Date: Mon, 26 Jan 2009 16:14:52 +0000
From: clever wag <cleverwag@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Professor's Greek Holiday Part 1

This is the start of a story about sex between older men and boys in a
fictitious part of Greece.In later stages it will contain some bisexual
content too. It is in every sense a work of the imagination and a fantasy.
It is very graphic and safe sex is not practiced. If such stuff offends you
or you are not of legal age in your country please do not read it. It is
your choice.

I always welcome feedback and suggestions so feel free to email me at
cleverwag@hotmail.com

Otherwise...enjoy...

Dave Snow

1.

The boy led the way, turning now and then and grinning, revealing his
chipped front tooth.

`I show you nice place'.

It was so hot the old man could barely breathe, but kept climbing,
following the boy.

The boy was wearing shorts and a light cotton shirt, untucked and
unbuttoned, with no sleeves. Both articles of clothing were a little too
tight for his already well-developed body. The shirt fluttered in the
slight breeze, revealing a bronzed, sinewy lower back. The old man gazed,
as he toiled upwards, on the boy's tight buttocks, like a couple of
cantaloupes (he thought), and his strong brown legs, the muscles working
admirably as he skipped so easily up the steep path.

They'd met in the village square half an hour or so earlier, as
pre-arranged the night before at the taverna where the boy was a waiter.
The old man hadn't been able to take his eyes off him, and the boy had
noticed. He'd been wearing, then, jeans and a hugging sleeveless black
T-shirt that showed off every contour of his lean young upper torso (the
old man wasn't the only person in the taverna who'd been unable to resist
staring at him).

`You like it here?' the boy had asked, as he'd brought him the bill.

`I love it,' said the old man.

`I show you good places to walk and see things'.

`That would be nice,' the old man had said, and the boy had told him they
should meet in the village square at nine-thirty the following morning.

There was a kafenion there where the old man liked to read the English
papers of the day before. Panioti (for that was the boy's name) was a
little late, and the old man thought he wouldn't come. Then he saw the boy
approaching him across the square. His heart almost stopped, or so it
felt. An angel was making his way towards him - a dark angel, skin the
colour of milk chocolate, a bright burnt face with huge brown eyes and a
tousle of black curls, and that provoking grin with the broken front tooth.
And then, of course, there was the boy's body -- so teasingly
half-displayed. Had the boy calculated that he looked his best with his
shirt open like that, and with the sleeves torn off at the shoulders? Did
he realise that his smooth chest and stomach were things of utter beauty,
already, at his young age (how old was he? Seventeen, or even younger?),
properly sculpted and muscled (a cleft already between his hard pectorals,
the occasional glimpse of a nipple, the ridges of his stomach so clearly
defined), and his strong meaty upper arms? Of course he did.  Had he sensed
already that the old man's idea of faultless loveliness was the body of a
beautiful boy on the verge of manhood? Of course he had. Perhaps he had
teased many old men. Perhaps he had even been with some, given himself up
fully to their panting adulation. Did he have a girlfriend? Of course he
did. She was pretty, no doubt. Did she love his body in the way it should
be loved? Did she worship it as it should be worshipped? He so evidently
wished to be adored, showing off like that.

But he hadn't seemed to want to hang around, not that morning. Maybe there
were just too many eyes upon him -- even though he so obviously loved to
be looked at. Not all the eyes were admiring perhaps. The square was
already quite full; this was where the local men gathered for their first
coffee and chat of the day. Possibly they knew very well what he was up to
(what was he up to?) and didn't approve.  `Come,' he'd said, `we go.'

The old man was sweating profusely. His shirt was soaked. The boy was
sweating too, but his was a light sheen, his silky skin glistening in the
sweltering morning sun. He'd sometimes take a shortcut, clambering
effortlessly between one level and the next on the zigzag path. The old man
had to stick to the path. The boy would goad him occasionally from above,
stopping and standing almost coquettishly with his hands on his slim hips,
calling out. `You are slow! You are like old donkey! You are not healthy!'

`Tell me about it,' mumbled the old man.

`You should do more sport, like me. I am good for sport. I win all sport.'

`I'm sure you do, I'm sure you're very good,' muttered the old man.

He had to sit down for a time. He rested on a boulder and took in the
extraordinary view below and around him -- a shimmering bay and the sea
beyond, made silver by the sun, and olive groves leading down to it. Then,
when he turned round, the boy had disappeared. He had to shield his eyes to
look properly, but everywhere he gazed the boy was nowhere to be seen, even
though he could see the path clearly defined, all the way to the top of the
hill they were climbing. He felt tricked. Maybe the boy was going to vanish
from his life now, leaving him burning with lust, punishing him for his
lust.

He toiled upwards. Perhaps all the satisfaction he'd get that day would be
a sad and as always solitary masturbation somewhere up there in the heat.
The heat and the sun had always aroused him anyway. He'd find some grove
and maybe take his clothes off and imagine he was with the boy, caressing
him, feeling his every sweet contour, licking him, teasing his body to the
peak of excitement, until he came. He didn't doubt he could have pleased
the boy.

He felt he might be dying by the time he reached the hill's summit. He'd
rather have died with the boy beside him. There was a small church at the
summit, ruined and roofless now like so many of the hill churches around
there. Could he masturbate in a church, he wondered, even if it was a
ruined one, and arguably therefore no longer holy? Or did they stay holy
forever? He walked around the church looking for an entrance. What had been
the main doorway had collapsed and was filled with rubble.  On one side
there was a window, however, that he could reach, by stepping up onto a
stone slab. It was a struggle to heave himself up and over the sill, but he
did it, and he landed on the other side, inside the shell of the church.

Paneoti, the boy, was standing against the far wall, staring at him. He
felt an immense surge of relief and joy, and to some extent of danger. The
boy was no longer grinning, or even smiling. He looked serious, almost
grim, resolute, quite cruel. Was he going to be punished now, by the boy,
for his salacious longing?  Was he going to be killed? For a moment or two
he didn't care as to his fate. He had found his boy. He took a few steps
towards him.

`You stop,' said the boy. He stopped. The boy was looking glorious. He had
pulled his shirt back over his shoulders, perhaps deliberately or perhaps
not, so that the full loveliness of his chest and stomach were exposed. His
young hard muscles gleamed with perspiration. He was scratching his ribbed
abdomen. `You like me yes?' he asked.

`I like you very much,' said the man.

`Why you like me?'

`Because you're beautiful.'

This seemed to surprise the beautiful boy. `Beautiful, this is a girl who
is beautiful, man is not beautiful, man is handsome.' But of course he
wasn't handsome he was beautiful.

But the man said: `All right, you're very handsome.'

`Yes,' said the boy, `I am.'

The man stepped a little further forward. He wanted to touch him,
dreadfully, whatever the upshot. He couldn't quite reach the boy, but he
raised an arm towards him all the same.

The boy looked at his outstretched hand. `What you do, what you want?' he
almost barked.

Oh for fuck's sake, thought the man, you must know what I want -- I want
to feel you, every part of you, I want to venerate you, I want to love you
(I want to play with your strong young body for hours, here in this broken
church, under a baking sun).

The boy smiled, quite a brutal smile, not boyish at all. He looked the old
man up and down. The man felt examined and embarrassed -- ashamed at his
own decrepitude. He felt he should drop to his knees, as one must before a
god.

`What you want?' the boy asked again.

`You,' said the man.

`You want...me?'

`Yes I want you.'

The boy then moved from where he'd been standing and walked around the man,
still scrutinizing him, never taking his eyes off him. He poked at the man,
grazing his sleeve with a finger-tip. The touch felt electric.

`This, you take this off' he commanded.

`This?' asked the old man, indicating his shirt.

`Yes, now,' said the boy, pulling at the sweat-soaked cloth.

The humiliation, he knew, would be appalling, but nevertheless he shed his
shirt.

The boy's splendid eyes scanned his horrible upper body -- the sagging
chest, the bulbous belly, the rolls of fat falling over the top of his
shorts. The boy clicked his tongue in disgust. He flicked at one of the old
man's flabby pectorals. `This, you are like woman, you have titties!' said
the boy, with a sudden quite high-pitched giggle.

`Yes I know,' said the man.

`You are old fat ugly cow,' cried the boy.

`Yes I know,' said the old man.

`Big fat cow woman'.

`Yes I know'.

`You want to be my woman?' enquired the boy, as he twisted at one of the
man's nipples, which sent an astonishing thrill through his whole sorry
frame.

Suddenly the boy's mouth was close to the man's ear. He whispered: `You
want me fuck you?'

`Yes,' said the sad old man.

`Like woman you want fuck?'

`Yes, God, yes.'

`Get down!' the boy ordered.

He pushed the old man down onto his knees. The pain of his bare knees
striking the rubble-strewn floor of the wrecked church was excruciating. He
let out a cry.

So there he was, on his knees, before this young beautiful muscular Greek
boy -- everything he'd wished for, everything he'd dared to dream.

The boy's crotch was close to his face. He noticed that the boy was either
already hard, or exceptionally well-endowed if he wasn't. He saw the boy's
shirt drop to the floor before him. He stared up at the boy's miraculous
body. The boy spat straight onto his face. Some of the spittle landed on
his mouth.  He swallowed it.

The boy smirked. The old man reached up to touch the boy's iron stomach.
The boy slapped it away. `You want touch me, you pay me,' he said.

So the event was to become sullied by talk of money. He'd been a fool to
hope it might not be. `You don't pay I tell police that you touch young
boy.'

`All right,' the old man rasped. He reached into the back pocket of his
shorts, where he knew he had some money, though perhaps not enough to
satisfy the boy (sensibly he'd left his wallet and other valuables back at
the hotel).

`How old are you anyway?' he asked, as he scrabbled in his pocket.

`Sixteen,' said the boy.

`God,' murmured the man.

`Am I too young?' the boy asked, with the smallest hint of trepidation in
his voice (maybe the old man would turn away and run, paying him nothing,
or report him for soliciting -- this was what was whirling through the
man's head; possibly the boy was just anxious that the man would no longer
think him as delicious as he so clearly knew he was, wanting him to be more
obviously a man).

`God no,' said the man.

`I have sex since I am fourteen,' the boy then said, rather as if he was
presenting his credentials for a job. It seemed quite touching.

`With girls or with men?' the man asked. The boy hit him, smacking him hard
with the back of hand against his cheek, sending him reeling. An elbow hit
the sharp debris on the ground. He thought he might have broken something.

`Only girls,' snarled the boy, and spat on him again, `and old women,
American women, but I am not...' and he used the Greek work for homosexual,
which the man of course knew.

The man started to laugh -- in spite of the searing pain he was now
experiencing in the arm that had hit the ground, or maybe partly because of
it, but mainly because of the simple absurdity of this beautiful,
heartbreakingly perfect boy-man denying that he was in any manner
homosexual even though he'd displayed himself so openly, so invitingly, to
him, as he must have done to other men. Of course they always said that, of
course they did. He took great gulps of air as he laughed.

With his good arm he was still feeling for the money in his back pocket,
and now he produced it, and held up the notes -- three or four of them,
probably amounting to about eighty euros. `Take the money,' he gasped, `and
let me touch you, let me touch your heavenly body!'

He tasted blood as he said this, his mouth was perhaps full of blood. The
boy snatched at the money and counted it. He smirked. Then he stood over
the man, who was lying on his back on the ground, straddling with each foot
planted at about the level of the man's chest. It was a blissful sight.

`For this,' said the boy, bending forwards and waving the money in the old
man's face, `you can touch this' and he ran a hand across his rock-hard
stomach and chest muscles. He played briefly with both his nipples, both of
which, the man had noticed, were always slightly erect (a sight which had
immediately stirred him when he'd first set eyes on them), tweaking them to
further hardness with the tips of his fingers (you've got to be a bit gay
to do that so expertly, thought the man; he wondered if the boy had been
taught that pleasure, or if he'd found it out for himself; he wondered if
he stimulated himself there much, thereby accounting for their perpetual
perkiness, or if he asked others to touch them, even girls).

`But if you want this,' the boy then said, leaping into the air and turning
as he did so, landing expertly with his feet on either side of the man so
that the man could now gaze at his sweet tight buttocks, and cupping them
briefly in his hands, `or this,' as he quickly undid the belt of his
shorts, pulled down the zip and dropped the shorts so that they fell on the
man's face, `you must pay me more'.

The old man spluttered and blew, his mouth and eyes covered with the
shorts, which smelt strongly (and to him lusciously) of pungent boy-sweat
(he thought he detected the delicious scent of semen too).

When he managed, again with his good hand, to pull the shorts from his
face, he saw that the boy hadn't been wearing anything under them. He
stared up at a pair of glorious hairless buttocks, a pair of taut full
balls (too fresh to have dropped any distance at all), and a colossal cock,
fully erect and so long and thick that it seemed out of proportion to the
rest of the boy's body.

How big was that thing? The man had time to muse, for a second or two, on
the delectable thought that the boy had patently become massively aroused
by the whole seductive process so far, and he had time to cry out: `I'll
pay you. I'll pay you anything!' And then he passed out.

When he came round the boy had gone of course. He pictured the panic.
Paneoti must have thought he was dead, and that he (in his way) had killed
him. It would have been an odd variety of murder if he'd had to account for
it, but it would have been murder nonetheless. He must have scuttled back
down that hillside like someone fleeing from demons. The man was still in
pain, but the agony had subsided, particularly in his arm. He felt it. He
concluded that nothing had been broken (except his heart). He got up, very
slowly, his old bones creaking, brushed himself down, checked his mouth for
signs of blood (yes, there was blood, but it had caked and hardened). He'd
need a mirror to discover the full extent of the damage to his face, but he
couldn't feel any lumps or abrasions. He'd have to risk walking into the
village looking like the pathetic victim of an assault. He looked down and
saw that the boy had left the money, the notes scattered on the ground. He
picked it up, put his shirt back on, cleaned himself up as best he could,
climbed back through the window of the church, and set off on his descent.
When he did reach the village, nobody stared at him with undue interest or
alarm. In fact barely anyone noticed him at all.

to be continued soon...