Turkish Delight

Category: Gay Male

rosa-blanca.ru: Nude Day 2021, Turkish bath, gay anal, watching, gay oral, gay relationship, vacation, exhibitionism, butt plug, sauna

This is a stand-alone story for Nude Day 2021.

Adrian and Dan first appeared in my series Smoking Hot which covers them getting together, with a little help from Ade's friends. ___________________________________________

Turkish Delight

The cold damp London winter is depressing me. I look at the man who's been living with me for eight months now. Hard to believe I've known him just a year, but this lanky laid-back lad has been a bloody excellent thing to bring into my life.

"Oi, Dan?"

The boy grunts. He went out last night; he's not going to appreciate getting up, but we're meeting friends for lunch. He's ten years younger than me, twenty-nine versus thirty-nine, so if I can cope with a morning after a night on the town, he damn well can. Of course, I've practised pickling my liver for donkeys' years; right pisshead I was until my soon-to-be wife made me let therapists sort me out. She died five years later, then another five years pissing about until my friend Laura dared me to stop smoking and start online dating instead. She figured I'd have more luck with men, seeing I'd fucked a few before. Still was doing, sometimes. Mostly just sucking random cocks, distracting from the rest of my life.

Turned out, Dan lived upstairs. The prospect of escaping his flat for a beer and blow-job without leaving the building on a freezing rainy night appealed, so ten minutes later he materialised into my life.

He never really left. I ought to thank his flatmate's right nightmare of a girlfriend, but that would involve speaking to the screechy cow and driving myself mad within a minute, so like Dan I totally avoid the pest of a woman.

"Up you get, love. We're meeting Laura and Will, remember?"

He feigns sleep, then burrows under the duvet until I poke him.

"Fuck off, Adrian."

"Aw, diddums," I tell him sarcastically. "Come on, into the shower with you."

This persuades him. The lad practically has a shower fetish, though really it's any form of water on his skin. We've gone to a few saunas together, where he's fucked me in the showers. And in the steam room. And in any other communal space it's allowed, him enjoying all the guys watching. I'm well happy with his twice-daily shower habit, excepting those brief moments when the water company said they were doubling my monthly Direct Debit.

Twice.

Don't even mention the electric bill!

It's worth it. Means he's always clean and ready for anything, like my mouth on his sweet wriggling hole, or round that long slender cock...

He gets ready and dressed, usual snug T-shirt with soft old jeans and his old army boots, then an extra shirt and unzipped hoodie, seeing as the weather. Bit of gel for those short blond curls. He grins, more weakly than usual.

"Come on then, Ade! Get your Irish arse in gear."

"It's bloody freezing!" Now who's hurrying whom?

"Which is why you've got a vest and a T-shirt under that brushed cotton of yours, and your coat, scarf, bobble-hat, and all. It's only a quick walk to Rotherhithe. Don't be so nesh!"

I've learnt 'nesh' means 'a total wuss about the cold', among various other Midlander phrases. And people say I'm incomprehensible when I talk normal, forgetting the English can't cope with Northern Ireland dialect!

"I'm not nesh! It really is fucking baltic out there! Just because you like getting cold and your wee nipples getting all hard..."

I reach in, seeing as he's left his coat and top both undone, and rub said tits a bit. He squirms, but it detracts him from his hangover.

"Piss off! Bloody hell, Ade!"

"It's OK. Can't see them through the shirt." Shame, not being able to see those sweet wee nubbins of his even if I'd got them sticking up.

"I'd know," he grumbles.

"And so would I."

He gives up there, laughs, and drags me along to the station. It's only one stop, but the easiest way to cross the river to the 'civilised' side. Me, I like living in Southwark, south of the Thames. It was where Shakespeare and Marlowe had their playhouses, with the bear-baiting and pubs full of whores and gambling all nearby, and all sorts hanging round the docks. Its reputation hasn't changed much in the 400 years since, even if half the warehouses are now trendy apartments.

We get off the train in Wapping, ambling down-river to the Prospect of Whitby, a pub with decent food. More importantly, it's a warm friendly place to hang out with our mates for the afternoon. I went to college with Will, Lindsey and Laura; Will was my best man. He'd already married Linz by then. Laura's the one who got me Dan, and both she and Will are responsible for him not running away. Her Dave is a laconic dude who usually stays home when I meet her, so good to have the big fella along for once.

It's all good craic; a proper fun afternoon. Us four have known each other twenty years now; fifteen for Dave. Obviously they've all been filling Dan in on all the scurrilous stories, mostly about me. Dan puts his arm round me, out and proud, and I lean my head on his shoulder. He's tall; I'm only five-nine, so it works. I tuck my long hair back behind my ear and listen to Dave talking.

"Laura always gets gloomy this time of year anyway, so I booked us a long weekend to Barcelona, next week."

"Barcelona!" choruses everyone, because we've had drinks. We would have done even without.

"Mm. All those colourful buildings! Gaudi and all," Dan goes.

"Warm weather and sunshine," I lament. I visited my ma back in Northern Ireland last week, first time in three years. The whole trip was fucking depressing, even before the constant drizzle.

"Should take you, you delicate hothouse flower."

Laura coughs into her drink at Dan's sarcastic endearment.

"I'm not having Adrian in the same city at the same time," Dave says firmly. "Book your dirty weekend somewhere else."

Dan looks at me.

I think. "My diary's not too bad, week after next?"

"It's half-term at college, week after that," he says. "A week off." He's doing a diploma around his declining self-employment. He's not struggling like he was at first, but he needs to devote lots of time to it. We're all making sure he'll pass.

I update my work calendar: Out of Office for four days round the 20th.

"Done. Three, four nights? Where shall we go? Is it just Catalonia, Dave, or is all of Spain off limits?" Ignoring that it'll be a fortnight later.

Laura runs with it. "I think you'd best be in a different time zone! Go bugger off to Greece. Or Turkey!"

When she says it, I remember that Dan had always wanted to visit the Blue Mosque and all.

He gets there first. "You've only had a few hours in Istanbul, right, love?"

"Mm-hm. I'd love to show you the sights." They say it's the most romantic city in the world.

Will's giving me that look, like I'm about to do something stupid, again. But I'm not drunk, so I'm confused.

"What?"

"They're not so fond of the gays, though, in Turkey, no?"

I reassure him, though it's good to know the man cares. "Aye, right, true -- but two things; plenty of gayers there anyway, moved to Istanbul from smaller places, like people did to London twenty years ago.

"Two: men are much more expressive with each other, seeing as it's women they can't touch in public -- letch at and leer, sure, but not touch. So hugging and the odd hand-hold, a cheek-kiss even -- all totally acceptable. Actual filth: keep it private, don't pervert the locals, all fine. The cops want to keep the tourist money rolling in! We'll keep to safe discreet clubs and all; I'm not that bloody daft."

Dan's looking relieved, that I'm well aware of my personal safety for once. Not that I care so much for myself, but I'm looking after him right.

"Right," he says, "It's a plan. We'd better start booking, when we get in."

"Buy us something nice in the markets," Lindsey says.

"Silver and enamel jewellery, please," Laura pipes up. "I bet our Adrian is a master at haggling, charming any stall-holder with that sweet Irish tongue!" She knows from experience what I can do with my talented tongue, so Dan's trying not to laugh.

"Bit tricky haggling if you don't speak Turkish, surely?" Dave comments.

"Don't need to -- "I speak German. Loads of Turks worked there as Gastarbeiterfor a few years. If the guy I talk to doesn't know it, his neighbour will."

"Well then, you're all set! Get charming the natives!" It's a subtle innuendo. Laura knows we're not the kind of guys to stick just to each other, and that we're likely to go out on the pull when we're on holiday. 'On the prowl', my American colleague calls it, which sounds a bit like big cats. Dan could be a lion; I'd be more like a leopard, anti-social.

Might even go out tonight. This Brummie git may have captured my heart, but it's not like I don't enjoy a wide variety of cock down my throat while he watches. His hand squeezing my dick, sometimes, until they come in my gob, my lips all rounded and swollen from the effort.

Maybe we could find someone I can suck off while he fucks me; not done that yet. Found a sound chap in a sauna last month, though. Great fat dick to pound me with while I got my mouth round Dan's cock, him watching my arse being stretched and stiff as steel from it. Like a jet it was when he spunked into the back of my throat, so much hot salty juice filling my mouth and flooding it, way too much for me to swallow, so there's me with cum all over my face and dripping over the floor, and this amazing wide prick doing me hard up the arse.

Dan just gave me this wide smile and told me I'm a dirty shameless slut-boy.

As if I didn't know.

Lindsey and Will are a respectable monogamous couple; we try to look sort of the same in front of them. They're parents, even. Dave stays quiet to them about all his other women, even though they know, and Laura doesn't mention her other boyfriend or any of her own women, much. We really, really stay quiet about me fucking Laura -- she made herself my prize for giving up smoking, last year! Though me getting Dan was even more of a prize, if you ask me.

I look at Dan. "You're going to want a steamy Turkish bath, aren't you?"

The man tries to look innocent at me. It totally fails. "I could do with a massage."

"Well now, I'm sure there's places where you can get a wee optional extra," Will says totally deadpan, causing me to cough and Linz to giggle.

"Really, William! I don't know what you mean!" I aim for a posh English accent.

"Bollocks you don't! And I don't want to hear about it, neither! Ah, well, we'd better book our own holiday. Easter, this year, while the kids are still free." Their boy turns five, this summer.

We carry on chatting about travel plans, but Dan's hand on my thigh crawls between my legs and then upwards, as the afternoon wears on.

Back home, we hit the internet.

Will's not wrong to be nervous for us. The queer travel sites sternly warn against getting pissed and avoiding any 'public displays of affection' that look romantic. Noted.

We select a hotel listed as 'gay-friendly', just west of the tourist sights in Sultanahmet, near a Metro station that'll be handy for Taksim where all the clubs are. I email some questions. They confirm us a room with balcony and king-size bed, and that they have excellent modern plumbing despite being in an old terraced building with no lift, only stairs.

Laura says 'gay-friendly' always means large beds, good showers, and that the owner isn't a twat, but in Turkey it'll be a bit more important.

This place gives us a list of queer clubs, bars and baths, as well as the obligatory shops and restaurants where we can get a good price, but says to check with the front desk before going out, 'in case management have changed'. In case the police have closed the place down, more like. There's a voucher for discounts on Turkish carpets at a certain shop, too.

It's still cold, grey and damp in London. Dan's sweating over an assignment for his course. I'm trying to get him to do as much of it himself as he can, before coming all overqualified at him and showing him how the calculations go. He'll need a holiday, after this.

We've only been away abroad once before, hiking around Oslo. Beautiful scenery, but not a place to go shopping. Didn't interact with the locals, much. Apart from that, we've crashed in hotels after his sister's hen night and then her wedding.

So this'll be a bit different for us. I'm only a little afeared. He's a good sound man for me, we like hanging out together, and he's a perv after my own heart when it comes to fucking in clubs and getting blow jobs from cute strangers. And giving. I'm also easy when it comes to giving up my hole to any good-looking cock; he prefers to be the one fucking. He had some rough experiences, back in the Army, meaning it's been nigh on a year we've been together and I've never yet fucked his arse.

I've not felt the lack, truly, but he wants to get over it and prove he can take it. I'm taking baby steps. Over Christmas he chilled out enough that I could get a whole finger deep inside his sweet wee bum. He was wriggling in delight, giggling merrily and loving it. Done it a few more times, since. We'll get there.

Night before, we get packed, hand-luggage only. It's an early walk to London Bridge, sun just starting to make the sky muddy pink rather than dark. By the time our train drops us at Gatwick, the sun is weakly lighting the sky.

Once we land at Atatürk Airport, it's early afternoon, the sky is blue and the warm sunshine lifts my spirits instantly.

"Happy now, pet?"

"Grand." I take his hand as we stroll across the tarmac. A white woman tuts, so I fondle his fingers a bit longer, only dropping them when we enter the security building.

We pay ten Euros for the visa stamp, because that's less than the ten quid alternative. Then a taxi to the hotel, where a middle-aged chap with over-styled greying hair welcomes us effusively. We take the room with a view over the courtyard, chill out on the big bed for a bit, then have to make a big decision.

Do we go have tea with the proprietor, and acquire all the tips on where to go? Avoiding recommendations of carpet shops?

Or do we stay here and fuck?

Dan emerges from testing the en-suite, a white towel round his hips, but immediately uses it to scrub his hair dry. He says, "I must be getting old, but how about we get the intel, have a little stroll to get our bearings, then I shag you senseless before dinner?" I'm guessing he's gagging to explore this new warm country.

We take the sweet stewed tea and enjoy the baklava our host foists upon us. Altan, his name is. He warns us against any kissing outside the hotel -- it's just not a Turkic thing in public -- and gives us an updated list of places with a couple scribbled out. "Tonight, you want good Turkish food? Go here."

We wander about a bit, pick up some street food, and spot the Blue Mosque, so figure we might as well tick off the first of our tourist list. Dan teases me for being an anal-retentive over-organised type, but when going away, he appreciates me doing it.

I saw it briefly when I was here before, over ten years ago, but it was a grey day and I was still sozzled from the flight. I'd been working in Oman, where alcohol was technically legal in hotels -- every bar is a hotel -- but fucking expensive. My bottle-a-night habit of spirits had waned to about four doubles, nursing them as long as I could while I either engaged the hookers in conversation or told them to fuck off. I wasn't gonna break the law in the Middle East! So as soon as the plane took off from its stopover in Abu Dhabi, the drinks trolley was ceremoniously brought out, and I'd done my best to drink it dry.

I wasn't alone. Most of the lone expats were doing exactly the same. Embarrassing, really. Especially when I found out that the Kuwait Air flights -- totally dry -- cost half as much. That was my first pointer that my drinking wasn't right. Well, first one I took note of -- Laura and Will noticed at college that, unlike the rest of them drinking for fun, I was drinking to get drunk at every party, and only sobering up come Monday morning. So when I met my soon-to-be-wife soon after, she didn't have such a hard time persuading me to go sort my head out. Psychotherapy -- best thousand quid I've ever spent.

This time, I've got a clear head to go with the clear skies, the sun is starting to go down to the right of the building, making its ceramic tiles glow, and I've got my second love of my life by my side. Life couldn't be better.

Dan sits down on a bench, pulls out his omnipresent sketchpad, and starts to draw. Ten minutes on, he flips the page and thinks.

"I want to see inside, before they close for prayers again," I tell him.

He nods. "OK. I'll catch up in a mo."

I walk slowly towards the queue. Just as I reach the small crowd waiting for blue-plastic bootees, he joins me, panting cheerfully. He shows me his second sketch. It's the mosque again, but in the foreground it's me walking towards it, my blue shirt clearly coordinating with the building's tiles in his mind. It appears I'm well sexy with a tight arse and swept-back sandy hair showing off my cheekbones and all. I mean, it's clearly me, but an idealised version, and I tell him so.

He pretends to study me carefully, then flicks the faintest pastel line onto my stomach to imply it's a millimetre larger. "Happy, now?"

"Whatever. It's your picture."

"Hey, it's a picture of you that's respectable! You could even send it to your mom when it's done. Unlike every other one I've ever done of you!"

Let's just say that the fifty pics knocking around at home are drawings of me nude and not in the least respectable-looking. Looking well-fucked, mostly, not to mention the ones he did from photos, of him going at me, or me with my legs wide open, playing with myself, begging for it.

"It's a thought. Ready?"

He wanders around, intrigued by the building and the light coming through, and sketches the shape of the huge dome. I lie down on the lush carpet, all divided into person-size rectangles, and soak up the beauty. The ceramic tiles, all geometric patterns, almost glow at us, while the black cast-iron chandeliers' shapes make stark lines across the light. The bulbs in the chandeliers, must be a hundred in each, flash on, changing the view. Some locals start to come in, clearly planning to pray at sunset, and I take a few final photos before letting ourselves be ushered out.

We pick up a pretzel-like bread to tide us over until dinner. Right now, it's time to get back to the hotel.

Dan lies back on the white counterpane, topless. "You got a kebab for me, then?"

"That," I tell him severely, "is the worst seduction I've heard, ever."

"Better stick it in my mouth and shut me up then, hadn't you?"

"Much better idea." I shuck all my clothes and come to settle over him on all fours, my cock over his face, my face over his groin where he's opened his jeans and is trying to push them down out of the way. We roll sideways to get comfy, but within seconds we've got it down -- his good meaty cock in my mouth, leaking cum already into my cheek, his great silky foreskin tasting so good as I slurp upon it, him getting his mouth round me with all his youthful enthusiasm.

It's quick and furious and I swallow his tip to get him filling my throat with his jizz, fast as I can, because it's been two days and I need it.

I get all his cum swallowed, and knowing I have a neck full of a man's hot cock-juice makes me jerk and erupt into his sweet mouth, my balls all tight and tingling all round my hole. So I'm sort of sated, but now wanting to get fucked, too.