Date: Thu, 3 Aug 2006 11:23:34 -0700 (PDT)
From: Sebastian Wallace <sebastian_wallace@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Malteaser

MALTEASER
by Sebastian Wallace

===

E-mail: sebastian_wallace@yahoo.co.uk
Website: http://stories.remoworld.com

===

If ever you've been to Malta, as I did with my wife Melissa and our young
daughter Beth this year, you might have noticed something about the men
native to the island.

Maybe it's just me, but when I walk down a street in the UK, I expect to
exchange a few knowing glances with other guys -- have them check me out
while I give them a similar once-over -- as well as with girls.  I've
noticed that it's happening less often now that I've reached thirty, but I
can still turn the occasional head.

Not so on Malta.  Although gay sex is legal on the island, it might as well
not be for all the action that seems to go on there.  If you give a
fit-looking Maltese guy a lingering glance, he'll be either totally
oblivious to it or otherwise appear puzzled as to why another man might do
that to him.  Wearing my tightest nothing-left-to-the-imagination trunks on
the beach was met with similar disinterest by other guys, and any attention
directed my way at all seemed focussed on Melissa rather than me.

At first I was a little concerned by the sudden absence of male-orientated
interest in my life.  I realised how much I missed the tell-tale glances
and grins of other guys, some of whom had wives or girlfriends by their
sides or little kids running around their feet, and those titillating
moments of wondering "Is he or isn't he?" when potential liaisons would
present themselves.

I wondered if maybe I was no longer attractive enough to appeal to
good-looking young guys.  I have fair-skinned Scandinavian features and do
enough exercise to keep my body in shape, but I wondered if maybe the long
hours I work as a GP were showing themselves in the fine lines around my
eyes and whether having a baby daughter in tow was making me look too
straight in both senses of the word.

But then I began to realise that the lack of homosexual interest was
virtually universal on the island.  Maltese men just didn't seem to notice
one another in anything but the most superficial way.  They seemed
completely ignorant of the attractions of other guys' bodies and unaware of
the whole fascinating spectrum of sexual possibilities that can exist
between two men.

I'm sure I'm over-generalising here, but that's how it seemed to me.

I saw a group of young Maltese lads standing around chatting on the side of
a harbour one day while another guy nearby was stripping down to just his
swimming trunks.  As he bent over to pull the leg of his shorts over his
feet, my eyes were automatically directed to his arse -- in particular to
his firm-looking buttocks which were slightly parted inside his tight white
trunks -- and to the bulge of his balls hanging between his thighs.  I
noticed, though, that none of the locals paid him any interest whatsoever:
not one of them even glanced over to check out what was an extremely
attractive arse.

I'm pretty sure that in a similar situation in the UK, a few of the guys
would have looked over at the undressing, bending man, even if they had
feigned expressions of disinterest.  And I'm pretty sure that at least a
couple of them would have been, even if subconsciously, imagining what it
would be like to penetrate such a well-sculptured backside, just as I had
been.

But not here.

I noticed, too, that public toilets in Malta were almost completely free of
gay-orientated graffiti and that glory-holes and under-the-stall signals
were totally unknown.

Guys' arses were, evidently, for shitting, not for shagging.

It was a real pity because a lot of the young local guys were really
attractive with their dark Italian features and well-toned athletic bodies.

The lad who sold me some beach shoes on the first day we arrived called
over to me, a few days later when I returned to the same shop, with a
husky, "Hey! Nice shoes!"

We grinned at one another and then I asked him if he had anything else I
could try on, glancing pointedly at the generous-looking bulge at the front
of his shorts.

He shrugged, clearly oblivious to my intentions, and, gesturing to the
range of goods on his shelves, said, "Take your pick."

I slunk out of the shop feeling a little embarrassed with myself.

After the first week of our holiday, I began to accept that the only sexual
activity I was going to be getting during this holiday would be that which
Melissa deigned to offer or which my right hand could minister.

A couple of the Maltese women had thrown me very encouraging smiles and I
probably could have manufactured a plausible-sounding excuse to nip off
with one during the evening while Melissa was putting Beth to bed, but with
all the good-looking young guys around me in shorts and trunks and all
their chests and backs and crotches and arses surrounding me every day, I
really felt like I needed a taste of something more masculine.

On one of the last days of the holiday, though, after I'd given up all hope
of being able to sample the local produce, an unexpected opportunity
presented itself.

We were spending the day at Ghajn-Tuffieha Bay, doing a bit of sunbathing
and swimming.  The beach was quite popular and there was only a few feet
between peoples' towels and belongings.

Melissa and I parked ourselves at the quieter end of the beach but were
quickly joined by a young Maltese couple who set down their things a small
distance from ours.

The guy looked over towards us and, ignoring me altogether, stared
blatantly at Melissa in her skimpy bikini as she applied sun-cream to her
legs.  I allowed him his fun; she did look pretty good.

I wondered if he was developing an erection in his swimming shorts but they
were too baggy for me to tell.  It was a shame: he was a good-looking guy
who'd suit a pair of Speedos.  And since it looked as if this was to be the
closest I was going to get to a Maltese guy's erect cock, it would have
been nice if I could have actually seen it!

Melissa took Beth into the sea for an hour or so, while I sat and read.

The Maltese guy and his girlfriend or wife went swimming together -- being
rather over-affectionate in the water together by my standards -- and then
came out of the sea to do some sunbathing.

After Melissa had come out from the sea and I'd been along to the kiosk to
buy the three of us some drinks, I decided I'd take Beth back into the
water.  I hadn't actually planned to go into the sea so I was wearing my
normal shorts, but we'd packed my trunks in the holdall just in case.

I stood up, facing away from the sea, and wrapped a towel around my waist
to pull off my shorts beneath it.  I noticed the Maltese guy glancing over
in my direction, shielding his eyes from the sun.

I awkwardly removed my shorts and underwear beneath the towel and reached
down for my trunks.

"The whole world doesn't want to see your arse, Sebastian!" Melissa
snapped, and I muttered my apologies and yanked up the towel at the back.

Trying to balance on each leg to hitch the trunks over the other while
holding onto the towel proved to be very difficult.

The Maltese guy was now sitting up and staring directly at me; or more
precisely, was staring straight at the front of my towel which occasionally
gaped open as I hopped around.

I thought, "You want to see a bit of English cock?  You got it!"

I allowed the towel to gape wide open as I pulled the right leg of my
trunks over my foot.  My cock, limp but looking well-hung in the heat,
seemed unnaturally pale in comparison with the tan on my thighs and
stomach.

The Maltese guy stared at it for a few seconds and then looked up to my
face.  I smiled over at him and he smiled back.  He had the expression of a
naughty schoolboy.

His girlfriend was lying on her front, staring away from us and Melissa was
playing with Beth.

I went to pull on the other leg of my trunks, flashing him another look at
my cock.  I was pleased I'd trimmed my pubic hair before we'd flown out.

I said, hopping around awkwardly, "It's kind of difficult not to look like
a twerp doing this."

Melissa hissed something catty, assuming the comment was directed at her,
but the Maltese guy muttered, "You look fine from here."

I grinned at him, feeling my cock lengthen a little in response to his
compliment.  I granted him another lingering look at it as I hitched up my
trunks and he stared at it appreciatively.

I had grown to suspect that most Maltese guys were quite well-endowed from
the wealth of generously-proportioned bulges I'd seen during our time on
the island, and it was nice to show him that English guys, at least in my
case, had nothing to be ashamed of.

After I'd swam a little and then entertained Beth for twenty minutes at the
water's edge, I went back over to our stuff and reapplied sun-cream to my
neck and shoulders while Melissa attended to Beth.

The Maltese guy called over to us, "Have you seen the view from the cliff
up there?  It's quite impressive.  You can see across to the next bay."

I looked up at the outcrop of rocks he was gesturing towards.  A network of
paths wound their way up to it, through coarse scrub bushes.  The way
looked steep but manageable.

I shook my head.  "Is it safe?"

"The way up is fine.  You have to be careful once you're up there.  There's
quite a drop."

Melissa glanced up at the rocks, clearly lacking any intention of going up.

He went on, "I can show you both the way, if you like^Å?  I feel like
taking a walk anyway."

Melissa shook her head.  "No thanks.  Not with Beth."

I muttered to her, "I'd quite like to take a look.  Would you mind?"

She glared at me, no doubt mistrusting my intentions.  "If you must, I
suppose."

I stood up and pulled a tee-shirt on.  The Maltese guy got up too and
glanced at my crotch inside my still-damp swimming trunks.  He fished a
bottle of water from their stuff for the walk and I grabbed my own bottle
of water.

Melissa said, "I don't want you falling into any holes, Sebastian."

"I'll be careful."

"And I don't want you walking funny when you get back.  You know what I
mean."

I nodded.  "I know what you mean."

We set off; the Maltese guy's girlfriend or wife seemed totally indifferent
to our goings-on and just lay face-down sunning herself.  Perhaps she had
no idea that two men could be going for a walk in the bushes with any
ulterior motive.

If only Melissa could have been so naïve.

The two of us set off along one of the crumbling paths with Melissa glaring
after us.

I knew that, had it been the guy's girlfriend who had offered me a walk up
into the bushes, Melissa would have refused to allow it.  She saw female
interest in her husband as far more of a threat than male interest.

As it was, she obviously strongly suspected that I was going off with this
guy for reasons other than to see the view from the cliff, and yet was
prepared to accept those reasons, albeit with reservations.  She knew her
husband enjoyed playing around with other guys - sucking a few cocks,
screwing a few arses, even allowing myself to be fucked sometimes -- but,
so long as I was discrete about it, she would turn a blind eye.

One afternoon, a couple of years earlier, we'd been out shopping in Leeds
and I'd been drawn into the scene of an accident to offer medical help.
The cop who had shown up to sort things out was a really attractive young
guy and, as I'd made my statement, a lot was going on between us in terms
of glances and grins.

At the beginning he'd said he just needed a short statement from me, but as
things had progressed between us, he'd invited me back to the police
station to "take down more particulars", as he'd smirkingly put it.

Melissa had looked suspicious but had agreed that I'd better go along.

Locked away in a small office in the station that evening, he'd fucked my
arse pretty roughly with me squatting on a chair, and had then refused --
as I'd assumed he would all along -- to allow me to reciprocate.

That night I'd used Melissa to vent my frustrations at having been unable
to have my turn at the cop's arse.

While I was on top of her, she'd groped around behind me and felt for my
arsehole; something she never normally did.  I'd started enjoying the
unexpected the attention but realised why she was doing it when she said,
"You're sore round there, Sebastian."

My hole was, indeed, very inflamed from the cop's exertions.

I'd grunted, still fucking her, "I'll be okay."

"You need to be careful."

"I'm very careful."

She'd nodded.  "Well make sure you are."

And that had been it; enough to let me know that she knew what I got up to
but not enough to suggest that she condoned it.

The Maltese guy wound his way through the scrub up the steep slopes and I
followed him.  Occasionally he'd look behind himself and grin at me and I'd
smile back.

About two-thirds of the way up, he veered off the main path and we headed
into an area of denser bushes with steep overhanging cliffs.  He pushed his
way through the coarse foliage of a couple of bushes and I followed him
into a small, shaded sandy clearing.

He said, "We'll stop here for a minute."

I nodded.  "Yeah, great."

He didn't say anything else but just stared at me.  I wasn't sure what to
do -- how to make a move since I wasn't completely sure of his reasons for
bringing me here -- so I just smiled back at him.

He took a swig of water and I did the same.

Then he said, "I saw your cock on the beach."

I laughed.  "Yeah?"

He laughed back: "Yeah."  We were both feeling really awkward with this.

I was going to ask him if he'd like what he'd seen, but he cut in with:
"You want to see mine?"

I smiled.  This was like being fourteen again.

I said, "Yeah."

He untied the cord in the waistband his swimming shorts and then pulled
them down around the tops of his thighs.

His cock, limp but very thick and large, flopped out.  It was a little
paler than the rest of his skin; the colour of milky coffee.  A small part
of the head of it, little more than the tip and the slit, was peering out
from his slightly-retracted foreskin.  His pubes were unclipped and bushy
around it and his balls were loose and hung low, like two conkers in a
sock.

He looked up at me, assessing my reaction.

I smiled and said, "Nice."

He just stood there, showing me his cock with his shorts around his thighs,
clearly unsure of what to do now.

I said, "Do you want to see mine again?"

He nodded.  "Yeah."

I hitched my tee-shirt up a little and hitched down my trunks.  My cock was
now semi-hard and was rising upwards from my balls, as if straining to get
a look at its Maltese equivalent.

He looked at it and I noticed his own cock starting to slowly lengthen.

I wondered if this was his first time with another guy; he seemed very
uncertain about what to do.  He made no attempt to come over towards me and
I wasn't sure how he'd respond if I walked over to him.  So we just stared
at each other's cocks, watching them slowly stiffening.

At length he said, "Does your wife know why you came up here?"

I shrugged.  "I don't know.  I imagine so."

"Is she happy that you do this?"

"We've never talked about it.  She seems to accept it, but I don't think
she's exactly happy with it."

He nodded.

My cock was now well on the way to being fully erect.  I wanted to
masturbate it but I wasn't sure if that might -- as the first overtly
sexual gesture between us -- freak him out.

I asked him if his wife or girlfriend knew why we'd come up here.

He shook his head.  "This doesn't happen here.  It's against our culture,
our religion^Å"

I nodded.  "Have you done it before?"

He shrugged.  "A little.  But not a lot.  It's just that sometimes I^Å like
it.  You know?"

I smiled.  "I know exactly!"

He walked over to me and asked if he could touch my cock.  I nodded and he
gently worked his fingers around it, easing the foreskin down the pale
shaft of it and caressing the head of it with his thumb.

I took the opportunity to touch his, coaxing the thick stem of it to full
hardness by gently squeezing and wanking it, while at the same time
kneading his balls and pushing a finger into the hot hairy crack between
the tops of his thighs.

I asked him, when his cock was throbbing upright at its full seven or eight
inches in my palm, "What do you like to do?"

He seemed unsure.  "I^Å I don't know^Å"

He was really aroused by this, but clearly on very uncertain ground.

I said, "Would you like me to make some suggestions?"

He nodded, his deep coffee-coloured eyes staring into mine.

I smiled.  "I'd like to suck your cock.  Then I'd like to lick your
arsehole.  Then I'd like to fuck you."

I felt his cock throb in my hand at the prospect.

He said, "I don't know about the last one.  Does it hurt?"

"I'll be really gentle.  You'll love it!"

He considered.  "You know^Å I'd quite like to fuck you^Å"

This was the problem with coupling up with straight men: they always wanted
to be the one doing the fucking; they never wanted to receive.

My cock really needed to have an arsehole gripping it; I'd gone nearly two
weeks without it tasting the thick, pungeant stench of another guy's
innards.

I lied, "In Britain, the guy who licks the other guy's arse gets to fuck
him.  That's how it goes.  Are you okay about doing that to me?"

I was gambling that his inexperienced manner was genuine and not just an
act, and my gamble paid off.  He looked as disgusted as most newcomers to
gay sex look when faced with the prospect of rimming another man.

"No -- I won't^Å I can't do that to you.  Sorry."

I smiled.  "That's okay.  So you'll let me fuck you?"

He nodded.  "Okay.  As long as you take it slowly^Å and you'll stop if I
tell you to^Å"

I agreed readily.  I was going to really enjoy this!

I dropped to my knees and began sucking at his cock which had softened a
little at the prospect of rimming me.  It rapidly swelled back to full size
and he began fucking my mouth with it, gripping my head and groaning
gently.

His cock smelled strongly of pubic sweat -- inevitable, I suppose, in the
heat -- and its head tasted sharp and acrid as I retracted his foreskin
with my lips.  The smell and taste of him -- so raw and masculine -- really
aroused me after having to make do with only Melissa's feminine versions
during the preceding fortnight.

He began oozing thick gobs of precum into my mouth as I wanked his shaft
with my lips and caressed his bell-end with my tongue.  It tasted salty and
made my mouth water.

I gripped his arse and pushed my fingers into the hot hairy moistness of
his cleft.  His buttocks felt firm and round; it was going to be so good to
watch them eating my cock.

He kept fucking my face and his balls thwacked against my chin with every
thrust of his hips.  He was loving it; groaning and grunting and gripping
my head like he thought I might try to escape.

I groped down inside his arse crack and found his hole.  It was tightly
clenched but wet and slimy: my cock would easily slide into it.

I withdrew from his cock and pushed my face into his hairy balls.  He
grabbed his cock and began to wank himself, enjoying me taking his balls
into my mouth in turn and tasting the cloying sweatiness of his scrotum.

I muttered, my mouth planted on the ridge beneath his balls, "Squat down."

He yanked his shorts further down until they were around his ankles and
then squatted down.  This was my favourite part, bar the fucking: exploring
the fascinating pathway between the base of a guy's balls and his arsehole.
You never knew what smells, tastes and textures you were going to
encounter.

In this guy's case -- I never found out his name -- the smell was powerful
and the taste was bitter.  I licked excitedly at the hairy ridge leading
towards his anus, enjoying the intensifying aroma of him as I homed in on
my target.

Then, reaching his small puckered ring, I pushed my tongue up into it,
feeling it dilate to urge me inside.  The taste here was intense -- so
crude and carnal -- as I probed his most intimate spot with my eager,
hungry tongue.  This guy's arse was as hot as hell: this was going to be a
fuck to remember!

He squatted lower and opened his legs wider to try and take my tongue more
deeply into him.  I strained to push it as far into him as I could, my lips
clamped tightly onto the sides of his arse cleft, and revelling in the
seedy taste of him.

Just then his hips began bucking and his rectum began squeezing my tongue
in short bursts.

Jesus, he was cumming!  And I hadn't got to fuck him yet!

I pulled out of him, hoping desperately I might be in time to stop him on
the brink of his orgasm but knowing full well that he was too far gone.

He was wanking his cock frantically, clearly having been overwhelmed by the
sensation of me rimming him, and it was spewing strings of white semen
across the sand in front of us.

I stood up, my erection straining painfully, and said, urgently, "I really
need to fuck you."

He stepped away from me, still cumming and breathless.  "You can't now."

"I really need to.  Just for a few seconds."

He shook his head, milking the last few gobs of semen from his cock.  "I'm
sorry."

"Just let me put it inside you then."

He pulled up his swimming shorts and tucked his cock inside them.  "No.  We
have to go now."

I was angry with myself for rimming him so assiduously that he'd climaxed.
I should have known that he'd enjoy it so much since it seemed to be his
first time.  A couple of quick licks would have done; then I could have
replaced my tongue with my cock.

He finished tying the cord in his shorts and said that we should go to the
top of the hill to look over the cliff because "the girls will be
watching".

I nodded, tucking my own painfully hard cock back into my trunks.

I kept looking at his arse inside his shorts as I followed him up the
hillside, longing to climb onto his back and slide myself into him.  I was
imagining the light brown colour of his buttocks framing the paleness of my
cock.

When we got up to the top and we looked over the cliff to what he informed
me was Gnejina Bay, he glanced at the front of my trunks, with my cock
still quite obviously hard inside them, and said, smiling, "You'll enjoy
yourself with your wife, later."

I muttered, "I suppose I'll have to," and then we began the descent back to
the beach.

Melissa was glaring at me with the same disapproving scowl when we got back
to her as she had been when we'd left.

She saw my cock, still waiting excitedly for an arse that it hadn't yet
realised wasn't going to be forthcoming, straining in my trunks as I pulled
on my shorts and said, "The walk wasn't everything you'd hoped for, then?"

"I guess not."

She sneered at me and got on with rubbing after-sun lotion onto Beth.

A short while later, as the couple next to us were packing up and the guy
was doing everything to avoid looking at me, she said, "I could just eat a
Malteaser.  You haven't come across any, have you?"

I glared at her.

===

E-mail: sebastian_wallace@yahoo.co.uk
Website: http://stories.remoworld.com

===