Adventures in Turkey

Besiktas is an area of Istanbul which is not on the main tourist drag, although it contains a grand waterside palace and the grounds of one of the city’s football teams, which doubtless generates a lot of rivalry between it and Galatasaray and Fenerbahce. Even so, it is in the older part of the city and is a pleasant place to stay, and it, also, I discovered, has a Turkish hammam which does not feature in the guide books. I found out when it was open, and sought it out in the streets nearby. It was quite a grand building, but like much of Istanbul, somewhat faded. I went in.

I don’t speak Turkish and nobody spoke English, but the receptionist did speak German, so we spoke in German. I agreed the price for a bath and massage, and he gave me a thin towel and a pair of clogs, and indicated my cubicle, which had a window in the door and a bench.  It was in view of the receptionist, so I had to trust him with my valuables hidden in the cubicle. I stripped off, tied the towel around my middle, and put on the clogs. I ambled off.

First stop was the shower. I did strip off in the warm water, and soaped myself all over, paying attention to armpits, crotch and bum crack. I dried off, hung the small wet towel around my middle, balanced awkwardly in the clogs, and set off for a Turkish bath.

The wash-and-massage room was domed and circular, with a huge polygonal marble dais on which a handful of men, all near-naked Turks, all middle-aged, were lying either on their fronts or their backs, all wearing just towels, being washed or massaged by the team employed by the hammam. Around the outside wall were what looked like a circle of urinals, but on closer inspection they were rinsing stations. I looked around and a man came over to me. I was thrilled by what I saw and prayed that I did not get an erection.

My bather, and masseur, introduced himself as Ahmed. He was actually only around average height and around forty years old, but he was huge, with massive broad shoulders, thick arms and legs, a broad, deep chest, a firm, rounded belly and big hands and feet. He was also covered in black fur, especially across his chest, under his arms, and just above his arse crack at the bottom of his back, where his towel was wrapped tightly around him. His scalp, of course, was totally bald and shining, and his smiling features were those of an Ottoman soldier, above a long, thick beard. I have to say that I don’t quite get Turkey and Turkish men. Homosexuality is legal in secular Turkey, but not exactly welcomed, rather like the UK in the late 1960s. Turkish men have far fewer inhibitions about touching other men, as evidenced by oil wrestling, in which the contestants wear just leather shorts, and cover each other in olive oil before wrestling, which involves putting your hand down your opponent’s shorts and grabbing their arses, or putting your hand down the front. How on earth does that not involve grabbing your opponent’s oily cock and balls? On the other hand, if you are in the hammam and you are naked, a masseur will approach you with a towel extended as if you were on fire, whereas in Europe, even in prissy Ireland or the UK, nobody would care. There is also the history of the hammam in Ottoman times, when Christian boys from the conquered lands of Europe were brought to the hammam to work as boy prostitutes, paid by the orgasm. I had to assume, then, that the men who worked in the bath were not uncomfortable to touch you in an intimate way, but that they were definitely not gay. Sadly.

Ahmed was a beast. I gazed at his huge, broad, hairy chest in awe. This man was going first to wash me, which meant that I was made to lie down face down. Ahmed stood over me, his bare feet planted either side of. He covered me in foam so that I almost disappeared, and he began to clean me with a sponge mitten. Feet and legs were cleaned first, and his sponge mitten was reaching right up into my bum crack. Was this normal? I felt a stirring in my cock, but fortunately I was still face down. He now cleaned my back, neck, head and arms. I was turned over, and I now disappeared again in a hill of white foam. His sponge mitten roamed up and down my legs, reaching up to my bollocks, and indeed, once or twice cleaning my cock and balls in their entirety. Was I imagining that? Was it normal? He moved on to my front, washing my front, even scrubbing my head with a ferocity which would have pleased my mother. I was led off to the rinsing station, sat on the stone floor whilst Ahmed kneeled on one leg and rinsed the foam off me from head to toe. In the midst of this I am sure that for a brief moment I saw Ahmed’s long cock as he moved around, his towel riding up, and it was a long, thick, circumcised weapon perched on monstrous balls, primed to attack from its nest of close-clipped pubic hair. The towel then came down, but I had now fallen for Ahmed. Now rinsed, Ahmed bade me to stand up. He produced a clean, dry towel, and indicated that I should change towels. For a few seconds I stood there quite naked, slightly erect, with Ahmed the hairy bear looking at me. I wanted to be fucked right there on the spot, but that was never going to happen, and I soon wrapped the towel around me, hoping that Ahmed liked what he saw.

The massage began with me lying on the warm marble dais on my front. I have seen footage of massages in a hammam where men are bent into all kinds of strange positions, but this was not the case. What was true was how thorough and how deep the massage was, as Ahmed worked first my feet, and then worked upwards. My calves were split apart. His massive hands dug into my thighs, and the towel was lifted over my bare arse as he drove elbows deep into my buttocks. He worked my back, shoulders and neck before turning me over and beginning again. I watched excitedly as this huge bear worked my body with his big strong hands, the front of my thighs, my tummy, my pectorals, where he seemed to isolate and punish every muscle. He straightened me out, placed my arms across my chest and pressed down. Something seemed to explode in my head and I saw stars, but Ahmed had simply corrected something in my back. He finished with my arms. Afterwards, I felt so relaxed and  tired and weak, and limped away to my cubicle, where I went inside.

Ahmed the bear led me off away from the main part of the baths to a side room, which was a smaller, more private version of the main part, pushed the door to and ripped away his towel. Naked, he was even more magnificent, his long, thick, cut cock starting to stand up from a black fuzz of close-clipped pubic hair and away from a massive pair of balls. He moved towards me and pulled off my own towel, grinning. He looked admiringly at my stiffening cock, but pointed at his own magnificent tool reaching for the domed ceiling. I knelt obediently and took his gnarled, veiny knob into my mouth. It was a whopper, so thick that I had trouble opening my mouth to it, and so long that it was threatening to go down my throat, but I wanted to give him the best blowjob he had ever had. I adjusted my kneeling position to accommodate his massive cock, and he began to pump his arse, forcing my nose into his sweet-smelling pubic fuzz, a huge furry hand holding the back of my head in place, so that I could not move it away. Below his cock, his massive wrecking balls were starting to swing, grazing my chin. I reached up above his firm round hairy belly to his nipples, buried in a thick forest of chest hair, and began to play with them. It set him off going faster, as they were obviously wired to his superb cock. I thought I would choke. I could not understand why my gag reflex had not been triggered, but I was glad of that. His solid cock moved backwards and forwards in my mouth, faster and faster, his balls now tapping my chin, and I could suddenly feel his spunk leaving his balls, entering the bottom of his todger, and surging up his urethra. Suddenly, with a great roar from Ahmed, great jets of spunk were shot out of his cock down my throat, and I tasted his salty spunk. Ahmed still held his hand in place, although there was no chance of me not swallowing his tasty spunk, and slowly withdrew his cock. He held it near my mouth so that I could lick the last tasty dribbles of spunk off it. He said something in Turkish, but I could that he had not finished, and now wanted to fuck me. 

He indicated that I should kneel on the marble slab, and go down on all fours, like a dog. There was little finesse. His huge lubricated cock knocked on the door of my hole, and pushed slowly, gently but unstoppably through the outer sphincter muscle. He now smacked each of my arse cheeks hard one time each in turn, so that my hole widened of its own accord. My inner sphincter muscle now yielded, and I felt every inch of his great knob slide up into me, filling me, making me his: Ahmed now began to fuck me like a dog. His big meaty hands clamped themselves to my shoulder, holding me in place, and as he gained speed, I could feel his huge bollocks smacking against me, and his belly resting on the base of my spine. Every stroke of his thick dick was rubbing my prostate gland, and I could feel myself completely losing control. A surge of pleasure arose deep down in my ballbag. I could feel my spunk erupting uncontrollable in an intense orgasm over which I had no control, as Ahmed literally fucked the spunk out of me. I cried out. Ahmed was now pumping my arse like a steam train’s pistons, and his grip on my shoulders tightened, so I could not move. I was his. I was his fuck toy. He roared again as he came, filling my hole with more spunk from those huge spunk-factory balls. He held me for a moment until he was drained, and then withdrew, wiping his wet cock head on my arse. 

And then he was gone.

I awoke with a start. I had dozed off whilst sitting in the changing cubicle, so relaxed had I been after the bath and the massage. Sex with Ahmed had just been a dream, a wonderful dream. My cock was standing up like a pole, and had leaked some spunk. My towel had also slipped off. Embarrassed, I quickly wiped the spunk off, stood up and put on a shirt and some underpants, then, more slowly, finished off dressing. The masseurs had been walking past to the reception, and could no doubt see me asleep, cock sticking up. I had already paid, but I knew that I should leave a tip. To even greater embarrassment, Ahmed the bear was at reception when I handed over some Lira as a tip. The receptionist thanked me in appalling English. Ahmed turned round, and I had one last view of his immense hairy chest, belly and strong arms. He smiled, and as I left, I noted that there was something under his towel sticking out.