Switching Sides Ch. 05

His English was quite good; his apology seemed genuine. He wasn't the least bit cocky and his response to my direction had been submissive.

"You didn't tell me you didn't live in Izmir. And your name isn't Jemal either, is it?" For some reason I needed something more direct from him. His story was plausible, but he might just have had a better offer last night. He claimed to be new to this, but I wasn't sure of that now either.

"No, sorry," he said. I could sense a hint of desperation in him. He wanted to make this work. "My name is Serhan. Serhan Macar."

"And are you really a college graduate? And is there really a lawyer to work for up there in . . ."

"Seluk."

"In Seluk? You don't make enough up there that you don't have to come down to make money in Izmir from letting men fuck you?" I could believe from his excellent English and his demeanor that he was a college graduate, though.

"Yes, I went to college. I have a teachers' certificate. That's what I do in Seluk. I teach in a school. And that's why I said I was from Izmir and wanted to meet here . . . because I teach children in a school. And I am just beginning at this. And I have to go far from Seluk if I am going to be meeting with men. Teachers make almost nothing. I want a car—so I won't have to worry about the bus to Izmir breaking down."

We both laughed at that. It had broken the ice.

"And so, you will lay with me for 300 lira an hour?" I asked.

"Yes, if you have the place."

"For as many hours as I want?"

He hesitated on that, but then said, "Yes. If you don't beat me."

I didn't beat him in my hotel room, but I fucked him into the afternoon, and he stayed with me, responding to and submitting to all of the positions I put him into.

He stripped and let me take photos of him in provocative poses first. That had been part of the deal and he'd said he didn't care as long as it was covered in the pay-for-time coverage and the photos would be for private collectors far from here. I was careful not to photograph his face. To make it fair, I stripped down while I was taking the photos and we did some fooling around between photos, so we were both in heat and hard by the time I put the camera aside, sat on the edge of the bed, spread my thighs, and ran my hands into the curls of the hair on his head as he sank between my knees and took my cock in his mouth.

When we got to the fuck—to the fucks—he was quite willing and malleable and showed that he knew what he was doing. I was pleased to discover that the armoire at the side of the bed had a large mirror on the inner surface of its door. I didn't have to adjust the position of the bed much to have the mirror centered on the bed. I got more use of my camera, and Serhan went with the flow. I'd brought a tripod and a lead with a clicker on it, and I was able to position the camera in each position that I took the young man in and photographed in a way that neither the camera nor his face showed.

I played for the interesting poses. I placed him in a missionary position, with Serhan on his back, head toward the armoire, legs raised and spread, and me hunched over him between his flared legs, my fists in the mattress on either side of his chest, and pounding his ass. Then I turned him in place and fucked him doggie style, with him looking up into the camera, a gaze of pained pleasure on his face as I took him from behind. My favorite pose was of Serhan kneeling, upright, on the bed, facing the mirror, and leaning back into me as I knelt and covered him from behind, holding him close into my chest, kissing him as he turned his face toward mine, and with one arm embracing his chest and the hand of the other one stroking him off in the rhythm of the fuck.

Later, as we moved into the early afternoon, we slept, entwined in each other's embrace, both exhausted, but I woke before he did, gingerly rose from the bed, and snapped off more stills of Serhan in post-coital repose. I respected his request not to show his face, though.

I took him back down to the café for a late lunch. We were both ravenous from the energetic exercise we had gotten.

"What do you think?" he looked across the table at me and asked after we'd ordered.

"What do I think about what?"

"Was that it? Was that all?" I'd paid him 1,000 lira before we'd come down to the café. I wanted him to be assured that he'd be paid. He might have taken that as the final settling, I then realized.

"It can be all we do if that's what you want," I answered. "But I would like to continue it longer today. And I would like to see you again, if . . ." I was holding my breath. I really liked him, and not just because he was a great lay. I thought I might be able to have feelings for him.

"Yes, I'd like that," he answered. And I was able to let my breath out.

"This afternoon, I thought we might go to the beach. I'm told that there are beaches at the end of the Cesme Peninsula . . . that a beach out there was available to nude bathing . . . to gays."

"That's a long way away," he said. "It would take at least an hour by car."

"I have a car."

"I'm not sure we could return to Izmir early enough for me to catch the last bus to Seluk. I must teach at the school tomorrow."

"I could drive you to Seluk. I live in a village not far from Kusadasi. You would be almost on my way to my own home. And the next time we meet, I could pick you up and take you to Kizlay Haber. I have a place there where we could have privacy."

"The next time," Serhan said, giving me a dreamy smile. "That sounds so inviting."

There were a few men on the Cesme beach—couples mostly—but a few young, muscular men cruising the beach, looking for hookups. I was stretched over Serhan's body, on a towel, fucking him when one of these men came over, crouched down beside us, and watched. I had taken photos of Serhan, naked, coming out of the surf, before we fucked, and that had caught the young Turkish stud's attention as well.

This time Serhan volunteered that the photos could include his face.

Serhan had said it would be OK if I took photos of the other Turkish guy fucking him if it was OK with me, and so I got more good photos for my portfolio of the stud fucking Serhan on the towel after I'd done so.

Serhan was a perfect submissive. He did whatever I asked him to do and he was a beautiful young man. I wanted to do everything with and to him.

I now had two men of my own, men I hadn't hooked up with through Cemil Teke and thus always have the fear that the flamboyant lawyer was manipulating and controlling me.

Life would be good. I could feel it. I almost felt content . . . almost. There still, though, was something inside me that yearned for what I saw the Gaylords Inn owners, Alex Renard and Sean Temple and Peter Phillips and Ergon Seljek as well, had back in Cape May—a full partnership. Something more than an occasional getting myself off with another man, no matter how arousing Haluk Badem and Serhan Macar were, each in his own way.