Date: Thu, 29 Jan 2009 01:26:34 +0000 From: clever wag Subject: A Greek Holiday Part 5 A Professor's Greek Holiday (Part Five) This is the continuation of a story about sex between older men and boys in a fictitious part of modern 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 5. Professor Robert Smythe and his host Harold Liddell ate lunch at a table in the middle of the villa's central courtyard. It was an excellent meal. They ate squid and fried shrimps and lamb stew and kebabs and aubergines and tomatoes and an array of excellent desserts. Whoever had prepared all this in the kitchen of the villa, wherever that might be, was evidently an first-rate cook. They washed it down with a fine local white wine. Standing obediently at some distance from the table, always ready to pour another glass, or remove an empty plate or dish, were three boys. `Do you like their slave costumes?' the American asked, leaning forward with a wink. `Yes they're very becoming,' said the professor. `They're maybe not historically correct, but they kinda work as a fantasy don't you think?' `Yes they certainly do, and actually they are rather accurate,' the professor replied. The boys were dressed in what he knew from his research into classical Greece was called a chiton, a tunic consisting of a skirt and a sash, clasped at one shoulder. The boys wore nothing under these tunics, so their teenage torsos, apart from the sash, were bare, and the skirts were extremely short. As an added little flourish, the pretty lads wore wreaths on their heads. `So you like my boys, huh?' asked Harold Liddell. `I do indeed. How many...are there...exactly?' `It varies,' the American replied, `sometimes can be upwards of thirty...' `Thirty?' the professor gulped, `thirty? Really? `They come and they go, you know. But they seem to have a good time, and I spoil them some, give them the stuff they need, the mobiles, the latest games consoles, nice clothes. I pay them good too, and of course they get a nice place to sleep and to play. It's one hell of a life for a kid who might have been sleeping six to a bed until now in some shitty hovel with his brothers and sisters.' `But they're not all from round here are they?' `You noticed? No they ain't. Most of them are but I'm starting to expand. Some are from up north, or from the islands. Giorgos, you know, the boy I was fucking when you arrived, the one you saw all oiled up, he's from Crete. What a stud he is. But I also got a great kid from Naples, Pietro, he was the slut fucking Stavros, he looks good don't you think?' `Who, Stavros or Pietro?' `Well both but I was thinking of Pietro. Great definition, great skin, like most Italian kids.' `Yes he looked beautiful.' `And I got a couple of Swedes, brothers I think, although they say they ain't. And I even got two beachboys from my own home town of Santa Monica, California. It's a kinda worldwide search, you know, for the best boys with the best bodies.' `Well they most definitely have great bodies...' `Oh they gotta have those, plus they gotta fuck good. But I tend to find the boys with the good bodies tend to fuck good. Something about knowing how fucking incredible they look, you know?' `I'm sure you're right. But how...do you find them...? `Well professor as you must know the only way to find anything is to go looking!' The American let out a great bellow of laughter. He clicked his fingers and one of the waiting boys came over. The boy was Greek, brown as a berry with long curly hair. He had a chest almost too well developed for his body, which was skinny, but with a steely ribbed stomach on top of narrow hips. Harold Liddell gave the boy a quick smack on his buttocks. `This is Stelios, I found him in Halki, little island off Rhodes, working as a waiter, and fucking all the lonely ladies, even though he's only seventeen. I knew I wanted him soon as I saw him. I mean just look at this cock...' The boy Stelios was of course wearing nothing under his short skirt, so the American could easily lift it. The cock, though almost flaccid, was still about seven inches long, and now, at the American's touch, it stirred and hardened. `How many lonely old ladies sucked this thing and had it in them, do you think?' `I've no idea,' said Professor Smythe, `but I envy them...' `Stelios says two hundred. He's lying of course, but he sure knows he's hot.' `Well he is,' said the professor. He was looking at the boy's chest extraordinarily developed chest. `I like his nipples,' he added. The boy's sash had fallen off his shoulder so that his pronounced pectorals were completely exposed. `Oh these perky little things...?' said his host, `yeah, look at the way they always poking out...' He gave one of the nipples a flick and Stelios squirmed. `You know how you can tell a boy is gay, or bi at least? By his nipples, and if he likes them played with or not...' `Yes I rather suspected that...' said the professor, `Ilia is always playing with his.' Harold Liddell laughed. `Ilia? He got the most sensitive nipples in Greece, the little whore...' He gave the boy's nipple a final little twist and sent him back to his place. `You wanna fuck him?' `Well I don't think there's one here that I don't want to fuck,' said Professor Smythe. Harold Liddell laughed. `Well it's open house here professor!' The professor wanted to know more about how precisely this sybaritic American, who clearly had enough money never to have to work again, and only to enjoy his passion, which was obviously beautiful boys, actually found these extraordinary examples of adolescent beauty. Go looking? What did that mean, go looking? He wanted to `go looking' himself. He'd only ever looked for things in books, or by trudging over ancient sites. Sometimes, whilst exploring these ruins, he'd spotted a beautiful boy, shirtlessly sunning himself perhaps, but he'd never dared to go beyond anything but stare, discreetly of course. Now, thoroughly aroused at the sight of Stelios's erect nipples and cock, and by the thought of what he wanted to do Ilia's nipples, he needed details, to arouse him still further. `How exactly do you do that?' he asked. `Do what?' `Go looking.' `Well it involves a lot of hiking, professor. You up to that?' Harold Liddell stared at the professor's body, which even the professor himself knew wasn't the healthiest of specimens. `When I need to find something, yes I'm capable of walking long distances...' said Professor Robert Smythe, trying to puff himself up to look stronger. `Hey I'm only kidding ya,' said the American, smiling. He went on. `Here, in Greece, or on the islands, I tend to go up into the hills or the countryside anyways, away from the towns, or the larger villages. It still ain't easy in this country for a boy to admit that he likes the touch of another boy or man, but I can usually tell when a boy does. There's something of the ancient Greek still lingering in some of these modern Greek boys -- you saw them out there in the garden, they couldn't keep their hands off each other, the little fuckers...' `Yes I did see that...' `But their parents don't approve, you know, even if their dads would like to be fucking them, they won't admit it. So like I said I tend to go out to the countryside, where things are still a little more relaxed, sexually anyways. The farm boys, the shepherd kids...' `Ilia's a shepherd kid...' `That's what I'm saying. Ilia's a shepherd kid. From a whole family of kids, I believe, even though I've yet got to meet the others...' So he knew Fotis, the taverna-owner who'd first told the professor about how he'd found Ilia up in the hills, and about the boy's brothers. He suddenly had the idea that Fotis might be a part of this whole set-up, that he might be a procurer for Harold Liddell, a Greek pimp. And his thoughts turned to Paneoti, the muscled boy who'd inadvertently brought him first to Fotis, and then to pretty Ilia, and now here. But the American was continuing: `So I guess you could say I go hunting. Maybe you'd like me to take you hunting some day...' `I'd like that very much,' said Professor Smythe. `But like I said I'm going further afield now. I've got a friend in Italy who's looking for Italian boys, I do so love Italian boys...' `Like Pietro...' `Yeah, he's the first, my God he's a great fuck. Then I got the Swedes, Anders and Lars, and my two beachboys from my own home town, Brad and Chase, and...oh did you notice the Africans?' `The two black boys? Yes I did...' `Sierra Leone. I was a war reporter once. Went back there earlier this year, not to report on any wars, just to...' `Look for boys?' `You got it Professor. Did you see the dick on the little one?' `I did.' `Ain't it...awesome, as these kids like to say? It shouldn't be allowed!' The professor laughed. He was relaxing, with the wine, and the realisation that he was in heaven, and that this American, who seemed so uncaring of opinion and just wanted to enjoy himself in the last stages of his life, should have tastes so similar to his own. `I'm expanding into Eastern Europe too,' the American went on, I got a friend in the gay porn business over there, he's interested in bringing some of his boys over to make a movie here...' `Good idea,' said the professor. He'd seen some of those Eastern European films, having once bravely entered a shop close to the University where he worked and hired a few. For a time it had become an addiction, and in the end he'd watched about thirty. `And then there's the internet,' said Harold Liddell, `that's how I found Brad and Chase, they've both got pay websites...' Now Professor Smythe had no idea what the American was talking about. He knew nothing of the internet. He didn't even possess a computer, much to his daughter's disgust. Harold Liddell yawned. They'd sated themselves on a wonderful meal and too much wine. `Well its siesta time for me,' said Harold Liddell. `My congratulations to the chef,' the professor pronounced, raising his glass and draining it. `You may want to congratulate him personally later,' said the American with a wink, `he's seventeen.' `Really now,' said Professor Smythe. `Oh my look who's here!' Pretty Ilia had turned up. He grinned and pouted as usual. Rather to the Professor's disappointment, he was dressed again, though only in his sexy brief cutoffs and an open Hawaiian shirt which hung loosely over his trim brown body. He'd washed his hair too. It was a great mass of flying blonde curls. He looked utterly lovely. `If it ain't my favourite cocksucker,' said Harold Liddell, getting up from the table, stroking the boy's hair, `and he prettied himself up for you too, professor...' The professor stood up too, swaying slightly. The American barked more orders to Ilia, who once again took the professor's hand. `He'll show you to your room,' the American said. The arrival of Ilia made the professor think of Paneoti again, and he said: `I was going to ask you about Paneoti...' His host's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. `You know Paneoti?' `Yes and I know Fotis too, the owner of the restaurant where Paneoti and Ilia work... `When they can be fucked to work,' mumbled the American, with a small scowl. `I was only wondering...' `Wondering what?' Harold Liddell was very drunk, and he didn't look as if he wanted to talk much about Paneoti. `Well, where he was...where he might be...' `Who the fuck knows!' the American shouted. The still attending boys, and even pretty Ilia, flinched. Harold Liddell lurched towards his guest and with his mouth very close to the professor's ear he whispered: `Paneoti is here, he is there, he is everywhere, I never know where the fuck he is. Yes I know him. He's the most beautiful boy in fucking Greece. Trouble is he still thinks he isn't gay, and he's as fucking gay as Oscar fucking Wilde. So he comes here, and he fucks around, and I fuck him, and he fucks me, and then he's off, wondering if he's gay.' He leaned even closer, and added, more quietly still, `he's a heartbreaker, Professor Smythe...now go fuck Ilia, I know that's what you want...hurt him, he likes that, call him dirty stuff, he knows all the words...' `Well I certainly want that...' `Look at him, he's dying for it, and he's one good fuck too, with the tightest sweetest boy cunt...I'll see you later.' With that the owner of this amazing paradise of boys staggered off, snapping his fingers at the boy Stelios to follow him, and calling out: `See you later, Professor Smythe, we're going to have a Roman Orgy tonight!' Ilia led the old man across the courtyard, through an archway, and into a second courtyard. This was quite the biggest villa the Professor had ever visited, aside from the ruined ones he'd spent most his life exploring of course. Several rooms led off this courtyard on two floors, so it looked a bit like the university quadrangles the professor was used to. He doubted there was much that was academic about this place however. In the centre of the courtyard there was a fountain, with a huge sculpture over which water was pouring from a spout at the top. It reminded the old man of the Laocoon, that great statue in Rome, a swirling mass of bodies writhing all over each other, except that in this case the writhing bodies were those of gleaming muscled young boys doing all manner of enticing things to each other. It wasn't great art exactly, but it was certainly exciting to look at -- as vulgar erotic art often can be. Ilia tugged him up a flight of outside stairs towards the second level of rooms and to a particular door. `This your room,' said Ilia, pushing the door open. `You want sleep now, yes?' He touched a nipple on his bare chest, having sensed by now presumably that the old man liked it when he did that. `Not until I've fucked you,' said the professor, who was of course very drunk, 'and harder than you've ever been fucked in your life, you fucking little tease, with your tight body and your big cock and your perky tits...' Some of the American's use of language had rubbed off on him...clearly... to be continued...