Turkish Delight

I could say, he's being fucked, but I'm not fucking him; I'm practically still, in awe of his sweet heat and his persistence in the pursuit of fucking great sex.

He's staring into my eyes now, a gasp, a grin, and a big shared smile as we both know this is really good and we'll be doing it again, but this first time it's all a bit emotional. For both of us -- I knew he wanted to get over his reticence, but I wasn't expecting him to achieve it so quickly. Guess I shouldn't judge everyone by my own standards of being a right fucked up creature.

"You're amazing," I tell him.

"I know," he breathes back at me. "Now, will you move already? Careful, like, not bashing my guts out? Move!" He's trying to rock against me as he says it.

His wish is my command, at least in this game. I slide an inch in, inch out, a bit more, until I can't take it any more and I come like a rocket, his smirking face watching me all the while.

He's still got his great long erection, but he won't let me touch it as I collapse in his arms.

"That was all right, wasn't it?" he asks. Understatement of the year.

"More than. Always knew you had a wonderful sweet arse."

"Looks like I can just about remember how to use it, an' all. Best test it thoroughly, check I've got a prostate and that. Once you've recovered. I'll make you a tea."

It's a crying shame I can't get hard again in two minutes like I used to, but equally I'm not wasting my first stiffy in two minutes neither, so I suppose it balances out. It's about half an hour when I put my mug aside to concentrate on him again.

"So tell me, how do you want it? I recall you saying you'd never been one for a hammering?"

"Nah. That's your department. Somewhere in between, I suppose. Nice long teasing strokes are good -- shut up, your cock's plenty long enough for it! Bit of the old in-out. Come on, explore..."

He goes on all fours this time, but he keeps looking over his shoulder. I get my cock in him, but it occurs to me -- this is probably the position that those careless cunts used, all 'straight' in denial, not wanting to see his wonderful face. I'm just pulling out, wondering how to explain, when he gets there before me.

"Nah. I'm turning over." He does, doing a shoulder-stand to get a pillow under his arse, then his feet over my shoulders. His sweet pink cock is sticking up, balls hanging down all bumpy and pornographic. It's exactly the sight to firm me up again.

"Well, go on, then! You're a filthy great queer; you love a bum-boy, don't you? Get that gorgeous cock up me arse!"

So many compliments... I do what he commands.

It's amazing. I swear he's a furnace inside; he's heating my cock something fierce, wanting it, purring as he clenches it, so tight it's hard work for me to push back every time I slip half-out, but I'm happily doing it because apart from how good it is for me, every time I slide past a certain point, he's whimpering and gibbering in the most glorious way.

He's even better than I ever dreamed. Sweaty, squirming and desperate for it.

His face contorts and he howls. I should have expected it, but there's a jet of salty come shot straight into my chest. I slick my hair back with it and lick my fingers, then slosh more onto my other hand and cover his face in it. He loves the stuff -- the smell, the taste, and of course it's hot and wet.

As Dan stretches his tongue to lick up more of his own cum, I fire off myself inside him.

This won't be the only time. Just knowing that, knowing that he isn't some pick-up I'll never see again, is so, so good.

He grins at me, tired, emotional, but proud of himself. I'm so proud of him, too.

He exceeds my expectations further. "Can we go back to the Turkish bath tomorrow? Maybe spend some more time with those lads?"

"Water baby."

"Yeah. Your point?"

"Never knew it was possible to have a fetish for warm water, until I met you."

"Yeah, well, you can teach an old dog new tricks... get off, you old bastard!"

I stop poking his stomach, manage to sneak in one slap on his muscly little arse. "You, love, all wet and hard -- quite happy to see that again."

"You came to Istanbul to see the sights, right?"

*

The baths don't open until the afternoon, so next morning we cross the Bosphorus to the Asian side, and take a surprised taxi up steep neglected streets to the Tiled Mosque. It's supposed to be a hidden gem off the tourist trail.

You can tell this is a much poorer district, houses all in need of paint and maintenance, but the grassy garden round the little mosque is a delight, as are the old men in the wee café shed who riffle through Dan's phrasebook, point at words and manage to explain the prayer service will be over soon. In the meantime, they foist apple tea upon us. If they had the language, they'd be trying to sell us a carpet. Actually, that's not stopping them -- they've found the right page and I recognise the word 'kilim', but we feign ignorance. The whole nation is rug-obsessed.

The young imam turns out to be from Bradford, so has a whale of a time catching up on English news -- even if arch-rivals Leeds are still far surpassing Bradford's footie success. And of course he can tell us all about the mosque in fluent English, or at least Yorkshire, so close enough. He even takes us up gilded marble steps to the gallery behind the minbar where he stands to do the preacher bit, so we can get closer to the dome, all the ceramic Iznik tiles of the entire interior glowing in the sunshine, sapphire blue and indigo and gold. It's a bit like being inside one of those tiled Alpine wood-stoves, surreal with bright colours all around us.

"Who needs to take E?" Dan murmurs in my ear. Taking acid was probably the nearest experience I had. The whole colourful shabang is designed to appeal to those parts of the brain, like Aldous Huxley explained in Doors of Perception, comparing mescaline to the effects of mediaeval stained-glass windows. I'd have hung out here too if I didn't have alcohol or drugs nor willing cock.

"What are you guys up to next?" the imam asks, over another obligatory tea.

"It looks like rain. Figured we might go for a Turkish bath and massage again, seeing as this is supposed to be a relaxing wee break for us."

"Aye? Enjoy. Which one are you going to? I can't recommend the big one in Sultanahmet -- there's always a right pong of fish from the bored staff cooking lunch in the changing rooms -- they have camping gas stoves in there with them -- and the lads working there are right hustlers, ripping off the tourists! First they try to get you to pay for extras, then they demand money not to molest you! I had to have a right go at them, when I took some mates, once."

"No, our hotel recommended a nice little place, further north," Dan assures him.

The guy nods, picking his vestments off the floor. "Tell me. Are you two a couple, like?"

I guess we didn't look disgusted enough about getting propositioned in a bath-house. Dan looks at me, I glance at him. We're both weighing up our chances against him and his Dad's Army crew.

"What if we were?" Dan asks.

"So, yeah, then?" He shrugs, like he should be in a zip-up hoodie, not robes. He must be younger than Dan. "Sura 5:48, man. That's 'let only Allah judge.' Nowt to do with me; I don't care. We're not in the sticks, here, y'know?"

"Judge not, lest thou thyself be judged," I murmur.

"Exactly. Your translation's better, on that one. Eh, thanks for coming out to my wee masjid -- mosque. We don't get many tourists crossing the river. Enjoy your baths. Like, yeah... um..." He's not endorsing fucking around, which is fine; the kid's a fucking priest, but a decent one. "Have you had a chance to buy a proper Turkish carpet yet?"

I lie and say we're all sorted for rugs. He denies that's ever possible. Apparently everyone needs a new carpet, even him...

Back at the hotel, Altan confirms we can get the same guys in the baths again, so he books us in. He tries to book us in to see lots of fine carpets, too, but we turn that down. Just time for a quick lunch before getting naked and steamy again.

There's only two other guys in the cavernous steam hall. Dan's lad goes and talks to them. Presumably he's saying, 'these guys are open-minded and queer as fuck, don't hold back,' because they both glance over to us, then to each other, and are lying side by side fisting each other's cocks before we know it.

We chill out in the warmth, breathing slower, shoulders easing, the tension from too much computer work virtually gone. Lying around nude in this temperature is great -- even with the heating on, it's not something we'd be doing at home this time of year, except when buried under the duvet. Here, I can look at my lush ride -- the gorgeous man I get to have sex with -- with nothing stopping me copping an eyeful of all of him from head to foot.

Six foot of naked man, just unselfconsciously lying beside me. The other nude chaps in the background just add to the view.

I don't think I could ever get bored of looking at him. Amazingly, in over a year he hasn't got bored of me, either.

I yawn and take his hand. He rests his hand on my thigh, a sneaky finger poking me to stiffness. He's semi-hard already.

We could do something about that. Or we could just lie here and daydream as clouds rush overhead, making the shards of light coming in fade momentarily to grey. Choices, choices...

Then our lads come to soap us up, thoroughly.

It's so good. Perhaps even better this time, because we know what's happening. And because the two guys are smiling even more at us all through. And especially when they decide they're off the clock and let us remove those wet shorts.

Two sets of muscly bronze legs, arses, torsos and arms, decorating the place nicely. We're still in the main room, so the other two customers get the bonus view too. One wolf-whistles. They don't seem to want to join in; given our example, they're quite happy with each other. I lie with my chin propped on my forearms and give our lads an easy smile.

"No touching his arsehole, right?" Dan's guy calls over to me, in German.

"Correct," I confirm. "Enjoy his mouth, his cock..."

Dan perks up at 'sein Schwanz'. Obviously he's remembering the dirty words. "What you sayin', about my cock?"

"Recommending it, you gay tart. And just saying you don't want to get fucked. Er will nicht gefickt werden."

Dan thinks for a minute, then manages to produce his own German phrase. "Nur mit ihn." He points at me. "Only with him."

It's the first time Dan's spoken a foreign language, apart from sounding out phrasebook sentences. I'm well impressed. Who needs accurate dative-case, anyhow? But I'm delighted that he's clearly willing to have me again; touched, even.

His guy leaves off fondling his lovely round bum to ask about what I like, though his mate is figuring me all out, thoroughly and fast.

"Me? Everything. Alles." He's got my cock in hand and I'm reaching for his.

"As much as possible," I add.

Between the three of them, they make it happen.

"He loves getting fucked," Dan says sweetly, and his bloke repeats it in Turkish, making my guy nod, pleased to have the confirmation. Then Dan adds, enjoying himself, "but he's a wonderful cocksucker, too. You should see him deep-throating like he was born to it! Go on, Ade, prove it to the nice men..."

I consider sticking up a middle finger at my cheeky fella, but he's not wrong. I shift my masseur off me so I can swing round on the wet platform, sliding easily through the water on the marble, and bring my head near his crotch.

I don't think either of them quite understood what Dan said about my fellating skills, so let's demonstrate.

My demo model: this solid rock of a man standing before me, nude, his hairy chest slicked flat with all the water around, his groin still got coarse hair springing up but his reddish cock starting to rise from the black curls when I reach my hand to it from below. It stands up even more when I lower my head to it from above.

I'm sitting comfortably, feet on the floor, left arm curled round his carved muscular arse as I push up just in front of his pendulous balls, pushing his cock up to my licked lips so I can get his wide rounded head into mouth without too much hair. Then I try sleeking down his pubes with a handful of water, which works well enough. He's tasty, worked up a sweat, not obsessively clean which I kinda like cos I'm a bit disgusting like that. The faintest hint of cigarettes and whatever deodorant the guy uses, slight bumpy texture like the peel of an orange, not waxy. I mean, it's a good cock-head, bit rough round the ridge, some veins to run my tongue over on the shaft, some fun wee wrinkles in the skin there. I push the hair down under my chin and get stuck in.

His cock sticking into the back of my mouth, more like. It's not really long enough to trouble my throat, but it just gets wider and wider near the base so I'm stretching my lips round it, opening my jaw wide like I'm wearing a ball gag, starting to drool out the corners of my mouth. Not had that problem, really, since I was desperate to forget about my life. Now, spit on my face is all part of the fun. Still, here there's plenty of warm water to rinse my face as I draw him that half-inch further into my mouth, tongue shaving him wetly, me swallowing over his tip so he feels the pressure all round. He likes my tongue under his shaft, so I keep doing that, exaggerating my slight gagging noises cos that usually turns guys on. Dan likes it, anyhow, though with him it's for real, with his length passing my tonsils easily.

To my side I can see Dan reclining against the centre column with the fountain, his legs apart in front of him, his guy leaning on Dan's side, both of them with a hand on the others cock. They're watching me, with regular quick glances at the dicks they're holding, enjoying seeing how I'm taking this great thick cock root between my sweet pink lips. I put one hand on his hanging balls, large and purplish, squeezing the empty top of his sack. He moans, and ups the speed of his juddering against the roof of my mouth.

Nothing like hearing those sexy noises from a man you're getting down and dirty with. Dan used to worry that I only wanted to go with other men to prove I could get them -- he wasn't wrong at the time that that was uppermost on my mind, neither -- but I also wanted other men for all the reasons I love sex with him -- that great filthy strain on the jaw, that meaty man taste, the wonder of a guy tensing, trying not to, but coming in your mouth... and that's just the oral sex and giving it! Of course, he's got that wit and personality that means I'm sticking to his side no matter what, me having fallen like a rocket for the lanky sod, but he and I are of one mind on this: we like fucking men. We do it together, and it's brilliant.

The guy I'm sucking is about to lose it, despite his efforts to hold off. Dan's got a wee smile, like he's proud of me, while his mate's eyes are glued to my face, open wide. It happens -- my cocksucking recipient comes, thick and white in my mouth. I can swallow about half of it, so we get some wee bubbles that merge with the water flowing round us as his spunk flows out my mouth. I push him out of my mouth with my tongue over his slit -- he sighs -- and another jerk sends more jizz onto my chest.

I wipe it up, drinking a bit out of my palm, and offer the rest to Dan to lick up.

He beams at me. "Lovely. Aren't you a clever boy?"

I raise an eyebrow and glare. Then I give in and laugh. "I am. And you know it."

"Yeah. You sound like a smart-arse needing to get fucked."

Fair, on both counts.

The Turkish guys are trying to follow our conversation, eyes flicking back and forth tennis-match style, looking at each other slightly nervously, though my happy chap couldn't really care much about anything; mission accomplished!

Dan's wanting me. He can prove to our Turkish friends how how much I love it and how hard I can take it. And deep. 'A bottomless pit', he calls me fondly. He's not wrong. I'm eager to take him and spend the rest of my afternoon with two more good cocks pounding my arse in turn.

He's not having any truck with language -- my smart lad gets his guy's attention and mimes putting on a rubber over his finger, pointing at his own cock and my arse, then smears his fingers together like with lube. The dude nods, goes to a locker by the massage plinths, and returns with some 'OK' condoms, which are OK by me, and an enormous pump-bottle of lube, which triggers my guy to point and laugh and exclaim what is presumably the Turkish for 'you sly bastard!'

"Cheers," Dan says, unwrapping one sheath, applying it, then adding a handful of lube. More than I need for now, but if my plans go to plan...

My boy's eyes are fixed upon me. "Come here, love. Shouldn't be too hard on your back, if you put your legs over me..."

I don't care about back-ache -- clear sign I'm not plagued by it -- so I'm happy to give this a go. I'm watching him rub himself, taller than the rest of us, pink compared to my white with some tan, his guy olive-skinned, Italian-looking, mine more red, purple and brown.

"You should draw all of us, four different sets of colour," I comment as he beckons me to the edge of the platform.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, study in shading? I might, at that, but from memory. I'm not wasting time here'n'now! I'll find some porn to copy for all the limbs, then adjust the hues and muscle. Now, shut it, you. 'Cos I want your sweet, sweet arse, sweetheart."

He kneels in the watery gutter around the marble platform, waves running over his feet, his cock just an inch or two above where I can get my arse using my best stomach crunches. He sees me try, knowing that's why he forces me down the gym, and chuckles. I can't quite get there, even with him bending, but he takes mercy on me -- and himself.

"Let's lift you." He hoiks my legs up so I'm leaning them on his shoulders. "Oi, towel?" He manages to demonstrate a folding action with one hand. My guy clocks what he wants and quickly provides a couple initially-dry towels to stick beneath me. We may have a language barrier but the man's not stupid.

Perfect height. Perfect man about to plunge his perfect cock into me. I sigh, happily.

Even more, when at my side I spy Dan's hand beckoning on his guy and recommending he make use of my mouth. Dan pokes me to flip over so I'm kneeling over the platform too, my behind sticking up for the taking. It'll be easier to suck cock, that way up.

"Aah, so good..."

"I said, 'shut it'," Dan murmurs fondly in my ear, having forced himself up my arse almost to my waist. I've been resting myself on my forearms, just high enough to keep my nose and mouth mostly above the flowing water, but I lift my head up to smile at his guy. I manage to use a hand to steer the chap into sitting wide-legged before me, my arms now on his lovely muscular thighs.

I nuzzle his lovely brass-brown skin a bit, so smooth and tasty between his legs, while Dan gets a familiar rhythm going in my arse that's only going to get stronger. I want Dan to really go for it, but I suspect the bastard will hold back until I put my mouth round this spicy-smelling nice shaft that's in front of my nose.

It's hardly like I'm going to suffer. Dan's right when he tells people I'm a complete cock-whore, always wanting to have a penis in my mouth. Sometimes me and him watch telly, him bare-arse naked, me with my face in his lap, almost nursing on his lovely tip and that delightful foreskin. Don't start psychoanalysing that; I'm queer and I love cock, that's all there is to it.

This one before me is a good one, though. Smooth and straight, bit like Dan's, but cut like all the men here, not quite as long, maybe a touch wider. Nice big head. And that scent of the local soap over his own, almost obscuring his own manly smell. Doesn't matter; him and my hair will reek of cum soon enough.