The Turkish Baths (When Straight Guys Go Gay) (2 page)

“Another drink,” Mehmet asked, pointing at Steve’s almost empty glass.

“Yes please, and will you join me?”

“Thank you, I will,” Mehmet smiled, pulling a second frosted glass from a secret hideaway under the bar. The two drank and chatted away heartily, Steve even plucking up the courage to quiz Mehmet over whether drinking beer somehow contradicted his Muslim beliefs.

“There are good Muslims, and bad Muslims,” the barman cheekily responded, “And sometimes I am a bad Muslim.” The two laughed loudly as they downed their drinks, still deep in conversation, before Mehmet finally glanced up at the clock and said, “I think there are no more customers today, I close the bar now.” He collected the empty glasses and gesticulated towards the door, closely following behind Steve as they left the dark cool bar and ventured out in to the narrow street.

“My uncles’ place is just along here,” Mehmet pointed, placing his right hand in the small of Steve’s back as if to guide him. As they made their way along the narrow cobbled road Mehmet repeatedly thanked Steve for joining him and constantly uttered reassurances, almost guarantees, that he would enjoy the experience. By the time they stopped, outside an innocuous looking door marked ‘GIZLI’, Steve had seriously began to wonder what he had let himself in for.

“See, Gizli,” Mehmet announced, pointing at the sign, “it mean private.”

“Ah, I see,” Steve said quietly as the barman reached into his pocket and produced a set of ancient looking keys. As they entered the building Steve was immediately overwhelmed by both a tremendous wall of heat and the intoxicating aroma of incense. Mehmet guided him along a dark, narrow corridor and into a small tiled room adorned with two wooden benches and a series of hooks on the wall, every other one sporting a large, fluffy white towel.

“This changing room,” Mehmet announced, “We take sauna first,” he added before turning to face the wall.

“Don’t we have to pay, or something?” Steve asked warily.

“No, no, it’s my uncles’ place,” Mehmet replied as he started to undress, “no charge for family or friends.”

Steve hesitantly followed Mehmet’s lead and began to disrobe, carefully hanging his T-shirt on one of the empty hooks. Kicking his sandals beneath the wooden bench he reached for a towel before sliding off his nylon shorts and quickly wrapping the warm fluffy cloth tightly around his waist. When he turned around he briefly caught a glimpse of Mehmet pulling down a pair of tight white underpants to reveal two pert, muscular buttocks generously coated in wisps of jet black hair.

Quickly turning back to face the wall, Steve slowly stowed his shorts on the same peg as his T-shirt, taking enough time for Mehmet to hopefully make himself decent.

“Are you ready, Steve?” Mehmet asked, turning to face the towel clad squaddie. Steve nodded. “OK, this way please,” he continued, leading him out of the changing room and a little further down the narrow corridor. Stopping outside an unmarked wooden door, Mehmet said, “Is very, very hot in here, but good to open pores of skin.”

As they stepped into the tiny room, Steve struggled to make out any obvious features through the omnipresent haze of thick steam. Mehmet gently guided him to a small wooden bench and gestured for him to sit before taking position himself on a similar bench directly opposite. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the hot misty environment, Steve could just make out a metal tray that seemed to be the source of the seemingly increasing volume of steam. He watched silently as Mehmet poured water from a nearby jug directly onto the now visible glowing coals creating yet another burst of hot vapour to flow throughout the tiny room.

“Is good, yes?” Mehmet asked loudly, struggling to be heard above the thunderous hissing.

“It’s bloody hot!” Steve replied as his body struggled to adapt to the raging heat. As he sat on the bench, his legs slightly astride, he took a few seconds to consider his situation. He was no stranger to being semi-naked, or even naked, around other men, his life in the barracks had long since quashed any such hang ups, but somehow this situation felt quite different. Without being able to specifically identify what it was, he felt that something about his current circumstance was most definitely alien to him.

Several minutes passed before Mehmet shouted above the still substantial noise, “I think we have cooked enough, my friend,” and stood up, tightening the towel around his waist. Steve did likewise and followed Mehmet out of the steam room and back into the tiny corridor. As they turned a corner they were greeted by three doors, one to the left, one to the right and one straight ahead. “These are the bath rooms,” Mehmet announced, almost with a sense of pride. “Today, I think we will take this one,” he continued, opening the door on the right.

Steve gasped as he stepped into the most elaborate room he had ever seen in his life. The floor consisted of the deepest blue shiny marble, ornately decorated with gold coloured squares, each containing white marble images. The walls too were fully made of marble, a rich emerald green in colour, adorned with white marble pillars reaching from ceiling to floor, with a decorative archway protruding proudly above a pair of white, wooden doors at the far end. In the centre of the room were two matching marble tables, a dark grey in colour, each topped with a jet black inflatable mattress.

“Jesus!” exclaimed Steve, “this is amazing!”

“As you are in Turkey, perhaps you should say Allah, this is amazing,” Mehmet said, laughing.

“Yeah…sorry,” Steve replied, a faint hint of embarrassment in his voice.

“Do not worry, my friend, I tease you,” Mehmet replied quickly, patting the soldier on his bare back. “Please, take a seat,” he continued, guiding Steve to the left marble table. Sitting himself on the other table Mehmet clapped his hands twice and shouted loudly, “BOYS!”

The white wooden doors slowly opened and in walked two youths clad only in short, white towels. Each had neatly groomed jet black hair, and both carried matching white marble bowls.

“Let me introduce,” Mehmet said ceremonially. “On left is Emra. He 19 years old, on right is Tahir, he 20 years old.”

Steve stared silently at the undeniably handsome youths, their smooth olive coloured skin and their boyish good looks belying their announced age. Both stared straight ahead and smiled, perfect white teeth adding a final gloss to their flawless appearance.

“You like, yes?” Mehmet asked.

“Well, I mean, erm, I don’t know what to say,” Steve spluttered.

“No worry…they both very good masseurs. Who you like to look after you today, Emra or Tahir?”

“I, erm, well, I, I don’t really know,” Steve said, still struggling to form a coherent sentence. He wasn’t really sure what he had expected, but it was certainly not this!

“OK, Emra, you look after Steve, Tahir can take care of me,” Mehmet said. “Lie face down Steve, and let the boys do their work.”

Thankful that no further words were required, Steve followed Mehmet’s instruction and positioned himself face down on the luxurious black inflatable mattress. Glancing across to his right he watched as the barman adopted a similar position, burying his head face down into the soft vinyl.

The first warm trickle, oozing gently into the small of his back, took Steve a little by surprise. Whatever potion had been applied to his naked flesh seemed to hold position all of its own accord, gently heating his golden suntanned skin. He gasped quietly as he felt the delicate touch of soft fingertips manoeuvring the thick liquid, in a figure of eight motion, across his shoulder blades and down to the base of his spine.

“Mmmm”, he groaned in relaxed contentment as the subtle finger action gradually strengthened, the pressure increasing with each circuit. Briefly glancing across at Mehmet, he was unsurprised to see Tahir subjecting the clearly relaxed barman to a similar treatment. He watched intently, for a few moments, as the liquid appeared to grow whiter and foamier with each stroke of the olive-skinned boy’s hand before burying his head back into the mattress with yet another satisfied sigh.

Expert hands, tender yet firm, caressed his back with exquisite skill, gently easing away layer after layer of pent up tension. The warmth radiated throughout his whole torso as Emra silently but diligently manipulated his muscular upper body. Steve closed his eyes and fully submerged himself in the experience, wondering how he had managed to, up until now, miss out on such a relaxing and invigorating local tradition. Perhaps, he mused, this should be a reminder to be a little more open-minded in future.

The hand movements ceased temporarily and Steve instinctively sensed Emra move to the top of the table. Warm, soft, soothing fingers pressed on the base of his neck before working their way slowly down the centre of his back, and under his towel, to the absolute base of his spine. As the boy leaned forward, Steve felt sure he felt something rigid briefly press against the top of his head before the fingers moved subtly to the side of his body and back to his shoulders. When Emra repeated the procedure, Steve was left in absolutely no doubt as to what was brushing against his skull as the boy wriggled his hips suggestively back and forth before returning to an upright position. He felt sure he heard a stifled giggle from across the room but was in no state of mind to either verify it or care.

Several passes later, he once again became aware of Emra shuffling around the table. The now familiar warm liquid oozed along the top of his left thigh momentarily before the soothing hands resumed their manipulative ministrations. Gently squeezing first the thigh muscles, and then the calves, they progressed steadily to the tips of his toes, never missing a square inch of the squaddie’s muscular legs. “Oh, that is good,” Steve heard himself muttering as each muscle was expertly cleaned and massaged with the warm soothing gel. Three times the diligent Turkish youth worked up and down the left leg before affording a similar treatment to the right. Steve mistily recalled his only previous massage, in a dark and dingy basement parlour on a tour of duty in Thailand, and marvelled at how dissimilar the two experiences were proving to be. The slender Asian girl had all but tickled him as she disinterestedly and randomly swished her hands across his flesh; this was different, this was more focussed, more intense. This was, he quickly reminded himself, from a man!

As he briefly wrested with a moment’s unease he failed to even notice Emra silently and subtly loosening his towel, lurching upwards with a start as the boy nonchalantly allowed the towel to drape down alongside the table. Looking first at Emra, and then across at the similarly exposed Mehmet, he sighed heavily and pushed his face back deep into the black vinyl, unable and unwilling to raise any coherent objection. The unmistakeable soothing gel dripped teasingly on to each exposed buttock before the familiar touch of the 19 year olds’ expert hands gently massaged each one in an increasingly vigorous circular motion, his thumbs subtly parting the smooth glistening cheeks with each and every stroke.

“Oh God,” Steve once again groaned, his mind awash with conflict. This was wrong, he knew it was wrong, but it felt so undeniably good; each touch of the slender youth’s hands pushing him into a deeper state of relaxation. He managed to half open one eye to observe what was happening on the adjacent table, the relief of seeing the tall, muscular Tahir working Mehmet’s hairy cheeks in a similarly erotic manner causing him to sigh deeply and once again submerge himself into a semi-somnambulant trance.

When the increasingly firm manipulation of his cheeks unexpectedly stopped, Steve found himself having to stifle an involuntary groan; his surprise at the way he had so willingly accepted Emra’s erotic touching easily surpassed by the intense disappointment he immediately felt when it ceased. The young masseur gently rested the fingers of his left hand on Steve’s right buttock, using his thumb to simultaneously caress the left, gently parting the oiled buttocks further with each stroke. After coating it carefully in the slick foamy gel, Emra gently ran the index finger of his right hand along Steve’s crack, subtly stroking from the end of his spine to the base of his balls and back again.

“Oh, fuck” Steve groaned as the handsome youth’s finger passed over his exposed anus, a million tiny nerve endings tingling in immediate response. “Fuuuccckkk,” he continued to groan as Emra tantalisingly stroked his previously untouched place, the combination of the slick gel and smooth finger proving too much for the heavily breathing squaddie. As the roving digit slipped delicately across his puckered opening, cleaning and stimulating in equal measures, Steve felt a familiar tingle developing in his groin.