This story depicts a consensual sex act between adults, and is a work of fiction, loosely based on an actual encounter. The names, locations and places have been changed to protect the horny.
TURKISH DELIGHT AT HOME
It was a warm spring afternoon as I walked through the streets of my neighborhood in New York. Images of my recent trip to Greece and Turkey filled my memory. Ancient buildings and sweet perfumed air permeated my memory now like so many days in Istanbul. I pondered my next travelogue and went about my browsing in shop windows and lazily drinking my tea.
As I walked through Washington Square park an oddly familiar smell filled my nostrils. It was a mix of smells - warm fresh food, roasting meats, distinctly savory herbs - not exactly curry, not really Asian, but specific. Then it occurred to me - it smells like the bazaars in Turkey. Had my memory manifested itself outwardly? I continued across the park when the smell became stronger and I happened upon a few small shops with Turkish names, and was mesmerized. I had forgotten about the market only a few blocks from my own apartment. Next to the grocery was another door I hadn't ever taken much note of, but it, as well, was Turkish in its distinction. I peered through the window and saw jars of herbs and medicinals, incense and oils. I went inside and enveloped in the warm, savory smells of my memory.
"Hello." The shopkeeper greeted me in accented, but clear English. I said hello and just turned in slow amazement at the twelve-foot high shelves that banked every wall.
"You are here for hamam?" the shopkeeper asked me. "No, just browsing." I replied with my reflex response.
Hamam? A bathhouse? Did he just ask if I was here for the bathhouse? I turned back to the old man and asked quizzically, "Excuse me, there is a hamam here?"
I was intrigued. In Turkey I had taken the advice of an American who had traveled many times to Turkey and told me of a number of hamams to visit while there. Never being a "spa" person, I avoided them, but in my last days I visited a couple and was glad of the experience. It was a relaxing, and refreshing experience, and mercifully void of the sexual expectations of the so-called bathhouses in the U.S.
"Yes. You would like to come to bathe?" he asked. I talked with the shopkeeper for a while about the hamam. I was surprised that there would be such a place in New York. We talked about my recent trip to Turkey, and I told him how much I enjoyed the hamams I had visited there.
"Oh, I am sorry. This is much smaller. One person only. City does not allow traditional hamam here. You make appointment for bath?" he asked.
"Yes." I answered immediately. Perhaps my eagerness to recapture some of my recent memories overcame me.
I followed the old man to the counter, and he opened a large tapestry book. "Today?" he asked.
"Sure." My eagerness was jumping in my throat. "What time?"
The old man looked across the page of the book studiously, then looked disappointed. "Today only at 8:30 p.m. Last time of the day, though!" expressing that last point as a bonus.
"Sounds great." I replied and bounded out of the store.
Around 8:20 I entered the store again as a man in his 40's swept the store. "We close in 10 minutes." He announced to me.
Slightly confused, I told him I had made an appointment for 8:30 for the hamam.
"Oh yes! Of course. Please come in." he waved me in. "We close the shop at 8:30, but during the last appointment of the day, I am able to clean and be home by 9." He smiled his crooked smile at me and nodded.
"This way please." He smiled, ushered me into a small, but beautifully appointed room, and handed me a pair of thin-soled rubber slippers. "Please hang clothes there, towels are on the table." I nodded and thanked him, and left me.
The room was as luxurious as anything I'd ever seen in Turkey. Perhaps a little overdone for the Americans, but still it was nice to sit on such amazing silk cushions. I removed my clothes, wrapped the small linen towel around my waist, and put on the slippers. I stood up and caught sight of myself in the mirror. My time in Turkey had done wonders for my physique, and broke me of the habit of shaving my body hair. I ran my hands over my now hairy chest and absently stroked a nipple. I liked my body as it was. Now much more muscular, having walked all over Istanbul for a couple months and regular trips to the gym, I actually had the flat stomach and tight rear end that I had at 22, even though I would celebrate my 40th birthday in less than a month. Just then a tall, thin, younger man in a breezy white cotton tunic came to my door. "Hello, I am Amir. Time for steam!" he announced.
I followed him down the corridor to a white tiled steam room approximately the size of a New York kitchen. A pale golden light filled the room and I could make out two other figures among the curls of steam. The dark, olive skin and hairy bodies gave testament to their Turkish roots. They sat on opposite sides of the room, so I attempted to sit an equal distance from each in the middle. As they had forsaken their towels, I did as well, folding mine up and sitting on it like a mat.
I began to give myself to the swirling steam. It was gently scented of sandalwood gave the room a distinctly male scent - both relaxing and invigorating at the same time. The man on the right stood up, stretched and lay out on the warm tile, with his arms folded behind this head. I admired his thick, muscled body, and the opportunity that he provided me to admire him. Realizing my own nakedness, I decided it would be best for me not to ogle him, as my arousal would be much too visible, and I wouldn't want to offend anyone.
I opened my eyes again as my young guide Amir entered the room. He handed me a large white, terry robe that seemed to be fresh from the oven. "Put this on, so you won't be cold." He said, as he helped me into the layers of warm cotton. "Come with me please." He instructed, and I followed. As I passed the man on the right who I'd been admiring, I noticed a very large erection protruding from between his legs, with no attempt to cover himself. Perhaps, I had been too hasty in assuming they were easily offended.
Amir walked me into a very heated, lowly lit room, with the familiar stone table in the middle - the rotundas of the hamams in Turkey, but obviously much smaller. The room was beautiful - richly detailed cobalt and ivory mosaics filled the walls, granite fountains on all sides - perfect in it's beautiful symmetry and detail.
"Bathing and massage?" Amir inquired.
"Yes, I suppose so." I responded. I didn't recall what I asked for before, but I didn't care. I was enthralled with my new discovery, and wouldn't let costs worry me.
"Please, on the table." Amir directed me. He lifted the robe off of my shoulders, and I realized I left my towel in the steam room. I hoped he would offer me a new one, but he simply gestured me onto the table. I approached the stone table, and he spread out a towel on the stone, and I crawled naked atop the table and lay on my stomach. The stone was perfectly heated. Amir walked around toward my head, and slipped a thick, round piece of plastic coated soft foam under my head. I turned my head to the left, and laid my arms at my sides. On the other side of the room, Amir lifted his long white tunic revealing his beautiful hairy young body, wearing nothing underneath. He took a linen towel from the shelf by his workstation and wrapped it deftly around his waist. He reached up and turned on soft Turkish music in the background.
"You have been to hamam in Turkey, yes?" he asked. "Yes, I really enjoyed it." I answered.
"You have special Turkish massage and bath today." He smiled at me and turned to the faucet near the side of the stone. He began to pour hot water on the stone around me, then across my body - not scalding, but perfectly heated. Again, somehow relaxing and invigorating.
"You don't have a towel!" he exclaimed. "I get one for you." "No," I protested, "It isn't necessary." I didn't want him to have to do anything special for me. "Oh, is okay for you then?" he asked. "Really, it's fine. Not to worry." I assured him. I had to admit, I never really understood the illusion of modesty presented by the thin, Turkish linen towels. The bather and the bathee wore these thin cotton towels that hung no more than a few inches past the edge of your butt cheeks, and ended up soaking in the end, but it was somehow part of the modest custom. Amir smiled and returned to soaking the table and me in steaming water.
We walked over to his workstation and unwrapped a cake of sandalwood soap. He ran dipped it in the basin of hot water and began to lather it in his hands. He began soaping my feet, massaging the weary soles and ankles with his strong hands, working the soap in perfect circles around my skin. He bent my knees up and massaged my calf and shins. First the right, then the left. I could hear him hum quietly as he systematically worked the tension out of every pore of my body. He moved his way above my knees to my thighs, and slid his hand between then, gently pushing them apart. I obliged and opened my legs to his command, and he began soaping and massaging my now tensing thighs.
As he reached under my thighs, I worried that he would touch, or catch sight of my growing erection. The movement of his hands was swift, and he never managed to touch it, but as he lowered each thigh I winced slightly as my weight forced my increasingly aroused cock was forced into the marble below.
His work on, and between my asscheeks nearly sent me through the roof. I don't believe that he was aware of the effect he was having, but his hands gave a slow, and delicious torture. By the time he worked his way to my shoulders, my throbbing erection had managed to subside enough that could enjoy the view of his cock swinging clearly under the thin, now soaked linen towel. As he leaned over me to scrub my shoulders his weighty cock and balls swung loosely below his towel. It was all I could do to keep my hands to myself.
He then climbed onto the table with me and began to scrub my soaped body with the familiar coarse brush used in every hamam. Usually the rough scouring would be enough to end any sort of sexual appetite I had, but his hot wet body next to mine, the hard scrubbing and rhythmic sway of our bodies, kept my libido throbbing like a bass drum. I could hear him panting softly as he scrubbed away at my back and ass. I knew then that he was getting into the heat of the moment as much as I, as he straddled my waist facing toward my feet as he scrubbed my legs. With every lurch he made forward to scour my thighs, I raised my ass slightly to make contact with his dangling balls. He moved down slightly to scrub my feet and ankles, and left his monstrous ballsac sliding between my thighs, making contact with my own aching balls, and throbbing cock beneath me. His wet, hairy ass rubbed in tandem with mine, I was being teased into near sexual ecstasy.
Swiftly, he jumped from the table and began to pour the warm water across me to rinse me off. He put his washing cup back on the table and turned to me and said only "Turn."
I could see his excitement beginning to swell beneath his wet, disheveled towel, as I turned onto my back, my own cock slapping my hairy belly with a loud, wet "thwack." If he were to be embarrassed or angered at my flagrant sexual overture, aggressively forbidden in a traditional Turkish hamam, this would be the time. But I didn't care, I wanted him, and I was sure that he wanted me too.
He turned back, and saw my throbbing manhood. He said nothing, but smiled at me. He grabbed the soap again, and began to wash my chest and shoulders down. He worked his way down my chest and body to my pubic region. He skillfully began to massage around the base of my cock, and softly kneaded my dangling nuts. He began to wash my cock slowly - sliding the foreskin up and down the pulsing shaft. With one hand the pulled down firmly on my ample foreskin, and wrapped the other around the bulbous purple head and stroked it with this soap-lubed hand.
He backed off of my cock in the nick of time, and reached for the scrubbing brush. He climbed back onto the table and straddled my thighs. He lifted his wet towel, and draped it like a tent over my own aching cock. His own cock landed like a weight on mine, and he began to grind my crotch as he scrubbed my chest and arms. His monstrous cock was hardening with every stroke. Slid my hands up to his thighs in a daring move toward his supple ass. He reached back and rinsed off my clean scrubbed chest and reached for a bottle of sesame oil. He raised off of me, and began to pour warm, sweet scented oil over my body. His strong, playful fingers danced across my tingling flesh. He then straddled me again, leaned forward and plunged his forceful tongue into my hot mouth. We sucked each other's tongues while our cocks seemed to wrestle beneath us. He let forth a muffled moan and my hand reached under his towel and grasped his enormous cock. At least 10 inches long, and so thick I could barely close my hand around it, it was on of the finest pieces of man meat I had ever had the pleasure to behold. He raised up, and began to pour more warm oil on my waiting cock. He wrapped his glistening hands around his and seemed to take great delight in the play of my foreskin.
After several moments of torturous handwork, he raised himself over me, and then lowered his tight ass down onto my dick. Skillfully, and patiently, he accepted every inch of my pulsing prick. Slowly, I began to reciprocate with inward strokes of my own. Eventually he was taking all 8 inches of my meat without any effort. With every down stroke his own cock would slide across my oil slicked belly and he would pant an appreciative note. We were in perfect rhythm. We rolled among the steam, and oil and wetness. As the tempo began to accelerate, he ripped off his linen towel and I grasped his gargantuan cock in both my hands and pumped him in tandem with my every stroke. Soon the familiar change in breath signaled that we were both ready for much deserved release.
Within a few strokes, I could feel his monster twitch and throb. He began to emanate a low moan, signaling the end. His pulsing, engorged head of his cock lifted and let fly rope after rope of thick, creamy cum, landing across my chest, in my mouth and around my neck, and with the taste of his hot essence in my mouth I could restrain myself no more. I drove myself deep into him and blew load after load of my own into his steaming hot ass.
We collapsed for a moment on top of on another panting, and deep kissing - sharing the copious load he had left across my chest.
He climbed off of me, and walked over to a small notebook on his table.
"You will be on my V.I.P. list. You will always ask for Amir?" he asked.
"Absolutely." I replied. "Without a doubt."