When I first arrived in England in the late nineties, I was lucky enough to share a house with another Greek man with whom I became good friends.
A man much older than me, in his late thirties. A man who kept bringing women to our house, women of every nationality, size, age, or religion. Single or attached, these women wore long dresses and short skirts, jeans and tracksuits, or, sometimes, just a fur coat – naked underneath. Well, maybe I wasn’t that lucky, because all I could do was listen to the moans of pleasure from the other room and then watch them go, with their warm, moist, and freshly satisfied eyes.
But late one evening, after a jolly blonde planted a smacking, syrupy, slobbery kiss on my friend and shouted goodnight to me, the great lover knocked on my door, said, ‘stop masturbating, I’m coming in,’ and broke into a long and uncontrolled laughter. With a mischievous smile, he entered my dimly-lit room, a bottle of red wine and two glasses dangling from his hands. He grabbed a chair, brought it next to my bed, sat, and, pouring wine into our glasses, he said:
‘I’ve got some stories to tell you. Listen.’
The Very Relaxing Massage
I want to clear up something. During my great sex life, only once my willie didn’t work. I was twenty-five years old and had the body of a Greek God. I was going to the gym every day, and then I was running up and down hills for three hours. Each morning I was doing three sets of one hundred and fifty sit-ups followed by seventy push-ups, and then for breakfast, I had fruits, yoghurt, honey, and hazelnuts. I’ll put it this way: my dick was getting so very hard, that I could penetrate the toughest metal.
So one day this woman comes to my house. I don’t really remember where we met, but what I do remember is that she was a trained masseuse.
“During those long phone calls with Katerina, I was getting fucked by hundreds of men.”
It was the first time we were going to fuck.
‘You want a relaxing or a refreshing massage?’ she says.
Now, I told you, I was so fit I could get a hard-on in a sec. I mean, I knew it, I was sure about it. So I say, ‘Take off your clothes and give me a relaxing one.’
‘Shall I take off my knickers, too?’ she says.
I turn around and see her red knickers. ‘No, keep them on,’ I tell her (I love red ones, you see).
And, so, mate, she starts the relaxing massage. The bitch was doing it so well that I almost fell asleep. After a while she asks:
‘Aren’t we going to have sex?’
Now, what I really wanted was to take a nap. Anyway, I turn around and she mounts me. But the relaxing massage was so fucking relaxing that after a few seconds I feel my dick going flaccid.
‘Get off, get dressed, and go,’ I tell her.
She asks why what happened. I tell her I want to sleep. She leaves and I begin snoring.
Next day I call and ask her to drop by my house.
‘Come to your house? You must be kidding!’ She sounded very angry.
‘No, I’m serious, come. But this time, give me a refreshing massage.’
‘You treated me like a whore yesterday!’
Like a whore? I didn’t treat her like a whore. What else could I say but, ‘get dressed and go’? How could I know that the relaxing massage would be so fucking effective? So, mate, yes, that was the first and only time my willie let me down.
The Strange Sound
… Oh, yes, yes… There was a second time. But that time doesn’t really count. I was with this chick, on our first date. We go to a bar and after the bar to her place. We get undressed and jump on her bed. She gets down on all fours and I’m behind her. I push it in and she goes: ‘Ah…oomb!’ I pull back and push again: ‘Ah…oomb!’ I start getting confused. I say to myself, ‘What the fuck is going on in here?’
Then, naturally, I get quicker: ‘Ah…oomb! – ah…oomb! – ah…oomb! – ah…oooomb!’ This can’t be possible, I say. I think I’d better double-check. So, I stop and decide to do her slowly and wait to see what happens. I push in, slowly, as slowly as possible: nothing, no sound. That’s it! I say I did it! She needs to be fucked very slowly, that’s all. Then I pull out, slowly and carefully, very slowly: ‘…ooooooooomb’. And then again, push in slowly – nothing. I pull out, very slowly: ‘…ooooooooooooomb’.
I continued for a couple of minutes hoping that she would stop making this noise. She didn’t. She kept going: ‘Ah…oomb!’ I mean, seriously, every single time I pushed in she was making this strange sound. It put me off. Could you keep it up listening to this ah…oomb all the time? I couldn’t. My willie went floppy.
The Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf
… You have to know, my young friend, that a great lover has to be – sometimes – a great story-teller. I must tell you that many women I’ve slept with – especially Mediterranean ones, English not as much – like to listen to dirty stories.
I had a girlfriend, back in Greece – well, not really a girlfriend, we went out together for some time – who would get very horny when listening to dirty stories. Now, I knew very well about all this stuff and had a huge selection of tales to tell. Each fuck, she was asking and getting a different story. She told me she never met anyone as creative as me. She was so happy with my stories that she used to call me The Prince of Fantasies.
Okay, I said I had a great variety of stories, I also invented completely new ones. But I reached a point when I had run out of stock, I had exhausted everything and couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘Come on now, babe,’ she says, ‘tell me.’
‘Err… Me? Err… Tell you what?’
‘Tell me these little filthy stories of yours. Tell me, you dirty pervert.’
So I tell her the first thing that comes to my mind:
‘I want you to be Little Red Riding Hood.’
‘Oh, yes … You are Little Red Riding Hood … and you walk through the forest … on your own.’
‘Oh … And who are you?’
‘You want to know who I really am?’
‘Yes, yes! Who you really are?’
‘I am the Big Bad Wolf …’
‘Oh … I’m getting scared here in this wild forest all alone … Please don’t hurt me, Big Bad Wolf!’
‘I won’t hurt you. No … Not yet! Now I’m hiding behind a tree and am watching while you bend down to pick up the flowers.’
‘What are you going to do to me, Bad Wolf? I’m just an innocent little girl, please don’t hurt me!’
‘I am going to eat you, you dirty Little Red Riding Hood slut!’
‘Eat me? Oh, you’re a very bad, Bad Wolf. And you have got such a big mouth, and such big teeth!’
Now, I didn’t know how to take this last one, because these two front teeth of mine are a bit crooked. But, anyway, I thought I’d better continue with the fairytale. So I say:
‘But first, I’m going to eat this stupid grandma of yours.’
‘What do you mean, Bad Wolf?’
‘I mean, I’m such a Bad Wolf, that I’m going to fuck your grandma really hard and then fuck you even harder, you silly-dirty-foolish-Little-Red-Riding-Hood-slut …’
‘Are you serious now? She’s seventy-nine!’
I think she got a bit upset. Well, we kept fucking, but silently. I didn’t say anything more about her grandma. All I wanted was to push the limits a little bit further – that’s all. I mean, you know, I never really wanted to fuck her grandma. I didn’t even know her.
The Blue Nightie
… What’s the time? Oh, God. It’s late. I’ve got to get going. That was good wine, wasn’t it? Pinot Noire. I like Pinot Noire. And you? Did you like the stories? I think you did, my young friend. Right then. I’ll tell you a last one and then I’ll go. That’s the best one. It’s called, The Blue Nightie.
I’ve told you about Katerina, right? We met in England but a week later she had to go back to Greece. I’ve paid thousands of pounds to BT having phone-sex with Katerina. Every day we would spend three hours talking and fucking on the phone.
First few days we had ‘normal’ phone sex: ‘What are you wearing now? Take it off. Now I’m fucking you like this, later I’m fucking like that’, and so on and so forth. But, one, two, three, five, ten times, you get bored of it. Then, we moved on to the second stage: I would tell her that I was fucking her while other people watched.
After that, it’s the third stage. Stage three has got two versions. Version one: ‘Now I’m doing this and that to you, and suddenly your female housemate opens the door and joins us.’ Stage three, version two: ‘I’m fucking you on the kitchen table and a builder who was passing by joins in and we fuck you together’.
So, we’d say these kinds of stories and would slowly-slowly progress to the final stage – don’t get scared my young friend, these are only fantasies, next morning you forget them. Well, the final stage is this: while she and I are having sex, five men come into the room and rape me. So, during those long phone calls with Katerina, I was getting fucked by hundreds of men, and this idea would make her very horny. She kept saying that these stories make her pussy so very wet that she couldn’t stop herself from coming again and again… and again.
But, one night, she calls, and I recognise from the tone of her voice that she’s horny, so I ask her what she’s wearing.
‘I’m wearing nothing, babe,’ she says. ‘And you?’
‘I’m wearing a blue nightie,’ I say.
‘What are you wearing?’ she asks again.
‘A blue nightie,’ I repeat. You know, after all these rapes, I thought the idea would make her horny.
‘A blue nightie?!! What do you mean a blue nightie? Are you gay?’ She was serious.
‘I said that I’m wearing a blue nightie,’ I explain, ‘because I thought you were going to like the idea.’
‘Look, darling,’ she goes, ‘you cannot do such things when you come to Greece. My parents are very conservative. If you’re gay you have to tell me. I have to know.’
In her fantasies I had been fucked by half of the Greek population – not to mention the torture and rapes I had to go through in the Turkish army-camps, or our trips to Africa, where whole tribes of black men had tied me down and took me really violently, while she was watching from her wooden throne, giving them orders how to better fuck me – and her only problem was the blue nightie.
First published in Overheard: Stories to Read Aloud, first edited by Jonathan Taylor