Broken she said, ‘How can you tell all that from a massage. You are a very insensitive man not to consider a young girl’s feelings’.
I felt angry, but very sorry for her and continued ‘There was never a situation until you created one. I like sylvan and he is a friend of mine.’
Silence prevailed and Sylvan had the look of a young man who has found a friend, but she was ‘winded’ as if dropped from a height. She rules by her suspicions and fears and suddenly nothing was being hidden or denied and the fears and guilt were all hers.
The situation had deflated and there was nothing anybody could say. I don’t know if it was stupidity or a sense of duty but being the man in the group Vangelis felt that it was his job to clear the air and have the last word, closing the matter once and for all. He had been accused of stealing an old woman’s sunglasses and was entitled to the last word.
Vangelis commenced on his speech ‘Can I just say, before I leave; first of all, perhaps Sebastian was wrong for doing what he did. But, your boyfriend could have said, NO. Secondly, your boyfriend, if he is a man, had no business telling you what goes on in the Hamam.’
Vangelis had said too much, he more than confirming a girl’s worst fears. I forget the rest but the damage was irretrievable. I recall a distraught girl, screaming and running without direction, her arms in the air and Sylvan running after her, his arms out stretched like a sleep walker. The angelic look was replaced by the pinched frightened look of a man who lives with a woman who can never be appeased.
Some woman cannot live without a victim. I very nearly told the girl that I only offered Sylvan a massage to protect him from the gays in the Hamam, but fortunately the drama caused a mental block. The thought of all those nasty gays after her boyfriend’s ass would be too much for an insecure girl whose boyfriend resembles a male model and can’t say “No”.
July 25, 2009:
In the space of four days I have just met two beautiful men with a problem. One had a spontaneous orgasm, despite himself and the other found bliss with a man in the Turkish baths, not on his girlfriend’s bed.
The Belgium wanted to go to the police and report me but I can’t help but be amused by what possible explanation he might have given. The problem is that both pleasure and orgasm take place in the brain and we have very little control or choice over the matter.
I am in love with Sylvan, he haunts my every moment, my heart aches and my soul yearns for his companionship. Imaginary conversations run through my mind, love unfolds as if we were both adolescent boys, a look, a touch and a landscape of eternal spring. The reality is very different but not necessarily impossible, I could adopt a son.
July 27, 2009:
I am in love again but today it is a Russian boy called Dima. We met in the changing room; he undressed and strode naked with absolute confidence, into the baths. He is fair of medium height, slightly built but with sturdy legs and a prominent ass. He looked intently into my eyes before stretching full length on the floor in the main cool room. He loved being touched, relishing every aspect of his massage from deep painful pressure to the lightest of caresses.
He turned over and we both looked at his erection with some amusement exchanging a smile. Then he lay on his back and I put the steel bowl over his dick. Laughing he stretched his arms and legs wide. Massaging Dima was a delight, not just his young perfection but the total trust he placed in me and his ever-increasing sensuality.
He became ecstatic and for my own pleasure I turned him back onto his stomach so I could concentrate on his wonderful ass. A phrase from my youth came to mind, ‘A choir boy with an ass like jelly on springs.’
For a change, we moved into the main room, he lay face down and I continued caressing his body. One very handsome Greek boy of about 18 watched, he was entranced by Dime’s ass. We exchanged looks of mutual approval but he never intruded. With a look of pride, he occasionally gave me a glimpse of his fine erection. We remained in the realms of shared appreciation only.
I left the Hamam with Dima, he claimed that he is short of time, on holiday with his mother and he wanted to give me a tip. He changed his mind and we walked through the old streets and went into the museum together. He took photographs with my help and advice, handing me his bag with the assurance of established friendship. He asked my age and I should have lied, but to a teenage boy anything over twenty is old, so perhaps it made little difference. Then he asked me to take him home and wanted to buy alcohol and food on the way.
After discovering my age there was an indefinable change in our interaction. At home, he talked spontaneously about life in Moscow, it sounds normal apart from the sheer volume of traffic and people. He talked freely about their communist history, with some degree of disbelief.
Being curious, I offered Dima another massage, but he declined. My combination of relief and disappointment was equal. At the bus station, he stood very close, we kept touching one another and he never stopped gazing into my eyes and mentioning the massage. He was reluctant to get on the bus. He promised to telephone me and if possible, see me tomorrow. We seemed so close that a kiss would have been normal. I stood watching the bus depart and we held eye contact until the bus disappeared.
Dima was a rebel, he told me about his life in Moscow where he traveled on the trains, playing music for money. Dima is an innocent and hungry for life but unlike Sylvan he is not vulnerable and I wanted to be a part of his growing up.
July 29, 2009:
Dima did not get in touch. I telephone him and sent massages for safe travel and a happy life. The telephone number he gave me was in fact a Greek number not Russian.
Today I massaged an Indian. He lay on his stomach legs wide apart. He has a good lean body but his legs are too thin. He has a nice ass but a nasty thin brown dick. He pushed his ass against my hands squirming and groaning. Every time I tried to finish the massage he found some new muscle that needed attention. I was getting bored and took him into the hot room to relax.
Spread Eagled on the floor holding into my eyes he said ‘what’s next?’ I fetched the body shampoo and told him to turn over so I could soap and massage his tolerable ass. I ran my hand between his cheeks and could feel the hard base of his dick. I massaged it and felt his anus relax so I pressed my fist against his soft-center. He was happy to push against my fist, but there was something innocent about his pleasure, it was neither overt nor furtive and was without shame. He is Hindu and I sensed a different sexuality to Christian or Muslim.
Vangelis came to tell him that his wife is waiting. I saw them together outside the Hamam and he was happy and demonstrative. It was obvious that he loved his wife or girlfriend.
July 30, 2009:
A very handsome young Albanian arrived this morning claiming that he has pains in his back. He is stocky and perfectly formed but kept his underpants on. Anticipating some degree of sexual curiosity, I took him straight into the hot room. I did a professional searching massage. I concluded that he probably kept his underpants on because he has no control over his sizeable dick.
After massaging his fine torso and thighs he stopped the massage and joined dirty Stavros in the main room; he probably thought that he is missing something. Stavros’s little dick slipping between his checks would be the inevitable outcome. Many clients seeking sex have little interest in sensuality or the holistic experience; they just want uncomplicated relief.
We were outside the Hamam and Vangelis seeing my soldier friend approaching drew my attention to him by nodding in his direction. To avoid embarrassing my friend I went into the Hamam first. I discovered later that my friend had misunderstood and challenged Vangelis with the words ‘What you just say to Seb?’
Vangelis should have looked aptly surprised, but instead he said, ‘I know you have a free massage and I told Seb that you are coming.’ This probably made my friend feel that our massages are public knowledge. Inside the Hamam he accused me of following him, so I told him, ‘go fuck your-self’.
I had a f
ew massages and later in the changing room I was the center of attention. My soldier was claiming me as his friend by using my name. There was a handsome Greek from Athens giving me his telephone number and insisting that I go and live with him, also an Albanian boy who, much to Vangelis’s amusement is in love with me. He follows me round everyday saying “Fuck you” what he means is, fuck me, but I haven’t told him.
My soldier then told me to follow him. In the hot room and we had sex in the usual vigorous and exploratory manner. Holding of his rigid pole I sank my teeth into his generous buttocks as he pumped out his excess energy into my fist. His smile and swagger is sufficient reward. I would gladly fuck my soldier friend but the side effects of Viagra and shit on my dick make the idea inadvisable.
As I watched my solider boy leaving I saw Vangelis taking a young doctor into my former room to be abused by Tassos. Vangelis saw me and raising his shoulder’s he said, ‘What can I do Seb?’--- ‘Make sure he stays clear of his dick’ I didn’t see the doctor leave so I have no idea whether he was happy or damaged for life.
The last clients were French and Mexican boys. I met them in the changing room and assured the Mexican boy that he could stop the massage if Tassos bothers him. I promised to massage him afterwards. The French boy was the first person I have told about my sister in law’s so-called ‘tasteful improvements’ to Orchards End. He obviously has education as well as taste, he was horrified.
Tassos took the Mexican and the French boy followed me. He was obviously gay and I gave him a wonderful massage with no hint of sex. We shared a degree of intimate understanding and it was pleasant. I was hoping to massage both boys at the same time and they promised to return, but didn’t. The Mexican boy looked happy enough, so having his dick washed or even wanked had not caused him undue distress and they left together.
After closing time, I was on my way home when Vangelis telephoned. He had six magnificent dark boys in their mid-20s waiting. They were of identical height and build. I had never seen so many handsome men in one place. Broad shouldered, narrow hipped and lean with powerful limbs. They belonged to a martial arts team from Holland and were highly disciplined with that close bond of warriors.
Any hint of decadence was ruled out. I told Vangelis, ‘don’t take your eyes off dirty Tassos for one second, they will kill him.’ Vangelis gave me the finest of the bunch, tall with long black eyes and a huge dick. He smiled back and answered my question without being asked, ‘Vietnamese mother and a French father.’--- ‘you’re tall?’--- ‘Yes my father.’
He relished the massage and I explored his superb trained muscle and found no trace of damage only, toned perfection. He listened to every sound made by his comrades and smiled or looked alert and in harmony. He thanked me profusely.
The next boy was handsome like a prince, without being asked he said, ‘Kurdish from Iraq.’ Like his friend he was lean with very tight skin, his dick was shaved and neat. ‘You won’t touch my dick, will you?’ he asked and I promised, ‘I will go nowhere near your dick’. So, Dirty Tassos must have got a bit too close to a dick; probably when Vangelis blinked. He paid the same attention to every sound made by his friends but he could not relax and enjoy the massage. He was ready to spring into action at any hint of trouble, so I know that Tassos got too close to a dick.
These noble creatures don’t take kindly to any insult to one of their kind or to their manhood. These boys were all from different ethnic backgrounds but totally united by their discipline, origins and identity. They were all proud Dutch citizens.
August 1, 2009:
Yesterday I had a brief encounter with the deep bond shared by warriors, like the soldiers of ancient Greece, the knights of the middle ages, the samurai, the Red Indian or the Zulu. They all share an identity and are bound by idealism and loyalties and a common cause. I hope my five fighters can always differentiate between good and evil and find a just cause. It is too easy to fall foul of western decadence and work in strip clubs or gaming houses. Or in the name of faith or freedom, join terrorist groups.
In contrast to those fine young men, on the way to the beach last Sunday I sat opposite a blond girl from Sweden, whose face was studded with metal and her nose full of rings as if encrusted with steel bogies. She not only looked hideous but she was also an appalling person in every way. We live in a world where people go to great lengths to be ugly and offensive. In the age of technology now advanced beyond my comprehension, paradoxically mankind has rarely been so blatantly and hideously barbaric. To quote someone, “The brighter the day the darker the shadow”, this is the law of paradox. Her boy-friend was gentle and beautiful.
Last night as I drifted into sleep, two mistakes made on the media caused mild amusement. The first was on a program discussing Mulberry bushes and the presenter said ‘There are two in England and one belongs to the queen’, he then added, ‘but the queen’s bush is bigger.’ In the 1950s on a program explaining classical music, the presenter was describing each motif as a member of a family, and he said, “And father comes in on the horn.” Horn, along with ‘Bar’ ‘Hard-on’ and ‘stiff’ were all names used for an erection. I should compile a book on comments.
I find the comments made about Venice to be the most surprising. The prize should go to my school secretary, a very self-opinioned and stupid woman. On first setting eyes on the grand canal she commented ‘Well, it looks like Blackpool to me’ St. Marks left her unmoved, ‘I prefer stone churches’ St. Mark’s square left her untouched but when totally out of sight of all water and bridges, churches and palaces she said, with great condescension, ‘Well, I must admit that I quite like the little streets, they remind me of York’
Some girl from Milton-Keynes said, ‘I don’t like Venice it’s all old and crumbly.’ An Australian doing the world tour said, ‘I don’t think much of Venice, we’ve got better ports back in Australia’ and an American wife shouted to her husband in strident New York ‘Hey honey, I do believe some bodies actually living in this one.’ I overheard one man complaining ‘Then we’ve got half an hour to kick our heels in Venice.’
I thought I was being very clever when I once replied to the derogatory question, ‘What is all this fuss about Venice then?’ and I answered, “It shouldn’t have been built here in the first place and it most certainly shouldn’t still be standing” but unfazed he asked, “Where should they have built it then?” With contempt, I replied ‘Las Vegas.’ and he nodded, as if all the mysteries of culture and history had been resolved to his satisfaction.
I believe the reality of Venice must incomprehensible to anybody but the educated and aware. As the school secretary illustrated, she could not relate to Venice until the narrow streets reminded her of York. I suppose a City of marble palaces and churches built in the sea must be implausible, but the wealth and history that built it must be equally inconceivable.
Venice is built on trees hammered into the mud. They don’t rot, because the mud excludes oxygen. Venice was built on islands in a lagoon because that’s where they were living. They became wealthy from trade bringing the treasures of the orient into Europe from Istanbul by sea. Goods were transported on camels, horses and donkeys all the way from China to Istanbul. Vasco-da-Gama found a route around Africa to the Indian Ocean and Venice went into decline.
August 3, 2009:
Yesterday I did only three massages, all sexual and pleasant. Just before closing time Vangelis found me and said, ‘I have something very special for you.’ I found standing in the small hot room a tall very handsome Greek, he was a perfect specimen. When I entered the room, without being asked he lay face down on the floor, his legs and arms stretched out. He is broad shouldered, well-muscle with a long narrow back and a full round ass.
I scrubbed and massaged him detecting a deep level of sensuality and a growing passivity. He turned over; his eyes are long and dark, his nose aquiline, his lips full and turned up at the corners. I progressed from sensuality to the lightest of caresses, finishing by trailing the tip
s of my finger nails over his very responsive skin. I took him gradually from plane to plane, increasing his sensitivity but I did not embark on sexual arousal.
I felt a bond of intimate peace and had not wanted to disrupt our growing understanding. The massage came to an end naturally and we stood together in a cathartic stillness. I told him he could always find me in the Hamam and to come late. He looked gay in the same way that male models look gay. We had experienced something complete and deeply satisfying, not followed by any sense of loss, emptiness or regret. Orgasm can often embody a sense of loss, as if taken by trickery or deception.
Of course, I wanted to devour this man’s totality, his smell, his lean testosterone laden muscles and his ridged dick like a corn-on-the-cob, thick and golden. Then plumb the depths of his ass with its promise of a soft sweet center like some rich pastry, but not on the Hamam floor. What we had shared was unquestioned and complete.
August 5, 2009:
This morning Vangelis and I checked on D. Tassos massaging a middle age married man. We saw them on the Hamam floor, the man’s face between D. T’s legs getting his stiff dick being wanked. Embarrassed we passed on. Later Vangelis confronted D.T with the words, ‘Do you realize that there are children in the Hamam and not all man is gay’ D.T answered ‘It wasn’t me it was those gays’ Vangelis lost his control and shouted ‘I saw you, and do you really believe that I don’t know that you are a pousti, you have been sucking dicks since you were twelve. Get out and don’t ever come back.’ I had an overwhelming sense of relief and satisfaction.
August 7, 2009:
Yesterday the Hamam was busy and D. Tassos turned up for work as usual. He was needed so we didn’t send him home. This morning Vangelis received a telephone call from his boss, there has been a complaint about massaging in the Hamam and tourist being bothered. Vangelis told his boss, “Yes I know, he’s gone.”
The Hamam Diaries Continued Page 11
