(posted December 15, 2005)
Summer Scars and the Touch of Fingers
by Dean Durber
I was only nineteen at the time. It was my first summer vacation from college and I was about to set out on the trip of my life. I had been hanging out all year for this, longing for freedom. I had worked hard at school to make sure I got the grades I needed so my folks would come thru on their pledge of money. I had worked even harder at my part-time job to save some cash of my own. It hadn’t been an easy year. I had missed out on many of the parties most of my new buddies had been able to enjoy without a care in the world. They would come back in the early hours to tell drunken tales of naked chicks and the pussy they had fingered and fucked. I wasn’t jealous. I knew all along that I wanted this trip more than anything. I knew it was going to be something special.
Sitting on the plane, I was excited by the planned adventures ahead. A quick stopover in London, a short flight on to Zurich, a train thru the former Yugoslavia down into Greece, and then a final boat trip across to Turkey. I smiled. I was free now, free at last. No more college work, no deadlines, no early starts and late nights, no demands from anyone. I was alone and unafraid. When you travel by yourself, you can go where you like, do what you like. There is nobody who can interfere.
My vacation went by too fast. Before I knew it, I was already on the boat heading towards my final destination. In less than three weeks time, I would be back at college, back to my old life. I knew I had changed. I felt different. My body had developed visible muscle and I was well tanned too. There were slight tears and holes in all my t-shirts, showing off portions of my bronzed smooth muscular flesh. I liked those peepholes. My shorts were in a constant state of dirtiness. Dust clung stubbornly to worn fabric that stuck to my legs where the light wisps of hair had been sun bleached. The hair on my head was fairer too. It was long and matted like it had dried after a swim in the ocean, all dirty with salt and sand.
I suppose it was my fair skin and the blondness of my hair that managed to attract me so much attention in this part of the world. Even in London, people could tell I wasn’t a local. Everyone seemed intuitively to know that I was from elsewhere. But as I moved closer to Greece, the attention grew even more intense. Voices would call out in the street heckling for me to join them for a small cup of coffee as they perched on tiny stools in the stubborn afternoon heat. Men would grab at me, clasping their fingers tightly around my wrist, trying to pull me their way. It was much the same in Turkey. Except here the coffee turned into sweet apple tea and I soon learned to enjoy the short, sharp, friendly slaps of their coarse bare hands on my browned thighs.
At times, the firm hands of these street men would
linger on my flesh. I would look up into their eyes to see them
looking elsewhere. They would laugh together, speaking a language
I did not understand. I knew that if this sort of thing ever happened
to me back home, I would think about it differently. I would worry.
I would make it stop. But this was another place, another culture.
A hand on a thigh doesn’t mean the same the world over. I
began to realise that my thoughts were my thoughts alone.
I stepped off the bus at Pamukalle. I was relieved to be free of the constant stream of dust that had poured thru open windows right into my face for the past nine hours. I was instantly met by the usual throng of people who surrounded me and began to tug at my hands and pull at my backpack.
“Best hotel sir!”
“Cheapest price sir!”
“Hot shower sir!”
He caught my attention. I stopped to take a look through the album of photos the young Turkish boy held out for me to see. I had grown used to this custom of harassment everywhere I went. I also knew too well that the pictures they showed me were always a lie. It didn’t bother me. I was never bored, never angry. I loved every minute of my time there.
“How much?” I asked.
The boy promised me the cheapest room. He had a nice smile.
“And a hot shower?”
I laughed. I nodded. Leaving no time for me to contemplate
changing my mind, the boy snatched up my backpack and started walking
away from the bus. He didn’t bother to look back.
The hotel was nothing special. More dust, more heat. A large fan turned slowly in the crumbling foyer. The boy spoke a few words of Turkish to the man behind the counter who welcomed me with a large friendly smile.
“He promised me cheap,” I said, pointing to the boy who walked back thru the hotel door and disappeared into the street.
“Yes of course.”
I turned back. The man was staring at me.
“You come to bath after later.”
He pointed behind me. There was nothing but a wall.
“There’s a bath in my room? Awesome!”
“Room upstairs. Bath next door. My bath Turkish bath, yes?”
He smiled again. His teeth were stained with nicotine.
“You like Turkish bath I think.”
“I don’t know man. Never been.”
“Yes, you like I think.”
My room was the cheapest room in the hotel. A tiny room with a single bed covered with a worn mattress filled with worrying springs. It was the only room up on the roof of the hotel from where I had a great view of the bustling city below. There was no barrier around the edge of the building, just a sheer drop six stories down. There was no hot shower either. And no air con nor fan to keep me cool. It was well over a hundred degrees that day but I liked the way the heat covered my skin in brown sweat. I liked the isolation of this space.
I lingered for a while smoking cigarettes and staring down at the people below. I knew I would miss this place. I would miss the freedom of being able to roam at will. Food and a place to sleep, nothing else mattered in this life. I was happy here. There were only the dusty streets down below, tainted with incessant toots of the odd car horn. Soon the loud sound of Muslim prayers started to blast out from the city’s mosque. I knew this same sound would wake me again at four the next morning. I had come to like that.
I stubbed out my last cigarette and decided to head out in search of food. I left my backpack unopened on the squeaky bed and started to make my way back down the six dark flights of stairs. He stepped out from the shadows.
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
The man laughed.
“You fucking scared me man!”
“No lights. Everyday no lights!”
He tutted. For anyone who lived here, these daily electricity blackouts must have been a real pain in the arse. For me, they were just yet one more peculiarity that made this vacation all the more special.
“You go to bath now, Turkish bath?”
“No man, maybe later. I need some food and cigarettes first.”
“Have food in bath.”
“Ah okay, well maybe later.”
“Have massage too.”
The man was much taller than me. My eyes met his shoulders. His face was darker too. It seemed unshaven almost as if his five o’clock shadow came around at midday everyday. His hair was dark and thick, sprouting out from his chest and through the unbuttoned segment of his shirt. He was the complete opposite of my fairness. Strange how our worlds should meet. He placed his hands on my shoulders.
“I have many foreigners men come to my bath.”
His fingers started to dig deep into the aches of my skin. I had been carrying my heavy backpack around for months, sleeping in different places every night. My mind was relaxed, but my body was extremely tired. The heat and the uncertainty of the beds had taken their toll. His hands felt good. I started to close my eyes.
“You can come to bath for massage.”
His hands moved slowly over the curve of my shoulders and started to rub at my biceps.
“And I have big cock!”
I was only nineteen at the time.
It all happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to react. Soon the man’s hands were reaching up inside my shorts. I could feel the touch of his fingers rubbing across my naked thigh. I could feel his breath on my face. He managed to reach the tip of his finger into the crevice of skin where my leg meets my upper body. I could feel his nail tickling against the flesh of my ball. That’s when I took a step back.
“I have a big cock,” he said again.
I watched as he placed his hand over the front of his trousers and squeezed. My heart was beating so fast. We were apart now, but I could still feel him. He moved forward to touch me.
“You too I think.”
I stepped back again.
“No thanks man!”
I turned to walk away. My legs were shaking. He grabbed me, his fingers squeezing tightly around my wrist and he wouldn’t let me go. Instead, he pushed me towards the wall deeper and deeper into the darkness while I struggled to free myself from this firm and painful grip.
“That’s enough man!” I begged with desperate laughter.
But he was strong, too strong. He had my hand pulled up tight behind my back. It felt like it would snap. I tried to use my other hand to hit out at his arm to weaken his grasp but I knew my attempts to punch him were too weak. My body fell through an open door and down onto a bed inside. He closed the door behind him and stared down at me with a smile.
“Come on man, seriously,” I laughed. “I’ll come to the bath later.”
I lied. I had no intention of stepping foot inside that place. I wanted to get out of here. I feared what would happen. I watched in terror as his fingers undid the remaining few buttons on his shirt. I was mesmerized by his thick chest of hair. The darkness of his nipples were the only pieces of visible skin. He stepped out of his trousers to reveal a slightly dirty pair of white Y-fronts. His cock was hard, sticking out to the side. The end was pink, poking out from brown skin. It was large and fat. I was sweating.
I tried to fight him off, but he soon had me pinned to the bed. His hands held me firmly down and he had my legs spread wide apart. I was covered by the weight of his body crushing down and writhing upon me. I could smell him, his stale sweat pouring from every pore. The stubble on his face ripped hard against my cheeks as he tried to kiss me. I felt his tongue touch mine. I could taste his saliva running down the back of my throat. He placed a finger in one of the holes of my t-shirt and tore it away. My smooth hairless chest was fully exposed. He startled to tickle over my flesh, running circles with his fingers around my stomach. He smiled. I tried to buck him off me and a sudden bolt of pain shot thru me as he dove down and bit hard on my nipples. I was sure there was blood.
The more I fought, the more exhausted I became. The more I fought, the more violent he would act. When I struggled, he punished me with harsh slaps, leaving red marks branded on my skin. I can still see them. But in those moments when I lay there silent and still, he would move his hand slowly across my flesh. When I lay quiet, he kissed me gently and whispered unknown words into my ears. His tongue nibbled at my ear. His cock pressed deep into my groin. He moved his hand slowly up my shorts and undid the zip. He began to massage my cock. My mouth stayed open as he came to meet it with his lips. I was hard.
“I have big cock,” he whispered again.
I lay there staring straight into his open eyes. Our bodies were clinging together. It was hot in that room. I couldn’t tell if I was crying or if it was the moisture of my sweat falling down my face. Our naked bodies touched. The weight of him started to crush me. I was gasping for breath, pushing air in and out of my nostrils as he placed his mouth firmly over mine and kissed me for what seemed like a lifetime.
I knew what he wanted from me. I had no choice. My legs were trapped over his shoulders. His heavy body pounded down on me forcing breath from my lungs. My flesh hurt. With every push of his cock inside me, I uttered a compulsive moan. I could feel the cum inside me pushing up further and further to the tip of my cock. I tried hard to hold it in. There was sweat all over my body, hot salty sweat. My hands were trapped tightly by my side by the force of his arms. I could do nothing more than wiggle my fingers. I met with the flesh of his thigh and suddenly I had to let go, shooting one long line of cum up and past my left shoulder. I could feel hot liquid running inside me. My body collapsed now. I knew it was all over. The edges of my mouth lifted, comforted by the stillness and the warmth.
I didn’t leave the hotel that night. Instead, I lay on my bed all alone, my body covered in a thin sheet that I had drenched in cold water in a desperate attempt to keep me cool. I was too tired, too scared to move. I had locked the window and barricaded the door. But I was restless. I could not sleep. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, I opened the door and stepped out on the rooftop. The man was asleep there, lying still on a camp bed that rested close to the edge of the building. His stomach rose and fell.
I walked towards him and stood over looking down. He was almost naked. I stared at the thickness of the dark black hair on his chest. I stared down at the street below and knelt down to place my hands firmly on the side of the bed. I start to smell him once again now as my lips open and I use my tongue to trace along the line of his hardening cock.