A Day by the Pool

A Day by The Pool — Chapter 6

Following a Daniella’s long night of debauchery, our protagonist Theo goes for an innocent walk to the Old Town on Greek Island on which they are staying. Things takes an odd turn when he meets the director of the infamous gay porn film ‘Big Dick Boat Bangers’.

Warning! This story contains way too much exposition and some comical gay sex. If that’s not your thing, just skip this chapter. I’ll get the series back on its good old fashion mature sex track in Chapter 7.

Thanks.

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I awoke around 9:30 in the morning. By now bright sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the curtains. I rolled around the bed and found it was just me and Daniella. She was sound asleep and softly snoring. God only knows how long her and Georgina were awake last night, and what kinds of kinky sex acts they got up to.

Georgina was gone. She must have had to work. I can only imagine what kind of shape she is in the morning after that anal fisting I caught Daniella giving her. My chubby cock gave an involuntary twinge at the thought of it, and I seriously considered sliding up behind Daniella’s always accessible rear end for a quick fuck, but no. She needed the sleep.

I closed the curtains tight to block out as much of the sunlight as I could. Then I took a quick shower, dried off, got dressed and snuck out of our hotel room.

The day was fresh and bright, as a cool breeze gently blew in off the ocean. My stomach was starting to rumble. I checked my watch, and I could still make breakfast at the hotel before they closed. Breakfast was served in the same rooftop bar where we met Georgina last night. I gave my room number to the seriously disinterested woman at the bar who told me to take a seat.

I grabbed an English newspaper from the bar and headed to one of the many empty tables overlooking the blue sea below. I was just starting to get into an article about an English politician that I’ve never heard of, when the waitress stepped up and in a familiar voice asked, “Would you like some coffee sir?”

I dropped my paper to see Georgina. She was wearing a pair of black shorts, a white polo top with the hotel’s logo on it, and an apron. She looked a little rough in the bright morning sunshine, but youth was on her side, and I was sure this wasn’t the first all-nighter she has pulled. She smiled when she saw it was me.

“Georgina!” I said a bit too loud, but the place was nearly empty aside from a couple and their two children sitting on the far side of the bar. “How are you?”

“I’m good, considering what we did last night.” She leaned heavily on the back of the chair across from me, let out a deep sigh, and momentarily unclenched her butt cheeks. While doing so, her butt made a soft hissing noise as the air trapped inside escaped. The noise caused the guy from the other table to look up and around, before he returned to his conversation with his wife. “Sorry, I’ve been doing that all morning.”

“How’s your butt?” I whispered.

“She is a little sore this morning, but we will survive.” Georgina looked around the bar. “Where is Daniella?”

“She was sound asleep when I left. I doubt she will be up before noon.” Georgina nodded her head in agreement before I continued, “So I was thinking of going for a walk down to the Old Town. Is there anything you would recommend?”

Georgina thought about it for a second, “The port is nice, and there is a good bakery there that serves very strong Greek coffee.”

“After last night, I could use a very strong coffee.”

“Here let me get you one now,” Georgina turned, and she slowly sauntered towards the bar. Her large butt cheeks gently swayed back-and-forth under her black shorts. For a second, I was lost staring at her bottom thinking of all the things that happened to it last night, when I remembered that there were other people there having breakfast.

Georgina returned a few minutes later with a black double espresso, and a small glass of milk on the side. “Thank you, Georgina. You are a life saver.”

“Oh, there is one other thing in the Old Town that you might like to see. I have an English friend who is an artist. Her name is Silvia. You might like her work. Her gallery is just off the town square on the street, heading towards the port. It’s a large white stone building with a rainbow flag out front. Ignore the terrible tourist art she peddles in the windows and tell her that I sent you,” Georgina smiled.

Before I could ask any follow up questions, a large noisy group of older couples arrived late for breakfast and Georgina was called away. I drank my espresso, grabbed a croissant, and waved to Georgina as I left.

The walk down to the Old Town was pleasant. It was only about a mile from the hotel and mostly downhill. Along the way I passed a five-a-side soccer pitch where I watch for a minute as an older man, who must have been in his 60’s, scored a great goal and his team erupted into celebrations. The rest of the road down to the Old Town was flanked by numerous tourist restaurants, bars, and hotels with gaudy pink signs designed to ensnare tourist, plastered everywhere.

The Old Town was much nicer. Much of the place consisted of old rock buildings that easily could have been thousands of years old. I followed the signs to the port where I walked around and stared at the boats for a few minutes, until I stumbled across the café Georgina mentioned. While there, I ate a big heap of their lovely bread and drank two more gritty Greek coffees before I got up and started walking around again.

From the port I walked down towards the Old Town Square. On the way I caught sight of a large, two story, white shop overlooking the ocean, with a large rainbow flag above the door, and a huge display window littered with bad pastel paintings. One particularly bad painting caught my eye. It was of a pink winged horse, a Pegasus I guess, flying over a pod of rainbow dolphins, while in the corner there was scrawled something reaffirming in Greek. It was horrible.

“Do you like it?” came an English woman’s voice from behind me.

Startled, I jumped and spun around to see a reasonably tall, fair looking English lady in her mid-sixties with shoulder length, silver grey hair, and red rimmed glasses with a walking stick in her hand.

“It is very nice,” I lied.

“It could be yours for only €1000.” She eyed me carefully.

“I…I…” I stammered, “I’m sorry…I can’t…I think it’s horrible. Sorry for lying.”

“Your loss,” she laughed. “It is one of my most popular pieces. I sold eleven copies of that very same painting last year.” The lady turned and slowly started to walk towards the door of the shop. From her bag slung over her shoulder, she pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t know that you were closed. I can come back later.”

“No,” she responded, “Lucky for you my physio-therapist cancelled this morning, otherwise you would have missed out on all of this fine art.” She waved her hand towards the shop window.

“Actually, are you Sylvia?” I asked.

The lady paused for a second in the doorway, “Maybe.”

“A friend of mine told me to come here and take a look at your collection.”

“Oh, and who is your friend?”

“Georgina, from the hotel.” I pointed towards the hotel where Daniella and I were staying up on the hill.

Sylvia turned halfway around and cocked her head to get a better look at me. “How do you know Georgina?”

“Well,” I danced on the street for a second trying to figure out how to best answer her question. “Well, my girlfriend and I met her last night, and we had a couple drinks together.”

Sylvia gave me the evil eye.

“Okay, my girlfriend and I had a threesome with Georgina last night, but I know that she is a lesbian, so I mainly just watched. Oh, and there was another couple, but that guy just watched too.”

Sylvia cracked a smile and laughed. “Come in, come in,” she waved me into her shop with her free hand.

I followed Sylvia into her shop. It was even worse on the inside. There were countless paintings of all sizes along the same Greek mythological themes, plus more dolphins, rainbows, and unicorns than I cared to count, splashed on hundreds of canvases found across the shop. I followed her deeper and deeper into her pastel labyrinth, when I noticed that her left foot had a limp.

“What happened to your foot?” I asked.

“Oh that! Before I moved here to the island, I was an actress and stage director in London. I starred in, directed and produced more than a dozen shows at the Old Vic Theater. Have you ever been to the Old Vic?” she sneered a little when she asked.

“No, but I’ve never been to London either. In fact, Greece is only the second other country in Europe I’ve been to.”

“My poor boy,” she interjected before continuing with her story. “One night I had a few too many glasses of champagne after the last show I directed in London closed. When I stepped out of the theatre and on to the cold, cruel streets of London to make my way home, my foot was crushed by one of those damn Black Cabs.”

“Ouch,” I grimaced.

“Indeed,” she continued. “I had to have three surgeries on it before I could walk again. Even after it heeled, it became very sensitive to the cold and rain, both of which England is terrible for. So, I moved here to sunny, warm Greece to follow my other passions.” She held up her arms in front of a rather good canvas hung on the wall depicting three naked women dancing in the early morning surf.

I looked in the corner of the good painting and there in bright golden letters it was signed ‘Sylvia.’ I quickly looked around at all the other trash the dotted the place and saw that none of them were signed. “Wait, this painting is good and its yours, but the rest?”

She smiled, “I mainly get the local kids to slap them together for the tourist. I help of course. We make a day of it, and its rather fun.”

I pointed to her good painting on the wall, “Is this what Georgina wanted me to see?”

“No, I suspect not,” Sylvia smiled. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“That would be lovely. Oh, and I’m Theo by the way.”

“Its nice to meet you Theo,” said Sylvia as we shook hands.

I followed Sylvia through the back of the shop and up a flight of stairs into a well-designed and well-furnished apartment above the store. The whole back wall of the apartment was made of a retractable glass door that open onto a good-sized balcony overlooking the port and the sea. She unlocked and opened the door to the balcony, instantly flooding her apartment with a cool, fresh, sea breeze.

Her living room and kitchen were open plan and combined to take advantage of the wonderful sea views. “Please have a seat,” she motioned to a small dining table at the far end of the room, before she opened the cupboard and began to search for her good China.

I took the opportunity to looked around the place, trying to see more of her art, but nothing hanging on her walls looked anything like her painting downstairs. Several paintings were obviously by different artist using different mediums, and several of the paintings were clearly erotic in nature. One was clearly a vagina disguised as a flower. “So, Georgina said that you are an artist? Are you a painter?”

“Yes, but I do not paint much anymore. Now I make pornography,” she added casually while she began to fill up the tea kettle.

“Excuse me?” I choked.

“One second.” Sylvia finished filling up the tea kettle and turned it on before she quickly limped across the living room to the coffee table sitting between her plush couch and a rather large wall mounted TV. She returned a few seconds later with the sugar bowl and placed it down on the table in front of me. The kettle quickly began to whistle and popped. Expertly Silvia poured the steaming water into our respective teacups and then one at a time moved them to the table, before she took the seat across from me.

“What was I saying?” she questioned as she pushed her glasses back up her nose.

“You said that you make pornography.”

“Ah yes,” she said with a smile. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

I could tell that she was fucking with me, but after being with Daniella for the last three months, I’ve got a little better at playing it cool. I took a sip of hot tea and tried not to wince when it burnt the tip of my tongue. “Interesting. How did you get involved in that?”

Sylvia poured a little milk into her tea and casually stirred it in to cool her drink down. “It all started after I finished film school in the late 1970s. I wanted to be an actress, so like everyone who is anyone, I moved to London. It was tough to be an actress back then. The economy was in shambles. Most of the theatres in the UK were closed, and it was nearly impossible to get a part on television or in films. So, like a lot of my fellow actresses–and actors for that matter–we had to rely on our other talents. Nothing serious mind you. Some of us turned tricks, some of us found older men to take care of them, and some of us made ‘art films.'”

“Art films?” I asked.

“Today you would call them softcore porn.”

“Ah.”

“Anyways,” she continued. “I made a few art films myself. Nothing remarkable, just the normal boy meets girl, girl meets his friends, and they have sex,” Sylvia made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “The money was good. It paid my rent, and it gave me the time I needed to work on my acting career. Then one day I got my first role in a lesbian film. Up until then, I don’t even think I knew what the word meant. Of course, it came somewhat of a shock to me when on the day of filming when the director–a horrible red faced, sweaty man who was always trying to grope us girls–ordered me to eat my co-star’s pussy while he filmed. I was tempted to walk out on the spot, but my co-star was a lovely Indian girl by the name of Geeta. She had lovely brown, silky smooth skin, big dark nipples, and a lovely black forest of pubic hair. I was in love.”

“We were supposed to filmed six sex scenes that day. We did the first three scenes in the morning, and they were amazing. We broke for lunch and afterwards we were waiting for the director to return to film the last three scenes, but the horrible sweaty director never returned. Later, we learned that he had died of a heart attack in a pub toilet two streets over. Anyways, there we were six naked women, the poor, spotty light and sound boy, and the producer of the film. The producer was going mad screaming that it was ‘going to cost him a fortune if we couldn’t finish today.’ After an hour of him tearing his hair out, he attempted to shoot the next scene himself, but he almost broke the camera. That was when I stepped up and told him that I had been to film school and knew how to operate a camera. He was hesitant to let me try, but really, he had no other choice.”

“That day I learned two important things. One, I really liked having sex with women. And two, I really loved directing. On top of that, the film was very well received by all of the dirty old cinephiles across Europe,” Sylvia added with a triumphant smile.

“So, you became a porn film director?” I asked.

“Not straight away. Over the next ten years or so I continued to work on my acting career, while on the side I secretly directed a series of lesbian porn romps that went out under other directors’ names. However, eventually I got to the point in my acting career where I had enough legitimate film and stage work, I didn’t need to produce anything on the side for money. Things went well in my 30s, but as I turned 40, fewer and fewer acting offers were coming through the door, so I turned to directing plays and a few TV shows to keep busy. This carried me through my 40’s, but as I turned 50, I knew something was missing from my life. I missed the excitement of my earlier work.” Sylvia paused and took a drink of her tea. “So, one day I talked my housekeeper into letting me take a video of her pussy.”

I was mid-sip of tea when I snorted, sending a little tea out my nose. “Sorry, strong stuff,” I coughed for a second before I was able to compose myself.

Sylvia smiled at my shock.

“So, are we talking amateur art movies?” I asked cautiously.

“At first yes. I played around and filmed various fantasies and fetishes I wanted to explore with people I knew and some consenting strangers, but mainly it was for my own consumption. For the longest time I did my best to keep my two worlds separate, because I didn’t want my dirty little hobby impinging on my career as a stage director. But once a director always a director. Over time my little productions started to grow, and it was about the time I had to discreetly hire my own lights and sound boy for a shoot, that I knew things were starting to take on a life of their own. Plus, these little art films were starting to get expensive,” she wringed her hands together. “That is when I had the idea of setting up my own little production company.”

“I got a business friend of mine to help me structure the company in a way where the British Tax Man couldn’t come after me any more than they already were, and we could keep the ownership of the company, more or less, secret. Then we hire some web developers to build us a platform to share our work with dirty little perverts all around the world.”

“Wow. That is amazing. Do you still have the business?” I asked.

“After my accident, I had to take a considerable time off work to heal. In the end I sold a 50% stake in the company to my business friend for more than enough money to set me up comfortably here in the Islands for the rest of my life, but yes, I still make films.”

“Have you made anything that I would know?”

She quickly looked around until she saw a large golden statue prominently placed on a cabinet. “Come, Come,” she stood up and motioned for me to follow her to the cabinet. “Three years ago, I won best director at the Adult Film Awards for my film ‘Big Dick Boat Bangers.'”

I tried not to laugh, “I don’t think I seen that one.”

“It was a hard hitting, gay social critique on the EU migrant crisis, and no I did not choose the title.” She gave me a playfully stern look and firmly planted her feet on the floor. This caused her to wince in pain and nearly topple over.

I caught her by the elbow and helped her to the couch.

“Damn foot,” she complained, “and damn physio-therapist for that matter.” She then turned her attention to me. “Say, you have strong hands. If you rub my foot, I will show you some of my work.”

“It’s a deal.”

“Good, now hand me my iPad. Its over on the table next to the hand cream, and grab that too.”

I grabbed the stuff she wanted and sat down on the couch with her. She shifted sideways and rested her back on the arm rest, before she hoisted up her hurt leg and set it in my lap. Her long skirt rode up in the process and it took some readjustment before she gave up on modesty and simply pulled it up over her bare knees.

I squirted a healthy amount of cool lotion into my hands, rubbed it around and then grabbed her sore foot. I ran my thumbs gently up the inside of her sole which made a tremendous amount of odd popping noises as I went up.

Sylvia winced in pain.

“Sorry,” I pulled my hands away afraid I was hurting her.

“No, no it feels great. You have strong hands. Don’t stop.” Her eyes fluttered a little as I dug in again. “Do you watch gay porn?” she asked casually.

“Not a lot if I’m honest, but I’m not scared of watching a scene or two if that’s what you are asking.”

Sylvia grabbed her iPad and began swiping through until she found what she was looking for and hit play. The TV on her wall lit up. She skipped ahead through all the opening credits of her movie until the shot settled on a shirtless and shoeless young man fishing on an empty beach.