The Leading Man

I suppose it was inevitable. I liked men in general and Cypriot men especially, both Greek and Turkish, and I hadn’t been very good at hiding it. I’d exchanged steamy looks, touching, and suggestive conversation enough with the tennis pro at the Eleon clay courts and pool club in Nicosia, Cyprus, that when Andreas felt comfortable enough to make a move, he had a good idea I’d go under him—and I did easily.

He kept murmuring how I was so young and fit and almost androgynously blond when I let my hair down and how he couldn’t resist me and how I’d teased him and tortured him as he pushed me against the desk in his office at the Eleon and kissed me on the back and throat and lips after pulling my tennis T-shirt over my head before we went out to the court. And I wanted to scream for him to shut up and do it because I couldn’t resist the Mediterranean sulkiness, sexiness, sleekness, and curly hirsuteness of him.

He took his time, but he did it. I knew as soon as he flicked that condom packet and tube of lube onto the surface of the desk next to me that he was going to go all the way with it. He bent me over the desk on my belly and kissed down my back, me moaning as he pulled my tennis shorts down and pressed my belly down to the desk top by palming the small of my back with one hand while the other fondled me through the mesh of my jock pouch. I groaned and whispered, “Fuck, fuck, fuck it,” as he tongued my ass hole, opening me up. And I did open up to this attention. He wasn’t my first man. I was only nineteen, but I wasn’t a virgin to men.

I cried out, “Yes, yes. Screw me!” as he worked me open with his fingers, pressing in with two and then three and spreading them apart, stretching my opening, getting me ready for him. When I was gaping open, he rose up, hovered on top of me, and put himself in position. I heard the tear of the condom foil, felt the smoothing on of the rubber on his erection pressing between my thighs, and felt the coldness of the lube.

“Unless you tell me not to—” he growled.

“Do it! Fuck me!” I answered.

With a low laugh, he mounted and penetrated me. I jutted my ass back, murmuring, “Yes, yes, yes.” He found I wasn’t knew to this and stretched to the demand.

When he was well saddled, he grasped my wrists, raising my arms over my head and holding me under him on the desktop. He thrust up hard inside me, filling and stretching me. I opened quickly to him, not being a virgin to anal sex and being fully into the fuck and rocking my hips back to plunge into the thrusts. We both panted hard and grunted at the effort. We worked together as one wanting, frantic team.

I had wanted him inside me for weeks and now he was.

He let loose of my right wrist to move his hand down under my belly, sliding inside the pouch of my jock, and rolling my balls and stroking my cock off. I brought my hand down to and covered the pouch from the outside as he worked me on the inside.

I came first, inside the pouch. He wasn’t far behind me. We’d built up to this point with considerable verbal foreplay, meaningful looks, and touching. We were both primed to bust a nut the first time we let this play out.

I was a nineteen-year-old American on an internship at the American embassy in Nicosia. He was a twenty-six-year-old, married Greek Cypriot with a couple of children and a jock job at a tennis club. I’m sure both of us knew from the first time we played tennis together that we’d make the other one if we could.

And we could. Just a couple of weeks into knowing each other and we’d each gotten our rocks off nicely. I’m sure we both knew it was just physical exercise. Neither of us had any romantic thoughts about this.

“We’re already into our court time,” Andreas said as he pulled out of and away from me. “Here’s a washrag. I’ll meet you on Court Four as soon as you can get yourself dressed again.” And then he was gone.

As soon as he left his office, though, I heard him talking to someone in the short covered walkway out to the pool terrace. I’d thought that there might have been someone out there listening to us or watching us. The office door hadn’t been closed completely. It was early in a week day and the club usually was pretty deserted at this time, but I’d had the impression that someone had been monitoring us.

Hearing Andreas talking to someone so shortly after leaving the office, with me not even groaning and rising off the desktop, told me that I probably was right.

That wasn’t good. But the fuck had been good. I’d been minding myself too well since taking up my internship here on the summer break from Georgetown University. I knew there were people in the embassy with their noses out of joint that the ambassador’s nephew had wrangled a summer job here and was living in the residence. They were, I’m sure, looking for any opportunity to criticize my presence—not directly to the ambassador’s or my face, of course.

* * * *

Only a few of the clay courts were in use when Andreas and I went to them. The club had been built in a former olive-tree orchard, and rows of trees had been pulled out to accommodate courts, while a row of trees remained between the courts. This gave shade for spectators and for the players to cool down between games. The courts on either side of us were clearing out as we arrived at Court 4 and new players weren’t arriving. An older Greek Cypriot and a young Arab—probably Lebanese, as many had resettled to Cyprus when Beirut was torn by civil war—were finishing on Court 3. As I was moving toward Court 4, my approach still largely shielded from the Court 3 view lines, I saw the older Greek man back the young Arab into the splitting trunks of an olive tree and kissing the youth on the lips while feeling up his crotch with a hand. By the time I came into their view line, though, they had separated and were stowing their gear away in duffle bags.

That served to tell me that the Greek Cypriot was a dominator of men, though, and initiated my thoughts of him as a possible sex partner. He wasn’t coming up in the negative in the assessment.

The Greek Cypriot was a handsome Zeus of a man. He was hirsute, with salt-and-pepper curly hair in abundance on his head and with a full beard. He slipped off his tennis shirt to change into a drier one and I saw that he was magnificently, solidly muscular for a man his age. His chest was covered in curly hair, showing more dark curls than gray as it descended down to the waistband of his tennis shorts. He had a gold chain with a medallion around his neck, the medallion nestling between two bulging, but hard, pecs. He was tanned a chestnut brown. I judged that he probably was in his early fifties, but it was a gorgeous fifties.

The young Arab disappeared and Andreas hadn’t come out to the court yet. It was just the two of us—the older Greek Cypriot and me—facing off between courts.

I found him arousing and I didn’t hold back. As he changed shirts, I stood at the gate of Court 4 and openly ogled him. He was aware of me since seeing me approach the courts, and he was as open about exhibiting his interest in me as I was with him. He gave me a smile, and I smiled back. His hand went to his crotch and mine went to mine. We were more than half way to a coupling.

He didn’t leave when the Arab did. There were folding wooden chairs scattered about the peripheries of the courts and he pulled one up and sat and watched Andreas and me play. I was almost as good as Andreas and I was younger and more flexible. We played bare-chested, admiring and flirting with each other over the net, extending the mood of our coupling on his desk before coming to the court.

The Greek Zeus watched it all with interest. When I was able, I turned my face toward him and flirted with him too.

Andreas had a lesson to give when we were done, the score being close, but Andreas winning. He was Greek and he had just topped me. I was too diplomatic to win at tennis after going under him. I perhaps could have won; sometimes I did when I played with him. But I didn’t try hard enough to do so this time.

I went to the locker room and immediately changed into a Speedo, took up a towel and came out to the pool terrace. The pool was built for Olympic specifications competition, so it was a big one, with long, marked-off lap lanes. I dove in and swam laps to cool down from the tennis. As I swam, thinking I was alone in the pool, I heard a cough and looked up to see that the Greek Zeus was sitting under the cover of a lanai and watching me. I don’t know if he originally had planned to come to the pool after playing tennis, but he had. And that he had told me he’d done so with the hope of continuing the connection we had established out on the courts. That was fine with me. I was trembling from the prospect of having him inside me.

When I came out of the pool, I was disappointed to see that the Greek Cypriot wasn’t there, but Andreas had returned from his lesson. We went to the showers together and, now having gone all the way with each other, we easily settled into soaping, fondling, and kissing under the streaming water. While we were concentrating on each other, I was caught by surprise when another set of muscular arms embraced me from behind.

Smiling at me, Andreas pulled away and went over to the entrance of the shower, taking up a pose that indicated he would guard against intrusion while the Greek Zeus, who was showing he was much stronger than I was, was exploring my body with his hands and mouth and manipulating my position at will. He was in full erection and it was one of the thickest and longest cocks I had ever encountered.

“Thélo na se gamíso. Tha pas apó káto mou, nai?” he said, and then seeing my quizzical look, he said, in perfect English, “You don’t understand Greek? You are perhaps English?”

“No, I’m American.”

“Ah so, what I said was that I want to fuck you. You will go under me, yes?”

I looked over at Andreas to see if he would have anything to say about this, but he just smiled at me and shrugged. I assumed then that the two of them had already talked about me and Andreas had said I took cock and probably would take it from this Greek Zeus. He obviously didn’t care if I did.

“Yes,” I said. I might as well say it. My body was already screaming “yes” at the roaming of his hands on my torso, cock and balls.

I quickly determined that I was under his control, with Andreas backing him up, and that struggle would be useless. The situation, though, especially since I’d gone so long after arriving in Cyprus with little of it until earlier that day with Andreas, aroused me so much that I went with what the Greek Zeus obviously was going to take from me anyway.

He fucked me up against the soapy, slippery wall tiles under the cascading water of the shower. He wasn’t taller than I was, but he was muscular and heavy—solid, not fat—to my slim structure. And he was much, much stronger than I was. He pressed my back against the wall, grasping my legs under my knees and lifting me, hooking my knees on his hips, capturing my wrists with one strong hand, and holding my arms raised above my head while putting himself into position with the other.

He paused, apparently unsure how forceful to be. Andreas leaned over and said to him, “Boreís na ton páreis sklirá. To agóri eínai tsoúla gia aftó.” Turning to me, Andreas said, “I told him not to worry, that you were a slut for it and could take it hard.”

“He arranged with you for this didn’t he?” I accused Andreas.

“Yes, but I knew you would want is cock.” There was no embarrassment in Andreas about this at all.

“He paid you to help corner me, didn’t he?” adding to the accusation. But the fuck was moving on, and I had no opportunity to pursue this. It didn’t have much importance anyway. The Greek was a god and I wanted this.

I cried out as the older Greek Cypriot achieved position and worked his way inside me, stretching and filling me. He cut that off, though, by possessing my mouth with his. He moved up inside me deep, and immediately started plowing me, moving faster and faster inside me. Before coming, though, he pulled me off the wall and laid me on my back on the water-covered tile floor. Pulling me up so that my weight was being borne on my shoulders and the back of my head, water swirling around me, he lifted my legs, above my knees, to be trapped under his armpits, and penetrated down into me, one hand palming my lower back and the other stroking me off, as he jackhammered his long, thick cock down inside me to, first, me spouting my load, and then him breeding me, jerking off three times, each time with a big load deep inside me.

He let me collapse onto the floor tiles then and he turned and left the shower with Andreas. Very little had been said the whole time. Four showerheads had been turned on full blast and the air was steaming and the hissing from the water loud enough that I didn’t understand what he said, which wasn’t much and was in Greek. I had wanted him to show that he found me satisfying or worthy of worship or something for how I had totally surrendered to him, but I didn’t get that. The fuck was all about him—what he wanted and needed.

As for me, I was panting and moaning at the size of him and what he was doing inside me to think of anything meaningful or witty to say.

When I’d recovered enough to rise, turn off all but one of the shower heads, and soak my well-worked body under the single one I left on, I padded out to the locker room, wondering if there would be more sex—if maybe the two of them would do me together—and realizing that the prospect of that both scared and aroused me. But they were gone. I was left alone in the locker room.

I’d been royally had and I didn’t even know who the Greek Zeus was or what his name was. This was hardly what an intern at the American embassy should be engaged in. The embassy was only two blocks away from the Eleon Club. Most of the American embassy employees belonged here. I had been living dangerously.

I returned and played tennis with Andreas the next day, but his lesson schedule was full and we didn’t fuck. In fact, I got the impression that what we’d done before was just to set me up for the encounter with the Greek Zeus. He didn’t appear that day either.

Yes, that deflated me and was a disappointment. I had arrived at the club telling myself that I wanted to avoid the Greek Zeus and would turn around and leave if I saw he was there. But when he wasn’t there, I realized I had just been fooling myself. I came to the club so quickly again precisely in the hope that he’d be there—and that even if he didn’t fuck me again, Andreas would.

Neither of those happened.

* * * *

I was driving with Andreas into the inner-city walls of Nicosia to the Theatro Ena, where he had invited me to attend an avant-garde Greek gay male play when he hit me with the favor he wanted me to do for him. I had known there was something he wanted beyond the tennis games and sex.

“I have a brother in Texas,” he said.

“Do you? So, have you been there?” Every Cypriot seemed to have a relative in Texas, so I wasn’t surprised. Half the visa applications going through the Nicosia consulate were based on acceptances to colleges in Texas.

“No. But I wish to go there. You are in the American embassy. I thought that maybe you could help me get a visa to visit him in the States.”

“Cypriots don’t have trouble getting a visa to the States,” I said. “Just go apply at the consulate.”

“I think that someone in the embassy can make it happen for me.”

Yes, that’s called any of the consulate officers, I thought. It, in fact, was not difficult for a Cypriot to get a visitor’s visa. That wasn’t the way of Cyprus and the Mediterranean world, though. I realized. Everything was done by using connections.

“No problem,” I said. “I’ll give you the name of someone at the consulate who will give you a favorable response. Don’t mention me when you apply, though. It all has to be done hush-hush. And by all means don’t offer them anything for the favor. Everything there is recorded. They will queer the deal.”

That seemed to satisfy him, and if it gave him a thrill to think that pull at the embassy was needed to get him a visa and that he had this pull, that was fine. I’d been able to tell that he wanted more than the sex from me.

“I guess if I saw this person outside the embassy, I could let them know how much I appreciated the favor,” he said.

I didn’t pursue that. It seemed to be hopeless to say what was standard in the Mediterranean wasn’t necessarily allowed at the American embassy.

I was surprised when we were watching the play at the Theatro Ena—although I really shouldn’t have been—that the leading man in the play was the mature man, the Greek Zeus, who had fucked me in the shower at the Eleon Club. The program said he was Christos Theopolis. He looked as magnificent on stage as he had in the shower, and he wasn’t wearing much more here. I couldn’t follow the Greek, but I had no trouble figuring out the action when he fucked a young man on a table top on the stage. Andreas had been right—both that the play was avant-garde and that I’d find it interesting.

I was introduced properly to the leading man, Christos, after the play and invited to stay for the post-performance party in a room behind the stage. I had come with Andreas, who was going to remain anyway, so there wasn’t much choice about staying.

The party didn’t last long and people drifted out until there were only Andreas, Christos, and me. I’d had quite a lot of beer, and was slightly tipsy. I lost track and connection and wasn’t quite sure how I’d gotten there and whether I’d been asked permission or given it, but I wound up on the table on the stage. Christos was on his back, naked, on the table, and I, also naked, was mounted on him, facing his head, palming his hirsute pecs, and riding him in a cowboy fuck. Andreas climbed up on the table behind me, and suddenly I was panting hard, groaning deep, and had two cocks inside me, Christos from below me and Andreas from in back.

So, Christos and Andreas were much closer friends than I had thought.

It was my first double penetration. I managed then and later when the two of them took me that way again. Andreas apologized, saying he had no idea it was my first double, but it was done, so I just brushed it off.

“But it was nice, wasn’t it?” he said. “You’d be happy doing it again.”

I didn’t take the opportunity to say I wouldn’t do it again—so, yes, I let them do it again.

Andreas drove us to Christos’s flat. En route, Christos asked his own American embassy favor of me.

“Your embassy has a Fulbright Program where students are sent to the States for college and artists, writers, and future Cypriot leader prospects are sent there for enrichment programs. I’ve been told I’ve been proposed for such a tour. Perhaps you can help me get chosen.”

This was a far more difficult issue than Andreas’s visa request was. But it was the same assumption of the power of connections.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I answered. “I hope you have more work to show than tonight’s play. That’s just too far out there for a U.S. program to support.”

He laughed. “I have plenty of tamer performances on films,” he said.

Fortuitously, when I did check, I found he had already been chosen, so I didn’t lose favor with him.

That night, in Christos’s flat, he and Andreas took turns favoring me with their cocks. Twice they fucked me together. They took turns fucking me and snoozing. All I got was nonstop fucking by two gorgeous Greek men, one young, the other mature, both fit and vigorous—both as much into having sex with each other as they were in having it with me.

I had had no idea I was as randy for it as I was. It was a glorious night.

After that, I met up with them nearly every other day at the Eleon. I worked at the embassy but just as a “do this and do that” aide more or less on my own schedule. No one minded that I’d go off three times a week to play tennis and swim at the nearby Eleon. Many at the embassy, knowing that I had high-level diplomatic family connections and was being groomed to follow the family public service business, were happy when I wasn’t around to remind them how elitist the State Department was.

When I went to the Eleon for tennis with Andreas and a swim, Christos almost always was there. And almost always the only ones using the pool then were the three of us. So a couple of times a week I was being fucked in the Eleon pool after tennis. When we didn’t have it to ourselves, I´d be fucked in Andreas’s office.

It became quite the regular activity. I suppose it was inevitable that it would become noticed in the embassy—in the Station, the intelligence community office designed to pick up on activities like I was engaging in with Andreas and Christos.

* * * *

Campbell was inside me deep, moving that thick, jet-black cock of his in and out, a chocolate-colored arm laced under my lower back, raising my pelvis to his penetration as he knelt between my thighs on the bed in his Nicosia flat and fucked me in long, deep slides. My hands went from clutching his shoulder blades to gliding down his muscular back to his globular buttocks, where, as I mounted toward liftoff, I squeezed the orbs to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Shit. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck! Give it to me. I’m going to come!” I cried out, and then, one of my hands moving to stroking my erection hard, I did, convulsing. Jerking and spouting, jerking and spouting, up the man’s hard belly.

With a grunt, he pulled out of me; rolled off the bed; pulled the condom off of his huge shaft, tossing it in a nearby wastebasket; picked up the glass of Scotch he’d left on the nightstand; and walked over to the glass doors out onto a balcony. He leaned against the doorframe and starred up at the Kyrenia mountain range running east to west across the horizon beyond the flat and red-tile roofs of the city’s Makedonitissa residential area pushed up against the Green Line separating Greek from Turkish Cyprus. He was a beautiful young man, although young was relative. He was six years older than I was.

Jock Campbell was a junior political officer at the American embassy—twenty-five to my nineteen. He was about the closest embassy officer to my age and he was athletic and played tennis and pickup basketball in the embassy’s courtyard, so we’d established a friendship and often ate lunch together in the embassy canteen and even more often played tennis together at the Eleon. We’d discovered each other in a hidden gay bar in Engomi, not far from the embassy compound, not long after I’d arrived in Cyprus, and he’d been fucking me occasionally since then. He ran with the embassy’s Marine guards, who were his equals in age and athletic inclination, and although none of them had fucked me, I enjoyed being with them and would have gladly taken them on if they’d been so inclined. This encounter on a Saturday was at his invitation.

He'd been the one who had brought me the secret cable from my mother on the previous Friday afternoon. I thought that was a little strange, since he wasn’t a commo section guy or anything. I had relatives all over the foreign service spectrum. It’s what I was studying at Georgetown University to do as well. My uncle was the ambassador here, my dad did something with NATO in Belgium, and my mother was the deputy undersecretary at State to do with something involving Southeast Asia. The cable had said she’d be on a U.S. delegation to an ASEAN conference, ASEAN being an eleven-Southeast Asian-country members political and economic bloc, in Jakarta in a month and that there was a slot for a support aide on the delegation if I was interested in getting the experience.

The deputy chief of mission, who was supervising me, already knew about the cable and sent for me to tell me they could spare me here if I wanted to go—that it would be good experience for me. I didn’t doubt they could spare me here. This had been a make-work internship for me without any real duties attached. The DCM certainly seemed more than willing to shuffle me on to Southeast Asia. I think my uncle was having second thoughts about the nepotism of having me here, doing pretty much what I wanted to do, although I don’t think he knew about the gay shit I was into. If I was interested, I’d be sent back to Washington for briefing on my job and documentation and I’d fly out from there with the delegation—and my mother. I was happier about flying with the delegation than that my mother would be on it too. She was a real dragon. She’d watch me like a hawk.

I said it came as a surprise and I’d think about it and let them know in a few days. At the same time he showed me the cable, Campbell set up this tryst with him at his flat on Saturday.

I lay there, on my back, panting, my legs spread and bent, my hole gaping from the size of the young, black embassy officer. I was staring at Jock at the door to the balcony, willing him to come back and fuck me again. He had a great, chocolate-brown body, with even darker cock and balls, and he looked magnificent standing in front of the sweep of the Kyrenia Mountains across the rolling, arid hills of northern Cyprus.

“Come back. Do me again,” I murmured.

He turned his face to me, took a deep swig of his Scotch, and said, not smiling, “You’re such a randy slut.”

“Yes, I am. I can’t help it,” I said. “Do you mind?”

He didn’t answer that directly, the first indication to me that maybe he was doing me because it was the job and not because I was too sexy to resist. “That’s the curse here,” he said. “It’s also the blessing, I suppose. But it’s an asset—that you’re so sexy and willing. You just should be from another family.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“You’ve been staying out over night too much. It’s been noticed. The ambassador has responsibility for you. You’re too young and out there too much, and he’s chaffing under that responsibility.”

“I didn’t realize it was noticed or that anyone cared,” I said. “I could tone it down. I wouldn’t like to have to tone it down with you, though. Come back to bed and ball me again with that great cock of yours.”

“It’s too late to tone it down, I think,” he said. He went over to a desk, opened the top drawer, took out a manila envelope, and tossed it on the bed. “Open it. Take a look at these.”

I did. Inside were photos of Christos, Andreas, and me fucking in the Eleon pool. I was bent over the side of the pool, my chest on Andreas’s folded legs, and I was giving him head. Christos was fucking me from behind.

“You’re getting a bit too friendly with the locals too often—and too openly,” he said.

“How did you get these?” I asked. Was someone local thinking they’d try to blackmail the embassy for some advantage with these?

“I took them myself. I’d heard you were at the Eleon and I had time on my hands, so I’d come over to see if we could have a match. This is what I found you doing.”

“And this is what the cable was about? The cable from my mother? She’s found out and wants to pull me out? And now that I’m asking, why was it you who brought me the cable? Do they know you are fucking me too?”

“The ambassador and DCM don’t know and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much. My boss knows, but, against my wishes, he sees this as an opportunity.”

“Your boss? The political counsellor?”

“No, not just the political counsellor. He’s more here than that. You’ll find out anyway. Being in the political section is just a cover. I actually work in the Station. My boss is the chief of station.”

The Station was the CIA shop in the embassy. My blood suddenly was running cold.

“And, no, your family doesn’t know that you so easily open your legs for men—at least not from us. The ambassador and DCM haven’t seen these photos. They just think you aren’t taking the internship here seriously and are going out too much at night. They want you gone before something happens that embarrasses them or the embassy. They either have no idea it’s local men you’re seeing—or, if they suspect that, they aren’t saying. They’ve just gotten to your parents on wanting you out of here.”

“Is that all?” I asked. “I sense there’s more to this.”

“I’ve only been directed to try to get you to accept your mother’s offer. There’s more involved, but it’s beyond my brief to go into that with you now. Now, look, you’ve made me hard again. Go over on your belly and raise your tail to me. Show me that hole again.”

There was more. I could have tried to weasel the “more” out of him then, but I was in heat. I wanted him inside me. So, I turned over, went up on my knees, and raised my arms, grasping the headboard. I cried out as, after having made a stop at the nightstand to leave his Scotch glass and acquire and roll on another condom, he mounted and penetrated me and started the dance of the fuck one more time.

Whatever the “more” was, I could find that out later. Before then I was going to have to decide whether I’d take on my mother’s change-of-assignment offer or just try to tone down my activities a bit here. I’d found I wanted to be dominated by older men. The actor, Christos Theopolis, had become my leading man. If I had to give something up here, it would be Jock Campbell’s jet-black cock.

But he did me oh so well—he was doing me oh so well right now.

* * * *

The extent to which my leading man had control over me was shown a couple of days later when he called me at work early one morning and said, “You weren’t at the Eleon this morning. Adreas and I are going fishing off Limassol this afternoon with some sexy guys down there. We want you to come with us.”

“I don’t fish,” I said.

“You won’t be fishing,” he said, with a laugh. I, of course, understood what he meant. “They run a movie studio down there, Sun Studios. They want to do a film. They’ve seen your photos. They want to audition you.”

“It’s a porn film and they want me to be in it?” I asked.

“Not today. Today is an audition. I’d be the leading man, but you’d be in the film, yes. They wouldn’t film today, though. Today would be an audition.”

“I’m working,” I said. “I have a job here in the embassy.”

“We’ll pick you up at the Eleon at 1:30 p.m.,” Christos said.

Of course I was there when they picked me up in Andreas’s car. And I can’t say that Christos had misled me about what this fishing exhibition was going to be.

There were five of them, in addition to Christos and Andreas. All of them were hunks, which most Cypriot men were, in my observation, until they reached about sixty-five, when most of them shriveled up, fell apart, and spent their time at outdoor coffee shops, drinking coffee and beer, and ogling passing girls—and often young men like me—through nicotine-stained gapped teeth. These five guys from Sun Studio were not old guys. They were all young and muscular and fit. And they were all primed to do more than just deep-water fishing in the Mediterranean south of the Cypriot coast.

They all did fish on the deck and drink beer, smoke cigarettes, engage in raucous conversation, and cavorting around with each other. But they each, including Christos and Andreas, took their turn slipping down into the ship’s cabin, where I lay on my back the entire cruise with my legs spread and bent, and each, in turn, fucked me. And when they’d gone through the rota once, they started it all over again. I took seven cocks, more than once each, all of them hard and insistent. Each of them was of different size and intensity and style, but I took each of them, rocking on the cocks, taking them inside me, moaning a surrender for each and obtaining varying levels of pleasure of my own.

I hadn’t been coerced to be here and I wasn’t being held captive. Andreas had determined I’d be turned on by this experience, and Andreas wasn’t wrong.

I took them all . . . for hours . . . while the men fished, and laughed, and drank beer, and palled it around on deck. They took photos of me in various poses of being and having been taken, but they didn’t do any videoing. I was told that it was part of the audition, and I let them photograph me, even though I wasn’t intentionally part of an audition for anything.

I could barely walk straight in the twilight when the fishing boat returned to the Limassol marina. Andreas told me to go to the line of outdoor cafés stretched out along the quay on the land side of the marina and told me to get a table put together for the eight of us at the Café Calma.

“They enjoyed you,” he said. “They’ll talk to us about doing a movie after they’ve closed down their boat.”

I walked toward the quay, seeing Jock Campbell standing there, obviously waiting for me, before I reached the Café Calma.

“Come with me,” he said, grabbing hold of my arm. “You look like you’ve been fucked over.”

“By seven, yes,” I answered. “They want me to do a movie.”

“Sure they do. Let’s talk about that.”

He guided me past the Café Calma to the Epsilon Resto Bar further along the quay, and he pulled me inside, where Christos and the others might not see us.

“Those guys film gay male porno movies. Did you know that?” he asked after we’d settled at a table and been served beer.

“Did you come all the way down here to Limassol to find me?” I asked.

“I followed you down. I’ve been waiting for you all day. You’ve been made my primary job. I asked if you knew those guys made gay male porn.”

“Yes, I know that. You followed me down? You’ve been assigned to be my minder by the ambassador?”

“Not by the ambassador. By the Station. Once you’ve made a porn film with those guys you’ll be all over the Internet. Did you stop long enough to consider that? I know you’re into sex like that, but the first film you make, you’ll be known as a gay male porn actor. The career you were born into will be screwed. You don’t want to be in the Foreign Service with all sorts of cushy backing because of who your family is? You’re giving yourself so openly here to screw your family?”

“No. This is just a fling.” I hadn’t thought all that much about what being so open with my gay sexuality would mean for my future career. I guess I had been taking my status for granted. “Sorry,” I said. “Guess I’m screwed.”

“Not yet, you’re not. You have the background, the sexual inclination, and some sort of deep attraction to men that gives you an opportunity to fit in nicely in a career with the Agency.”

“A career? You said you were sent after me by the Station, not the ambassador.”

“That’s right. We have a place in the CIA where you would fit nicely. You can have your sexual adventures and your foreign service status and you can be serving the national interests as well. If you’re interested, you should accept your mother’s invitation to join a delegation to Southeast Asia—and you should just stop any consideration of making a movie with these Sun Studio guys or being a slave to Christos Theopolis anymore.”

“Tell me more,” I said.

* * * *

“Cory Cumberland?” It was a question, but the man knew who I was. He was tall and solid, standing straight and proud, all squared out and with a buzz cut, looking squared away and in control—and just a bit dangerous—even though he must be in his early fifties. He was dressed expensively but giving the aura that he was more comfortable in army fatigues and combat boots.

I was sitting in the lobby bar of the Hive Hotel, on Virginia Avenue, two blocks from the State Department in Washington, D.C., where I was being briefed to fly out with a delegation liaising with an ASEAN conference in Jakarta, Indonesia. I had been instructed to wait in this bar for a meet and greet with the man who was supposed to be my controller in a new job.

“That’s me,” I said, as the man sat down across from me at the table. “Mr. Winterberry?”

“Yes. Sam Winterberry. I head the Agency’s Candy Store Unit. I trust you’ve been briefed on what we do and what you are being offered to join us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I suppose we should go directly to the initiation. You have a room here, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’m booked here while on temporary assignment to State. But initiation?”

“If you were told about the Candy Store Unit, you were told how I keep my people in line.”

“I thought that was a joke,” I said.

“It was no joke. You were recruited because you are randy and can’t get enough of it and because you have all the qualifications that makes for good male candy combined with a plausible background that will give you great cover for what we need. If you are going to join the unit, we’re going up to your room and I’m going to fuck the shit out of you. You will become my sex slave. I understand that you easily fell under the spell of a leading man in Cyprus. I’m going to be your leading man now.” He stood up from the table. “Shall we?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, standing. I shuddered, but this was exactly what I melted to.