The Greek Pimp Ch. 01

An hour later, sexually spent, the two lay side by side, Andreas pulled into Cosmo's body by Cosmo's embrace.

"What do we do now?" Andreas asked in a low voice.

"I'm thinking."

"Do you think he's been telling us the truth by keeping us a complete secret from his world?"

"I think so. This boat is in my name, for instance. He said he didn't want there to be any linking records."

"They'll think we killed him."

"Surely they'll cut him open and find it was his heart," Cosmo whispered. But the thought had been roaming around in his mind too. No matter what the truth of the matter or even an autopsy would point to, this was Greece. And Alexander and his family were powerful here. How easy would it be to say that two male prostitutes from the Piraeus docks had mugged and killed him. They could even construct it so that Petropopolous had nothing to do with Cosmos and Andreas, that their being male whores didn't touch him at all. That would be depicted as an out-and-out mugging gone bad.

"Even then, it would have been sex that killed him. Sex with one of us."

Andreas was being delicate. It was sex with just Cosmo. But of course Andreas was smart enough to know that it was just his word against Cosmo's. But Andreas also was missing the most likely possibility of how this would be seen and reconstructed, Cosmo thought. He jumped up from the bed and started moving aimlessly about the cabin, while steering well clear of the body heaped beside the berth. Andreas followed his movement with his eyes.

Cosmo stopped and looked around the walls of the cabin. His eyes stopped on a painting over the vanity. He walked over, swung the painting aside, and revealed a wall safe.

"What? How did you know?" Andreas asked.

"Whenever Alexander took us for a meal, he'd make sure he was in the cabin alone and came out counting money. I knew there was a safe here somewhere. I explored and found it. But it's locked."

"Well, then, we're fucked on that," Andreas said. But then he looked perplexed. "But fucked on what? What are you thinking?"

"First, I'm thinking he wanted to be in the room alone not because he didn't want us to know where the safe was but because he didn't want us to know where he kept the combination. He pulled the painting back once while I was still here but then made me leave the cabin. He works with numbers so much during the week that he probably doesn't expect himself to remember the combination of this safe. There probably is a combination hidden around here somewhere."

"Didn't."

"Didn't what?" Cosmo said, turning his face to Andreas.

"Didn't expect to remember the combination. He's dead, Cosmo. There's no 'doesn't' here anymore."

Cosmo gave the other man a sour look. "What I'm think is that if we can find the combination to that safe and it contains enough money, we don't have to sail back to Piraeus at all. We don't have to report Alexander is dead at all. We can be far away before anyone gets very far in tracking down his disappearance. And if he hasn't lied to us, no one will connect him to us at all—or this yacht. Or whatever is in that safe."

"But what about the body?"

"He's a man of the sea, Andreas. We can head out to sea and at some point give him a burial at sea that he would think fitting. He's dead. It's just a body now. Alexander isn't here anymore. Come, help me look for the combination."

* * * *

Cosmo and Andreas were barely holding their own at the roulette table in the black-tie-required Cercle d'Or Room of the Beirut's Casino Du Liban. They needed to do more than hold their own, though. After three months' sailing around the Mediterranean, they were short on their cash—or, rather, on the cash they'd found in Petropopolous' safe in the main bedroom cabin of the yacht.

They both had their passports, so countries weren't denied them, but they thought it best to stay away from Greece for some time. The newspapers had termed Petropopolous' disappearance a mystery, with a hint of sour and shady business dealings. There had been no hint that he kept two male prostitutes on a string or that he had a bad heart.

The two had earned money of their own from solicitation in waterfront bars, but it wasn't going to be enough to keep them afloat—literally. The yacht was all they had, and it soaked up money in marina fees and petrol.

Andreas was taking the brunt of Cosmo's ire at the table because he had boasted how good he was at gambling and that increasing their stash was a sure thing by stopping in Beirut. The Lebanese Mediterranean port had the only casino in the Arab world in the 1970s and the only one on the eastern end of the Mediterranean where it was safe for the two friends to play. The Western end of the Mediterranean boasted many casinos in seaside cities, but they needed more money than they had to pay for the petrol to get there.

Looking worried, Andreas pushed away from the table. "I've got to go take a piss," he said, "Be back in a few minutes. I'll try to bring better luck back with me."

"Maybe we should leave before you lose what money we have," Cosmo muttered, barely holding in his anger. The dark-skinned, late-thirties Arab sitting across the roulette table from him, with two bodyguards standing behind him, gave Cosmo a sharp look. Cosmo noticed and looked away, not wanting anyone, especially another player, see the tension between the two young Greeks.

It was too late, though.

"Your friend. He has just about lost all of your resources, hasn't he?" The voice was British, but the look was definitely Arab. Rich Arab, though. The man was wearing traditional Arab garb, a white cotton robe, called a dishdasha, and a headdress, called a ghutra, but they were of fine material and elegantly cut. And his hands were well manicured, with rings on his fingers, any one of which would have solved the Greek friends' solvency problems for a couple of years.

He had the face of a fox, which, while certainly handsome, exhibited a sense of superiority and cunning. His dark facial hair included a mustache and beard, but they were close cropped. He was on the thin side, but his chest pushed at the material of the dishdasha to indicate that he was well muscled in the pecs. In all, he looked spoiled and very well taken care of.

"We are doing fine," Cosmo answered. He took a swig of his gin and tonic to feign nonchalance, but he immediately knew that was a mistake, because the Arab was hawkeyed enough to see the tremble in his hands.

"I am Jabir al-Shabat," the man said in a manner that suggested that Cosmo should know who he was. Cosmo didn't, but later he checked the name to find that he was a member of the ruling family of what was then the sheikdom of Kuwait.

When Cosmo didn't respond fast enough, Al-Shabat said, "And you? You and your friend are Greeks, are you not?"

"My name is Cosmo. Cosmo Eracules," Cosmo answered. I am Greek Cypriot.

"And your friend?"

"Andreas. He's from mainland Greece." Cosmo didn't want to presume to pass on Andreas' last name.

"I am quite fond of Greek boys," the Arab said, as if it was a natural interest to express. "And you two are barely beyond being boys, are you not?"

"We're both nearly twenty," Cosmo said defensively, stretching the "nearly" a bit in his own case. And then, realizing that revealing they were under twenty-one could get them kicked out of the casino as underage, he quickly amended that to, "I mean we are both nearly twenty-two. I have trouble with English sometimes."

"Ah, I think being under twenty is deliciously close to being a boy," Al-Shabat said, ignoring the correction. "And you are lovers, no?"

Cosmo's expression was slightly shocked. When he didn't answer right away, Al-Shabat said, "I can tell from the way you are comfortable with each other. Believe me, I am an expert in these matters. I can go further and say that you fuck the other boy but that you are both available for cocking if the price is right."

"I think I'd had enough for the night," Cosmo said, starting to rise from the table and looking around for Andreas, who wasn't in sight yet. Cosmo became frightened as, with a gesture from the Arab, the two bodyguards moved around the table to stand behind him.

"Please don't leave so quickly, Cosmo Eracules," the Arab said in a smooth, very-much-in-control voice. "I sense that you two are adventurers and are in need of a great deal of support to be able to continue your adventures. And I sense that you both will go with a man for a price. I fancy your friend, Andreas, and I can offer you a very large price for him."

He named a price high enough to nearly knock Cosmo off his chair. "Just for once?" Cosmo asked.

Al-Shabat smiled. "Of course not just for once, Cosmo Eracules. You are in the Arab world now. I wish to buy your friend, Andreas."

"That's impossible," Cosmo said and started to rise again. But he felt the beefy hands of the separate bodyguards on his shoulders, pushing him back down into the seat.

"I really don't have to ask or to bargain," the Arab said smoothly. "Again, you are in my world now. Receiving that payment would be far more advantageous to you than receiving nothing and me taking you both. I am trying to be fair here."

Cosmo said nothing. He couldn't think of anything appropriate to say.

Al-Shabat rose from his chair. "I am booked in the penthouse suite of the Phoenicia Hotel. I will expect you to deliver your friend there within an hour. My men will be outside the casino and will ensure that you do just that. When you have delivered him to me, I will give you your money and you can go. Rest assured that I'm not some sort of animal. Andreas will enjoy his stay with me. He will be far more secure than he is running around the world, trying to win his bread for the next day. I'm not asking for him—or you—to do more than any whore would be asked to do. And you are both whores and need not deny it."

"I can't sell my friend," Cosmo said. "A man is not mine to sell." His response was weak, though, and he knew it. Both he and Andreas had been owned by men before.

"Very well," Al-Shabat conceded almost too readily. "Just for the night then." He named a sum that still would keep Cosmos and Andrea going for a couple of months—more than they had hoped to win in the casino this evening.

Cosmo agreed to the terms. He didn't see another out. The money was just too good.

He thought about what he could do in the short interval between the Al-Shabat's departure and Andreas' return. He enjoyed fucking Andreas, but it wasn't like he was in love with the man or had any responsibilities toward him. And it was Andreas' fault they didn't have much money now; he had boasted highly about his gambling talents, and these had not panned out.

The yacht was Cosmo's. He could hire a crew and continue sailing the Mediterranean for at least a year on what the Arab had offered. Surely it would work out to be just the one night, but, if not . . .

And then Andreas was back and Cosmo told him about the one-night offer—without going any further on what the Arab had originally said he wanted. He also said it was for services from both of them. Since it was more money than they hoped to win at the tables, Andreas fell into the plan immediately. They had both prostituted themselves for travel money in their journey across the Mediterranean and were likely to continue doing so as long as they both were desirable to men with money. It came quite easily to both of them now.

Upon knocking on the suite door at the top of the Phoenicia Hotel, the action was set into motion quickly. The two bodyguards grabbed Andreas and propelled him from the lounge into the bedroom. They stripped him, stuffing his bikini briefs in his mouth to keep his cries muffled, and bound him to the bed while Al-Shabat slowly counted out the money and gave it to Cosmo.

He was really slow about it, and Cosmo soon understood why. After the two bodyguards had trussed Andreas on the bed, on his back, with his buttocks at the edge of the foot of the bed, his wrists tied to the headboard, and his legs raised, spread, and drawn back over his head and tied off with restraints at both top corners of the bed, the bodyguards were back in the lounge and pushing Cosmo down into a chair, where he had a full view of the bed in the other room.

Al-Shabat pulled the dishdasha over his head. He was naked underneath. He was hard-bodied and lean, with scars across his body indicating he'd been lashed or knifed sometime in the past. The pecs and biceps were firmly muscled as had been promised by the cut of his dishdasha. His erect cock was a good seven inches long.

"First your friend and then you," he said, leaning down and kissing Cosmo on the lips before the young Greek could overcome his shock. "It's actually you I want more, so you're second and I'll spend more time with you. Tonight and every night until I get tired of you."

Cosmo tried to rise from the chair, but the bodyguards held him down as Al-Shabat entered the bedroom, picked up a riding crop from somewhere, and crouched between Andreas' spread and raised thighs. Andreas writhed and cried out his muffled cries through the briefs stuffed in his mouth as Al-Shabat worked his cock into the young Greek's channel. When he started to stroke Andreas' ass, he also started to flick his chest and thighs with the riding crop.

One of the bodyguards grabbed Cosmo's head and turned it to him, and Cosmo found and was forced to swallow the bruiser's cock.

This stopped fairly quickly, though, because Al-Shabat was crying out for help. Andreas had somehow broken free and was struggling with the Arab in the other room. The two bodyguards rushed to their master's aid. As they entered the bedroom, Cosmo jumped up from the chair and followed them. But only as far as the door to the bedroom, which he slammed behind them, turned the lock, forced the back of a chair under the knob, and raced for the door out into the hotel corridor.

* * * *

"I understand that you are concerned, Mr. Eracules. But you must realize that this is Beirut. This is a very . . . open, fluid situation here. Control is quite loose. There's only so much we can do."

"But I've told you who has taken my friend and where I last saw him. This wasn't in the back alleys of the cities. This was in one of your five-star hotels. And I would think that Jabir al-Shabat would be important enough for you to be able to find him."

"And did you and your friend solicit this attention? Were you offered money and accepted and only objected when it got too rough?" The suspicion hung heavily in the room, and Cosmo could help but blush at how close it struck home. He muttered a denial, but he could tell that the policeman didn't believe him.

"I'm sorry . . . you must understand. It is a common occurrence here. If you were seized from the casino, that is one thing. But if you and your friend willingly went to the room . . ."

Cosmo understood all too well. The Lebanese detective seemed to be both interested and sympathetic right up until the moment Cosmo said it was someone by the name of Jabir al-Shabat who held Andreas against his will. After he'd given the name, the detective only voiced sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Eracules. Young men like you need to take care of themselves in Beirut. This sort of thing is rampant and highly organized here—and all along the Mediterranean coast. And the men involved—"

"Rampant and organized?" Cosmo asked.

"Yes. Desirable-looking young people—both female and male—are commodities all across Northern Africa. Men who look young and yielding—like you do. There are brokers such as Pasha Omar in Alexandria, Egypt, who will pay handsomely for someone like you—and like this Andreas you have come here about."

"Pasha Omar, in Alexandria?" Cosmo asked. "And for high stakes."

The detective mentioned some typical sums and Cosmo whistled his surprise. It wasn't lost on him that the detective had named a particularly high price in describing someone like him. "And this Jabir al-Shabat is one of those brokers?"

"I can't say—I really shouldn't have said what I have. What I can say is that if you pursue this further, I'm afraid you will disappear as well. I can certainly send men to the Phoenicia Hotel. But the suite will be empty, and the hotel will claim that no Arab by that name had been booked there. This is Beirut. Everything is for sale. And if word got back to this Arab—if he exists—that he was being pursued by the authorities, it would not go well with your friend. He would be evidence of a crime. And I'm sorry to say that life is also held cheaply in this city."

There was no more satisfaction to be had, but Cosmo thought considerably on the issue when he left the police station with the detective and was walking to the man's apartment.

The detective had suggested that they pursue the question further at his nearby apartment and had named a good price.

As he had already said, everything in Beirut was for sale. He didn't really have to convince Cosmo of this. The bare hint that Cosmo himself was vulnerable to being arrested for solicitation would have been enough—but the man was good looking and hard-bodied—and had offered a good sum, which, in themselves, were enough for Cosmo.

The arrangement was actually consummated even before they left the police station. Having established that Cosmo was both willing and, himself, vulnerable to arrest, the detective locked the door to the interrogation room from the inside, sat back in his chair, and had Cosmo sit in his lap, facing him, and ride the cock, leveraging his rise and fall off the balls of his feet pressed into the cold concrete of the floor.

Satisfied with the goods, the detective then took Cosmo to his small apartment, as offered, and fucked him expertly all night, expressing delight in how well Cosmo took the cock in various positions, and in the morning had a suggestion for the young Greek.

"I knew you were a whore. You take the cock too well and too readily. You would do well here in Beirut. Arabs have a particular liking for Greek boys. I would be happy to help you get established. The protection of a policeman here would be well worth your sleeping in my bed, say, one night a week. I could readily find customers for you."

Cosmo said he would think about it, but the next morning, after the policeman fed him breakfast and then his cock one more time, Cosmo showered and left the apartment. He knew he needed to be "set up" in some way, but he didn't fancy having another pimp, and he wasn't that impressed with Beirut. The city seemed to be holding its breath, on the brink of a civil war—which eventually did befall and destroy it. The detective had given him an idea on how he could take care of himself—by becoming a pimp himself.

He walked the waterfront, asking about any men who would like to sail with him on the yacht everyone was admiring in the marina and to do special work with him. Those gathering around the waterfront were basically an unsavory lot, so, by midafternoon he had engaged two beefy footloose sailors who were willing, not put off by the nature of work he said he was interested in, and looked like they were more than capable enough not only to take care of themselves but pretty much anyone else as well.

One of them had heard of Pasha Omar and admitted to having been involved in that sort of work before. The other one fell into lust with Cosmo and could, Cosmo determined, be easily manipulated to do anything Cosmo asked him to do in exchange for an occasional fuck.

That evening he was back in the casino and had zeroed in on a young Frenchman who was willing to be taken back to the yacht and fucked—and not so willingly was locked in one of the smaller bedroom cabins. A very late visit to a gay bar yielded a young Englishman who was down on his luck and willing to take a ride on Cosmo's yacht and to be ridden by Cosmo until he too found himself locked in a cabin.