New York is Where I'd Rather StaybyPlayWithFire©
This draft completed early January 2007
*This is a work of fiction, blah blah blah. Any resemblances to reality are purely coincidental, blah blah blah.
Smoke curled upwards from the man's cigar like a wayward sailboat at sea. A glass of tea sat in front of him, ornamented with a lemon. Slowly he raised the cigar to his lips and took a deep drag, held the smoke in his mouth for several long seconds, and released it in a long, steady stream.
"Omir?" a voice speaking in Turkish called from the corridor outside the dark study where the man was seated.
"Yes," was the man's terse reply.
"It is I, Ertan."
Omir titled his head slightly in acknowledgement. He set his cigar down in an ashtray and followed the other man's movements with his eyes. Ertan inched his way toward where Omir was seated. He lowered himself so that he was level with Omir. A slight smile formed on Ertan's face.
"I really cannot help but notice that you seem less than exalted to see me," he said slowly as a nervous laugh escaped him. Omir said nothing. Ertan cleared his throat and tried again.
"You know, as charming as you are when you're silent and scowling, you really do have a lovely smile. Do you think you could put it on display for me?"
Again, Omir was silent. Ertan arose, and said "Right. Be seeing you."
He started to walk away, but he stopped when Omir spoke. "Wait. Don't go away. I'm sorry, darling—I really would like to speak to you."
Ertan turned around and faced Omir.
"You know I love you," Omir began slowly. "You must know that. I love you more than anyone or anything." He sighed. "But I've taken on a new case that's put me in the constant company of a man that I work with. I…I think I'm falling for him, Ertan!" Omir leaned forward and, with his elbows on his desk, buried his face in his hands.
For several moments neither man spoke. Ertan once again made his way over to where Omir was seated. This time, however, he did not lower himself to be level with the seated Omir. He towered over the other man. With the full impact of Omir's words having hit him, he began to speak impassionedly.
"What are you telling me, Omir? You say you love me more than anything, yet you're willing to toss me aside for another man you've just met? Is that what you're telling me?" He was shouting now, gesticulating in ways that he wasn't even aware of.
Omir looked up and stared his lover full in the face. "Never, Ertança, never. That is never what I would say nor do to you. By Allah, you must know that I would never leave you for another man."
Ertan stared at the floor, his fists clenched at his sides. Also clenched were his buttocks and his innards, although he was not at all aware of this. "Then suppose you tell me," he hissed, "what you are telling me."
Omir arose from his chair and took Ertan's fists. He unclenched them and intertwined Ertan's fingers with his own. He looked deeply into Ertan's eyes and gazed at him intently until Ertan could not possibly look away.
"All I'm saying is that I want you to meet this man. I'm almost positive he's homosexual. If you like him and he agrees, maybe we can invite him over one night and hopefully, you know…"
"We can fuck him senseless?" Ertan finished for him. He let out an incredulous laugh. "I can't believe you. I simply cannot believe you. This is…" He sighed. "This is one hell of a proposal that you're springing on me. I just don't know…."
"It would only be after I fuck you senseless," Omir replied, giving Ertan a peck on the lips. "Why not just give him a try? You know he would never in any way take your place. No one possibly could after twenty-three years." Ertan smiled, and tears began to fill his eyes and fall down his cheeks. The two men embraced and held each other tightly for at least a minute. Then they walked out of the study arm in arm.
Later that evening the two were hunched over an evening meal of pilav. Seated close together in the dining room's leather booth, they exchanged bites from each other's plates and related tales of each one's day. It was not long before the talk got around to the man Omir had mentioned. This time their language had switched to English.
"So tell me about this fellow," Ertan said. "What's he look like? Nice guy?"
"He's Hungarian," Omir said. "His name is Bolyai. Gabor Bolyai. He's a bit short, but quite good-looking. Nice smile, and a really nice arse—I'm sure his hole is nice and tight. I work with him on my current account, the one with Prendergast & Sons. I think you'll like him, Ertan. I've gotten to know him pretty well both on the case and when we take cigarette breaks. He's very sweet."
"Oh yes, he certainly does sound sweet," Ertan chortled. "In fact, I'm not sure I can even handle so much…sweetness. I just might suffer a diabetic stroke."
Omir put his fork down and stared at Ertan in surprise. "You're still angry."
"Shouldn't I be?" Ertan said evenly.
"I've already told you that you have nothing to be upset about. I told you that no matter what, I'll always love you the most."
Ertan sighed. "Yes, I know, my love. It's just that, well, we've had something so solid for all these years. In twenty-three years only several times have you even looked at another man, much less considered bringing one home to me. Now all of a sudden you meet some fellow at work who just happens to have a nice arse, and you fall head over heels in lust. It's just not like you, Omir."
Omir slipped his hand inside Ertan's. "I know how you feel, Ertança. I realize that this must seem jarring. But why don't you wait until you meet Bolyai? If things don't go well with him or if you decide you don't feel comfortable then I'll tell him to exit our lives and never come to our home again."
Omir sipped from his cup of coffee the next morning at work. He was in the process of typing up a fifteen-page brief when Gabor Bolyai stepped into his cubicle.
"I'm sorry to bother you since you look so busy, but I needed your advice," Gabor said in his lovely Hungarian accent, smiling sheepishly.
Omir turned around and smiled. "I'll do the best I can."
"I need to submit a preliminary brief to Angela, but I am not sure where to start with the particulars of the Prendergast case. You seem to have that knowledge on hand, and I was wondering if you could share with me the details that I am in the dark about."
Omir was baffled, but truth be told, any moment that he was in Gabor Bolyai's company was a moment worth spending. He was not sure where to begin—the intimate details of the case were not well known to him either—but he prattled along the best he could. Gabor was sitting next to him, taking notes. The two men were close enough that their knees were touching. Omir's heart was racing slightly, and a feverish feeling was spreading to his loins. He wondered if Gabor was even aware of the effect that he was having on him, much less if the feeling was in any way mutual. Omir was pretty sure that Gabor was gay, and while Gabor was very friendly to him, Omir had not received any signals that Gabor was attracted to him sexually. Omir continued to talk, but he was no longer even aware of what he was saying. Nearly every aspect of his attention was focused on Gabor: his delicate hand writing notes in a small, neat print, his brow furrowed with concentration, his curly light-brown hair with the cute little lock gracing his forehead, his sparkling blue eyes, his round, youthful cheeks, and his lovely mouth with his well-formed lips. Whenever he smiled, dimples formed on both sides of his mouth. He was beautiful.
Omir's spell was broken when Gabor tittered and said, "You're trailing off." Omir shook his head and cleared his throat. "Sorry," he muttered, thoroughly embarrassed. He felt like such a fool. Here he was, lusting openly after Gabor, and now Gabor was fully aware of it. What would the younger man think?
His fears were quickly dashed by the continuing grin on Gabor's face. The dimples in his cheeks stood out prominently on his beautiful face. "You like me, don't you?" he whispered impishly.
"I haven't made it too obvious, have I?" Omir asked hesitantly, with a nervous laugh.
Gabor returned the laugh. "My mother always advised my sister to be careful about Turkish men. I guess she never realized that I was the one she should have been warning."
Omir suddenly turned serious as he gazed deeply into Gabor's eyes. "You know that I have a lover whom I've been faithful to for many, many years."
"Yes, I think I've seen him. Tall fellow, mustache?"
"Yes. His name is Ertan, and I have every intention of remaining faithful to him. He comes first to me. But I was wondering if you would like to come to our home and get to know the two of us. I've talked it over with him, and he would like to meet you."
Gabor was silent for some time. At last his eyes lit up and he said, "You know, this was a lot more than I was expecting when I came to you for advice." His face broke into a smile, perfect white teeth on display for Omir. "I would love to go home with you and spend an evening with you and your lover."
Omir was elated. Without thinking, he put his arms around Gabor's shoulders, pulling him close and kissing him on the mouth. Gabor reacted with surprise, then laughed. All Omir could think was, I don't know how I am going to wait until day's end to hold him in my arms and be inside his asshole.
The day had been cold, and it was even colder now. Gabor Bolyai warmed his hands in the hot air that flowed from the heating vent. The two men didn't speak much in the heavy traffic that Omir was carefully navigating his 1999 Chevy Chrysler through.
"Where do you live?" Gabor asked.
"East of the city, in a township called Manhasset."
Gabor considered this information. "I live about in an apartment in Hell's Kitchen. It's noisy, but there's no shortage of life."
The lights of the city and the traffic illuminated the two men's faces. Otherwise, the evening was as gray as an iron slate. Some forty minutes later, Omir pulled into the long driveway of the sprawling ranch-style home that he and Ertan shared. Ertan's blue Porsche sat outside the garage. A wave of nervousness suddenly came upon Omir. What if Ertan changed his mind about the whole thing? He hadn't exactly been ecstatic about the endeavor. It was only after much needling on Omir's part that he was able to convince Ertan to go along with it. What if Ertan didn't share Omir's feelings for Gabor? That's just a risk I'm going to have to take, Omir decided as he parked his car next to Ertan's and got out. Gabor also got out, and Omir took his arm and led him into the house.
The house was warm, and this was most welcome to the two men. Omir led Gabor to the living room, where Ertan was seated on a divan drinking a warm mug of anise. Omir told Gabor, "I'd like you to meet Ertan Kesgin, the love of my life. Ertança, this is Gabor Bolyai."
Ertan rose to his feet and stared at Gabor. Gabor's eyes shifted to the ground, and he was blushing slightly. He knew he was being appraised and it made him uncomfortable. After what felt like an eternity the sides of Ertan's mouth rose in a small smile, and he took Gabor's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, saying, "It's very nice to meet you."
Gabor looked up at Ertan and smiled shyly, dimples gracing his cheeks. "Have you gentlemen eaten yet?" Ertan asked them. Both men shook their heads.
"I am pleased to hear that, as I have prepared a small meal for the three of us." Omir still had hold of one of Gabor's arms, and Ertan gently took the other one. They led the Hungarian man through the hallway and into the dining room. Gabor felt slightly like he was being held prisoner by these two delightful, handsome Turks; it was a feeling that left him feverish and tingling in the groin. He was so hot under the collar that he had no appetite for food. Nevertheless, he took the place that Ertan had set for him at the table and sat down to eat.
The three men chatted amongst themselves during supper, with Omir and Ertan doing the bulk of the talking. Gabor watched his two hosts intently, trying to get a feel for each of them. They were both equally handsome in their own ways. He knew Omir better and felt more comfortable with him, but he was happy to see that Ertan had warmed to him. He picked at his food idly. It tasted very good, but he wasn't at all hungry. Ertan had served warm Darjeeling, and Gabor drank his down. It had a very pleasant taste and he found it highly invigorating. The house was very exotic in both its design and its décor, and to Gabor's eyes it took on an almost sterile look; if not for its central heating he would have considered it ice cold. But centrally heated it was, and this along with the hot tea and his charming hosts were making him feel cozy and right at home.
At last Ertan and Omir got up from their seats and began clearing away their places. Gabor followed suit, carrying his plate and mug into the kitchen. Ertan stood at the sink, rinsing the dishes and placing them into the dishwasher. Gabor thanked his hosts for the meal and inquired after a rest room. He wanted to freshen up.
After having used the toilet, he splashed water onto his face and opened the mirror cabinet. Having found what he was looking for—a bottle of cologne—he spruced himself up and combed his hair. He made his way back to his hosts, who were still in the kitchen waiting for him. After exchanging a few pleasantries, Omir and Ertan led Gabor into the master bedroom. They slipped off their shoes and left them outside the door. Almost the instant they were inside the bedroom, Omir pushed Gabor onto the bed and began undressing him. Ertan climbed onto the bed and began unbuttoning Gabor's shirt while simultaneously peeling off his own clothes.
Gabor's head was reeling at the speed with which all of this was occurring. He wanted to tell the two older men to slow down a little, but he didn't dare say a word. This was just too exciting. His heart was racing so fast and so hard that he was afraid it would burst out of his chest. Omir had removed Gabor's pants by now, and Ertan was working on his shirt. When he had at last doffed the shirt, Ertan snaked his head around to the front of Gabor's chest and began flicking at his nipples with his tongue. A tortured moan escaped Gabor. Omir pushed him further up onto the bed, and he began to remove Gabor's underwear. He did it so slowly and deliberately that Gabor felt like screaming. Not surprisingly, Omir saw that Gabor's cock was rock-hard and fully erect. Omir and Ertan removed the last vestiges of their own clothing, and Omir climbed onto the bed to join the other two.
Gabor was lying in Ertan's lap, his legs splayed out in front of the two of them. Ertan had his arms around Gabor's chest, holding him firmly in place; his fingers played with Gabor's nipples tantalizingly. Omir positioned himself between Gabor's legs, and holding them down with his elbows, he leaned forward and took Gabor's hard cock into his mouth. Gabor almost shrieked with pleasure. After nearly a minute of bobbing his head up and down Gabor's cock and taking him all the way down his throat, Omir lifted his head and issued Ertan a silent instruction. Ertan nodded, and he and Omir lifted Gabor up and maneuvered him so that Ertan had Gabor's buttocks over his face. Ertan used his hands to part Gabor's cheeks and he began tonguing his anus, gently at first and then with more force, probing his tongue deeper and deeper inside the puckered entry. Gabor was whimpering and crying out like a puppy. Omir continued delivering him a blowjob while Ertan tongue-fucked him, and at last Gabor screamed at the top of his lungs as his cock twitched and come spurted out into Omir's mouth and down his throat. His passageway clenched repeatedly around Ertan's tongue. Gabor was now sighing and breathing heavily, and tears were forming in his eyes. That was the best orgasm he had ever had in his thirty-eight years on the planet.
Omir finished swallowing down Gabor's semen, then he licked all the excess come off of Gabor's cock. He lifted his head and kissed Gabor deeply and passionately. Tears continued falling down Gabor's cheeks. He was so overwhelmed and so, so happy. He could taste himself in Omir's mouth, and for some reason he found this erotic as hell. Omir broke the kiss and took Gabor's face into his hands, caressing him gently and wiping away the tears.
"How long has it been since you've had someone love you like this?" he asked Gabor tenderly.
Gabor sniffled. "I, well, um, I…" he tried to say but found that he couldn't.
"That's what I suspected," Omir replied. He resumed kissing Gabor and then realized that he was neglecting Ertan.
Gabor wiped away the last of his tears and watched, fascinated, as Omir and Ertan cradled and caressed one another, all the while speaking huskily in Turkish. Omir bent down between Ertan's legs and began administering to Ertan what Gabor could only imagine was as exquisite a blowjob as the one he had just received. Ertan was making little keening sounds, approaching closer and closer to climax. Gabor watched as Omir slipped a finger inside Ertan's anus, and this proved to be the last straw for Ertan. He cried out, arching his back, and Omir once again began swallowing. He roved his tongue up and down Ertan's cock, following its every crease and contour, licking away every last trace of semen just as he had done with Gabor.
All of this was making Gabor exceedingly hot all over again. His cock was hardening and his breathing was becoming heavy. He felt a sudden desire, no, a need for one of their cocks inside him. Luckily enough that was just what Omir had in mind at that very moment. Omir took Gabor by the shoulders and pushed him onto his back in a manner that was both tender and forceful. Ertan took hold of his arms and held them tightly, effectively pinning him down. Omir got up and rummaged through the drawer of the nightstand. He produced a container of lubricant and returned to the bed. He applied the lube to his huge, erect cock and to Gabor's hole with glistening fingers. Then he lifted Gabor's legs and hooked them over his shoulders so that they were draping them. He scooted himself forward, his lubricated cock poking Gabor's bottom, and Gabor was about to go out of his mind with excitement.
Omir slipped his hands underneath Gabor's buttocks and gripped them tightly as he lined his cock up against Gabor's hole and slowly pushed. The head of Omir's cock penetrated Gabor's anus, and Gabor yelped. It had been a long time since someone had done this to him and a burning pain coursed through him; it was almost unbearable, and once again tears pricked at his eyes, this time of agony rather than euphoria.
"Oh, god," he sputtered. "Oh god, it hurts."
Omir and Ertan both tried to comfort him. "Just relax and give it some time," Omir soothed. "It will feel better in a moment," Ertan assured him.
Omir continued to slowly push himself in, with Gabor still writhing in pain. While Omir reveled in the glorious tightness and warmth surrounding his cock, Gabor only wished that he could free himself of Omir's cock, despite his intense desire for sex. But slowly, very slowly, the pain did indeed ease, and a feeling of sheer heaven gradually took its place. Omir's cock in his tight arse felt so incredibly good, so incredibly good that Gabor thought he really had died and gone to heaven. As soon as it was clear to Omir that Gabor felt comfortable enough for him to proceed, he pulled his cock out and thrust back in. He did this over and over and over again, increasing the tempo bit by bit. Ertan still had Gabor's arms shackled with his own, but he scooted forward so that his fingers were able to tease Gabor's nipples. Gabor was in a state of absolute ecstasy; so was Omir, who found that being inside Gabor was every bit as wonderful as he had imagined.