Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

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.