A Funeral and a Wedding

"Maybe you would like someone to show you around. Maybe take you on a boat ride in the Mediterranean. Maybe show you the best place to swim? Maybe show you a good time." He turned his head to look at the backs of the three UN soldiers, still visible, motoring the curvy road down into Kyrenia. He'd known what they were doing here.

"Maybe," I answered, giving him a smile.

He turned his face back to me, a look of interest and lust in his eyes that I couldn't have misinterpreted even if I had wanted to. "I have a friend, Onur. He works here too. We could show you a good time." Before I could say anything, he whistled loudly and called something out in Turkish in which I discerned "Onur" had been included. Around the side of the line of rooms trotted another young hunk, undoubtedly the other guy I'd seen fucking on the bed lounger by the pool the previous night. A big grin exploded on his face when he saw me. He was as lithe and well-muscled, and great looking as Erol was, but without the five-o'clock shadow and hirsute chest.

"Me and Onur show you a good time today? Yes?"

"Maybe yes, but not this morning. I have to go out this morning. I have an appointment down in Ky— . . . down in Girne."

"We show you a real good time, both of us," Erol repeated. Onur was wagging his head in agreement.

"Both of you? Together."

"If you like," Erol said. "We'd like," he added.

"We saw you with the big blond men in your room this morning," Onur interjected. "Three of them."

Lordy, he didn't have to tell me that, I thought. I pretty much figured what he was trying to convey to me already. It might have been a bit of blackmail in case I stood them up, but I got a bit of my own back on them twenty minutes later when I was dressed and coming out of the unit to my bike, which the UN soldiers had quickly brought to rights, down into the town.

They were both standing there, waiting to see me off. Their eyes bugged out when they saw me, though. I was in my work uniform—black shirt and trousers and a clerical collar. I was going to Kyrenia to meet with the rector of Saint Andrews Anglican church to coordinate on the funeral ceremony for Serhan Ceren—one priest to another.

Learning that I was a cleric—an Episcopal priest—didn't deter the two young Turks from showing me the good time they had in mind, but it put another bee in their bonnet.

* * * *

It was all sort of hazy in my mind and I was feeling mellow. Actually I couldn't feel anything at all. Serhan was just getting off me, having been heavily between my legs, trapping me under him on the studio couch in his university office, and having just pulled out of me. He had a dick that was thick and long enough to tax a man, something that would be impossible not to feel. This is what told me I was in a dream. For some reason Serhan Ceren being long out of my life and dead didn't seem to clue me into being in a fantasy. He smiled at me and I smiled back. There had been a time when guilt was mixed in with my longing in coming to Serhan's office, as one of his students, to lie under him and to let him possess me as he did, but I obviously was long past this in this dream. When he rose from me, he turned to stand beside me, his cock in his hand. He rubbed the cock, slick from his cum on my cheek, and I turned my head and took it in my mouth.

I opened my eyes, squinting because of the glare of the unrelenting sun off the waters of the Mediterranean. Erol was kneeling beside me, rubbing his cock on my cheek. I opened my mouth to it, sucked it in, and gave him head. This wasn't like the dream with Serhan, though—with a Turk, to be sure, but one older and chunkier than this young stud. With Erol, this was a preliminary to anal sex, not a follow up. When he was hard, he moved to the center of the boat and coaxed my thighs open and motioned for me to drape my legs over the sides of the small rowboat we were in. My shoulders were wedged into where the boat curved into the bow, and my arms were draped over the sides there. Onur was at the stern of the boat, watching us and grinning, as he rowed. Erol ran his knees under my buttocks, elevating my pelvis. Leaning over me, he groaned and I moaned as he penetrated me with his cock, worked to force it deep inside me, and began the rhythm of the fuck.

I had already fucked Onur. The two had come to my door after I'd had lunch with the rector of St. Andrews and returned to the Olive Tree. They wanted to show me more of the island. Cyprus had great beaches and the clear, blue waters of the Mediterranean. There were private beaches nearby, very private. We rode there on one motor bike, Onur nestled in behind Erol and I behind Onur as we took the beach road to the east of Kyrenia.

They were right. There were pristine beaches that we could have all to ourselves—beaches that were ringed for privacy by rock cliffs that marched right out into the water. The one we stopped at had water deep enough beyond its rock walls that we could safely dive off the tops of the cliffs into the water. We did it again and again, laughing and touching and prodding each other as we climbed the rock. And increasingly we took our time coming back onto the beach from the water, the three of us cavorting and wrestling with each other in the surf just off the beach—embracing, kissing, and fondling.

Erol had asked me if I'd like to take a boat out into the Mediterranean—that he knew of one he could borrow just up the road from this beach. I would be very happy to be able to look back at the island from a boat, I answered, and to test out his claim that the waters of the Mediterranean were so pure here that I could clearly see the bottom even in twenty feet of water.

Would Onur and I be OK without him for a half hour or so?

Surely, we could find something to do while he was gone, I'd answered. I fucked Onur on a towel on the beach, lying on top of him with the heels of his feet rubbing the backs of my calves and his fingers lightly running across my shoulder blades as I slid in and out in his sweet channel to the tune of my light grunts and his deep sighs.

And then it was my turn to be fucked by Erol in the boat when we'd gotten out into the sea, under the rowing power of Onur, sitting in the stern of the boat and grinning at us while Erol fucked me.

"Is it really true you are a priest?" Erol asked as we sat, our legs entwined, on towels on the beach near the rowboat we'd pulled up onto the sand.

"Yes, it's true," I answered. "I'm an Episcopal priest. I'm an elder, though, I'm not a monk. I've taken no pledge of celibacy. And my preferences are known by my bishop."

"I believe you've known many men," Erol said, giving me a sharp, sideways look.

"Probably more than I should have," I answered. I gave a laugh to soften that, but it was a dry laugh. I wasn't proud of my weakness.

"But as a priest you can perform weddings?" Onur spoke up for the first time.

"Yes, I can," I said.

The two looked at each other and Erol nodded his head. "Erol and I wish to be married. Our friends enjoy having wedding parties. We wish to do that too. We need someone to marry us, though. Would you marry us?"

"Marry you?" I asked, trying to hide my shock. "You're Turkish. Aren't you Muslims?"

"Yes, we are. We want our friends to know we are joined as much as they are to their wives. We know it will just be for show, but it will mean something to our friends and us. And we don't want to miss having the wedding party."

"But marriage is a commitment," I said. "Just here today, I've fucked you and Erol has fucked me. That isn't—"

"You haven't been in Kibris long, have you?" Erol asked, with a laugh. "Being married doesn't stop either the husband or the wife from fucking other people here. In Kibris we live to love and to enjoy ourselves to the fullest."

He had me there. You didn't have to be here in Cyprus—or Kibris, when you used the Turkish word for the island—to toss fidelity out the window for the sheer pleasure of it. There was quite enough of that going around in the States too. And what harm would it be to be part of their party? Everyone involved would know and accept that there was no religious sanction involved.

"I'll think about it. I don't know how long I'll be here on the island."

"We could put a party together fast," Onur said. He was looking at me with such hopefulness in his eyes and that I almost agreed on the spot. He had been such a sweet fuck.

"I'll think about it," I repeated. "Perhaps we should go back now."

"I don't think so. I don't think we go back yet," Erol said. His voice was low, thick, dripping in lust. His eyes read lust too.

We fucked in a chain. Onur was on all fours on the towels. I was crouched over him, my arms laced in to his chest, clutching his pecs, and fucking him like a dog. And Erol, in turn was standing behind me, grabbing my hips with his hands, and fucking me from the rear. Eventually, Erol readjusted his stance to where both he and I were shafting Onur's ass together. I had had two men inside me at once before; this was my first time to share a man with another, and it was a memorable sensation. We repeated the three-way progression in my room when we returned to the Olive Tree. I told them to let me know how soon they could put a wedding party together, but that I couldn't stay in Cyprus forever.

* * * *

Serhan Ceren had been a very private man and had spent much of his life outside of Cyprus, teaching at universities. Thus, there were very few people in attendance at his funeral at Saint Andrews and his internment in the church yard afterward. There were expatriate retirees and businessmen in Kyrenia who had known him, a few educated academics of mixed Turkish and European lineage, as he was, who taught at the university near Salamis on the east coast, and, of course, his house servants, who had been given the next few days off, his son told me, to have time to grieve and celebrate their employer's life.

And there was his son, Zeki, who came in a cream-colored suit that fit him like a glove.

"My father didn't like mourning or the color black," he said to me as we had a few words in the narthex before the service. "He always said he preferred the colors of life even in situations of death."

"I also recall that about him," I said. "Unfortunately, as an Episcopal priest, I am stuck with the color black and a white collar for services such as this."

"Oh, I'm quite pleased you are in clerical garb," Zeki said, as he took his hand from mine and walked up the aisle in the small stone church to take his place in front of the closed coffin. Leaning over, he whispered in my ear, "It makes my thoughts of what we might become involved in all the more arousing."

He moved away from me then, but not before squeezing one of my butt cheeks. If I ever thought I had fooled him in the level of my interest in him, I was the one who was the fool.

Seeing him in this setting made my heart ache and, I must admit, had an effect on other parts of my anatomy as well. He was so much like his father, in sensual looks and in his arousing smile, and even in the gait with which he walked, wide stanced, as if he had something unusually large between his thighs. I knew that, if he was anything like his father, he did. He was wearing a diaphanous white cotton shirt again today, and, with the deep natural tan of his three-quarters Turkish skin, his torso, hirsute, with black curly hair, and his prominent nipples, with rings in them, were easily discerned.

Halfway up the aisle, Zeki hesitated, stopped, turned, and walked back to where I was standing with the rector of Saint Andrew's.

"You do remember that you're coming back to my father's house afterward—that he left something he wanted to give to you? The house is just down the street here."

"Yes, I remember." And I certainly did. I had been wondering what Serhan could have left me. "I will be delayed, though, I'm afraid. There is more that is official that has to be done here after the internment."

"That will be perfect," he said.

I did a double take when I arrived and knocked on the double wooden doors of the traditional Turkish house. Leading straight back from the entrance door was an open-air tunnel that led back to the house's courtyard, which was faced on two sides by the L-shaped house proper—two stories, with a balconied verandah all around overlooking the courtyard. The courtyard was flagstoned, with lush tropical-plant gardens and a fountain. Divans with backs sat by the fountain, a sitting area with rattan armchairs was off to one side, and a patio table set was off the other.

This is where Zeki guided me. It's where we had been sitting, in the rattan armchairs, when I had previously visited. This time he guided me to one of the divans, though and sat beside me. What had made me do a double take at the entrance was that he had changed after coming back to the house. He now was wearing just some sort of billowy skirt affair. His torso, tanned, muscular, cut, and hirsute was bare. He was magnificent and I went hard.

He was moving fast. I was so aroused by him that I wouldn't be applying any brakes.

"I hope I'm not being too forward, but my father told me what you were to him at Georgetown University. I was surprised—but also interested, and, I must say, aroused—when I learned you were a priest."

"It doesn't disturb you that your father and I had a relationship? I would think that the son of a Muslim who was covering a priest would have concerns. Of course, I wasn't a priest at the time. I'm not even sure I intended to become one then. And your father was Muslim. I don't think it really occurred to either of us that—"

"No, it doesn't disturb me that my father fucked you. Let's call it what it is—he fucked you. He made you his fuck toy. And you wanted him to fuck you, didn't you?"

"Yes," I answered honestly.

"I want to fuck you too. Surely I have made that clear. The thought of seducing a priest arouses me and has had me nearly hyperventilating ever since I heard you were a priest. Of course, you are way beyond being seduced, but we can pretend. You want me inside you, don't you?"

The baldness of that hit me like a ton of bricks. I shuddered and he took my hand in his, intertwining the fingers and leaving the middle finger free to rub the palm of my hand. A chill went up my spine. He was sitting very close to me.

"I'm sorry," he continued. "Am I being too forward? Have I misjudged you? Your responses to me told me you were attracted to me. My father told me that you easily went under him and other men—that you enjoyed it. Am I misreading you?"

"No, you aren't misjudging me," I answered, my voice not much more than a croak. I moaned as one of his arms went around me and tipped me back as his lips came in to capture mine. His other hand went to my crotch, unzipped me, possessed my already-hard cock, and gently stroked it. I found that freeing his cock was just a matter of moving my hands in the folds of his diaphanous Turkish skirt. Gentle pressure on the back of my neck brought my face down to his lap, and I took the cock in my mouth and gave him head while he stroked me off.

When I sat back up, I moved to take off my collar and then would have taken off my clerical shirt, as well, but he reached out and stayed my hand. "No, I want to take you as a priest," he whispered.

He fucked me on the divan, with me three-quarters turned on my left side, with my right leg bent and flung across my body and Zeki stretched behind me, his thick, long cock working my channel and his right hand stroking my cock while my head rested in the crook of his left arm and he pulled my face around for his kisses.

He was an expert, knowing to pay attention to my prostate to heighten my arousal but also to mine my ass deep, reaching into the core of me and pulling the maximum passion out of me. He was as thick and long as his father had been—thicker than nearly every other man I had had inside me.

Afterward we lay there, not moving, Zeki not withdrawing from me, both of us knowing that it was just a momentary rest until we had both regained our strength and ardor to move with each other like we were long-time lovers—just as I had moved with his father, Serhan.

"Was this what your father had to give to me?" I asked in a whisper. "His son? If it is, there could have been no finer gift to me. You are a god in your own right, but you remind me so much of your father that I want to cry."

"We could cry together for my father," Zeki murmured. "He was a romantic. He would appreciate that. He also would appreciate your calling me his gift. I appreciate that too. I'm so glad I've seduced you. I am sorry I said you were beyond that."

"It didn't take much," I said, with a laugh.

"No, it didn't take much," he said. He reached up, undid my collar and removed it, pulled my shirt over my head, and moved his lips to one of my nipples as a hand clasped my cock in a loose grip, inviting me to move inside the sheathed fingers, which, moving my hips languidly, I did. "After what we just did—what you did in response—I don't want to think of you as a priest anymore. My father said it wouldn't take much—that you enjoyed sex immensely."

"Your father was my first. I moved deeper into it after him."

"Obviously," he said, and laughed again. "But no, that's not his gift to you. His gift is this house, and a stipend to maintain it. He hoped that you would keep the house servants on until they wished to leave."

"This house?" I exclaimed, pulling away from him and sitting up. But he just pulled me back down into his embrace with a low laugh. "We're not finished here," he growled.

It was a good thing I'd given in to him so easily and quickly. He was a powerful man. I'm sure he could just take what he wanted whether or not it was granted to him. Not a problem with me. I would give him anything he wanted. "It's a grand house. Surely you are the one who should have it."

Zeki laughed again. "I have houses of my own and all the financial means I require. It will mean more to me that you come here from time to time—and that, when you do, you lie under me and let me have my way with you."

"I could deny you nothing," I answered.

"You will perhaps stay then?"

"At least for the foreseeable future," I said. "Life has become more complicated than I really want to face in the States, and, perhaps more important, I find I have a wedding to perform here, and I don't have a date for that yet. But if you aren't going to be here, in this house—"

Zeki smiled down into my face, kissed me, and showed that we were about to float up to heaven again. Which we did after he spoke again. "I said I had other houses, not that I had to sleep in them rather than here—and one of them is just across the wall from this one."