Cherry Picking in the Vineyard

Not all Turkish Cypriots are lovers. Turks are rough, macho men, blessed with good humor but no nonsense in what they take and how they take it. Kari was lucky to have hooked up with a Turk who could also be a lover.

In this way, the dance of the fuck went on for fifteen minutes. Kari was getting the fuck he dreamed about. All good things come to an end, though, and Kari recognized when the Turk's tensing and jerking was taking him beyond the ability to hold off.

"Now! Now! Give it to me now!" he cried out, clutching the muscles of his passage walls, again and again, to work the man's shaft.

"Bok! Kahretsin!--Shit! Fuck!" the Turk exclaimed and shot his load--deep inside the youth's passage.

Both of them panting heavily, Sami rolled off to the side. He turned his head toward Kari and grinned. "Bu iyi oldu. Şimdi dinleniyoruz--That was good. Now we rest."

He stood, with a groan, and went over to the motorcycle. He broke out a second round of bread, cheese, and wine and brought it over to Kari, who was lying there, stretched out, dazed from the experience. He sat up and took the food and the bottle of wine. Sami had taken a long pull on the wine before handing it to him. As Kari ate and drank, Sami went back to the motorcycle and extracted a bulky mobile phone from somewhere. He looked lustily at Kari while he placed a couple of calls, chattering in Turkish.

He was stroking himself up with one hand while eating and taking long pulls on the second wine bottle with the other. Some twenty minutes later he was in hard erection again.

"Oyun zamanı--Play time," he said, with a big grin on his face. He sauntered back over to the blanket, swinging the wine bottle, which was only about a third full now. Plopping down beside Kari on his knees, he grabbed the boy's legs, under his knees, and spread his legs, bending them, and placing Kari's feet flat on the blanket. He'd thrown the backpack he'd had the provisions in nearby on the blanket and took that now and stuffed it under Kari's lower back, lifting and rolling up the young man's pelvis.

Kari cried out, "What the fuck!?" as, kneeling between the youth's knees, a big grin on his face, the Turk started working the neck of the wine bottle into the young man's ass. Kari reflexively tried to sit up but Sami slapped him across the face and clutched his throat, holding his head down on the blanket with one hand, while fucking his ass with the wine bottle with the other. The remaining wine in the bottle slushed around inside Kari's passage and dribbled down his inner thighs. Kari struggled at first, but, realizing that was useless and being overcome with the sexiness of this, he lay back and relaxed as the Turk went ever deeper with the wine bottle in the youth's passage, pulling it out and then sliding it back in. Out and in. Again and again, as Kari groaned and rocked his hips against the invasion.

After several minutes of this, the Turk had had enough of the game. He pulled the bottle out, rolled over on his back, rolling the young man with him, and put Kari on his cock in the Cowboy position, facing him.

"Fuck yourself," he commanded, and Kari did as demanded, pressing his fists into the man's pecs and rising and falling on the shaft.

This was the position they were in when the other Turks--the three men, ranging in age from the twenties to fifties, all lean and well-muscled--arrived on their motorcycles. These were the phone calls the Turk had made. Sami held out his hand while the three men ogled Kari, pleased at what they saw, and put money in Sami's hand.

Without ceremony, they pulled Kari off Sami's cock, laid him on his back on the blanket, raised and spread his legs, and while two held him down from the sides each time, they fucked him in the missionary position in rotation, each getting a slice of the first-time youth.

* * * *

The Danish UN solider, Bjorn, was sitting at a table on the Kyrenia quay, drinking beer, when Sami returned Kari on his motorcycle. When Kari had hobbled off the bike and the Turk had roared away, he looked around the quay in somewhat of a daze, taking a few moments to pick out Bjorn.

Bjorn immediately understand what had happened. Kari was shuffling and was disheveled and disoriented, but he was smiling a little grin and he had the glow of satiation about him. Bjorn hadn't been first. He'd been leery about doing the honors with the young man, although he ached for him and had done the father primarily for the chance to get to the youth.

"Is it done?" he called out to Kari.

"Yes."

"Are you sorry for it?"

"No. I'm relieved."

The soldier stood, walked over to Kari, and gently enclosed his wrist in his hand. "Come. Let's go back to the hotel," he said in a soothing voice.

When Kari's father, Hadid, returned to the hotel a half hour later and entered his room, he heard the sounds coming from the adjacent room--Kari's room. He stood in the doorway briefly, taking in what he was seeing. They were on the bed, at the foot. Bjorn, naked, was standing at the foot of the bed, leaning over it. Two shapely legs--Kari's legs--were spread and raised, seeming to rise up from either side of the soldier's hips. Prominent were the soldier's bulbous butt cheeks, clenching and expanding, clenching and expending, to the cadence of the fuck.

The soldier was taking it slow, giving and taking as much pleasure as he could.

The father absorbed this without surprise. He had known that Kari was ripe for it and about to explode. He had brought the young man to Cyprus to get beyond this beaded curtain into the lifestyle he knew his son wanted--indeed that he himself had chosen. He also had seen the looks Bjorn had been giving the eighteen-year-old youth. Hadid was just glad that he'd been covered by the hunky Dane first.

This must be Kari's first time, Hadid thought. Bjorn must be popping his male cherry. Well, more power to them, Hadid thought. He came into the room, sat down in a chair away from the bed, unzipped and released himself. He sat there, masturbating, as the Danish hunk plowed his son. The sounds Kari was making assured Hadid that the young man was getting what he wanted. He would wait patiently for his turn--for his turn with his ripe son.