I Can Remember Istanbul

Turkey (and Istanbul) have been often seen in the news of late. Each mention brings back some strong memories for me. Memories that had been, if not forgotten, deeply archived.

The hitchhiking had been poor from Plovdiv toward the Bulgarian-Turkish border. Not a lot of non-commercial traffic back in those days. But finally, a Turkish couple with relatives in the Plovdiv area had given us a lift through to the border, and just to the other side. They turned for home near Edirne which is not far in from the Turkish frontier. It was late afternoon and for some reason the day had been tiring for us. We decided to pitch our pup tent in an empty field off the road.

It was quite chilly when in the morning we awoke. It was unseasonably cold for an early October morning, with frost on the ground all around us. A quick breakfast of boiled eggs and cups of Nescafé heated on our mini camping gaz stove warmed us quickly.

We expertly packed things up, and not long after beginning, a trucker picked us up and took us right into the beginnings of Istanbul. The trucker’s English was surprisingly good, and his truck a new Mack, so different from the usual Scanias, Mercedes, MANs and DAFs on the road. He explained to us what a dolmus was, how, and which one to take to get us into the heart of Istanbul on the European side.

The hustle and bustle of old Istanbul was, at first impression to our untrained eyes, a cross between Moroccan cities and older European centers. Dirty, noisy, chaotic, exotic, yet organized well enough to permit large crowds of traffic and people to get on with their business.

This was the time of Billy Hayes and Midnight Express, where hashish was everywhere, and Istanbul-Constantinople was, as it had always been, the crossroads between East and West.  It seemed that the majority of travelers were youth like ourselves, on the overland route to Nepal, perhaps India, or even Australia. In Istanbul North Americans and Europeans on their way East would meet up with Aussies and Kiwis coming overland from down under. Notes were shared, advice given, and road stories exchanged, often at The Pudding Shop with its infamous bulletin board. The overland route went through Turkey, Iran, and then through Afghanistan and Pakistan to India. While we primarily hitchhiked, the Magic Bus was a popular and easy way to travel, with a major stop in Istanbul, although it cost much more money than we had, plus we had no definitive destination in mind. We went where we thought the wind was taking us.

Soon enough we settled into a dirt cheap hotel, as at that time we were living on less than than $5 a day for both of us. Though cheap and far from cheerful, the hotel was close to all the action and we could see the Hagia Sophia from our window.  It was early afternoon and despite the gloomy surroundings of the room, we both heaved a sigh of relief as we dropped our gear and flopped onto the low rising bed. As I turned to her, I could see that familiar twinkle arise in her hauntingly beautiful hazel eyes.

“Stand up” I said. She rose to her feet beside the bed.

“Strip!” I lovingly commanded.

She bent over and unlaced her boots. Pried each one off with the opposite foot while she steadied herself with a hand on the nearby wall. Then removed her socks. I saw a wry smile come across her thin lips as she undid her belt and slowly lowered her jeans. She began to unbutton her blue denim work shirt …

“No … now the panties,” I said.

The smile grew wider as she slipped off her dingy-colored panties. I reached over and undid the bottom two buttons of her shirt so I could see the landing strip of her crotch. It was my turn to smile. I put one hand on her ass cheek and moved her toward me. As I raised myself on one elbow at the edge of the bed, her pussy was exactly at face level.  I eased my tongue along her slit and heard her sigh as her knees buckled just oh so slightly as I softly continued my leche.

“Now the rest.” I whispered as I raised my head back up.

She backed up a step and unbuttoned the rest of her shirt. She dropped it to the floor. Then she reached behind and unclasped her bra, releasing her 38Cs from their clothed prison. I took all of her in. In great gulps of soothing visual hydration. My heart stopped in awe.

I rose from the bed and kissed her tenderly. I moved behind her and gently pushed on her back to position her over the bed. As she stood, legs apart, slightly trembling, I removed my own boots and socks, unbuckled my belt and dropped my jeans and underwear to the floor. As I slowly began to fuck her I could hear myself beginning a growl. In tune, she began to moan as each stroke went in deeper, each thrust a little firmer.

“Shush” I breathed as I deliberately upped my pace. I wanted to make it as challenging as possible for her to keep quiet. But the walls were paper thin, and there had been movement in the hall just a few minutes before, so clearly others would hear unless we were careful.

While she continued to moan, her body began trembling and I knew she was oh so close. I reached around, and lifting her head I put my hand across her mouth to muffle her cries. Her eyes were wide as she sobbed into my hand and her torso shook with the impact of her orgasm. I gently eased her head back onto the bed and continued with my thrusting, so very close now myself. With gritted teeth in an attempt to hold down my own noise I emptied into her.

We stayed still for a moment … freed from the frenzy but forever caught in the connection.

Then we laid down above the covers of the bed, me with my shirt still on.

After 15 or 20 minutes we began to stir. We were hungry. And we wanted to explore a little while there was still light.

 

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9 thoughts on “I Can Remember Istanbul

  1. Pingback: I Can Remember Istanbul … Conclusion | I Think You Earthlings Are Crazy

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