The Greek Lads (part 3)

I think we fell asleep for a while. I was certainly dozing when I felt him move under me. I was in a half awake, half asleep in a nowhere place with a montage of images drifting through my mind. I could see the other lads at the café, sitting with their ice-coffees, sipping through straws and watching me from under dark eyebrows. In dreams I could stop in front of them, be invisible and stare at their tightly packed jeans. I could take my time to admire their smooth, young faces and their tight fitting tee shirts that showed off their broad chests. In sleep I could imagine them also following me home as my lad had done. See them walk into the room where we now lay. I could hear them murmur in their strange language and understand what they were saying. That they approved and were jealous of the younger friend who had found me first, the one who had dared the risk, shadowed me home, dropped to his knees in front of me and then begged me to take him to my bed.

And I could be part of everything that was happening, be the centre of it as it happened in real time. 

The other lads gather at my feet and start to stroke my legs. They comment on their strength, marvelling at how another guy feels. I know that they have all wanted to try this, have all had fantasies about sex with another man. And I know that, until now, they have not had the courage to try it. Not for all their bravado and their machismo. To talk among themselves of sex with their girlfriends is fine, even if the talk is only fantasy too, but to talk of sex with a man, to admit that they want to try it; that takes real courage. And somehow in the balmy heat of the late evening they are finding that courage. And they have found us. Lying in each other’s arms, our sweat still drying, our cocks still sticky from the pleasures we have just given ourselves.

And in my semi-dreaming I can hear the rustle of clothes as they strip, this group of five around the bed. One kneels beside my young friend, feeling the smooth arse cheeks while undoing his own tight jeans. And another crouches beside my head, toying his fingers through my hair, planting tiny kisses on my face, tentatively so as not to wake me. But I am awake. 

Beside the bed the tallest, the broadest, peels off his shirt and runs his palms slowly down his ribbed chest towards the top of his trousers. His long fingers slide inside and he grabs the growing bulge that waits within. He has a proud, classic face. His eyes are dark and his lips moist. He thinks I am not watching as he cocks his head at another lad. This one is smaller, tightly built and strong. He stands back a pace not daring to come forward until his mate tells him it is o.k. And now he is kneeling and the tall guy is unbuttoning his fly. A flash of white and the massive cock inside pushes his shorts through. His cock is bent painfully down and forces its way out like the back of a whale breaking the surface of the ocean. Powerful and beautiful. The smaller lad looks up from his kneeling position and his eyes do the begging for him. Carefully, as this has never been done before, he raises a hand and touches the growing cock, lays his hand flat on it as if he is measuring the length. And the taller one pulls his shorts down at the front so that his great tool is released. It hangs long and dark over the waist band, the head already wet. He takes it in his fist and his large hand covers only the base. The rest he places against the lips of his subservient friend who waits for permission to feed. And then, oh so very slowly, the great length is pushed gently in between the youthful lips. It probes them before parting them and filling the eager mouth with a new experience.

Beside me my young friend is moaning again. The same sounds as he made when I explored his arse with my tongue only a short while ago. I turn my peaceful gaze to him and he is smiling back at me. His face glows with delighted confusion and he reaches out his hand to touch me. 

‘Are you awake?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘My friend, are you awake?’

Yes I am awake. 

I was awake and back into real time. No one else in the room but us. Just me and him. But he was enough.

I flattened his dark hair with my hand as he lay on his front. He had somehow slipped out from under me as I dozed and now delighted me with the sight of his young body stretched beside me. It was like he was saving the best for last. I had still not seen or tasted his cock. He had feasted on mine, sucked me dry and in return I had made him come as I showed him the ecstasy my tongue could bring to his virgin arse. We had rested but I was still not finished. He had said that we had all night. It was dark outside by then. I could hear a church bell toll mournfully in the distance and feel only the slightest breeze nudging in through the open window. Outside a street lamp tried to light the blackened alleyway and shed only the slightest, orange glow, into our room.

I shifted myself. Slid one leg over him and pushed myself up so that I sat across his thighs. My flaccid cock fell onto the small rounds of his backside with a thump and rested there as I looked down onto his strong back. Leaning forward I kissed the back of his neck and his hands immediately made fists, screwing up the sheets as he pulled them in towards himself and sighed. I took his shoulders in my hands and massaged them slowly, pressing my thumbs into the back of his neck and making small circles. And then I slipped my arms under him, hugging him as I had before, my mouth beside the soft lobes of his ears.

‘Turn over,’ I whispered.

He moved without hesitation, but slowly. As I supported myself on my hands and feet, lifting myself up from him as if I were performing a push up to allow him room, he twisted first his chest and then his legs until finally I was staring down into the depths of his eyes. I stayed above him, suspended, as I looked at him. He blinked, his long eyelashes barely touching together in slow motion, and his lips drew into a coy smile. He reached up for me and placed his hands on my shoulders, I felt him brush the hair there, feeling it as if he did not believe it was real. And then I lowered myself down again slowly, so that my cock was the first thing to touch him.

I felt the downy softness of his short pubic hair brush against the end of my penis, felt his warm, limp shaft against my heavy balls as they flattened over it, enveloping it in their folds and holding it there, safe. My stomach touched against the firmness of his, my chest met the hardness of his and our nipples met sending the fizz of a static charge through my body. The tips of our noses touched and our lips fell silently together.

So very gently he kissed me back, opening his mouth to allow our tongues to meet and play. His eyes were open. We watched each other as we kissed, neither wanting to be the first to break the look of disbelief that held us together. His hands explored wherever they could reach on my back, as low as he could find he pressed them into me, forcing me closer to him. I took his head in my large, strong grip and tilted it, taking his lips away from mine and giving me access to his neck. His skin was soft, salty from the sweat and hot from the balmy night. I dug my tongue into him, below his chin, forcing his head back further and he gasped at the strength. But it was a calm strength, a peaceful strength, using only enough force to let him know that it was I who held the power over him. I had captured him with my experience. It was all that had been needed. 

I started to slide lower, all the time pressing my mouth to parts of his body that no one had kissed before. His shoulders, beneath his arms where the hair was soft and across the top of his chest where his flesh was hard. His nipples were small and delicate, sensitive to my probing and, when I gave just the slightest of nibbles there he arched his back and clung to me tighter. But I had been there before and I wanted to move to unexplored places. I could feel only a hint of puppy fat on his stomach as I licked the last traces of his cum from it. He worked hard, he was toned, but yet there was something about him that suggested he was less than his nineteen years. 

His hands could reach no further than the top of my head now as I nuzzled in around his pubes. I could feel his cock had lengthened again, and now it pressed up against my chin as I bit into his flesh beside his short pubes. I could smell his musky boy smell, sweat and come, when I buried myself deep between his legs and his groin. He flinched, his back arched up again in response to my pressure and gave me more to press against. His ball sack was soft against my cheek now and his cock touched against my temple. It would soon be mine. I would soon have the prize I had hungered for since I first saw him, packet bulging in tight jeans, outside the café. My own cock was hanging, semi hard between my legs as I knelt. But it could wait. This moment was for him, not me.

I lifted my head to look up his smooth body and into his brown eyes. His own head was raised from the pillow slightly so that he could see more clearly what I was doing. His mouth was open in bewilderment, his eyes wide in disbelief. How long had he dreamed of this, how long had he waited?