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19 year old Greek lad fantasy for older tourist. Lad's first time experience.
The Greek Lads (part 1)
By Jason Fuller
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I saw the lad again tonight, plucked up courage and winked at him as I passed. That, as it turned out, was all I needed to do. It is now dawn, he’s just left and I have to get this down before I forget. Not that I ever will.
He took one pace towards me, looked over his shoulder as if to check he was not being watched and then made another step closer. His arms rose up in a shrug and I could see his face, he smiled, broadly, and winked again. I did not move a muscle. His expression changed and he looked worried.
‘I should go?’ he said and his accent was heavy.
I shook my head slowly, my eyes fixed on his.
‘What should I do?’ he whispered and I got the impression that he really had no idea what should come next. This was new to him.
‘What you want,’ I whispered back. I had still not moved, my cock was still straining out for him and all I could feel was a drip of water running beneath it, gathering on my heavy scrotum. Another drip trickled, tickled and ran there while I waited. Waited and watched.
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.
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.
