Get Me to the Greek

I’d seen him once before, in a gay bar, a few years back. He’d strutted in like he’d owned the club, hips jutted forward, thumbs hooked in the denim of his pockets, shirt open to the base of his rib cage. I recognized him immediately.

The Greek’s online profile photo had been shot from about knee level, giving his sun-bathed, shirtless torso the false stature of a giant statue, a monument of clean lines, flat planes, and lovingly-sculpted muscle. In reality, he was quite short—a solid five-foor-four, maybe. In person, that golden physique was just as attractive. Even beneath his shiny shirt, it was obvious that he was broad of shoulder and tiny of waist, and that every limb and expanse had been gym-tuned and tightened. Once I studied him from the other side of the bar, I knew that he was one of those ugly-sexy men; individually, his features were not attractive. On its own, his eyes were too large and too round, and set too deeply in his skull. His nose was a hook—a beak, even. His lips were too plain and too straight, his head too small. His eyebrows were overgrown, bushy, too coarse and too dark. His body was perfection, but someone in a cruel mood could’ve drawn a cartoon caricature of a comic, droopy-eyed bald eagle, and it would’ve looked like him.

Taken altogether, though, the effect was drop-dead sexy. Every eye in the place was on him. While guys watched, I walked up, introduced myself as the man he’d been talking to for a while. He gave me the once-over, shook my hand, patted me on the back, and told me we’d have to fuck, soon. And when he left later that evening, he made sure to come over and give me a kiss on the mouth before he vanished. I was on the receiving end of no small amount of jealous from strangers, that evening.

And then, nothing.

From time to time I’d heard from him—was I free? Could I host? He needed a load. Or, he was having lunch in a McDonald’s in my city . . . could I could load him up in the restroom there, if I couldn’t host? One Sunday we’d made arrangements to meet and then his mom had an emergency, so that he had to cancel. Another time, I’d had to cancel an appointment on him, because of something at work.

This last Sunday, though, we finally connected. He hit me up on Adam4Adam and asked if I was looking. I told him to come over. He did. And we fucked like dogs.

He arrived with a load already in his hole, and told me frankly that he’d already lined up a progression of tricks throughout the day. He’d let some college kid mount him early in the morning, before he’d hauled ass over to my side of town. He had plans to meet with a buddy in my neighborhood after he left, and then was going to meet with another partnered couple in the vicinity at noon. And his boyfriend was bringing someone home to share with him that night.

“We’d better get to it, then,“ was my only remark.

He’d arrived wearing only a pair of silky sweatpants, a T-shirt, athletic shoes, and a light jacket; it took him only moments to shuck them onto my bedroom floor. He hopped up on the bed and sucked my dick to hardness, then immediately flopped around so that his ass was rubbing up against me. It was a perfect ass, too, thanks to the routines of squats he’d obviously been doing for years. I shoved right into that already-moist hole, and drove home without much resistance. For someone whose life mission was to take as much dick as possible, he was remarkably tight once he clamped down around me. And I admit that the sight of my big dick splitting his small frame turned me on. His Mediterranean skin was so much darker than mine, as well. The contrasts were stirring.

The Greek kept his knees spread as far apart as possible as I plowed in and out. His own dick, surrounded by a thick chrome cock ring, swung back and forth, hard and heavy, as I pounded away. This wasn’t a romantic fuck. It wasn’t the kind of sex in which I try to get into the guy’s head and please him from the inside out. This was a sheer utility fuck, the kind of sex two guys have when one of them wants the load and the other one wants to leave it. It lasted long enough that his knees began to give out, so I flipped him over onto his back, hooked his ankles over my shoulders, and finished off that way.

My dick was still pulsing and oozing inside him when it was over. “God damn!” he said, panting and playing with his own meat. “Why the hell haven’t we done this before?”

“I don’t know,” I said, after clearing my throat enough to speak. “But we need to be doing it more often.”

“I’ll fucking say!”

I pulled out of him, then, and flopped onto my back onto the bed. I had to—my legs were still shaking. Playfully, he straddled my hips and let his ass rest on my dick. Then he leaned down, and put his mouth to mine.

The kiss was hot. I mean, hot. I hadn’t known that making out was an option with this guy. He seemed more the utilitarian fuck-and-go kind of fellow. But when we started to kiss, my dick raged again. He felt it, and reached around to guide it inside him once more. I slipped in to the channel already lubed by my own load and that of another man, and began to gyrate my hips once more.

He was as good about finding my pleasure spots as I tend to be with other men. When he found out I love to kiss, he kept his mouth on mine pretty much for the rest of the hour he was there. When it wasn’t locked with mine, he’d ask me questions—questions about my relationship, and information about how he loved to collect loads for his boyfriend to fuck in. Questions about what kinds of bottoms I liked, and what other action I could be into. We fucked the entire time, slapping our sloppy, cum-covered parts against each other in a perfect tempo.

By the time he left my place, he had loads two, three, and four squirted deep inside. What turned me on about the Greek, though, was that throughout the rest of the day he kept me updated on how many loads he’d collected and where he was going next. He messaged me after his local friend had deposited inside him, and then sent me photographs of his ass and hole from the bathroom of the couple who added to the internal mess.

He managed to sneak me a photo from the park near his home, where a black guy savaged both his holes. And late at night, after his eleventh load of the day from the boyfriend and the random trick the boyfriend had brought home, he texted me a shot of his ragged hole, red and gaping and dripping with with the DNA of multiple men.

Yeah, that’s definitely the kind of buddy I like having. Sexy man, sexy ass, perfect degree of hunger.