Archive for
April, 2008
April 28th, 2008
“Like the smell of gasoline,” I said, “that good,” and that bad.
Sean shakes his head.
He’s got a hand tucked behind an ear, grinning, while he’s sunning, jaybird naked—at the farm, out back with me and all the un-mown grass that’s tickling his testes, or trying to.
Course those blades can’t really lick him, like I can, and will. Doesn’t matter how they try, cause guess who has those toasty-as-sunny-side-up-huevos of Sean’s, just-a-sliding around his greased up palm?
Me, sir, Charlie, sir, yours, and effing truly, sir, has Sean’s nut-bag in my magic digits. I’m kneading it, working it like dough, pulling fuck-bud’s wank on through my finger-hole like it was a piece of twisty bread.
“Fuck, Chuck.”
I slap off Sean’s hand, his sac too, for good measure—lightly, before I fall back to twisting, wringing, working that package like I mean to washboard, rinse and iron it all out flat.
“You ain’t listening Sean.”
“Yeah, Chuck, I am. You said sex with Pete, the lawn-guy, was as good as the smell of gasoline, just as good and just as bad.”
“Did you get it?” I’m rolling off my skivvies, rolling on a bag, spending some time with Chuck’s junk, jacking it off, high and hard, so Sean-O can see it, before I roll his ass on over.
“It’s the smell, ya know, fucking great, at first.”
“Ya, I know,” says lover-boy—lazy ass in the lazy grass, grinning at my cock, letting me do all the work of readying it, making me hot as screaming steam just looking at him, pissed off, though too, and randy as a waking grizzly.
“Fuck, you know.” I’m irritated now, and roll his ass over—fucking, tout-de-suite, slapping butt-flesh without ceremony, spreading out those buttocks with my oily hands, greasing up his channel just by chance, his butt-hole, with the purpose of an arrow making bulls-eye. I pork-plug that baby, next, double-dipping my pistol-aping-digits, two then three, getting him ready for my fat-boy before I squeeze him in there.
“Fucking great,” I mutter, “then your head starts pounding.”
“Kinda like wine,” says lover.” I slap his head to remind he could be chewing grass, that he should shut up and feel me, cause I’m there, at the gate.
Then I feel it, four fingers on the back of my head, that cool that means a something just blocked the sun. A thick-as-tar-voice that says, “And I thought, I was like so amazing you’d never fuck or bend over again;” Pete’s.
“Finish.” He says, seeing that I’m about to pull out. Pete’s got his thumbs in my dry crack and pushes me into Sean hard.
I’m on Sean’s ass like a bare-backing caterpillar, flopping and spent, when Pete slaps my ass hard enough to get my juices flaring. I’m growing right inside Sean, and I’ve never felt that, don’t even care that Pete’s making spit noises, lubing up my hole the hard way, unbuckling, bunging up my hole with his fist-thick, making us a players-mound for real.
Yup, I remember it, how I loved and hated gasoline and tractor oil, and Pete, who meant all of that, still do.
April 27th, 2008
I like a sweat-shiny-schnozz on a veiny-armed, mustang-not-grizzly-pumped-guy, who’s crotch-grabbing his own package—his own pale blue, plaid package—right up under the tea-bags, thighs thrust, smile-sneer on his panting puss.
You can hear the grunt, hear his mind-chatter—how he’s got a conversation going on off camera—with you, me, the guy, he knows is looking at him. You can hear what he’s saying to him. You can make it all out, if you just try.
All of it, he’s saying, right now, off this fat-ass- tree—fruit so saggy, they’re like big ol baby coconuts, which you’re gonna eat, cause I need you to, gotta have you guzzle up my melon balls, boy, and right now—while you’re on your fucking belly.
I will see that mouth of yours open, see it suck-ready, and before I finish this sit-up, or I will crush your head.
April 26th, 2008
You’re Name: Zafer
Favorite Position: Kissing, dry-humping with all our clothes on—Man, I love that moment. Everything is still unknown, and I can brush groin against still-dressed groin, for the first time — picturing things unfurling in my mind, while my hand drops, making a filling for the sandwich of our straining-to-bump-members.
First Love: Nico sexed me up, which is what we called it when an older classmate taught a freshman what he needed to know to please another man. Nico was a considerate teacher though, and didn’t finish his lessons till graduation day, penetrating me on our final night together.
Favorite Night Club: Kusadasi’s Irish-style pubs are the bomb.
Turkish Food: Tripe soup.
Favorite Music: I like Anatolian, Romany and Iranian music.
Visit Zafer’s pictures inside Istanboys.com today…
April 25th, 2008
Yowza, Zoinks, and assorted exclamations; herein rests a hairy-man lover’s dream montage. You got your mound-fur, nest-fur, wang-fur, ball-fuzz, thigh-bursts of hot-hairy trail-hair bleeding into smooth channels of black man-lace. So stroke me, already.
If that’s not enough, you got your yummy skin-spots going on, as well. There’s nothing like a mark on one’s man, less it’s a mark on one’s manly-man’s-man-parts.
Love me, that square birthmark, low on Soufian’s shaft, how it echoes the one on his hand—you know, the one with the nice clean manicure—the one that’s cock-cradling that inflatable bag with infinite tenderness—pale palm resting, defenseless, on that sexy, stroke-of-midnight-colored-crinkly-nest.
Basically, you’d know that dick anywhere—and I love that.
It’s birth-marked, high-water-marked too. Dig how the collar below the hot-pink glans looks like the strata demarcation on a mountain. The color- shifts on Soufian’s beautiful, big, but not ludicrously so, package, right there…
Did I say yowza?
April 24th, 2008
Candle-tallow-tan—the lower lip’s full, sensuous, like the nose. The fleshy ears max the sideburns of his circa fifties cut with it’s circa eighties mousse-job.
The clothes are just-post-adolescence. The pink rocks his skin tone.
I dig that his skin has taken a few punches. It gives his look a been-there-seen-that emanation, different from the slender bod with its coltish legs and nicely developed, though uncut shoulders, with their notice-me-ink, the uncut, youthfully hallow abs.
His hand on that shallow-sexy-bowl of stomach, right above the cloudy-blue wedge of his undies, above the bleached aura of his male-bulge, how it makes him his own lover, how it looks like he’s just discovered it, like he has to show me the gentleness needed for when I get down there between those lithe legs—for when I look up at him, eyes dancing randily when I stroke that belly—it’s all delicious.
April 23rd, 2008
Your Name: Jamal
Favorite Position: I like a pillow under my neck and at the base of my spine, so I’m supported in my half-summersault, backwards—knees bent, like a grass-rolling dog. In short, I live to get plugged. You might say; I bottom, therefore I am.
First Love: Felt up then jerked off by Amir at my first weed party, I stumbled along willingly to the next house and the next level, dropping acid and my pants for Amir and his friends at my first orgy. I can’t say I had a first love, though I had a first gang-bang.
Favorite Night Club: Fasil Café Rasit and the Veli bar in Bodrum are less European, more Turkish, and. I like that.
Favorite Turkish Food: A former boyfriend used to make me a Pilaf full of traditional ingredients; lamb, chickpeas, pine-nuts—Mevlana Pilaf. It still makes my mouth water to think of it.
Favorite Music: I like movie soundtracks because they allow you to relive the story, especially the soundtrack of the movie Mutluluk
Visit Jamal’s pictures inside Istanboys.com today…
April 22nd, 2008
You’re Name: Soufian
Favorite Position: Belly to belly, cocks frigging, lips melded, a finger in my man’s hole, while I soften him for me, making him moan.
First Love: I kissed Kori under the mistletoe for a New Year’s prank. But the joke was on me, when I liked how he sucked on my tongue and fondled my ass, whispering the while, of how he wanted to divest me then and there of my shorts. Maybe it was the punch, but I let him do it, as soon as we groped our way to the bathroom.
Favorite Night Club: The Love Bar in Istanbul.
Turkish Food: Yoghurt and garlic with fava and olive oil is probably as Turkish a meal as any, plus a favorite of mine.
Favorite Music: Mustafa Sandel and Sebnem Ferah are two of my favorite Turkish artists.
April 21st, 2008
His man-profile showcases his human-hillocks. One of a sharp-tipped pair is as tightly cornered as his nose, as decisive as his paint-thick brows and square-topped-do, a check of sharp-tipped, proud-pec-flesh spearing up like a young hill, next to his hollowed out rib-cage, to create a side-view of twin peaks, the kissable crests of a starlet’s mouth.
A second and third hill are as fat-sloped and round as a pair of ice-cream-topped-cones, alluring as well-trod paths to tired feet, as butter-whipped frosting for hungry lips and daring fingers.
Suckable tit and long pale mounds of ass-flesh mounted on red cloth, the inside of my mouth is filling with slather-spit already, feeling the bony pierce of shoulders and clavicles, the softness of his ass, the twining-to-one-river seam of his buttock-cleft, the tight-begging-to-be-pried depths and the pluggable crater at the base, empty and screaming for my cock and tongue. I can’t wait.
April 20th, 2008
Stephan and Adem were young Turkish gay lovers necking in the back seat. If they were to look down over the side of the mountain they would see the lights of Istanbul below. They can see the river, the night is beautiful and the stars were overhead. But to them, this moment was very special. They wanted to spend the night together and this was the perfect way to do that.
They had been dancing in the nightclub, and Stephan agreed not to drink any raki that night because he wanted to remember every second they had together. One hand finds its way into Adem’s pants, his cock is already hard and ready to be stroked by his lover. Stephan strokes him, moans of pleasure escapte Adem’s lips and his cock grows hard, pre-cum drips from the little peehole slit.
Adem’s touches Stephan, his hands trying desperately to unzip his jeans and to release his cock. In his mind his focus was on giving each other a wild blowjob because inside their small car, the only thing they could do to each other was to suck each other’s cock. Sex would happen later, back in their apartment in Taksim Square.
He releases Stephan’s cock and bends down to taste him. He almost lays in his lap, sucking on his cock while Stephan strokes his. Adem drives Stephan wild, teasing the head, sucking it into his mouth and giving him the best blowjob ever. He can feel his lover thrusting forward until the entire length of his cock is deep inside his mouth. Suddenly he cums, shooting hot cum down his throat.
It was the start of a wonderful night for two Turkish gay lovers…
April 19th, 2008
He’s so cute. He’s hot and horny and he keeps smiling. The cameraman was ready to tell this cute gay guy that he should perk up or he would fuck his ass hard. But he didn’t have to. The smile went from ear to ear and he was the happiest when showing off his cock. He stood tall, his cock hard and his tight ass was begging to be fucked. It’s what the camera guy from Istanboys.com really wanted to see.
He wanted to see this cute guy in action but without another guy, he had to imagine sinking his cock into Omar’s mouth or ass. Either way he knew gay sex with Omar would be fantastic.
Smiling gay boy Omar was there to please him. And while the camera clicked away his thoughts were on all his photos that would appear on the Internet. He’d be the talk of the town, his cute smile, hard cock and tight ass would be public property, sort of. They would appear in a site called Istanboys.com where lots of horny Turkish twinks and Arab gay boys hang out.
His tight asshole could be yours one day. Check out Omar’s pictures today.
