Paulo

When I get back from the shower he is already in the bed. He has turned down the duvet and it hangs, almost fallen to the floor. He wears only his shorts and they lie flat over his groin giving nothing away. I stand at the bottom of the bed and look down at him. He is smiling back up at me and cocks his head to one side.

He is speaking in our common language; we do not speak each other’s native tongues. He is Bulgarian and I am English. But we understand what we want. His smile is both inviting and challenging me; he knows what I want and is telling me that he wants the same. His mouth is drawn wide revealing white teeth and his eyes sparkle from their dark brown depths. He swallows and his Adam’s apple rises inside his slender neck. I anticipate the feel of his short, dark hair and marvel at the almost cartoon like quality of his ears; too large, too cute.

And I marvel too at our differences as I stand and absorb his body. We are twenty years apart; he is barely out of his teens. His body is long and smooth, young and in its prime; I have more hair, more experience and more weight. He can have who ever he chooses; he has his youth and his looks, power to attract men or women, young or old. I have the disadvantages of middle age; a spreading waistline, the insecurity of dubious performance.

But he has made his choice and he has chosen me. He raises his arms, opens them to me and beckons me closer.

‘I want you,’ he says in Greek and I drop my dressing gown to the floor.

The moment I saw him in the bar I knew I would become obsessed. With his friend.

There were two of them, new faces on the island and in the village and I knew they were not Greek. They sat at the bar talking to the barmaid, a girl I knew to be Bulgarian and, as soon as I could, I discovered from her their story.

The taller, darker one was her brother, Paulo. He had recently arrived from Bulgaria with his friend, Ivo. Paulo was twenty, she told me and Ivo slightly older. Both had come to Greece looking for work so as to avoid conscription into National Service. So far they had found a place to live but no work; so if I knew of any work that was going could I let her know? Paulo had worked in Athens before and so knew Greek but his friend only spoke Bulgarian, so if they could work together it would be even better.

I said I would do what I could.

A couple of nights later, back in the bar again, I had the opportunity to talk to Paulo, as best I could with my smattering of Greek. The locals of our island speak in a thick, almost impenetrable accent but his voice was softer and his accent clearer. I found I could understand him and he made allowances for my faltering. I asked if he had found work, he had not. I made him an offer.

I had been meaning to sort out the garden for many months, winter was approaching and I needed wood for the fire. Would he and his friend be able to work for me for a day? Just chopping up the old wood, clearing the garden, digging it over and so on? It would only be for one day but it might help.

He, his friend and even his sister were very grateful and a date was set. As if to celebrate, Paulo and Ivo went to play on the gaming machine. I watched their backs from the safety of my bar stool and my thoughts wandered.

At first it had been Ivo who had attracted me. He was short, almost stocky with light brown hair, a wide and somewhat gormless smile and a well formed, tight backside. I imagined him beneath me, his muscled arse cheeks gripping firmly around my cock, his youthful hands grasping at my sheets as I made him grunt and then beg for more and harder. I imagined him on his knees before me, his head raised to look into the mirror as I rode him from behind, slamming his tight little body into me as his balls swung low between us. I saw his face screwed up in disbelief as he gasped at the unexpected pleasures I was giving him and I heard him mumble and plead words I did not understand as I gripped his youthful tool and brought him to a climax.

But then Paulo returned to the bar and sat beside me and we started talking again. It was getting late and inhibitions were getting lost. We tried jokes on each other and he made me laugh. I bought him a drink and noticed his hands; long thin fingers, perfect nails, tendons rising through the smooth skin like the cables of a suspension bridge. I noticed his smile, broad and kind. When I said something incorrectly he continued to smile but cocked his head back and up slightly, as if he wanted to understand me.

I liked him. I felt he liked me. If we had been in some gay bar somewhere I would have known where we stood; he would have been flirting with me. But in the macho, straight confines of our island village there was no way of safely reading anything into his behaviour.

I had offered him some work, he was grateful, that was it.

Two days later I met the lads at the bar and we walked up to the house in silence. Apart from the usual greetings nothing was said. I felt nervous and I knew why. During the days since we had arranged the job I had fantasised about photographing them. They wanted money and I knew a few webmasters who would pay for nude shots. How would they react if I told them that? Would they be willing to strip and pose for money? Would they go further for more? Would I have the guts to ask them?

But as soon as I met them that morning I knew that I liked them too much to suggest it. They were, quite simply, too charming to take advantage of. As we walked up through the small lanes and cobbled steps I reproached myself for even thinking it, even though the fantasy stayed firmly in my mind. If only I had more courage.

As I opened the courtyard gate and stepped in they waited outside in the street. Suddenly I felt like the spider with the fly, or Dracula with Harker; ‘enter freely and of your own will…’

‘Come in,’ was all that was needed. ‘This is where I live.’

I showed them what I wanted doing, where the tools were, where the bathroom was should they need it and where I would be if they wanted me; all very business like and formal. They set about their tasks and I went to work in my office.

Yes, I did sneak a peak once or twice. I did admire them bending in their track suits, I did catch Ivo fiddling with his cock when he couldn’t see me watching and I did pop out a few times to watch them working. But I didn't letch and I didn’t leer. I took them coffee, sandwiches and beer for lunch, another coffee and I generally left them to get on with it. The result was impressive. The garden was transformed and everyone was happy; I was happy to pay them, they were more than happy with what I gave.

As they left I shook their hands. Paulo’s was large and warm, Ivo’s was soft and cold but he smiled at me and stammered ‘thank you’ in English. My heart went out. I swallowed hard and tried to think of some way to entice them to stay.

Photographs?

No, they were too trusting now for me to betray them with such an idea.

‘Come here,’ he is saying and he is wearing that smile again.

I kneel on the bed, between his ankles and try not to catch sight of myself in the mirror to my right. He reaches out to me and his long fingers gesture me closer.
‘Are you sure Paulo?’
He tips his head to the side and laughs at my insecurity.
‘Why do you not kiss me?’ he is speaking Greek; I think I understand him.

I move up the bed a little more and position my knees on either side of his slim hips. He places his hands on my thighs and I feel the first stirrings in my groin. I know it’s going to be alright; I know I can do this and not disappoint either of us. I place my hands beside his shoulders and slowly lower myself down until our faces are only inches apart. I can feel his breath, I can see far into his wide brown eyes and I can feel the softness of his skin on my stomach. My cock is pressed against the material of his shorts and beneath them I sense a supple, yielding mass.

His hands move up my legs and around my back. He pulls me down and our lips meet; so warm and so soft, so gentle. Our eyes are open, we watch each other as he parts my lips and our tongues meet. I can feel his heart matching the fast rhythm of my own as our chests press together; his is hard and hairless, mine wide and furry. My hands slide to his head and I get the first feel of his fine hair. I brush it back from his brow to cup his head, I want to feel all of him, want to hold him in my hands as a trophy. He lets me lift his head as I kiss him, wanting to get inside him, wanting to get as close as we can. I turn his head, bite gently at his ears and down to his slender neck. He gasps and fights beneath me, his fingernails digging into my back, his hips pushing up at me.

And then I feel his cock pressing solidly against mine and I know where I want to go next.

I sit up, my own cock now standing hard and proud from my mass of black hair, my balls spread wide over his shorts. He cranes to look down, gasps again and his smile spreads so far it nearly joins his ears. I shift back, running a finger down his flat chest, pausing only to circle his nipples before trailing over his stomach and coming to rest beneath his navel.

I manoeuvre myself between his legs, pushing them further apart with my knees and hold him by the hips.

‘You are too gentle,’ he whispers.
‘You are too beautiful,’ I reply.
‘I have not been with a gentle man before.’
‘And I have not known such beauty.’

As I say this I slide my fingers beneath the waste band of his shorts and feel the springy mounds of his backside. I keep my thumbs to the front, his hip bones jutting into the palm of my hands. I start to pull the shorts down slowly, revealing a fraction at a time the short, dark hair beneath until the base of his cock comes into view. I stop and look up at him. He is resting up on his elbows looking down at what I am about to see. He wants me to be pleased. He hopes, like me, that he will not disappoint. How could he?

Two days after the garden was transformed I hit on another idea. I needed to practice Greek and, although Paulo was not a native Greek speaker, I had found that I could understand him better than any local I had met. He could speak Greek, he could understand what I was trying to say and he would be able to correct me when I went wrong. So why not…?

I sought out his sister at the bar one afternoon and asked her where I could find Paulo. His sister spoke English, as well as a few other European languages, and so was able to understand what I wanted to ask him. She phoned him for me there and then and another appointment was arranged. It seemed that Paulo and Ivo had still not found work. I explained to the sister that although I could not offer much more than a couple of hours a week I could offer something; a little bit of money and some help with English should the lads want to learn it. She translated all of this over the phone and it was decided that Paulo would come alone that evening. Ivo would stay away because, as she put it, he was o.k. at digging earth and chopping wood but not very good at much else. As much as I wanted to say that I thought he would be very good at posing naked for photographs I bit my tongue.

Paulo arrived at six and we spent the first ten minutes of our Greek ‘lesson’ sitting on my sofa wondering how to begin. He was dressed in jeans that looked as if they had been bought for a larger person. His jumper hung in the same manner from his shoulders and I wondered if he was eating properly. Although I offered him something to eat and a beer he declined saying that he had eaten and that he didn't drink very much. After this exchange another stilted pause followed and I was starting to think that I had made an embarrassing mistake when he announced that he had had an idea.

‘Questions,’ he said in Greek.
I checked the word in my Greek-English dictionary.
‘Ah yes,’ I replied. ‘We will be asking each other questions.’
‘We will ask each other questions,’ he corrected my verb tense.
‘We will ask each other questions. Thank you.’

Silence. Obviously I was supposed to start the ball rolling.

He was at one end of the sofa and I at the other. Between us was the third seat empty apart from my dictionary. I hoisted one leg up, tucked it under myself and turned slightly towards him. He did the same and then realised that he had his trainers on.

‘Er…’ I waved my hand in the general direction of his feet.
He told me how to say ‘take them off.’
‘Take them off if you want,’ I said. ‘Be comforting. Comfortable’
He undid his laces and put the trainers together neatly beside the sofa before making himself comfortable and facing me.
‘So, Paulo, how old are you?’
‘Twenty.’
‘How long are you being in Greece?’
‘How long have I been in Greece?’
‘Ah yes, thank you. How long have you been in Greece?’
‘I was in Athens for six months and I have been here for two weeks Mister.’
‘Mister?’

I realised then that he had not remembered my name. Or maybe I had not given it. His face flushed slightly and he gave a little impish shrug that made me want to throw my arms around him and hug him until…

‘Jason.’
He had remembered after all.

…hug him until we both fell asleep in each others arms.

‘And do you like it here Paulo?’
‘Yes. It is quieter than Athens though and there is no work.’
‘I am asking populations that I know if maybe there is a thing.’
‘What?’

He wanted to laugh, I could tell, but he did not want to make fun of me.
‘What did I say? Tell me what I should have said.’

He did and I saw my mistakes. I laughed and said it correctly.
‘It’s o.k. mate,’ I said. ‘You can laugh at me.’
‘But I don’t want to.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I like you very much.’

Everything stopped after he said that. I could hear only the quickened pace of my heart and a small voice in my head telling me not to read anything into it. Very much. What to ask next?

‘How? In what way?’

He lent his head to one side, he didn’t understand.
‘You don’t know me,’ I said.
He shrugged. This was not going any further.
‘Ask me a question,’ he said.
‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ It was the first thing that came to my scrambled mind at that point, quickly followed by that little voice crying out ‘cliché!’
‘No. Do you?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’

He shifted his position and rested an elbow on the back of the sofa. He then rested his head on his curled fingers and looked at me intently. His eyes widened and his dark eyebrows rose.

‘Because…’ Should I go for it?
He started smiling and dipped his head. Looking up at me from under his eyebrows in a mischievous way he blinked slowly twice.
‘Because I used to have a friend.’
He shook his head again, he didn't understand. In Greek the word for friend is the same as boyfriend unless you clarify further. Which is what I did.
‘I used to have a male friend instead.’

He closed his eyes slowly as if he had just had some piece of dreadful news confirmed and swallowed hard.

I trembled as I waited, with my heart crashing about in my chest and that damn little voice laughing at me. It told me that he was going to get up and go. That he had seen through my deception and would now hate me for my dishonesty. But I had been honest with him.

I watched him for a moment before saying, ‘do you have a problem?’

When he opened his eyes his expression was serious. No smile, no blinking, nothing to show me what he was feeling.

And then slowly, tentatively he reached out his arm and placed his hand flat on the back of the sofa. He looked at it. I looked at it. He turned it palm upwards and curled his fingers twice, beckoning me, before laying it flat again.

I reached out my hand and put it in his. Immediately he gripped it and gave a small, nervous tug. I slid closer. He did the same until we were separated only by the dictionary. He took my hand in both of his and lifted it towards his face. He held it in the air and looked first at it then into my eyes.

‘May I?’ he whispered.
‘Whatever you want.’

He raises his hips from the bed as my hands slip his shorts away and immediately his young cock springs free. It slaps back against his dark, smooth belly in a single bound, the foreskin pulled half way back across the tip. Beneath it he has a pair of balls to rival my own, larger even but less hairy. They lie between his legs as I back right away and strip his shorts from him. He does not disappoint. There is nothing about him that could disappoint me.

He stays resting on his elbows until I crawl back up the bed towards his groin, our eyes fixed on each other. It is only when I duck down to nestle my nose beneath his balls do I lose sight of him. I hear him let out a gentle sigh as my face meets his warm flesh and I feel him lay back. My hands travel up his legs, flattening the light covering of hair, until they reach his hips where they start to kneed and massage. I burry my face in deeper so that his heavy ball sack covers my eyes and I drink in the sweet smell of soap and sweat. My tongue stabs gently at him as my lips sucker onto the hard flesh between his legs.

I travel up and around until I plant my mouth over the base of his solid shaft. As soon as I start to slip towards the tip his hands are on my head. He fingers my hair, scratching my scalp with his nails, his hips pressing upwards, willing me to take his cock into my mouth. I reach the tip, explore it for a while with my tongue, grip his hips tighter and then duck down again. This time his cock slips between my lips and I suck as I lower my head over him.

His back arches, his grip tightens and he groans loudly as if he has not felt this for so long.

‘Yes, so good,’ he moans. ‘So good.’

I say nothing. How can I? I am filled with the joy of knowing that I have him and filled with the long, sleek shaft of his youthful cock.

Slowly I do my work, my head rising and falling, my fingers plying the flesh between his legs until his grip on my head tightens and he pulls me away.

‘Not yet,’ he says and draws me up his body.

Our mouths meet and I share the taste of his cock with him. His draws his legs up on either side of me, holds me tightly with his arms and pressed his mouth so tightly over mine that our teeth clash and rub together. And then he slides one of his long arms between us and down until he finds my aching cock.

The feel of his touch is almost enough to send me over the edge and I can’t help but let out a deep groan of joy as he grasps my shaft. I open my eyes and see myself reflected in his. Although our mouths are locked I can feel his smile as he widens his legs and directs my cock between them. When it is locked firmly between them he lifts them further and I feel the warmth of his sphincter against the moist end of my cock.

He takes my face in both hands and draws me away from his mouth.

‘Please?’ he says.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’

Before I realise what he had done he has taken hold of his own knees and pulled his legs as far towards his chest as he can. He locks his ankles together over my back and traps me. My mouth falls to his neck and I kiss and bite whatever parts of his silk smooth flesh that I can find as I feel my cock head press harder against his hole. I know that with one sudden movement I can impale him but that is not what I want. I slide my arms beneath his shoulders, gripping them from behind and return my mouth to his.

He kisses me desperately, his breathing fast through his nose. He breaks off only to gasp before pushing his tongue back onto mine again as slowly, so very, very slowly, I guide the tip of my cock past the resistance of his sphincter.

He starts to sob as I keep up the slow invasion, tearing his face away from mine and throwing his head back. I kiss and lick his Adam’s apple but it escapes my lips as he lets out a long, deep growl of satisfaction. His legs grip me tighter; his hands reach for my back and claw at what they can find before thrashing out to thump the sheets beside him as he cries out something in his own language.

And I am only a couple of inches inside him. His muscles tighten and then give up as I slide another inch into him. He lifts his head to look at me and his eyes are wide open. At first I think I am hurting him, his expression is of shock, but then his mouth cracks into a smile and he almost laughs. I press some more and he cries out, his expression once again turns to shock. I feel his long, thin cock pressing against my belly. I can feel the blood pumping in it; can feel the juice that has started to leak from it. And then I can feel that I am almost completely inside him.

He looks back at me, his head shaking from side to side. Does he mean no? He does, but then he smiles and moans again and he means yes. His hands reach around his legs and try to reach my buttocks. I feel his fingers scratching at them, trying to pull me in deeper. But I can give no more; he has all of me now. And I have all of him. He is bent beneath me, covering me with his legs and I have him held tight in my loving grip as I pull on his shoulders and push with my cock.

He calls out something as I hold him there and then falls silent as I raise my arse and let my cock slip gently backwards. He relaxes slightly and looks at me; nervous that I am going to leave him. But I lower my lips to his as I slide my cock back into the hilt.

I have to hold him tight to stop him from slipping from me each time I draw out and push back in. Each gentle thrust of my cock makes him writhe and groan. He holds me, opens his eyes and smiles at me, gasps and thrashes his head and all the time his arse gets tighter around my powerful shaft. And all the time his cock slides between us in its own sticky juices as it leaks in anticipation of what is to come.

The rhythm is steady but I can’t control it for much longer. Deep inside me I feel that first tingling, that first sign that I will soon lose control. I want to fuck his tight little arse hard. I want to bend his legs behind his head and throw my full weight down onto him. I want to plunge my cock so hard into him that it forces the cum from his tightening balls. But I don’t. I take my time.

My own balls have started to prepare, my cock is swelling inside him making his gasp and whimper more. But I am sliding slowly, fighting to keep the same rhythm. His cock is trapped between us and I know he is ready when I hear his voice: a long sigh cut up by the jerking of his chest as he writhes beneath me. I pull my cock out to the tip and then lunge back, all the way in until I am skewering him to the bed and he is clawing at the sheet.

‘I am…’

I ignore him. I know he is. I hold him tighter in my arms, bury my face into his neck. I feel his hands gripping at my back, his cock swelling between us, the foreskin now pulled right back and his red hot head rubbing at the hair on my belly. And I feel his insides constrict, they trap my cock with their resistance but the friction only brings me closer.

And then I feel something deep inside give way and I know I can do nothing to stop it. I find his head and make him look at me. I feel his cock jerk between us. I hear him grunt. I give a harder push and his head flies back. He roars out and I feel the hot gush of his cum as it forces its way between our bodies. He looks back at me as he spurts again and this time I smile. My cock feels like it will split him as I stab it quicker now and savage inside him.

‘I love to fuck you Paulo.’

He just grunts in reply, his cock is still unloading onto my stomach.

‘I’m going to shot my spunk into your tight hole.’ It’s travelling to the base of my shaft now. Out of control. ‘I’m going to fill you so full…’ My cock head is on fire, I can’t stand it any more.

‘Take me Jason,’ he pleads.

My whole shaft is on fire.

‘Fuck me…’

I feel my cum shoot up the length of my shaft, swell up the end of my cock and finally spurt into him.

He grunts as he feels it. He tightens his muscles around my pumping cock. I shoot again. Our bodies slam together. He cries out. I kiss him to stop myself crying. My cock spasms again and I groan into his mouth as I feel my own cum hot around my cock. I thrust again. He jerks and holds me tighter. I growl into his throat and let my cock spew again and again while he accepts every last drop from me.

And even when I think have no more to give he keeps me inside. He squeezes my cock with his muscles until he has drawn the last possible drop of cum from me. His cock is still hard between us. My stomach is soaked. My lips are raw. My balls ache.

Panting, smiling and stroking my back with his long fingers, he lets his legs slip from my back until he is stretched out beneath me. My cock slithers from his arse as I lie over him, fingering his short hair and marvelling at his beauty and his youth. Marvelling at what he has given me.

Finally we slip apart and he lies with his head on my chest, his long legs curled around mine. His cock is even more beautiful when soft. As I stroke his head it lies on my stomach joined to me by a slither of cum that refuses to dry.

‘Thank you,’ he says. In English.