Lust and Love on The Island of Rhodes - Sex Stories

Lust and Love on The Island of Rhodes

... punched the air down towards the ground imitating thrusting and fucking. He winked at me then pointed in the direction. “Not far. Go. You will like.” I took the paper and decided to find the place. Why not? I thought and hopped on the bike. I rode past the bar where the fighting was still taking place and could hear the shouting, then continued over the cobblestone streets of the old city, past the harbor and saw the stone base where the Colossus of Rhodes once stood, supposedly one of the Seven Wonders of the World. I could tell by how far apart the marble bases were that the huge statue must have towered over the island before collapsing in an earthquake over a thousand year ago. Within five minutes, I was in the country side riding my bike on a narrow dirt road next to the stone covered beach and, looking out at the blue green sea, could feel the hot afternoon sun on me as I rode slowly up a steep hill, straining my legs and finding it harder to pedal. Out of breath and about to get off and push the bicycle the rest of the way, I went around a bend and there it was at the top of the steep hill--the Arcadia Café with its white stone walls gleaming in the afternoon sun. Sweating and eager to stop and get a cold drink, I leaned my bike against a big rock, entered the café, and immediately felt the coolness from the thick walls. It was dark inside and no one was around. I glanced at the empty tables, the sawdust on the floor and a small wooden bar against one wall with a ...

... variety of bottles lined on a shelf behind it. At the rear of the café was an outdoor seating area with several tables and a magnificent view of the Mediterranean. I decided to sit at one of the tables on the stone patio and wondered if someone would see me. After a few moments, I walked back inside, coughed and hoped someone would hear me. A minute later, a small, bald headed man with a pot belly, thin mustache and goatee appeared from a back room, carrying a case of beer. He greeted me with a smile, then put down the box and spoke to me in Greek. When I said,“I want a beer,” his smiling eyes widened. “Ah, America. You are American.” “Yes, I'm from the ship,” I said, and pointed to the blue water. “You are sailor,” he answered, nodding, narrowing his eyes, a slight smile on his lips. “I bring beer. I treat you good. Sit and enjoy.” I walked outside to the patio and took my seat at the round table. Glancing back at him at the bar, he was talking to someone on the phone but looking at me. When our eyes met, he lifted his finger, indicating he would be a minute. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but when he brought me the bottle of beer and a glass, he smiled, then said, “I want you to have good time at my café. You will see.” “Thank you. It’s very beautiful here.” “Where from in America are you?” he asked with his thick accent. “Philadelphia.” I watched him nod and smile, obviously excited to have an American sailor in his café. “Yes, Philadelphia, I have cousin in ...