by Liz Crowe
“Figures.” The woman scoffed and held up her glass for a refill. “All the really hot ones are gay and married.”
He laughed and their conversation eased into something closer to what he had with Elle, his boss of nearly fifteen years. He closed his eyes a moment, reliving the last ten days he’d shared with Tarkan, his lover and now unofficial husband.
“Is your man Turkish?”
Blinking, he realized his seatmate spoke to him. “Yes. We met when I was working in Istanbul.” He yawned. “Tarkan’s in the military, but is about finished with his tour in Ankara. We spent the last ten days on a blue cruise.”
“How long did you live in Istanbul?”
“Eight years. Moved back to LA a little over a year ago.”
“But you stayed together? That’s nice.”
He smiled. “Yeah, it’s not easy. He’s coming to the U.S. once his military service is over. His parents are not happy, but….”
The woman arched her eyebrows at him. “I can imagine.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it doesn’t help that his twin brother has left as well. He moved over to the States with my boss, his new wife.”
His new friend frowned. “Wow. Complicated.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” He patted her knee then turned his head and stared out the window into the deep purple sky. He gripped his thighs when memories of Tarkan—skin soft and dark, eyes mocha brown and hair silky and black—rose in his consciousness. He sighed, and the woman next to him shifted and leaned into his shoulder, already half asleep. He motioned for another drink.
Caleb sipped at the smooth brown liquor. Once again, he ran a finger over the heavy ring Tarkan had given him on the small yacht they’d rented for the week. Fear made his throat tighten at the thought of his soul mate, spending his last weeks on duty in the Turkish capital. They’d argued their last night on the boat.
“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” he’d said, sitting back on a large bench on the boat’s second level, Tarkan’s head in his lap as they took in the fading beauty of a sunset over the ocean. They’d consumed a huge delicious meal prepared by the on-board cook, an attractive young man who’d obviously been chosen for the job because he didn’t mind two men sharing a bed. Adem was attractive and slender with a French father and Turkish mother. An aspiring chef, he’d told them, and one day hoped to own his own exclusive restaurant in the southern resort town of Antalya. And he knew when to disappear and leave them alone.
The deep blue sea below them and velvety soft air all around had turned the trip into one of the most erotic vacations Caleb could possibly imagine. He shut his eyes tight, fighting anger at the memory of putting Tarkan back on a plane in his stark military uniform the day before.
That night, he had taken Caleb’s hand, threaded long fingers through his and brought them to his lips. “It’s a Turkish thing, my love.” Caleb grimaced, remembering how he’d yanked his hand away in anger.
“Bullshit. You’re just trying to please your father again. Deflect attention from us so your family won’t notice that we’re together.”
Tarkan had stayed silent, turned on his side, and let his empty hand trail along Caleb’s knee, down his bare calf and back up, soothing and calm as usual.
“Shh, my lover. It will be fine. Only a few more weeks, and then we will be together again, like we planned. Seni seviyorum….”
Caleb swallowed hard, remembering how he’d tried to resist, tried to stay mad, but Tarkan’s hands, then later his lips and tongue, and his lean strong body, had made him forget his anger, forget everything but how much he loved the man once again.
He had demanded they tell Tarkan’s parents the truth. After nearly six years in a monogamous, loving relationship, he was not about to keep sneaking around and hiding who he was. He had an uneasy truce with Tarkan’s parents, but the aging grandmother who lived in their large mansion loved him, Caleb knew, because she wanted whatever made her grandsons happy. But as tough as it might be to live as openly gay partners in the U.S, it was unthinkable in Turkey, so their plans included a move to California in three more weeks. Tarkan and Emre’s nineteen-year-old sister, Lale, were already begging her parents to let her move to the States as well, finish college at UCLA to be near her brothers and their families. She and Tarkan were extremely close, and his stint in the military made her even angrier than Caleb at times.
A sudden, piercing pain between his eyes made him grunt and lean up, forcing the woman drooling on his shoulder back into her own seat.
“Jesus.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. A flight attendant set a bottle of water on his tray. He gulped it down, but instead of helping, the pain spread, making him squint and grab his temples, trying to quell whatever thrashed around behind his eyes. He groaned and sat back, dreading the thought of a migraine on the last three hours of this flight. Then, as quickly as it gripped him, the headache left. For the first time in his memory he literally saw stars. He took deep breaths until his head cleared then a massive wave of panic replaced the pain.
He yanked his seatbelt off and stood. Running a hand over his stubbled face, he tried to fathom what in the hell was happening. It had to be some sort of anxiety attack, brought on by memory, anger, fear, and longing. Jesus, whatever it was it sucked. Shoving his hands in his trouser pockets, he started pacing the aisle, willing the lump away in his throat. He sat again. Got antsy. Stood and paced some more. Flight attendants gave him worried glances.
Nothing helped. If anything, he became short of breath. His heart pounded in his ears and he tried to lecture himself into calmness. Attempted to picture Tarkan’s soft eyes, imagine his hands on his shoulders, rubbing, soothing away Caleb’s Type-A stress. For some reason, for the first time in years, he couldn’t conjure mental images of his lover at all. That tore it. He took four long strides to the flight attendant’s area. He had to be quite a sight, eyes wild, hair standing up where he’d pulled at it for the last hour, but he no longer cared. Something was seriously wrong.
No one acknowledged his presence. That was odd. First class passengers typically wouldn’t tolerate being ignored. Caleb cleared his throat. The group stayed clustered around a small screen in their kitchen area. He muscled past them. Someone in the group quickly flicked off the screen. The attendant who’d been bringing him drinks fixed a smile on her face, but he saw the fear in her eyes.
“What.” His jaw ached from clenching it.
“Nothing sir, can I get you anything else?” The group disbanded, doing their jobs, completely silent. He used all he had not to yell with frustration. Obviously whatever had happened, no one planned to share it with passengers who might panic. His gut rolled again.
“Water,” he croaked. “Can I…?”
Someone shoved a piss-warm glass of water into his hand—again, very unlike the formerly polite and attentive crew. He took a deep breath, tried to catch the eye of the uniformed woman now carefully ignoring him. Giving up, he stumbled back to his seat, his knees suddenly unreliable. What in hell is going on? Whatever it was, he didn’t want to face it, hoped the flight would simply go on and on forever, never setting down and forcing him deal with the utter devastation that must have occurred. Was it an earthquake? Was Istanbul hit by terrorists? He talked himself out of the doomsday scenarios playing in his head, popped an aspirin, and concentrated on getting some sleep. Anything to hold at bay what was about to make him throw up the bourbon, food, and water he’d had that day. He settled for fuzzy daydreams about Tarkan, their smoking hot beginning, turbulent early days, and the moment he gave in to his true heart and admitted how he felt. He sighed, ignoring the niggling sharp pain that had developed behind his eyes again and drifted. Memories crowded his medicated brain, tumbling around and bringing home the very first time he realized he’d found the love of his life in Turkey.
***
Caleb finished his two-hour workout by nine PM. and was sitting at the coffee bar, nursing an espresso when he locked ey
es with one of the most attractive creatures on the planet. He’d seen the guy before. They worked out at about the same time most days, exchanging polite nods and “excuse me’s” as they completed a long weight circuit. He’d started looking forward to what he considered Extreme Turkish Eye Candy, of the straight variety it seemed, as the man was never without some equally gorgeous female hanging on his every word.
He sighed and sipped, relishing the ache in his muscles from the workout. After two and a half years in Istanbul and intense language lessons paid for by the company, he had a good grip on the conversations swirling around him. He caught his fair share of “beautiful yellow hair American” and “sexy boy” from the ladies and smiled at them, for shits and giggles, aware of his affect while completely unaffected by them. But he was there now—the man Caleb had been admiring for weeks. And he was sitting near enough that Caleb could feel the heat of his skin and smell the shampoo in his damp hair. His skin prickled and he looked away.
“Merhaba.”
Caleb swallowed and answered back, in Turkish. They introduced themselves, shared a few pleasantries until the conversation got more complex than he could handle. The beautiful man’s accent when they switched to English rang in Caleb’s ears like a symphony. He gave himself a shake. Don’t be a sap. He’s straight, remember?
“You are here every night, like me.”
“Yes, my office is around the corner and it’s an easy stop before going home.”
Caleb was mesmerized by the other man’s full lips and the extreme white of his teeth as he struck up conversations with every female who stopped by. They kept touching him, his hair, shoulders, arms. Caleb resisted a sigh of regret. “So,” Tarkan finally returned his focus to him. “I have a boat. Do you like boats?”
“Uh...sure.” Caleb looked around, suddenly nervous. He’d been warned to keep his sexuality under wraps in this conservative country. He’d found some pretty high-end gay bars, and discovered the same men there every time he went. But he’d remained celibate for going on three years, unwilling to engage with anyone there, in spite of several extremely tempting occasions. His cock punched hard against the zipper of his jeans. It hurt like a bitch, but he shifted and smiled at his new friend. “I, um, love boats.”
“Okay, Caleb, I’m having a party this weekend on mine. Leaving from the Asian side, this dock.” He flipped a business card onto the bar between them.
Tarkan Deniz
Broker, Chase Manhattan Bank, Istanbul.
On the back, he’d written a phone number and address. Caleb frowned into Tarkan’s dark chocolate gaze. Nothing in it spoke of intimacy closer than a couple of buddies on a boat likely full of women and booze. He sighed and stuck out his hand. The electric spark that passed between the two men made them both blink. “Pleased to meet you, Tarkan. I’ll let you know about this weekend. I have to check my schedule.” Caleb’s schedule was full of work, exercise, work, exercise with an occasional injection of more work. He knew he’d be going, if for no other reason than to watch Tarkan do whatever one did when one “had a boat.”
The next night he dashed into the exclusive twentieth floor gym, gutted out seven miles on the treadmill, and tried not to stare too obviously, around for the other man’s dark face and body. After he’d toweled off and made his way toward the elaborate weight machines, he’d given up. The guy must not be coming tonight. It was Friday. He probably actually had a social life. After about an hour of arm work, Caleb prepared to call it quits. His boss had dumped a huge project on him and he knew he could get a head start tonight, if he went home now. A familiar laugh made him stop dead in his tracks. He whipped his head around, catching the spectacular rear view of the tall, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned Turk that was the star of his recent lonely fantasies. He took a deep breath and walked toward him.
The man was flirting with some women, as usual, as they lay draped around the weight benches, mouths open with eagerness. He didn’t blame them. The guy was a vision. He could be a model. He touched Tarkan’s shoulder. The mega-watt smile and deep mocha eyes caught Caleb off guard. He grinned.
“I’ll go,” he said simply, running a hand through his damp hair. The other man raised an eyebrow, as if questioning him. “I mean, I’ll join you. You know, on the boat. Sunday? Like we, ah, discussed?” He started to doubt his sanity. The guy looked positively confused. Then he nodded.
“Ah, yes, you must be Caleb.”
“Uh, yeah. We met, remember?” The other man’s musical laughter pealed out into the room, drawing attention to their conversation. He slapped a large hand on Caleb’s shoulder.
“You are looking for my brother. Tarkan?”
It was Caleb’s turn to be open mouthed. There were two of them?
“Evet. Ne istyorsun kardesim?”
Tarkan’s face appeared from behind a bank of free weights at the other end of the room. Caleb flushed and looked from one man to the other. They were scarily identical. He was willing to bet they’d used that to their advantage more than once if the impish grins on both handsome faces were any indication.
The boat trip had only been the two of them, to his pleasant surprise. In the powerful fancy speedboat, Tarkan had torn away from the shore, one hand on the wheel, the other in the air waving to the dockworkers. Caleb sat and watched the man’s body, covered only in khaki shorts and a tee shirt, and tried to will his cock down from its compromising position of extreme hard, bordering on agonizing. They cruised down the shoreline slowly. Tarkan pointed out various historical views and regaled Caleb with stories of growing up with a proud Turkish father and stubborn American mother. By the time they reached a spot about an hour down the coast and had pulled into a dock that looked to be an historical relic on its own, Caleb was drunk with lust.
Tarkan lead him up a steep grassy hill, dotted with the odd remnant of ancient temple or church or whatever, Caleb had no idea. History was not his thing. The man in front of him was though. He guided Caleb into what looked like a small, elegant restaurant on the outside but was obviously a private home. One table was set, in front of a blazing fire, for two. A few people appeared, poured wine, put some food down and disappeared. Caleb was nervous again. He wanted Tarkan so badly at that moment he didn’t think he could control himself. And he knew damn good and well Tarkan felt the same way.
“Afiyet olsun.” Tarkan gestured to the food, which was a delicious simple meal of lamb, rice and fresh vegetables. Caleb stared at him, not sitting, not moving any closer. The room hummed with chemistry, electricity, and primal need.
“Are we alone?” he ground out. “Because if we aren’t we should be, and soon.”
He was thrilled to see Tarkan finally appear unsettled. The guy was one cool customer for certain. Calmer than anyone had a right to be. He glanced around, motioned with one hand, and the lights were dimmed, leaving the room lit by a single candle and the flickering flames in the grate. He took a step toward Caleb, ran a finger down his face, palmed his cheek. Caleb’s entire body broke out in a chill and if it were physiologically possible, his cock got even harder. “We should eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” Caleb growled and reached for him, yanking his face close, covering his lips with his own, hungry beyond imagining for the Turkish treat in his arms. They melded together, nearly identical in their six-foot-two-inch bodies, arms wound around each other, tongues colliding with passion. Caleb groaned into Tarkan’s mouth as the other man’s hands slid down his arms, around to his ass, and pressed their bulging groins together, grinding into him so hard Caleb nearly came in his shorts. He yanked his face away and stared into the dark-skinned man’s eyes.
“I am one pent-up guy, I have to warn you. I...oh, shit....”
Tarkan dropped to his knees and tugged Caleb’s zipper down in one fluid motion, releasing his throbbing cock to the air. “Lovely,” he murmured, before dipping his tongue into the weeping slit, licking his way around the edge of the head and finally swallowing Caleb’s shaft all the way down, pressi
ng his nose into the curls at the base.
“Jesus, I...oh....” Caleb bit it back, cocked his hips and held onto Tarkan’s hair, fucking his lovely mouth like an animal, making noises he didn’t know he had in him. The man moaned, clutched his ass and deep-throated him, again and again, sucking and tugging until Caleb saw stars at the edge of his vision, felt the orgasm gathering at the base of his spine. “Baby, I’m gonna blow.” His voice was a whisper in the nearly dark room. “I can’t hold back.”
In response, Tarkan pulled his mouth off with a final bit of suction, stood, and yanked his own shorts down. He possessed Caleb’s mouth, sweeping his talented tongue in and through, owning him with his lips. Their erections pressed together, the hot, hard sex between them beautiful and urgent.
Pressing a condom packet into Caleb’s shaking hand, Tarkan pulled his shirt off and did the same to Caleb, leaning in to lick at his rock hard nipples. Caleb suppressed a moan, ripped the packet open with his teeth and ran the thin latex down over his straining shaft. He tugged the man up, level with his face and put both hands on either side of it, relishing the roughness of the man’s skin under his palms. “I need you,” he said simply.
“Take me,” Tarkan hissed, pressed his lips to Caleb’s, then turned around, arching his back up, presenting that glorious ass Caleb had been ogling all day long. He ran his hands down the man’s dark flesh, across his back, rested them on his hips, before leaning over and biting down on his delicious shoulder. He tasted of cinnamon, saffron, allspice, and Caleb knew at that moment he could never get enough.
“Oh evet, yes, my love,” Tarkan moaned as Caleb reached down to grasp his cock and rolled the soaking wet head in one hand. The smell of Tarkan’s sex filled his nose, and he moved against the man’s ass, needing inside but unwilling to go there—not yet. He wasn’t a fuck-on-the-first-date kind of guy, really. He moved his hand up and down Tarkan’s long, elegant shaft, relishing the way the other man’s hips moved into his strokes then back against his own needy, hard body. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders, keeping himself bent, curled around the other man. Tarkan shifted, spread his legs as his hips moved faster. Caleb smiled against Tarkan’s tantalizing skin, licking his neck, nipping and biting, moving his own hips now, ready to penetrate.
