One of the saddest,and most ironic,casualties of the internecine Greek-Turkish war on Cyprus that divided the island into warring camps three decades ago was the once-famous and elegant Ledra Palace Hotel. The Treaty Room of the Ledra Palace, a hulking stone edifice in the Moorish style, had been the venue where the British secretly committed the crime of slicing up the Arabian Peninsula and Levant at the end of World War I in a purposeful,and highly successful,effort to make political boundaries perpetually volatile there. A similar travesty was to be committed in the same room by the same British in the early 1970s, when, with a green grease pencil, a British officer drew the 'Green Line' cease-fire line separating Greek Cypriots from Turkish Cypriots. The irony for the hotel, was that this green line went right through the hotel itself, indeed down the center of the Treaty Room, condemning the once five-star hotel to the oblivion of a no man's land. The building subsequently was taken over by the United Nations peacekeeping contingent as a barracks for its troops.

This all led, in a roundabout way, to my memories of the most exuberant and playful lover I've ever had,not to mention the thickest cock I've ever taken.

Foreign diplomats like me in Cyprus were permitted to cross between the Greek Cypriot and Turkish Cypriot zones, but there was only one always-available border crossing, and that was on the street running right by the entrance to the Ledra Palace Hotel in the center of the capital city, Nicosia.

Our cars had to stop at, first, the Greek checkpoint right under the front balconies of the Ledra Palace, and then drive slowly through the UN-controlled buffer zone and stop again for a document check at the Turkish checkpoint.

I credit the military unit sign above the entrance to the hotel, now UN barracks, for becoming Svend's man toy. I had stepped out of my car while the soldiers at the Greek checkpoint were checking my diplomatic passport and I looked up and smiled at the new unit sign, which said 'The Norwegian Stallions.' I found that so incongruous, expecting 'stallions' to be used for a military unit from the American West and for Scandinavians to use something like 'Vikings,' instead, and this incongruity made me smile broadly.

At first I didn't see Svend, sitting on a stone balcony just above and to the left of the unit sign. If I had seen him first, the 'stallion' name wouldn't have seemed incongruous to me, and we probably never would have met. He was a magnificent blond hulk and he was sitting wearing only a pair of loose khaki shorts in a rickety chair braced back against the wall. When my eyes did turn to him, seeking a slight movement at the periphery of my vision, the smile was still plastered on my face. His shorts were so loose at the legs that, with his propped back position, I could see all the way up his legs to a pair of huge balls. He stared cockily down at me, obviously very pleased with himself,and fully knowing his manhood was exposed to me,and with every right to be pleased with himself. He was one hung of male young in his full glory.

I do remember having a fleeting impression of him smiling broadly back at me, but just then the Greeks were finished trying, as their usual wont, albeit halfheartedly, to dissuade me from driving into the Turkish enemy's camp, and I was on my way.

The whole incident didn't really make that much of an impression on me,or so I thought. I was crossing the border on an important mission. If I hadn't been preoccupied with that, that Norwegian beauty probably would have haunted me for some time thereafter. But weeks later, when I found myself temporarily alone in Nicosia without family, I took advantage of sneaking into an underground gay bar in the suburb of Makedonitissa, very near to the main UN base inside the buffer zone.

I was at the bar, quietly drinking,a bit too much, I'm afraid,and taking in the gay scene around me, when a Norse god saddled up beside me. He looked sort of familiar, but not really. But he certainly looked good,all muscle and square-jawed good looks.

'Hello again, my name is Svend.'

'Hello,' I answered. 'But again? Do I know you?' I had kept my male-male sexual activity while on the island very secret thus far, and if this Norwegian hunk had been in my small circles of special friends, I most certainly would have remembered that.

'Yes, at the Ledra Palace. You were checking out my basket. Did you like what you saw?'

'I . . . I.' My mind was racing trying to figure out what he meant. And then it clicked, and I blushed and wasn't fast enough to disabuse him of the reason why I had been smiling up at the hotel fascade. Svend took my blush as a 'yes,' and he swung a beefy arm around my shoulders in a possessive gesture, sure of himself, an assumption he every reason to make. I was lost to him.

He was whispering in my ear. 'I've been hoping to see you in this bar. I would very much like to be with you, but my friends over there have bet among themselves that you couldn't take me.'

'Be with me?' I asked dumbly.

'Yes, you are a beautiful man. I would like to fuck you. But I may be too big for you. At least that's what my friends are betting.'

Fifteen minutes later I found myself naked on top of a pool table in a back room of the bar, with an applauding and appreciative audience, while Svend and I proved that I could, indeed, take more than two inches in diameter and not exactly stubby either. Svend called out the changing positions with glee as he took me every which way for a good thirty minutes. He was particularly pleased because he had bet on my capabilities.

For the next year until the Norwegian Stallions got rotated out and replaced with another UN unit, I gladly played toy to the playfulness and inventiveness of my own Norwegian stallion. Svend liked to take me by surprise and in unusual venues and circumstances,and he was always particularly pleased if there were unsuspecting people nearby, just a step away from where we were fucking. He learned quickly that I was quite vocal during sex, and he got a perverse pleasure out of me trying to hold back my cries of passion while that extraordinarily thick cock was churning inside me.

It seemed that he knew just when I'd be available to him but somewhere that I wouldn't suspect I was about to be ravished. Thus, once when I turned off the road down to the northern coastal town of Kyrenia and drove up the mountain instead for a few quiet moments in the ruins of the crusader castle of the d'Ibelins, St. Hilarion, Svend found me there and drug me up to the high tower and bent me out of a window opening and pumped me from behind, while I watched a family picnicking in the dell below. As he mined my ass deeply, I hoped they neither could hear my suppressed whimperings of that giant tool working around inside me or that they would look up and see me in the window. Svend had left my shirt on, but they could have told at a glance at my facial expressions of wanton ecstasy, if they could see detail from that far, that I was being royally fucked.

At another time, when my wife and I had joined an embassy personnel outing for the day to a combination pool, bar, and outdoor dining area above a beach on the island's rugged northern coast, Svend and some of his fellow soldiers were also there. And after exuding charm in introducing himself to my wife and my ambassador for the first time and having passed himself off as a casual tennis partner of mine at the Elian Club, Svend coaxed me to follow him at a distance into the sea. Standing there together, he close in behind me, in water up to our chests but within sight of those frolicking around the pool bar, including my wife and the ambassador, he pulled my butt back onto his engorged tool and held my hips to him with his strong hands as he fucked up into me in the water with local swimmers moving all about us.

I could say that these intrusions and this controlling of not only my body but my responses of being thickly fucked irritated me to the point where I put him in his place. But that, of course, wasn't the case at all. I was mesmerized by him,as much by his grinning bear attitude as by his superb cocksmanship. I loved the surprise and danger of it as much as he did, and he was so well equipped that I obsessed with accepting that the proper place for him was burying his thick rod inside me in inventive positions and unseemly circumstances.

Once when some embassy colleagues and I were taking a visiting congressional delegation out to a dinner in a rooftop restaurant above the seaside and overlooking the ruins of the Byzantine Bellapais Abbey, somehow Svend was there and convinced a waiter friend to tell me I had an important telephone call. When I went to the booth, there was Svend, and he wanted me to sit on his cock right there in the telephone booth. But I persuaded him that this was just too dangerous and went back to the table to tell my colleagues I'd been called away on an emergency. And then Svend pulled me back into a closed section of the restaurant, separated from the active section only by bamboo screening, and he pulled me into his lap and fucked me not more than twenty feet from where the congressional delegation was finishing its meal, the thumb of one hand in my mouth being sucked, the fingers of the other hand pinching and rolling my nipples and his cock churning up inside me. When I felt I couldn't hold back a scream of passion and complete possession and of being stuffed any longer, he replaced his thumb with his lips and swallowed my cries with his searching kisses.

My strangest ravishing by the Norwegian stallion was when I went for a haircut from my regular barber in a hotel arcade. Svend came in to do the barber, who was just one of Svend's many man toys, and saw me there in the chair. He sent the barber to guard the door and then took me long and hard first with my legs bent over the arms of the barber's chair and him standing on the metal foot ledge and then with me bent over the back of the chair and my knees on the arms and him crouched on the chair behind me. Then, with me sitting on his cock, my back to his front, he took shaving cream and creamed my chest and shaved off my thin trail of hair there with a straight razor, with me trying my best to hold steady on his digging tool. He said, with a laugh, that he was doing this for me to 'remember him by.' I thought this was a strange thing for him to say, because of course I was going to remember him by the thickness of his cock and his playfulness in finding new places and ways to master me.

That was the day he found out his unit was being rotated out. But he didn't tell me about this on the day of the barbering. He called me a week later and told me he was coming by to see me. And, for the first time I decided to give him a surprise.

My house was a typical Mediterranean stucco pile with a red tile roof sitting high on a mesa overlooking the capital city and the Green Line, running like an open sore through the country, separating Greek from Turk. But the house also had some modern features. One was that the spiral stone staircase to the second level was encased in an opaque glass-brick wall. From the outside you could make out that someone was on the staircase, but the glass was too opaque to pick up much detail, although you could do so more at night with the lights on in the staircase than you could during the day. The staircase was located right next to the entry door.

It was near dusk when Svend pulled up on his motorbike. I had stripped already, and as he approached the door, I moved onto the stairs next to the entry and pushed my cock and belly and chest and lips right up against the opaque glass, so that he could clearly see just those parts of me, offering myself to him through the glass.

I never knew a man that large to be able to move that fast through an entry door and to strip down en route to the staircase, where, in full desire and rut, he laid me out on the stone risers and devoured my body with his.

He was almost sobbing when he was finished, and, for the first time since my initial ravishing by him on the pool table, I was able to give full vocalizing of my passion for what he was doing to my body. And that's when he let it all pour out that this was our last meeting, that his unit was being released of its UN obligations in two days' time and he was headed back to Oslo.

I missed his surprises for a good long time, but I never again let a man dominate and control me as he had for as long as he had. That life was just too dangerous for me to indulge in. Oh, and I missed that inhumanly thick cock for a long time too.



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