Sweet Spot

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."

"My mom is the best cook," Andy interjected with obvious pride. "That's why I don't cook. How could I compare?"

"Yeah, that's it," Paul agreed dryly, and Elaine laughed.

"It'll only take twenty minutes to prepare everything, so just come up when you're ready to eat. But Andy, not later than two o'clock, please. You know your father."

"I do indeed," Andy agreed cheerfully and then shoved Paul down the path. "Let's go swim. See you later, mom!"

They ran into Kostas at the beach, and he came over and sat with them for a while. After submitting graciously to his uncle's teasing him about his bright purple board shorts, he asked Paul about tennis, and Paul promised to give him a few pointers, once Kostas returned to Athens in the fall.

"You could get another pupil out of this," Andy commented idly, after Kostas ran off to join his friends again, and Paul shook his head in warning.

"Not a paying one, Andy. Don't even suggest it."

They were back at the house at two on the dot. Andy showed Paul to the guest bathroom, where he rinsed off the salt and changed into shorts and a polo shirt, and by the time he came out, the table on the shaded balcony had already been set. Andy went to quickly shower and change, as well, surreptitiously squeezing Paul's wrist as he brushed by him.

Paul stood awkwardly for a moment, wondering what he should do, then Elaine bustled out of the kitchen brandishing a bottle of wine and a corkscrew.

"Oh, here you are, Paul. Could you open the wine for me, please? Petros has been sucked in by the media, and I need to go pry him away from his laptop," she added a bit mysteriously.

Elaine and Petros turned out to be warm and generous hosts, and if Petros treated Paul like he was no more than a friend of Andy's, Paul suspected it had more to do with his age and upbringing than the fact that Paul was a man. He'd have probably treated his son's female lover with pretty much the same formality, though he might have laid off a couple of the more colorful epithets he used for certain political opponents. While it was clear that he held strong opinions on a number of subjects, he also laughed at himself when his wife and son teased him about how involved he got with reading and responding to people's comments on various media sites.

"And up until two years ago, he considered the Web a waste of time," Elaine explained to Paul. "Now, if he's not working, he's always on that damn laptop."

"And that proves my point," Petros said. "Think of all the other things I could be doing if I didn't have to answer all those idiotic comments."

"Well, since the comments aren't aimed at you, Dad, you don't actually

have

to answer them," Andy said, and Paul grinned at the mulish expression on Petros' face, and at how similar Andy's was on frequent occasion.

Petros and Elaine reminded Paul of his own parents, and he wondered how they had felt, when they first found out that Andy was gay, especially given the way it had happened. He couldn't think of any way to bring the subject up, not if he didn't want to explain that he wasn't doing so out of idle curiosity but because he needed to figure out how to tell his own parents in a way that wouldn't hurt them. But as he observed the easy and affectionate relationship between Andy and his parents, even with him present as the obvious reminder of Andy's homosexuality, he felt more optimistic that maybe his own parents could eventually reach the same level of acceptance, no matter how they reacted at first.

Elaine and Petros invited them to stick around for dinner, as well. Andy threw a questioning look at Paul, and Paul shrugged. Although he liked Andy's parents, and the visit had turned out a lot more pleasant than he'd expected, he also wanted Andy to himself.

"Let's play it by ear, okay? I want to show Paul the kite-surfers; I'll give you a call once we decide, if that's not a problem."

Andy drove them to a beach bar, and they drank iced frappé and ate brownies, while watching about twenty or thirty kite-surfers and windsurfers zipping back and forth across the waves. A few of the kite-surfers were really good, jumping high and hanging in the air for what seemed like forever, and Paul laughed in delight.

"Do you kite-surf?" he asked Andy.

"Nah. I used to windsurf a bit, but I never really got into it. Kite-surfing looks like more fun, but I'd probably kill myself if I tried to learn now. Kostas has started lessons, though. Do you want to try?"

Paul really did, but lessons would cost money. "No. I don't want to risk a sprained wrist or something," he lied and Andy nodded.

Once the sun started to set, they decided to go back home rather than return to Andy's parents. Andy called them, and then handed the phone over to Paul. "My mom," he mouthed.

Paul reluctantly accepted the phone and raised it to his ear. "Yes?"

"Paul, I just wanted to say that Petros and I were both very happy to get to know you a bit better. I hope you'll visit us again soon."

Paul felt a weight he hadn't known was there lift from his shoulders.

"Thank you, Elaine. It was great meeting you both, and I hope to see you soon, too."

He kept his eyes on Andy as he spoke, and Andy nodded approvingly and smiled. When he gave the phone back to Andy, Andy slid his thumb over Paul's inner wrist in a furtive caress. Paul wanted to grab him and kiss him right there.

"Later, honey eyes," Andy murmured, and Paul's heart felt like it was expanding, until it could barely fit in his chest anymore.

---o-O-o---

Andy hadn't lied to Paul when he'd admitted to wanting him to like his parents. He considered himself a cautious optimist; he was happy to believe that things would turn out well, but it was always safer to have a contingency plan in place in case they didn't. So while he sincerely hoped that things would work out for Paul once he came out to his parents, he was almost convinced they wouldn't. Paul wasn't a teenager, or even in his early twenties, and didn't seem prone to exaggeration or unreasonable emotions, and yet he'd created this unnecessarily elaborate, long-term plan that involved his leaving everything behind, simply in order to make an announcement, which, realistically, he could have blurted out at any point, if necessary with the help of a couple of stiff drinks. So Andy couldn't help thinking that deep down Paul knew it was all going to turn to shit with his parents, whether he wanted to admit it or not. And if that turned out to be the case, Andy wanted Paul to have another family to fall back on. God knew his parents weren't perfect, and relations with his dad had been pretty tense for a number of years, but he wouldn't trade them for anything, and he was pretty sure they wouldn't trade him either, no matter how much his mom threatened to do so.

If there was less traffic on the way back home, it was hardly noticeable, but at least the sun had set and Andy was able to open the Audi's hood. Paul sat quietly next to him, eyes hidden by his sunglasses, one arm resting on the door. He looked lost in thought, but he wasn't fidgeting, so Andy hoped he was okay. He reached over to rest his hand on Paul's bare knee, and Paul covered it lightly with his own and smiled at him.

"I liked your parents. And your dad's really conservative, but he's also open-minded, which is pretty unusual."

"I'm not sure conservative is the right word. He just really believes that certain things like fulfilling one's obligations or adhering to one's principles are non-negotiable. On the other hand, he's one of few in his party—and certainly the oldest one—to keep on insisting on universal education and health care, and on higher tax rates to the rich to fund them."

"So he's a crypto-socialist?"

Andy laughed. "Don't let him hear you calling him that."

They drove quietly for a while, Andy so mellow that he actually yielded to the assholes cutting in front of him at traffic lights rather than squeezing them out as he usually did. He thought of a future that consisted of this, of driving home with Paul next to him, of sharing meals, of watching movies and listening to music, of lying in the dark at night, listening to Paul breathe next to him. Well, snore, really, but Andy had figured out that he needed to turn him onto his belly when that happened, and he'd even mostly figured out how to do it without waking Paul up, unless he wanted to.

And he knew that it was all just a rosy-hued fantasy, because the economy was in the crapper, and Paul wouldn't ever accept being supported, and Greece and Andy were only stopgaps on Paul's road to wherever the hell he was trying to get to. Still, he was here now, and Andy wasn't the kind of fool, who refused to enjoy something simply because it might not last or because it didn't come 100% on his terms.

When they reached home, Paul vanished into his room, and Andy turned on the TV. Despite his care not to get sun-burnt, his skin felt tight across his shoulders, and his soft cotton T-shirt prickled, so he pulled it off and stretched out on the couch. He was dozing by the time Paul joined him.

Paul squeezed onto the couch in front of him, his butt nestling into Andy's crotch, and anchored himself firmly by wrapping Andy's arm around his waist. Andy kissed the nape of his neck under his curls, and Paul gave a sort of deep sigh. From the sound, Andy couldn't tell if Paul was content or worried about something.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah. It was a nice day."

"We can do it again, anytime we want."

Paul hugged Andy's arm closer to him, but didn't respond. Andy started to fall asleep again, but was feeling too lazy to suggest that they move to the bedroom.

"Andy? Do you ever come to the States? Like on business?"

"Not really. Most of our concerns are purely European. A couple of trips to China now and then." Andy paused, knowing that his next sentence would have some impact, but not what kind. "I don't like to travel much or for long periods of time. Greece is my home."

Paul squirmed around until he was lying flat on his back, and tangled their legs together. Andy cupped his cheek and ran his thumb along his cheekbone. To his amusement, Paul has shaved closely that morning, in preparation of meeting his parents, even though Andy hadn't and had told him that his father wouldn't have either, but this late, he had a dense stubble, and Andy's thumb rasped against it.

"These friends of yours I've met. None of them really live together, do they?"

Paul had met a number of Andy's friends over the past month. A few they'd arranged to meet for dinner or a movie, and a few they'd run into at dance clubs. He ran through a mental list of all the names.

"Spyros and Yannis do. And Christos sort of lives with Panos. They have their own apartments, but Christos is over at Panos' so often that nobody's fooled by it."

"Would you? Live with someone?"

Andy drew back a little, so that he could see Paul's face more clearly, but Paul's profile, handsome though it was, revealed nothing of his thoughts. "I already do."

"I mean permanently."

"I don't know. Maybe. As I've gotten older, I've always assumed that if I did get myself into a relationship like that, then he'd have his own place and we'd probably end up at one or the other more often, depending. It's just the way it's done here. At least with guys my age."

Paul sighed again, and closed his eyes. The TV continued to drone on in the background, and Andy started to watch again, but by now had hopelessly lost the thread.

"We should go to bed."

They drowsily helped each other off with their clothes, but neither seemed to have energy for much more than a sleepy cuddle. Paul pushed himself back into being the little spoon.

"You owe me a blow job tomorrow morning," he said to Andy.