All the time I was standing out on the balcony of Colleen Addison’s house and engaging in chit chat with her and the man who was introduced to me merely as Sam from the Economic Section, I kept thinking that I knew him from someplace but couldn’t place him. The house party was being held fourteen miles south of Athens, in Voula, overlooking Greece’s Miroon Sea. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to remember me well and was giving a knowing little smile while we talked that I found maddening. It was burning me up not to be able to place him. It evidently was from somewhere in my past, and I wasn’t real anxious to dredge up some of my past.

I was on TDY—temporary duty assignment—at the U.S. embassy in Athens, where I was training the local employees of the American Cultural Center in the new computer programs that would enable them to churn out professional-looking publicity material without having to go to a printer. Colleen was the embassy’s cultural affairs officer and was doing what she could to make my stay less dull than it usually was when I was on one of these swings around Europe. She wasn’t holding this gathering of a smattering of embassy officers and Greek artists, writers, and actors for me, of course, but she had invited me to attend and had seen to it that a driver was available to bring me out to her place.

Colleen’s Voula house was quite a place, high on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean, with a long terrace off the back and good entertainment space. She’d been assigned the house in keeping with what her job was—promoting U.S. culture while pretending to have interest in promoting the culture of Greece, as if Greek culture needed promoting—most especially by Americans.

Colleen, Sam, and I had nearly run out of chit chat, especially as Sam seemed to be savoring something the other two of us weren’t privy to, when we were joined by a Greek god. I could only call him that because, while many Greek men were handsome and exuded macho sensuality, he was a man among men—muscular, dark, and sultry, with what was probably a perpetual five-o’clock shadow, as he was hirsute. His curly black hair seemed to grow perceptibly as we stood there talking. I was lost in his startling blue eyes.

“Pirro,” Colleen said, “You know Sam, I’m sure”—and the Greek god turned an indulgent smile on Sam, which was answered with one I perceived to be subservient, as if Pirro knew Sam intimately—from on top. The back of my mind was beginning to rumble toward a possible recognition of Sam. “And this is Trent Townson from Washington, who is out here helping us tone up our publicity systems. Trent is a short story writer too. Pirro is the star of one of the most popular Greek soap operas on television here.”

I shook hands with the actor as we both juggled our cocktail glasses to another hand. His handshake was firm, I’d almost say possessing. My mind was beginning to stir possibilities with Pirro that went beyond conversation. The four of us spoke briefly before Colleen saw a Greek writer she wanted to introduce me to, and then we walked off and left Sam and Pirro to entertain each other.

I felt a bit weak in the knees. I found the Greek actor beyond sexy. And it was while we were walking off that I at last placed Sam firmly in my mind—and blushed. I think it was the “knowing” look between the economic officer and the actor that had done it.

I had only seen Sam once before, but it was under the most compromising of circumstances. We were on side-by-side twin beds in a bedroom of the Delta Tau Delta fraternity at Duke University in North Carolina, where we were both being fucked by members of Miami University’s track and field team. It was a time when I allowed myself to be passed around to be able to socialize with the jocks. I was being doubled by a shot putter and a long-distance runner. Sam, who was lying under a decathlon stud, was from the nearby University of North Carolina, also in Chapel Hill, and Duke was the venue of an all-conference track meet.

I was what was known as a “reliever” in my fraternity at Duke. It was a jock fraternity, and I was there by right of being on the swim team and highly ranked in the conference in that sport. But I also was there, in the coolest jock fraternity, because I gave blow jobs and took cock on demand. That was the reliever part. When one of the other fraternity brothers needed relief, I provided it. I rather thought that Sam did the same thing at his fraternity at UNC. The day I had seen Sam, we’d spent several hours on side-by-side beds in my fraternity room entertaining a procession of visiting field and track jocks.

This definitely was part of the past—nearly five years previously—that I was trying to keep in the past. It had just been that one year for me. I’d pulled out from underneath it, gave up the fraternity, applied myself to my studies and to the swim team, and did extremely well for the rest of my college career. And I’d like to say that it was all in the past.

I hadn’t exactly turned to women, but I had kept my encounters with men to the bare minimum, and my current job with the government put me in danger for engaging in any homosexual activity. So, for the most part, I didn’t. For the most part. Luckily the State Department wasn’t as strict about that as other agencies were. That, I guess, was why Sam could be a Foreign Service officer. He was certainly more gay than I was. You couldn’t talk to the man or watch him walk and not know that he was gay. I liked to think I hid it better—but then I was busy being bi; I fucked women too.

There was no chance I would be getting it on with Sam here, of course. We wanted the same thing from another man, so it wasn’t anything close to a fit. We had kissed and fondled each other during that day, but it was more of a sharing experience thing—we each had a macho guy between our thighs at the time, fucking us. Some of the time that day I had two at once. We weren’t having sex with each other—not really. The Greek actor—Pirro—was more what I went for in a lover than someone like Sam.

But Sam was a danger while I was here. And perhaps I was a danger to him, as well, although he had recognized me and he certainly hadn’t acted like he was in any sort of danger. I resolved to stay away from him as much as possible—and hope that he wasn’t a gossip. My suppressed sexual proclivities weren’t something I thought needed to become part of this TDY.

Upon leaving the party, Colleen noted that later in the week she would be going to a beach to get out of the smog and bustle of Athens and figured I’d be ready for a break then too. “Want to do a picnic at a Greek beach?” she asked. “I know of several that will be virtually deserted and where neither of us will have to deal with a crowd of boisterous Greek artists for a couple of hours.”

“Sure,” I answered. “Nice of you to include me.” I momentarily hoped that she wasn’t coming on to me. I’d go along, to a certain limit, of course, for appearances sake. I’d even fuck her if to deny her would cause problems. But she was a bit too openly flirty even for my limited taste in women. She was quite good-looking, though.

As it turned out Pirro was included in the outing too. I about melted when I came out of the hotel to get into Colleen’s Volvo convertible and Pirro was sitting in the front seat, all curly black hair—he was shirtless and had a magnificent, darkly tanned and hairy chest—blue eyes, and pearl-white smile.

I have no idea where the beach was that Colleen took us to—and don’t even know what direction from Athens it was in. We walked down from the road through a picturesque field of red poppies, though, to a line of tall rocks split by a curving rock-walled passage that ended at the top of a secluded beach. A stretch of something short of a hundred feet of white sand in a cove protected at each end by high rocks went down to the sea, which was so translucent that I could see to the bottom a good distance out into the water. There were shapes of smooth-topped rocks in the bed of the sea, but most of what I could see was an extension of the sand under a slowly rolling surf.

We parked the basket and blanket near the top of the beach. Colleen, a willowy sunshine blonde in her early thirties, pulled the halter top of her bikini off while I was opening up and setting out the two beach blankets she’d brought. She had breasts, but they perked more than flopped. Still, I took my breath in at how cavalier she was with the gesture—and how good-looking she was. She wasn’t exactly beautiful. It was more that she had accentuated her best attributes and seemed so free and uninhibited.

I gasped again when Pirro slipped off the shorts he was wearing and ran, naked, down to the water and dove into an approaching wave. I hadn’t caught a glimpse of his goods, but from the back, as he ran to the water, nothing dispelled the original Greek god impression I’d gotten. It was clear that these two were comfortable with each other—most likely in a sexual way. I began to reassess what I had taken to be Pirro’s sexual preferences.

Colleen nonchalantly busied herself in laying out what she’d brought in the hamper. She handed me a bottle of wine to open and then, with a smile, held a glass for me to pour it in. I was sitting cross-legged on one of the blankets. I’d slipped my T-shirt off. I thought the wine was for her, but she handed me the glass, stepped out of her bikini bottoms, and, giving me a smile, cantered toward the water.

As she entered the surf, Pirro, who had swum out to sea, careened up and out, like a dolphin, on an incoming wave, his arms spread wide, enveloping Colleen as their bodies collided, and they went down in a heap in the shallows of the water, Pirro on top of Colleen. They stayed there, laughing, him on top of her, for a long minute. I watched the transition as the moment dragged on. Her laughter segued into groans and moans. Her arms encircled his muscular back and her legs spread and knees bent, and they kissed. Coming out of the kiss, her head arched back and his face went to her breasts, and I could see the rise and fall of his bulbous buttocks. I knew he had entered her and that they were fucking—I just didn’t know at what point he had impaled her.

I couldn’t help but be disappointed at this declaration of his preferences, although I had to admit that they made a handsome couple. It was curious, though, that they had brought me along, and more curious that they felt comfortable being so cavalier in front of me.

At length he struggled up to his feet, bringing her up with him. He lifted her off his cock, which then I could see was thick and long, and I gasped again as I watched her roll her buttocks up to him, and, holding the root of his cock in one hand, he moved the cock to her asshole and slowly entered her there. He stood in the shallow surf, holding her body to his, palming and spreading her buttocks, as she hooked her legs on his hips, locked her hands behind his neck and cantilevered out from his chest so that his mouth could get to her nipples. Using the strength of his hands he pulled her ass up and down on his cock.

She arched her head back, giving me a “God, I’m being well fucked” look, including me in their fucking.

I could tell the instant that he came, as she jerked and cried out and collapsed against him. He laid her on her back at the surf line and moved down her body, burying his face in her muff. She writhed under him and, again, I could tell the instant that she came.

I was hard and had drunk nearly half a bottle of wine without realizing I had done so. It wasn’t Colleen who I’d been watching.

Pirro rose off Colleen and slowly walked up the sand toward me, his now-flaccid, but still manly cock and balls hanging low. Colleen rose as well and walked out into the sea. I didn’t follow where she was going. My eyes were on Pirro. He flopped down on the blanket beside me. He’d picked up a couple of strands of a wheat-like plant on his way up the beach and just reclined next to me, rather close, and propped his head, turned toward me, up on an elbow. He couldn’t help looking like a perfectly formed, black-pelted Greek god.

“You could swim out to her and have her ride your cock,” he said to me. “I see that you are hard. She’s told me she’d like you to fuck her.”

“That’s a thought,” I said, embarrassed both at how forward he was, how hard I, indeed, was, and how mistaken he was about who I was hard for. “Would you like some wine?” I asked, looking over toward the basket to see where the glasses were and searching for a change of topic and a chance to go soft.

“Later, after we fuck, don’t you think?” he answered in a nonchalant manner.

“After we—?” I turned back sharply. I was both shocked and exhilarated at his open, knowing declaration.

“I know men fuck you. Sam told me they did. That is a good thing, because you are beautiful and I am beautiful, and beautiful people should fuck. Did you enjoy watching me fuck Colleen? Are you bi? Did you accept the beach trip invitation because you thought it would be just you and Colleen?”

Oh, fuck, I thought, and then almost laughed nervously at the transference of the spoken word into my thoughts. There went any resolve I might have. That damned Sam. But, no, I knew I wanted Pirro to fuck me. If I didn’t know it before I’d watched him fuck Colleen, I certainly knew it now, when he was teasing me by moving that stalk of wheat around on my thighs. He dropped the stalk, though, and moved his hand into the leg hole of my bathing shorts and up to my cock. There had been no keeping the secret from him that I was hard.

“I am going to fuck you, am I not?” he asked, raising those beautiful blue eyes toward my face, a little puppy dog expression on his face.

“I’d say you are going to do anything you want with me,” I answered in a low voice. “And, yes, I can be bi, but if it’s a choice between Colleen and you...” I didn’t finish that. He knew what I was admitting.

He laughed at that, and if his smile could be said to broaden, his did.

His arm moved away from propping his head up to encircling my neck. He leaned my torso back toward the sand and took my mouth in his in a deep, lingering kiss. His other hand was slow pumping my cock through the leg hole of my swim suit. I took his hardening cock in my hand. He rolled over on top of me, and our bodies writhed against each other’s in a dry fuck as the kiss continued.

He was moving fast, but I wanted him inside me now, so he could move as fast as he wanted. We were both hard enough to fuck. I hadn’t done this in months. And then it wasn’t with a Greek god. Full steam ahead. Consequences, if any, be damned. I spread my legs and bent my knees. I rolled my pelvis up and pressed down on his buttocks with both of my hands. I was still wearing my bathing shorts. If I hadn’t been, he’d already be inside me.

He came out of the kiss and moved slowly down my body, kissing and teething me as he went. The trunks slid off my hips as he moved down, and by the time he reached my cock, they were off my legs, and my cock was in his mouth.

“Yes, yes. Fuck me,” I murmured.

Colleen appeared beside us, settled down cross-legged above me, and moved my head to her lap. She ran her fingers through my hair while he sucked my cock and my balls. From time to time, she moved her finger to my nipples and scraped my nubs with her long fingernails.

But then she was raising her arms and reaching down my legs for the ankles as Pirro raised and spread them, rolled my pelvis up, and started working my asshole with his tongue and teeth.