The Turkish Baths (When Straight Guys Go Gay)

THE TURKISH BATHS

(When Straight Guys Go Gay)

By
E.M.Bridger

This is a work of erotic fiction. All names and

characters are a figment of the author’s imagination

and
any resemblance to actual persons, living or

deceased
, is coincidental
.

All of the characters featured in this

work are over the age of 18 years old.

©
E.M.Bridger  2013

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this work may be copied, reprinted

or
redistributed in any format, electronically or otherwise,

without the advance permission of the author.

To contact the author email:

[email protected]

THE TURKISH BATHS

(When Straight Guys Go Gay)

“Bloody Hell,” he muttered to himself in response to his wife’s muffled voice. “Over half an hour in the bathroom and THEN she announces that she wants to go shopping…again!” Steve Parkinson wandered out on to the hotel room balcony, the mid-morning sun immediately contrasting against the chill from the high powered air conditioning. “We come all this way,” he continued to mumble, “and all she wants to do is wander aimlessly around endless street markets.” Sighing as he sat down on the warm plastic chair he ruefully stared out at the deep blue Mediterranean Sea, flashes of sunlight reflecting majestically from the gently ebbing waves. The first real holiday since their honeymoon, some three years ago, and it’s shopping, shopping and more shopping he mused as he recalled the seemingly repetitive routine of the last ten days.

“Are you ready, darling?” Barbara’s voice at the patio door suddenly stirred him from his thoughts. Her long, blond, curly hair pushed back by a pair of ridiculously oversized sunglasses, and a black leather handbag gripped tightly in her right hand, she definitely looked ready to shop for her country.

“Do you mind if I give the markets a miss today, hun?” Steve said with an air of pleading in his voice, certain that he had absolutely no appetite whatsoever for watching his wife try on seemingly endless outfits before ritualistically seeking his usually unheeded opinion.

“Are you not feeling well?” she enquired.

“No, I’m fine babe, I just thought I’d take a look around the old town today. You know, take in some of the local history and culture.”

“Oh well, if that’s what you want to do, go for it honey. Back here at six for dinner?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Steve replied, thankful for the relatively easy pass-out he had apparently obtained.

“OK, see you later darling. Be good. Missing you already!” she said breezily, kissing him gently on the forehead before gliding gracefully out of the room.

Steve sauntered back indoors and reached for the complimentary sight-seeing guide on the desk table before returning to the balcony and aimlessly flicking through the glossy pages. Images of modern day Turkey combined seamlessly with pictures of ancient historical ruins as Steve enjoyed a few moments of peaceful solitude, carefully considering his numerous options. His six years in the Armed Forces had afforded him ample travel opportunities but rarely had he had the chance to leisurely explore, restricted, as he so often was, to a tour of duty almost exclusively positioned behind the safety of heavily guarded barrack walls. With a plan firmly in mind, he gathered up his wallet and room key and headed down to the hotel lobby.

The combined street level temperature and humidity, considerably higher than he had experienced on the hotel balcony, caused a bead of sweat to immediately form on his suntanned brow. The bright white T-shirt began to cling to his chest and his black nylon shorts did the same to his thighs. He was grateful that respite came, in the form of a beautifully cool air conditioned minibus, after only a few minutes wait in the intense heat. He paid the nominal fare and took a seat near the back of the half full vehicle as it steadily chugged its way through the busy, stall-laden streets. Which of those stalls, he wondered, was Barbara already rummaging through? Which poor stall-holder was on the receiving end of her vociferous haggling skills? As the almost icy cold air-conditioning blew against his crew-cut hair, Steve Parkinson relaxed back in to his seat and savoured the prospect of an afternoon of retail-free solitude.

**********

The tall monuments, ancient hollowed buildings and vast amphitheatre of the old town were a stark reminder of civilisations long since passed, communities of people that existed thousands of years before his homeland had even been occupied. Traditions that had once thrived, but long since died out, still represented today by buildings that had loving been preserved as part of the country’s undoubted heritage. Even though the sun was beating down fiercely, Steve wallowed in the drama, the history and the sheer sense of perspective that the old town offered.

Eventually opting for some much needed refreshment, he took a left into a narrow, shady street littered with immaculately maintained pot plants and flowerbeds. Attracted by the words ‘Ice Cold Beer’, written in chalk on a blackboard propped against an open door, Steve entered a dark, cool building near the end of the street. He was greeted by an elaborately decorated room, festooned with framed black and white pictures of Hollywood movie stars of yesteryear, interspersed, at intervals, with ornate eastern style lanterns. Four wooden tables more than adequately filled the limited floor space in front of a neatly presented, chest high brick bar in the far right corner, the barely audible rhythm of eastern style drumming the only noise to be heard.

“Merhaba,” Steve said, in a slightly raised voice, hoping to attract the attention of any, so far unseen, other occupants.

“Hello…one moment, please,” came a faint voice, seemingly from underneath him. A few seconds later an immaculately dressed young man emerged, apparently from underneath the bar.

“I am so sorry,” he said apologetically, “I was in cellar changing beer.”

“No worries,” Steve replied cheerfully, mounting one of the raised stools positioned directly in front of the bar.

“What can I get for you?”

“Oh, a cold beer would be very nice, thanks,” Steve replied. He looked the barman up and down as he watched him pour a frothy beer into a large, ice-frosted glass. The fully buttoned white long sleeve shirt, black tie and full length black nylon trousers seemed a little over the top for the current climate, but nevertheless portrayed a welcome air of professionalism. “Thank you,” he responded politely as the barman placed the condensation covered glass on the bar in front of him.

“You’re welcome,” came the equally polite reply.

Steve took several large gulps of the ice cold amber liquid before placing his glass back onto the highly polished surface of the bar, savouring both the thirst quenching and the cooling qualities of the drink.

“Are you here on holiday?” the barman asked, “or are you stationed out here?”

“No, no…just a holiday,” Steve replied, before continuing, “How did you know I was in the services?”

“Your tattoo,” the barman replied, pointing to the regimental crest design on the top of Steve’s right arm.

“Oh yeah, of course,” he laughed. “My name is Steve, by the way.”

“Hello Steve, I am Mehmet,” the barman responded cheerfully, “I hope you are enjoying your stay in Turkey.”

“Oh yes, most definitely,” Steve replied enthusiastically, “It is such a beautiful place, full of history and charm. The ruins are amazing.”

“I am glad you like,” Mehmet responded, smiling broadly. “Are you here alone?”

“No, with my wife, but she’s busy shopping…as usual,” Steve said, laughing.

“Yes, I understand,” Mehmet said, also laughing, “I too am married, I earn money, my wife spend it.”

“Same here,” Steve replied, taking another large gulp of cold beer.

The two chatted together like old friends, the black haired, olive skinned barman regaling Steve with tales of his family, the history of the town and a well-informed overview of Turkish politics as the suntanned, muscular holidaymaker countered with accounts of his numerous military tours of duty; Mehmet’s broken English far and away superior to Steve’s limited Turkish.

It was almost an hour, and several beers, later that Mehmet asked the question that, in retrospect, would redefine the course of both Steve’s holiday and his entire future outlook on life. “Have you been to Hamam?”

“Erm, no,” Steve replied, “I haven’t exactly travelled far this holiday. Whereabouts is it?”

“No, no, it not a place,” Mehmet replied, once again laughing, “It Turkish baths.”

“Oh right,” Steve also laughed, “No, I haven’t. I’ve seen a brochure in the hotel room, but I’m not sure it’s my sort of thing.”

“You should try, very relaxing,” Mehmet said, with a twinkle in his eye. “My uncle, he own private Turkish Bath here in town. Very exclusive.”

“Hmmm,” said Steve, not entirely convinced.

“I go tomorrow afternoon,” Mehmet persisted, “Please, be my guest.”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve replied non-committedly.

“I go two o’clock tomorrow, so…” Mehmet said, shrugging his broad shoulders.

“OK, I’ll bear that in mind,” Steve countered politely.

He finished his drink and paid his bill, along with a generous tip for the friendly barman, before walking out into the still blazing sunshine. The bus ride back to the hotel seemed speedy, his thoughts occupied, as they were, by Mehmet’s unexpected invitation. He vowed to take an extra careful look at the brochures before making his final decision as his mind ethereally drifted off into mundane thoughts of what to choose for dinner that evening.

**********

The eleventh day of the holiday began in much the same way as the tenth, with Barbara expressing a still insatiable desire to visit every stall and every bazaar the bustling resort had to offer. Thankfully for Steve, her previous insistence that he joined her had been tempered by the newfound freedom that she too had experienced the previous day. Each more than satisfied with their respective solo plans, Steve casually perused the Turkish bath pamphlet, the words ‘invigorating’, ‘deep cleansing’, ‘relaxing’ and ‘rejuvenating’ echoing around his mind. Hurriedly, he tucked the leaflet to the bottom of the pile of brochures just as Barbara emerged from the bathroom. “OK honey, I’m off,” she announced, “You have a nice afternoon looking around your old buildings,” she added teasingly as she blew him a kiss goodbye.

‘What have I got to lose?’ Steve thought to himself as headed down the hotel stairs towards the lobby. ‘It’s an old local tradition, and, well, when in Rome etc.’ he rationalised as he stood waiting for the bus, the warm afternoon sun once again relentlessly beating down. Throughout the short journey, Steve constantly reassured himself that it was a perfectly natural thing to do when on holiday in Turkey, thousands of people do it every year and it was an age old custom that it would be unwise to miss out on. Nevertheless, he felt sure he had made the right decision in not being totally honest with Barbara about his real intentions that afternoon.

When he eventually strolled in to the, once again, deserted bar he was immediately greeted with a cheery wave by the seemingly ever present Mehmet. “Hello, my friend, good to see you again,” he loudly enthused from behind the bar.

“Merhaba, Mehmet,” Steve replied, equally as cheerily, before settling on the same bar-stool he had occupied the previous day.

“Beer?” Mehmet asked, gesticulating towards the generously stacked fridge behind the bar.

“Oh, yes please,” Steve answered, “It’s a bit quiet in here again today.”

“Is always quiet, my friend, not many people visit old town these days,” the barman replied solemnly as he poured Steve’s ice cold drink. “One time, my bar very busy, but now…” Mehmet allowed the sentence to drift off wistfully as he placed the full glass down on the surface of the bar.

Steve downed almost half of his drink in total silence as Mehmet busied himself behind the bar. Would he even remember his offer from yesterday, he wondered, as he absent-mindedly watched the suave barman cleaning, tidying and rearranging dozens of bottles of exotic liquor. He glanced up at the small ornate clock above the back of the bar; 1.30pm. “Are you still planning to go to the Hamam this afternoon, Mehmet?” he asked, breaking the unusually long silence between them.

“Yes, if no customers,” Mehmet answered promptly before asking, with a clear glint in his eyes, “You are coming too, yes?”

“Well, why not,” Steve enthused, “It sounds like it could be an interesting experience.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Mehmet smiled, “My uncle runs good place.”

Steve laughed, a little unsure as to whether he should read any hidden meaning into the barman’s comment, or whether it was just his own nervousness playing tricks on him.