Actions of Man on Covert Mission

Nourishment for Body and Spirit in an Istanbul Bathhouse

It had required skills, not to mention tough and painful physical effort, but Marco was finally in position to witness the great architectural achievement of Hagia Sophia. A place of holy wisdom some has proclaimed. It was an edifice marked with the symbols and design of over a millennium of rulers, believers, men and mice. Nowadays it sat at the intersection of geopolitics. Istanbul was where he was going to look for signs and listen to rumours of where Mitya might have gone.

He reached for the chain around his neck to remember. To it had been added a leaf. Gany had been sad when he let Marco go from the island, but he had nonetheless shown the small jetty and the canoe that would allow Marco to return to ‘his world’, as Gany had called it. Before their separation, Gany had given him a green leaf.

“Take this with you. It is a gift from this island, from me, its prince. When the body is unbalanced, eat this leaf” Gany had said. Marco had attached it to a link in the necklace he wore.

“Will this leaf not wither soon, loose its greenness, so to speak?” Marco had asked.

“Yes, it will. Gifts can be transitory, a moment in time, like the imprint of love-making on a beach. That makes the gift no less admirable.”

What a strange place that island had been. People spoke in poetry, actions were mystical, and already some of the details of the experience were beginning to fade from Marco’s memory. Was it even a real place? Was it mostly a product of crude associations in the dehydrated brain of a sex obsessed shipwrecked man — like seductive mermen and the tentacled Kraken? Marco recorded in the old notebook a few vague recollections, like navigating the ugly maze by the flow of the air, the citrus aroma as well as Gany’s most delicious princely butt and how to make it shake with pleasure. It was duty to add to this repository of manly knowledge.

After an unknown number of hours with the canoe on a foggy Mediterranean, Marco had reached land, which he soon identified as part of Turkey. He stole some clothes (too small and tight around the body, but it had to do), and he refashioned the chiton to a shoulder bag in which he kept the notebook and cock ring. The holy card, crucifix and leaf he kept on his body. Walking north, staying out of sight for the most part, he had reached Istanbul tired, hungry, yet determined.

If Mitya was still active, he would have operated in this labyrinth of houses, people and cultures. Where East, West, North and South met, many transactions took place in secret locations, quite often in the men-only bathhouses. Discretion and respect were the code.

Food and information were needed to go forward. Marco had managed to harvest and hunt what nature had offered on the journey north to Istanbul. In this place he knew however the best way to serve the mission was a different tactic. It was time to resort to trade of the primordial tradable asset: the raw and compelling force of a muscular man, thick dick and heavy balls included.

With the clothes tight, the beard scruffy, the sweater strained over the bulging chest, and his aggressively high testosterone levels communicated by his sweaty musk, Marco stood outside the entrance of one of the more notorious bathhouses. He flexed a bit in his tight clothes. It did not take long until Marco was approached.

“Alicante. Don’t pretend I am wrong. All your features tell me you are from that ancient Spanish area through which so many adventurous men from our old continent have travelled, traded and mixed.” The man who spoke was a gentleman with an old-fashioned and flamboyant beard of a light grey colour, and he looked at the world with a confident and knowledgable gaze. He addressed Marco in Spanish with a slight accent. Polish, maybe Czech, Marco thought.

Marco was fluent in Spanish, but not because he was from Alicante. At least he did not think so. He knew very little about his parents, nothing about his grandparents. But sure, why not, if Alicante was the exotic flavour this man desired, then Alicante it will be. 

Marco massaged his palm and gave the man a steely look.

“Alicante, who knows? Alexandria, could have been? Athens, are we not all? I have lived and worked in many ports” Marco replied mysteriously and flexed the arms a bit more.

“How very non-specific. A man of mystery” the gentleman replied with a raised eyebrow. 

Marco noticed that behind the gentleman stood a younger man. He was clearly a shy and nervous one, who attempted to hide behind the worldly gentleman who did all the talking. The youthful man’s curious gaze scanned Marco’s body.

The gentleman, less shy about it, also inspected Marco’s body, his nostrils expanded as all kinds of evocative sensory inputs were received. He continued: “You seem to be in need of washing the dirt of the road off your body. It has been an unusually warm day. How about a bathhouse visit, my expense naturally. And I bring my protégé as well, as an educational matter.”

Marco nodded and they entered the building. A few stairs down, and they entered a cool and dimly lit place underground where the sound of crisp running water echoed between stone walls. This was not the first time Marco had been here. The place did not change. No more than a lick of paint had been added since the Varangian Guard gang-banged handsome, moaning Byzantine noblemen down here. A proud tradition.

The gentleman paid for a private pool, delicious food items and a big bottle of raki, which the gentleman began to sip on. Marco ate a few handfuls of food in order to regain strength. The protégé still lurked behind the gentleman.

The gentleman spoke to the protégé in a Slavic language. Sounds like Polish, Marco thought, might it even be Kashubian? And this gentleman is not some run-of-the-mill communist brute, instead he effuses old-world refinement and authority, like a Medieval duke from the south coast of the Baltic Sea, Marco thought. 

The young man was a delicate creation, lost in the world he had been thrown into. Marco also picked up a name: Julek. 

“My protégé has, sadly, had poor role models in life, his powers and potentials at risk of permanent damage. If he could wash you, all of you, and become acquainted with strong and firm manhood — sorry my Spanish is imperfect — I believe he may be saved. As his noble ‘father figure’ it is my duty, no matter the personal risk. A masculine hand… force from above” the gentleman’s indefinite remarks petered out.

Marco put another handful of mezes in the mouth. Duty, personal risk, father figure… words, words, words. Time for dick swinging action, simply put. Without comment Marco dropped all his clothes and the bag.

The sight jolted the two men backwards. Marco’s recent exertions, physical and sexual, had only further enhanced his physique. Bulging muscles, thick thighs that could snap the neck of any lesser man, veins that alluded to blood and potent hormones, and a heavy meaty penis that demanded proper attention and loving worship. Marco also detected that it was not just the physical attributes that attracted their attention. The crucifix around his neck was an object of their longing as well.

Marco sat down in the water at the shallow end of the pool. Julek undressed, and as soon as he was naked he jumped into the water to hide his nudity. Marco had nonetheless seen the many beautiful and spirited body parts of Julek. Pale and firm muscles, a very hard dick standing straight up, and a pair of almost snow white full buttocks. There were many handfuls of handsomeness and perkiness packed in that young man — no wonder that gentleman was so caring and attentive.

The gentleman, by now tipsy from the raki, walked over, licked his lips, and moved his hand over Marco’s chest, as he felt the hardness and curvature.

“Ah, when I was young… I had a pair of these. The roaring twenties… What a time to be alive, full of testosterone and muscles and dick to take, feel and connect” the gentleman mumbled as the touch of Marco’s torso was bringing back memories of the past.

The gentleman ended his nostalgic ramblings and began to speak to Julek. Clearly a lecture took place on the finer points of the male anatomy, physiology and the embodiments of admirable masculine virtues with hard and hot parts of Marco pointed to. Soon he began to instruct Julek about what to do, what to feel, what to rub and how to properly appreciate and learn from the nude man seated at the pool. Julek obeyed his mentor’s commands and his novice hands, fingers, lips, nipples and cheeks moved across Marco’s body, all while the boy blushed and breathed shallowly. The gentleman gave detailed instructions to Julek about how to feel the full heft of Marco’s balls. The young man was an eager learner.

Julek soon moved without instructions, natural talents blossoming. Julek leaned forward, gave the crucifix between Marco’s strong pecs a loving kiss. Julek looked up at Marco and for the first time he dared to meet Marco’s gaze. There were smiles. He then dropped down and took as much of Marco’s dick into the mouth as possible. 

Julek sucked with passion, lips quivered around all the hardness his mouth could embrace, air drawn in through the nostrils at high intensity. A few times he pressed deeper than the gag reflex allowed. But after a quick adjustment, he went back down. Nothing would stop him from taking in and absorbing as much manliness as possible. Marco appreciated the dedication and he could not help but smile from seeing such earnest, almost urgent, effort to connect. 

Maybe it was natural talent, or maybe the gentleman shared his most valuable tricks learnt in the previous decades. Regardless, Marco already felt he was getting close to orgasm.

“Not yet. He must learn more” the gentleman said, reached down and pulled Julek’s head away from the crotch. A loud pop echoed between the walls when the sucking lips parted from their object of desire. The gentleman instructed Marco and Julek into a new position: Marco on his back, legs apart, dick and balls licked and kissed by Julek, who was face down, ass up, while the gentleman slowly fingered Julek’s butt and stroked his dick.

“Steady now. Find the rhythm, feel the man, come together as one” the gentleman whispered, drunk and happy, as he demanded of both Marco and Julek to synchronize and let the moment last. Whenever Marco felt he was coming close, the gentleman would instruct Julek to slow down.

“I am afraid my protégé is not quite ready to take all of you from his behind. Big men can sometimes be too much at first. Too much pain at first and the boy might abandon the exquisite masculine guidance for a lesser man. It happens, sadly. But sit up and reach over his back and feel it. He is amazing, isn’t he. I am so proud.” The gentleman was drunk with joy, raki and hormones as he instructed Marco to sit up and reach his hand back to Julek’s ass. The gentleman grabbed and guided Marco’s index finger inside the tight pink hole. He gave the pair of pretty buttocks two sharp and well-aimed spankings.

The grip was fantastic. It pulsated, it almost seemed like it was sucking on the finger, trying to connect to all available nerve endings. How can nature make them this good? Or maybe this is what careful, loving and fatherly mentorship brought forth from gifts of natural substance, like a sculptor who reveals the Diadoumenos through work and effort applied to a block of fine natural marble, Marco thought.

The gentleman pressed Julek’s head down onto Marco’s dick, and with the other hand grabbed Marco’s balls hard. Julek began to suck hard, only some muffled sounds escaped from his mouth, and Marco groaned at the sensation jointly created by the mentor and protégé. Marco moved his finger quicker and deeper, in and out of Julek’s butt.

“Feel it! Connect! Take it now!” The gentleman shouted drunkenly as both Marco and Julek were on the edge of orgasm. The gentleman released his grip around Marco and the pumping and reflexive thrusting began. Julek received more than a mouthful, while at the same time, he shot his load as Marco’s probing finger had tickled just the right spot. 

The men separated. The gentleman embraced his protégé and whispered tender words to him while cleaning the body with a wet towel. A few minutes passed.

“Julek, my protégé, truly needed this. Thank you for your manliness and this moment of connection. The crude life has not been kind to him, you see. I do my best to protect and guide, but my age and my position are not an adequate bulwark against the suffocation of the state. I am boring you with my jaded rant, I know, but I care so much…” The gentleman stroked Julek’s tender skin while he cryptically explained himself to Marco.

There was a light knock on the door and a bathhouse attendant entered. 

“Big man, there is another guest asking to be next for your manly attentions. Generous rewards, he says.”

So, another chance to gather some cash for the mission, Marco thought. The gentleman waved to Marco and said he hoped they could meet soon again before he and Julek had to return to Warsaw, if not the Gulags.

Marco gathered his bag and clothes, and decided, for maximum effect, to remain naked. As the attendant led the way to another door Marco recalled visions of pretty asses in beds, boats, ballrooms, beaches and bathhouses in order to present himself fully erect. Joy for all, cash-flows included. The attendant opened the door and Marco entered the cool dark place. The door closed behind. Now what? Where is the guest aching for penetration?

“Marco, my dear… you live… I mean, Agent Ulises, it is a joy to rest my eyes on you again, to see you, I mean.”

Agent Cooper appeared from a dark corner. He rushed over and quickly hugged Marco. For a brief moment Marco’s exposed erection was pressed against Agent Cooper. He withdrew slightly, but he was excited enough to give Marco a firm slap on the shoulder.

“I thought I had lost you. There were rumours you had drowned in the Mediterranean, become chum for sharks. You were gone for weeks. Some even suggested you had joined the reds… I of course fought that ludicrous notion. You are my guy, you are elite.” Agent Cooper again leaned forward and squeezed Marco’s biceps in a caring gesture. His joy of seeing Marco alive tempered his usual embarrassment when near a big naked man.

Agent Cooper was uncharacteristically verbose, even jolly. Had he sipped too much raki, or was it dehydration? He explained that he and another agent had tailed the gentleman and protégé for many days. The gentleman, named Henryk Simson, was of interest because he was close with Zhivotnoy, a rough man at the Soviet consulate known to be the Istanbul handler of Mitya. Fearing Marco’s demise, Agent Cooper had pursued what he believed to be his second best chance: kidnap Julek, pistol-whip him a bit, then extort Henryk to extract information from Zhivotnoy related to Mitya. 

“We were never able to execute the plan. Henryk and Julek are always together, moving too carefully outside the consulate. But now, by luck, talent and natural endowment, you have them. You can get them right? Physically they should not be a problem for you? But… that is assuming this is the right way… the manly way… what say you?” Agent Cooper asked with some concern when he noticed that Marco frowned.

It was the lack of insight and creativity that was offensive, like an ugly building. They just did not see, these men. Could they even tie their shoes without me, Marco thought. 

Stop! No rants. No ugly anger. Be the rock, no whining.

Marco with effort redirected his focus to Henryk and Julek and the care and trust that connected them, the ideal they embodied as a unit. He also reflected on his mistakes. What progress had he actually made in the mission? He was hardly any closer to Mitya. Had in fact Agent Cooper not managed to do more? Also, that had been genuine appreciation Agent Cooper had shown. Anger and judgement is not the way. The good demands us both, and it has been said that the obstacle is the way. Time to man up in this dimension as well, Marco thought.

“Cooper, there is a better way to take the next step in your plan. Let me take it from here. I am your guy. Tell me, how connected are you with aristocrats at MI6?”