. Gay sex you must be still.” I blink. My face forms a question mark. “You are in there too long, my friend.” He points to a curtained entrance.My flesh no longer burns. Then the cries echo of release, echo the ancient sweating walls; muscles strain; and balls crawl into their glistening bodies until seed-rain saturates my soil. And I love it.I want to–“My Friend?”–lay here–“Shhhhh”–and feel the rain–“Efendum!”–forever. Cool water falls to my burning lips, as a thick hand pats my face. Cold rain cools my soil. Turkish men, lots of them, in hairy, olive masculinity, their eyes gleaming eagerness at invading my pink and squishy asshole, the tight opening leading to a warm, wet heaven. We do the dance of lust: I demure, murmur confusion, struggle with the heat of my undoing. I push away my huge hairy suitors growing in number around me. The heat in their hands as they touch my fair flesh, knead my muscles into goo, stretch out the kinks in my resolve, and pull at my innocence.These behemoths whisper their intentions, dare me to discard my gentility, and encourage me to rage in lust. My ears are wet from their kisses and murmurs, my skin riots in desire at their touches, and my reason flees.I take these hot men:
