My Excellent Greek Vacation

Marty is offered a free, three-week vacation to Greece by his friend Steve and his father. Part of the fun, Marty discovers, is a trip to a local brothel!

Part One

“Am I hearing this right?” I asked Steve that memorable day in May 1981. “You’re offering me a free, three-week vacation to Greece this summer?”

Steve replied, “Marty, I’m not the one offering it; it’s my father’s offer to you. He wants to reward you for being such an excellent friend to me over the past ten years.”

Indeed, Stavros (Steve) Nicopolous had been a good buddy of mine since fate determined our desks would be situated beside each other in Mrs. Simon’s first-grade class. We liked the same type of jokes and we got along well. I was a better student than Steve was, but I was always willing to help him get through his assignments, which he appreciated. Steve’s mother especially took a shine to me, affectionately referring to me as her “second son” whenever I visited her home. Mrs. Nicopolous, I later learned, had no other children because she had a difficult time delivering Steve. The complications resulted in her not being physically able to get pregnant again. Thus, she doted on me, Marty Klein, as if I really were Steve’s brother. Unfortunately, Mrs. Nicopolous was no longer around. One day, when I was 12, she woke up not feeling well. She went to see her family’s doctor and was diagnosed as having advanced pancreatic cancer. Nothing could be done to save her. She was dead within a month. Honestly, I think I grieved her sudden death as much as Steve did.

Over the next year or so, I helped Steve cope with his sad loss by frequently visiting his home to cheer him up. I also invited him to come along on many one-day trips with my family. These acts of kindness and basic decency did not go unrecognized by Steve’s father, a prominent local businessman who owned three restaurants and two apartment buildings. (Steve’s small family never lacked for money.) Now, five years later, with Steve and I both now 18 years old, Mr. Nicopolous decided to reward me for being a good person by inviting me to tag along when he and Steve made a three-week journey to Athens once the school year ended in June. He also insisted on picking up the sizable tab for me. How could I possibly say no to that? I couldn’t. In all my life I had not ventured out of Canada for more than a day. I said yes without much hesitation.

Steve had last been to Greece when he was six years old, so he hadn’t been mature enough to appreciate the country’s historical sites that I was very anxious to see. We wouldn’t be staying in a hotel. Instead, we would be houseguests of Steve’s aunt and uncle. (The latter was his father’s younger brother whom Steve had only met twice in his life.) I was told I wouldn’t have to spend a dime—or a drachma out of my own pocket during the entire trip. It would be three weeks of fun and adventure for me courtesy of the Nicopolous family. I could hardly wait! We would depart on the first Monday in June after school ended.

Steve happily served as my translator for the entire trip. That was necessary because once we arrived, I discovered that Steve’s uncle’s English was almost non-existent—and his wife’s English knowledge was even worse than her husband’s. Nevertheless, I was warmly welcomed despite the obvious language barrier. I got first-class treatment from them as we toured the Parthenon, the Acropolis, and the Ancient Agora over the next few days. Steve’s father was amused to see that I seemed to be more interested in Greek historical sites than his son was. We even attended a professional soccer game. It wasn’t top-flight football, but the atmosphere in the crowd was still electric. I don’t remember the names of the two clubs that played that evening, but it didn’t matter. It was nothing like going to a North American sports event—it was a lot more fun.

One afternoon when Steve’s aunt was occupied running errands, we four males were left to amuse ourselves. Steve’s father said something to his brother in Greek. Whatever it was, it made him chuckle and it put a shocked expression of Steve’s face. I looked at him for a translation.

Steve took a deep breath and said, “My dad wants to take us to a prostitute. He says were both at the age when we need to lose our virginity. That’s what prostitutes are in business to do.”

How Steve’s father knew I was an 18-year-old virgin is anyone’s guess, but the offer intrigued me. Steve explained that his uncle would not participate in the carnal fun because he was a happily married man, but he would take the two of us—plus Steve’s father—to a nearby establishment to be serviced by local call girls who were renowned for being especially patient and understanding with sexual newbies. After the translation, I looked at Steve’s father with a questioning expression. He responded in English, “Marty, I’ve been a widower for six years. I’m 42 years old. I still have sexual desires that need to be fulfilled. I want to have a good fuck with no commitment attached to it. Helena would completely understand.” Helena was the first name of his beloved, deceased wife.

I nodded my agreement and gave him a small round of applause for his honesty.

Steve’s uncle did not own a car. Throughout my Greek vacation, we used public transportation to get everywhere. Visiting a hooker was no different. I was amused when Steve’s uncle gave me the recent history of prostitution in Greece when I asked him if what we were about to do was against the law. This is what he said when we were riding a crosstown bus:

“Licensed brothels have been around for a long time in Greece,” he told me via his translating nephew. “They are the legal places that are permitted to openly operate. They have to be at least 200 meters from the nearest public building. I don’t understand that law at all. What difference would it make if a brothel was 140 or 170 meters from the nearest public building? It’s crazy. Anyway, those places are just a drop in the bucket in the prostitution culture here. For every hooker in Greece’s legal brothels, there are 20 that are operating outside the law. They are generally the younger girls, and therefore the more desirable ones. The prostitutes in the legal brothels sadly have the reputation for being older women with a lot of miles on them.”

I got the picture. I, of course, asked, “Are we going to visit a legal brothel or a place operating outside of the law?”
“It’s run and staffed by three sisters,” Steve’s uncle noted. “From what I’ve heard about them, they’re all in their twenties. I sincerely doubt they have any official documents to say they are legal prostitutes. In other words, they’re the best ones.”

We got off at a bus stop that was not busy at all. We were the only passengers who got off, and no one was waiting there to get on. Steve’s uncle spoke briefly to his brother in Greek, pointed to where we needed to go for hooker service, and then walked across the street to a free art museum. As he headed off, he apparently said, “You three adventurers, meet me inside the museum when you have finished your whoring. That way we can say to my wife without lying that we spent the afternoon looking at works of art.”

Part Two

I was extremely eager for this new chapter in my life to begin. Since I’d hit puberty at the age of 12, I had always fantasized about my first lay, figuring it would be some comely and compliant schoolmate of mine. I hadn’t considered the possibility it might be a professional sex worker, much less one in a foreign country. I probably had a mile-wide grin on my face as we walked the short distance to the sisters’ brothel from the bus stop.

I noticed, however, that Steve didn’t seem to be sharing my enthusiasm about riding a hooker. “This is easily the greatest vacation of my life—and this side trip to get laid is the cherry on top!” I merrily whispered to my friend. “I just hope I don’t come prematurely and ruin everything for myself.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Steve said in a monotone. Something was clearly bothering him, but I didn’t want to know about it at the time. I was simply too happy thinking about what was in store for me.

We entered a nondescript building. I could tell by its layout that it had once likely been used as a doctor’s or dentist’s office. There were three rooms where the three sisters could conduct their business simultaneously. Mr. Nicopolous promptly greeted a woman sitting behind a large, wooden desk in the lobby. On it was something that looked like a ledger to keep track of how many customers had visited that day. He went into a monologue, saying that he was a Greek-speaking visitor from Canada who was returning to his homeland along with his son and his son’s best friend. He explained that I did not speak any Greek. Steve later told me that his father asked for an hour’s worth of fucking regardless of how many ejaculations he had.

The twenty-something woman, who seemed to be in charge of the establishment, giggled at that brash request but said that unlimited orgasms from a customer was perfectly okay with her. She also explained that one of her sisters was presently occupied in Room #1 with another customer, but she had another sister who could take care of Steve and me in Room #3. Mr. Nicopolous said as newcomers to sex, we’d likely be beyond thrilled to have 30 minutes of fucking each—again with unlimited cum shots. Almost on cue, a very pretty black-haired female entered the room wearing a slinky, red negligée. She exchanged words with her sister at the desk. I became instantly aroused by the mere sight of her and thanked Steve’s father immensely just as he was about to head to Room #2 with his harlot. Before he did, he set down a wad of cash on the desk to pay for both hookers’ sexual services in advance.

The possibility of Steve and I having to take turns screwing the same prostitute hadn’t been discussed, so we had to make a quick decision. Steve said, “You go first, Marty. You seem to be very enthusiastic about all of this.” I wasn’t about to argue that point since Steve’s assessment of the situation was wholly accurate. I swiftly agreed—and off I went to Room #3, hand-in-hand with a sexy Greek girl, a few years older than I was, whose name I didn’t even know. Frankly I didn’t want to know it.

Room #3’s main feature was a large mattress on the floor that was covered with a single cotton bedsheet. I assumed the other two rooms were basically the same. My girl, who was told I spoke no Greek, spoke very little English herself, save for a few key words and phrases that must have transcended all languages in the sex trade industry. Among them were fuck, pussy, tits, cock, and cum shot. Thus, our conversation was minimal.

We both began to disrobe. She had shed her skimpy outfit in about 20 seconds. I was mesmerized by the sight of this nude beauty standing in front of me without a stitch of clothing on her youthful body. I must have gawked at her for a long time because she signaled for me to get out of my clothing, too. I apologized, even though I doubted she understood a word of it.

“First time for a fuck, right?” she said to me, surprising me with a few English words.

“Yes,” I readily admitted, “and I want it to be a good fuck with you. I think you are very sexy.”

“I make your first time special,” she said, again startling me with words from my own language.

“I responded by saying, “That’s wonderful. I want to dump a big, warm load of semen in your pussy. That would make me extremely happy.” I had pressed my luck, though. I think the only word of mine she understood was “pussy”, so she just shrugged her shoulders at me as I removed the last of my apparel.

My penis was already at full alert, standing proudly erect, ready for action.

“Let me do a suck!” she said. I guess I was getting the best possible customer service if fellatio was her opening sex act. I absolutely loved the sensation of her tongue caressing my shaft—especially the very sensitive tip. She remained attached to me in that manner for about two minutes, only stopping for a few seconds to ask me, “Feel good now?”

“Oh, yes! I definitely feel good now!” I confirmed with a laugh.

In fact, I was starting to feel too good. I didn’t want to blow my load in her mouth—although that wouldn’t have been the worst possible outcome for me. I intended to do as I told her: I wanted to give her a blast of my goo in her pussy—and I could sense an unstoppable orgasm building. Time was a factor. I said to her, somewhat urgently, “I need to fuck you right now so I can cum in your pussy!”

Despite the language barrier, she got the message. She disengaged her mouth from my dick and moved to the mattress with me. She compliantly lied flat on her back and spread her legs. She had a shaved pussy, which was a definite turn-on, but I didn’t have much time to admire it. I fell on top of her, shoved my manhood into her waiting crevice, thrusted it two or three times, and climaxed.

Boy, did I climax! It was as if I’d been waiting all my life for this critical moment in a male’s life—which was pretty much the case for me, at least since I turned 12 six years earlier. I had jerked off to the images in porn magazines and the fantasies I had created in my vivid mind, but I had never come so strongly as I did just then. I let out a yelp of glee and overall satisfaction that was probably audible in the other two rooms.
“Good cum shot for a first-time fuck!” my bedmate said to me while I remained atop her. I accepted her congratulations with a grin. I was in no hurry whatsoever to pull out of her warm, comfy vagina even though my equipment was becoming flaccid. That changed when she pointed at the clock on the wall and flashed her ten fingers at me twice. It took a moment before I understood what she was indicating. I still had 20 minutes left in my session to screw her a second time, if I so desired. Yes, I so desired!

“Yes, I get it!” I said excitedly. “I still have 20 more minutes to enjoy you!” I promptly pulled my softening penis out of her pussy and began to fondle her lovely tits. They were perfect in my opinion. She had prominent nipples that were great for sucking. I was getting hard because of them—and because this hooker was stimulating my balls and shaft with her hands. This girl, whatever her name happened to be, was a real pro at performing her job!

When I was fully erect again, I mounted her in the same way as before, missionary style, and began vigorously fucking her. This act of copulation was even more enjoyable than the first one because I knew it would be a while before I would be able to ejaculate a second time. At least I assumed that would be the case. Instead, I came in about ten minutes. My orgasm wasn’t nearly as strong as the first one, but it was still a notable shot of semen.
“Two comes! Good job!” my sex partner acknowledged. Then she added, “No more virgin, now!”
“That’s undeniably correct!” I said. Then I kissed her on the cheek. She gave me a startled look. It occurred to me that most of her horny customers didn’t pay to merely kiss her.

I glanced at the clock. It indicated that I had about eight minutes of carnal fun left with this wonderful sex partner that had been rented for my unbridled enjoyment. There was no way I was going to achieve a third orgasm in such a short period of time, so I was content to fondle and lick her breasts for a few minutes. I finished by sliding my dick between them—just because that was something I had always fantasized doing since I saw photos of that particular sex act in a porn magazine when I was 13.

“Time for you to go,” she told me. She almost sounded melancholy about it, but I figured that was just a well-rehearsed act on her part. “I must do sex with your friend now.” She embraced me and gave me a kiss on the cheek once we had gotten back into our clothes.

Much to my amazement, when we got back to the lobby, Steve was there—and he declined the sex his father had so generously paid for! I was astonished—and so was the girl I had been merrily screwing for the past half hour! “I’ll explain it to you later, Marty!” he told me sadly.

The puzzled girl said something to Steve in Greek. Steve responded to her and translated the gist of their conversation to me: “Since my father has already paid for each of us to have 30 minutes with her, and it’s non-refundable, she said you could have the full hour if I was declining my half hour with her. She said she likes you, Marty.” I wasn’t about to decline another 30 minutes on the mattress with this lovable strumpet. I quickly agreed to return to Room #3 with her for some more horizontal fun.

Steve's behavior was indeed perplexing, but I wasn't going to concern myself with it now. I had 30 more unexpected minutes of fun that had been handed to me on a silver platter—and I had no intention of wasting a single second of it. I quickly grabbed my hooker by the hand and led her back into Room #3.

We both undressed quickly. This time I didn't dawdle. My dick rose to the occasion again, but I suspected it was devoid of ammunition. My harlot and I tried various sexual positions with her leading the way. She was acting as something akin to a teacher and seemed to be enjoying giving me lessons as much as I enjoyed receiving them. She began by riding me cowgirl style as I was relaxing on my back. I liked the sight of her boobs rhythmically bouncing as she moved up and down on my stiff rod. She suggested rear entry—doggie-style fucking—as her next lesson. I liked that idea, too. I enjoyed how deeply I could penetrate her vagina that way. We then moved to a "spoons" position where I lied beside her and shoved my manhood in and out of her while I fondled her tits. This was highly enjoyable, too!

I next intended to give her a thorough titty-fuck. I turned her on her back in preparation for this sex act—when I suddenly and unexpectedly ejaculated all over her torso. I was surprised I had it in me after those two earlier, very substantial cum shots. I was a bit shocked by what had happened, but I was very pleased with myself: Three decent-sized cum blasts within 60 minutes! It was a strong testament to my virility.

I figured I ought to apologize to my bedmate for losing control of myself without giving her any advance notice. She just said sweetly in her broken English, "No problem. Happens all the time." (I'm sure it did.) She cleaned herself up with a nearby roll of paper towels. We spent the final 15 minutes of my session just cuddling. I was more than happy to wind down just doing that. However, she spent some of that time caressing my dick, while I did the same favor to her vagina. All in all, it was a truly heavenly experience, one I would never forget.

I met Steve in the lobby. Honestly, I was unsure he'd still be there. He had a grim look on his face. His father hadn't yet emerged from Room #2. When he did show up a few minutes later with a huge smile on his face, he assumed that we had both enjoyed a half hour of similar fun. I said nothing to indicate otherwise. I figured I'd let Steve tell him why he hadn't partaken in the fucking he had generously paid for. Frankly, I wanted to hear his explanation, too. Mr. Nicopolous was eager to hear about our experiences with the pretty call girl, so I gladly told him that screwing the nameless hooker was one of the greatest days in my life. I wasn't exaggerating.

Before I could continue with any further details, Mr. Nicopolous flashed me another broad smile and turned toward his son with a question. "What about you Stavros?" he said in perfect English. "I assume you had an enjoyable time with that girl too. She looked like she'd be an excellent fuck! I want to hear all the dirty details from both of you…then I’ll tell you about the fun I had!"

Steve answered swiftly. "I let Marty have her for the whole hour, Dad," he said without a trace of emotion. "I'm not interested in having sex with her or any other female. I'm sorry to say I’m not sexually attracted to girls!"
You could have heard a pin drop. It was staggering news for both Me and Mr. Nicopolous to suddenly process. In all the years I'd known Steve, I hadn't suspected that he was anything but straight. I got the clear impression that his father shared that same assumption. There was an awkward silence for a moment until Mr. Nicopolous mentioned that his brother was waiting at the art museum across the street for us. "Stavros, we will discuss this later," he said rather ominously.

There were still more than a dozen days left in my three-week Greek vacation, but it was now a horribly uncomfortable situation for me to be in. We still continued to visit tourist attractions, but there was a definite absence of joy attached to these trips. I learned that Steve and his father had a rather passionate argument one day when I went off by myself on a second visit to a museum that I had earlier enjoyed because it had guides who spoke English. While I was gone, Steve told his father that he was definitely a homosexual and had known it for at least five years. He had hoped it was just a passing phase, as his father still did, but Steve ruefully shook his head and said that wasn't going to happen. He was wired in a certain way and no amount of therapy or praying or counseling was going to change that. Mr. Nicopolous was heartbroken. He informed me that Steve had said he was attracted to me and hoped that I was gay, too! When he saw how eager I was about the visit to the hooker, though, he knew I was irretrievably heterosexual. That took a while to process—and immediately negatively affected my perception of my longtime friend.

Part Three

Not long after we returned to Canada, I learned that Steve had moved out of his childhood house and was now living elsewhere. Mr. Nicopolous had basically insisted on it, saying he was embarrassed by his son's sexual preference and disappointed that he would never enjoy the pleasure of having grandchildren. Steve and I slowly drifted apart. We both attended different colleges that autumn, which made our parting somewhat easier.

I occasionally visited Mr. Nicopolous at his home, which delighted him, as he was now living alone for the first time in his whole life. “Marty, my wife considered you to be our second son,” he reminded me. “Now I feel that you’re my only son.” Wow! That was an immense compliment—but very sad at the same time. We talked about a lot of things during these visits, but never Steve.

One day I mentioned to him that we had some unfinished business. He gave me a puzzled look. I smiled at him and said, “Don’t you remember when we met in the lobby of the brothel after we each had an hour with our hookers? You said you would divulge all the juicy details of your romp with one of the sisters and I would do the same. We never did that. Well, there’s no time like the present! Tell me everything that happened in Room #2 that afternoon—and don’t leave out a single thing!”