GREEK LESSONS
By Happenstance
WARNING: If you are offended by verbal descriptions of gay male sex; this story is not for you. Stop reading now. If under the laws of your locality this type of activity is proscribed, stop reading now. If you are under the age of 18 (or whatever is the age of consent in your jurisdiction), stop reading now. Anyone not falling into one of the above categories, enjoy. Technically, this story is a fantasy and any resemblance to any one living or dead is purely coincidental. Any resemblance to actual experiences in my own life is my business.
Copyright c 1998 by Happenstance. All rights reserved. You may download this story to keep on your computer, or print a hard copy if you preserve the title, warning and copyright notice. It is however my story and I do not waive any copyrights. Any legal violations brought about by ignoring the Warning notice become your responsibility.
GREEK LESSONS
by Happenstance
I really wanted to learn to speak Greek. I took a couple of classes while I was assigned to Athens but the only real way to learn the language was to get off the Air Base and go practice with actual Greeks. There was some encouragement to do that in the Greek honor guards, the Evzones, at Syntagma (Constitution) Square. They were the hunky cream of the Greek army. And the uniform they wore, those white pleated kilts, and white tights, left little to the imagination. While Greece has a proud history, the traditional national dress was established back when the Turks were in power and looks kind of silly to modern American sensibilities. But it sure did show off the powerful legs and thighs of those boys, many of who were obviously weight lifters.
Now, contrary to stereotypes, Modern Greek culture is not very homo friendly. The locals will tolerate a lot from tourists, because of money and because they are nice people. However, within their own culture they take a more Mediterranean outlook - think America in the fifties. Though many men go to gay bars or aggressively engage in anonymous gay sex at the numerous cruising spots in the city, the only people who really identify as gay are those that can't pass as straight. Most "masculine" gays marry, have kids, screw around with guys on the side and don't think of themselves as gay at all. There is even a very active bath scene and male prostitution, with many of the underpaid young Greek soldiers acting as trade for a few thousand Drachma. To further complicate the gender issue there has always been a substantial transvestite prostitute population, which also caters exclusively to "straight" men.
I learned two words on the street that weren't covered in my class, poustee, "Pussy", and malakka or "Anal sex receiver". Greek men use these words the way some American inner-city black men use the words "nigger" and "mother fucker" when talking to their close friends. And also like America, the quickest way to start a fight is for someone who isn't from the neighborhood to use them. Still, it shows the Greek ambivalence toward gays and the passive partner in anal sex. Anal sex is very big in Greek culture, the word Greek as used in the sex ads wasn't picked at random. But while the top isn't looked down on, he's just a straight guy scratching an itch, the bottom is the object of jokes and ridicule, a sissy, poustee, or malakka.
When I first expressed my interest in getting some action from one of the Evzones, my friend Rwanda told me I was nuts. "Those boys are all strictly trade. Hap, I know you and though you are "flexible" those boys would drive you nuts. It's not like they're hard to get. All of them fuck around, but they're all tops. And for you, that would get real boring, real fast."
She had a point. Rwanda would know about Greek soldiers if anyone would. She was a Black model from America who was a major superstar sensation in Greece. She was also a man. Her real name was Ronny. I'd met her at a club one night with a huge Greek sailor on her arm. She was dressed like Annie Lennox or Marlena Deitrich, a sexy woman in male drag. I had her number almost immediately and introduced myself. She thought it was hysterical that I was the only one in the club who could see through her Victor/Victoria act and we became fast friends. Because she had a passion for Greek military boys, she became my advisor on how to get one into my bed. She told me about a cafe on Omonia square where the guards hung out when they were off duty.
The next day, after my shift, I was there, drinking "Heninger", the local piss watery beer, and waiting to see who wandered in. I didn't have to wait long. A group of Greek soldiers came in and made themselves at home. It was obvious they hung out there. I quickly picked out my favorite, an overgrown lad with big soulful brown eyes, bronze skin, and lips like a classical statue. Unlike most of the others, he didn't smoke, and he had a more vulnerable air about him. I was hoping to get lucky and meet a soldier who was actually gay, and not trade. His open, sweet natured look made me optimistic. Based on Rwanda's advice, I figured a frontal assault was my best bet so I just sauntered over and introduced myself in Greek. He told me his name was Dionysus or as he said "Theeoneeso" but I could call him Dennis. He smiled sweetly and asked if we could go back over to my table, that he would like to practice his English. His friends laughed at him and patted him on the back. I thought they knew what my story was but it turned out they were just teasing him because he really did want to learn English. Unlike many Greeks he hadn't studied it in school. He was from one of the islands and his friends teased him for being from the boondocks. We had a few beers and chatted, me in bad Greek, he in bad English. It was surprisingly easy to reel him in, he accepted an invitation to go back to my house as if he was expecting it.
We were scarcely in the door when he grabbed me and kissed me. His tongue probed for mine, and what he lacked in finesse, he made up for in vigor. I hugged him to me, his chest was so broad I had trouble getting my arms around it. He was romantically inept and naively aggressive, altogether a charming combination. I was sure I'd found my elusive Greek bottom on the first try. As I undid his uniform shirt, I stepped back to admire the view. He was smoothly sculpted and hairless, like the older brother of one of those overripe cherubs in a Carravaggio painting.
He had an incredible body, naturally taut. His skin was smooth and supple over a form that belonged in a museum. From what I'd seen of other Greek men, he would be pot bellied by thirty. Unlike America, the men really worked for a living and there wasn't a gym on every corner. He made little whimpering noises as I feasted on his chocolate colored nipples. It was a turn on to see how he responded to my aggressiveness, throwing his head back and surrendering to my attention.
"Are you going to suck my cock?" He asked innocently, "My friends say Americans love to suck Greek soldiers." Why not, I thought, in the interest of good international relations. I was representing my country after all.
I felt saliva filling my mouth as I moved down even with his crotch. What a sight! His cock would have been huge on a man twice his size. Erect, it still hung long and limber down between his thighs, as if it was too heavy to support its own weight. His cock sock hung down over the glans like an oversized turtle neck. There were inches of foreskin to spare. I moved the skin back with my hand and started nipping at it with my teeth, gently but forcefully. I stretched it out, nearly three inches beyond his dick snout. I nibbled and licked, this toy was more fun than a slinky. I worked my tongue down between the head and the hood, swirling and tasting, driving him out of his mind. The thing throbbed to the beat of his heart, and the throbbing was coming faster and faster. I kept working his nipples and moved one hand down to his balls, which looked kind of undersized drawn up under the base of that monster shlong. I gently pulled and kneaded them, working his load free.
He was panting and mumbling incoherently in Greek. "Agapemou", I caught out of the stream. As his throat stretcher worked its way toward my stomach, I felt like I was trying to swallow some long thick creature whole. It moved and slid in the loose skin as if it had a life of its own. He hissed between his teeth as I gently pinched the drawn up skin of his nuts, then moved my hand to his ass. I popped my sweat slick thumb through his sphincter and then all hell broke loose.
He jammed the thing down my throat so hard he nearly dislocated my jaw and let loose an artillery barrage that would have downed the space shuttle. After several tries at shoving his prick out through my ass, he lay back panting. Creamy streams still oozing from the lips of his foreskin. I forced my tongue back up in there and caught whatever ammo had misfired from his salvo. He writhed and whimpered under my attentions, an inherently passive participant.
I ran my hands through his close cropped hair and he beamed at me angelically. "Now its my turn," I said standing and moving my rampant member toward his parted pouting lips.
He almost burst into tears. "I'm not a malakka! How can you expect me to do that. I thought you like me!" He sputtered in virginal indignation, honestly hurt that I would even suggest that he was a cock sucker. How unlike American soldiers who would throw their legs skyward at the drop of a garrison cap, but wouldn't kiss because it was "queer".
I was at a total loss as to how to proceed. I was obviously mistaken about him being gay, but I was too revved up to let him go before I had gotten my nut, too. Compromise was in order, but what could I do that wouldn't offend his delicate sensibilities? Gazing down at his still hard cock, with its abundance of foreskin, inspiration hit.
Moving my ramrod up to the tip of his, I managed to slide about four inches of his skin up over me. Wrapping my hands around both dicks, I was able to create a warm tight tunnel that was every bit as hot as (you'll pardon the expression) a moist yielding cunt.
I fucked his cock sock like a demon. The sensation quickly went from a substitute measure for pounding his perky renaissance butt, to a thrill worth repeating on it's own merits. The wet sloppy sounds of me jerking us both off with his foreskin filled the room. He even got into the spirit and took over. Apparently this didn't fit into his definition of queer. Free to concentrate on the feelings, I yielded to his manipulation. I'm uncut myself, but I'd never experienced anything like that smooth cocoon of his slipping up and down over my shaft. He shocked me by licking and biting my nipples, turning me on till I was forced to grit my teeth to keep from cumming. It was confusing; was only getting fucked and sucking cock off limits to straight boys here? When he shifted his stroking to overdrive, and moved up to suck on my tongue, I lost it. The flood of my sperm up into his fleshy cap filled it like a balloon till it welled out between his fingers. The feel of his spooge hitting my cock head shortly thereafter propelled me into a secondary orgasm, delicious, but definitely not what I had planned.
As I hustled him out the door, he begged me to meet him sometime the next weekend. Later, I wondered how I could have gotten my signals crossed like that. I vowed to seek further advice from Rwanda. If everyone was a top in Greece, who were they fucking? My quest for a Greek bottom continued.
The second time out I decided that maybe I had gone about it all wrong. Instead of some naive kid, maybe I should just go for a pro. There are a bunch of young Greek men who make a living off of "escorting" tourists. They hang out in the squares where the tourists are likely to wander by and offer their services as "guides". While not exactly hustlers, it is understood that the tourist will pay for everything: meals, drinks, cabs, even a room if necessary. I felt awkward, I had no need to pay for it, I could have about any American serviceman or tourist available myself. However, I figured maybe a kamake (literally "spear fisherman" in Greek) would understand that not all Americans were bottoms. I asked Rwanda if she knew of any young soldiers who worked the tourists. That's how I met Vassily.
He was physically the opposite of Dennis. Short and compact, he had sandy blond hair like many northern Greeks. He was hairy, with dusty blond fur on his chest. His eyes were a deep grey, the color of the harbor in Thessaloniki, the city he was from. He asked me to call him Will, although it sounded like Vill in his German accented English. His uniform fit a bit tight, perhaps to show off his muscles. I understood that I would be buying several rounds of drinks and dinner before we headed back to my place, that was how the deal worked. As long as no money exchanged hands I could convince myself that it was just a very formalized date. I got a chance to practice my Greek, Vill knew his business well and made me feel like the most interesting guy on the planet. He was charming and funny and I began to think that this wasn't such a bad deal. I could see how he got into working the tourists, he was just plain great company, and sexy as hell in his Greek army uniform, beret and all.
When we got back to my place we were both drunk. As Vill stripped off his uniform he saw my camera and insisted I take pictures of him as his clothes came off. I still have one of him in just his coat and beret with no pants, his thick penis peeking out from between his coat tails. He undressed me, playfully, teasing me and reaching down to fondle my balls. Overall, I was physically larger than he was, and he was fascinated by the size of them. I found his fat dong pretty interesting myself. While quite a bit smaller than Dennis', it looked like a satisfying mouthful. As Vill kissed me, stroking my dick to full erection, I was convinced that this time I'd made the right choice.
I made the first move, slurping his dick into my mouth. I was right, a perfect fit. He laughed delightfully and returned the favor. We went at it like old friends, really having fun with each others bodies. He seemed to really enjoy making me feel good, taking my cock in long slow spirals that made every hair on my body stand on end. I did the same to him, paying special attention to his balls and working my way back to his "taint". He practically pushed his ass against my face, moaning as I worked up to a full fledged rim job. I nibbled and gnawed at his pink donut, getting him ready for what was to follow.
Meanwhile he was going to town on me like a hoover stuck in overdrive. He was an accomplished cock sucker, knowing when to use his teeth to heighten the experience. He seemed thrilled with my foreskin and abused it as only someone who has one of his own would know how to do. As my hips began dancing on their own, feeding him more of my cock, he just chortled. "You like Vill?" He teased.
"Vill, if that's what it took to keep you blowing me, right now I'd fucking marry you." I replied and began tongue-fucking his hole.
"Vat are you doing!" he gasped. I felt his sphincter flutter around my tongue. I pulled his furry buns apart and ran my hands over them. They were the perfect size, a palmful. As he began to moan and twist, I kissed and ate that much harder. Every so often I'd ease off and take both his egg sized balls in my mouth, swirling them with my tongue. Everything about him was an easy size, like those snack package candy bars.fun size.
His oral expertise was getting to me as well. I moved my hand to the back of his head, his short hair was thick against my palm as I guided his movements. I wanted him to slow down and make it last. I wanted him to speed up and release me from the perfect agony. I felt myself creep closer and closer to release.
About that time, I slid my middle finger up his butt, slow and easy, all the way to the knuckle. I figured I'd pull my dick out of his mouth and finish up with a rollicking fuck. At almost the same moment his finger entered me and found my prostate. As I moved my finger in and out, I felt him go stiff against me. We both hit the jackpot at the same moment. That rare sexual moment, a photo finish, both of us across the finish line nose to nose. I put my mouth over his rod and gulped down his cum as he did the same to me. Not bad for an appetizer.
I let him to continue to work on me lazily, as I did him. My cock got stiff again in anticipation of opening up that compact bubble butt. I pulled away and my cock popped out of his mouth. "Vere are you going?" he asked.
"I want to fuck you," I replied, raising his legs. He bolted off the bed and began picking up his clothes.
He gave me a look of pure betrayal. "Just because I am kamakes, doesn't mean I am omofilos (gay)! I thought you understood! I thought you veren't like other Americans. Just because I am small they think I am malakka."
"Oh, Villy, calm down. I was only joking," I lied. He looked at me suspiciously. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. I was playing a game. I didn't think I would fool you." I put my arm around him and played with the fur on his chest. He laughed a little forced laugh, but he relaxed against me and began playing gently with my balls.
While I was glad he hadn't run out, I was more confused than ever. I mean, I had a good time with him, but I wasn't any closer to finding a Greek man who would admit to being gay, much less a bottom. Compared to Greek men, the most closeted American military boys were downright well adjusted. Still, he was a sweet kid, and other than his insistence on being straight, a blast in bed. In the morning I would have to have another talk with Rwanda. For the moment, there was round two to attend to.
Well, if you can't win, then surrender. I decided to go to one of Athens's "gay" bars. There were plenty of straight Greek men (tops) who went there to meet gay men (read bottoms). I'd just pick out a "gay" man who wasn't too obnoxiously effeminate and log some stop and goes on his ass.
Yorgo was the name Greek men used to call each other when they were just goofing around. It means George, but they use it the way an American cab driver uses "Mack" or "Joe", just a generic guy name. Lots of Greeks are actually named Yorgo though, but the man I met that night wasn't your average Joe.
He was lounging against the bar, and to me he stood out like beacon. Tall for an American, he was a giant for a Greek. He looked like the cartoon of Mr. Clean on the television, huge, muscular, and sculpted, with piercing blue eyes, a shaved head, and one earring. The only differences were his thick black mustache and eyebrows, and a very liberal coating of black body hair. My mouth watered, he was prime daddy beef, on the hoof. Adding to the picture, he was wearing a Greek Navy Seal Team tee shirt and dog tags. He saw me looking and putting his cigar down on the bar gave me a challenging stare that melted the elastic in my underwear. Maybe I could put my plans to play top on hold for just one more night.
He lumbered over to me and put an arm around my shoulder. "I am Yorgo. You are American Army boy." He announced. I knew right away he wasn't going to be much of a conversationalist.
"Air Force Man." I corrected in Greek. He laughed and was already allowing his hands to roam over my chest. He had his own way of crossing the language barrier. He took my hand and put it down on his thigh so I could feel the bulge growing there. I nearly panicked and ran, as my hand moved down toward his knee, the thick tube in his jeans showed no sign of ending.
"You like it." He murmured to me in a deep growl.
"Yeah, sure.I guess so." He was so hot, such a god, maybe I could figure out something to do with it.
"I want you." He kissed me and moved his hands all over me. I've been frisked by cops who weren't as thorough. He was very strong and I knew that if we had a misunderstanding about who was doing what to whom things might get rough. Somehow the risk was even more of a turn-on. "We will go to my house, now," he stated and pulled me by the hand behind him as we headed for the street. He seemed to take my surrender for granted, but kept a hold of me as if he was afraid I was going to bolt at the last minute. We passed Rwanda on the way out and she just rolled her eyes at me.
We necked like high school kids in the cab on the way to his flat and my pants were practically soaked with dick lube. The cab driver nearly crashed several times watching us in the rearview mirror, but he never said a word. Yorgo kissed me passionately as we entered his bedroom, he practically smoldered with Mediterranean heat.
"Take it out." he insisted. I pulled down his black jeans and set his beast free. God, what a beast it was. It stood up rock hard and massively erect, with a thick veined foreskin that retracted just enough for the piss slit to peek out. It was a jaw wrecker. "Suck it." he breathed. Overcome as I was with desire to let this stud dominate me, I had my work cut out for me. I pulled out all the stops and finally got it down my throat. He smiled at me fiercely, and holding the back of my head, fucked my gullet with long slow strokes. It was a damn snug fit, but he was in no hurry, letting me catch my breath, being careful not to gag me.
I was so turned of by the picture of myself on my knees worshipping this monster that my cock hurt in my pants. I freed myself of my clothes as he used my face as his pussy, he scarcely seemed to notice.
"Good," he assured me as I felt the beast twitch and shift in my throat, I felt like one of the victims of the face hugger in the movie "Alien". He stroked my hair and played with my tits, gently, forcibly. "Good," he hissed again, pulling his monster out of my mouth and feeding the whole thing back in slowly, several times. I hoped I'd be able to talk the next day. "You like it." He announced and picked up his pace, still slow but more forceful. His pubic bone meeting my lips on every swing. I was on my knees for what seemed like hours, letting my hands explore his furry ass, and work his big protruding nipples in among his chest hair. When I did that he would exhale again in a sultry hiss, "Yes.Good." He was a man of few words but he got his point across.
I was so into the cock pig thing that I was getting real close to cumming myself, right on the edge. I tried to slow down so I could get there, humping his furry leg for the extra friction to put me over. Suddenly he grabbed my head and hugged it to his crotch tightly, his beast shoved all the way in me face to the root. I felt it grow impossibly and thought it might burst out of me as it pulsed. I could feel the wads of spooge force their way down the length of his prick and into my gut. I thought I was going to cum right then, but at the last minute he pulled out and smacked my face with it, dripping the last of his cock snot on my face and chest. The damn thing was still hard as a rock and I hadn't even cum yet!
He stared down at me, fire in his eyes, and started to force the thing back between my lips. "You want it." He assured me and started fucking my face again. God, he was a human cock, his incredible body dwindling in my mind as I found it impossible to focus on anything but the feeling of that monster stretching my esophagus. I was so turned on I was ready to fuck the carpet, but at the same time it was exhausting, he was just too damn big. His stamina would have put a true bottom in heaven, and while I had never been so into playing pig boy, I was beginning to want my turn at bat. I raped his body with my hands, leaving marks and friction burns, fighting my way toward his second orgasm. I used my teeth on his rod and was rewarded with another gasped, "Good." After another eternity of delicious frustration he again hugged my head to his body, so hard my nose was flattened into his pubes and fired again, thick slow burst that flowed like honey down my throat.
He stroked my hair and smiled at me, as he reeled his cock out of my jaws and ran it over my face. It was still so hard it throbbed! Mine was too, but because I hadn't gotten off. He smiled and grabbed my head again, ready for round three. Something in me snapped. He was one of the hottest men I'd ever met, but enough was enough. Someone in Greece was going to learn what reciprocation meant, and I was ready to teach a couple of lessons right then.
I shoved him back on the bed and without a pause grabbed his ankles and spun him over face down. I expected some resistance, but there was none, no cooperation either. I pulled him up into the doggy position and he stayed there while I drooled spit in his butt crack. I'd have preferred real lube, but my father always said if it ain't spit it ain't love. I lined up my hungry rod and pierced him like an arrow. He spread like butter, hot, slick, and delicious. I fucked him like a demon, using his lean hard cheeks as handles.
I don't think there's anything that gets my motor going like topping a top. I was plowing the ultimate daddy, and he grunted and whined like a school girl. I reached under him and felt his beast, to my surprise it was running like a faucet. I grabbed fistfuls of his chest hair and pulled him down on my shaft. The great thing about fucking a daddy stud like Yorgo is that no matter how rough you give it to him, you know he isn't going to break. I got him in a headlock, my arm up under his chest and around the back of his neck. I was in the home stretch, fucking not just him, but in my mind, Villy and Dennis as well. Slamming up into him so hard, as if I could shoot my load into his soul, I came and came. I coasted through one orgasm and into two more secondary shocks, like little petit mal seizures. He shrieked and launched cum up all over his own chest and for the first time that evening his cock went soft, hanging down fat and pendulous like an obscene elephant's trunk. That was enough to coax five or six more spurts out of me.
I collapsed on top of him, across his broad back. Eventually he rolled over and encircled me in his arms. "That was awesome," I sighed. I'd finally found a Greek bottom where I'd least expected it.
"You suck good." He said, again, the alpha male. "You must come back. I will fuck you again. Americans love to be fucked." He held me against his thick chest.
"I know at least one Greek who loves to be fucked." I teased, tweaking his nipple.
He ignored me, "American men, they all want a Greek dick up their butt. They are all malakkas. That is why they come to Greece, to be poustee. He ruffled my hair, "You are okay -- for a poustee."
Then, the light finally came on. How could all Greek men be tops? Who were they fucking if there were no bottoms? Each other, of course, but if everyone but the most effeminate were in denial and nobody admitted anything, then nobodies precious masculinity was damaged. It was so blindingly simple that there was no wonder I'd missed it.
When I told Rwanda about my revelation the next day she laughed till she nearly choked. "Darling," she said, "You are some piece of work. That's something drag queens have known about straight boys forever. Do you want to hit the bars again tonight?"
"No, I think I'm going to be busy. I have to give Dennis a call."