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Hi. My name is Winston. I'm fourteen. One of the Lost Boys. That's what Papa Chakales calls us. We're all refugees that wound up here on Lesbos, taken in by Papa Chakales and his two sons, Bion and Sophos. They're both in their twenties.
We're from all over. I'm American. When the war broke out we were living in Riyadh. My dad worked for a big oil company. We lived in one of the Western Compounds. It was o.k. I went to an American school.
I was at school when our house was bombed and my parents both were killed. No way for me to get an exit visa. I didn't even know how to try. So I just ran away. I don't know how I managed it or why I didn't get killed. It was hell until I got here. It's o.k. here. We get a place to sleep, enough to eat, liquor when we want it. Sure as shit couldn't get liquor in Saudi. Of course we've got to earn our keep here. But that's fun once you get used to it.
The Chakaleses' business is mainly to take care of soldiers and sailors on R&R. Of course there are others around also looking for relief from stress or battle fatigue. Right here Chakaleses own two big buildings, both originally barracks built for asylum-seekers back in the twenty-teens. The main floor of one is a big nightclub. They call it a nightclub although it's open twenty-four/seven. Upstairs are rooms for rent. The other building is the office and the Chakaleses' home. Upstairs is where we boys sleep. The Chakaleses also own a couple of resort hotels in nearby Loutra. Higher ranking officers mainly stay there. We service guests over there too.
You've got to be at least thirteen to be a Lost Boy. Of course few of us have any documents, so they've mostly got to believe us when we say what our age is. They do figure that if you can shoot off you're at least thirteen, though, so any boys that show up and can't cum get sent packing. They figure when you're eighteen, you're old enough to fight, so you get sent off to enlist. I guess that's fair.
A lot of the boys were already into sex before they got here. Not me. The Saudis take a lot of shit real seriously. You can't even talk to a girl in public. If you do anything even in private, you gotta be afraid somebody will squeal on you. You know what I mean. If the muttawah see anything or even suspect anything, your ass can be in real trouble. So when we had "the talk," my dad told me I could jack off in the bathroom, but otherwise to stay on the straight and narrow. And I did.
Well, when I got here, the first thing they did was to get rid of my filthy clothes, clean me up, and give me a chlamys to wear. That's the only thing the Lost Boys ever put on. It's like an Ancient Greek military uniform, a one piece garment held together by a brooch at the shoulder. Easy to get on and off. Ancients might have worn a loincloth under it, but we don't need one.
I could speak a little Arabic and had taken French in school, but after I was fed I was introduced to a Brit boy named Piers, who led me upstairs to the dormitory. There were maybe sixty or seventy cots, and Piers showed me the one I was to sleep in. And he showed me where I could hang my chlamys.
"We don't bother with clothes up here, mate," he told me.
I dutifully stripped. I wasn't really embarrassed, since everybody else up there was stark naked. I thought it might be a way to save on laundry. But one of the boys came over and groped me.
"He's got a nice one, aint he?" The boy had such a thick Middle-eastern accent, I could hardly understand him.
My reaction was quick. "What the hell?" I cried, grabbing his hand and pushing it away.
"Oh, don't be gobsmacked, mate," Piers laughed. "You'll get used to that shit soon enough."
And soon enough another boy came to take me down to Sophos' room.
Sophos was also naked. He could have been a model for a classical Greek statue. He greeted me warmly.
"So your name is Winston?" he asked.
"Yes sir," I responded.
"Well welcome to Lesbos, Winston," he said. "Have a seat." His English was perfect.
"You must join me in a glass of ouzo. You know the very best ouzo is distilled right here on Lesbos," he continued. "Not too easy to get good stuff these days."
He poured us two small glasses of a clear liquor which tasted sort of like pine sap. I wasn't accustomed to drinking alcohol so I sipped it very gingerly. It still had an effect.
"I wanted to tell you what you've gotten yourself into." Sophos became very serious. "The whole fucking world is full of refugees of all ages. Documentation is difficult at best and impossible at worst. And I suspect you've had one hellova time getting from wherever to here.
"Now we're willing to put you up here. Give you "three hots and a cot," like they say. But we expect you to earn your keep. And we'll even pay twenty-five euros a week into a bank account for you, in case any of us survive this apocalypse.
"We supply the needs of servicemen on R&R. They know that we cater to guys that want a hot ass or a young dick to play with, and that's where you come in. We don't allow any s&m or abuse, but we want guys to have a good time. And if you give them a real good time, the tips can be good too.
"If you're not into what we're into, or if you're not willing play along, there'll be no hard feelings. We'll put you on a boat over to Turkey, and you can be on your way, wherever that may be. Or...," and here he clawed his tool suggestively, "...you can enjoy everything we have to offer."
"I...I've been living in Saudi Arabia since I was ten," I stammered. "I've never had any kind of sex with anybody. But I can't see going through what I've been through for the last two months again. I think I've been lucky not to have been raped on the way here anyway. Please let me stay."
Sophos poured us each another drink and led me to a nearby couch. "So then. One of my duties is to indoctrinate virgin boys," he said. "You're a good looking boy. You have a nice body. We need to fatten you up a little. You've got a dick a lot of guys will think is beautiful. Arabs love American boys. You'll do well," he added.
His strong hands touched my chest for the first time. It felt good. It felt even better when he drew me close and put his tongue in my ear. Involuntarily I responded by reaching for his muscular pecs. I loved the feel of his body. And his hard dick told me I was exciting him as well.
"See what you've been missing?" he whispered.
We felt each other up for maybe ten minutes before he kissed my nipples and began to use his tongue to stimulate my gut, my armpits, and yes, even my dick.
"So it looks like you're goanna like man on man sex too," he breathed.
"Oh yes," I replied.
That was when his mouth enveloped my hardening prong and I went to heaven for the first time. It was wonderful. His head moved up and down, my dickhead slipping from his lips to his throat. His tongue flicked from my piss slit to the base of my shaft. Getting sucked was a million times better than jerking off. I moaned in ecstasy. When I came, it was like nothing I'd ever experienced before.
He managed to swallow almost every drop, saving just enough to have me taste some of my cum when he kissed me.
"Never tasted cum before?" he asked.
"No," I answered, "but it tastes interesting."
"Good protein," he said.
He waited a minute or so and then asked, "So you'd like to do that again?"
"Oh god, yes," I murmured.
"First you do me," he ordered.
I started by kissing his pecs like he did mine and moved down his hot bod. His abs were something else, a hard six pack. His navel was deep. Ideal for sticking my tongue into. His dick was bigger than mine, but I could take it. It had no taste until the precum began to flow. I liked that.
I guess sucking is an innate knack. I seemed to take to it right away.
"Yeah. You're pretty good for a novice," Sophos declared. "Suck that prong. Make me shoot."
His mouthings really turned me on. I sucked faster and harder, and he dropped his load with spurts that almost made me gag. But he tasted different. And I liked it.
"You're goanna stay here with me tonight," he said. "I love cherry boys."
Copyright 2016 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.