A gay story: Cherry Picking in the Vineyard It was inevitable that it would happen–sooner or later. It was building up to sooner. Karim, still, at eighteen, going by the nickname of Kari, had lain in bed in the connecting room at the Dome Hotel in the ancient harbor town of Kyrenia in Turkish Cypriot and listened to the Danish UN soldier fucking his father, Hadid, in the other room. Kari’s inclination was no different than his father’s, and he lay on his bed masturbating to the sounds of his father’s moans, first, as his father’s cries revealed, the soldier taking him forcefully right there on the floor of the bedroom in a doggy position and then on the bed with the headboard of the bed in the next room bouncing rhythmically against the wall and his father bleating how bloody big the Scandinavian was. It was nominally the midafternoon siesta time, a time during the hottest portion of the day that people in the Mediterranean took to their beds to nap. Hadid and Bjorn had taken to Hadid’s floor and then his bed to fuck–and later, Kari heard, in the shower of the other room as well.
None of this was a surprise to Kari. His father had made no bones about vacationing in Cyprus to get laid, and his top of chose was a Scandinavian UN solider–just what he was getting. He’d brought Kari with him because, he said, at eighteen it was time for Kari to go over the top too, no matter what his preference.
It seemed the Dane could go on for hours. Kari’s frustration was that he wouldn’t be with him. Kari was still a virgin to men.
Kari’s father was a Egyptian Arab. His family ran a successful restaurant in London. Kari’s mother was English, but she was off cruising around Norway with her boyfriend, and Kari had been brought on holiday to Turkish Cyprus by his father. The parents weren’t divorced but they quite definitely were separated. This supposedly was Kari’s holiday to celebrate having just turned eighteen. Both parents had declared it was an important time for Kari–his coming of age. His mother, however hadn’t put his special day ahead of what her Norwegian boyfriend wanted to do. Kari rather wondered if his father hadn’t taken up with the Dane just so he would have a Scandinavian too.
Kari’s parents also had a different idea of what coming of age meant. His mother thought of it more in terms of responsibility–pinning down a career and starting into it and moving on from being under her roof. His father was more of a pleasure in bed guy. This perhaps was why the two parents no longer were together. Hadid somewhat resented having Kari dumped on him because his mother wanted to go off with a boyfriend. That probably was why Hadid was in the adjacent room being very vocable about being rough fucked by a UN solider and having Kari just in the other room.
Well, Kari wouldn’t mind having a Scandinavian himself. He was ready to take that step.
Bjorn was a beautiful, blond, hulking UN soldier of twenty-three on vacation himself in Kyrenia from the UN base on the Green Line dividing the capital of Nicosia to the south of the harbor town. In 1986, there was an uneasy truce between the two factions dividing the island, the Greeks to the south and the Turks to the north. Rotating units of neutral UN countries took on the duty to keep the two ethnic communities apart. They sent elite troops of hunky soldiers. Bjorn definitely filled that bill.
Hadid and Bjorn had hooked up while touring the Kyrenia castle, a Byzantine castle nestled inside a Crusader’s Castle, in the harbor earlier in the afternoon. They had exchanged pleasantries in passing each other while exploring the castle. Bjorn and Hadid obviously liked the looks of each other and Bjorn had an eye for Hadid’s dark, sultry, eighteen-year-old son, Kari, as well. Kari, half Egyptian and half British, but all lithe, berry-brown, and handsome sultriness, had been attracting the attention of many Turkish men in the town. He had just the right mix of Europe and the Middle East in him to be seen as exotic by Mediterranean men. Turkish men, in particular, were a randy and demanding bunch. Many of them would fuck anything that moved. The Arab-English youth was ripe for it. For that matter so was his father.
Hadid had spent some of the time teasing Kari about getting laid for the first time. He seemed all for Kari losing his virginity to a man here in Cyprus. “What about that one… or that one,” he continuously was saying as they ogled the men who were ogling them.
His father had gone into seeking submissive mode as soon as they had entered Cyprus. With him, it was an often-employed stance. Having just turned eighteen, Kari wasn’t experienced in the male-to-male hookup, but he was more than interested and willing.
Bjorn was sitting at a table by the harbor, drinking beer, when Hadid and Kari came out of the castle. His eyes met with Hadid’s in passing, and an interest and understanding that had been established in the castle was affirmed. Bjorn asked them to sit and drink with him. They happily did so. They chatted amicably during which Bjorn established that Hadid was an active submissive and Kari was uninitiated, along on the vacation because he was celebrating an important birthday and couldn’t be left on his own in London.
Hadid didn’t tease Kari about having his cherry popped by the hunky UN soldier drinking beer with them, so the young man got the message that his father wanted the Dane for himself.
An hour later, they had gone to Hadid and Kari’s rooms in the Dome to escape the heat of the day and to honor the midday withdrawal hours of the locals. Hadid was on his knees, barking at the Dane, making like a dog in heat, and then on his back, legs raised and spread, arms raised over his head, grasping the rungs of the headboard, while the hunky, muscular Dane knelt between his thighs, pounding away in his stretched anal passage and pulling groans and little cries of pain-pleasure out of the Egyptian restauranteur on the make.
Kari was in the other room, on his bed, beating off, and wishing that someday–sooner than later–it would be him under a body beautiful such as the Danish soldier hunk. No doubt while plowing the father, the Dane was giving some thought to wishing–and hoping–to do the son as well. The son was claimed to be a virgin. He would be a delicious first-time lay.
They ate in the harbor next to the bobbing boats and under the strings of fairy lights that night. Kari sat next to the Dane and across from his father. The two older men carried the conversation, but the Dane touched Kari now and again on the arm or the leg and the young man was in heat. He also was watching a muscular and handsome Turk appearing to be in his early thirties closing down the small fishing boat he’d floated into the harbor and berthed right next to the table where Kari and the men were eating. The quay where the outdoor restaurant tables were located edged right up to the water where the boats were tied up.
As he worked, the Turk ogled Kari and Kari ogled him back. The Turk finished his business and came up onto the stone quay rimming the harbor that had been taken over by restaurant tables. He gripped Kari’s shoulder to help climb up onto the land. In doing so he smiled and nodded at Kari and Kari, feeling a surge of arousal, smiled back. He let his hand squeeze Kari’s shoulder for a few seconds longer than necessary and a surge of sexual energy coursed through the young man’s body.
The Turk didn’t leave the area. He moved as far as the opening of an alley beside the restaurant that served the outdoor tables where Hadid, Kari, and the Dane were eating, turned, leaned into the stone of the corner of the restaurant, and stared at Kari.
Not long afterward, Kari said he had to take a piss and left his father and the Dane and went toward the restaurant building across the quay. He didn’t make it there. The big bruiser Turkish fisherman, covered only in coveralls exposing much of his beefy chest, and in rubber boots, pulled Kari into the alley by the restaurant, into the shadows, and pushed him up against the stone wall.
His hands went all over the eighteen-year-old’s willowy body, covering the young man’s face and throat with kisses. The evening was quite warm, and Kari was only wearing shorts and sandals. The Turk grasped Kari under his thighs and raised his legs, hooking them on his hips, trapping the young man against the wall and off the walkway. Kari could feel the size of the hunky Turk’s erection. The youth moaned, ripe for where this was leading. Turkish men were cocky and forward and known to just take what they wanted. Kari thought that might be the best way to give up his virginity to men–to let the man do it all, make all of the decisions.
Was this it, then? Kari thought. Would he go across that divide here, in an alley, with a Turkish fisherman? If so, he was ready.
The Turk was already rocking his pelvis against Kari’s groin, with a hand down there feeling the young man up as well, ready to do a bit or rearranging and fucking him right there, right then, against the wall.
The Arab-English youth was aching for it too. But he could see out of the corner of his eye that his father and the Dane were rising from their table, ready to return to the Dome Hotel and fuck the night away. They’d be coming to look for him. He didn’t want to be the cause of a brawl between men who could best be put to use fucking him.
The Turk noticed the movement too and stiffened.
Kari hissed, “Late tomorrow morning. They are going to Nicosia tomorrow. Here, late in the morning.” He broke away, regretfully, and, flushed and aching for it, joined Hadid and Bjorn for the walk back to the Dome Hotel and to a night of Hadid’s joyous cries that the vigor and size of the Dane were killing him, the periodic rhythmic bouncing of the headboard against the wall in the other room, and Kari jerking himself off again and again, his thoughts alternating between the two hunks–the Turkish fisherman and the Danish soldier.
Either of them would have done to relieve Kari of this burden of virginity to the cocks of men.
It was beyond time, the young man moaned.
* * * *
The Turk’s name was Sami, although they didn’t say much conversationally to each other–didn’t call each other by their names–for the entire time they were together–at least until they were in the throes of fucking. They both had tunnel vision in what they wanted to accomplish. The Turk wanted to jerk the virginity out of the handsome, angelic young man before he could object, and Kari was anxious to get on with it. Most of what Sami conveyed were instructions and demands in the fuck. Most of what Kari verbalized was the pain-pleasure of being relieved of his virginity and then being gang banged. The seasoning to men started right after the initiation. The Turk had put out the “fresh meat” word.
Sami owned a motorcycle as well as the fishing boat and he roared down onto the Kyrenia quay on the bike, beckoned to Kari, and roared back up the hill and the mountain, toward the old abbey town of Bellapais, when the young man hopped on the cycle behind him.
Sami was wearing just coveralls again, although they were white today. They’d been blue the previous night. He had sneakers without socks on his feet. He was hirsute and curly black hair spilled out above the bib of the overalls, around the straps suspending the top on his chest, and in his pits. He was a beautiful man. He had showered and these were probably his best overalls. He’d slapped on too much aftershave, but he hadn’t shaved in a few days. The close-cropped beard looked sexy on him, Kari thought.
All in all, he’d come to party. Kari had whispered to him the previous night in the alley that he’d never had a man’s cock in him, and Sami had come to notch his bedpost with a virgin–and just maybe to make a little cash for himself.
The youth hung on tight behind the Turk as the cycle took the mountain road. Kari encircled the muscular torso with his arms and he lay a hand on the Turk’s basket, which was showing a filling-out life of its own. Halfway up the mountain, the bike went off the road to the east and drove into a vineyard. They came to a stop well inside the vineyard that mounted the mountain in shallow terraces. The spot Sami picked was on one of the terraces, out of sight because of the verdant grape vines from either side and above and with a picturesque view down into the Kyrenia harbor, with its stone castle and then out into the Mediterranean, showing greenish blue water close to land and a deeper blue beyond.
The Turk hadn’t picked the site for its view, though. He’d sought someplace remote, someplace where the wind flowing up from the sea would cover the cries of taking by a virgin.
The deflowering was immediate, a bit bumbling, forceful, and horrific to the virgin, although Kari was keyed up for this, prepared for the first time to be challenging but well wanting to be past the first time. They didn’t speak, but there was a lot of heavy breathing, grunts, and groans from both of them as Sami climbed off the cycle, set the stand, pulled Kari off, and threw the younger man onto the grassy ground between the rows of vines and onto his knees.
The Turk covered the young man from above and behind in a close, controlling embrace. Kari was well-muscled enough but no contest for the Turkish fisherman. The young man was wearing just shorts, briefs, and sandals, and they were stripped off of him in seconds. Similarly, the straps of the Turk’s overall were released, the garment puddled down to the ground, and the Turk stepped out of them and stripped off his briefs in one motion.
Seeing the Turk in erection made Kari shudder and exclaim, “Oh, Shit.” But it wasn’t a “no,” so the Turk kept to the program.
They hadn’t been off the bike for forty seconds before Kari was on his knees, chest and cheek pushed into the grass, and the Turk was on top of him and inside him with no more lubricant than his spit. No condom. The horror of AIDs hadn’t reached Cyprus in 1986, rubbers weren’t considered macho to Turks, and the young man claimed to be pure.
The Turk wasn’t able to stuff himself too far into the youth, though, before he ejaculated from the excitement of taking a gorgeous virgin. Kari howled of the brutal violation when Sami had barely been able to stuff three inches of erection in him. The Turk was built big. In his third withdrawal while battering his way in, he ejaculated, his cum slathering the young man’s hole and smearing on the inner curves of his buttocks.
As far as popping the virgin’s cherry, it was done. Kari was relieved of his virginity to men. This wasn’t satisfying to either one of them, though. Sami pressed his foot to the side of Kari’s head, grasped the young man’s waist between his hands, and gave it a more concerted go, pushing in through the added lubricant of his cum. He managed to sink most of the way in and get of a good dozen pumps while Kari gasped and panted hard, but then he started going soft. His excitement had made Kari’s first time less than stellar.
Kari was a bit disappointed, but he’d known the first time wouldn’t be all that great and he’d wanted to reach and get beyond the first time.
“Önemli değil. öğleden sonramız var–No matter. We have the afternoon,” the Turk said. Kari remained on his knees, cheek to grass, on the ground, panting and trying not to sob.
Sami released Kari and went back to the bike and started unpacking what he’d brought–a blanket, some bread and cheese, and a couple of bottles of wine. Kari rolled onto his back near a row of grape vines and watched the Turk move. His hirsute body was magnificent, Kari thought–muscular and hirsute. The man wasn’t all that handsome, but, to Kari, he was sexy as hell. And he was hung. Kari didn’t know how much of that cock had gotten inside him the first time, but he wanted more of it the next time.
And he wanted a next time, here and now. He wanted the hunky Turk to fuck him until Kari knew he could enjoy it as well as his father obviously did. He wanted this to be the beginning of a lifestyle, not the end of it.
Lying on his back, his feet spread and bent, bare feet pressed into the earth, Kari took his cock in his hand and stroked it. He was hard. He gave Sami a shy, saucy little smile. He wanted the Turk to see him like that. Kari wanted the Turk to know he wanted to take the cock again–hopefully better the next time. After laying out the blanket, the Turk stood over him and smiled down at him, relieved that Kari hadn’t complained about the fumbling of the first time and the fast ejaculation. He took his cock in hand and they watched each other for several moments, each working himself up.
“Tekrar–again,” the Turk growled.
Sami reached down, grabbed Kari’s ankles, and dragged the youth onto the blanket on his back. He spread and bent Kari’s legs, placing his feet flat on the blanket again, and knelt between the young man’s thighs. Leaning over the youth and looking down into his face, he clutched Kari’s throat with his left hand, holding the youth’s head pressed down into the blanket. His right hand went under the young man’s tailbone and his fingers found the hole slathered with his cum. Kari gasped and groaned as fingers entered and worked him. Doing what was natural when this was what the youth wanted, Kari arched his back, lifted his hips to the invading fingers and rocked on them.
“Do it. Fuck me. Put it in. Screw me,” he called out. He wanted to move as quickly as possible past the pain and into the pleasure. He knew there was pleasure. He had heard it from his father while the Danish soldier was fucking him. It was just a matter of experience, of repetition of the act.
The Turk was quite ready for that, though. This time he wanted to do it right. He wanted to get as much pleasure out of this as he could. He wanted the young man to have pleasure too, to worship him, to beg for the Turk’s manly cock.
He’d forget that first time. The sweet piece of tail was still a virgin in his wishes. He would take him properly. Moving both his hands and his lips, Sami worked down the boy’s berry-brown, willowing body, moving his mouth into the boy’s groin and, as Kari groaned, shuddered, and jerked, took the youth’s cock in his mouth. Kari moaned and writhed as the man gave him head, relentlessly working the cock while Kari arched his back and scrabbled his hands at the man’s biceps and then ran his fingers into the black, curly hair on the man’s head, trying, first to push the man away, embarrassed that he might come in his throat and then, with heavy panting holding the man into him, knowing he would come in the man’s throat.
When he had come in Sami’s throat, the Turk worked his mouth and hands up Kari’s body again and moved into position between his legs. Kari was the one encasing the shaft with his hands when he was in position.
“Now, now. Fuck me now!”
“Al onu. Sikimi al!–Take it. Take my cock!”
The Turk slowly forced his way in, spreading the passage with his thick cock, breaching the sphincter, and moving deeper. And then, as Kari moaned, dug his fingernails in the Turk’s biceps, and raised his pelvis to meet the penetration, the cock sank deeper. And then deeper yet.
Kari cried out in a strangled voice, “Yes, yes! Take me!” Then, “Fuck, you’re big! Shit, you’re too big.”
But the Turk’s cock wasn’t too big; it was just right.
“Şimdi seni iyi sikiyorum–I fuck you good now,” the Turk exclaimed. And then he did fuck Kari good.
He wanted to savor this, to prolong it as long as possible, so, when he’d set up a rhythm of plowing, with Kari going with him, moving with the thrusting and murmuring his new pleasure in the act, the Turk showed that he knew how to do this–that he wasn’t the anxious, fumbling fast shooter of the first time, the deflowering, the popping of the virgin’s male cherry. He adjusted the cadence of his thrusts with the sense of the rising of the cum inside him. When he felt he was about to lose control, he suspended the thrusts, and they kissed–on the lips, in the throat, each of them taking a turn in kissing, licking, and nipping each other’s nipples. When he felt the urge to blow taper off, he commenced the thrusting again, causing Kari to gasp, groan, and reach for and squeeze the Turk’s buttocks.
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.