The Greek lad

He kicked his dusty sandals off and I looked at his long, brown feet. My eyes rested there a while as I heard him pull his tee shirt over his head. A crack of static, a rustle of material. My gaze darted up quickly and I saw two tufts of thick dark hair as he raised his arms over his head. He reached up, his chest tightened, defined pecs with a small V of hair between them. His arms were strong, also defined and I guessed he worked as a labourer. In a few years those arms would be strong enough to crush me in a bear hug. His head caught in the neck of the shirt which was then pulled free as his face came back into sight. He was still looking directly at me, uncertain, wanting assurance.

I raised a smile, stood my ground and stared into his deep brown eyes as, in the edge of my vision, I saw his hands fall again to his waist. I heard a zip and looked down. He undid his jeans with one slow, deliberate movement and then waited. I just stared at him, looking back at his face and raising one eyebrow. He shrugged again, asking what he should do next. I cocked my head. Whatever you want.

He pushed his jeans down and over his hips, revealing tight white shorts. They shrouded closely their innocent secret and outlined a proportioned shaft that lay stiffening to the right. Beneath this the cotton cocooned a perfect roundness and above the waistband an eyelash thin line of hair ran up to meet the smoothness of his tanned belly. The jeans slipped lower under their own weight and his legs, strong from his 19 or so years of labour and exercise, held up the rest of his youthful body with power. Powerful yet timid. He didn’t know what to do next. I continued to drink in the sight of his body and simply waited. A moment passed, no sound but our breathing and the rustle of wildlife outside. He pushed the denim aside with a slight kick and took a step closer.

We were within two feet of each other. I could smell his soap and feel his breath. But still I did not approach. We tried to reach each other’s thoughts. He wanted me to tell him what to do next. I wanted to see what would happen. Tentatively he reached out a hand, smooth skin on the back, rough worked flesh on the palm. I felt it land on my chest - broader than his hairier. And then his hand slid down until it rested on my hip. I looked at his body. Taught yet pliable, strong yet uncertain. Unused. Wanting. His hand moved across and his fingers wrapped around my cock. He stared into my eyes. I did not back down. Imperceptibly I moved my legs apart, allowing my balls to hang free and his hand was quick to cup them, explore them, learn what another man felt like. I let him touch me, he was gentle, I let him explore and learn the pleasure of the first sensation of another man’s skin against his own. He knelt very slowly and finally his eyes left mine. They travelled down my body as mine had done down his until all I could see was the top of his dark head. He took my cock in his mouth.

And then all I could feel was the heat of his eager mouth as my shaft slipped between his lips and parted that cheeky grin. But still I did not touch him. I just stood there and let him discover, let him move his head in towards my crotch, out again until the tip of my swollen penis rested behind his teeth, then in towards me again where he buried his nose into my damp flesh and sucked my breath through me. His actions grew quicker and he made small groaning noises, sounds of wonder and derision. I felt his arms wrap around my waist and his fingers dig into my taught, hairy arse muscles as he pulled me harder into him. He clawed in at my arse, getting a firmer grip as he desperately tugged me deeper into his throat. He pulled back, never letting me free, but taking a deep breath so that he could drag me into him deeper each time as he held me in his throat longer; his tongue playing around the base of my now totally swollen shaft.

Quickly I felt myself getting close. The heat, the sight of the lads in their tight denim, the wine, the youth drawing on my flesh. A few more thrusts and I’d be filling his gullet with cum. I tried to warn him by pulling back but he realised what I was doing. He read my signals and only held me tighter. He wanted me to explode inside him. His hands took one of my arse cheeks apiece and slammed me back into his face, my balls slapping up against his smooth chin, my balance almost lost. I grunted another warning and it only made him more desperate to drink me. His grip tightened, his throat contracted, heat around my itching cock head, my balls rising, preparing to unload, his eyelashes brushing against my pubes. 

My breathing stopped for a split second. All was silence, my heart pounded, my legs tightened and I felt myself jettison the first load into the springy softness of his throat. He drew in a breath, made a gasping sound as the second spurt hit somewhere deep within him, and then another as my groin jerked against his face. And then another load caused him to gag and I heard him swallow, spluttering as another man’s cum filled his mouth and dribbled over his lips for the first time. He sucked me still and dry, holding my red hot cock in his mouth until my pleasure was spent and the sensation started to turn to ecstatic pain.

Eventually he let me go, released me from his mouth first but continued to hold my groin against his face as he drew in my scent, licked my hairy balls with his youthful tongue and stroked the back of my legs with his rough palm. And then he stood up and away and looked back into my face. A trickle of sweat ran from my brow and into my eye and it closed instinctively in a wink. He raised a finger and brushed my closed eyelid tenderly with a thumb. And then he licked my salty sweat from it, all the time questioning me with his deep brown eyes.

His white shorts were now straining against the solid shaft that they could hardly contain. The material was pulled away from him revealing a darkness that was shadow and hair, the front of them was moist, his cock upright and primed. He was begging me to do to him what he had done to me. He turned his head towards the open door of the bedroom and indicated that he wanted us to go in. I shrugged, said nothing and he let out a frustrated sigh.
‘Please?’ he said.
I refused to reply. He turned and walked two paces towards the room. Stopped and let me view the tightness of the white shorts around his small, round arse. His back was strong, strong enough to support my weight when I would bear down on it but his hips were slim enough to allow my hands to grasp each one with my fingers almost touching around them. 
‘Why do they look at me?’ I asked and my voice stopped him in his tracks. He made no reply so I went on. ‘When I pass your café the other young men stare at me strangely. They talk about me after I have passed, I know.’

He turned back then and smiled apologetically. ‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘we talked about you.’
‘What were you saying?’

He came back up to me and suddenly placed my hand over his cock. It felt warm, tender and small in my large palm, smooth under the softness of his shorts. And I knew it was mine for the taking. I put my other hand on his arse and he made no objection. I knew that was mine for the taking too.

‘We could not decide,’ he said and looked me straight in the eye, drawing me close to his mouth.
‘Decide what?
‘We could not decide which one of us you would want. We all wanted you. You chose me.’
‘You chose me,’ I reminded him.
‘We chose each other,’ he said and kissed me.