Edge Teetering

Brian knew he’d been impetuous. Unfortunately, it was a little late for realizing that. He turned his head from the window of the Cyprus Air plane as it cleared the French coast above Marseilles and sailed out over the Mediterranean. He looked over at the two young men sitting across the aisle from him in first class, aching for them--either one of them. It was obvious they were a couple. They unabashedly were holding hands now. They’d come on with tennis rackets--a couple a piece. They were both in great shape--and young. That was the kicker. They had to be no older than their mid twenties. And they were traveling first class and were well groomed. Brian made them out to be pro tennis players. They certainly didn’t seem to mind anyone knowing they were a couple.

Brian wondered which one of them topped--and what he did with the other. Was he a rough lover, Brian wondered. One of them was taller and more muscular than the other. He was Mediterranean in appearance to the sandy-hued hair of the other--deeply tanned, black hair, a curl of hair sprouting above the neckline of his T-shirt, molded to firm pectorals. He looked a little rugged and he leaned over the other guy like he dominated the sandy-haired one.

He must be the dominant one, the top. Was he hung? In the daydream Brian went into, yes he was hung, and rough and a bit cruel.

He embraced Brian from behind as Brian leaned over the bed, his fists buried in the mattress if the Larnaka hotel Brian was headed to. Somehow they had lost Sandy and it was just him, Brian, and Constandinos now. Brian thought of him as Constandinos--Cypriot Greek. Constandinos was palming his belly with one hand and cupping his chin with the other, pulling the back of Brian’s head back to the black, curly matting between his pectorals. Brian grunted as Constandinos penetrated him with the thick cock, and, although he had the sensation of being filled and stretched, in his daydream there was no pain. He moaned as the young man began to pump him hard.

The young man. Brian snapped out of the daydream and turned his face back to the window, staring down at the blue Mediterranean, dotted with sea craft. A young man--a man like Travis. Like Travis, who had walked out on him saying he’d gotten too old. The timing couldn’t have been worse. It was a week before Brian turned fifty and just a day after Josh had called to cancel the modeling job, saying they needed a younger, trimmer guy. Brian wasn’t fat. He spent two thirds of his life, it felt like, staying in trim for the cameras. The cameras always put extra weight on a man--especially when it was underwear he was modeling.

“But they’d said--”

“Yes, they said they wanted a mature model,” Josh had said. “But it turns out that to them early forties was mature.”

It had been bad enough that the gig had been marked for a mature man, Brian thought, resisting the urge to bang his head against the airplane window. But then to learn that he was going to be ten years older the next week than what the client considered mature. He’d lost it and sunk into a funk. He’d turned his phone off, not taking calls from Josh, his agent, and certainly not returning Travis’ calls to set a time when he and his thirtysomething new sugar daddy could come for the rest of his things.

Brian had turned on the TV set. He never watched TV. He was looking at a travelogue, and by the end of the week he’d bought a restored stone village house somewhere on the island of Cyprus--one that came with a vineyard. Yay him. It took hooking up with a travel agency--the one he used for international travel, the gay-friendly one that set him up with everything gay friendly--to even find out where his new home was. It was in the southern part of the island, which Brian found out was divided into a Turkish zone in the north and a Greek zone in the south. The village was called Phini, it apparently was an old mountain village being gentrified by British ex-patriots mainly, and it was on the southern slope of Mount Olympus in the Troodos mountain range.

“I thought Mount Olympus was in Greece,” Brian had said.

“The tallest mountain in any Greek area is named Mount Olympus,” the travel agency had said.

“So, this Phini is on the Greek side of the island,” Brian had responded.

“Yes, of course.”

That’s the first time in this midlife crisis foolishness of his that Brian had realized that he was going off the rails in his response to being on the edge of what he thought of as over-the-hill old age. He’d thought he’d bought on the Turkish side of the island. He’d been fucked by two young, hung, fun-loving Turkish brothers on a deserted Turkish beach once and was looking forward to something like that again. It had been the first time he’d accepted double penetration, and it had certainly been memorable.

Brian stared at the sea through the window of the plane, drifting off, remembering.

Both of them had been stocky, muscular, and hirsute, covered with black, curly hair, more than willing, and all smiles. And they’d both fit inside him at once. They had played him like an amusement park ride, one plunging as the other pulled back, sandwiching him between them, on a beach on the Turkish coast when he was doing a photo shoot in whatever ancient ruined city that was. One brother under him, on his back, Brian on his back on top of him, the Turk palming his pecs and snuffling in his ear, talking dirty in broken English and in what was probably Turkish. His Turkish words sexier than the English ones--rougher, dirtier, more moving.

His cock held steady inside Brian’s channel at first, while the other brother covered him from above, hovering over him, fists buried in the sand beside Brian’s shoulders, doing pushups on him, pumping him, sliding his cock against the other Turk’s inside Brian’s channel. The brother below him starting to move his hips as well then, Brian moaning, barely able to take them, but taking them, one diving, the other withdrawing, the other diving and the first one withdrawing. Barebacking him, but he didn’t care, him coming in his excitement before they came, almost simultaneously, inside him. Pulling out together then, only to plunge again, into the slickness of their deposited cum, making Brian shudder and come again in the squeezing hand of one of the brothers.

He had no idea if they really were brothers. They had said they were brothers. But they’d said it in broken English, with smiles wrapped around their faces, as they touched him here and there, brushing his hand away from his cock and taking over the stroking, each providing a hand, sharing in the hand job as they later would share in the fuck. Maybe they weren’t brothers; maybe they were just teasing him. He, of course, spoke no Turkish. Maybe they’d said they were brothers to heighten the arousal of the encounter. It certainly had done that for him. It may have been the difference in letting them take him together.

He’d just been lying on his towel after coming out of the sea to the then-deserted beach, his bathing suit off and laying beside him, languidly stroking his cock. He had watched them stride down the beach, arm in arm, grins on their faces when they’d seen him, walking like they owned the ocean. He couldn’t have claimed they didn’t. They both were in skimpy bathing suits, both muscular and hirsute, both visibly going hard as they approached him. They’d gone down on their haunches on either side of him, asked him what he wanted, touched him here and there. They’d asked him straightforward if he wanted them to fuck him--had acted delighted when he said yes, heated up by their smiles and their bodies and their touches. They asked him what he’d take and then he took and took and took. He had had no idea they would both fuck him at the same time. But they did. For all he knew, they’d asked him if he’d take double and he’s said yes.

They rose and continued their sauntering journey down the beach, arm in arm, merrily jabbering of their victory in Turkish, leaving him vanquished, moaning, legs bent and spread, spent, sore, stretched, throbbing--wantonly satisfied.

Of course, he’d been younger then--in his early thirties. They had been in their twenties, though. They probably hadn’t known he was ten years older than they were. He’d always taken good care of himself, starting to lose the battle only of late. Brian had only gone with younger men--and power tops. He’d never felt too old to attract younger men before. And he never paid for it.

Turkish. Muscular and hirsute. Black curly hair. The release brought him out of his daydream. He realized he had been rubbing his basket and had come in his trousers, a wet spot showing at his crotch. He wondered if the hunk in the other seat would fuck him if he showed the young man that he had come in his seat just thinking of young hunks like him, working Brian’s body--if Brian could rise from his seat and wedge himself over the dark hunk across the aisle, unzipping the young man and handling his cock, making it thicken, and then riding it, facing him, while the other young man touched him here and there, egging him on.

He looked over at the couple across the aisle again. The dark hunk was smiling. Brian thought it was for him. But then the stewardess leaned over in the aisle between the seats, and Brian realized that the smile had been for her and the bottles of beer the young men had ordered--probably more for the beer bottles than the stewardess. The young men. Brian turned his face toward the window again. There was an island down there. It wasn’t Cyprus, but he could hardly wait until it was. He moved his hand to his basket again and rubbed.

* * * *

The agent that would take him to his house and see that he was settled in didn’t meet him at the airport. Brian now almost wished he had. He’d been the one to opt out of being met today. He was arriving in the early afternoon. He wanted time to rest and gather himself before driving up to the village house he’d bought off the Internet nearly sight unseen and no longer wanted. Now he just felt foolish and trapped.

He also felt invisible. The couple across the aisle from him bounded out into the aisle before he could get there and they had eyes only for each other. Not even a grunt from the Constandinos who had fucked Brian in his daydream. Constandinos. He laughed. That was the name of the travel agency guy who would be picking him up the next day and driving him up to Phini. Brian had rented a car through the agency and it already was up at the mountain house. Brian had somehow matched up the names. He’d used this agency before and he’d always been met by a young escort who serviced him too. He wondered how young this Constandinos was.

The airport was a dump, hardly worthy of being called an international airport. But he’d been told that it was just temporary and had been temporary for over forty years, the former international airport being locked in no-man’s-land between the Greeks and Turks outside of Nicosia, the capital city in the center of the island. Even after all this time the Greek Cypriots refused to upgrade the international airport on the southern coast of the island because they didn’t want to accept the division of the island as permanent.

The taxi driver who took him to the nearby Larnaka seafront was young and handsome and had dark, curly hair. He barely looked at his fare, though. The hotel wasn’t just gay friendly, it seemed to Brian in surveying the lobby that it was gay insistent--couples were hanging off each other. All good-looking, young men. None paying any attention to Brian, however. The bellhop who took him to his room was also young and was quite open about being available for a fuck. But he wanted a hefty price and obviously was a bottom. Even if there was something Brian could do with him--and he now was a little frantic for some sort of attention--he had never paid for a fuck before and didn’t intend to start doing that now.

They compromised. For a cut fee, Brian lay on the bed, fully clothed, feet on the floor, thighs spread, and the bellhop knelt between his legs, unzipped him, fished his cock out, and gave him a blow job. Feeling distant from it at first, Brian warmed to the suck as he hardened and his juices started to build. He reached down and took the young man’s head in his hands and, starting to move his own pelvis, helped guide the mouth rubbing his bulb against an inner cheek here, pushing deeper into the throat there. Pulling off the shaft, the bellhop queried whether Brian now wanted him to sit on his cock as Brian lay there on his back and ride him for a lesser fee than originally cited. But still Brian demurred. He was a bottom too--and for power tops. And he didn’t pay for fucks.

Apparently, now, he did pay for getting his cock sucked off.

The young man took the cock in his mouth again, taking it deep this time, applying pressure to the side of the shaft, and Brian moaned in pleasure. The stroking took on a rhythm, with a deep penetration on each third beat. Brian demanded in a strangled voice, and the bellhop worked his fingers through the folds of material of Brian’s trousers and briefs and found and penetrated Brian’s ass, reaching for and rubbing his prostate. Brian threw an arm over his face, dreamed he was being done by the Constandinos in the airplane, and managed to come more prodigiously than he had thought he could under these circumstances. It did relieve the tension a bit.

After a quick, unsatisfying nap as he fought jet lag, Brian pulled on a Speedo, turning this way and that in front of the mirror on the back of the door and telling himself he didn’t look a day over thirty-nine and he was handsome and as trim and well-formed as ever, and went out onto the beach that stretched between Larnaka’s seafront hotels and restaurants and the harbor.

The Larnaka seafront was constructed in the old south-of-France style, the hill and city rising behind a solid bank of gaily painted restaurants, with hotels above, a wide terrace accommodating outdoor cafés, bordered by the palm tree-lined road. Across that ran a broad promenade, bordering the sand at the top of the beach, the line of tall palm trees marking the boundary. Then a shale beach running down to the harbor and the fringe of swimming beach. Two arms of rock embraced the harbor to the west and east, an ancient stone light house at the west and a Byzantine fortress to the east.

There was more promenading and displaying going on on the sand than swimming in the sea. It was a beach for ogling and being ogled, not for swimming. Brian lay on the beach, just to the sea side of the shadows cast by the palm trees, and posed to be ogled, but he didn’t attract the attention of any young men. Well, he did, but they all mentioned money. The only man who didn’t was almost as old as Brian was, by his looks. OK, he was muscular, Greek, and good-looking, but he was nearly bald and the thatch of hair on his chest was salt and pepper and Brian had always gone with much younger men. The man had smacked his lips, popped his tongue in his cheek, and given Brian’s body the up and down “eye,” as he crouched and grasped Brian’s ankle in a strong grip.

“You an American? I like Americans. You want suck and fuck?” he’d asked in a surprisingly refined British accent, yet using somewhat broken English. “I big-cock fuck you good. I know a deserted beach. I do you good on the beach. I got best cock in Larnaka. No pay. I fuck you; we both like.”

Strangely, considering the man wasn’t young, Brian warmed and felt himself going hard, but still he demurred. Later in the evening he thought back on this and tried to remember the man as being younger and him having said yes.

It wasn’t any better that evening. The agency had given him a list of restaurants and bars where he’d be comfortable. He picked out what was a half village-décor indoor tavern and half outdoor café two blocks up from the seafront. The name of the place was Adonis, and several of the young men there fit that description, but they already were paired off. Brian settled at a table by himself in the outside area. There was a beautiful, dark-haired young man sitting on a stool in the corner and playing Spanish guitar tunes. His voice was as easy to listen to as he was to watch. He kept looking over in Brian’s direction, and Brian spent far more time at the tavern--alone--picking his way through a meze dinner and nursing brandy sours than he intended to because he was tired from the jet lag and imagining a sulky Spanish guitarist between his thighs was better than having nothing to imagine at all.

It took him more than an hour to realize that the guitar player was smiling past him at an older Greek man at a table behind Brian. The man was older than the guitar player, but he was more what that cancelling client had referred to as mature than Brian’s mature. He also was a hunk and a half.

A waiter kept buzzing around Brian, though. He said his name was Nicos. He was tall and thin, with a mop of curly blond hair and pale blue eyes. He made quite clear that he was available--for a price--and would go each way. It wasn’t what Brian wanted and he never paid for sex--or at least for a fuck, he now had to say, as he’d paid the bellhop for a blow job earlier in the day. Nicos was young--not much over twenty--and, although thin, he had big feet and big hands.

Money laying on the dresser in Brian’s hotel room, Brian lay on his back in the center of the bed, legs spread, buttocks elevated on pillows, as big-cocked Nicos, having given Brian a feel at the restaurant and said the right words to close the deal, hovered above him, fists buried in the mattress on either side of Brian’s shoulders, knees bent between Brian’s thighs, and shaft mining Brian’s channel deep. There was no passion or inventiveness in the fuck, which was just as well, as Brian was tired from the flight to Cyprus from London, which had closely followed the flight from New York to London.

But Brian had a big cock inside him--a young man’s cock. He shut his eyes and dreamed of Constandinos from the plane and of the Turks on the beach while he stroked himself to an ejaculation. No affection was involved; no moans and groans or dirty words from Nicos, and few from Brian either. It was just business for Nicos and animal need of release for Brian. Nicos wasn’t touching him anywhere except inside his channel. Both were concentrating on getting off. But Brian felt filled and stretched, and Nicos knew to give his prostate attention. Brian set his pelvis in motion, going with the fuck, matching the rhythm, taking the cock deeper. Nicos was young, vigorous; his cock was long and hard. Taking him deeper yet. Emptying his mind out, thinking not that he’d had to pay and that other young men had looked past him during the day, but concentrating on having a young, hard, long cock, deep inside him, stroking, rubbing across his prostate.

Nicos was still filling and pumping his channel when Brian drifted off to sleep after having come. When he woke, it was in the middle of the night--it would take him days to adjust to the change in time. He checked, but although the money on the dresser--which he’d pretend he hadn’t put there because he’d never had to pay for a fuck and by god he wouldn’t do it when he settled in Phini--was gone, nothing else was missing, including a big wad of bills in his wallet.

He’d been told that Cypriot Greeks were honest. Thank god that had borne out as true. Before he went back to sleep, Brian nursed a bit of regret that he’d paid for the fuck. There wasn’t even anything romantic about it. In addition to Constandinos from the plane, he’d had to think about the Spanish guitarist at the restaurant--and had to think of both of them as intense, rough lovers--to get himself off properly. The biggest regret had been to have been forced to pay for it to get it from a young guy. If he’d been willing to compromise, there was the forty-something Greek on the beach who seemed interested in doing him. But then he thought about the times he’d paid a travel agency and a young escort had been included. And it was always a guy who had banged him good. He’d paid for that in his travel package now that he thought about it. The escort had always been careful to give the impression that he found Brian arousing and wanted to bang him. But this rationalization only depressed him. He felt he had to either hold the line or jump over that edge to “not getting any” old age. It was sort of pathetic, he thought, to be teetering on the edge of aging out.

He had to remember that his original idea on coming to Cyprus was to go cold turkey and give in to old age without his friends and colleagues in New York seeing that happen--and either pitying him or laughing at him behind his back. He didn’t like to think about it, but he’d been catty a time or two when a male model colleague had aged and faded out. That was coming back to bite him in the ass.

* * * *

“Are you Mr. Brady? I’m Constandinos. But you should call me just Dinos.”

Brian had seen him when he’d descended the stairs to the lobby. This wasn’t the sort of hotel that had an elevator. The man had drawn his attention because for a few seconds he thought he was the older man from the beach the previous day--the one who had hit on him, promising him the best fuck to be had in the town. Then this guy had taken his hat off and he still had hair. There was a flutter of regret at not having taken the man on the beach up on his offer but then the dampening closedown again that the man was too old for what Brian wanted--for the struggle he was having with himself of being on the edge of entering a new, sexless phase of his life. He was on the edge of avoiding being old and having to beg or pay for it, or settle in to getting half the satisfaction with other men trying to fight being too old for it.

The disappointment flooded in that the gay escort he was paying for to settle him into his remote mountain village home wasn’t young. He was just another old fart, like Brian. He wasn’t going to keep Brian from teetering over the edge into old age, if only for a brief moment. That was unfair, of course. This Constandinos didn’t look to be quite as old as Brian and he was a solidly built, muscular, beautiful man, with an outgoing smile. But he also had graying sideburns and his wavy hair was salt and pepper. At least he had hair.

“Yes. You were sent to take me to my new house in Phini? If I’m to call you Dinos, you should call me Brian.”

“Yes I am your guide and here to service your every need,” Dinos said. “I’m told you’ve used our travel agency before and know of the extent of our services,” he continued, leaving little doubt on how extensive the contract of services was. He held out an elegantly manicured hand, gently grasped Brian’s arm, and turned him toward the reception desk. “If you’ll check out, I’ll drive you up to Phini. Your house is livable and stocked. It will take a bit more than an hour. The container you had shipped is there now. Have you had lunch? We could stop at a café I know of overlooking the sea near Limassol before starting up into the mountains.”

Dinos was driving an old Mercedes sports convertible that was in pristine condition. He drove fast, wearing leather driving gloves, but he concentrated on the road and drove expertly.

Drove expertly, Brian thought, wondering how well he drove in sex. He couldn’t help not thinking of the sexual issue even though he was fighting the age issue. Brian couldn’t help it, he was highly sexed. Of course this flew in the face of feeling old and being forced to give it all up, teetering on the edge of old age, but being conflicted was just that. He couldn’t do anything about it. Dinos dressed expensively and elegantly. His white shirt and linen trousers were well tailored and fit him like a glove. Either the trousers were tailored to push his genitals up and forward or he was hung. Brian couldn’t help himself from checking that out, even if he had no intention of going there. Despite knowing he didn’t want to be, Brian was drawn to and aroused by the man.

It didn’t help that on the terrace of the café overlooking the sea, Dinos did as other Mediterranean men did at the end of the meal, over ouzo and coffee--stripped off his shirt and laid back in his chair, taking in the sun beating down on the edge of the azure sea. He left little doubt that he’d done it to give Brian a good look at his musculature, which was impressive. As was the man on the beach of comparable age, Dinos’ chest hair, swirling around his pectorals and down his sternum onto his nearly flat belly, was salt and pepper. His chest was beefy, but hard and muscular. Brian neither took off his shirt nor gawked at Dinos--he gawked much more at young, shirtless men sitting near them. And if he went hard over lunch, it was in thinking of these young men and fantasizing laying under them.

Or at least that was what he still was telling himself. Though of course he checked out Dinos’ bare torso.

The man’s voice was low, smooth, enhanced by the British accent when he spoke English. “Have you bought the house for holidays--for an escape? You look like a movie star. Are you hiding from fans?”

“I suppose you could say I’m retreating, but permanently,” Brian answered. “I plan to live here, and if I’m escaping anything, it’s life. I’m a painter.”

It wasn’t a lie. Brian did paint, and he sold what he painted. He intended it to be his new life. He didn’t intend being told ever again that he was too old for a modeling job--especially one that had specified that the model be mature. He was beginning a new life here, an autumn of his life phase. Or was it winter? This life would be as a painter. He had saved and invested well. He didn’t have to be anything, if he didn’t want to be. But he didn’t want to just wait around for death. He’d be a painter in this phase of his life.

“Ah, a painter. The travel service said you were a male model, and I’m sure I have seen you in magazine ads.”

“I was that in the States as well as an artist. Leaving that is one reason I am moving here.”

“And escaping from life? You look too much alive to be escaping from life. A bad love relationship, perhaps?”

“Yes, that’s part of it. He wanted someone younger.”

“Ah, younger. Youth is wasted on the young. I’ve found that expertise requires maturity. Don’t you believe that to really be expert in something you need to have a great deal of experience, Brian?”

“I suppose,” Brian answered, his voice dubious, his attention half on a couple of young, luscious men rising from their lunch and departing the café.

“Ah, sexy young men, aren’t they?” Dinos asked, following Brian’s gaze. “They no doubt are on their way to fuck. We have siesta in Cyprus, just like most Mediterranean countries do--withdrawing from the sun to sleep the hotter hours so that we can party late into the night. But Cyprus is a sensual island. Most elsewhere in the Mediterranean sleep during siesta. In Cyprus we fuck. But look at those two young men. Do you think they will fuck as well as a mature, experienced man could fuck them? I think not. In Cyprus men age on the surface, but as long as they fuck often they can stay hard into old age. And they can give a young man a better, more experienced, fuck then a younger man can. So, I say that youth is wasted on the young, and the pursuit of youth is a waste also. What is needed is an older man, with a hard cock and good technique.”

He looked expectantly at Brian, who only was able to mumble a, “Yes, I suppose,” followed by an “Ah, here is the bill.” Dinos didn’t fight him for the check.

While they were waiting for the change to come back and after Dinos had pulled his shirt back on, he leaned over and touched Brian on his arm. “I don’t think you answered me, so I have to ask again: You are aware of the extent of the service in your contract with my travel agency, are you not?”

“Yes,” Brian answered, “but I need not press you on those services.”

“I want you to,” Dinos said. “It has nothing to do with the services contracted. I find you very attractive.” Then he looked up and smiled at the waiter who brought back the change. “Hello, Antony. You are looking very well.”

“Thank you, Dinos,” the waiter answered. “It is good to see you again.”

“Tell our friend here, if you will, how good I fuck.”

“Dinos fucks very, very good,” Antony said to Brian, with hardly a pause at the forwardness of the question, giving him a smile. “You are very lucky if he is going to fuck you.” And then he turned and was gone.

The road up into the mountains narrowed and became more rutted, but Dinos drove just as fast and just as well as he had on flatter ground. They just didn’t converse much. They were still rising, driving on curves, though, when Dinos commanded in a gruff voice, “Unzip me. Stroke my cock.”

The domination mode grabbed Brian, who melted at being commanded this way. Without thinking further or going through his agonizing litany of either of them being too old, he reached over, unzipped Dinos, and took out the Cypriot’s half-hard cock. Brian himself had been hard ever since Dinos’ monologue on the relative experience of older men at the seaside café.

At the house, without so much as a look either way, Brian not taking in either his rental car, a Fiat 500, or the small walk-in steel container at the other side of the entrance or how close the stone facing of the village house was to the road, barely leaving room between the stone and the road for the vehicles to park, Dinos hustled Brian straight through the house and out onto a stone-floored terrace balcony. He was stripping Brian as they walked, himself losing only his shirt, but with his dick protruding from his fly, long, thick, hard, and slightly upturned. He hadn’t let Brian stop stroking him as they approached the villa. He was thick and long, but there was no evidence he was close to coming.

On the terrace, he sat in a patio chair and pulled Brian onto his lap, facing him. Holding his cock erect with one hand, he maneuvered Brian in place, straddling his lap, feet on the stone floor on either side of the chair, worked the bulb of his cock into place, and then, grasping, squeezing, and parting Brian’s butt cheeks, he forced Brian’s channel down. Forcing it to take four inches of the cock in one go. Brian grabbed Dinos’ shoulders with his hands, arched his back, and cried out at the raw penetration of the cock.

“Keep your feet on the stones, hold yourself up, give me room to fuck,” Dinos growled, and as Brian obeyed, Dinos gave him three more inches of the cock and started his hips moving, jabbing up into Brian’s channel, as Brian tightened his grip on Dinos’ shoulders. After a few minutes, Brian started to rise and fall too, taking his share of responsibility for the fuck, joining the rhythm of Dinos’ fuck. He pulled one hand down into his lap and stroked his cock, coming before Dinos did inside him.

Brian collapsed into Dinos’ lap, threw his arms around Dinos’ neck, and the two went into a series of deep kisses until Dinos’ cock came back to life and they fucked once more, this time more languidly, taking longer and deeper penetrations of the cock up into Brian’s channel. When they’d come a second time and were cooling down, not changing position, Dinos’ shaft still buried up inside Brian, going flaccid, Dinos whispered, “Do older men do it better than younger?”

“Yes,” Brian answered in a murmur, “at least you do.”

“I think all older men with experience and who can still get hard can, Brian. And they will be more grateful to you than a younger man would be. Don’t judge a man by his age, his wrinkles, or that he is losing the battle to keep in shape. Judge him by the hardness and staying power of his cock and what he can do with it. Now, do you want to see your new house?”

“Yes,” Brian whispered, “especially the bedroom.”

As he pulled off Dinos’ lap and turned, he saw that the back of the house sloped down the side of the mountain. The land--his plot of land--was terraced and covered with grape vines tied to wooden fences. An old man, squat and gnarled, was standing two terraces down, looking up. He had been watching them fuck.

* * * *

The layout of the house was straightforward. It had been restored on the inside with clean, modern lines, while the quaint village aged-stone style of it had been preserved on the outside. The entire mountain village was like this. Dinos said it was in the covenant of the place when the government had permitted foreigners to restore houses here for their use.

“I’m afraid it looks a bit like one of your pristine theme parks to a Cypriot. But you may view it anyway you like. You have to have money to live here. If it’s young men you want, they will be attracted by knowing you live here.”

If this was supposed to make Brian feel wanted by young men, it didn’t. He wasn’t really interested in being some young man’s sugar daddy--not again. He’d done that and was done with that--if he could maintain his resolve. He had pulled on his trousers--but not his briefs--for the tour of the house. They both moved around shirtless and barefooted. Both of them knew that Dinos would fuck Brian again before he departed.

Where they had entered was essentially an open front porch notched out of the middle of the front of the two-room deep house. To the left upon entering the great room was a kitchen, separated from the great room by a counter. To the right was the master bedroom suite, with a full bath next to the entry porch and the master bedroom projecting out to the back of the house. The bathroom facilities were as modern as anything Brian had seen in the States. If anything, they were more stylish, in keeping with European tastes. The shower stall door, of course, was clear glass and the back wall of the stall also was glass, looking out onto a small rock-walled garden niche set in the side of the house.

“The bath is perfect for fucking, don’t you think?” Dinos asked, giving Brian a sexy smile.

“Yes,” Brian answered, more than half wanting Dinos to fuck him under cascading water from the shower head there and then--to press Brian’s back against the rock wall at the foot of the shower and growl for Brian to climb his hips with his knees. They were both hard again, and Dinos was guiding Brian around with a grip on his buttocks.

But Dinos escorted Brian out of the master bedroom and back into the great room. To the left of the great room were two rooms, a bedroom and bath on the street side and an enclosed porch, with windows wrapping around two sides on the back side of the house. The deep balcony terrace, looking down the terraced mountainside and to the next mountain, ran the entire length of the back. The house had come fully furnished, just awaiting Brian’s personal touches. Soon a walker and then a wheel chair, he thought bitterly, feeling a bit sorry for himself. How much longer, he wondered, could he stay as hard as he was for Dinos now--as hard as Dinos was staying for him?

“This will be perfect for my painting studio,” Brian said, when he was shown the sun porch.

“Ah, yes, your painting,” Dinos said. “Are you going to show me your paintings?”

“They should be in the container out front. When I’ve had them out, you certainly can see them.”

“I’ll help you unload the container then, shall I?”

“Surely that’s not included in the service I’ve paid for,” Brian said, with a little laugh.

“I am curious enough about your paintings that I’ll be happy to do it. But, speaking of the service, I would like to show you the master bedroom again.”

“You are very flexible. I do not think you should talk about being old again,” Dinos whispered in Brian’s ear as he fucked him from behind against the wall of the bedroom beside the doorway into the great room. Both Brian’s feet and hands were pressed to the wall, his trousers on the floor under him, his buttocks projecting out from the wall, as Dinos stood behind him, one arm around his waist and the other running up his chest, his hand cupping Brian’s chin, as he fucked up into Brian’s channel.

Brian sensed movement at the door and looked around to see that the old man he’d previously seen in the vineyard was standing there, looking at them. He was several inches shorter than either Brian or Dinos, even if he weren’t hunched over a bit, and was stocky. He was ugly as a gargoyle. He looked to be at least sixty. He stood there only for a couple of seconds and then withdrew.

“Who the fuck?” Brian exclaimed.

“That’s Leonidas. You’ll be calling him Leo.”

“Why the fuck would I be calling him anything?” Brian said, breathless from the exertion of bearing back as Dinos thrust forward and up in the fuck.

“He works for you. He takes care of your vineyard. You won’t have to do anything but drink the wine. He works the other vineyards on this hill too. And, in turn, he lives in your basement.”

“My basement?”

“Yes, underneath us, opening to the hillside under the terrace. In old times it was where they sheltered their livestock. There’s a flat down there now, and a wine cellar.”

“I didn’t see stairs.”

“There are none inside the house. You have to go down and around.”

“It didn’t keep him out of the house.”

“No, it didn’t. He’s here to help unload the container and set up whatever you brought with you. He’ll have the run of the house. Incidentally, he has the thickest cock in the village, and he can keep it hard for hours.”

“But he looks as old as the hills,” Brian muttered.

“He has the thickest cock in the village and can keep it hard for hours,” Dinos repeated. “Remember what I told you earlier. You need to give what I said about age and experience more thought.”

There was no thinking then, just animal rutting as Dinos finished the fuck and let Brian slip to the floor in a puddle of satiation.

“Shall we do it in the shower now?” Dinos asked in a matter-of-fact voice. It was too soon for Dinos to be hard again, but, in the shower and whispering, “Experience is the master,” in Brian’s ear, he demonstrated how he could bring Brian to and past release again with his hand.

When the two finally emerged from the house, Leonidas was standing outside, beside the container, and helped unload it without a single word said on what he saw or a judgmental look or leer being directed by him at Brian.

“These paintings are magnificent,” Dinos said as they were being moved to the sun porch. “Do you have a dealer set up here in Cyprus to handle them?”

“No, not yet,” Brian answered, please that the Cypriot had praised his work.

“Our offices are down in Limassol. There are galleries there--good ones. We can help you get displayed there.”

“As part of the travel agency services?” Brian asked. “Isn’t that stretching the agency’s services a bit far?”

“I like to see how far I can stretch . . . services,” Dinos answered, giving Brian a meaningful look and causing Brian to blush despite his age and look to where Leonidas was to see if he heard and understood. He was close enough to have heard, but he gave no discernible reaction. “And my services continue as long as I am getting pleasure out of them,” Dinos added. “My whole life isn’t spent on the travel agency’s clock. This is Cyprus. Personal pleasure has priority.”

* * * *

“You want him. You want to fuck him, don’t you?”

“I do fantasize him fucking me,” Brian answered, turning his attention from the beautiful young guitarist back to Dinos. They were on the patio of a taverna in Phini, strung with fairy lights that kept traveling up into the deep blue night sky, the air crisp and clear in the mountains. The guitarist, setting in the corner of the patio on a barstool, a light shining on his tumbling black curls from above, was much the same as the guitarist from the previous night, the one who had looked past Brian with a smile for another man. This guitarist had a smile for everyone on the patio, though, including Brian. He was smarter than the guitarist from the night before. He understood what produced tips. “But that’s not going to happen.”

“What isn’t that going to happen?” Dinos asked.

“I’m old; he’s young. He has a young lover--male or female, I don’t know--or an established sugar daddy. But he looks too content not to have a lover.”

“He’s a whore,” Dinos says. “He makes more money from fucking--yes, either man or woman--than he does from playing his guitar here. You aren’t too old for him--you could only be too poor for him, which you aren’t. You are still a handsome man with a great body. He would fuck you and enjoy it. All you have to do is to slip a fifty euro note in his tip bucket and smile at him. Then wait until his evening is finished. He will follow you home and fuck you. And he will be pleased to do you. He would do that three or four times a week for as long as you wanted, just as long as you had money to give him. That would answer your concern, wouldn’t it? You can afford him.”

“I don’t pay for fucking, and I am too old for young men.”

“I told you you were very flexible this afternoon. I meant it. It’s flexibility and attitude and conditioning, not physical age, that count. And why not pay for it if you want it? Why deny yourself pleasure if you have the money? You are an American--and a rich one. We ran your credit rating before taking your business. You want him inside you, don’t you? Marcos has a very nice cock. I have fucked men with him before.”

“You’ve fucked men with him before?”

“Yes. You have been with two men at once before, haven’t you?”

“Yes--but when I was younger.”

“Pay him. We will fuck you together. You are only as old as you want to be. You have the money, you have the desire, and I’ve told you that you are attractive enough for him to enjoying fucking you. Why begrudge him the money if he needs it? You have paid me, and I’ve fucked you repeatedly today. Did you not enjoy it? Do you doubt that I enjoyed it? And, still, I won’t turn down my salary from the travel agency to be here with you. Don’t be old. Be satisfied.”

Brian hesitated, but after a few minutes he rose. Why the hell not, he thought, teetering again on that edge, but what was on the other side of the fence not looking as bleak and threatening and defeating as before. What if he got a look of rejection when he dropped the money in the bucket, though? He’d be crushed. He’d fall off the edge.

He walked over to the tip bucket beside the guitarist and dropped a fifty-euro note in it. He looked up into Marcos’ eyes and received a smile and a tip of the head in return. There was no sign of distaste or reluctance.

Marcos lay on his back at the end of the bed, his feet flat on the floor. Brian was straddling the young guitarist’s pelvis, facing him, leveraging on his bent knees as he rose and fell on the hard shaft. Dinos had been right. Marcos had a very nice cock. Marcos, his curly black hair fanned out around his head, was holding Brian’s waist between his hands and watching the expressions on Brian’s face with dreamy eyes. His mouth was set in a sensual smile. Brian was scrutinizing Marcos’ face just as closely, looking for any sign of distaste or boredom. He found none. And when he dipped his face down to Marcos’ for a kiss, he was met with open, welcoming lips, and a sweet, deep kiss.

There was nothing to be discerned in Marcos’ demeanor to indicate that he was getting anything but complete pleasure out of the fuck.

Dinos slid in from the shadows of the corner of the room where he’d been watching Brian riding Marcos’ cock. He was as naked as they were. All three of them had beautiful bodies--Dinos’ and Brian’s bodies were just more solid, more mature, the form of a Zeus to Marcos’ Adonis. Dinos moved in close behind Brian. He cupped Brian’s chin and turned the American’s head to the side, taking his mouth in a kiss. Marcos reached down, cupped Brian’s cock, and began to stroke it. One of Dinos’ arms went around Brian’s chest; his other hand went to his own cock.

Brian began to struggle within Dinos’ embrace and to try to break out of the kiss as Dinos worked his cock inside Brian’s passage on top of Marcos’ already-buried staff. Fully sheathed, Dinos held for a moment and then began to pump Brian’s channel. Feeling the rub of Dinos’ cock, Marcos began to stroke as well. Dinos let loose of Brian and Brian bent over Marcos, fists buried in the bedspread at either side of Marcos’ arms, panting hard to fight off hyperventilation, moaning and groaning in response to the play of two cocks inside him, building up to an explosion--an explosion of cum the likes of Vesuvius.

His mind went back, with pleasure, to a beach and two hunky Turkish men walking toward him.

* * * *

Brian had the entire next day to himself. Neither Dinos nor Marcos were there. It had taken him no time at all to unpack and make the house his. The afternoon was free to set up a canvas in his sunroom and begin to paint. Naturally enough, he painted the terraced vineyard descending from the back of his house. And also naturally enough the scene included a bent-over old Cypriot working in the field. Leonidas.

What Dinos had said about Leonidas and his attributes kept running through Brian’s mind. There had been so much to absorb over the past two days, though. Too much, really. All of his pouts and life-ending decisions had been exploded in his face. Well, most of them. Dinos was younger than he was. Not by much, but younger. He still was settled on having younger men or nothing. Dinos getting him over the hurdle of paying for it had opened the sunshine over his life, though. That wouldn’t be bad--as long as young men didn’t laugh at him even when he offered them money for sex. He’d spent time in front of the mirror again this morning. It would be years, he figured, before he was the gargoyle that Leonidas, out working in the vineyard, was. There was no reason why he should ever be as work-worn as Leonidas was.

That night he went back to the taverna for a late supper--late for him, quite obviously not late for the Cypriots, who were just starting to show up when he was finishing. Marcos wasn’t there. He wasn’t playing that night. Brian was almost relieved. He’d been drawn to Marcos, like a moth to the flame, but he knew he couldn’t have him every night. It was just the residual panic that he was running out of time--that he wouldn’t be desirable to a young man for long even if he paid for it. He fantasized about the young man not being able to get it up for him--him not being able to make a young man hard. And then he kept telling himself that he wasn’t teetering on that edge anymore, that that edge was still a distance away and that he should stop agonizing over it.

He went home, took a long shower, and climbed, naked, into his bed. It was almost a relief to have the bed all to himself.

He had no idea what time it was when he woke. He just knew it was pitch dark and someone was grasping his ankles and pulling him down toward the foot of the bed. He opened his mouth to call down.

“Don’t cry out. I will fuck you good.” The voice was heavily accented, but he’d heard it before. Leonidas.

He was turned on the bed, urged up to his hands and knees, seized from behind, and then he did cry out and squirm, briefly trying to pull away, but the man was much too strong for him. Leonidas was working his cock inside Brian’s passage. The cock was as thick if not thicker than Dino’s and Marcos’ together. It was all Brian could do to concentrate on opening for the man, stretching, and taking him in. Brian was panting hard and groaning. Leonidas was grunting at getting it all inside Brian, He reached around and grasped Brian’s balls and the root of his cock in a strong, heavily calloused hand. He squeezed, making Brian’s eyes water and his mouth jabber, begging for mercy. None was to come, and Brian was turned to sobbing jelly as Leonidas began to pump him.

And to pump him and pump him. Each time Brian was ready to blow, Leonidas sensed this and stopped, dead, holding Brian close, not permitting him to move a muscle, holding them both in suspension, teetering on the edge of coming, until the need for release had passed. Then he resumed a steady pumping and the rolling and squeezing of Brian’s balls, as well as the squeezing of the base of his cock.

Panting, panting, panting, groaning and moaning, whining for release, begging for mercy, for completion, Brian felt himself ready to ejaculate again. But again, the masterful, experienced cocksman held him in abeyance, whispering that he didn’t have permission to come yet. Then, when the need had passed, Brian’s balls aching, the pumping resumed. He was taken to the edge and held off, taken to the edge and held off, until he was exhausted, putty in Leonidas’ hands, completely conquered.

He let out a whimper and a sigh and was permitted to collapse on the bed, completely taken, totally spent, when Leonidas allowed him to come, and, a master at the fuck, came himself simultaneously.

Brian’s murmur of “I . . . have . . . never . . . been taken so fully before” got choked off by the realization that Leonidas had come, but he was still hard.

“Oh fuck, oh shit,” Brian murmured, as the old man clamped his arm around Brian’s waist, pulling him back up on all fours, and began to pump him again.

All of Brian’s “never again will” declarations were dispelled. He no longer was teetering on the edge of anything. He was soaring out over the edge into a new life.

And he didn’t give a shit.