I Hate-F*cked My Bartender in Athens

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The first night I met Ezra*, I fucking hated him. If you told me I’d be fucking fucking him a day later, I’d never have believed you. He was hot, but also pompous, arrogant, and loud—incessantly demanding that I ‘adapt’ to the ways of the Greeks (which, according to him, meant yelling angrily, consuming tobacco, and staying out late—three things this Goddess never does). But somewhere deep inside me, I knew Ezra might feel really good deep inside my pussy.

We’d met earlier that day when I showed up at his restaurant moments after happy-crying over the splendor of the Parthenon. Midway through my dinner with a view of the Acropolis, a fancy drink arrived free of charge and I looked up to see a built, 6'4", Zeus-like Ezra winking at me.

I was single, free, and had recently quit all dating apps, deciding to trust in the fate of the Meet-Cute Gods, whose rewards seemed imminent. So, writing my IG handle on a napkin, I pressed my pink-lipstick kiss on it and slid it to Ezra on exit.

Thirty minutes later, he messaged: Shall we dance tonight? Or do Americans not know how?

I couldn’t with the sarcasm but was curious enough to see where things might go, so I gave a “Yes” and prudently set my alarm for midnight (when his shift ended), taking a jet-lagged nap till then.

Much to my dismay, I woke to a phone full of foolishly macho messages telling me to ‘Dress super sexy’ (several times) and ‘Make sure to please [my] man’ (whom I’d met a couple hours earlier).

Barf! I was repulsed.

“I do what I want.” I replied. “Respect you, but being told how to dress, behave, etc., is not my style. I’m a Goddess.”

Fuck him, I thought when he didn’t write back, ordering an Uber to the bar he’d recommended without him, purely out of spite.

But when I’d had enough of the so-crowded-you-can’t-breathe dancing, I made my way outside, deciding to give Ezra a second, and final, chance to win me over at another bar nearby.

“Look at you—you really are a Goddess on Earth!” he said when I arrived. He was still annoyingly pushing cigarettes and loudness my way, but seemed to be softening up a bit.

“I know!” (I’d been training myself to say this instead of ‘Thank you.’)

“Do you want something to drink?”

“No thanks, I’m more of a weed girlie.”

And just two minutes later, a waiter dropped a bulbous napkin on our bar table, Ezra giving him a knowing nod.

“Put that in your purse.” He told me.

Peeking inside while I did what he said, I happily discovered a nug of beautiful Mary Jane. Okay, maybe he’s not the worst….

Then, suddenly, I got the world’s worst cramps. Fuck! I’d almost forgotten I had an IUD inserted the day before in Budapest (long story, different story). Ezra saw the pain in my eyes and spurred into action, summoning the hostess who delivered me period meds, stat. And yet, somehow, even though that was nice (and hot), he was still annoying the fuck out of me. Probably because his overall wooing strategy was, in essence, to upset me any way he could—to purposefully make me frustrated, like a boy on the playground harboring a secret crush.

But as we left the bar and journeyed into Athens after dark, where Ezra gave me the most magical private tour of my life, he slowly began to grow on me.

We explored hills of colorful houses lining cobblestone streets—meandering, laughing, and getting to know each others’ ancient histories. As we strolled through marketplaces from the 6th century B.C., with no one else around but the wildcats roaming the palatial ruins, I began to wonder how long B.C. (before cock) I might be. My favorite part, though, was our stop around 3 a.m., where we stumbled upon a small gathering of musicians playing bouzouki (like guitar). They’d been playing just for themselves, but we gave them an audience of two and they gave us a private concert of traditional Greek music so precious I didn’t dare record a second of it.

As we sat under a White Oleander tree soaking in the whimsical melodies, I took a breath, enjoying the fact that Ezra had finally shut the fucking fuck up for a second. And just then, he handed me a bouquet of its blooms, beautiful yet poisonous—how we’d be long-term, I thought. I rolled us a joint as the musicians played on.

When the clock struck 4 a.m., I had no choice but to depart. I could tell Ezra was disappointed, longing for more contact than our blissful walk had allowed. But between my cramps and exhaustion, there was just no way I was dicking down that night.

The next day I ignored his messages, satisfied with our evening and ready to take Greece by storm, solo. But when I’d finished all the stops on my must-see list by late afternoon, I decided perhaps my fling with Ezra wasn’t done yet and joined him for a trip to Poseidon’s Temple.

The coastal drive was unbelievable: an hour and a half of winding roads and breathtaking views—from Lake Vouliagmeni (Google that shit) to the twisting turns of the Saronic Gulf. I couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off my face, especially since Daytime Ezra was a whole different person—softer spoken, better at listening, and much more attentive to my desires.

Stopping for a swim at his go-to spot, we slinked into the water together, but not before I could ooh and ahh at his epic leg tattoos. (I’m a sucker for ink!) As we floated in the super-salty waters, Ezra grabbed me in his arms–our first intimate embrace yet–giving me butterflies in my bikini bottoms. Then, holding me like a baby, he spun me around, letting the water lap between my legs before repositioning me so his hand could do the lapping.

“That feels good,” I said softly as he cupped my cunt. His touches were welcome now that his machismo facade had faded a bit.

“Oh yeah?” He replied in his Greek accent before swiftly spinning me to face him so our mouths could meet.

And then we kissed—ignoring the children playing in the water nearby—focused solely on the connection of our lips as the sun lowered in the sky and sent the water sparkling, burning bright and bold like a spotlight on our lust.

I reached a hand down to see what I was working with, gently grazing his cock over his stylish black-and-white trunks.

“Well, that’s gonna feel good,” I teased, swearing I could tell he was uncircumcised over the nylon.

Eager to get to some eventual privacy, we drudged out of the water, climbing the narrow cliff-side steps back to the car and off to the temple to watch the sunset, followed by the moonrise, and enjoy a delicious seaside meal of calamari and the best Greek salad I’ve ever tasted.

Then, finally, it was time to fuck.

“Okay, babygirl, take off your robe.” He commanded back at my Airbnb.

I did as he said, stepping into the rainfall shower with him. We lathered shampoo on each other’s long hair, taking extra time to massage our bodies as we sudsed all over. While rinsing, he reached around me from behind, squeezing my tits with his big hands, and pressing his hard cock into my wet ass cheeks.

Fuck, it felt good transforming the passion of our tiffs into the physicality of our desires. Earlier, we’d been at each other’s throats; now we were at each other’s mercy, and the embrace of this somewhat-stranger turned newfound-lover had me feeling hot, horny, and (surprisingly) held. I excused myself from the shower momentarily to grab a Magnum.

“Turn around, I wanna fuck you so bad,” he said, sliding it on his thick cock.

So I did, spreading my legs to the edge of the burnt clay tub, giving myself something to push against as I twerked back onto his shaft. I forgot to grab my Uberlube when I got the condom, so I let him push into me sans slick—no bother, I was wetter than the shower anyway. But still, there was a certain tightness without the silicone that triggered my CNC kink in the best way. He’s just gonna stick it in whether I’m ready or not. My pussy juiced at the thought.

“You’re so fucking hot!” he yelled, pounding me with his dick instead of his disses.

“Ugh! You feel so fucking good inside me!” I cried back instead of cringing inside.

He grabbed the flesh of my hips and used me, pulling and pushing me on and off his cock however he pleased in a way that sent me sailing.

Before I knew it, he was thrusting full speed, right up against the edge I’d kept him on for the past 24 hours.

“Ughhh! I’m coming!” he grunted as he poured his load into me, taking what he wanted with no regard for my climactic timeline. Ironically, not only was it not making me mad—it was turning me on.

And then it was my turn. Ezra sat down on the built-in bench and I sat down right on top of him. After every eye roll he’d put me through, he sure as shit better make my eyes roll back now.

He reached around me, inserting two thick fingers in my soaking wet cunt. As he gradually increased his speed and pressure, I relaxed my internal grip on his digits, opening my legs a little further in submission. When I was as close as could be, I gently circled my clit, the final boost sending me straight to the other side.

“Ahhh!” I yelled. “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming!”

As my quantum self cruised into the beyond, my body fell fully into his—legs spread, pussy penetrated, unaware of my surroundings. I had departed and would not return for at least forty orgasmic seconds.

Afterwards, as we lay in bed wrapped in towels and a glow only two sexually-satisfied adults can don, I felt a bittersweet wave wash over us. Just when our definitely-not-perfect-together personalities had found their pleasurable overlap, it was time to say goodbye and probably never see each other again.

“You better write about this,” He said.

“Oh, it writes itself,” I replied. “Life’s the best writer.”

And I bid him farewell so I could rest before my flight to Milos the next day. Because, yes, my life really is a movie—one I watch wide-eyed and gladly, with popcorn and vibrator in hand.

GG Sauvage

GG Sauvage is a writer and all-around artist on a mission to f*ck shame away and empower people with self-love. She designed The Sexiest Deck Alive: Erotic Oracle Cards to Turn You On & Help You Turn the Corner, co-hosts the Basic Witches podcast, and wrote the audio drama Sex and the Synchronicity. See her work at Refinery29, Vogue Italia, Vulture, CollegeHumor, and WhoHaHa, and check out her website for more!