All Yours Gay Boy

I’m all yours gay boy and when you look at my pictures inside you will understand why I love teasing you. I just can’t help it. I enjoy flirting with the unknown. You are the voyeur looking in and I love showing off my body to you. I am sure you like how my cock gets hard just thinking about you watching me.

And when I lean against the wall you can see exactly how hard my cock is. You can see how long and thick it is against my leg and it’s because I know you are watching. If we were together, I would make you kneel in front of me and take my cock into your mouth. I picture you sucking it and it grows harder with pre-cum leaking from the head.

Gay sex is an incredible experience and if I lean over the table, I am all yours, gay boy. Come and take my ass before you suck my cock.

Check out my pictures inside, I am sure you will enjoy them…

Threesome Lover

Your Name: Mete

Gay Sex Fantasy: I have this fantasy of being taken by two muscular guys in a gym. The thought of having a good workout with them would be an incredible experience. I would be the meat in their sandwich with one fucking my face with his massive cock while the other pounds into my ass. They let me stroke my cock, but I’m not allowed to cum until they say I can… that is my gay sex fantasy.

Your first love and how you met: My first love found me working out in the gym. He watched me the whole time and it wasn’t till the end of my first circuit that he introduced himself. He was a little shy, but he soon settled and we went out together that night. He was cute and there was something different about him. My love grew over time but his work took him away to another town and we only see each other when we can now.

Favorite Night Club: I really love hanging out at Club 14. It’s incredible and I love being able to dance the night away in a place where I feel very comfortable.

Favourite Turkish Town: If I was to visit one of the towns or resorts near the hot springs, I would visit Kangal (SIvas). The spings are called Balikli Çermik – which means hot springs with fish. The fish nibble the scaley skin off your body while you bathe in the pool of 95F water…

Favorite Turkish Food: A friend of mine once cooked Ispanakli Kofte Canagi, it was very tasty.

Gay Boy Duyal

Your Name: Duyal

Favorite Position: Getting intimate and personal with my lover doesn’t mean that I need a favorite position. I like to experience mutual masturbation with him. Lying head to toe with our hands covered is a waterbased lube is fun and very personal. It’s sensual and we both jerk each other off together. It’s a mind-blowing experience everyone should try.

First Love: Jack was my first love. We met in Taksim Square years ago in one of the gay bars. I fell in love with him the moment I saw hime. He knew how to make me feel good and even though our first time didn’t include sex the moment was perfect when he kissed me.

Favorite Club: Shake’in Cafe Bar has to be one of the best places to visit. The international and local music is fantastic. Some call this the bar & cafe for trendy gay men, but I love it and it’s a fantastic place to visit if you are visiting Istanbul.

Favorite Food: I quite like Lahana Rulosu, the main ingredients of this fantastic dish is cabbage, ground beef, bulgur, rice, onion, parsley and tomato, tomato paste and spices. It is so yummy..

Favorite Music: I love the Bee Gees… there is something about their voices that draws me to them.

Check out Duyal and pictures of gay boys and horny Turkish twinks at

Grooming Kareem

In a large tub, at the private establishment of a friend, my legs cocooned around the greyhound-taut thighs of my pet, fingers fanned into the coiling luxury of his hair, I wash his scalp, massaging the delicate nape, the ultra-sensitive mastoid bones I can’t resist scratching —fire lighting my groin at the way Kareem whimpers, grinding his ass into my cock. Normally, I’d punish such liberty-taking, but early on I decided there had to be a free zone where my pet could act out. The tub is that zone.

Twisting it like taffy in lieu of that other tower, the one I’m currently denying myself to make our reunion the sweeter; I work Kareem’s hair, his whimpers escalating. He’s buffing my rod now, working his cleft up and down—ass, whip-lashing backwards, while he tries to fuck me by feel—a skill he has practice at, though I make myself ignore his efforts, soothing myself like a rich man tallying assets, visualizing the braid I’ll work down his back, the oiling of his hair, that other lubing—before I let Kareem dress, slowly, provocatively, starting with his torso, when I make him masturbate both of us, the one time I force him to look up, while I feast on the view.

He has to flog us to half-mast by sensation, which he’s good at, though his fingers never fail to tremble the closer he gets to that almost-too-far point. He knows he’ll be spanked for that—an additional smack for every drop of pre-cum produced from either of us, pre-cum being any moisture I judge as such, the amount any estimate I choose.

Then there’s the moment he stops, hands quivering like aspen leaves, waiting for me to yank his cock and balls securely through his cock ring, knowing I might begin at once or prolong the agony—doing nothing, leaving him to figure whether I want him to frig more or simply wait, punishing him arbitrarily should he guess wrong, the more so, should his body betray me by going soft or shooting it’s load.

For now, I snap my fingers at a naked slave-boy, who obliges me by using a pitcher to rinse Kareem’s hair, exciting my pet to wiggling, cause now he can turn around and fuck me with his mouth or eat me with his ass, milking me with buttock-clenches, even cock-fuck me in this free zone, each of us in lapping slave-nuts in turn, while our time holds out.

Smokey Amber Abdel

That plump hog, with it’s fat lip and lilac helmet, jutting from the scrotal heart, secured between well-rounded man-thighs, resting in lush bush, receding to thick fleece as the eye wanders upwards to check out the lightly caramel torso— neat quadrants of sculpted tummy, nice-size belly-button beneath a fuzzy ravine, that reminds me of the markings on my favorite vase, between pinky-brown nipples.

See, I have a smokey-amber wide-mouthed vase that I love with pussy willows. This smokey-amber-boy-next-door/ treasure—pug-nose and a smile stamped on every one of his facial features, including the obvious one—grammar-bud gone centerfold, with a wide-mouth indeed, cries out for dick—mine, naturally. Though, I have no problem staying in the background while he showcases his.

I’ll just sneak behind him, squeeze his half-moons, and maybe taste them, before I seek out that other flesh ridge at the base of his buns.

We’ll play ‘how long can you stand it,’ while I wax and cork and uncork …and, “keep that smile,? Ill whisper, “and I’ll fuck you. “Keep that hole for me and I’ll buy you a nice prostate massager and plug.?

Only I’ll know what lies behind that smokey-amber-man’s wide-mouth smile.

Check out more of Abdel’s pictures inside

Sexy Cengiz

The well-crafted, work-bench- width of Cengiz’s back is something to admire. Personally, I’d like to sand a few hundred parts of myself against it—my palms—just for two. Add my lips, for two more. And let’s not forget my belly, or my mound and cock.

I’d like him to frig himself against the thick nap of a velvet rug, while I dig my toes into that back and catwalk down the length of it.

Going further down the photo, I swoon, and more than that. I run, like Scarlet-O-Hara for ice tea in August, not to drink, but to pour on my head before I swoon some more and think—in Technicolor. Oh yes, oh yes, yes, yes, there, is it; the best helping of soft-serve man-cream, in flesh- cone, ever. Even on a diet, I’d dig in.

Those man-balls of lava are as ready to erupt as I am.

Me, I’m thinking, lips smacking, cock tingling, but thinking too, that Hostess never made a creamier filling than the one my eager mouth awaits, right here, beneath Cengiz’s, water-droplet-round twins, his bursting-ready cock.

If it could just be so.

Check out Cengiz’s pictures at

Gay Sex Fantasy

25 March 2008

Your Name: Ali

Gay Sex Fantasy: Omar Sharif and Mel Gibson, equally inebriated, and at the peak of their studliness, and totally at my mercy.

Your first love and how you met: My first real love was my AA sponsor. Ali. He helped me stay off the booze by getting me hooked on him.

Favorite Night Club: Jazz Club, called the Beyaz Ev.

Favourite Turkish Town: Ankara

Favorite Turkish Food: Amulet Borek, a dish I make with phyllo pastry and feta cheese and serve with Turkish tea.

Gay Workout

Your Name: Erkan

Favorite Position: Doggy is definitely the way to go. The sensations are incredible…

Your First Love: Kori and I were on our College wrestling team. In the gym late, practicing, by ourselves one evening, things were getting heavy. Kori was getting handsy, and for some reason, I couldn’t or didn’t want to put my finger on, I didn’t want to swat him off or crack his head open. As a matter of fact, I was amazed to find myself turned on. Next thing you know we were naked, and wrestling—in what, was for me, a whole new style.

Favorite Night Club: Babylon in Takism

Favorite Turkish Food: Tripe Soup… yeah I know, there are many guys out there who detest tripe, but I love it.

Favorite Music: Anything recorded by Ümit Yasar

Sensitive Gay Guy

The sensitive face of the shy kid, grown up, the eyes—a bit red. They’re looking up. Are they beseeching? Are these the features of an introvert? The skin is a lovely—milk chocolate and honey, while the eyes and hair are ebony. Brows and lips?—they’re voluptuous, definitely.

The quiet man in the background, waiting to be noticed—I peg him, decisively. So, I think. Then I see it. I pan down with the camera. Not that it leaps out. It isn’t meant to, though it’s supposed to be noticed, certainly. It’s there, on the tee shirt; Abercrombie and Bitch—the logo, just a little snotty and brilliantly stealthy. Aha, a quiet brat, I think. Better yet, a slightly twisted intellect, perhaps.

If I’m right, and lucky, this one would happily send me lewd texts over lunch, call me in the wee hours of the morning with a play by play monologue, describing every article of clothing as he disrobes, followed by every action thereafter. He’ll play with his dick. I’ll play with mine. We’ll come, hard, then make a date to come even harder in person. I can’t wait.

Sexy Jordan

Your Name: Jordan

Gay Sex Fantasy: In my college we had a pothead named Ramski, who’s major was Commercial Art, though he spent all his free time smoking and cartooning. Tipper and Lambobbo, the gay sex heroes in his strip were much more idiotic than anything dreamed up by any sketch show I’d ever seen, and I pretended to find them beneath me. Though, secretly, I always though it would be cool to be a part of their cartoon world for even just a few hours.

Tipper and Lambobbo were on a perpetual quest to keep the relationship fresh, which meant they got to parachute naked, bungee jump—naked—and harnessed together, even go over a waterfall in an old motorcycle side-car while attempting to boff each other’s brains out. All that—and they always emerged unbruised and pecker-perky. So you can’t really blame me.

Your first love and how you met: i was babysitting my accident-prone niece. Only little Adana could glue her arm to her head then fall and crack her elbow. Don’t ask, it was bad enough explaining things to Adana’s parents. The good news—the hunky male nurse in triage.

Favorite Night Club: Hayal Kahvesi

Favourite Turkish Town: Istanbul

Favorite Turkish Food: Icli Kofte is shells, stuffed with beef, cooked with spices, delicious.

A Private Gay Man

Your Name: Baba

Gay Sex Fantasy: I’m a pretty big guy. In my best fantasies, I’m not the biggest meat in the sandwich. I’d rather be just one helping of a big ol hero-deluxe, where I’m busy screwing bear meat, and getting screwed by the same. Second best would be getting fucked and sucked by an equally hot pair of heavy guys.
Your first love and how you met: Akmed stopped to ask me directions one day. He was so cute I took the bus with him to make sure he got to his destination safely. On the way back the bus was basically empty, and I rode him all the way home.

Favorite Night Club: Antbel Hotel in Antalya features a favorite disco of mine.

Favorite Turkish Town: Antalya.

Favorite Turkish Food: When I was younger, me and my mostly broke friends would have Raki, Turkish brandy and farm cheese, and call it a dinner party.

Gay Turkish Hunk

What is it with all the he-hunks that insist on photographing with their socks on? I guess it’s supposed to mean; I’m hot and horny and can’t be bothered to show you my feet, unless you get off on that sort of thing.

At least this one has sneakers and a lot of veins on his arm. Even with the gazelle-leanness of his long body he looks athletic—slim, mind you, not scrawny. So the athletic footwear is sort of in context.

I dig the chin cleft, and the sort of first-time-around-Karate-Kid-look, of, Hey, I know I got it, and how the look is underscored with just a nip of vulnerability.

Nice neck bones too, I think, and great hollows at the hip and upper arms. The molded definition suits his long, lean, youthful body. He’s a tootsie roll treat—dark, bendable, chewy and sweet.

Of course, in this shot he’s hiding the family jewels and scepter. But, I know they’re there. And I know they’re caramel-colored and chewy-sweet, like the rest of him.

Duel Speed

“Rami and Mehmet,? wheeler dealers from our Turkish branch? they want to take us to their cousin’s new restaurant—ply us with belly dancers.? I guess I’ll take Brad he gets along with those Turks.

The long fingers of his elegant hands loosely curled, the dexterous thumbs hooking, pressing into flesh on their ratchet-swivel climb up the column of my cock, as slow and relentless as Rami’s climb from grocer to international dealer—the proficiency the same that serenaded me on the Sitar, the night we met, right before he offered to massage my back, proceeding to knead each knot for a small eternity.

Taking his sweet- ass time, seduction style a la control freak—make that beautiful control freak.

I can still feel those smooth palms, see his beautiful intent face, long-lashed onyx eyes, sensitive nose, and perfectly bowed lips. I remember the exquisiteness of his touch, the torturous sound of my own moans.

Mehmet pouncing on me while I bathed in the tub, throwing off his clothes, corkscrew curls giving him an air of Quasimodo, the purple-headed log in his pants leaping like a trained dolphin in his big hands—my ass swished from under me—little more than a flash from his endearing gap-toothed smile to warn me of his intentions, so I was forced to grab an empty rod on the side of the tub, while wresting a fistful of shower curtain with my other hand, believing I was going to crack my skull on the lip of the tub—the energizing sting of those big hands taking my happily languishing cock to flag-pole stiffness in less time than it took for me to nod my happy, if overwhelmed, acquiescence when he lifted a leg over each side of the tub and planted himself between them.

That enormous cock pounding my depths, those graceful fingers milking my balls.

For those two, I’ll happily endure an evening of Chester the Molester’s ogling belly dancers, getting drunk and saying things to the waiter like,? I’d like to order two of those, one for my face and one for my lap.“

Who am I to talk?

Curious Gay Guy

Your Name: Halbun

Favorite Position: I love getting sucked, love, love, love it. If I can be in the bathtub at the same time, with some classical music in the background—trust me, ‘Honey-buns’ jaw will give out before I lose interest.

Your First Love: As it happens, my first sex was with a girl named Yelena, who said she’d suck me off for cigarettes. Game enough, I let her—getting a reasonable rise, shall we say, from the experience.

I went on to experiment with a number of women over the next few years, enjoying some things better than others, but feeling overall that something was missing until one night at a local coffee bar, a bunch of students and myself were reading poetry, expounding on life and our sexual experiences, when a cynical-eyed young man at the back of the bar—glued, it seemed, to my every word, introduced himself at the end of the evening. He proposed to take me home with him and show me the heretofore missing ingredient in my love life. Ishmael was as good as his word.

Favorite Night Club: Club Arma in Antalya.

Favorite Turkish Food: Turkish pita bread with salami made with olives

Favorite Music: Tarkan rocks.

Quiet Gay Boy

Your Name: Abdel

Favorite Position: I like a bit of a slow missionary, not too athletic, where my partner lets me relax against his thighs, while holding his ankles. It makes me feel sort of buoyant. I have a fantasy. In it the guy of my dreams trusts me enough to let me do him on the sand while the tide slowly trickles in.

Your First Love: As a young man, I was chosen to be a transfer student, and took off to Chicago, where I met Sven, who was also transferring from Belgium.

We two were from different worlds, but felt equally adrift, and made a pact to help each other with the challenge of a new culture, pledging to speak and write to each other only in English. One week before our last holiday break, we went to a Christmas party, where we got drunk and kissed under the mistletoe. Needless to say, it was all over our rather small school the next day, and we had to act fast to make things appear more casual than they really were.

Both from conservative homes, we wanted to stay under the radar. We succeeded in keeping the gossip down and our feelings in check, until each of us was home and able to pour his thoughts into letters, which we continued to write in English. A few years later, Sven finally agreed to come and meet my family in Istanbul, and my fondest wish, that we would consummate our relationship, here, in my homeland, came true.

Favorite Night Club: The Nil Bar in Ankara is fun. However, on my home turf, which is Istanbul, my best time ever was at the Jazz Café.

Favorite Turkish Food: My mother used to give me hazelnut-spread, smoothed over wafers when I came home from school. I still love it as a snack.

Favorite Music: I can’t listen to Jacques Brel is alive and living in Paris, a record Sven gave me the last time I saw him, without smiling and thinking of my first love. I‘d like to think he has some bit of Turkish music in his collection that reminds him of our time together, too.

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