Date: Mon, 28 Jan 2013 10:36:44 -0800 (PST)
From: Anthony Palazzo <apalazzo198@yahoo.com>
Subject: Greek Afternoon

	       Greek Afternoon: Do You Want to See My Ass?

     So, let's just see if there are any cautious and interesting men out
there looking for some occasional fun, I thought, as I scanned the
Maturemen Personal Ads.  Hmmm, here's an interesting one.  What ? This
can't fucking be !  This guy lives quite nearby on Long Island.  Jeez, I
was just in his town today, at the cleaners, maybe he was in front of me in
line.  Ah, well, no, that would have been the teen chick with the ring in
her navel, but anyway, cuddabeen.  Let's see, all sounds good.  Fifty six
years old, intelligent, medium build, looking for occasional get togethers
with sane men over 50, etc, etc.
     I respond. He responds. We continue to correspond.  Meeting set up in
parking lot of local diner. We nod at each other from our respective cars.
He rolls down the window.
      "Instead of going inside for coffee, want to come to my place? No
obligation. For anything."  He smiles.  Nice friendly, sane smile. Slight,
attractive accent.  Trying to place it.  Turkish, something like that?
Israeli, maybe?
     "Umm, okay.  Well, how far are you? I'm not great at directions."
     "Not far, just follow me."
     I nod OK.  Windows up. Short winding drive toward the water.
     We arrive. Get out of cars. Several cars scattered around.  That car
my wife uses.  This other one I use for my trips into the City.  We chat
about the area, about the recent development of new homes all around.  He
points to a McMansion across the way, and describes the monstrosity as a
new water view built last year, "by a couple of Greeks"
     It develops that he too is Greek.  Born on a small island that he
still returns to a few times each year.  He moves easily, comfortably. He
is wearing shorts, and I notice he has hairless, muscular legs as we enter
his home.  We go inside and he offers me something to drink.  He points to
a sideboard laden with all types of bottles.  I ask for a soda.
     "Ginger ale, if you have it."  He comes up with a club soda, which I
say is fine.  He pours himself a half tumbler of gin.  It is a little after
two in the afternoon.
      I follow him into a large denlike room.  It is nicely cluttered with
the accoutrements of comfortable living. In the center of the room is a
small table and chair with a laptop computer, blinking wildly.
     Nick explains that he a day trader, and sits in this room most
weekdays, buying and selling, buying and selling.  On weekends he goes to
his Manhattan apartment where his wife now prefers to stay most of the
time.
    The talk gets around to sex, and Nick asks me about myself. I am
truthful.  He seems to like the fact that I don't have frequent sex with
men, and in fact, I confide, have not had "any serious sex" in more than
two years. I tell him that I love to touch men and have oral sex, but have
not had any in some time due to caution.  I tell him about my more recent
forays into jerk off clubs and massage groups for men in the City.  He is
appalled.
    "I would never go to such... such... place," he says, his accent
growing more pronounced, perhaps with the alcohol intake or maybe because
of the turn of the conversation.  "Disgusting," he pronounces.
    "Well, you see I am not homosexual," he continues.  But you know, I am
a bottom.  So I like to get fucked once in a while.  All men do," he
declares with assurance.  "Or, would, anyway, if they, if they..." he
amends, as he leaves the sentence unfinished.  "I want you to understand
that I am not a homosexual.  In fact I had a mistress for many years.  I
enjoy women very much. It's just that I like to...you know...once in a
while..."
     Maybe I should have taken that drink.  Is this guy telling me that I
am a fag because I like to go to massage groups and touch men's bodies and
have men touch me, but he is straight but takes it up the ass because it is
innately human to do so?
    I smile benignly, and ask about the portraits on the wall.  One is of a
beautiful woman (his daughter) and the other a handsome man who looks a bit
like the actor Jude Law, but with fleshier lips (his son?).
     "The man is me," he says with indignation in his voice at the
question.  "Well, I suppose we change in 35 years."
   Small talk continues.  He drinks gulps of gin and smokes one cigarette
after another.  His eyes flit between the computer screen and me.  He taps
the keyboard occasionally, but I can't determine if he is actually buying
stock, or just making some inquiry.  He touches his groin, and looks at me.
     "Well, I know from your notes that you are careful, and that is good.
I am careful too.  I haven't been with a man in six years."
     "Six years?"
     "Well, there was this one boy who came here last year, but he was
ridiculous. `Stand up, lie down, turn over, kneel forward.'  "Just leave I
told him. I could not take that."
     I walk over to him and he shows me the rudimentary steps of day
trading, and how the screen gives you a running total of how you are doing
for that trade day.  So far today, it is not a good day on the market. I
return to my seat across the room and sip on my club soda.
     "So maybe you will think some more about me and we will see about
getting together again sometime."  He adjusts his dick as he stares at the
keyboard.  "What do you think so far? he asks.  You know I find you a very
attractive man"
     "Thanks," I say.  You too are nice looking and also very interesting,"
I add.
      "What you like best?" He smiles puckishly, forgetting the stock
market completely for the moment.
    "Well, I haven't seen it all, have I," I answer a bit too preciously.
"For example, I bet you have a great ass, judging from our walk into the
house."
     "You want to see my ass?" He is on his feet and across the room in a
flash.
     "Sure," I smile.
     He lowers his shorts with one swift movement, and I am treated to the
sight of tan, hairless, still firm, round buttocks.  I caress them
appreciatively, without hesitation.  He reaches down and extracts my cock
from the leg of my shorts.
     "Nice dick," he proclaims, his voice growing thick. Gin and lust
mixing potently.
     My prick is about half hard, and he bends over to play with it,
retracting the foreskin back, and expertly making little circles on the
back of the cockhead where it is already moist and sticky.
     "Let's move inside," he says, motioning to the huge picture windows
that look out onto a big garden. "Not private enough here."
    I follow wordlessly, expecting to be heading to a bedroom.  Instead he
leads me into a darkened living room where he abruptly drops his shorts.
He starts to undo the button on my waistband to get to my dick, and I brush
his hand away and undo my shorts, allowing them to drop at my feet.  We are
standing next to each other, side to side.  He plays with my dick, whacking
it hard and showing at least as much interest in it as to the earlier
computer screen of investments.  I risk being dubbed a homosexual and/or
disgusting, as I turn him around to get a good look at his cock.  It is
practically a duplicate of my own.  Similar size, similar shape, both
uncut, similar shade of Mediterranean brown.  I play with it a bit, and he
picks up the pace of his jerking me, and asks, "Should I jerk you off?"
     Umm, I think, isn't this like what we are doing? But before I respond,
he continues in a low intimate voice, "Or do you want to fuck me."
    It takes me only a moment to make a decision.  This guy has convinced
me that he is not having risky sex with anybody.  He is good looking, and
although a little strange in some ways, aren't we all?
     "I don't have a ..."
     He reaches down to a coffee table in front of us.  There, in a big
Kleenex box, several condoms are hidden. He quickly extracts one, opens it
and rolls it onto my dick.  Now that is what I call service.
     We fall to the carpeted floor.  I kick off my shorts, still wearing
sneakers, socks and shirt. He strips off his shorts and lies down on his
back, throwing his legs over my shoulders.
     "Wait. Wait.  Wait." I remove his legs, and take off my shirt and
sneakers.  Then I start to play with his asshole with my finger.  It
accepts one, and then two fingers easily.  He is quiet and allows me to
take the lead.  I lean over and kiss him on the mouth. Surprisingly, he
responds very positively to this, accepting my deep kisses and returning
them.
     Ugh. Did I taste like this when I used to smoke?  Well, get past it, I
tell myself. Legs back up. Cock lined up with pucker. Start to gently
push. Dick getting rubbery. I really could have used some oral action to
get really stiff. Doesn't really penetrate, moves to the side. Also this
position is a chiropractor's dream.  My back starts to ache.
   "Let's see, are there any pillows around here," I ask, looking around
the darkened living room.  "The angle isn't really great this way."
     He rolls over on to his side, and presents his ass to me.  "Maybe this
way better?"  I try to move into place behind him spoon fashion, but before
I can really get into a comfortable position, he has moved again.
     "Lie down. Lie down." He gently coaxes me onto my back.  We take care
of your back a different way. He straddles me, reaches behind for my cock,
--still bravely game, if flagging slightly,-- and sits on it in one fell
swoop.
     Nicky ride the pony.  Nicky ride the pony.  No, he didn't sing that,
but I did think it as he rocked back and forth. I played with his cock
which was resting on my hairy belly.  Just as I was beginning to feel
pretty good—the condom was thick and the sensation was initially not all
that I might have hoped for—Nick began to shout in Greek and call out to
some unseen gods or persons.
     "Oh!  Oh! Oh! he shouted, clearly audible down at the local diner. And
out shot several strands of milky cum all over our hero's sweaty tummy.
     Hmmm.  Methinks, that couldn't have been more than five or six
strokes. Well, certainly no more than ten.  The whole thing was over in
less than a minute. I guess that boy really needed to be fucked.
     And what about me? Sigh. Well, this little horny guy is not getting
off this carpet until this affair can reach some sort of a just and proper
ending.  And so it did.  Without much help from the host, but anyway it
happened.
     And then?  Well, no shower offered, but a hand towel and soap
anyway. I return to the den where I find Nick scowling at the laptop that
still displays his Yahoo Personal Finance page; he is now down about
$3000. No good luck charm, me. Some more chit chat, - I notice a Nana
Mouskouri CD and there ensues a longish conversation about her. I'm crazy
about Nana, and it turns out that Nick is a buddy of Nana's father and
often visits with them.  He has all her CDs and LPs etc According to him
she was classically trained and was headed for an operatic career but there
was a lack of training facilities and good teachers in her part of Greece
and so she settled for a different, less demanding type of music.
     Just as we all sometimes settle for something other than what we dream
about. Like for example, I am thinking that a lovely blowjob would be nice.
But next time I get such thoughts I really should look for somebody who
knows he's gay.