Floating onto Film

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I held, jerked, and filled the bulb of the condom. Shelley dug her fingernails into my biceps, murmured “Oh, baby, baby,” and wiggled her butt to get every last jerk and drop out of me. I came again in a lesser spurt, groaned, and rolled away from her into a sitting position facing the full-length glass doors out onto her Nicosia embassy-housing apartment house, looking to the north to the ridge of the Kyrenia Mountains. I’d managed it again, giving the station admin officer, Shelley, forty if she was a day to my twenty-four-something station logs officer, something to spread around the embassy gossip mill. Whispers of Shelley fucking me–more her fucking me than me fucking her; she was a sexual piranha–would help prevent any rumors of Felix Untermeyer, the station deputy chief, fucking me.

I reached over to the nightstand, coaxed a cigarette out of the pack, lit up with my lighter that lay between the cigarette pack and the box of Trojan Magnum XLs, and took a drag. From behind me, Shelley cooed, “What a way to spend a Saturday afternoon. You’re a lover. There are takers and lovers. You’re a lover.”

I think that was her way of saying she had to do most of the work, but that I had enough cock for her to satisfy her for the moment. She was certainly right there–about it having shot my Saturday afternoon. I had meant to be playing tennis at the Eleon club, on its clay courts, this afternoon and then to use its pool, strutting around in my Speedo, ogling and being ogling, knowing I was the best I could be at twenty-four. I’d been the most desirable man, sexually, if not in access to power, to land among the single ladies at the embassy since I’d arrived. It turned out I’d been landed by Felix instead. Then I had to let one of the ladies catch me so that Felix and I weren’t caught. The irony is that Felix’s wife, Ann, was one of the ladies who had done everything she could do to screw me.

Shelley rose up from the bed, settling in behind me and putting her arms around me. One hand went to my cock, pulling the condom off, which she dropped on the floor. Then she stroked my cock and buried her face in my throat. I was thick and long; I knew that was what she liked best about me. She was a buxom bottle blonde, not quite beautiful, hard as nails looking, actually, but she had big tits. I’m sure she and her girlfriends thought she’d won the lottery with me because of the tits, so I spent a lot of time playing them to keep that notion going. They were pressed into my shoulder blades now as she kissed my neck and stroked my cock.

“I’ve heard you’re taking three days and going to the beach,” she said.

“Yes, maybe,” I answered, making it sound tentative because I assumed she was building up to saying she would go with me, and getting away from her was one reason I was going, although it wasn’t the primary reason.

“South or north to the Turkish side?”

“South, I think,” I said. “I’ve been going mostly north. I want a change.” And that was the truth. I’d usually gone to the beaches around the old harbor castle down of Kyrenia. I’d gone for the Turkish men and because you could do more on the Turkish side without being detected. I wasn’t in the mood for them now, though. I wasn’t sure I was in the mood for another man for some time. Felix had pretty much bowled me over. He was a good bit older than I was, married, with a couple of kids, but he was the ultimate spy–a smooth talker, fit, handsome, but a will of steel and a talent for getting what he wanted. He had wanted me and he had gotten me.

“Great,” she said.

And here it comes, the wheedling to come with me, I thought. But I thought wrong.

“If you’re going south anyway, maybe you could take the Untermeyers to the airport for their departure. You could take one of the station cars and just go on from Larnaca to wherever you are vacationing.”

Larnaca was where I was going to vacation. It had a seaside boulevard that reminded me of the towns along the French Riviera–sandy beach on the Mediterranean, bracketed by a marina to the east and an old fort to the west, with the beach backed by a long of palm trees, the boulevard, another line of palm trees, the paved area of outdoor cafes, and then the line of hotels, businesses, bars, and restaurants. Larnaca too, however, was where Cyprus’s international airport was. And it was where Felix Untermeyer and his family would be emplaning to leave Cyprus for a new posting in Australia.

Felix was leaving me. That affair was over. The three days I’d put in for was to be out of town when Felix cleared out and then have a couple of days to recover from his leaving. I’d never fallen for anyone like I had for Felix. He had owned me totally.

And now Shelley, the station admin officer, wanted me to drive him and his family to the airport for their departure. Shit. Fuck.

“Sure, I can do that, honey,” I said.

“Great,” she murmured, but she already was on the move, coming around me, slithering to the floor to kneel istanbul travesti between my thighs. She laced her fingers through my balls, and I grunted as she rolled and distended them. Her mouth came down over my cock, and she started to give me head. She was a pro at giving head. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that she was.

I put the cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand, and reclined back onto the bed, propped up on my elbows, arching my head back, and closing my eyes. I imagined it being Felix sucking me off before turning me onto my belly, mounting my ass, penetrating, and fucking me to heaven.

In that way, I managed to go hard again. Shelley knew how to get a man hard again–and maybe again and again. This might be a long session.

“Oh, baby, you’re so good at this,” I murmured. I did lie to her about how much I liked sex with her, but this wasn’t one of those times. She was really, really good at cock sucking.

Shelley rolled another Trojan on my shaft, climbed up onto the bed to straddle my lap, and descended onto my cock. As my cock slid into her folds and then deeper inside her, I embraced her waist in my arms, letting her fuck herself on the cock. I buried my face in her breasts and sucked on the nipples, one after the other. I knew that’s what she believed I liked about fucking her–being able to play with her huge jugs. And I knew that the positions we’d used and the number of condoms we’d used would be the talk of her cafeteria klatch on Monday. After this she’d want us to do it in the bathtub too.

Just as long as the talk wouldn’t be how “down” I was that the Untermeyers had left the embassy community. They’d known it wasn’t Mrs. Untermeyer’s passing that I would mourn. I’d pretty directly rebuffed her in public when she, drunk, groped me and made a bald proposition–not that she was the only woman at the embassy who had done that. The only good thing about spiking Shelley now was that she’d keep the other woman at bay. She’d devour me, but she’d stake what she believed was her territory against all the rest.

And, with Felix gone, there were no other American men at the embassy who attracted me. There was a Greek Cypriot groundskeeper, Sophocles, who did so, but to go under him most certainly would cause a stir in the ranks. He was doing the ambassador’s son.

* * * *

On the morning I was to drive the Untermeyers to the airport I almost was late. I had the embassy groundskeeper, Sophocles, two years younger than I was, all muscle, and the looks of Adonis, on his back on my bed, and I was riding him in a cowboy and lost track of time. There had to be something after Untermeyer. Sophocles had promised to be discreet, and I was being “what the hell, I wanted something to tell Felix about his replacement at the last minute as he was getting on the plane that would shake his control and smugness.”

“Felix, the reason I was a bit late in picking you up this morning was because I was busy riding the cock of that embassy gardener, Sophocles–you know, the one who is younger, more muscular, and better looking than you. No, I don’t think I’ll miss you. Sophocles will be fucking me morning, noon, and night for the rest of my tour here.”

As it turned out, Felix acted like he didn’t give a shit. He was moving on with no regrets. That didn’t improve my mood any as I watched the plane rise into the sky.

Although I’d told everyone I was going to vacation in Larnaca, I hadn’t really made up my mind where on the south coast I was going to vacation and I hadn’t made any room reservations. It was low season and I was a diplomat–and an American. The resort hotels would find room for me. I was wiped out after putting the Untermeyers on the plane, so I decided to start off at Larnaca, where the airport was located, anyway. That French Riviera-type waterfront called to me.

I drove into the center of the city and to the marina, where there was parking for cars with diplomatic plates. I had my Speedo on under my trousers, so a quick strip down at the trunk of the car and fishing out a T-shirt, sandals, a baseball cap with the American Embassy Nicosia logo on it, and a beach towel was all I required before I was walking out on the sand between Athenon Boulevard and the beach. I picked out a spot, laid out the towel, stripped off my T-shirt, and sat, watching the world go by and wishing that I could get off of it. I’d recover, I knew, but it would take time. The worst was that I’d probably have to keep up pretenses with Shelley. It also had been unwise to fuck the embassy gardener. I sat contemplating how I’d clean that up to keep it from becoming known. I had to smile, though, Sophocles was a real hunk and the fuck had been good. Very good.

As I sat there, people went by. Women and some men cast their eyes in my direction. I was aware I was eye candy on the beach. I’d been eye candy since I was a teenager and I kept myself in great shape so that I could continue to be eye candy for istanbul travestileri as long as possible. I didn’t care if I was being ogled. I looked back with interest if I was interested. I’d come away for these three days to get away from the embassy. I hadn’t pledged to anyone or myself that I would be celibate for those three days.

Greek Cypriot men contributed more than their share of male beauty to the world’s supply of that. Several men passing me, and particularly ones in their late thirties and their forties, looked like gods to me–Mediterranean olive coloring, dark hair and eyes, magnificent muscularity, exuding an air of confidence and command, and openly showing interest. Many were hirsute, which I found arousing. The best of them were arrogant and cruel in bed.

The third time a man in his late forties, solidly built, a Zeus rather than an Adonis, passed by me, I looked directly in his eyes and flashed him a warm smile. He was dark-haired but starting to go gray, swirls of salt-and-pepper curls covered his chest in thick enough matting that I had to look at him closely to see his nipples, which were puffed up and had ring piercings. He was in a Speedo, as I was, and it left little imagination on whether or not he was hung. He was.

He paused, a hand, with a thick-stone ring on the middle finger brushed his crotch, and I could see him pop his tongue in his cheek, a signal I had learned as an expression of sexual interest in Cyprus. I smiled back, and he turned and walked on. I didn’t pop my tongue, though. That was a signal by a top here, and I wanted it to be clear that, for men, I was a submissive. The code on this here was that the top declared dominance and, if interested, the submissive, followed. And, if you were a tongue popper, you were an arrogant son of a bitch.

Telling myself I was tiring of sitting on the beach alone, I rose and walked toward the old fort at the western end of this stretch of beach. It was the same direction that the sexy Cypriot had sauntered. I didn’t see him during my stroll, though. When I reached the fort, I went in. I saw him up on the battlements, looking out toward the sea.

I looked around for a staircase to go up there, but by the time I reached the battlements, the man was gone. I told myself that I wasn’t following him anyway. I had no idea what I would say or do if I came close to him. If I was signaling I’d submit to him, though, this is how this would go in Cyprus, I had found. I would follow him and he would see that I had but would reposition himself. Then I would follow him again, which would establish the connection.

He wasn’t there on the battlements when I found my way up there. But then I saw that he had descended to the ground again and this time, he was looking up at me.

He aroused me, I had to admit. He was probably twenty years older than I was, but I had been initiated by older men. Felix was nearly fifteen years older than I was. I found handsome older men in fit condition sexy. I was submissive. I wanted to be controlled. The truth be known, I wanted my sex partner to be a bit cruel too. Felix had fit that bill.

While I was on the battlements, the wind took my cap away. I didn’t care all that much. I had brought a couple of others and the embassy caps were easy to come by. I descended to the ground, but, once more, the man wasn’t anywhere to be seen. After seeing all there was to see in the fort, I walked back up the beach, half way to the marina in the east, and then crossed the road and found an empty table at an outdoor bar in front of a hotel.

“I believe you lost this in the fort,” a rich, baritone voice, speaking English in a refined English accent said. I turned to find my sexy Cypriot Zeus standing there, my embassy logo cap in his hand. He was still in his Speedo and sandals, but he’d added a white cotton shirt, flared open. He had a gold medallion nestled in the curly hair in the curve of his pecs. I didn’t remember whether he had that on before. The rings were still there in his nipples.

“It says American Embassy Nicosia,” he said, “So, you must be from the American embassy here, no?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I am.”

“You are a beautiful young man,” he said. “My name is Costas. You followed me to the fort. I teased you by leading you around. But you followed me. Do you mind if I sit at your table and buy you a drink before…?”

“No, not at all. That would be very nice,” I answered. Should I tell him that I wasn’t really following him to the fort–that I wasn’t falling into any signaling pattern. I decided I wouldn’t, not least because it probably wasn’t true. I trembled at hearing the “before,” though. He obviously thought I had completely the mating dance.

Instead, I said “I’m Craig.” He hadn’t given me a last name, so I didn’t give him mine. If this was a sexual hookup, and I was rather certain it was, we probably should keep it on a first-name basis–at least for now.

It, of course, travesti istanbul was a sexual hookup. We both seemed to understand that from the beginning just as I understood from the beginning that he was taking command.

He flagged a waiter over and ordered drinks for us both. He took the chair beside me, both of us looking out toward the Mediterranean through two lines of tall palm trees, rather than the chair across from me. When the waiter left, he said. “You were following me just now. You are thinking that you want me to lay you, I think.”

“I wasn’t consciously thinking that,” I answered, “although you seem to appear to be a man who other men would happily follow.”

“You do let men lay you, do you not? I would be unhappy to waste effort to putting you under me.”

I laughed. “I’ve been known to lie under men, yes.”

“And you are still here, talking with me.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You must be what, twenty-five,” he said. “Young to be a diplomat.”

“Twenty-four,” I said. “This is my first posting, and I’m more of a clerk than a diplomat.”

“A very fine-looking young clerk, though. There is a lot of promise there… in you.”

“In the diplomatic field?” I asked.

“Perhaps in that as well.” I didn’t ask him what field he had been speaking of. I didn’t have to. Our first drinks had arrived and Costas paid for them, leaving a thick wad of bills on the table top. Was he taking me for a male whore? Did he think I expected to be paid? I wondered how much I should go for.

When the waiter left, Costas placed a hand, the one with that ring with the huge stone in it on his middle finger, on my knee. While we had been waiting for the drinks, he had lightly touched my forearm. I hadn’t shirked away from either.

“I rather had hoped you were following me–to the fort. If a young man goes with me, I would lead. He would have to follow.”

“I am a follower,” I answered.

“You say you are twenty-four. I am forty-six. There us more than twenty years difference.”

“I have always followed older men,” I answered. “I’ve almost always found that they know how to lead.”

We chatted for a few minutes, each finding out a bit more about the other, but not much. I found that Costas owned a film company, filming what I didn’t ascertain. It was called Sun Studios and operated out of a villa he owned on the coast, west of the airport from here.

“I’ve kept the name in English. We all speak English here, and having it Sun Studios in English makes it sound international, don’t you think?”

I agreed that I did. I told him I’d gone to Stanford, in the United States, through a masters in international relations. I’d gone on a tennis scholarship and held several collegiate medals in that sport. But my family were diplomats–intelligence agents, really, but I couldn’t tell him that–so I was pressured to go into the family business. He said that there were young men at his villa who played tennis and there was a court near the villa. He didn’t go further on that topic, but he really didn’t have to. I didn’t tell him anything about my work in the embassy.

He asked me again, “Have you really lain down for men twenty years older than you?”

“In deciding who to have sex with, age doesn’t really occur to me,” I said. “Hardness, experience, and stamina do.”

“And how much they pay?”

“Hardness, experience, and stamina are what is important to me,” I repeated.

“And size? You like men who are megálo kai pachý–big and thick?”

“Size is a factor too,” I admitted.

He took my hand and placed it on his crotch under the table. He was both big and hard. I knew he would be.

“Megálo kai pachý?” he asked.

“Megálo kai pachý,” I confirmed, giving him a smile.

Our drinks were finished and Costas signaled for refills. “Yes?” he asked, giving me a questioning look. “I, of course, will pay.”

“First, let me ask. You asked if I was following you. Let me ask you why you stopped in front of me on the beach. What it meant when you popped your tongue in your cheek.”

He laughed. “I was telling you that you are a handsome, desirable young man. I was asking you to follow me, if you wished me to cover you. You followed me.”

“Desirable? You want to fuck me? We aren’t just teasing each other here? Passing the afternoon in light banter.”

He laughed again. “You Americans can be so direct. Yes, I want to fuck you. I want to have sex on you. Not necessarily with you. That would have to wait until we knew each other better. I want to take my pleasure–my sport–on you. to command and control you. To have sex on you, be inside you. I have quite a big cock, and you should know that I can stay hard forever. Don’t let my age fool you. I can satisfy a young man, but it would be for my pleasure. I don’t want to make love with you. I want, as you said. to fuck you, to screw you. To be clear, if you go with me, I am the master and you are the slave and I take you for my pleasure alone. Now, would you like to have another drink, or are we finished here?”

We had another drink. He divided the wad of money he’d put on the table and handed the largest portion of it to me. I put it in my pocket. Being paid for it–being his whore–was arousing to me, I was finding.

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