Archive for
February, 2008
February 19th, 2008
His holiday was coming to end and Steve sat back and reflecting on his fantastic moments with Adem. Adem know how to treat him right and he remembered where he met him. He met him here, in the bar he watching two horny guys making out when Adem interrupted his thoughts. It was the timing that was perfect and so right.
Adem stood before him, smiling and encouraging him to dance which he did. He wasn’t even sure why he got up to dance with this stranger but now, he is so pleased he did. This gay boy, took showed him how to experience pleasure beyond his wildest dreams or fantasies that he’d had in the past.
Slowly they moved together, their bodies slightly touching and when the music stopped, Adem pulled him to him and kissed him sensually. He responded. Their tongues touching for the first time, almost took his breath away. Steve was taken in and his cock was reacting and growing in his jeans. He never knew that a first time kiss could be so powerful. His cock was hard and Adem knew it.
He took his hand in his and led him to a dark corner of the bar. Adem pushed him back against the table and kissed him again, this time, the kiss was more powerful and his response was to kiss back but Adem pulled away. He knelt down in front of him, and unzipped his jeans releasing his cock from his jocks. He sucked his cock deep into his mouth giving Steve the best blowjob any man could ever imagine. Steve came within seconds, shooting his hot cum deep down Adem’s throat.
Adem stood before him allowing him to slip his cock back into his jocks. He was shaking when he zipped up his jeans… Adem smiled at him and took him by the hand back to the dance floor. Adem invited him to stay for a meal before inviting him back to his apartment for dessert.
The night was perfect…
February 18th, 2008
Your Name: Deniz
Favorite Position: I like to see who I’m doing. So, I like to get the guy I’m with to lie down with some big pillows elevating his ass for easy access. The position feels powerful to me and very sexy.
First Love: I met Serdar while he was working at my uncle’s restaurant I came in one day before the busy time to deliver a message to my uncle from my mother. I had to pass the kitchen to get to his office and I saw Serdar washing dishes with his sleeves rolled up, humming.
His biceps caught the attention of my libido, while the off key, happy tune made me smile. I was half way to gone when he turned around and flashed me a huge smile and sealed my fate.
Favorite Night Club: I love Club Inferno in Istanbul. It really lives up to its name.
Favorite Turkish Food: In Turkey we make a kind of flatbread called lavas. When it is cooked with ingredients on the top then folded over it is called gözleme. There are many varieties of gözleme, depending on what the lavas are stuffed with. I especially like gözlem patatesli, which is stuffed with mashed potatoes. Yum.
Favorite Music: I like music with a bit of a western influence, especially electronic and new age pieces. I am a fan of Can Atilla, especially.
Check out Deniz and other horny gay boy pictures at Istanboys.com.
February 17th, 2008
Such a sweet face; I love and deplore the white socks still on his feet, in his later shots, adore the thigh-long-dong, and the pose-happy side views that have him patting his own ass. The fact that he can sit on his ankles is admirable. I’d think, this one fancies himself a model. But then the latter photos are so relaxed, the face so elfin-sweet, I can all but hear him saying Nahh, I’m funning with ya mate, just flirting with the camera a bit.
So, flirt with me, I think. I place myself behind the camera. Now I’m lens-master. Yeah, Baby. Cream the lens for me, get it all gooey.
I want to see that frog pose some more, I think.
But first, get off the damn stool. I want that arm behind you, straining to hold you up, back arcing—thighs— diesel-pumping against your heels, like you mean to crunch through the flooring with your toes, while you frog-fuck the air. That sweet little lip will be bleeding with the force of your sweet little teeth biting it.
Pump, Baby, Pump, till you jizz the camera lens.
Only then am I gonna let you rest up, but only enough so you can come in me next.
February 16th, 2008
He thinks he’s hot alright, the way he positions his hog and ass-cheeks so they’re right by the fireplace in many of his photos.
In one, his hose is daring the fire. In another, the same flames are roasting his buns. I guess he’s got a right to be proud of that foot-long-red-hot-hotdog and those round white buns. I’d chew them all in an instant.
With that Trojan head and those Sir-Stallion-loins, he’s like a chess piece carved out of ivory, or alabaster, warmed with a little pink. He needs taming, like a proud steed.
My horse needs a bit, I think, a saddle too, and some reins, lots of reins—a plush saddle for my pampered ass. I intend to ride him naked. We’ll ride in the ballroom, where we will ball, after our ride. I’ll lay down fur for his knees. But the rest of him won’t get off easy. No.
You, see, in my neatly leather-gloved hands, I intend to hold not only the reins that will move his head, but another set to yank his nipple clamps, and another still to pull at his leather choker, the one I will place on my proud pony’s prouder pecker.
Giddy-up.
Check out Cengiz’s pictures at Istanboys.com.
February 15th, 2008
The climb—closer to heaven, nirvana, and some slight appreciation of both than I’ve ever been, I nonetheless came as close to hypothermia, and collapse, as I ever want, as well.
I am Mobi, a climber, photographer, and connoisseur of life.
A letter awaited my return. The world had heard of my successful climb, oohed over my pictures, and mourned my Greta-Garboesque desire to now fade for a bit into the woodwork. It took an old friend like Emile to know what I truly needed.
Dear Mobi, the letter started.
I was sorry to hear of your rundown condition. I would love to have you visit me. Consider it an opportunity to recoup from your rigors. My harem, as you know, is small, but select.
I have an especially appetizing newcomer, I think you would appreciate.
As my guest, I want you to feel free to partake of my delights as freely, as if they were your own.
However, if you would like to make this a working holiday…
Three photos tumbled out, distracting me from finishing the letter, though, really, I didn’t need to.
Shall, I say that financing my hobbies, the public, as well as private ones, can be very expensive?
It can.
Buttering up the ladies, tantalizing their men with tales of my adventures, I’ve schmoozed my way into many wallets, including Emile’s, before he knew of my other proclivities, and me of his.
We both adore young men. But I have a certain knack for disciplining and training that exceeds the average. I’m sometimes asked to take on…certain students.
Emile knows my tastes.
I gazed at the first photo, both as aficionado and potential…teacher. Café au lait skin, I noted, also plum nipples and nicely-furred, well-veined legs. The calves bulging from a pair of white socks made me smile. Paired with a muscular set of arms, the limbs suggested a young man’s strength, while the belly below an amber six- pack retained the delightful curve and softness of youth.
The dick-centered-concentration of the downward head evoked the intensity of a shy virgin, mustering courage for a first kiss, and had me near drooling. I felt the awakening of a many-weeks-dead desire and dropped my pants to explore my throbbing member.
Ah, cheeky devil… his gorgeously nested, beautifully weighted pink schlong, above, a hinted at landscape of hairy butt-crack was fully revealed to the camera in photo two.
In the third, my proposed student was all but waving it at me, his lovely, straining- to-break- his-grip-cock, jutting from its cushion-plush-sac. The expression he wore was as cocky as…well…the rest of him.
I licked my dry lips, imagined my finger sliding up and down that phallus, reaching into his hairy, boy-ringed entrance. Eyes closed, I smelled the scented oil I preferred, mingling with his man-boy-oils, his musky essence.
I have a lovely collection of antique cock-rings, plugs, and other…equipment.
Yes, I think, typing my reply to Emile, in my head.
He will be a joy to discipline.
February 14th, 2008
A relaxed attitude, note the sock still on the foot, and the coolly, relaxed dangler, different from your average straining-to-come-posed-cock (not that those aren’t nice too) makes Erkan’s photo, one of a dude-with-tude snapshot.
And he has a lot of hair.
The land of black brush that tracks his legs also dusts them with sexy, swirls of thicker black, till it erupts at last into a black-forest-veldt at the crotch, where it makes one hot black-bog of a cock-setting for a very pink prick.
There’s a molten glisten to Erkan’s coppery skin, and a molded quality to his youthful body, visible in the shadowed hollows, hinting at beach-boy musculature. His fully circular nipples are of a rich toffee color, bigger than man-average.
There’s an oddly neat belly track—well, odd in view of the hair, hair everywhere theme, that’s almost as slim as his chin track and leads to a really sexy, nearly inny-belly-button.
Erkan has, as well, a pair of bushy, bushy, sexy brows, not odd, or unexpected, and a sweetly self-conscious, but welcoming pose. He’s a man toy worth mauling.
Check out Istanboys.com to see Erkan’s full set of pictures.
February 13th, 2008
Washed denim, grey, pleated cardigan, and a cabby’s cap in disco white; the outfit is definitely a mix of youth and middle age, of comfort and trend. The hero seems a bit unsure about grabbing his own ass, although he does just that, neat square hands, clenched at the knuckles to show how he’d pull things apart.
He has my attention.
Even the fact that his expression reminds me of the old Pardon me have you any Grey Poupon, ads, so civilized, and slightly askance, and a little distant, doesn’t turn me off.
Someone like that, inviting me to look at, maybe even get inside his ass. Hell, yeah, I’m interested. His funky, but ultra comfortable attire has me all hot and bothered too, because its so at odds with those tightly clenched hands, waiting to urge apart those totally clothed, totally discreet ass cheeks, that are being so quietly, even stealthily, all right, lewdly, invaded, as if from another hemisphere—and yet by the man’s own hands.
I like the raunchy gent thing. I’m there. And you can be there too… chck out Duman’s pictures inside Istanboys.com.
February 12th, 2008
On one end there’s the oblong face of a rare coin, big eyed, and a little mysterious, while at the other…well, it’s the other end that haunts me, it’s the end of Fuat that looks a bit like the marriage between a giraffe and an antelope. I’m speaking of his legs.
They keep me awake…get my fingers itchy. My cock thrums when I think of them and how they look, rising up into a stately A-line of man-tower, no side-swell to speak of, until—tah-da.
Funny how it sneaks it’s way into the mix, how it suddenly pop out—the niftiest cleft in the middle, like a molded bagel, but going down into forever, and begging to be spread, popping hot, and delicious—funny, except my mouth gets dry every time I look at it, run my hands up to it, climbing that leg-ladder to reach that cinnamon-sweet butt-spire, even if it’s just in my mind.
Are they ticklish, those legs?
Does that elegant poise of his extend to ignoring my fingers as they slip, slowly up the underside of his knees? What if were to use a cane?
I picture a neat, red crop with a tip that’s feathery and perfect for testing tickle resistance—a polished end that’s great for testing…cavities. But maybe I’ll use my tongue first, watch the steeple wobble a bit before I fill it with plastic, or leather, with cock certainly… and then, who knows,…until the earth cracks and the steeple crumbles.
February 11th, 2008
This guy’s got a sprinter’s build, a track runner’s physique. He even has the track shoes to prove it. There are no beds or plants, or even much in the way of furniture, or clothes, for that matter, in his shots. He’s stripped, ready for action, in a basic white tee that’s mangled at the neck—when it’s even there, that is, and basic white shoes. I assume they’re there to underscore his—I’m so hot and young vitality.
He’s twisting and pumping, and stretching and arching, all on a table, or maybe a workout bench, showing all and sundry, me-I think-me, what he can do, how well he can straddle.
Me, I want to straddle him. That cocksure chin needs some jizz on it. But, first, I’m gonna straddle that long head of his and kiss the crown of my dick against the long lips of his long lean-like-his-body-mouth.
Suck it, I’ll say, razor those big teeth up and down my cock with the same expert and exquisite finesse I’d expect of you on the playing field. But care, baby, show care. Nip too hard and I’ll have to ream your little ass. Of course, I just might do that, anyway…
Check out Istanboys.com to see Deniz’s full set of pictures.
February 10th, 2008
Man, oh, man, this one is actually pumping ass and cock for the camera, actually jizzing, and showing off the results.
Get the fuck over here, is what I think.
I want to slap those cheeks, and I don’t mean the ones on his face. Those are long and sculpted, refined and masculine, and altogether, nice. Don’t get me wrong. I mean to spend some face to face time with them after I slap and pinch that ass until its bright red. I want that candle wax and cream skin of his beaming like a fire’s been built inside it.
Right now, though, I’m talking about his muscle-flexed, heart-shaped, beautiful, amber colored, deeply-grooved and coming-to-a slapped-together-valley-of hairy-abyss, well- rounded ass.
I want my dick in it. I mean to pump it in and out, hard and twice, breathing and clawing at his tawny back, before I stop, and think baseball scores and boring statistics, just long enough to make him pump backwards, pushing his down-on-the-floor, on all fours, jeans-still-at- his-knees, self into me.. I want him to come all over the floor and more than that. I want him to drool on it in desperation and hunger, until I finally slam home.
Slip into Istanboys.com and check the full set of Duman’s pictures.
