6 comments/ 23626 views/ 9 favorites Cambaz By: alex_d I was sitting at my desk, puzzling over the Guardian crossword when my boss came over and tapped me on the shoulder. She looked anxious, the way she usually did when one of us had received a complaint. Her fingers were playing with a loose button on her shirt. She asked me if we could have "a chat" and my stomach lurched and growled at the same time, which I took to be a good sign, that my hangover was easing. There was no one else in the teachers' room, so I folded my paper, pulled a chair up for her and she sat down. No need to do it in her office. I was grateful to her for at least not making it obvious. I knew what was coming, and when she told me that my morning students had complained, I wasn't surprised. I'd been late, hungover, badly prepared. They were my favourite class, a group of housewives who were more interested in socializing than learning English, always good for a laugh, curious as to why a nice boy like me wasn't married already, at my age. Half the time they'd just ask me questions about my travels, my family, my plans for the future… and I would feed them the answers I knew would thrill them most, which bore no resemblance to the truth. Simon often compared teaching English to a kind of mental prostitution, and the more I did it, the more I started to agree. I was whatever they wanted me to be, because at the end of the day, it didn't matter if I was good or not. If they liked their teacher, they'd pay for another course. It was just simple economics. Esther leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper, despite the fact that the nearest people were sitting by the windows on the other side of the room. The accountants, tapping away at calculators, and of course, the geekish corporate services coordinator who never looked at anyone and sat there munching jellied sweets all day. My Turkish colleagues, the staff who supported the language teaching school where I'd worked for over six months. "Jude, they like you and they think you're a good teacher. But they said they could smell alcohol off you today. And…" the button came off in her hand and she slid it into her pocket. "…it wasn't the first time they've noticed that." I looked at her. What could I say? I had a great social life, out almost every night. The other guys who worked there were just lucky their classes were all in the evening. I was the only one on housewife duty in the mornings, likely to get caught reeking of beer. "I'm sorry, Esther." I decided not to lie. "I guess I've been overdoing it a bit. I won't do it again." She didn't look at all reassured. In fact, she looked more worried. Clasping and unclasping her hands, she took a breath. "Do you think….you might have some issues? With alcohol?" My jaw fell open and I stared at her, unable to speak. Was that what people thought? Some issues? My blood began to prickle in my veins as an almost painful blush crept over my face. I realised that whatever I said was going to doom me. If I said yes, then that compassion in her eyes was going to choke me and make me throw up for real. If I said no, then the same result was inevitable, only she would feel the need to help me out of denial first. "Look," she said, skating over my icy silence. "I know it's none of my business. People are concerned about you, Jude. If you need to talk…well, you know where I am. But don't forget, this is a Muslim country, so you can't go into class stinking of alcohol. Try to be a bit more …culturally aware? So consider this a verbal warning…ok? Just…keep it out of the classroom." That put me in a foul mood for the rest of the day. I stared out of the window, over the haphazard terracotta roofs, spiky with antennae, over the shiny hotels and the ramshackle Ottoman houses. The Bosphorus glinted at me from a distance, promising open seas, escape. But I was happy in Istanbul, happier than I had been in my adult life. I liked the people, the food, even the job. The students were fun. The sun was hot on my back as I walked to work. I felt something like love at last, for my life. It was nice to sit on my balcony with a beer in the evenings, when I wasn't out with the guys, without someone inside nipping my head about the laundry, or the traffic or whatever was annoyance of the day. Esther's words played over and over in my head. Was I an alcoholic? Is there a point in your life when you suddenly know the difference between heavy drinking and alcoholism, a time when getting up in the morning without a hangover is what makes you feel strange and out of place? The trouble was, in my profession, there was a lot of both. People who drifted around the world, searching, too long away from home but too foreign to be happy wherever they were. Running from something. My head hurt more when I started thinking, so I chugged a couple of paracetamols and a can of Coke and went home, my work done for the day. I'd been extra diligent with my lesson prep for the following night, thankful that the housewives only came twice a week and wondering what Simon had planned for us that night when he was done teaching. I fell asleep the minute I got home and didn't wake up until I heard my mobile phone, hours later. I cursed at its stupid ringtone. Simon had managed to get it to play Hey Jude, a song which had set my teeth on edge from an early age. Being a technophobe, I had no idea how to get rid of it. "Jude!!!" There was a lot of interference on the line. I heard music in the background and the roar of traffic and deduced they had gone to the usual bar and were sitting outside. I caught the words "concert" and "dancing" and then he rang up. I groaned. Simon and I had opposing musical tastes. What on earth made him think I'd want to go to some awful trance place? No wonder I was driven to drink. I dithered in the bathroom, wondering what to wear, then opted for comfort over fashion. White t-shirt, black jeans, Doc Marten boots. I shaved fast and slapped on a bit of aftershave just in case I got lucky. Gazing at my chest, I congratulated myself at managing to go to the gym for two whole months without fail. The weights hadn't managed to shift the kebab meat and beers off my backside, but I looked healthier with a few extra pounds on. Simon was on his own when I arrived. I saw some empty beer glasses and a full ashtray. Knowing Simon didn't smoke, I was instantly paranoid. Who had left? Was it because they knew I was coming? You don't want to hang around with Jude, he drinks too much, makes an arse of himself. I almost heard the hushed whispers coming from all around me. "Hey, Jude," he smiled. "Too slow! Neil and Ash went on ahead to get us a table. Should be a laugh. Can you imagine him?" He reached over and poured the remainder of the jug of beer into a clean glass and pushed it towards me. I felt a sweat start to prickle my back as I watched the tiny bubbles burst on the surface of the golden liquid. Damn right I wanted it. But something held me back and I leaned back in my chair. The moon was a bitten fingernail of light in the sky. I inhaled the faint salty smell of the sea, the underlying reek of garbage, the fumes from the backed up traffic as the warm wind brushed me like the fingers of a lover. "Who are you talking about?" I asked, grabbing a handful of nuts instead and looking out over the ferry boats to the Bosphorus, now a mass of glinting black. It was always different, always beautiful. "Didn't you hear me on the phone? We're going to Bar Berlin to watch Deniz's band." "Deniz who?" I thought of Deniz, the air-headed receptionist whose primary focus in life was learning how to type without damaging her nails. I shivered when I imagined her singing, surrounded by pink, sparkles and kittens. She was that sort of girl. Simon laughed, reading my thoughts. "Not bimbo Deniz. The other one. The corporate services guy." The guy who never spoke to anyone? I pictured his face, eyes downcast behind those thick rimmed glasses which gave him an angry look. His black hair, slicked into a style that was disturbingly like Hitler's. The bland suits which had that shiny touch of the eighties about them. I'd tried to make conversation a few times but he was so shy, it was a painful experience I didn't want to repeat. I gaped at Simon. "Deniz is in a band?" "Surprising isn't it! I heard it from the café guy. They were mates at university years ago. He's going to get the shock of his life when we turn up to see him crooning!" He hugged himself, grinning. "I so can't wait!" I watched him chugging down his beer, noticing the flush in his cheeks, the gleam in his eye, and my mind drifted back to Esther's warning earlier in the day. Condensation had formed on the glass in front of me. I trailed my fingers down the wetness, feeling the contours of the glass. "Do you think I'm an alcoholic?" I said, trying to keep my voice casual. Simon spluttered into his beer and laughed. The thundercloud that had been my mood all day started to gather force again. He saw my face and made a visible effort to control himself. "Look," he said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "If Esther's giving you a hard time about coming in with a hangover, then try this instead. And for Christ's sake get off the morning shifts so we can have some real fun." He produced two white pills seemingly out of nowhere, and slid one across the table. "Have an E. And don't worry about what that old bitch says. Bloody Americans don't know how to leave Oprah at home." He spoke with such venom, I wondered if Esther had approached him about any of his "issues." "Bottoms up then," I laughed, and we clinked our beers together, washing down the pills with a mouthful of beer. The night was suddenly starting to look good. ----- Bar Berlin was in a side street off Taksim Square. We stumbled out of the taxi at the traffic lights into a vast sea of people. I felt alive, excited, connected to everyone. This was what life boiled down to, all the information your brain could process at once…the smell of roasted corn, the occasional whiff of BO, the smell of diesel. The glittering lights of the shops and restaurants, the boom of conflicting music from rival bars, the constant blaring of horns. My senses were just getting overloaded and I was feeling so mellow that Simon had to drag me along to stop me from standing and gawking around. "Should have given you speed, you useless git!" he said, laughing. "Here, up this way." "I know where it is," I was offended. It was easy to find, a once elegant building which had fashionably decayed and been restored to a mix of the modern and the classic. At least that was what it said in Istanbul TimeOut magazine. Personally, I just thought it was a dump which was far too small a venue for the sort of bands which played there. We were sure to go home with our ears ringing. Simon was saying something as we pushed inside but I couldn't hear anything. The smell of smoke and spilt beer was all pervading. The stage was small, the dance floor already packed with sweating bodies pulsing to some kind of bland Euro-pop which was so loud I thought my eardrums were going to explode. Neil and Ash were at the bar, deep in conversation with a couple of girls. No point bothering them. In the corner, I saw some of the Turkish staff from work and waved. They didn't wave back and while it was perfectly likely that they hadn't seen me, I felt paranoid again. Maybe they also thought I was a drunk, not worth acknowledging. There was no possibility of conversation so Simon pushed his way to the bar while I danced by myself in the middle of all those bodies. I was horny, drunk, high. It was a good feeling. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the music, feeling the heat of bodies all around me, the occasional brush of an arm, a thigh. A drink was thrust in my hand, and someone grabbed at my t shirt, pulling me off the heaving dance floor, and up onto the raised area where a few groups of people were seated. "The band's coming on now!" Simon bellowed into my ear, and I scratched at it, wincing. No beer this time, but a gin and tonic. Teacher's ruin, we called it at work. And especially here, where they filled the glass with so much gin that there was hardly any room for the tonic. I took a sip and a shiver ran from my tongue to my toes in increasing waves. It was foul, and what was worse, drinking it might harm my chances of getting a shag, the pursuit of which, I decided, was going to be the primary focus of my evening. I took a gulp of gin, scanning the throng of sweaty people for a likely candidate. The lights went out and I took the opportunity to dump some of my drink into Simon's glass when he wasn't looking. There were the usual squeaks and twangs from the stage as the band settled into their instruments. The smoke was starting to sting my eyes already. I squinted through the shafts of light to the stage, trying to see Deniz. The drummer had long straggly hair, tied in a ponytail, a mustache and the beginnings of a pot belly. There was a purple haired girl on bass guitar and backing vocals, looking like a stick of liquorice in her shiny cat suit. Another long haired, geekish type wearing a marijuana t-shirt, sorting out the keyboards and various other instruments which lay on the floor at his feet. And the singer in a tight t-shirt and combat trousers, hair gelled into spikes, tuning an electronic guitar with his back to the audience. "He isn't there!" I bellowed to Simon, who was also looking over the band members with a look of disappointment on his face. He shrugged at me, tipping the last of his gin down and pointing to the bar with a raised eyebrow. I shook my head and folded my arms, looking down at the expectant crowd. A spotlight went on stage, and the girl stepped forward and addressed them, no doubt introducing the band. There was a huge cheer and the lights went on again as the drummer clicked his sticks together. The keyboard player began twanging at some sort of banjo and my heart sank for a second, imagining the sort of warbling and wailing Turkish music that frequently drove me from bars and restaurants. Simon bounced back beside me, another glass of teacher's ruin in his hand. "I LOVE THIS SONG!!!!" he roared into my throbbing ear canal. The guitars joined in after a few bum notes by keyboard player trying to swing a guitar around himself, and the drummer picked up the beat. The twanging stopped and the lights fell on the singer as he turned around to face the crowd, letting the electric guitar crash the way into the first verse. His voice was low and clear, his shoulders swaying to the music as the crowd went mad before him, jumping, headbanging, screaming and singing along. Just then, strobe lighting came on and it was like seeing him in slow motion, as that incredible voice brought goosebumps to my skin., I saw the tattoo of a climbing plant crept up his arm from the elbow around his shoulder and onto his back. His eyes were black with make up but he kept them closed, downcast. It was that look which made me realise who it was. Deniz! My mouth fell open as I watched this wallflower of a man bringing the crowd to a frenzy, the guitar as much a part of him as his own hands. He was stunning. Just then, he looked up and I swore he met my eyes for a few seconds before he looked back at the floor. I nudged Simon and pointed, laughing as I saw the realization hit him a few seconds later. His mouth fell open. That's Deniz! I saw him mouth, and then the urge struck us both at the same time and we jumped down into the crowd and started dancing like a pair of maniacs. They were on for about two hours in total, performing covers of Turkish rock songs, most of which I'd never heard before. The girl sang some English songs, a couple of Muse covers and an acoustic version of Big In Japan before they ended with a big screaming noisy finale, but at that stage my ears were ringing and I wasn't really listening, I was a sweaty, horny mess, too many chemicals and too much physical contact. I knew I was off my head but Simon was looking bad and I realised I'd have to get him home. The band went off to enormous applause, and I cheered and clapped as loudly as I could, my eyes settling on Deniz's shy smile as he bowed and just for a second, looked me in the eye. I felt like singing, the glance felt like a gift from god. I slung an arm around Simon, who was murmuring some shite about going to another bar but there was no way, he could hardly stand up. As the bar started to empty, I checked my watch and ordered a black coffee for Simon and made him drink it. Neil and Ash must have copped off with the girls. They were nowhere to be seen, so the responsibility was all mine. Well, Simon had done it for me often enough. He was a good friend and I loved him like a brother. There had never been anything sexual about it. He was single but I didn't even know if he was gay or straight. He knew about my proclivities but he never talked about things like that. There was something behind his eyes, some sort of "keep out" sign that kept the conversation diverted. Stumbling outside, I observed how the streets changed after a certain time of night. When we'd gone in, it had been well lit and teeming with young couples, families with children. Now I could see some prostitutes hanging around, and a few dodgy looking types. There was a group of bored-looking riot policemen standing smoking at the corner. Turning into the main pedestrian street, my stomach rumbled and I had a sudden urge for tantouni, or failing that, a nice greasy kebab from the doner guys on the corner. Simon managed to walk beside me without assistance, but it was more like having a pet zombie than a friend. He was asleep on his feet and a panic suddenly stuck me. How on earth would I direct a taxi to Simon's place? I hadn't the language, and wasn't sure of the one way system. Maybe a kebab in his stomach would soak the alcohol up, make him coherent enough to direct his own way. I'd come with him of course, make sure he was ok. I went over to the first doner guy I saw, gesturing for two kebabs and two colas. The heat coming from the inside of his small restaurant was fierce, and I started to drool as I watched him sawing strips of meat into the bread, adding lettuce, chopped tomato and onion. Simon's glassy eyes were also fixed on the revolving kebab meat so I figured I was doing the right thing. I paid up, wolfed it down in record time then stood there, sucking my fingers. Simon dropped half of his onto his t shirt. "Ready to go home, big man?" I said, burping and slapping him on the back. But his eyelids were starting to droop now that his stomach was full and I realised there wasn't going to be any sense coming out of him for the rest of the night. Just as I was contemplating what to do, I felt a hand brush against my elbow, and a quiet voice behind me. "Hi… Jude." It was Deniz. And he knew my name! I was momentarily stunned. He hadn't changed his sweaty clothes yet, his hair was drying in strange shapes. It looked as if he had removed his eye makeup in a hurry. He smiled and I felt that feeling again, as if I'd been blessed. I found my tongue. "Hey Deniz," I said grinning, hoping there wasn't half a kebab between my teeth. "You were… amazing tonight! I had no idea you were even in a band. Just amazing!" I repeated, feeling myself melt under that soft gaze. He blushed and looked at the ground. "Thank you for coming to watch us." he said. The first sentence I'd ever heard him speak. A flawless accent too. He was full of surprises. Simon let out a groan, and leaned against me. I looked at Deniz again, feeling the caress of the night wind on my exposed skin, and lust starting to burn in my veins. "It was a pleasure," I said. "You're alone?" Cambaz "Yes, my friends are going to a bar, but I'm going home." he said. "I must work in the morning." My shoulders slumped. Damn! "Well," I said. "I'd better take Simon home. I don't know how to direct the taxi to his place so he'll have to go on my sofa." "Where does he live?" I told him the address and the vague directions I knew. Deniz nodded and I was filled with relief when he said he knew where it was. "Quite near where we are," he said, meeting my eyes for a second and blushing again. "We?" "Yes, I live two blocks away from you. I've seen you sometimes, walking to work. I'll help you take him home? Then we can go with the taxi?" I tried to restrain myself from dancing in the street. "That's very kind of you," I said in a strangled voice. Some action was starting in my pants and I slid my hand into my pocket, trying to push the offender into a less obvious position. But he was already flagging down a taxi and we heaved Simon into the front seat and got in the back. The taxi smelt of the driver's Winston reds, with an underlying whiff of piss. I opened the window, letting the rush of night air clear my head., glancing sideways at Deniz, scarcely able to believe he was the same man I worked with. As he looked out of the window and chatted to the taxi driver, my eyes took in the tattoo, his perfect chest, and god those bumps…his nipples must have been pierced underneath the shirt, and I had to swallow and look away. Was he a neighbour who had spotted a way of halving the taxi fare home once it had switched to the expensive night rate? A shy colleague who was just being polite after seeing me in the street with an incapacitated friend? I shifted in the seat, folding my hands in my lap, covering my arousal and listening to Deniz talk. So much more confident in his own language. His English was a whisper which made me weak at the knees. We were soon outside Simon's place and just as we were helping him out, he suddenly came alive. "Home!" he exclaimed, fumbling for his keys and marching to the door where he let himself in without looking back. I looked at Deniz and shrugged. "Guess he'll be fine" I said, getting back into the taxi. It wasn't far to my own place, and Deniz had the driver stop in a spot convenient to both of us. I paid the driver and stood in the street, hands thrust into my pockets, suddenly more nervous than I had ever been. I was desperate to have him. He shivered as he watched the taxi roar off into the night. Our eyes danced around, glancing at the cats scrabbling for food in the skip, at each other. "Well," I said. "I guess…" I stopped, unable to say goodbye, and looked once more into his eyes. He met my gaze with surprising candour. "Would you like to…?" he said, his voice so faint I had to strain to hear it. He couldn't finish the question and I couldn't answer it with more than a gormless nod. "OK" he said and gestured towards a grey building across the street. Mute, I followed him, watching him bend over to open the master door. His t-shirt pulled out of his trousers, revealing a stripe of tanned skin. We went inside. He stood so close as he pushed the lift button. I longed to bury my face in his armpit, his groin, just to smell him the way he was after the concert. As he turned to speak, I couldn't control myself any more. I ran my forefinger over the softness of his bottom lip, and he didn't pull away. His breathing was quickened, his pupils dilated. The confirmation I had sought was clear to see and feel in the combat trousers. I tilted my head and touched my lips to his and as he leaned forward for more, I pulled away, looking him in the eyes again. The shyness was gone. His eyes were pleading, full of naked need. I felt my breath catch in my throat and nodded, I don't know why. The lift doors opened and I stepped out onto the dark corridor, as I heard the metallic jangle of keys, the creak of an opening door. The gasp of breath as I took his wrists and pushed him against the wall in the dark, kicking the door shut behind us. I ground my erection against his and he let out a moan as I pulled the t shirt over his head, groping for the light so I could really see my prize. So I had been right, he was indeed pierced, with golden hoops shining against the dark skin of his nipples. He didn't have much body hair. Like a lot of Turkish men, he shaved his underarms. There was a faint swirl of dark hair around his navel, and a glory trail leading south. He stood there, silent, as my eyes roamed all over his body. "Gorgeous," I murmured, bending my head to tease the nipple with my tongue. His back arched and his eyes closed, his lips parted and moist. I kissed him again and his tongue crept into my mouth and as it touched mine, I thought I was going to come in my pants like a thirteen year old. He pulled me through a doorway, and we collapsed onto the bed together, gasping. I pulled his flies apart and yanked off his remaining clothes. "Put the light on," I murmured, gazing at the way the shadows fell across his body from the hall light. He leaned back and switched on a bedside lamp, which cast a red glow around the room. His pubic hair was completely shaved, his swollen cock starting to dribble against the skin below his navel. I pulled off my clothes and lay down on top of him , rubbing my hard on over his. Our legs tangled, lips millimeters apart as we ground together, breathing each others breath. I felt his hand on my waist, pushing me off, onto my back and he rolled on top, touching his lips on mine, teasing me, his fingers scratching lightly against my chest. He pushed my legs apart and knelt between them. I watched, dizzy with lust, as he started to slide his hands up and down his shaft as his eyes roamed all over my body. I could almost feel his gaze brushing over my groin, my stomach, my chest. "Ah Jude," he whispered, "I've been watching you for such a long time. You are beautiful, canim." "Come here," I pulled him on top of me, and kissed his breath away. The touch of his skin on mine was electric. He tasted salty, and the smell of him was driving me mad. I rolled over him again and slid down his body, dipping my tongue into his navel, trailing it lightly down his dick, then sucking his balls into my mouth, one after the other, bathing the crinkled skin while my finger touched against his entrance. He was dripping now, a string of precum stretching from his tip to the skin below. I paused, licked it off and then took him into my mouth, swirling my tongue over the hot, hard flesh. He was propped up on his elbows, watching me, his eyes glassy. He muttered something in Turkish and flopped back as I pushed my slick fingers inside his body, opening him up. Boy, he was tight. He was gasping for air now, like a fish out of water, grabbing handfuls of the sheet. When I found the spot I was looking for, his cock jumped in my mouth and oozed some more drops of salty juice, as he let out a groan. I looked around helplessly, and he knew what I needed. He fumbled in a drawer, his hands shaking as he passed me the lube and a condom. The sight of him spreadeagled in front of me was almost too much. I pulled his arms around my neck, hoisted him so that he was straddling me, my slippery cock pushing at his hole. The moist head of his prick dragged against the skin of my stomach as he lowered himself slowly on to me, his arms wrapped around me, his breath hot in my ear. His arse began to swallow my cock into a hot, tight heaven and I grunted. His legs were trembling and I masturbated him until I was all the way inside, feeling his erection subside slightly. When he looked at me, I saw a tear escaping from the corner of his eye. I kissed it away and held him tight for a moment, stroking the small of his back, parting his lips with my tongue, playing with the nipple rings until he was rock hard again. He began to ride me slowly. A sweat broke out on my back as my sensitivity increased and I resisted the urge to just throw him down and fuck him hard. Just as I reached my limit of endurance, I eased him onto his back again, and began to move inside him, varying the angles of penetration until I saw his body jump and his eyes widen. There it was. I picked up the pace. He was whimpering and flogging his dick as my balls started slapping against his ass. He was close, I could feel the tightening inside, his balls were drawing up and I pushed his hand away and stopped my movement, close to the end myself. "Let me feel you come," I whispered, starting to massage his cock, harder and faster until his back arched and he let out a strangled cry as he pumped out ropes of spunk all over his stomach and chest. I felt every spasm in his ass and a few more thrusts and I was there with him, shivering as I dumped my load deep inside his body. Panting, I pulled out slowly, and pulled off the condom. He was gasping still, and I began to lick the cum off his salty skin. As my body started to glow, I kissed him deeply, letting him taste himself on my tongue. I clasped his hands in mine and we rolled on our sides, facing each other. His face was flushed, his lips slick with saliva and spunk. Trails of mascara had run down his face with the escaping tears. He had been a virgin, I was almost sure of it. I smudged one of the black lines with my thumb, losing myself in the depths of those dark eyes, remembering the moment when I had recognised him on the stage. "What was that song," I murmured sleepily, " the one you opened with. It was great." He smiled and snuggled against my neck. "Cambaz is the title," he said. "I don't know the translation. But it's my favourite song. I'll play the CD for you tomorrow, the real one." I wanted to talk more but sleep overtook me and I fell asleep tangled in Deniz's limbs, feeling his breath against my neck and a deep peace in my soul. ------ I woke up the next morning when a shaft of light fell across my eyes and I blinked as I remembered where I was. I heard the noise of the shower and Deniz humming. His clothes were laid out on the chair and I frowned. Yet another grey suit, and an orange tie my father wouldn't even have worn. The awful glasses were sitting on the table. The whole outfit was at odds with the way the room was decorated. One scarlet wall at the head of the bed, the others were white. Red curtains, posters of a couple of Turkish bands and postcards of various guitar types. The furniture was simple and there was a minimum of clutter. Some photographs sat on the computer desk and I went over to take a look. Deniz, shaven headed in his army uniform,, giving the camera a thumbs up. The band, with a different drummer, all red-eyed in the flash, chugging beers. Deniz and the purple haired guitarist, lying on a bed, hair splayed out on the pillow as they held the camera at each other. Scratching my balls, I realised how much I stank. My breath was probably worse than usual judging by my almost complete lack of saliva and carpetty tasting tongue. I wandered into the bathroom and sneaked a bit of toothpaste, rubbing it around my gums and tongue. Deniz's body gleamed through the frosted glass and I felt a faint twitch in my groin. The shower cubicle was certainly big enough for two. "Need any help?" I said, stepping inside. "Jesus Christ! This water's freezing!" Deniz laughed and fiddled with the tap. I figured I'd better wash before getting down to any dirty stuff. But he snatched the shampoo away, squeezed some into his hands and started rubbing it into my hair. His fingers dug into my scalp, easing the headache and I closed my eyes as his hands started to roam all over me. "I hoped a cold shower would stop me from this," he said, rubbing my chest, my armpits, my stomach. My cock rose to meet his slippy hand but he ignored it, soaping up between my legs, my arse. By the time he had rinsed the suds off me, I was squeaky clean and hard as a rock. He looked down, and sighed. "I will be late," he said. But there wasn't much regret in his voice. He kissed me, and I felt his own hardness pressing against me. "Let's get out of here," I muttered, turning off the shower and pulling him outside. I sank to my knees and began to suck him off. He gasped and tangled his fingers in my hair as I tasted him, humming against his shaft, lapping at the sensitive head. His body was like a banquet that I wanted to feast on slowly, but there wasn't time so I quickly brought him to a climax, feeling my own cock swell to painful proportions as he shuddered through his orgasm, painting the back of my throat with his spunk which I swallowed as best I could. I stood up, kissed him, groaned as his tongue pushed into my mouth. "I can be sick today," he said, winking. "Let me call them." He went into the bedroom, picked up his mobile and called his boss. His voice was suddenly feeble and croaky, but when he hung up, he flashed a grin at me. Then it faltered and he bit his lip. "Oh, I didn't ask. Do you have plans today? Maybe you don't want…?" His insecurity, his blushes, his strange camouflage clothes. So sweet, so beautiful. I hugged him again, kissing his neck, letting him feel how aroused I was. "Of course I want," I whispered. We spent all day in bed, exploring each other's bodies, talking and kissing. He told me about his childhood growing up in Germany, moving to Turkey again when he was 15, always feeling like a misfit. I told him about my parents' death in an accident when I was 13, how I'd then grown up in the home of my mother's sister and her four screaming children, often feeling like a glorified babysitter. Lying in his arms, just stroking his hair, brought me a kind of contentment I hadn't felt in a long, long time. Sometime in the afternoon, my eyes fell on the clock. "Shit!!!" I leapt out of bed, grabbing my stuff. "I've got to teach in an hour. Better get home and change out of these clothes." Deniz sat up, watching me pull on my clothes. "Jude," he said. "Don't tell anyone in work?" "Of course I won't," I said, grinning. "Don't want to get you in trouble for pulling a sickie." He shook his head. "No, I mean don't tell anyone about anything. I'm not…yani," he flopped back on the bed, frustrated. "No one knows … about me. I don't want anyone to know." I shrugged. "Ok," I said. "I won't say a word to anyone." Mouthing silently cross my heart and hope to die. He smiled, a small, sad smile and waved as I headed to the door and sprinted home to fling on something work-ish, wondering where it would all lead. ----- I was good to my word, I told no one. Not even Simon. Of course he remembered little of the night at Bar Berlin, so our only possible witness was disqualified. At work, Deniz was as he always had been. I would stand by the photocopier, looking over at his desk, but he never looked up from his papers, his computer or that bag of jelly sweets that he would suck at absent mindedly, driving me insane every time I saw. Remembering the lean, hard body under that ridiculous suit, I wondered if sometimes I was imagining those hot nights in bed. It was as if he were different people, the corporate suit, the secret rock star, the painfully shy man, the tender lover. I found it very hard to separate them, to ignore him every day, as he seemed to want. I could have spent every moment with him and it wouldn't have been enough. The term ended, and a new one began. The leaves were starting to turn, a chill was biting in the air. The summer had been long, and I was looking forward to the change. I gave up morning classes and just worked evenings and weekends. Of course, that meant more socializing with Simon and the others. His friendship, welcome as it had been at the start, was starting to feel like a lodestone around my neck. We'd go for one quick beer, but I couldn't stop at one. More mornings dry retching on the bathroom floor, more sweats and shakes and vowing never to do it again. In my heart, I knew what was wrong, but I couldn't admit it to myself. Then there was the sneaking shame of knowing that my housewives, colleagues and boss had seen it coming long before I had. The nights with Deniz were my refuge from alcohol, but he was mean with the rations. He had band practice two or three nights a week and I wasn't invited. I had suggested he take a "flatmate" but he had visibly blanched at the idea and I got that hint suddenly, that life was starting to go sour. It was his birthday at the end of October and after staging a raid on the credit card, I took him to the Four Seasons hotel for a special dinner. He was always nervous when we went out anywhere but I knew none of our colleagues would waste their money coming to a five star hotel in a tourist area so our chances of being seen were slim. I even made sure our table was in a secluded corner of the restaurant. I ordered a bottle of champagne and sipped it, trying not to notice how he fidgeted and looked all around, clearly uncomfortable. We made small talk and complimented the food. By the time the main course came, I had had enough. He hadn't touched the champagne so I just chugged the lot. I was annoyed and reckless. "Look, if you're not enjoying yourself, let's leave." I threw my napkin down in disgust. "It's like you hate me, you don't want to even be seen with me." The candlelight flickered over his features, the brown eyes that hypnotized me. He bit his lip. "No, it's fine," he said. "I'm sorry. " He looked as if he was going to squeeze my hand but he hesitated and picked up his knife and fork again. I almost laughed. He couldn't even give me that. It was all my own fault for getting involved with someone who was so deeply rooted in the closet. He hadn't made any secret of that fact. The time I spent with him just highlighted the worsening state of the rest of my life, and I couldn't stand it much longer. The alcohol was making me maudlin in the most awful way. To my horror, and no doubt Deniz's, I felt tears gathering in my eyes, a painful lump in my throat. I swallowed, remembering. Boys don't cry. My fathers fists had taught me that lesson long ago, and I couldn't believe I was about to lose it in the middle of a five star restaurant, dressed in a monkey suit. "I can't do this anymore, Deniz," I said when I'd got control of myself. "There's no future in it for either of us." He put his napkin down. "Let's go then," he said. "I don't want to talk about this here." We didn't speak in the taxi. As usual, he ordered the taxi driver to go to his place. I leaned my head against the window, watching the clouds from my breath obscuring the sea, the lights of Asia in the distance. I felt wretched, as if my insides were being crushed into pieces. Back at his place, he made coffee and I drank it without speaking, pulling at the tie that was choking me. My hands were shaking and Deniz sat down beside me. "Let me help you," he said, his long fingers untying the knot and draping the tie over a nearby chair. He stroked the side of my face with his fingertip studying me, his expression inscrutable. I was powerless to push him away. I wanted to shout, to talk it over. But it just took the touch of his thumb over my bottom lip to part them, and the warm pressure of his kiss to send my head spinning. I had no control of anything, I knew it then. My body seemed to do as it wanted. His hand found my stiffening cock and I groaned as he rubbed at it through the material of my trousers. Standing up, he got undressed and draped his suit over the back of the chair, his eyes never leaving mine. He flicked on his CD player and smiled at me. "Cambaz," he said, playing an air guitar for a second before he got back on the bed. "Offfff! You make me crazy, Jude." Drinking in the sight of his body, possibly for the last time, I lay there, breathless. He started to strip me, kneeling between my parted legs when I was naked, and lapping at my cock while his fingers burrowed inside me. I could see what he wanted, the only thing we hadn't done, to fuck me. I'd never liked the idea, but if someone was going to pop my cherry then it might as well be him. My hips bucked as he bobbed his head up and down, and then his fingers touched something inside me that sent fireworks up my spine and into my addled brain that kind of pushed me towards just letting it happen. Cambaz He pushed my unresisting limbs around until I was on all fours in front of him, listening to his rasping breath as he greased up, getting ready. I felt the head of his cock slipping into my hole and pushed back as he leaned forward, the pain sobering me slightly. I clutched at the sheets and gritted my teeth as he started to thrust, tentatively at first. I felt his hands shaking as he clutched at my waist, leaning forward to lick the sweat that had started to trickle between my shoulder blades. But there it was again, that jolt from my insides. And again. He shifted a little, knowing that he had hit it, aiming for it again and again until my cock was rigid once more, beating against my belly. I was lost in the sensations, unable to think of anything else than what he was doing to my body, my heart. He was relentless and as my inner muscles started to throb and tense, I knew I could not last long with that delicious cock plowing me. Strings of precum were hanging from the tip of my dick and Deniz reached around me to massage the delicious ache away. I lost control of myself entirely as I began to cum, stifling a roar into the pillow as I slash painted Deniz's red sheets, my body shuddering. My arse was burning with pain and indescribable pleasure as he cried aloud and pumped his spunk deep inside me, sliding in and out slowly until he came to a halt and collapsed on top of me. My face was pushed into the pillow and I listened to his rapid breaths start to slow down, feeling his heart beating against my back. As my big brain switched back on, I struggled to make sense of what had happened. I'd tried to be mature and break it off but the next thing I knew I was drunk and on my knees getting fucked senseless. How did that happen? I didn't want to push him off. He held me tightly, whispering to me in Turkish, stroking my hair. It was comforting to be held and I allowed myself to dream a little, that I could have this Deniz all the time, the one that existed in the flat. Not the shy, nervous one who ignored me at work, who went to extreme lengths to avoid me in the lift, who wouldn't introduce me to his friends. Like we had done the first night together, we rolled on our sides, facing each other. He took my hand, kissed my fingers. I felt despair dampening the aftermath of my orgasm. "What are we going to do?" I hated myself for the whiny, needy sound in my voice. "I can't keep on sneaking around like this. It's killing me to see you at work, when you won't even talk to me." He touched his forehead to mine, and I felt his warm breath on my face. "I love you," was all he said. I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. "It's not enough," I said, and sat up. Only with my back to him could I bear to say the words. "If only you were out, and we could be together...but I can't go on like this. It has to stop now." I stood up, started pulling on my clothes. "I never lied to you," he said, and when I looked around, the sadness in his eyes almost made me give up and say yes, I'll take whatever crumbs you throw from the table because I love you with all my heart. But I didn't say it. It was time for me to wake up and stop embracing people whose love was destructive to me. I kissed the top of his head, holding my lips there for a few seconds too long, breathing in the scent of his hair. "Bye, Deniz," I said and walked out of the flat. ===== I didn't leave Istanbul, I couldn't. The city was still the same, and I knew that being in love with a place was at least guaranteed to be reciprocated every day. It was the simple things that got me, like the way shopkeepers could leave their goods displayed out on the footpath and not be afraid of a bunch of brats running off with it, or taking the ferry over to the Asian side and back on a sunny day. The salt air and the famous skyline would give me a glow. It was a cold sort of love but I tried to be positive, and ignore the gulf that had opened up in my life. I quit my job and got another one, teaching at a university. I lived rent free in a flat provided by the university. I stopped seeing my old colleagues so much, now that our working hours and days off clashed. Simon had been arrested one night, after getting into a fight in a bar. They were going to deport him, but he went of his own accord. I got a short email from him a few weeks later. He'd moved on to Cairo, and seemed pretty happy with the social scene there. There was "plenty of booze and drugs if you know where to go" and I was welcome to visit any time. I didn't fancy it. Simon was definitely on the run from something but it would catch him again wherever he was. I figured that sooner or later you had to stop, turn around and let the monsters catch you. Istanbul was where I was going to make my stand. It was a pleasure to work at the university. I had my own office, my own laptop. I was teaching scholarship students whose motivation was high, and who tried so hard I just wanted to work all the time to help them. The other English teacher, Eric, was twenty years older than me and on the run after defaulting on alimony payments to his ex wives.. Loud and politically incorrect, he had a penchant for nice looking young women, fine cigars and jazz. We became friends, and one afternoon over coffee I told him what had happened, about Deniz. "Well that's the problem with these Turks, you know," he said, clapping an arm around me. "There's always a family lurking around somewhere! That's the root of all their problems, mark my words! Nothing to do with you, laddie!" He told me about his four ex-wives, each younger than the one before, and reassured me that the best way to stop loving someone was to marry them or failing that, to live with them. I laughed, wishing I'd had that chance with Deniz. "Yeah but it's not easy here, Eric. How many out gay men do you know around here, who aren't foreigners?" I tried to imagine myself into Deniz's life and failed. He had tried so hard to fit in that he had suppressed a large part of himself to survive. Fifty years ago and I would have been doing the same back home. Who was I to ask him for more than he could give? Three months to the day since I had said goodbye to him. I wondered if I was feeling how amputees felt, when they felt the presence of a phantom limb. Sometimes I forgot he wasn't there anymore and found myself making plans to call over, or take him somewhere. Then other times I missed him so much I could feel my chest constricting, a genuine physical pain. Had it all been a mistake? There was nothing I could do now but try and put him out of my head. It was also 3 months to the day since I'd had a drink. I decided to focus on the positive and ordered myself some Japanese food from a new restaurant that had opened in Taksim to celebrate. I was reading an online EFL journal when the doorbell cheeped, and I dug out my wallet, feeling my stomach rumble. Just in time. But it wasn't the delivery man. It was Deniz. I stood for a moment, shocked. He was wearing his work clothes, but he'd got new glasses which made him look intellectual instead of angry, and his hair was shorter and softer, and not clogged with gel or looking Hitler-ish. His eyes were dark and gleaming, and he stepped forward, his hands shaking slightly, and clasped them around mine, pulling them to his lips. Kissing my fingers before releasing me, as the memory of those butterfly touches lingered, burning on the skin of my fingertips. I felt as if time hadn't passed for one moment as he wrapped his arms around me. "Jude, Jude," I could feel his whole body living and breathing against me. Returning the hug, I felt shivers ripple over my skin at the feel of his breath in my ear. I pushed him away gently, while I still had some willpower left. The doorbell twittered again and I was glad to have a distraction as I busied myself in the kitchen cramming everything I'd ordered onto a plate. Deniz was looking suspiciously at the sushi. "It's really not cooked?" he said, wrinkling his nose. I shook my head, sitting down and starting on the seaweed salad. "Was there something you wanted?" I asked. I was desperate to exude an image of control and cool headedness. He began to pace the room, looking at my photos, scratching his head at the Anne Stahl prints which hung behind the new Ikea sofa. I felt like a proper person for the first time, an owner of (some) furniture and decorative items and I was glad that he seemed to approve of my taste. Finally he came over and leant against the table, his crotch at my eye level. Glancing at that bulge in his jeans, I felt a different kind of hunger building inside me and put down my chopsticks. He brushed a thumb over my chin and tilted my head back so he could meet my eyes. "Yes, there was something I wanted." His voice was soft as he traced my lips with his fingertips. "You asked me a while ago if I wanted a flatmate?" He pushed a finger into my mouth, playing catch with my tongue. I could taste the jelly sweets off him and smiled. "You didn't want a flatmate, though." It was hard to speak with his finger in there. He bent down towards me, and I smelt the sweet smell of cola bottles on his breath as he replaced his finger with his tongue. His lips were soft, his stubble rasping against mine. I felt as if my lungs were shrinking, I could hardly get a breath. I was already aware of the burning hardness growing in my crotch and I broke the kiss, gasping. "Deniz…" We slid off the chairs onto the scratchy carpet the university had provided to warm up the tiled floor. I writhed as he pushed my sweater up, licking and nibbling at my nipples. His hands were already wrestling with my belt buckle, freeing my shaft only to trap it again in that hot, wet cavern. "Ah Jesus," I whispered, listening to the licks and slurps, watching my dick slide between those glistening lips, wriggling again to push off my jeans. His face was red, his breathing harsh. "Get on your knees," he said, his voice almost a sigh, his hands trembling as they pushed me into position, pulling my arse cheeks apart. The anticipation of his touch was driving me crazy. But he was looking at me again, and I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering how he had always liked to stare at my body while he pleased himself. This was an incredible turn on for me, and I began to rub my hand up and down my hard shaft.. When his soft mouth and darting tongue settled on my hole, I sighed as he opened me up, his spit lubricating me for his fingers to probe inside, and soon, when I was groaning uncontrollably and pushing myself back against him, I felt the head of his cock pushing against me. His voice was hoarse. "I don't want a flatmate," he said, impaling me so hard that the breath left my body. I didn't know what he was talking about, only that he was driving hard against my happy button and I had been rendered incapable of speech. Precum poured from my cock, dribbling over my fingers as my eyes lost focus on the world. He fucked me harder and harder until his thrusting became irregular, his breathing a series of almost-sobs. Muttering something in Turkish, his fingers dug into my waist and I felt him twitch inside me then a gush of warmth spread … a few seconds later, the most intense orgasm blew out of me all over university property in almost painful spasms. I felt drunk, as I rolled onto my side, feeling his runny spunk start to trickle out of me as the afterglow tingled through my whole body. He spooned up behind me, wrapping me in his arms and stroking my hair. "I want a lover," he whispered. "Not a flatmate. Ah Jude, canim, I couldn't forget you. I missed you too much." The carpet was starting to itch my skin so I sat up, catching a glimpse of my red, sweaty face in the mirror as I pulled him to his feet and into the bedroom. We lay down as we had done before so many times, foreheads and knees touching, fingers tangled together. He kissed my fingertips, his eyes almost black in the dim light. I pulled the covers up over our heads, cocooning us in darkness. "How would it be different this time?" I asked. "If I lived with you. Wouldn't everyone know then?" He sighed. "I can't promise that it will be what you want. But please, let me try. I love you, Jude. I try to be enough this time." I wrapped my arms round his hot body and held him, kissing the top of his head. Maybe it would be different, maybe not so much. I had time, I could afford to be patient. Now he was in my arms again, I wondered what on earth I had been thinking in the first place, breaking it off like that. Circumstances were different this time. I finally knew how it was to miss someone that much. The last, best reason was my addictive personality…after that first shag, well…there'd be no stopping me now.