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Author Intro: My name is Casual, and I'm, first and foremost, a storyteller. I write about erotic, sensual, sexual, and emotional connections between gay men. Although grounded in reality, my stories are still fantasies, not meant to promote or glorify any sexual practices. I can go from romantic, sweet, uplifting to rough and edgy. If you wish to be taken on wild, exhilarating, magical, and sensual adventures, my imagination is the place for you.
Chapter 1 - "The Boy With The Torn In His Side"
(The year 1998, Island of Paros, Greece)
It was the warmest summer ever recorded.
Oliver's body flinched, his legs recoiling as the intense heat finally hit his toes. He had been hiding under the large rented canopy, enjoying a nap under its shade. But the noon sun was becoming unforgiving, forcing the boy out of his self-induced seclusion.
"Ollie, caro, vieni qui." Oliver's mother called, her delicate arm stretched outwards, her figure hidden under the oversized beach chair she sat in, a few feet down the cloak of white, thin sand.
"Do I have to?" Oliver replied, placing the book he was reading over his stomach. His blue gaze was hidden behind a pair of oversized sunglasses. Under them, his eyes rolled with annoyance.
Oliver was 18 years old, 5.7 feet of smooth pale skin stretched thin over a slim but fit build. He had the most beautiful turquoise blue eyes he inherited from his father. Spellbinding, people used to say. He had blond hair that rested gracefully over his head and a delicate, almost feminine face, perfect to match his plump, light burgundy red lips. Oliver was an introvert and spent most of his free time reading books and listening to music as he daydreamed about extraordinary adventures.
He was slowly growing away from his childhood, his body and spirit on the cusp of embracing manhood and the changes it brought. Hormones were firing, inconvenient hard-ons, and constant precum stains on his undies. His mind was all over the place most of the time, and despite his somewhat calm and collected external demeanor, his soul was shrieking inside.
He begrudgingly untangled, his back hunched, as he pulled himself up and dragged his feet through the scorching sand over to his mother. He kneeled beside her before landing his chin gently on her shoulder. Her hand immediately brushed the soft blond fuzz under his chin as she tilted her head gently, gazing into the boy's eyes with profound wonderment.
Oliver's mother, Rafaella, was a beautiful woman. Her stunning looks and flawless genes had given her son the same gift. She had gorgeous blonde hair, cascading gently down as it bathed over her smooth shoulders and hazelnut-colored eyes framed by striking features, both feminine and strong. Rafaella had an ethereal quality, a glow that vibrated differently, pulling everyone's gaze to her like a magnet. She was born in Italy, having spent most of her young life there. She met Oliver's father when she was nineteen, during a family wedding to which he was invited. John Preston, Oliver's father, was considerably older than Rafaella, which became a problem when they started dating in the very conservative Italy of the 1970s. Eventually, John proposed, and in 1979, Rafaella left her country and family behind. At the time, she was already pregnant with Oliver, born on August 14th, 1980.
Oliver was, by far, her most significant accomplishment and the greatest love of her life.
"Sophia has been waving for fifteen minutes. Please go to them." Rafaella pleaded, lifting her hand and waving to a group of teenagers splashing about by the shore.
"They're annoying," Oliver remarked, his voice sluggish.
"They're your cousins," Rafaella replied, trying not to chuckle at her son's comment.
"I'd rather just stay here and finish my book," he argued as his fingers gently stroked his mother's hair.
"They adore you, Oliver," Rafaella reasoned. Besides, it'll get your father off my back for a few hours." She continued, taking her delicate fingers to her sunglasses and pulling them down a bit, her eyes scanning the shore. "He wants to take the boat out tomorrow," she informed, looking at the tall, charming man who strolled towards them, his body dripping in salt water.
"What a nightmare," Oliver muttered, annoyed.
"Hey," Rafaella whispered. She placed her hand over her son's chest, covering a small wooden cross tied to a thin, black cord that Oliver wore around his neck. "At least try to have fun. For me," she pleaded, winking playfully. Oliver glanced at her and smiled, his mother's request slowly melting his youthful cynicism.
"Fine." He mumbled, leaning in and kissing her. "I love you," he uttered, pulling away.
"I love you more, bambino," she replied as he stepped away, rushing past his father, who sat down next to Rafaella, taking a deep breath before plunging deep into his chair.
Oliver's father was a sexy, charming older man in his mid-fifties with a baritone voice, grayish hair and beard, and a muscular, relatively toned body for his age. He was a rich, educated man whom everyone seemed to respect and whose presence everyone seemed to enjoy. However, despite Rafaella's best efforts, his relationship with Oliver seemed nonfunctional. John's conservative views and often prejudiced comments deepened the already plunging chasm that seemed to grow between them. They had absolutely nothing in common, and Oliver's aloofness towards his father only fueled John's resentment.
"Does he have to walk around with that face all the time? Like the world owes him something?" John stated.
"He's eighteen, John. That's what they feel like most of the time." Rafaella replied, extending her hand for John to grab as she reclined back, watching Oliver walk away.
Despite his somewhat sulky demeanor, Oliver was a beautiful young man, and people would glance as he walked by, their gaze lured by his beauty. As he strolled down the sand, heads would slowly turn, following his every move. Even so, Oliver seemed oblivious to this. His mind wandered far beyond that beach and its existence. For some time now, he had struggled with a sense of longing, of something missing in his life. He had always enjoyed being alone and reveled in his solitude. But now, his thoughts bored him, and he wrestled with society's constraints over his innermost feelings. He wished for nothing more than to be whisked away from his mundane life, to live an adventure like the ones he read in his books. Oliver wanted to fall in love.
"Smettila, idiota!" A young woman hollered before a big splash hit Oliver's body, making him flinch sideways.
She eventually broke the water's surface, her long black hair glued to her face as she tried to keep her body up. She began giggling, her arms swinging from side to side before a young, tall man with gorgeous long brown hair came from behind her and belted his muscular arms around her waist.
"Hey, Ollie!" The young man greeted, his fingers teasing the girl's belly button. Oliver's eyes were locked on them, enthralled by the gesture. His attention was solely on the young man's hands.
"Fuck, Jason! I told you not to get my hair wet!" The young girl grumbled. Jason locked eyes with Oliver, smirking at him from behind her neck. "Stop...my dad is watching." She pleaded as Jason's hands slid between her legs under the water's surface.
Oliver's cock twitched instantly inside his shorts. He took a deep breath and plunged his body underwater. He lingered there, holding his breath, and opened his eyes, watching Jason's fingers moving inside the girl's pussy. He chuckled, blasting a handful of bubbles from his mouth before swimming back up.
"It's so warm," Jason commented with an elicited tone.
"That's because she's peeing into your hand," Oliver remarked.
"Jesus Christ, Sophia!" Jason hollered as he pulled back disgusted, his body splashing backward.
Oliver and Sophia burst into laughter as they drifted further away from the current of warm urine. Jason paddled the other way, calling a group of testosterone-fueled boys over as they lunged a volleyball his way.
"I was calling you for half an hour." Sophia caviled.
"I was finishing a chapter." Oliver declared, unbothered.
"I think you just do it to annoy your Dad," Sophia remarked before they both chuckled. "What are you reading anyway?" She asked, genuinely interested.
"A Home At The End Of The World" by Michael Cunningham," Oliver replied. There was a brief silence.
"He will be so pissed if he catches you reading that," Sophia uttered.
Oliver submerged his body slightly, his blue eyes hovering above the surface as they scanned her. Sophia was Oliver's cousin and his best friend. She was the youngest daughter of John's brother, who had married a famous 70s model, Chiara, Sophia's mother. They were all wealthy on his father's side of the family, and every year since they were children, they would travel abroad and indulge in these lavish vacations. This would be considered a privileged life to everyone else, but to Oliver, it was normal and the only life he knew.
"Like he gives a shit," Oliver remarked as he pulled up slowly. He lingered there for a while, hesitant. "I saw him touch you...down there." He uttered.
"So?" Sophia replied casually.
"How does it feel?" Oliver asked, his eyes intrigued.
"Like he doesn't know what he's doing," Sophia uttered before they both chuckled.
"Have you guys...?" Oliver asked.
"Not yet. But he wants to." Sophia disclosed as she glanced back at Jason.
"How do you know?" Oliver doubted, his eyes squinting from the sun.
"He's a guy, Ollie. His mind is only on one thing," she uttered, slightly annoyed. Oliver grinned. "I'm getting cold. I'm going to head to the towel. Are you coming?" Sophia asked.
"In a minute," Oliver answered as his cousin glided her arms, floating away from him.
Moments later, he was alone. One of Oliver's favorite things was swimming. He loved the feeling of being inside the ocean. The magnitude and endlessness of it. He turned toward the beach, watching Sophia stroll away as Jason rushed over to her and took her in his arms, her muffled, high-pitched screams echoing across the beach as he playfully hauled her body over his shoulder. Oliver couldn't help but feel a slight pinch of envy, wondering how it would feel to be wanted and desired. And how utterly exhilarating it would feel to be touched the way Jason touched her. With longing and lust, the young man's hands were propelled by an unknown urge. He slowly pivoted his body, now facing the horizon, the sounds of the beach becoming fainter and undistinguished. Suddenly, there was nothing but him and the vastness of that clear blue water, the soft, cordial currents brushing his body underneath the surface, sweeping indiscriminately under his groin, causing his cock to tingle most delightfully.
"If only..." Oliver whispered before he swooped forward and swung his arms, floating out into the sea.
The further he did, the colder the undercurrents became, and soon, he stopped, calmly hovering as he swayed his arms gently over the water's surface to keep afloat. Soon, his mind went blank, and all sounds scattered, the beating of his heart being the only thing remaining. He tilted his head back and let his body rise, floating along. He closed his eyes, feeling the waves hug and lifting him gently as they brushed past him. Slowly, his legs started tumbling, succumbing to gravity, and his head tilted forward. He submerged and returned up, releasing a satisfying gush of air before his head turned, his eyes scanning the surroundings.
Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he saw someone. A young man's head sticking out of the water, about six feet away, observing him. All Oliver could notice were his beautiful green eyes staring at him as the water's ripples merged with the sun reflected on them. But before he could react or even move, the young man threw him a fleeting smile before disappearing, his muscular back balling as he dove underwater. Oliver's heart raced his body's electricity firing in every direction. This encounter made him so exhilarated that he failed to notice how the waves became increasingly more prominent and violent. It wasn't long before his eyes couldn't find the horizon line anymore as the waves rose a couple of feet above his head.
He turned around, his heart caving in as he spotted Sophia on the beach, her arms up as she frantically waved them. His body kicked into gear, and he began swimming back. But as soon as he did, he noticed how the water's thickness had changed, turning denser, heavier. He now labored to move his arms and was rapidly becoming tired. Soon, he saw his mother getting up from her chair. And that's when Oliver officially panicked.
"Shit." He uttered before hearing a profound and unsettling sound pursuing him.
He turned around just in time to catch a large, translucid mass of water swirling over him, enveloping his body and forcing him under. Everything went dark, and for a few seconds, all Oliver could feel was his body being thrown around like a rag doll, hitting the smooth sand below before being lifted again, his whole body now hostage to the sea's cruelty. Oliver's ears began to ring before everything finally became quiet as he floated underwater, his eyes flickering before closing completely. A peaceful solitude came over him, and his spirit drifted off. He wasn't scared, afraid, or apprehensive as he felt the last breath leave his lungs before the water slowly filled them.
And it was then, as Oliver's consciousness surrendered, he felt a hand grab his ankle, followed by two arms sliding under his armpits and pulling him up. As his head finally broke the water's surface, he heard Sophia's screams on the shore. He felt his body pulled gently over the water, his lungs still laboring to clear as he coughed. Then, his feet finally touched the ground, and his body was raised and carried over to the dry sand. His arm came up instinctively, hand brushing what felt like a muscular arm. He floated into the sand, hovering gently like a soft cloud. And then, he heard it.
"Are you okay?" A man's voice spoke. It was gentle yet firm and daring.
Oliver slowly unfurled his eyes, the sunlight blasting inside his blue gaze, clouding his sight. As the blurriness dissipated, the shadow before him took shape, revealing the most beautiful man Oliver had ever seen. He had curly black-soaked hair, tanned skin, deep green eyes, and the most beautiful, luscious lips that began to stretch into the most mesmerizing smile as he met Oliver's eyes.
"What..." Oliver mumbled, bewildered by the sight in front of him. It was the same person he had seen inside the water moments before the treacherous wave hit him. The most alluring glow now framed his beautiful face.
"Guess you're not dying today." The young man jested, winking. Oliver's blue gaze was latched on him like a sponge.
"Jesus, Ollie!" Sophie's voice shot from outside the crowd that now gathered around them. She quickly drilled inside, forcing herself through all those people. Her head popped into that perfect frame, ruining Oliver's contemplating moment. She tumbled over him, pushing his savior aside with disregard.
"I..." Oliver mumbled, still confused. And just like that, his mysterious savior was gone. "Wait..." He muttered, arm still stretched as he tried to find him among the crowd.
Sophia grabbed his neck and pulled him up. As he sat, feeling his head heavy, Oliver scanned around with his eyes, but the crowd prevented him from seeing too far ahead. Still, through a small crack in that dome of bodies, he spotted the most beautiful, muscular, chiseled, tanned adonis walking away, his curly dark hair blowing in the soft, warm breeze.
"Who's that?" He stuttered.
"Who? Let's get you back to the hotel," Sophia promptly suggested, ignoring Oliver's attempt to keep his sight on the young man who had disappeared in the distance.
As Sophia and Jason lifted and carried him away, he still glanced back a few times, his heart racing with excitement and novelty. But it gradually caved with disappointment as he eventually lost track of his savior among the crowded beach. Moments later, Rafaella was running in their direction with a concerned countenance. After a couple of hours, they were back at the hotel.
"Mom, I'm fine, geez!" Oliver uttered, annoyed, as Rafaella paced around his bed, adjusting his pillows and sheets.
"You almost drowned. Vuoi farmi venire un infarto?" Rafaella scolded, gesturing heavily like an authentic Italian.
"Stop being so dramatic," Oliver reasoned, his voice calm and collected. Rafaella stopped, glancing at Oliver momentarily before finally sitting in a small chair near the glass door to the balcony.
John and Oliver's uncle always rented these luxurious hotel penthouses. This particular year, they stayed at one that stood smack in the middle of the highest ridge on the island, their terraces facing the beach and with a breathtaking panoramic view of the whole villa. It was beautiful, even more so at night. Oliver loved to lounge on his room's sundeck at night and read, his feet coasting over the railing, brushed by the night breeze sweeping from underneath. The only upside is that he had to share the room with Sophia's boyfriend, Jason. His uncle would sooner die than allow them to stay together alone in a separate room. Some nights, before he fell asleep, Oliver occasionally heard Jason jerking off.
"Are you well enough to go to the fair?" Rafaella asked, tilting her head to the side, her eyes exuding tenderness and concern combined. Oliver sighed, annoyed.
"Yeah...sure." The boy mumbled, eyes rolling. Rafaella smiled and walked out the door, closing it gently.
Oliver immediately fell back on his pillows, arms stretched outwards as he gazed at the ceiling. Then, his head turned slowly towards the window. He couldn't stop thinking about that mysterious young man while trying to control this weird, unknown feeling. That moment, they gazed at each other before the wave hit him, played over and over in his mind, like the calm before the storm. Although it had only been a few hours since the incident, it felt like there was already a before and after. Deep inside Oliver, a fascination and obsession grew. He just had to see him again.
He rolled over on the bed, his hard cock rubbing against the silk sheets, coating it with his precum. His bubble butt started moving, his hips humping the mattress as his face sunk deeper and deeper inside his pillow.
"Fuck." Oliver moaned, his voice sharp and clean.
His arm skated under his chest, sliding down to his cock. Images of his mysterious savior smiling at him as they both floated inside the water and the feeling of the stud's muscular arms wrapped around his chest came rushing in. Before his hand could reach his shaft and touch it, his load blasted over the sheets, shooting in regular intervals as his body twitched uncontrollably. His eyes gaped in surprise. He had never come that fast.
"Shit..." He muttered before chuckling into his pillow.
He felt exhilarated as he giggled out of bed and into the shower, his body still shaking from the rush. Inside the shower, Oliver continued his exploration. As his hands brushed his body, spreading the shower gel over his smooth skin, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the unfamiliar feeling descending into his groin. It was as if his hands were finding a new body that was changing as his hands brushed against it. His skin felt smoother, his palms wider, and his muscles tighter. Oliver turned the water off, stepped out of the shower, and strolled to the sink with a large mirror. He brushed his hand over it, cleaning the dense steam layer off it, and tilted his head as he gazed at himself. What if he never saw that guy again, he thought. There was an immediate adverse reaction from his body to that possibility. A cold jolt of electricity traveled from his groin into his chest, prompting his heart to beat faster, his anxiety building up.
"No fucking way," Oliver muttered, closing his fists with determination.
He dried himself with the towel and brushed his hair back before shaking his head from side to side, forcing his beautiful blond curls to land perfectly, slightly skimming his forehead. He sprayed perfume and walked his perfectly smooth naked body back to the bedroom, popping some denim shorts and a sheer yellow shirt.
He grabbed his room key and walked outside, taking the lift into the lobby where his family waited. John and Rafaella sat on one of the couches in front of the reception. Sophia sat beside them, between Jason's legs, who kept discreetly trying to touch her belly. She would brush it away annoyingly as she glanced sideways, evading her father's look. Oliver's uncle and aunt sat on the opposite couch. And contrary to John and Rafaella, their demeanor was cold and detached. Chiara's gaze was aloof and distant.
"Finally!" Oliver's uncle hollered.
"Nathan..." Chiara annoyingly uttered as she pulled her body to the edge of the couch.
"What?" Nathan questioned, shrugging. He lifted his arm and called Oliver over. The boy approached him, and Nathan grabbed his wrist, pulling him into his lap. "Feeling better?" He asked, holding Oliver's body like a small child.
The boy smiled and nodded his head. Nathan leaned in and kissed his forehead. Oliver slid sideways between Chiara and Nathan and plunged his body into his uncle, who lifted his arm and let the boy nestle under him before enveloping him in his protective embrace. Nathan took his hand to his pocket and pulled out fifty dollars, which he discreetly shoved inside the boy's pocket. Oliver glanced up, surprised, before Nathan took his fingers to his lips and signaled Oliver to keep it a secret. He then brushed his index over the boy's nose tenderly. Oliver took his mouth to his uncle's ear and whispered something, making Nathan laugh.
"Let's get something to eat, shall we?" John proposed, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes observed his brother's interaction with his son.
It was apparent that Oliver's relationship with his uncle was profound and significant, bound by an intimacy that John had failed to build with his son. Jealousy was disguised inside his heart despite his fondness and affection for his brother.
"Andiamo," Rafaella instructed energetically.
Everyone stood up and started walking towards the exit. Rafaella and Chiara led the group, with Sophia, Jason, and John walking closely behind. Oliver rushed to meet them, but Nathan grabbed his neck, pulling the boy back into his grip. Oliver's uncle was a big man. His broad, towering figure loomed high above everyone else in the group. He was a particularly charming man for his age, fit, with grayish hair and beard, perfectly combed and trimmed, framing a chiseled face with bushy eyebrows and these deep blue eyes that seemed to shimmer even brighter when he looked at Oliver. In turn, the boy's uptight nature seemed to melt around Nathan, revealing a softer, more relaxed version of himself.
"He hates me," Oliver mumbled from under his uncle's large arm as they followed the group through the now busy and loud streets of Paros.
"No, he doesn't," Nathan interjected. "He loves you." He explained.
"He has a funny way of showing it." Oliver's deviant voice replied.
"He's incredibly demanding, always has been. Even as a kid, people could never meet his expectations." Nathan disclosed as Oliver stared forward, watching his father's hand reach for Rafaella's neck, brushing it with the tip of his fingers.
"He wants me to be like him," Oliver muttered before pausing, his hand gripping his uncle's back. "But I'm not."
"I know," Nathan replied, his hand pressing into Oliver's shoulder, sending a comforting wave through the boy's body. "He'll come around, don't worry." He comforted him in a soothing tone.
Oliver looked up, his eyes beaming at the only father figure he had known all his life, and smiled. Inside Nathan's eyes, he found peace and overwhelming serenity.
"Kiss," Nathan ordered. The boy leaned in and kissed his neck, his face lingering there as he inhaled his uncle's scent. "Now get the fuck out of here." He ordered, slapping the boy's ass, prompting him to run forward and join Sophia and Jason.
They walked for another fifteen minutes before finally reaching a small but very cozy restaurant on top of one of the narrow roads that circled the small island. The pavement was unsteady, tiled with cubed-shaped grey-colored rocks. All these roads had small walls around them, with blue streaks of paint layering them, raised low enough that you could sit on them and gaze at the night sea, marveling at how the moon reflected on its surface. A light so intense that it seemed to light the whole island with a white glow.
As John approached the entrance, a waiter came rushing out.
"Mr. Preston?" he confirmed. John nodded. "This way, please." He promptly informed everyone, directing everyone to a large rectangular table on a wooden terrace overlooking the bay.
"Amazing choice...as always," Rafaella stated, smiling and squeezing John's hand before sitting on one of the chairs, her eyes on the hovering moon.
Everyone smiled and sat down as John sported a proud grin. He sat at the head of the table, eyes locked on Oliver as he ran past him and followed his uncle to the other end.
"Ollie, come sit here," John called, his deep voice flying across the table as he dragged the chair beside him loudly through the floor. Oliver's eyes rose, his hand pulling the chair beside Nathan. Their gaze lingered. "Now," John stated.
You could cut the tension with a knife. Everyone stayed silent, as the only sound heard was Jason's body sliding awkwardly down his chair as he recoiled, embarrassed.
"Fine." Oliver conceded, his eyes slicing through the air. He walked over to the chair and let his body drop like a log. Rafaella's eyes were already on him as he did, her blue gaze pleading for his tolerance.
A few seconds later, the waiter arrived, helping ease the mood.
"Here are the menus. The chef suggested a Portuguese red to start and white with the fish?" He proposed, pausing his expression, waiting for John's consent.
He bobbed, and the waiter pulled a tray with two wine bottles. He poured the red into a glass in front of John and waited. John picked the glass up, gazed into it, swirled it around delicately before chugging it. There was complete silence around the table. He put the glass down and nodded. Then, the waiter repeated the same step with the white wine. This time, John took longer, and his actions now garnered everyone's attention. Even Oliver's, who now seemed enthralled by his father's magnetism. John was, without a doubt, an enigmatic and magnetic person.
"Perfect," he calmly said as he put the glass down, his fingers brushing the silk tablecloth. He pulled his napkin up discreetly and groomed his mouth.
The waiter smiled and poured water into the more oversized glasses, serving the red wine in the smaller ones. He was about to pour Oliver's when John's hand came up, signaling the waiter to halt. Oliver rolled his eyes and fell back on his chair.
"Miss?" The waiter questioned, addressing Rafaella as she closed her menu.
"I'll skip the meat and just have the salmon. Thank you." She stated.
"Are you okay?" John asked, his hand stretching to meet Rafaella's.
"It's just a headache," she explained, smiling uncomfortably. Chi?" she called. Oliver's aunt immediately stood up. "Ladies' room. We'll be right back," she said, leaning in and kissing John.
Oliver's eyes lingered on his mother as she walked inside. But it wasn't long before the waiter's voice pulled his focus back on the table.
"Sir?" The young man asked, waiting.
"Hum...I'll have..." Oliver stuttered as he sat with his menu opened, his eyes staring at it aimlessly. Suddenly, John's hand snatched the menu from his son's hand, closed it, and passed it on to the waiter.
"He'll have the octopus," he instructed without even looking at his son. Oliver kept his head down, but his eyes scoured the table, and he could see his uncle, on the other end, shaking his head.
"We as well start digging on the bread and butter. They'll be inside that bathroom for a while." Nathan joked.
Everyone chuckled in relief as the ice felt around the table finally melted. For the next fifteen minutes, the ones left on the table chatted, laughed, and ate until Rafaella and Chiara finally arrived and took their place at the table, just in time for the main dishes. For a few hours, everyone at that table shirked the world and the complex intricacies of their relationships and embraced their existence as a family.
"How is it?" John questioned, gazing down at his son, taking the fork to his mouth. Oliver looked up at his father and smiled.
"It's so good." The boy uttered, a string of olive oil drizzling from the corner of his mouth.
John's lips stretched into a smile, his stoic nature melting momentarily, the revelation harbored by the table's lack of attention. But as he glanced at his wife, John realized Rafaella had been watching, her eyes glistening with tears. He held her hand and reclined in his chair, eyes scanning the table where his family gathered. Then he looked at Oliver again, and his eyes welled up. He raised his hand and gestured inside, prompting the waiter to come rushing over. He pointed at Oliver's glass. The waiter smiled and went around the boy, pouring white wine into it. Once it was half full, John signaled the waiter to stop. Oliver looked at the glass, then at his father, his eyes twitching with surprise.
"Cheers, boy," John uttered, lifting his glass. Oliver's eyes gaped. He grabbed his glass and held it close to his father's. "It'll bring that dish together. Trust me," he stated before winking cheekily.
The boy beamed, lost it the moment when a veil seemed to lift, granting him access to a side of his father he had never seen or that John had never allowed him to witness.
"You're swimming with the big sharks now, Ollie!" Jason teased from the other side of the table.
Oliver smiled. It did feel different. As he looked at John, he was smiling back. He then turned his eyes toward his mother. And soon, his smile wained, struck by how pale she looked.
"Mom?" The boy questioned, his voice apprehensive.
"Ella..?" Chiara uttered.
"Sto bene. It was probably the wine." She stuttered, turning to John and placing her pale hand over his. "Ho finito per oggi."
"Sure," John replied. "I'll get the check and call a cab. Nathan, you take the kids to the fair." John instructed.
"Of course," Nathan confirmed instantly, his arm raised as he called the waiter over.
Oliver's eyes scanned his mother's, a peculiar feeling taking hold. But she smiled at him, her devotion calming the boy's troubled spirit.
"Staro bene, piccolo. Divertiti." She muttered before John held her up, and they walked over to the cab now parked in front of the restaurant's driveway.
There was a brief silence as the taxi finally pulled away before Nathan's deep voice broke the air.
"Alright, enough of that. Let's have some fun, kids," he uttered. He then sauntered around the table to where Oliver stood. "She'll be alright," he appeased, brushing Oliver's chin with his fingers.
Oliver gave him a reluctant smile and started walking down the tiled road. Sophia and Nathan rushed to catch him, and Nathan and Chiara followed closely behind. They trekked for half an hour into the island's town square, where a large fair occurred. As they approached the venue, the music got louder, and soon, the exhilarating sounds of people's screams and laughs filled Oliver's mind, momentarily shoving his apprehension regarding his mother aside.
The venue was monumental, taking almost every inch of the main square into the small peer facing the beach. Sparkling rides, rollercoasters, and carousels spewed vibrant lights that spread across the venue like wildfire. Around the ride's perimeter, countless small stands selling food and trinkets, local craftsmanship featuring keychains, and small rectangular tiles with blue paintings on them, resembling the ones covering the bottom half of some of the houses around the island. Off to the side, closer to the peer, a large stage with a band of musicians playing Zorba, a traditional Greek dance with countless young and older people moving energetically to it.
"Ollie, let's ride the bumper cars!" Jason suggested with childlike excitement.
"I think I'm just going to walk around," Oliver replied. I'll meet you there later," he added as he watched Jason's look of dismay.
"We'll be at the Cafe. Meet us there once you're done." Nathan directed. Everyone nodded before parting their separate ways.
And just like that, Oliver was alone. He wandered the venue like a deer in headlights, overwhelmed by the buzz and hecticness around him. He roamed around, eventually stopping near a local crafts store selling those small rectangular-shaped tiles. He stopped, and his eyes began scanning the small counter. There were dozens of them spread across it, featuring different names. Soon, his gaze halted, latched on a small plate that read:
"OLIVER: Peace, Dignity, Beauty."
"How much for that one?" Oliver asked, only to be met with the woman behind the counter's confused expression. "Hum...pòso?" Oliver asked, rubbing his two fingers together. The woman smiled at him and lifted two fingers in the air. Oliver pulled out a couple of coins and placed them on the woman's palm. She grabbed a small plastic bag and put the small tile inside.
"Efcharisto." The woman replied, smiling.
Oliver repaid the smile, but as he did, his eyes glanced at a small shop further down his path, tucked inside a small building. The facade was covered in the most beautiful drawings. There were also more prominent pieces of thick leather material with gold-painted intricate drawings, almost like large mandalas. Oliver loomed gradually, entering the store, and his pelvis soon touched the small stand, eyes scanning the artwork with careful minutia. It was breathtaking.
Suddenly, a loud female voice broke Oliver's momentary haze. She spoke in Greek as she walked inside the small shop, sliding behind the counter and placing her hands over it as she stared at Oliver.
"Hi." The boy said, smiling.
"Állos amerikanós..." The woman commented, scanning Oliver from top to bottom. "Niko!" she yelled inside. It was so loud that Oliver's body flinched slightly. The woman had a rough demeanor and seemed positively annoyed with his presence.
"Good evening." A familiar voice spoke from inside. Oliver's heart froze, his hands and feet tingling as his eyes locked on the small door behind the counter at the back of the store.
Standing there, his raven-curled hair hovering gently over his beautiful chiseled face, wearing a see-through dark shirt from which his tanned, muscular chest peeked through, was Oliver's mysterious savior. For a brief moment, time stopped, the walls around Oliver caving in, and no space existed except the small distance between him and that young man.
"Are you okay?" The young man asked. Oliver could faintly hear him in the distance, his eyes locked on the stud.
"What?" The boy stuttered.
"I said, are you alright?" The hunk asked again. Oliver's eyes flickered as his mind snapped out of his momentary daze.
"Yeah. Sorry," the boy replied, his mouth lingering open as he tried to straighten his thoughts. "Niko," Oliver blurted out softly.
"What?" The young stud questioned, frowning.
"She called you Niko. Is that your name?" Oliver clarified, pointing at the older woman who wandered inside to the back of the store, side-eyeing him as she went.
"Nikolaos, actually. But everyone calls me Niko." He introduced himself. Oliver stood there in silence, nodding awkwardly. "Are you gonna tell me your name?" Niko taunted, chuckling slightly.
"Oliver." The boy responded. His feet seemed stuck to the floor, and the stud's presence hypnotized his body.
"Nice to meet you, Oliver," Niko said, beaming. His plump lips stretched delicately. As he gazed at Oliver, he squinted and smiled again. "I do," he said.
"Do what?" Oliver stuttered.
"Remember you. For earlier today." Niko explained.
"Right...sorry about that," Oliver replied, fumbling with his words.
"In Greece, we say thank you." Niko teased. But Oliver just stood there, his eyes locked on Niko's green gaze. The stud chuckled again, leaning over the counter. "Are you going to just stand there, or are you buying one of my drawings?" He questioned.
"These are yours?" Oliver asked. Niko looked around the room before his eyes settled on the boy. He nodded. "They're beautiful," Oliver added. But this time, Nikolaos didn't smile. He just stood there, eyes latched on Oliver.
The stud's gaze was spearing, overwhelmingly disarming. Oliver felt stripped, bare naked, vulnerable, and exposed. It was as if Nikolaos was studying him, trying to access his most intimate thoughts, which, let's face it, at this point, would be hazardous. And awkward.
"Edó eísai!" A female voice uttered from behind Oliver, breaking their lingering gaze abruptly.
A beautiful young woman with silky black hair cascading down her bare back weaseled through the narrow entrance, knocking Oliver slightly to the side as she rushed around the counter. She approached Niko, her hands going straight for his waist, wrapping around it as she pulled the stud in, making his muscular upper body even more pronounced. This made him take his eyes off Oliver, who felt his chest tighten as he watched the girl lunge at the stud's lips, kissing him. The boy's cock thumped inside his pants, growing almost to full size in less than a few seconds, escorted by every move of the stud's luscious lips as they sucked on the girl's mouth. Suddenly, Nikolaos pulled away, his eyes on the girl's mouth before they pivoted back to Oliver.
"So, are you going to buy something?" He questioned. He suddenly seemed less engaged, his hand playfully distracted behind the girl, grazing gently over her ass.
Oliver was inexperienced. But if there was one thing he knew, it was when his presence was no longer appropriate. He suddenly wanted to cross the counter and drag the girl out of the store by her hair. A raging wave of uncontrollable, unbridled, and utterly unreasonable jealousy quickly simmered into a trembling mess before Oliver's mouth finally opened.
"Bye." He muttered, turning around and leaving the store.
He never looked back, but he could hear the girl's snarky tone in the back. With each step he took, his chest became heavier, beating with irrational anxiety. That was by far the worst trainwreck he had ever been part of. It was far from the idyllic encounter he had fantasized about in his head the whole day. But the unexpected meeting had put Oliver's improvising skills to the test. And he had, for all intense purposes, failed miserably.
He wandered the streets, his mind swirling as he wallowed in self-pity until his eyes finally spotted Sophia coming out of a small rollercoaster ride, its cars shaped like a giant caterpillar.
"Where were you?" Jason hollered, rushing past Sophia and jumping over Oliver, swathing his arm around his neck. Oliver opened his mouth to answer, only to be cut off. We're heading back to the hotel," Jason proceeded, utterly oblivious to his friend's confused state of mind. You smell good," he noted, leaning closer to Oliver, who felt Jason's fresh breath on him for the first time.
"Get off, dude," Oliver replied, pushing Jason aside and frowning. Yet, despite his mind finding Jason's comment appalling, his groin felt like a blood-pumping machine.
Jason giggled mockingly and rushed back to where Sophia stood, chatting with her parents. Oliver joined them, and they all took a cab back to the hotel. But the entire way back, a strange feeling plagued Oliver's mind, a strong sense of unresolved and restlessness.
Three hours later, he lay in his bed, his hands crossed in front of his belly as he stared silently at the ceiling. Jason was on the other bed, in his baggy boxers, facing down, his ass slightly bouncing as he jammed to a tune playing on his yellow walkman. Oliver rolled to the side and lay there staring at the long-haired hunk. Jason's eyes started slowly turning as he realized he was being watched.
"You're looking at me like you wanna suck my dick." He mocked. Oliver rolled his eyes, picked up a pillow, and threw it at Jason, making him chuckle.
"Can you get Sophia for me?" Oliver asked.
"Why?" Jason questioned. Oliver tilted his head sideways, sighing. Jason knew his friend well enough to know Oliver was inviting him to mind his business. He chuckled slightly.
"Fine." He uttered, balling his eyes, straightening himself up, and jumping out of bed. He put on a shirt and rushed out of the room.
As soon as he did, Oliver's body flew off the bed, and he started walking hurriedly around the room, opening drawers and trying on different shirts. He would run to the mirror, look at himself, and frown before pulling them out and tossing them on the floor. He finally managed to pick one. It was an ancient white, baggy T-shirt. It had two permanent stains on it, but it was his favorite. One of those comfortable pieces of clothing. And it fitted him perfectly, showcasing his young and smooth upper body. He popped on a pair of shorts and rushed for the bathroom. He was vigorously brushing his teeth when Sophia burst through the door.
"What's wrong?" She uttered, walking up to him and leaning against the sink.
"I need you to go somewhere with me." Oliver requested.
"Where?" Sophia questioned.
"To the town square," Oliver replied elusively.
"Ollie?" She muttered, her voice worried.
"I need to go back to the store where he works," Oliver explained.
"Who?" Sophia asked.
"The guy who pulled me out of the water today," Oliver responded, his breathing getting faster and his toothbrush strokes getting feverish. Sophia stood there, looking stunned. "I need to see him again." Oliver disclosed.
"Okay..." Sophia muttered. They had known each other their whole lives, and she knew that look on Oliver's face. He would go scavenging for this mysterious man, with or without her. "I'll call the reception and get us a cab." She conceded.
"I'll wait downstairs. If they see us leaving together, they'll ask questions and won't let me leave." Oliver directed before rinsing his mouth, brushing a towel over it, and grabbing his backpack.
"Fine. I'll be down in five." Sophia uttered, pushing her body from the sink and rushing for the phone on Oliver's nightstand.
The boy closed the room door and flew through the corridor into the elevator. He waited at the reception, nervously pacing around. Eventually, Sophia came down just as the taxi parked in the hotel driveway. They got inside and instructed the driver regarding the destination. About fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the south end of the narrow street where Niko's store was. And as soon as the car stopped, Oliver's heart started racing.
"I'll be right back," he instructed. Sophia stared at him, her head slightly shaking from side to side. She seemed surprised by her cousin's sudden rush of spontaneity, which was uncommon to him.
Oliver walked down a few steps and stood before the now-closed door. Sophia stayed inside the car, but the taxi was close enough that she could see and hear everything. After a moment, Oliver took a deep breath and pressed his finger against the doorbell. He waited a few seconds, the silence building up his despair. But as he stretched his fidgeting arm, ready to push the bell again, a light on a window just above the store's entrance popped up. A few seconds later, the window opened, and Niko's head emerged, his eyes squinting as he leaned over it.
"Ti diáolo..." Niko mumbled, his voice lagging, making it sound even sexier than usual.
"Hi..." Oliver stuttered. I don't know if you remember me..." the boy continued, his nerves showing in his voice.
"Poios eínai?" A female voice spoke, her words muffled. Oliver could recognize the young woman from earlier.
"Eínai entáxei. Pígaine píso gia ýpno." Niko uttered as he turned his head inside the room before turning his face back outside, his eyes on Oliver, squinting. "It's 11:30 pm..." the stud commented, his gaze lingering on the boy, whose stoic expression seemed to melt Niko's annoyance and weirdness regarding the boy's presence there. "Wait there." He ordered. He closed the window. Oliver stood his ground, hearing Niko's footsteps inside as he sauntered downstairs.
Oliver's eyes scanned the street, and he could hear Sophia trying to lower the cab window discreetly. The young woman's shadow peeked through the closed upper window. But Oliver's eyes were now fixated on the front door as he patiently waited for Nikolaos to open it. And he did. He scanned Oliver from top to bottom, and as his eyes moved, the boy felt them brush over his skin as if Niko's hand was doing it. As he finally reached Oliver's eyes, he chuckled.
"I remember you..." Niko uttered. "Ble Pouli," the stud whispered as he smiled.
"I..." Oliver mumbled, wholly consumed by an urge to leap into Niko's arms and kiss him. "...wanted to invite you to come on my dad's boat tomorrow." Oliver blurted out.
"Why?" Niko calmly questioned. Oliver shrugged, his reaction soaked in sincerity. The stud hesitated, his body language changing, becoming uptight. "I don't think that would be a good idea, kid." He stated, avoiding Oliver's eyes for the first time.
"I'm not a kid." Oliver fired, a surprising blaze in his demeanor. Niko leaned back slowly against the doorway, his lips smirking.
"I guess not," he uttered, gazing at the boy intensely. "Why did you come here, Oliver?" the stud questioned.
Oliver's eyes froze, his heart beating so fast he felt it might shoot out of his chest. Suddenly, he took a step forward and faced his fear.
"I forgot to tell you something earlier," Oliver said, his voice trembling slightly. Thank you," he finally said, "for saving my life."
Niko stood there, looking at him before his tongue slid out and glided along his luscious lips, coating them with his glistening spit. He chuckled slightly but remained there, silently gazing at the boy.
"What time?" Niko asked.
"9 am. At the dock on Santa Maria." Oliver informed. Niko pulled away from the doorway and motioned to walk inside when the boy stopped him. "Will you be there?" He asked, his voice loaded with hope.
Nikolaos halted, his back to the boy. Oliver could see his rear moving as he breathed. The stud finally turned, his green eyes slightly obscured by the nightshade.
"I'll think about it," he replied elusively. Good night, kid," he said before walking inside and closing the door behind him.
Oliver stood there, smiling from ear to ear. He eventually turned around, returning to the cab as he heard the young woman arguing inside the house. He got in the car and reclined his back in his seat without saying anything. Sophia instructed the cab driver to return to the hotel. About ten minutes in, she finally broke the silence.
"What the fuck was that?" She asked, nonplused.
"I have no idea," Oliver replied, his mouth still stretched into a warm, delighted smile.
"He's weird..." Sophia uttered, withering her eyes as they turned to the road.
Oliver smiled, a warm wave of prurient yearning washing over him.
"He's perfect." The boy whispered, almost to himself.
His turquoise eyes were glowing brighter than ever. Inside his chest, his heart pulsated with a lingering promise of that one adventure he so desperately longed for.
(To be continued...)