Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

As I was turning back from waving the three hunky and grinning Norwegian UN contingent soldiers away on their bikes, the young Turkish guy lowered his hedge clippers and walked over to me. He too was wearing a grin—and nothing else but low-riding jeans and sandals without socks. I was wearing less—just low-riding cargo shorts.

"Excuse me, you're a guest here, aren't you?" he asked in heavily accented English.

"Yes. This is my room," I answered. The answer was a bit idiotic, but then so was the question. Why wouldn't he think I was checked into this room? I felt sort of tongue-tied, though, because I was quite sure that this was one of the guys who had watched me being bully fucked at my window the previous night. But then I didn't really want to let him go. He was a sultry hunk and a half himself. Dark-skinned, slim but well muscled, swarthy, mean-boy aspect with back hair, piercing black eyes, perpetual five-o'clock shadow, hirsute chest, and a knowing—and interested—look in his eyes.

The UN soldiers had let me know in no uncertain terms that as much as they'd enjoyed fucking me, they would be going back to their unit and they weren't interested in any entanglements—that we'd just had recreational, one-time fucks. And I'd let them know that that was perfectly fine with me. I hadn't come to Cyprus for commitment or drama.

"My name is Erol," the dark stud standing in front of me said. "I work here. My uncle is the manager. One of my jobs is to make guests happy. This is your first visit to Girne, isn't it?" Girne was the Turkish word for Kyrenia.

"Yes, my first visit," I answered.

"Maybe you would like someone to show you around. Maybe take you on a boat ride in the Mediterranean. Maybe show you the best place to swim? Maybe show you a good time." He turned his head to look at the backs of the three UN soldiers, still visible, motoring the curvy road down into Kyrenia. He'd known what they were doing here.

"Maybe," I answered, giving him a smile.

He turned his face back to me, a look of interest and lust in his eyes that I couldn't have misinterpreted even if I had wanted to. "I have a friend, Onur. He works here too. We could show you a good time." Before I could say anything, he whistled loudly and called something out in Turkish in which I discerned "Onur" had been included. Around the side of the line of rooms trotted another young hunk, undoubtedly the other guy I'd seen fucking on the bed lounger by the pool the previous night. A big grin exploded on his face when he saw me. He was as lithe and well-muscled, and great looking as Erol was, but without the five-o'clock shadow and hirsute chest.

"Me and Onur show you a good time today? Yes?"

"Maybe yes, but not this morning. I have to go out this morning. I have an appointment down in Ky— . . . down in Girne."

"We show you a real good time, both of us," Erol repeated. Onur was wagging his head in agreement.

"Both of you? Together."

"If you like," Erol said. "We'd like," he added.

"We saw you with the big blond men in your room this morning," Onur interjected. "Three of them."

Lordy, he didn't have to tell me that, I thought. I pretty much figured what he was trying to convey to me already. It might have been a bit of blackmail in case I stood them up, but I got a bit of my own back on them twenty minutes later when I was dressed and coming out of the unit to my bike, which the UN soldiers had quickly brought to rights, down into the town.

They were both standing there, waiting to see me off. Their eyes bugged out when they saw me, though. I was in my work uniform—black shirt and trousers and a clerical collar. I was going to Kyrenia to meet with the rector of Saint Andrews Anglican church to coordinate on the funeral ceremony for Serhan Ceren—one priest to another.

Learning that I was a cleric—an Episcopal priest—didn't deter the two young Turks from showing me the good time they had in mind, but it put another bee in their bonnet.

* * * *

It was all sort of hazy in my mind and I was feeling mellow. Actually I couldn't feel anything at all. Serhan was just getting off me, having been heavily between my legs, trapping me under him on the studio couch in his university office, and having just pulled out of me. He had a dick that was thick and long enough to tax a man, something that would be impossible not to feel. This is what told me I was in a dream. For some reason Serhan Ceren being long out of my life and dead didn't seem to clue me into being in a fantasy. He smiled at me and I smiled back. There had been a time when guilt was mixed in with my longing in coming to Serhan's office, as one of his students, to lie under him and to let him possess me as he did, but I obviously was long past this in this dream. When he rose from me, he turned to stand beside me, his cock in his hand. He rubbed the cock, slick from his cum on my cheek, and I turned my head and took it in my mouth.

I opened my eyes, squinting because of the glare of the unrelenting sun off the waters of the Mediterranean. Erol was kneeling beside me, rubbing his cock on my cheek. I opened my mouth to it, sucked it in, and gave him head. This wasn't like the dream with Serhan, though—with a Turk, to be sure, but one older and chunkier than this young stud. With Erol, this was a preliminary to anal sex, not a follow up. When he was hard, he moved to the center of the boat and coaxed my thighs open and motioned for me to drape my legs over the sides of the small rowboat we were in. My shoulders were wedged into where the boat curved into the bow, and my arms were draped over the sides there. Onur was at the stern of the boat, watching us and grinning, as he rowed. Erol ran his knees under my buttocks, elevating my pelvis. Leaning over me, he groaned and I moaned as he penetrated me with his cock, worked to force it deep inside me, and began the rhythm of the fuck.

I had already fucked Onur. The two had come to my door after I'd had lunch with the rector of St. Andrews and returned to the Olive Tree. They wanted to show me more of the island. Cyprus had great beaches and the clear, blue waters of the Mediterranean. There were private beaches nearby, very private. We rode there on one motor bike, Onur nestled in behind Erol and I behind Onur as we took the beach road to the east of Kyrenia.

They were right. There were pristine beaches that we could have all to ourselves—beaches that were ringed for privacy by rock cliffs that marched right out into the water. The one we stopped at had water deep enough beyond its rock walls that we could safely dive off the tops of the cliffs into the water. We did it again and again, laughing and touching and prodding each other as we climbed the rock. And increasingly we took our time coming back onto the beach from the water, the three of us cavorting and wrestling with each other in the surf just off the beach—embracing, kissing, and fondling.

Erol had asked me if I'd like to take a boat out into the Mediterranean—that he knew of one he could borrow just up the road from this beach. I would be very happy to be able to look back at the island from a boat, I answered, and to test out his claim that the waters of the Mediterranean were so pure here that I could clearly see the bottom even in twenty feet of water.

Would Onur and I be OK without him for a half hour or so?

Surely, we could find something to do while he was gone, I'd answered. I fucked Onur on a towel on the beach, lying on top of him with the heels of his feet rubbing the backs of my calves and his fingers lightly running across my shoulder blades as I slid in and out in his sweet channel to the tune of my light grunts and his deep sighs.

And then it was my turn to be fucked by Erol in the boat when we'd gotten out into the sea, under the rowing power of Onur, sitting in the stern of the boat and grinning at us while Erol fucked me.

"Is it really true you are a priest?" Erol asked as we sat, our legs entwined, on towels on the beach near the rowboat we'd pulled up onto the sand.

"Yes, it's true," I answered. "I'm an Episcopal priest. I'm an elder, though, I'm not a monk. I've taken no pledge of celibacy. And my preferences are known by my bishop."

"I believe you've known many men," Erol said, giving me a sharp, sideways look.

"Probably more than I should have," I answered. I gave a laugh to soften that, but it was a dry laugh. I wasn't proud of my weakness.

"But as a priest you can perform weddings?" Onur spoke up for the first time.

"Yes, I can," I said.

The two looked at each other and Erol nodded his head. "Erol and I wish to be married. Our friends enjoy having wedding parties. We wish to do that too. We need someone to marry us, though. Would you marry us?"

"Marry you?" I asked, trying to hide my shock. "You're Turkish. Aren't you Muslims?"

"Yes, we are. We want our friends to know we are joined as much as they are to their wives. We know it will just be for show, but it will mean something to our friends and us. And we don't want to miss having the wedding party."

"But marriage is a commitment," I said. "Just here today, I've fucked you and Erol has fucked me. That isn't—"

"You haven't been in Kibris long, have you?" Erol asked, with a laugh. "Being married doesn't stop either the husband or the wife from fucking other people here. In Kibris we live to love and to enjoy ourselves to the fullest."

He had me there. You didn't have to be here in Cyprus—or Kibris, when you used the Turkish word for the island—to toss fidelity out the window for the sheer pleasure of it. There was quite enough of that going around in the States too. And what harm would it be to be part of their party? Everyone involved would know and accept that there was no religious sanction involved.

"I'll think about it. I don't know how long I'll be here on the island."

"We could put a party together fast," Onur said. He was looking at me with such hopefulness in his eyes and that I almost agreed on the spot. He had been such a sweet fuck.

"I'll think about it," I repeated. "Perhaps we should go back now."

"I don't think so. I don't think we go back yet," Erol said. His voice was low, thick, dripping in lust. His eyes read lust too.

We fucked in a chain. Onur was on all fours on the towels. I was crouched over him, my arms laced in to his chest, clutching his pecs, and fucking him like a dog. And Erol, in turn was standing behind me, grabbing my hips with his hands, and fucking me from the rear. Eventually, Erol readjusted his stance to where both he and I were shafting Onur's ass together. I had had two men inside me at once before; this was my first time to share a man with another, and it was a memorable sensation. We repeated the three-way progression in my room when we returned to the Olive Tree. I told them to let me know how soon they could put a wedding party together, but that I couldn't stay in Cyprus forever.