His name, in English, is George. He's 27, slim, dark and to me he is handsome. He works at one of the local shops as a delivery 'boy'. If you need boxes of water, or large items that you don't want to carry he will deliver them up to your villa.

I asked his boss, the guy who owns the supermarket, if he wanted apricots. The tree in our garden has hundreds at this time of year. They all come out and are ready at once. I have about 400 of the damn things on the tree. If I don't pick them they fall off and go to waste. So I asked if they wanted some, for free, to sell in the shop. After all, 400 apricots are no good to me.

The boss said yes but on two conditions. One; that I take a couple of bottles of Ouzo in return - not a problem, and two; that George comes and picks them, to save me the trouble. Even less of a problem. I'd often caught myself watching George from a distance, wondering how and if I could get him into my house. I'd often fantasised about leading him in and on, and then having him sit on my cock; feeling his sinewy torso, holding his length of Greek meat and taking it into my mouth...

George came to pick the apricots this morning and I am still hard from the memory.

I opened the courtyard gate to him and greeted him with a clumsy few words of Greek. In reply he did the same in reasonably confident English. I showed him the steps that lead to the upper garden, where the fruit trees are. I insisted he go first so I could watch his tight backside in his jeans as he climbed ahead of me. When we got to the top he turned and smiled as if he knew I had been watching. My heart skipped a beat; his smile was warm and friendly, but suggested nothing else.

I pointed to the tree, asked if he wanted a drink of anything - he did not - and waited while an awkward pause followed. Thinking of nothing appropriate to say I left him to get on with his task, telling him to call me if he needed anything. Then I wait straight inside to the house and to the kitchen. From there I could get a good view of him working. The tree is about five feet from the kitchen window but higher up so, by standing to one side and looking up, I could see all of his body but his head. Working on the principal that if I could not see his face he could not see me, I stood and prepared to feast my eyes.

As he stretched up to reach as high into the tree as he could his tee shirt lifted from his jeans and I was immediately rewarded with the sight of his tanned back. His spine showed through his skin, not a hint of fat anywhere and a line of dark hair ran into the waste band of his trousers. Stretching up, his arse fitted tighter into his jeans too, showing off the two hard muscles of his buttocks. I stood and watched and dreamed of what would happen in my perfect world.

In that world George takes off his shirt and reveals his flat, toned chest. I see a small tuft of hair between his pecs, a flat stomach with another line of black hair running down to where the top of his underpants rises above his belt. As he reaches up into the tree I see all his torso, dark and slim. He bends to put his collection of fruit into a basket on the ground. His back to me, he shows me his arse as if inviting me to reach out and touch it. And then he turns around and gestures.

'It's very warm,' he says. 'Maybe I should not have worn jeans today.'

And without saying anything else he takes them off, hangs them on a low branch and simply returns to his task. Now his arse is more visible in the white briefs that he wears, they are tight and almost transparent. His legs are covered with a dark brush of hair, his calf muscles strong and defined. Sweat rolls gently down his back as he labours away, stopping occasionally to bend down to fill the basket. He bends to show me the dark crack of his arse, damping now with the sweat of his labours.

Then he turns to face me again and I blatantly look at the shape in the front of his briefs. His flaccid cock lies slightly to the right, heavy and bulging and beneath it I see the two perfectly round and smooth orbs that are his balls. He smiles down at me and his eyes sparkle, he winks and walks towards the window. I open it. He stands on the other side, his crotch at my eye level and I reach through to touch what is being offered.

The material of his briefs is smooth and what lies behind is soft and pliable. I run my fingertips over the flaccid shaft, down and under the hanging balls. He parts his legs. His erection grows, and grows until I see the purple head of his long, dark cock appear above the elastic of his shorts. I gently pull down the material, feeing the treasure that waits for me. His thin cock is released, springing out from a dark bush of jet black hair, the foreskin pulled back by the strength of his erection. I take his briefs all the way down and feast my eyes on the small, but evenly hanging, balls. Not so hairy, wrinkles and smooth lines, dark skin, darker than the rest of him. I touch them lightly and play my fingers over them, enjoying their soft downy feel.

I reach out through the window, my tongue sticking out before me, and land the tip of it on the tip of his cock. I hold his shaft and point it towards my mouth. I reach as far as I can but can only get the first inch between my lips. George steps forward until his body is pressed up against the wall of the house and his middle is framed by the window. Now I can take all of him. Four, five and finally six inches of his Greek cock slide gently into my mouth and I close my lips around it.

As he starts a slow, gentle rhythm, fucking my face carefully, I bring my free hand up again and massage the two soft balls that are already rising up. I cup my fingers around them and use them to pull him deeper into me in the same rhythm, all the time stroking his balls with my finger tips. Now my other hand reaches out and around and caresses the soft hair on his hard backside. I feel his cheeks part and come together as he withdraws from my mouth and then slides back into it again. My throat fills with his youthful, solid cock and my own hardness strains out against the confines of my shorts.

I feel his buttocks clench and his rhythm quickens. I hear him grunt and his shaft grows fatter in my mouth. His balls, now high and hard like two unripe apricots are ready to deliver their contents to my willing throat. I pull him harder into me, waiting for the hot, salty explosion to come and wishing that George was in the kitchen with me.

'I am finished.'

I was shocked back to the real world by the sound of a heavily accented voice behind me. I blinked. I was staring out at an empty garden, at a tree stripped bare of its fruit. Instinctively I turned and there was George, sweating slightly, his shirt off, two baskets of apricots on the floor beside him.

He looked at me and smiled, indicated the baskets and I looked down. We both stared at the fruit for a moment and then our eyes moved sideways and came to rest on each other's crotch. I was aware that my erection was tenting out at the front of my shorts. It was too late to hide it. I was aware also that, within his tight fitting jeans, a swelling was showing through. It was pointing up and to the right. I traced the outline of his cock through the denim. And then we looked at each other and said nothing.

George stepped forward, his eyes never leaving mine. He reached out a hand and I felt, through the satin material of my shorts, a gentle caress on the end of my cock. I stood, rooted to the spot and allowed his hand to explore. He continued to stare at me. I trembled with anticipation. He gripped a little harder. I parted my legs slightly as his hand reached under to feel my balls. He was close, so close that I could feel his breathing, fast but controlled.

I looked into his deep brown eyes and said nothing. There was nothing to say. George winked at me once and then slowly, very slowly, descended from my view. I felt warm air around my cock, soon replaced by the warmth of his mouth.

I half closed my eyes and looked through the window to the tree now stripped bare and regretted that it only bares fruit once a year.

 

Luke Preston

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