My brother and I have run our restaurant, The Octopus, for nearly 20 years. Our sign is not in English but still the Americans come. Christos and I prefer the Greek customers, but in the end, everybody’s money is the same.
Only half the restaurant is enclosed. It faces the narrow walkway through Oia. The east side is completely open and overlooks the clear, sparkling Mediterranean. Tourists usually gravitate to that side. Locals come inside so they can talk with me and my brother, hear the music, be close to the bar.
I was a little surprised when this gorgeous American woman sauntered in and sat at the bar. We do not have one of those fancy bars like you’d find in an upscale restaurant or hotel. There are only five tall chairs and they aren’t even comfortable! Greeks sit, drink and talk for hours so, generally, they settle in at tables rather than the bar. It’s more relaxing. But she came in, just as the dinner crowd was starting up, sometime around eight o’clock or so.
Her dress was the brilliant blue found in the Greek flag. We paint homes and buildings with that color, too. It represents valor, the sky, and the peaceful water.
I knew she had to be American because the dress hugged her body like any man’s hands would have. Americans are famous for their blatant clothing, leaving so little to the imagination. But in this case, I did not object to the lack of subtlety. Beautiful full breasts and a nice, round ass for balance. Greeks love shapely women and believe me, this one was a feast of flesh.
I greeted her because I greet everyone who comes to The Octopus. She had an easy, pretty smile but she had that dismissive air women put on to discourage small talk. For me, not talking was just fine. I could stare at her luscious tits more easily if I didn’t have to pretend to watch her face while we spoke.
Everyone noticed her. Women shot wary, judgmental glances at her while the men stole furtive, hungry ones, when their wives weren’t watching. She ordered a glass of the house wine after I told her it came from my winery.
She spoke to no one and pretended to be very interested in her napkin. A beautiful woman, alone, who speaks to no one – what is such a thing? I wondered. This woman intrigued me. She exuded warmth and sensuality but held on to it tightly, as if she might otherwise lose it. I decided she was probably meeting someone, so I shifted my attention back to running my restaurant.
No one spoke to her, probably for nearly half an hour. I gave her another glass of wine, my treat, to be kind but also to see if a little alcohol might loosen her up. The longer I watched her breasts rise and fall in that blue dress, the clearer the image became of my hands full of them. I offered her some mezethes but she refused. Without food, the alcohol would act faster and I was anxious to see that happen.
A tall man with a goatee came in, dressed nicely, also definitely American. He approached the bar and I thought, “Ah, here is the man she has been waiting for.” Their eyes met but no words passed between them. The man sat at the bar, leaving an empty chair between them. He ordered my vineyard’s wine, too.
He was only human, so his eyes kept roaming over her body. I confess I walked by her more often than I had to, just to appreciate the curve of her behind warming the seat of my very lucky chair. She ignored us both.
And then I walked by as she crossed her legs and pointed her toe at the man. She shifted in her seat to do this. Her eyes stared at her glass, but her foot was only a few centimeters from his leg.
I heard him ask her if he could buy her a drink. She looked at him, finally, but refused the drink. She didn’t look away. Instead, she stared at him with such bold curiosity, I felt like an intruder in my own restaurant. His color deepened as she let her eyes travel from his face down to his crotch.
He spread his legs once her gaze settled on his lap. They were facing each other now.
“This is how people meet in America?” Christos muttered from behind me. His words made me realize I’d been staring, so I forced myself to visit a few tables. It was still too early for the locals, so I had to make conversation with a few Germans. If you know any German tourists, you know this is no easy task.
Christos caught my eye as I was telling some of them how to catch the bus to Thira. He raised his eyebrows in the direction of the bar. I looked over to see the voluptuous beauty with her wineglass in one hand while she traced her cleavage with the other. Her foot now slid up and down the man’s shin. I could see his bulge from across the restaurant.
The man had that look on his face that every man, regardless of nationality, knows too well. It is the face that betrays desire, the look that says, “I await the tiniest sign of invitation.” It is, sadly, the way we look when all we want is to fuck the woman who tempts us.
Every man wanted her, but he was the one with her toes near his thigh. She extended her leg fully so she could hover at his crotch. Her bare legs were smooth, well muscled with feminine slopes.
Nothing like this spectacle had ever occurred in The Octopus before. Customers stared openly because it was clear that the couple was aware of nobody but each other.
She put her glass down. Her lips parted and glistened, just like pussy ready for cock. The woman had cast a spell over every man in the room. I wanted her at least as desperately as the man she had chosen.
She stroked the inner curve of her breast. As her fingers moved, so did her neckline. Lower, ever lower, inching with excruciating slowness to reveal more of her fleshy tit.
I was so hard I could barely walk. Why had this never happened to me at a bar?
The man’s erection tented his pants. I felt a mixture of sympathy and jealousy for him.
She stared at him while she stroked her breast. As if she’d willed it, he rose from his seat. His movement did not faze her. In fact, she seemed to expect it. And why not?
He walked by the chair between them. As he approached her, he slid his palm along the outside of her bare thigh. He stopped when her dress bunched at her hip, unable to go any higher. I shuddered with lust at how close his hand was to her glorious ass.
Their eyes locked in some silent contest of wills. She stroked her breast languidly as he caressed her exposed thigh. She moved the fabric at her fingertips so that a full half-moon of titflesh rose up into view. He bent down to kiss it.
One of the waiters hooted with delight, which helped to break the thick, awkward silence. Some people laughed nervously, others made valiant attempts to look away. I made no pretense about my interest. I watched shamelessly from only a few meters away. What would she do next?
She removed his hand from her leg but her expression did not change. He returned to his seat with more dignity than most men would have been able to muster. Once he sat, he searched her face, obviously trying to read whether she’d lost interest.
She reached for her purse and my heart sank. Not that I expected them to fuck right there on my bar, but to have this interlude end now, so abruptly, disappointed me beyond words.
The purse was in her lap. She opened it and extracted a key. With the same unwavering gaze, she placed it on the bar and slid it over to him with meaningful deliberateness.
Once he touched it, she got to her feet and glided out of the restaurant. Her tits jiggled provocatively but so subtly as she passed the awed diners. And, oh, that ass. I could practically feel the flesh of her ass cheek against my tongue.
Sex is rampant on Greek islands. That any couple should meet and fuck within minutes did not surprise me. But this couple. This woman. She would have some kind of plan, I surmised. My curiosity, among other things, needed satisfying. I turned and walked through the kitchen, out the back door and down the alley that led to the street of the restaurant. I emerged just after they passed before me.
I followed the man. Indeed, I felt I was the man. He, in turn, kept a pace or two behind the woman. She stopped in front of the Stromboli hotel and looked coyly over her shoulder at the man, who nodded with understanding. She walked on and he headed off into the hotel.
Her decorum pleased me. Most Americans did not concern themselves w
ith appearances of modesty or gentility. Most would’ve just walked into the hotel, leaving the watchful proprietor or other guests to see quite clearly that an assignation was in progress. But this woman knew the proper method was to let him precede her to her room. She would join him shortly, but to anyone watching, the man and the woman were not so obviously together. Impressive, this woman.
Like a fugitive, I lurked by the foliage near her room after the man let himself in. The rooms at Stromboli all open out onto a different patio level carved into the island rock. All of them face the sea.
It was dark, save for the brilliant stars and nearly full moon. I didn’t want to frighten the woman when she returned so I crouched behind a small lemon tree and stayed immobile. She arrived minutes later and walked, without fanfare, into her hotel room.
I heard them dissolve into laughter. What was this? Another strange American custom? Sex as comedy? I moved to the window, whose shutters thankfully were open.
“I never thought you’d pull it off,” the man said, holding her around her waist as he chuckled.
She was giddy, a sharp contrast to her cool demeanor in the restaurant. “What a show that was! Do you suppose they’ll ever stop talking about it? I was awfully good, wasn’t I?” She tossed her streaked auburn hair over her shoulder.
“You seem to think the show is over,” he replied, running his hands over her ass.
“Oh, no, my darling. I most certainly am not under that impression.”
He raised his eyebrows expectantly as she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. His cock popped out eagerly.
“Why don’t you lie down on the bed?” she suggested.
Grinning indulgently, he complied. Pillows propped up his head and he watched her, waiting for direction.
The steely expression returned to her, although now it was tempered with the affection I could see existed between them. Standing at the foot of the bed, she slid her dress over her shoulders and pulled it downward. As she peeled it from her arms and breasts, I saw she wore a white, translucent bra that pushed her tits up and together. It was sheer enough to allow her nipples to show through.
The top half of the dress lay bunched at her waist. She traced the outline of her nipples with her fingertips and he reached for his dick.
“No,” she warned.
“What?”
“I don’t want you to touch yourself yet.”
No Greek man would have permitted a woman to control what he touched in the bedroom! Her impertinence rankled me. And made me harder. But I did not bring a hand to my cock.
She wiggled out of the rest of the dress, letting it pool at her feet. She wore panties unlike anything I’d ever seen. A tiny patch of the shimmery fabric at her auburn triangle of hair, and elastic that crossed her hips and disappeared between her ass. I wanted to be that elastic, buried in her ass.
When she was certain he’d had a good look at her soft curves in that fancy lingerie, she walked, still in her heeled sandals, to a nearby suitcase. She pulled out short pieces of rope.
I thought to leave. I wondered if all Americans traveled with rope. I longed for it around my wrists and my ankles.
She attached him to the bed with expert knots. She looped the rope firmly but not tightly. His cock prayed skyward, to the gods, as did mine. Both of us remained clothed and at her mercy.
She crawled up on the bed and knelt between his splayed legs. I wanted her lips on my hot tool. She swirled her tongue around his thickness a few times before she took him into her mouth.
“Oh, Keisha,” he moaned.
Her head bobbed up and down in exactly the right rhythm. I pumped my fist with the same tempo, spreading my pre-cum over my shaft and imagining it was her saliva.
The man’s eyes were closed and the muscles in his legs tightened. She stopped sucking and straddled him with remarkable agility.
She sat on him, impaled by his engorged cock. There was so little to her panties that entrance to her cunt was unimpeded.
She raised and lowered herself on his pole, moaning with pleasure. Her tits jiggled in the flimsy bra and I wanted her to take it off.
She reached behind her and unhooked the garment. She tore it off her and grabbed her own bouncing titties as she rode her lover. What powerful legs this woman had!
It was a small room. The scent of her pussy could not be contained by it. I breathed deeply to enjoy her aroma. My palm was her dripping snatch, enclosing around my cock, sucking it up inside her like a hungry animal. I listened closely and could hear the wet kisses from her juicy hole.
She fucked him faster, harder, landing on him with a force she must have felt all through her cunt. An intensity consumed her so completely that her lover watched her, fascinated.
Her cries came up slowly, as if they started between her legs. They burst loudly from her throat as she bucked and trembled, all the while still bouncing on his cock.
So complete a woman was she that he and I forgot our own gratification. We watched, admired, devoured this orgasmic goddess and let our fluid sit like nitroglycerin in our balls. And we were grateful for the privilege.
When she had let all her orgasms pass through and out of her beautiful body, she fell forward on his chest, nuzzling his neck. I imagined her hot breath in my ear. He kissed her hair, her cheek, her eyes.
“Untie me, babe. I need to look at your sweet ass while I fuck you.”
Yes. Yes, that was exactly what I needed.
Dutifully, she freed him. He immediately sat up and took one of her big tits into his mouth. He sucked like a newborn calf and I licked my lips.
He held her other breast and pushed it up. She bent her head down, stuck out her tongue and lashed at her hard nipple. My knees were weakening at every moment, watching him suck one nipple while she licked the other. My cock swelled in my hand.
A few minutes later, he positioned her with her back to me, by the side of the bed. She bent over and dizziness overtook me. Her perfectly contoured ass was on display for me! The slope of her hips as they melded into her thighs remains a sight I will never forget. I could not decide then or now if I wanted my face or my cock buried between those rounded cheeks.
The man pulled her silly panties over her hips and down her lovely legs. She stepped out of them. When he positioned himself behind her, most of my view was obstructed. But he stuffed himself into her pussy quickly enough. He rammed her hard, making her gasp.
“Oh yes, Mark! Fuck me, honey. Fuck me, Mark!”
What I could see of her ass shook with each thrust. I was her lover, holding her full hips to steady her against my pounding. He fucked her; I felt her juices coat my balls.
We came at the same time.
With my cock no longer in control, my brain resumed functioning. I grimaced at the sight of my cum on the ground, my penis peering at the stars. I saw the American couple cuddle happily on the bed.
And I remembered I had a restaurant to run.
I hurried back to The Octopus, grabbing a tub of fresh marides from the back of the restaurant to bring to the front, as if that might explain my disappearance. Every table was full and several parties were waiting. Christos threw me a stern, impatient look.
I busied myself with customers. Business was so brisk that I didn’t even notice that Christos had seated the American couple in the corner.
They wore different clothing, more casual and appropriate for a beach climate. They were relaxed and smiling. Even Christos hadn’t recognized them, and he waited on them throughout their meal. Oddly, I found I could not face her.
By the time they left, it was nearly midnight. They strolled out, arm in arm, before I went to their table to clear it off.
My heart stopped, then pounded wildly. A room key gleamed on the tablecloth.
Had she left it on purpose? Was this an invitation? Had they seen me and now wanted me to join them? I had no experience in such sophisticated sexual games. My mind raced. I picked up the key and twirled it slowly between my fingers, plot
ting my escape and my alibi to Christos, when I heard her voice.
“Excuse me.”
Her face was before me, so young and fresh, invigorated by good food and good sex.
“Did you perhaps find a key on this table?”
Speechless, I held the small metal object up for her to see. She reached for it, smiling.
“Oh, thank goodness. We were afraid we’d lost it! Kalinichta!”
And she disappeared into the night, taking my wildest fantasies with her.
Too Bad
Cara Bruce
I enjoy my own company.
I am my own best friend.
I am unique and special.
Mira looks in the mirror as the words of the subliminal message CD float over her. She hates the first part of this CD, the part that says the stupid phrases out loud, grinding the fact that she is alone deep into her consciousness. She feels like a part of a Saturday Night Live skit, but this one isn’t funny.
She is trying to get her life back together, to get over her obsession with boys, specifically bad boys. She hasn’t been the best girl her whole life but the boys she has fallen for have been worse. They are the types of boys who started smoking when they were thirteen, lost their virginity at fourteen, shoplifted, drank too much, drove without licenses. These were boys she would see huddled on street corners, tongues flickering over bad teeth, hands balled into fists and shoved deep into pockets big enough to steal with. These were the boys she loved.
In a fit of rage Mira grabs a bar of soap and flings it at the CD player. It hits and slides down, not even skipping the CD. A siren floats by underneath her bedroom window as she lets out a half-yell and looks for something to punch.
Mira resides in a small studio apartment. It is the only thing she can afford in the city these days. Since her resolve to give up bad boys she has barely left it, feeling trapped and timeless like a junkie. Just without the momentary euphoria.
She stares out of her window onto the busy street below, the boys gathered like ants at a picnic, then scattering like roaches whenever a cop car crawls by, a single megaphone ordering them to disperse.
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 4 Page 43