The Leading Man

I suppose it was inevitable. I liked men in general and Cypriot men especially, both Greek and Turkish, and I hadn't been very good at hiding it. I'd exchanged steamy looks, touching, and suggestive conversation enough with the tennis pro at the Eleon clay courts and pool club in Nicosia, Cyprus, that when Andreas felt comfortable enough to make a move, he had a good idea I'd go under him--and I did easily.

He kept murmuring how I was so young and fit and almost androgynously blond when I let my hair down and how he couldn't resist me and how I'd teased him and tortured him as he pushed me against the desk in his office at the Eleon and kissed me on the back and throat and lips after pulling my tennis T-shirt over my head before we went out to the court. And I wanted to scream for him to shut up and do it because I couldn't resist the Mediterranean sulkiness, sexiness, sleekness, and curly hirsuteness of him.

He took his time, but he did it. I knew as soon as he flicked that condom packet and tube of lube onto the surface of the desk next to me that he was going to go all the way with it. He bent me over the desk on my belly and kissed down my back, me moaning as he pulled my tennis shorts down and pressed my belly down to the desk top by palming the small of my back with one hand while the other fondled me through the mesh of my jock pouch. I groaned and whispered, "Fuck, fuck, fuck it," as he tongued my ass hole, opening me up. And I did open up to this attention. He wasn't my first man. I was only nineteen, but I wasn't a virgin to men.

I cried out, "Yes, yes. Screw me!" as he worked me open with his fingers, pressing in with two and then three and spreading them apart, stretching my opening, getting me ready for him. When I was gaping open, he rose up, hovered on top of me, and put himself in position. I heard the tear of the condom foil, felt the smoothing on of the rubber on his erection pressing between my thighs, and felt the coldness of the lube.

"Unless you tell me not to--" he growled.

"Do it! Fuck me!" I answered.

With a low laugh, he mounted and penetrated me. I jutted my ass back, murmuring, "Yes, yes, yes." He found I wasn't knew to this and stretched to the demand.

When he was well saddled, he grasped my wrists, raising my arms over my head and holding me under him on the desktop. He thrust up hard inside me, filling and stretching me. I opened quickly to him, not being a virgin to anal sex and being fully into the fuck and rocking my hips back to plunge into the thrusts. We both panted hard and grunted at the effort. We worked together as one wanting, frantic team.

I had wanted him inside me for weeks and now he was.

He let loose of my right wrist to move his hand down under my belly, sliding inside the pouch of my jock, and rolling my balls and stroking my cock off. I brought my hand down to and covered the pouch from the outside as he worked me on the inside.

I came first, inside the pouch. He wasn't far behind me. We'd built up to this point with considerable verbal foreplay, meaningful looks, and touching. We were both primed to bust a nut the first time we let this play out.

I was a nineteen-year-old American on an internship at the American embassy in Nicosia. He was a twenty-six-year-old, married Greek Cypriot with a couple of children and a jock job at a tennis club. I'm sure both of us knew from the first time we played tennis together that we'd make the other one if we could.

And we could. Just a couple of weeks into knowing each other and we'd each gotten our rocks off nicely. I'm sure we both knew it was just physical exercise. Neither of us had any romantic thoughts about this.

"We're already into our court time," Andreas said as he pulled out of and away from me. "Here's a washrag. I'll meet you on Court Four as soon as you can get yourself dressed again." And then he was gone.

As soon as he left his office, though, I heard him talking to someone in the short covered walkway out to the pool terrace. I'd thought that there might have been someone out there listening to us or watching us. The office door hadn't been closed completely. It was early in a week day and the club usually was pretty deserted at this time, but I'd had the impression that someone had been monitoring us.

Hearing Andreas talking to someone so shortly after leaving the office, with me not even groaning and rising off the desktop, told me that I probably was right.

That wasn't good. But the fuck had been good. I'd been minding myself too well since taking up my internship here on the summer break from Georgetown University. I knew there were people in the embassy with their noses out of joint that the ambassador's nephew had wrangled a summer job here and was living in the residence. They were, I'm sure, looking for any opportunity to criticize my presence--not directly to the ambassador's or my face, of course.

* * * *

Only a few of the clay courts were in use when Andreas and I went to them. The club had been built in a former olive-tree orchard, and rows of trees had been pulled out to accommodate courts, while a row of trees remained between the courts. This gave shade for spectators and for the players to cool down between games. The courts on either side of us were clearing out as we arrived at Court 4 and new players weren't arriving. An older Greek Cypriot and a young Arab--probably Lebanese, as many had resettled to Cyprus when Beirut was torn by civil war--were finishing on Court 3. As I was moving toward Court 4, my approach still largely shielded from the Court 3 view lines, I saw the older Greek man back the young Arab into the splitting trunks of an olive tree and kissing the youth on the lips while feeling up his crotch with a hand. By the time I came into their view line, though, they had separated and were stowing their gear away in duffle bags.

That served to tell me that the Greek Cypriot was a dominator of men, though, and initiated my thoughts of him as a possible sex partner. He wasn't coming up in the negative in the assessment.

The Greek Cypriot was a handsome Zeus of a man. He was hirsute, with salt-and-pepper curly hair in abundance on his head and with a full beard. He slipped off his tennis shirt to change into a drier one and I saw that he was magnificently, solidly muscular for a man his age. His chest was covered in curly hair, showing more dark curls than gray as it descended down to the waistband of his tennis shorts. He had a gold chain with a medallion around his neck, the medallion nestling between two bulging, but hard, pecs. He was tanned a chestnut brown. I judged that he probably was in his early fifties, but it was a gorgeous fifties.

The young Arab disappeared and Andreas hadn't come out to the court yet. It was just the two of us--the older Greek Cypriot and me--facing off between courts.

I found him arousing and I didn't hold back. As he changed shirts, I stood at the gate of Court 4 and openly ogled him. He was aware of me since seeing me approach the courts, and he was as open about exhibiting his interest in me as I was with him. He gave me a smile, and I smiled back. His hand went to his crotch and mine went to mine. We were more than half way to a coupling.

He didn't leave when the Arab did. There were folding wooden chairs scattered about the peripheries of the courts and he pulled one up and sat and watched Andreas and me play. I was almost as good as Andreas and I was younger and more flexible. We played bare-chested, admiring and flirting with each other over the net, extending the mood of our coupling on his desk before coming to the court.

The Greek Zeus watched it all with interest. When I was able, I turned my face toward him and flirted with him too.

Andreas had a lesson to give when we were done, the score being close, but Andreas winning. He was Greek and he had just topped me. I was too diplomatic to win at tennis after going under him. I perhaps could have won; sometimes I did when I played with him. But I didn't try hard enough to do so this time.

I went to the locker room and immediately changed into a Speedo, took up a towel and came out to the pool terrace. The pool was built for Olympic specifications competition, so it was a big one, with long, marked-off lap lanes. I dove in and swam laps to cool down from the tennis. As I swam, thinking I was alone in the pool, I heard a cough and looked up to see that the Greek Zeus was sitting under the cover of a lanai and watching me. I don't know if he originally had planned to come to the pool after playing tennis, but he had. And that he had told me he'd done so with the hope of continuing the connection we had established out on the courts. That was fine with me. I was trembling from the prospect of having him inside me.

When I came out of the pool, I was disappointed to see that the Greek Cypriot wasn't there, but Andreas had returned from his lesson. We went to the showers together and, now having gone all the way with each other, we easily settled into soaping, fondling, and kissing under the streaming water. While we were concentrating on each other, I was caught by surprise when another set of muscular arms embraced me from behind.

Smiling at me, Andreas pulled away and went over to the entrance of the shower, taking up a pose that indicated he would guard against intrusion while the Greek Zeus, who was showing he was much stronger than I was, was exploring my body with his hands and mouth and manipulating my position at will. He was in full erection and it was one of the thickest and longest cocks I had ever encountered.

"Thélo na se gamíso. Tha pas apó káto mou, nai?" he said, and then seeing my quizzical look, he said, in perfect English, "You don't understand Greek? You are perhaps English?"

"No, I'm American."

"Ah so, what I said was that I want to fuck you. You will go under me, yes?"

I looked over at Andreas to see if he would have anything to say about this, but he just smiled at me and shrugged. I assumed then that the two of them had already talked about me and Andreas had said I took cock and probably would take it from this Greek Zeus. He obviously didn't care if I did.

"Yes," I said. I might as well say it. My body was already screaming "yes" at the roaming of his hands on my torso, cock and balls.

I quickly determined that I was under his control, with Andreas backing him up, and that struggle would be useless. The situation, though, especially since I'd gone so long after arriving in Cyprus with little of it until earlier that day with Andreas, aroused me so much that I went with what the Greek Zeus obviously was going to take from me anyway.

He fucked me up against the soapy, slippery wall tiles under the cascading water of the shower. He wasn't taller than I was, but he was muscular and heavy--solid, not fat--to my slim structure. And he was much, much stronger than I was. He pressed my back against the wall, grasping my legs under my knees and lifting me, hooking my knees on his hips, capturing my wrists with one strong hand, and holding my arms raised above my head while putting himself into position with the other.

He paused, apparently unsure how forceful to be. Andreas leaned over and said to him, "Boreís na ton páreis sklirá. To agóri eínai tsoúla gia aftó." Turning to me, Andreas said, "I told him not to worry, that you were a slut for it and could take it hard."

"He arranged with you for this didn't he?" I accused Andreas.

"Yes, but I knew you would want is cock." There was no embarrassment in Andreas about this at all.

"He paid you to help corner me, didn't he?" adding to the accusation. But the fuck was moving on, and I had no opportunity to pursue this. It didn't have much importance anyway. The Greek was a god and I wanted this.

I cried out as the older Greek Cypriot achieved position and worked his way inside me, stretching and filling me. He cut that off, though, by possessing my mouth with his. He moved up inside me deep, and immediately started plowing me, moving faster and faster inside me. Before coming, though, he pulled me off the wall and laid me on my back on the water-covered tile floor. Pulling me up so that my weight was being borne on my shoulders and the back of my head, water swirling around me, he lifted my legs, above my knees, to be trapped under his armpits, and penetrated down into me, one hand palming my lower back and the other stroking me off, as he jackhammered his long, thick cock down inside me to, first, me spouting my load, and then him breeding me, jerking off three times, each time with a big load deep inside me.

He let me collapse onto the floor tiles then and he turned and left the shower with Andreas. Very little had been said the whole time. Four showerheads had been turned on full blast and the air was steaming and the hissing from the water loud enough that I didn't understand what he said, which wasn't much and was in Greek. I had wanted him to show that he found me satisfying or worthy of worship or something for how I had totally surrendered to him, but I didn't get that. The fuck was all about him--what he wanted and needed.

As for me, I was panting and moaning at the size of him and what he was doing inside me to think of anything meaningful or witty to say.

When I'd recovered enough to rise, turn off all but one of the shower heads, and soak my well-worked body under the single one I left on, I padded out to the locker room, wondering if there would be more sex--if maybe the two of them would do me together--and realizing that the prospect of that both scared and aroused me. But they were gone. I was left alone in the locker room.

I'd been royally had and I didn't even know who the Greek Zeus was or what his name was. This was hardly what an intern at the American embassy should be engaged in. The embassy was only two blocks away from the Eleon Club. Most of the American embassy employees belonged here. I had been living dangerously.

I returned and played tennis with Andreas the next day, but his lesson schedule was full and we didn't fuck. In fact, I got the impression that what we'd done before was just to set me up for the encounter with the Greek Zeus. He didn't appear that day either.

Yes, that deflated me and was a disappointment. I had arrived at the club telling myself that I wanted to avoid the Greek Zeus and would turn around and leave if I saw he was there. But when he wasn't there, I realized I had just been fooling myself. I came to the club so quickly again precisely in the hope that he'd be there--and that even if he didn't fuck me again, Andreas would.

Neither of those happened.

* * * *

I was driving with Andreas into the inner-city walls of Nicosia to the Theatro Ena, where he had invited me to attend an avant-garde Greek gay male play when he hit me with the favor he wanted me to do for him. I had known there was something he wanted beyond the tennis games and sex.

"I have a brother in Texas," he said.

"Do you? So, have you been there?" Every Cypriot seemed to have a relative in Texas, so I wasn't surprised. Half the visa applications going through the Nicosia consulate were based on acceptances to colleges in Texas.

"No. But I wish to go there. You are in the American embassy. I thought that maybe you could help me get a visa to visit him in the States."

"Cypriots don't have trouble getting a visa to the States," I said. "Just go apply at the consulate."

"I think that someone in the embassy can make it happen for me."

Yes, that's called any of the consulate officers, I thought. It, in fact, was not difficult for a Cypriot to get a visitor's visa. That wasn't the way of Cyprus and the Mediterranean world, though. I realized. Everything was done by using connections.

"No problem," I said. "I'll give you the name of someone at the consulate who will give you a favorable response. Don't mention me when you apply, though. It all has to be done hush-hush. And by all means don't offer them anything for the favor. Everything there is recorded. They will queer the deal."

That seemed to satisfy him, and if it gave him a thrill to think that pull at the embassy was needed to get him a visa and that he had this pull, that was fine. I'd been able to tell that he wanted more than the sex from me.

"I guess if I saw this person outside the embassy, I could let them know how much I appreciated the favor," he said.

I didn't pursue that. It seemed to be hopeless to say what was standard in the Mediterranean wasn't necessarily allowed at the American embassy.

I was surprised when we were watching the play at the Theatro Ena--although I really shouldn't have been--that the leading man in the play was the mature man, the Greek Zeus, who had fucked me in the shower at the Eleon Club. The program said he was Christos Theopolis. He looked as magnificent on stage as he had in the shower, and he wasn't wearing much more here. I couldn't follow the Greek, but I had no trouble figuring out the action when he fucked a young man on a table top on the stage. Andreas had been right--both that the play was avant-garde and that I'd find it interesting.

I was introduced properly to the leading man, Christos, after the play and invited to stay for the post-performance party in a room behind the stage. I had come with Andreas, who was going to remain anyway, so there wasn't much choice about staying.

The party didn't last long and people drifted out until there were only Andreas, Christos, and me. I'd had quite a lot of beer, and was slightly tipsy. I lost track and connection and wasn't quite sure how I'd gotten there and whether I'd been asked permission or given it, but I wound up on the table on the stage. Christos was on his back, naked, on the table, and I, also naked, was mounted on him, facing his head, palming his hirsute pecs, and riding him in a cowboy fuck. Andreas climbed up on the table behind me, and suddenly I was panting hard, groaning deep, and had two cocks inside me, Christos from below me and Andreas from in back.

So, Christos and Andreas were much closer friends than I had thought.

It was my first double penetration. I managed then and later when the two of them took me that way again. Andreas apologized, saying he had no idea it was my first double, but it was done, so I just brushed it off.

"But it was nice, wasn't it?" he said. "You'd be happy doing it again."

I didn't take the opportunity to say I wouldn't do it again--so, yes, I let them do it again.

Andreas drove us to Christos's flat. En route, Christos asked his own American embassy favor of me.

"Your embassy has a Fulbright Program where students are sent to the States for college and artists, writers, and future Cypriot leader prospects are sent there for enrichment programs. I've been told I've been proposed for such a tour. Perhaps you can help me get chosen."

This was a far more difficult issue than Andreas's visa request was. But it was the same assumption of the power of connections.

"I'll see what I can do," I answered. "I hope you have more work to show than tonight's play. That's just too far out there for a U.S. program to support."

He laughed. "I have plenty of tamer performances on films," he said.

Fortuitously, when I did check, I found he had already been chosen, so I didn't lose favor with him.

That night, in Christos's flat, he and Andreas took turns favoring me with their cocks. Twice they fucked me together. They took turns fucking me and snoozing. All I got was nonstop fucking by two gorgeous Greek men, one young, the other mature, both fit and vigorous--both as much into having sex with each other as they were in having it with me.

I had had no idea I was as randy for it as I was. It was a glorious night.

After that, I met up with them nearly every other day at the Eleon. I worked at the embassy but just as a "do this and do that" aide more or less on my own schedule. No one minded that I'd go off three times a week to play tennis and swim at the nearby Eleon. Many at the embassy, knowing that I had high-level diplomatic family connections and was being groomed to follow the family public service business, were happy when I wasn't around to remind them how elitist the State Department was.