worry a bit about the maids in the room when we went upstairs, but they were long gone. Breakfast had taken me a while to eat.
Just inside the door to the room, I was stripped and Theo was in front on his knees sucking my cock and Pirro was knelt at my rear door. The first time they doubled me they did it right there, standing up, with me sandwiched between them. Pirro told me to bend over at the waist and roll my buttocks up and then told Theo to run his long, thin cock up into me. That done, with me groaning at how deep the thin guy could dig in, Pirro, from in front, grabbed and wishboned my thighs. He told Theo to rock back a bit to lilt me up, which he did, and then Pirro worked his cock in on top of Theo’s. Each of them had a leg to hold out and a butt cheek to squeeze and separate, and I locked my hands behind Pirro’s neck.
Pirro doled out his time kissing me, kissing Theo over my shoulder, and calling out the cadence of which of them was to pump and which one was to remain dormant inside me—and just doing what he could to stay inside me.
I hadn’t done this since my senior year in Delta Tau Delta. These men were beautiful, and they both were fucking me. I was at least in eighth heaven.
About the time it dawned on me that it didn’t feel like either one of them was wearing a rubber, Theo came inside me. Then I came, just from the sensation of Theo’s spouting. Pirro came last. He told Theo to pull out of me, which Theo did, and Pirro carried me over to the bed and laid me gently there. He kissed me on a nipple and murmured, “Thank you. You are beautiful. Rest now. We fuck you again later.”
Again? I thought. Well, why the hell not? These Greek men were gorgeous. And I melted at how matter-of-factly they approached this. I wasn’t home. This would just be a pleasant interlude for me to remember. No strings. This wasn’t new. I’d done this in college.
The two of them sat in straight chairs, the chairs reversed and the men folding their arms along the tops of the chair backs, smoking cigarettes, and watching me. All very macho. I’d never felt so naked. Or so aroused.
“Masturbate for us,” Pirro directed. “Come for us.” And I complied.
I watched as they both slowly went hard again, just sitting there watching me, and talking softly to each other in Greek. I knew they were talking about me.
The second time I began by riding Pirro’s cock for a while. He was on his back on the bed and I was facing his face, straddling his hips. I was just getting into riding the cock hard, when Pirro called Theo over, telling him to straddle his legs behind me. Pirro wrapped his arms around me and pulled my chest down to his. Theo entered me from behind and began to pump. Pirro held me and his cock steady and close. I felt my heart beating against his and heard myself moaning happily.
“I’m thirsty. We shower and dress and go down to the bar now. Then we come back and fuck double again.”
Sure, why not? I thought.
It was single standing fucks in the shower, Pirro the pitcher both times, taking first me and then Theo. Theo didn’t seem to mind going both ways.
“You doing anything tonight?” Pirro asked me later in the bar.
Just lying there and moaning, I thought. But what I said was “No.”
“Good,” was all he said. He left the bar for a few minutes, pulling a cell phone out of his pocket as he moved.
For the third double, back in the hotel room, Theo sat at the end of the bed and I sat on his cock, facing away. When Pirro came in between our legs, Theo, under Pirro’s direction, laced his legs in mine and spread and raised them, while, arms encasing my chest, he laid back on the bed. Pirro worked his cock in on top of Theo’s, held my waist with his hands, and pumped me harder than they’d done before.
After all of us had come, Theo rolled me off his body and pushed me up onto the bed, and the two of them went back to their chairs and their cigarettes. They were talking quietly to each other in Greek and eying me, and I was wondering if Pirro was trying to come up with another position and was having a hard time doing so. I must admit that I knew at least one more way they both could get their cocks inside me, but I wasn’t offering any advice. This was their fantasy. I was just along for the riding. By now, though, I was so stretched that I didn’t care what way they thought of.
We both looked up at the knock at the door. Pirro was the only one not surprised by it. He got up and opened the door. I could see bruisers four deep in the hallway.
Pirro turned to me. “From the Athens footballers. You want or you want me to send them away? Sam told me you took sportsmen one after the other at university.”
Sam, Sam, Sam, I thought as I scooted down to where my butt was on the edge of the foot of the bed, bent my legs, widened my stance, dug my heels into the edge of the bed, and rolled my pelvis up. I smiled at Pirro. “Is this what you want, Pirro?”
He shrugged. “I like to watch a beautiful young man with many fit men.”
“Then bring on the footballers.”
The next morning, before I left for the airport, the waiter in the hotel’s café had me for breakfast over a toilet in a stall in the café’s men’s room. I was already scheming on how I could include the need for more TDY work at the American Cultural Center in Athens in my work report.
One thing I knew for sure that I was taking from my TDY in Greece. Life was too short and you aren’t young for very long. I wasn’t going to hold off now like before. I was sure that there must be some Pirros in the States. And I was returning determined to find them.