Date: Thu, 10 Oct 2019 09:59:36 -0400
From: MC VT
Subject: Manila Folders Gay Adult-Youth

Manila Folders
 ©MCVT2017  October 9, 2019

Dead end life and decisions.

"Uri, come in here."  I ordered, my brain so loose he could probably hear
it rattling from his office in front of mine.  "Get rid of anything this
color."  I pointed to the manila folder.  Then, I tossed the note pad of
lavender-colored paper across my desk.  It slid onto the floor.  "No more
of these crappy note pads either.  Only white or legal pad yellow.  That's
all."

Damn abrupt of me to speak to an intern that way.  Only twenty-three, new
graduate and so damn geeky.  Oh, well.  He didn't look like he'd stay on
anyway.

...

It was that damn manila folder.  As the sun from over my shoulder hit the
file, it all came flooding back with the pale yellowish-ochre.  The note
pad of purple lay on top of it.  For that moment I was back on the Kioni.
Orrin lives there.

On the way home from another global monetary meeting, a Russian man asked
me to stop at a private villa with him.  He was relatively young to be so
wealthy, I suspected a family scheme near Kazakhstan. Taavi was a drab
character with an early paunch, thick lips and the constant smell of
tobacco about him.  It was late October; I told the wife I was involved
with plenary sessions after the conference.  "Kiss the kids, I'll be home
in a week in a few days."  She went on about the tax advisor, I hung up and
texted her I had a bad connection and turned the phone off.

Taavi and I left Madrid for Athens then took a sea plane to disembark on
the island as the sun set.  Stepping onto the pier, I smelled the ocean and
looked up the gentle slope of the tiny fishing village houses nestled among
the trees and boulders.  Couldn't be more than several hundred people
living here.  Only skiffs and a few small boats were moored -- didn't see a
restaurant or café.  One lone fisherman walked into the village
after mooring his short boat.

Sunset-angled light bounced from the stucco of the houses on the hill, that
soft manila yellow.  Overhang of the red tiled roofs made a hard contrast.
As we walked toward the villa, the sun dimmed, making soft lavender
shadows, violet-hued pools of shade making the colors seem at ease and at
odds simultaneously for only a few moments.  Then the gray of night sneaked
in to erase hues of life.  Lights flicked on as we strode the narrow,
passageways.  Crossed streams of oregano, Parmesan, fish; dinner rivulets.
In unison, teles along the way announced the news softly -- a choir of
commerce when the ads broke in.

...

The color of manila and violet-purple in my office brought bitingly
melancholy moments.  My throat muscles clenched.  Twenty years of maxed-out
credit cards working in an unstable job that I hate, then a wife and
children who never say it yet make me feel I'm not enough and never will
be.  Why was I working so many hours and what was I working for?  There was
no happiness, no joy, no escape or reward.  The young man with dreams,
courage... a young man who wanted to kiss another man was bricked him
behind a wall of others' expectations to keep my miserable life moving on
its mundane path.  I didn't need anyone's approval to leave -- could have
left at any time. Detested my fear of stepping outside of the life I built,
loathed my cowardice and my guts turned, yearned to fulfill the adventurous
dreams of my youth.

...

Taavi and I were met at the door to the villa by a young woman, smiling
warmly, welcoming us.  Found our small rooms in the old house.  Tiled
floors, dim lights, ancient fixtures, faded wallpaper, but quiet.  As soon
as Taavi's butt hit the wide, wooden chair in the salon one hand grabbed
the neck of a bottle, the other lit his Turkish cigarette.  Though I didn't
understand the conversation, the woman and Taavi negotiated and disappeared
up the stairs.  They went to the bath. I could hear them talking softly
from my seat on the patio.  Small patio, a few plants, cracked concrete
where grasses grew like a row of starched, green fringe.  In the blue light
of a street lamp I found a chair and sat in the cool evening air, listening
to the teases between Taavi and the woman.  That wasn't life.  That wasn't
love.  They were only playing at it like performers in a too-oft repeated
opera.

Went to the kitchen to find salad, bread, cheese.  Sat at the counter
picking at the over-ripe tomato when footsteps came close.  Dark-haired
young man neared, smiled and looked at my dinner.  He went to the
refrigerator and began making himself a sandwich.  Taavi and the woman were
banging the bed against the wall above us, "Eh mamá mou."  He
pointed to his chest then to the ceiling and rolled his eyes.  Taavi was
with his mother.

We ate in silence and rinsed our plates in the dim light of a bare bulb
over the sink making the boy's eyes appear deep-set and very dark.  I
watched him closely -- he was twelve, maybe thirteen.  A dusting of soft
whiskers above the corners of his smile.

"Tele?"  He asked.

I shook my head, and motioned with my fingers that I wanted to walk and
pointed to the door.

"Ah!  PerpatĂ­ste."  He went to the door and opened it, looked over
his shoulder and smiled.  I followed.

The night air was cool, moist as we strolled from one pool of light to the
next along the street that led to the beach. At the end of the smooth sand
a small path led upward, winding through rocks and cypress and the pale
blue light of a half moon was enough to light the next few steps ahead of
us.  Curious about where we were going, I kept his bright white tee shirt
within a few yards ahead of me.  Up and over an outcropping, we descended
to a small cove, approximately ten meters across.  Around the edge of the
cove were broken cylinders, large, as though there were once columns here.

The boy grabbed my hand and we went to where the waves splashed against the
rocks.  No natural formation, but a small flat area cut from stone, a ridge
ringed the area beneath the broken columns.  "Záli."  He motioned
swimming and began taking off his shoes, shirt and shorts while I watched
until he tugged at the sleeve of my shirt.  I found a rock and sat, taking
off my shoes, the moist air hit my skin invigorating my curiosity.  A short
adventure...

Face to face, naked, the boy scanned my body and smiled, nodding.  He
turned and walked down the path and stood on the ridge between two broken
columns, his white, rounded rear perfect in the dim light.  He looked over
his shoulder and smiled as he stepped into the shallow tides.  There was a
smooth, flat surface of marble in the center of the columns, the pull of
the sea's tides was weak and the water was cold on my feet.  The boy tried
to explain something, I think he was telling me the oceans were rising and
taking over the ancient temple.  I nodded then he was gone -- he fell
forward off the marble slab and into the sea squealing.  I followed him
toward the open sea swimming fast till the water no longer felt cold.  Out,
out into the sea until we could look back and see a few porchlights and lit
windows on the side of the hill.  He stopped, and put his arms around my
neck and kissed my cheek, then swam back toward the ruins.

Taking me by the hand, he sat beside me on the ledge below the
columns. "Saránta?"  His hand went to his groin and he cocked his
head, smiling sweetly.

"Saránta?"

"Saránta evrós."  He looked at me from under his eyelashes,
with a half-smile.

Didn't understand what he was saying and it sounded like "eros."  I knew
that word.  When his hand came to my cock and his lips to mine, I nodded.
"Yes."

Yes, an adventure as the boy kissed me, moved to my lap and pulled my dick,
then he went to his knees and took me in his mouth.  My hands stroked the
sides of his face, such smooth skin and his shoulders, his muscles and
bones were still small -- he had a long way to go before he was fully a
man.  My hands found his and I stroked along his palms and fingers,
straight, smooth digits, sturdy wrists on this half-child, half-seducer.  I
leaned back imagining the men who'd sat where I was sitting several
centuries ago with a boy between their legs.  Were all Greeks so
passionate, so assertive?

Clear skies, half-moon and stars above, I sighed and closed my eyes.  Rigid
and breathing hard as his tender lips sucked.  The point of his tongue
poked my slit, pushing a grunt from the bottom of my lungs, I jerked as he
opened my knees wider and his finger sneaked toward my ass.  All my life
I'd begged for penetration and gotten only disgusted looks.  Drawing one
knee near my chest, I let him continue sucking and rubbing my ass until I
almost lost control of my cum.

Pushed his head back.  He looked upward to my face and smiled with my dick
in his lips, then stood.  With one foot on each side of my hips, he stood
on the ledge and rubbed my face on his package.  My hand went to his balls,
then his short but thick cock.  I kissed and looked up at him.  He smiled
and nodded.  Unfortunately, that didn't last long.  He lowered himself to
my groin, fumbled to get my dick at his ass.  Pulling his short torso
against my chest, I reached around and rubbed the head of my cock along his
cleft while he made soft moans.  When well lubed with my pre I stopped with
my glans at his hole.  He pushed; I could feel his ass kissing the tip of
my dick with his muscles.  Hand gripping my rigid shaft, I pushed it into
him, just slightly.  Repeating that several times, he reached around
himself and pulled his ass open wide and lowered himself as I held my rod
in place.  Fast breath jerked into him as my corona passed his sphincter.
He looked up at me and I kissed his forehead and rocked him against me to
the sound of the waves.  Tight and hot beyond belief, I'd never felt the
heat of a boy before.  His arms went around my chest and he began short
strokes slowly.  I moaned as the satiny walls of his rectum parted against
my glans.  Looking down at him, I lifted his chin with my finger and kissed
his lips.  He nuzzled against my neck.  This wasn't an adventure, this was
ecstasy.

When he was comfortable, he leaned back and began stroking his cock.  Boy
juice came and glistened in the moon light.  I wiped my finger through it
and brought it to my lips -- I could only taste the salt from our swim.  He
was becoming more excited; I grabbed his rod while his thighs clenched and
relaxed pulling and pushing himself on my rod.  Then he stopped, his hand
came to his shaft and he began stroking himself while he clenched his ass
muscles around my dick.  The strokes stopped, it was my turn now.  Grabbing
his hips, I thrust him downward and my hips upward -- wouldn't last long.
The need to fill him overwhelmed me.  I groaned and pushed, then trembled
feeling the heated pulses rush upward and into the boy.  Pulling him
against me, my face in a grimace, I gave the boy all I had.  All of it.
Incredible release and the high continued for several minutes until I
looked down and lifted his face for another tender kiss.

He smiled, stood and wiped his slit along my lips.  Like a hungry child, I
grabbed and sucked, licked - my mouth begging for his cum.  He was a
generous boy, very generous and came to kiss before he pulled me by my hand
into the waves and we rinsed.

Back at the villa, we sneaked in quietly, and the boy came to my room,
slipped between the sheets with me.  He pointed to his chest, "Orrin," he
whispered.  He pushed his fingertip to my chest, and raised his eyebrows in
question.  "Nicholas."

We fell asleep in embrace.

...

The next day Taavi was in a snit.  He had to return to Russia, problems at
home.  He called for the plane while I packed and we left.  Never saw Orrin
that day - must have been in school.  As the plane took off, I looked down
to see the perfect circle of smooth marble with the ledge where I'd sat
with the boy and the broken columns.  I trembled when I remembered.

Looking over at Taavi, "What does `saránta evrós' mean?"

He thought for a moment, "I think it means `forty euros.'  Why?"

"Just wondered."  I pulled out my wallet and checked, Orrin had taken his
forty euros.  That left me feeling somewhat empty, but not regretful.  He
was a tender lover for a few moments, easy, seemingly innocent and tender.

...

Life went back on the same track though it felt more like a treadmill.
Occasionally as I went to the tennis court or the garage in the evening,
that same purple cast of shadows would happen and my mind went back to the
tiny village and the incredible night with Orrin.  At work, the interns
came and went.  Feelings of being trapped came more often, frustrated and
edgy, I became reclusive, angry and sullen.  Began staying late at the
office watching porn, searching for a dark-haired boy.

It was the week after she started divorce proceedings that an email came.
Difficult to decipher the computer translation, but it was from the boy
Orrin.  From what I could make of the message, he'd taken my business card
along with the euros.  He said he wanted return the money to me,
"epistrépste edó."  Come back...  There was his phone number.

Fin.