Turkish Delight Times Six

While living on the island of Cyprus, I developed quite a taste for young Turkish men. If you could get a good-looking, well-constructed Turkish guy before he got too far into his forties, you could almost guarantee you'd have something forceful, vigorous, straightforward, and good natured to play with. You also, quite often, would have a guy with a pretty heavy pelt on him. Now, I didn't particularly favor a hairy guy, but on a Turk, it could be quite arousing, and sometimes I just felt like rubbing my nipples against a fine chest of hair.

Cyprus is a divided island, with the southern two thirds being in Greek hands and the northern, more isolated, third in Turkish hands, with a UN-guarded 'Green' zone separating the two belligerent sides. I was able to go back and forth between the sides with my job and had been on the island long enough to see that both Greek and Turkish young men had their good points. I quickly found, though, that the Turks - at least the Turkish Cypriots - had fewer inhibitions against male-male activity than the Greek Cypriots did as a rule, despite the historical reputation of the Greeks, although it was never difficult to make a hook up of either. The Turkish men were just more matter of fact and lusty in their fucking and weren't given to long drawn-out preliminaries if they saw something they were interested in.

Thus it was that the first opportunity for a weekend alone on the Turkish side, I was off and running. My wife and kids were in Athens for five days, over a weekend, and so I decided it was time for me to check up on the office on the Turkish side one Friday and just to stay over at the Turkish Cypriot seaside for the weekend.

After a brief Friday-afternoon appearance at the office in the Turkish sector of Nicosia, the capital - which the Turks called Lefkosa, I was racing my BMW convertible across the width of the island to the remote Salamis Bay Hotel. This hotel sat on a rocky beach at the edge of the ancient ruins of the Greek city of Salamis, which had been founded by the Greek troops returning from the sack of Troy and had been destroyed by an earthquake and largely reclaimed by the Mediterranean Sea in the third century BC. I had picked this destination because it was in a remote corner of the island, where it was unlikely I'd be recognized, it boasted an infamous nude tourist beach, and I had been given the address of a small gay bar near the hotel. I wanted to make the most of my free weekend on the Turkish side.

When I got to the eastern end of the island, I got off the not-so-good direct road to Salamis onto the really-not-so-good coastal road so that I could locate the bar I wanted to go to that evening. I found it by following the really bad music of a live band gearing up in the twilight hour before the sun sank below the Troodos Mountains at the other end of the island. It was a beach bar composed of beverage carts surrounded by bar stools, under grass umbrellas around an ill-kept swimming pool on a terrace that went out over the Mediterranean. The enclosure was barely sectioned off from the view of the road by a scraggly bamboo-slatted fence. I could see that guys were already arriving for the evening; it looked like a young crowd and mostly the queen type, although I saw some well-cut studs among them. I could see that the typical attire was on the minimalist side. I stopped the BMW at the side of the road near the entrance to the bar to get a better look, and one of the more studly of the youngsters, a lithe, dark- but smooth-skinned guy appearing to be nineteen or twenty whistled and came over to the car. From the way he was looking the car over, I could tell he was whistling at the machine, not at me. But he at least was polite enough to ask me, with a toothy grin and a leer, if I was coming in to the bar, and I told him I might drop back later.

The Salamis Bay Hotel, a seven-story balconied building that would have looked out of place on this desolate coast if it hadn't itself lacked a renovation in two decades, was only about a ten-minute drive from the bar. I stopped in the lobby bar for a beer to knock away the dust of the road between Lefkosa and the coast and then went up to my seventh-floor suite. I suppose they called this a suite because I had my own bathroom, but it was fine for my purposes. I'm sure the diplomatic plates on my BMW had something to do the relative royal treatment I was getting here, although, of course, I registered under a false name. There was a carpet on the floor that didn't look too mildewed, I may have gotten the only queen-sized bed in the hotel, and there was an expansive balcony overlooking the Salamis ruins and that would afford a spectacular view of sunrise over the Mediterranean - if I was awake at sunrise.

With a view to the attire I'd seen entering the gay beach bar, I opted for low-rise cut-offs and sandals, a money clip, a couple of condoms, and my car keys - and nothing else, including briefs. I wasn't here to do much shopping; I was here to get laid.

The music in the bar was still bad when I got there, but it was a whole lot louder than it had been before, and there was a whole lot larger crowd too, swaying to the music, hips close together, or swimming - and, I could tell, fucking - in shadows in the central swimming pool. Cheap strobe lighting was flitting around everywhere, making the patrons frenetically multicolored and helping to mask where they had their hands. I could tell I was making quite a stir in the place, as an alluring foreign element, and a path parted between me and one of the bars under the grass umbrellas as I walked in. I asked for an Efis beer, and my American accent made the whole place my bosom buddy. Within seconds, I had the best of what I could see sniffing around me, looking for an opening. I gave the eye nod to a heavily muscled construction worker type in badly worn jeans and a black muscle T-shirt with a Harley-Davidson logo that must have set him back a week's pay. He was handsome in an ugly 'don't mess with me' sort of way, swarthy of skin, with a two-day's growth of beard, and coarse, curly black hair trying to escape from every opening in his T. Just the change of pace I was in the mood for.

Half way through my Efis, he was sitting on a bar stool, with his legs around my hips and pulling my butt into his hard basket. He was moving my pelvis around on his crotch to the beat of the music, and I could feel that he wanted me in the worst way. Another quite acceptable candidate was trying to get my attention. He was standing close into the front of me. He had a palm of one hand over one of my nipples and took my beer bottle from me with his other hand and poked his tongue into it suggestively and gave me a lot of 'cum hither' eye work. He handed the bottle back to me and was moving his face into mine, probably for a sloppy kiss, when there was a deep-grunted challenge from the guy who was lapping me and a beefy arm came out and pushed the challenger away. The battle for my attention seemed to be over then.

I still hadn't finished my beer when my host snaked his hand around and pushed it under my waistband and held me close to his pushing cock with a skin-on-skin grip on my cock and balls. Then he was unbuttoning and unzipping my cut-offs with his other hand, and I think he would have fucked me right there and then on the bar stool, if I hadn't taken charge and removed his hands and told him that if he wanted to fuck me he'd have to come back to my hotel room. He didn't like that idea, but I started making eye contact with the next best candidates nearby, and he said that, OK, he'd leave the bar with me.

When we got out into the parking lot, the young stud from earlier in the day was sitting on the trunk of my BMW. He looked disappointed when he saw me coming out with another guy - a guy who easily could have snapped him in two. As we were getting in the car, though, I told the young guy I was staying at the Salamis Bay Hotel, and if he wanted to take a ride in my convertible and was in front of the hotel Sunday morning, I might be able to give him one. He seemed quite satisfied with that and waved vigorously as we pulled out of the parking lot.

My 'date' asked me to stop the car and let him out before we got to the hotel entrance. He said he was known there and not particularly welcome and would have to come up the back stairs. I gave him my room number and left him there at the side of the road.

He arrived at my room door almost before I did. He had his hands all over me and was starting to wrestle me to the carpet as soon as I let him in the door and shut it, but I told him he would have to both shower thoroughly and use a condom if he wanted to fuck me. This didn't set well with him, but I managed to get him into the bathroom and declined his demand that I come in with him, although I said I'd be taking a shower before we fucked too. I asked him if he'd brought a condom, and he gave me a negative, sinister look. I was to find that the Turkish men wouldn't voluntarily use protection. This guy told me condoms were unmanly while he glowered at me. I told him he'd either have to use one or leave, and I was a little scared he'd just take me there on his own terms. He certainly could have done that, but perhaps whatever trouble he was in with the hotel combined with having to deal with an American, with unknown but highly probable clout, was keeping him in line, if only barely.

After he'd showered, he padded out into the room naked, and I saw that I had picked pretty well. His cock wasn't overly sized, but it was quite serviceable, and his body was beautifully shaped. As a bonus the heavy pelting on him was intriguing and gave my cock a little lurch. It was going to be like being fucked by a wild bear. I was game to try that.

I took no chances and locked the bathroom door while I showered and cleaned myself out well. When I came back into the room, expecting to see him stretched out on the bed, the room was empty. Then I saw him, sitting, still naked, out on the balcony, sulking at what he had to do to get some tail. I grabbed and opened a condom packet and picked up a tube of lube and came out on the balcony. He lost his sulk when I dropped my towel and he saw what a good deal he was getting. We engaged in our first kiss, me standing over him, while I rolled the condom on his erect dick and lathered lube over his tool. Then, knowing he wasn't going to put up with further delay, I straddled his thighs, facing him, positioned his cock at my back door, and descended on his manhood. He let out a hissing sound as I sheathed his cock, and I helped his mouth find one of my nipples.

I slid up and down on his pole for a few minutes, with him making grunting sounds that increased in intensity. I didn't figure that he was going to allow me control for very long like this, and I was right. With a primeval, guttural sound from deep inside him, He stood, briefly losing purchase in my ass with his cock, and carried me into the bedroom, slammed me down on my belly on the bed, got one of my arms in a hammer lock behind my back, forced my legs apart with his knees, positioned his cock at the entrance of my hole with his other hand, and then dove his cock into me. I screamed and nearly arched my body off of the surface of the bed as he tunneled his way up me, pounding me and pounding me, showing me who was the boss. Half way to lift off, he released my arm from his grip, circled his hands under my pelvis, sheathed my cock in one hand and cupped my balls in the other, and fairly lifted my feet off the floor as he pumped me back and forth on his cock.

When we'd both shot off, he fell on top of me and lay there, both of us heaving, until our breathing became regularized. Then he pulled off me, put his clothes back on, gave me a big grin of thanks, and was gone. Honest and straightforward. We'd both gotten what we wanted with a minimum of fuss. I hadn't expected him to stay the night or anything, and the intensity of the fuck had made me just as glad that he didn't stay around to do it again. But my guess was that he really didn't want to be caught in the hotel or inside one of its patrons and was headed back to the beach bar for his next fuck.

I was awake to catch the sunrise on my balcony after all, and a spectacular view it was.

I breakfasted in the hotel dining room, and the food wasn't half bad. While I was eating, I noticed a well-turned waiter giving me the once over more than once, and I almost choked on my coffee when I realized he had been one of 'next best alternatives' in my bar hop of the previous evening. I filed his presence away as a possible chapter in my Turk weekend.

Then it was out to the nude tourist beach. Both Greek and Turkish societies are puritanical, but both are also highly entrepreneurial. There were nude beaches in both sectors of the island, but, by law, they were restricted to the foreign tourists, and the locals supposedly were limited to watching from the far-off fringes with binoculars. This being the Mediterranean, however, a local could get onto the beach just by paying off the police who were there to keep them away and also to see that there was no actual, graphic sex acts being performed on the beach. Heavy petting didn't seem to violate this law, but maybe the police guards on duty just considered permitting that to be a fringe benefit for themselves. In another anomaly of the Greek and Turkish systems on this, woman nude tourists were just to be ogled, on pain of serious punishment, but nude men tourists were accepted as advertising their availability.

Thus it was that when I arrived at the beach and set out my towel and then stripped off my skimpy Speedo - the same size Speedo I had used for months to build up a very nice tan - what was left untanned became pretty much a billboard, and a nice enough advertisement that I was surrounded by men of several different nationalities in no time flat. This was to be a Turk weekend, though, so I waved off the Scandinavians and Israelis and concentrated on the Turkish possibilities. Several of these men looked like they would do, and I tried a few out with some hands work - theirs on me and mine on them - an activity they didn't seem to mind sharing - and the local police didn't mind watching. Four young men seemed to arouse me sufficiently, and when I'd brought up the condom requirement and asked if they had come prepared, I was down to two.

Rather than make choices between these two, when I couldn't really tell much of a difference between them except that one had a slightly bigger cock than the other, I just named them Turk A (nice cock) and Turk B (nicer cock) and asked what we were to do about the no sex on the beach rule and the roving police. They both laughed, gathered up a large beach towel and me, and hustled me down to the water. We entered the water and moved around a rock formation, where there was a little cover surrounded by smooth rocks, a place that could not be seen from the beach.

Turk A stretched his towel out on one of these rocks, and the three of us loosened each other up with several minutes of mutual admiration of body parts and stroking and sucking of same, accompanied by much kissing and good-natured laughing. At length, Turk A pushed me on my back on the towel and I opened my legs wide for him and let him prepare my asshole for his onslaught. I made sure he was sheathed by rolling a condom on him myself, and then Turk B stretched out beside me and played with my nipples and cock and balls while Turk A fucked me as vigorously as my 'date' from the previous evening had. When both he and I had cum, I rolled a condom onto Turk B and, at his direction, waded out into the water with him. When we were standing in water nearly up to our nipples, I climbed his torso in the buoyant water, wrapping my legs around his waist and helping him to insert his nicer cock in my ass, and he fucked up into me there in the turquoise-blue, calm Mediterranean.

When we returned to the beach, I was exhausted enough from the attention from those two Turks that I pulled my Speedo back on and just lay baking in the sun, fully satisfied with how my weekend was going.

Before the afternoon was over I found out why the local police were so forgiving of sexual activity on the beach. I was still being propositioned by a bevy of young guys when a policeman came up to us. The guys scattered and I thought maybe I'd be given some grief, but the cop, another young, highly presentable Turk, simply smiled shyly at me and told me what he'd like to do and showed me that he'd even brought his own condom. I didn't want to get in the bad graces of anyone in authority and he really was quite nice looking and polite, so I let him lead me over to a shed where the beach protectors went to get out of the sun, and he fucked me from behind up against the wall, making very pleased sounds through the whole coupling.

When I entered the hotel from my jaunt on the beach, the 'another nice candidate' hotel employee was waiting for me in the lobby. He hailed me as I was crossing to the elevator and asked me, in a very pointed tone, if there was anything he could do to make my stay more comfortable or memorable. I told him I was on my way to my room to take a shower and told him that if he was a masseur or knew of one, sure, I could use a little work on my muscles. While I was showering, he used his pass key and joined me under the spray. Taking my offhand remark to heart, he did a little work on the muscle between my legs there, and then brought me out to the bed, laid me on my belly, and started massaging my shoulder muscles. This only lasted for about twenty seconds before we were rolling around on the bed together and arrived in a 69 position, where we slowly sucked each other off. Then we rolled around some more, and when he'd reloaded, he straddled my hips from behind, his hands holding my arms down on the surface of the bed, and fucked me with what I was learning was typical Turk vigor and enthusiasm and with what I'm sure was the longest cock I took that weekend. He at least stayed around long enough after the main event for me to run my hands through a Turkish pelt, from chest to pubes. At my invitation, he came back and had me for dessert after I'd eaten dinner in the hotel dining room and slept half the night with me in my hotel bed, proving several times in the night that a Turk can be tender and forceful at the same time.

Sunday morning I had set aside to explore the ruins at Salamis, but when I walked out of the entrance of the hotel, there sat the grinning young Turk I had encountered two days previously at the gay beach bar entrance. He was sitting on the trunk of my car, in expectation of that ride I had promised him. So, I decided to explore him before exploring the ruins and took him for a long ride in the BMW with the top down, stopping and lingering in a little copse of trees well off the road at the edge of the Mediterranean, where I then took him into the backseat of my car and rode him to exhaustion. I had a bigger and longer dick than any I'd seen on a Turk that weekend, and he squealed with delight as I split him asunder and found out that Turks were as good at receiving as giving.