Paul wasn't looking forward to visiting Andy's parents, and no number of toe-curling blow jobs was going to change that, though he didn't discourage Andy from making a repeat effort first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, he couldn't let go of his nervousness.
"The problem is that I've never met anybody's parents before," he explained his predicament aloud, as he lay on his back with his eyes closed, trying to guess where Andy's lips were going to land next.
The next moment his nuts were in a vise-like grip. He jerked upright and grabbed Andy's wrist, but was careful not to yank too hard, in case Andy didn't let go.
"Jesus, ow! What the hell are you doing?"
"Basically the same thing you just did to me," Andy said calmly, releasing his grip. "Do
not
mention the word parents when I'm down here. You're lucky I didn't bite you."
Paul sighed and shoved Andy away, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and cupped his throbbing balls soothingly. He twisted around to glare at Andy.
"You just completely ruined the mood."
"Yeah, sure. Blame me," Andy grumbled. He stretched out and folded his arms behind his head. "Anyway, what do you mean, you've never met any parents before? You must have had friends."
"Well, yeah, obviously. But I didn't date or anything, so this is the first time that . . . well, you know." He saw the gleam in Andy's eyes and wished he hadn't made the confession.
"We can role-play, if you want. I'll pretend to be my dad, and you can ask him for permission to take me out and promise to have me home by midnight. Go ahead," Andy prompted, and then, without waiting, continued in a deeper, heavily accented voice: "So, young man, you want to date my little Andreas?"
"You're a fucking nut."
"To break the ice, you can mention how smart and handsome you think I am," Andy continued undaunted. "And don't fall into the trap of admitting you carry a condom in your wallet, if he mentions safe sex; the correct response is you wouldn't dream of taking advantage of me that way, because you respect me too much."
Paul stood up. "I'm going to go make the coffee," he announced haughtily, and Andy's voice, now a high and trembling falsetto that Paul assumed represented him, followed him out of the bedroom.
"And, Mr. Giannopoulos, I promise not to kiss Andy below the belt, unless he really, really begs me to."
"You're not making me feel any better, you dickhead," Paul yelled, and Andy roared with laughter.
Luckily, it appeared as if the entire population of four and a half million Athenians had decided to get in their cars and drive to Rafina, as well, and Andy was finally distracted from his ever more elaborate role play scenarios in order to curse at at weekend drivers cutting in front of him and jumping traffic lights.
"The public beach will be more crowded than a trolley bus during rush hour," Andy moaned, then honked vigorously at a Cayenne that was trying to force its way onto the main road from a side street.
Paul shrugged. He hadn't managed to to hit the Greek beaches yet, so he was more curious than anything, and prepared to put up with some discomfort.
"How about we go straight to my parents? They live in sort of a compound, and it's got a beach. The public are still allowed access to it, but not that many know it, so we'll have room to spread out."
The butterflies fluttering in Paul's stomach off and on since last night suddenly went crazy.
"What, now? I mean, they're not expecting us this early. They might still be asleep."
"Paul. My mom and dad are both in their seventies. I assure you they've both been up since about six this morning."
Paul wiped his palms against his thighs, and tried to relax the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders. "Yeah, okay," he mumbled.
Andy reached over and laced their fingers together. "It'll be okay, honey eyes. I swear to you. Anyway, they'll probably be nervous, as well. My dad, at least. This is the first time he's met a lover of mine. Well, that he knows of."
Despite himself, Paul grinned. "So how many
did
he meet?"
"Hundreds. Thousands."
"And I couldn't be one of the ones he doesn't know about?"
Andy just squeezed his fingers and smiled, and the butterflies settled. At least until Andy exited the main road and, after a few more turns, stopped, pulled the hand brake and turned off the engine.
"We're here?" Paul asked, looking up at the semi-detached, two-story house they'd parked in front of. It was nice, but also bland and boring compared to Andy's home.
"Yep. Come on, honey eyes, let's get this over with."
Andy briskly led the way up the steps to the front door.
"Hey, you're nervous, too!" Paul accused, as he followed behind.
"Nah," Andy responded and rang the door bell. He almost had Paul convinced, until he jabbed at the door bell a second time within seconds of the first, and then firmly stated: "Nothing to be nervous about."
Paul was going to kick his ass when they got home. In the meantime, he pasted a smile on his face and hoped Andy's mom would open the door, because they'd at least met once, however briefly. And so, of course, it had to be Andy's father, who did the honors.
It was immediately obvious, who Andy had gotten his height from. Petros Giannopoulos was perhaps half an inch shorter than Andy, with a full head of white hair and dark brown eyes. He greeted his son in the usual Greek way, with a kiss on both cheeks, and then turned to Paul and extended his hand.
"Welcome, Paul. Please come in." His smile was reserved, but not unfriendly.
For a second Paul was thrown off by the fairly strong English accent; he'd expected Petros to have the heavy Greek accent that Andy had used during his stupid role plays. As he shook Petros' hand, he threw a brief murderous glance at Andy, who grinned back unrepentantly.
"Where's mom?" Andy asked in English, as Petros ushered them in and shut the door behind them.
"She's still down at the beach. We weren't expecting you this early."
As Andy explained the reason for their earlier arrival, Paul took the opportunity to look around. Although clearly a permanent home, the room they were standing in had a light, breezy summer feel to it, and the front balcony looked out on the sea and Evia, across the strait. Through one door, he could see what was obviously Petros' office, with wall-to-wall bookcases and an enormous, old-fashioned desk, covered in untidy piles of paper.
"Would you like something to drink or a snack?"
"Nah, we'll just head on down to the beach for a couple of hours, Dad," Andy said hastily. "No need to change your program, just because we showed up earlier."
"Alright. I'd come with you, but I'm in the middle of drafting a response to that idiot's op-ed in Kathimerini," Petros said, and Andy nodded knowingly, as if he'd spent the morning reading the papers instead of mocking Paul.
"See, I told you. Nothing to be nervous about," Andy told Paul as he led the way down a narrow path covered with white pebbles that wound its way through tall oleander bushes towards the beach.
"You were nervous, too," Paul repeated his earlier accusation and Andy smiled at him, then, after checking around, leaned over and gave him a quick kiss.
"Well, of course," he said. "I want you to like my parents."
"But . . . I thought you were nervous about them liking
me
."
"No."
And Andy said it in such a matter-of-fact tone of voice, that Paul had to believe him.
They met Andy's mother on her way back to the house. She hugged and kissed Andy, and then reached up to kiss Paul's cheek, and, awkward due to his surprise at her gesture, his own kiss landed on her ear instead of the air next to her cheek, where he'd intended it.
"Sorry," he said, and she waved his apology off.
Andy once again explained the circumstances that had led to their early arrival.
"It's going to be a really simple lunch, Paul; feta and spinach frittata and a salad. It's so hot, I didn't think anybody would want a formal setup. I hope that's okay."