Date: Sat, 5 Jan 2002 06:10:19 -0800 (PST)
From: Bill <bil47@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sultan's Favorite Boy, Part 4

Darkness had fallen in the port of Dubrovnik when Salim and the
dark-haired boy were led up the gangplank of the small Ottoman
ship. Far smaller than the war-galley they had just left, this
100-foot vessel was also more sleek and ornate, decorated with
gilded scroll-work and inlaid wood. Eight long, thick oars
protruded from each side, and a single mast held a large furled
sail. Glowing lanterns hung in the rigging, illuminating  a half-
dozen Turkish sailors who were preparing to cast off.

As the boys stood at the side of the deck, watching the activity,
the two eunuchs who had brought them walked over to talk with two
others who were similarly dressed in rich clothing. All four had
bodies of the same soft plumpness, with bald heads and smooth
round faces -- almost as if they were giant toddlers rather than
men.

Finally having a chance to converse with the other boy, Salim
whispered "Hey; do you speak Bosnian?"

"Of course I do!" said the lad, with a giggle (and without an
accent). "The reason I look different from you and the others is
that I am of the Romany people. Some call us Gypsies."

Then, as if he knew the next question that was on Salim's lips,
the boy added "You and I were selected because we are the most
beautiful and desirable of all the hundreds of boys on that
ship."

Salim was doubly surprised. First in discovering that the exotic-
looking boy was a Bosnian... second in his uncanny ability to
read Salim's mind.

The gypsy boy spoke again: "You said back on the big ship that
you are called Salim. That name means 'flawless', if I'm not
mistaken... your commander named you well. I was Camlo before the
naming ceremony, and now I am Kamal. It means 'perfect beauty'.
Nice, eh?"

"Uh... yes!" said Salim after a few moments silence, as if
awakening from a stupor. Salim had been staring into Kamal's
face, utterly captivated by his full red lips, the heat of his
smouldering dark eyes, the almost-feminine delicacy of his
exquisite face. Yes; this boy too had been well-named. He was an
inch taller than Salim; perhaps older, but maybe not. All Salim
knew was that he was utterly smitten by everything about the
gypsy-boy... even the small gold ring in his left ear.

"We will have fun together, the two of us," said Kamal with a
sensuous and knowing smile.

"Boys! Come this way! Now!" shouted one of the eunuchs.

They climbed down a steep stairway at the vessel's stern to an
open area below-decks, lit by oil lamps and richly furnished with
carpets, low tables, and comfortable-looking divans. Kamal was
led off through a door on one side of the ship; Salim to a cabin
on the other side.

The Bosnian peasant boy had never seen such a luxurious room.
There was a thick rug of ornate design beneath his feet; walls of
dark wood and fine fabric, hung with colorful pictures of hunting
scenes; two chairs of leather; a low bed with several soft
cushions; and a tray containing fruits, cheeses, and skewers with
bite-size pieces of grilled meat.

"This is your cabin for our voyage, Salim." The man spoke the
Bosnian dialect fluently, but with the accent of one who was not
born to the language. "My name is Abdul-Aziz. I will be your
tutor, teaching you to speak the Turkish language and beginning
your instruction in the ways of civilized Ottoman society. You
will find me an agreeable person if I know that you are devoting
your full attention to these studies. But it will be rather
unpleasant if you do not take your learning seriously. Do you
have any questions so far?"

"Please, sir," said Salim courteously; "will you also teach the
other boy... Kamal?"

"He has his own tutor. He is further advanced in speaking the
language and will be taught at his own pace. You may socialize
with him at the end of each day's lessons, if you like."

"And sir, if I may ask... where are we going?"

"You will find out when we get there. Our voyage should be rather
swift in this vessel. Not much more than a week if the weather
stays fair and the winds are favorable. The food on this platter
and that pitcher of beverage are your evening meal. When you pull
this sash here..." the man gestured to a length of velvet
material; "... a servant-boy will come to the cabin. Feel free to
have him attend to you as you wish. He will fetch more food or
drink, or empty the chamber pot if you have used it.... You DO
understand the function of a chamber pot, don't you?"

The blank look on Salim's face reflected his humble upbringing in
a one-room shack. Elimination of bodily waste was always done in
the crude outhouse behind the dwelling or in the woods (though on
the coldest days, Salim took no more than a single step outside
the door if he only needed to pee). The eunuch sighed, and
explained how civilized people tended to this process. Then he
bade Salim a pleasant sleep, saying he would return in the
morning to begin the schooling.

Alone at last, Salim explored the room, sitting in a chair, lying
across the bed, running his hand over the rug, and opening the
curtains at the large glass-pane window. It was only when
standing at the window that he realized the ship was moving...
the moon-lit Adriatic shoreline gliding slowly past. Looking down
toward the water, he saw eight large oars dipping into the water
in unison, pulling to propel the ship, then lifting up to repeat
the process.

"This is magic!" said the boy out loud, as he stared in wonder at
the never-ceasing rhythm of the oars.

He might have thought otherwise if he had seen what produced the
ship's swift movement through the water -- 64 naked galley slaves
laboring under the whips of cruel overseers... shackled by chains
to their benches, four to each oar... while 64 more shackled men
slept curled up at their feet, ready to take over rowing at the
end of the 4-hour shift. These were prisoners of war, common
criminals, or men who had in some way displeased the sultan or a
high official of the Empire.

But Salim was blissfully unaware of this unpleasantness two decks
below his ornate cabin. He ate greedily of the delicious food,
and drank glass after glass of a wondrously sweet beverage, the
likes of which he had never tasted. (It was the juice of squeezed
oranges, a fruit unknown to the boy.) When at last he was sated,
Salim felt the urge to pee. Standing above the crockery bowl that
the man had called a chamber pot, he opened his pants and
considered how best to accomplish the task without splashing on
the red oriental rug. He ended up kneeling down close to the pot
and directing the flow from his penis with utmost care. How much
simpler it was to pee in the woods, he thought.

After fastening his pants, Salim looked over at the velvet sash,
thought for a moment, and pulled it. There was no sound, but in a
very short time there was a gentle knock on the door. Before
Salim could go to open it, the knob turned and in slipped a boy
of perhaps 10 years. He had the dark hair and features of a Turk,
and his livery was of finer quality that the clothing of even the
most prosperous resident of Salim's valley. Instead of pants, he
was wearing skin-tight hose of finely woven white cotton. His
loose shirt was of rich blue silk, belted at the waist, and
barely covering his crotch.

"Yardimci olabilir miyim?" ["How can I serve you, young master?"]
said the boy, as he looked at Salim with a hopeful twinkle in his
eyes.

Salim was frustrated that he couldn't understand the words, but
correctly guessed the meaning. He gestured with his head in the
direction of the chamber pot. "Chanuk... kirli," ["bowl...
dirty"] he said, searching the very limited supply of Turkish
words he had learned during the previous days.

Now it was the boy's turn to look puzzled. Then he looked over
at the chamber pot and nodded as he went to pick it up. He
carried it to the door and set it down outside, but then came
back inside the room and went about preparing the bed for
sleeping. As he reached up to get a  blanket from a high
cabinet, the hem of his shirt lifted to reveal the outline of
his boyish genitals, pressing against the crotch of his tights.
Salim's eyes were drawn to the sight... and to the youngster's
slender round buttocks, also pressing against the form-fitting
thin material.

In a minute the servant-boy had finished making the bed, and he
softly asked "Cinsel ilishki ister misiniz?" ["Does the young
master care to use me for his pleasure tonight?"] Salim shook
his head to indicate that he had no idea what the cute young boy
was saying. The lad shrugged and departed, looking a bit
disappointed.

Salim told himself that he must work diligently in learning this
strange language. It was frustrating to not understand what was
being said. Then he stripped off his clothing and slid naked
between the soft cool cotton sheets on the bed. It was like
lying on a cloud, he thought. He stretched out beneath the
covers, arching his body like a cat.  Salim's hands came to his
chest, rubbing circles around the tiny hard nipples, then moved
slowly down over his taut belly... over his soft dick and loose
ball-sack... along his inner thighs. When his hands moved back
up, his penis was well on the way to erection. He cradled his
balls with one hand, and the fingers of his other hand began the
wonderful ritual of manipulating his rigid sex-flesh.

The mental image that immediately lept forward to accompany his
masturbatory fun was the gypsy-boy. Thoughts of kissing Kamal
sent a shudder through Salim's body, and fantasies of lying
together naked... body grinding against body... propelled the
boy's urgent stroking. His fantasies switched briefly to his
boyhood friend Havel and the erotic pleasures they had
discovered together in recent months... but his thoughts kept
returning to the dark-haired Kamal. In minutes, the glorious
spasm of dry orgasm lifted Salim's body up... arching his back
as his fingers extracted the last shudders of pleasure from his
4-inch cock. Drifting quickly into sleep, curled in a cozy ball,
he felt surprisingly secure in this totally new environment.
Safe and warm in this soft bed, and ready to face new adventures
in the morning.


"Wake up, boy! It's past dawn already!" It was Abdul-Aziz,
pulling aside the curtain to allow the rising sun to flow into
the cabin. The eunuch then bit into a piece of fruit from the
tray of food that had been replenished as the boy slept. As
Salim got out of bed, the teacher gave only a brief glance to
the morning erection that stood up from the boy's naked body.
Abdul-Aziz appreciated the aesthetics of Salim's physical
beauty, but he considered himself fortunate to be forever free
of the gnawing sexual desires that so often got other men into
trouble. Meanwhile, Salim belatedly covered his crotch with his
hands.

Salim looked over at the chamber pot (which had been cleaned and
replaced), then down to his rigid penis, and he knew that his
morning urination would not be accomplished easily... or without
embarrassment. The eunuch saw his dilemma and sighed, thinking
to himself that there were distinct advantages to having a penis
that never stiffened. "Go up on deck and do your business over
the rail. But be quick about it.... And be sure to have the wind
at your back.." As the boy was about to walk naked through the
door with a hand in front of his crotch, Abdul-Aziz added "For
goodness sake, boy... put on your undergarment. The sight of you
in that state might drive the sailors insane with foolish carnal
cravings."

The boy moved quickly through the cabin and up the steps, but he
stopped in his tracks when he emerged from the hatch onto the
deck. Everywhere he looked, the ship was surrounded by water. No
land -- not even another boat -- was in sight. A large
triangular sail caught the breeze and pushed the boat along at a
fast clip, working in tandem with the constant motion of the
oars. The weather felt comfortable for this late in the year, as
Salim thought to himself that it might even have snowed already
in his family's mountain valley. Standing on deck wearing just
the short cotton undergarment, Salim noticed that the handful of
sailors occasionally snuck glances at him, but then turned away
when they saw that their attention had been noticed. None of
them dared risk the anger of the sultan's powerful court eunuchs
by staring lustfully at either of the beautiful boys who
constituted the ship's only cargo.

Salim stood at the leeward rail and untied the strings at the
waist of his undergarment, then breathed a sigh of relief as he
held his penis between thumb and two fingers as his full bladder
began to empty. The high arc of pee flowing from his erection
broke into a thousand sparkling drops as it floated  down toward
the water, some sprinkling onto the oars that moved below him.
Looking around to be sure nobody was watching, Salim gave his
still-engorged cock some pleasuring strokes, not wishing to
waste a good erection. Then he reluctantly fastened the ties of
the undergarment and walked quickly back to his cabin, chilled
by the morning air.

The day's lessons were mentally grueling but intellectually
stimulating for the bright peasant boy. He absorbed new words
and grammar rules almost as easily as did his teacher (who was a
court translator and spoke 16 of the Empire's diverse
languages). During breaks from language study, the eunuch taught
him social graces... from the proper way to eat from the skewers
of meat brought for their lunch to the different ways one should
bow to aristocrats, depending on their rank. Through it all, the
teacher was completely closed-mouth about where they were going,
and for what purpose.

As the sky outside the cabin window turned orange with sunset,
Abdul-Aziz concluded his tutoring.

"You have done well on your first day, boy. Give the same effort
each day subsequent, and you will have an adequate means of
communicating when this voyage ends."

Salim flopped down on the bed and relaxed for the first time. He
contemplated stripping and getting under the covers, and
probably would have immediately dropped off to sleep, but he was
hungry. And then there was Kamal. Even while devoting all of his
energy to the lessons that day, Salim's consciousness had been
invaded by the dark-haired boy's image. He wondered if Kamal was
finished his own studies... and whether he would like some
company.

As Salim left his cabin, the first question was answered, but as
to the second question.... Kamal was sitting back on one of the
velvet-covered divans in the common area. Kneeling next to him
was the Turkish boy-servant, his arms around Kamal's neck and
lips pressing against the older boy's mouth. Kamal's left hand
gently caressed the boy's buttocks while his right hand fondled
the boy's small erection through the thin cotton tights.

Kamal noticed Salim immediately and spoke to the servant in
Turkish: "Go now. We shall play again later." He kissed the boy
again and sent him on his way with a playful swat on the bottom.

"Hussein is quite the little charmer, eh?" said Kamal with a
grin as he patted the place beside him on the couch for Salim to
sit.

"I suppose," replied Salim, in a tone that might easily be taken
for jealousy.

"So, my friend," said Kamal, as Salim sat down beside him. "Did
your teacher work you hard today? My fat old task-master
certainly did!"

"It was not too bad," replied Salim. "I'd rather work with my
mind than spend my day marching up mountain passes as we were
doing before. My feet are still so sore! Did you have a
difficult march to reach Dubrovnik, Kamal?"

"Oh, no! I spent the whole journey riding on the commander's
horse... practically sitting on the man's lap! He agreed
immediately when I suggested that I should ride with him." Kamal
giggled and looked into Salim's eyes. "Boys like you and me can
get our way with the right kind of men, eh?"

Salim wasn't totally sure he knew what the gypsy-boy was talking
about, but he nodded his head.

"Tell me something, Salim. Do you enjoy it when they fuck you,
or is it just something you put up with?"

Salim was taken aback by the blunt question. "I don't.... I
mean... I've never been fucked before," said the blond lad,
feeling almost apologetic for his innocence. "Perhaps when the
right person comes along..." he added, echoing the words of
advice from Commander Mustafa.

"A virgin? Really? I was sure that one so pretty as you.... Ah,
but you're a country boy, I'll wager. From a farm or a tiny
village?... Yes?... I thought so!  You see, I've been horribly
corrupted by the sinful ways of the big city," said Kamal with a
smile and a tone of obvious sarcasm. "My family had been four
years in the city of Mostar when the collectors of the sultan's
boy-tax took me. Well, no matter...."

Then Kamal fixed Salim in the sensuous gaze of his dark eyes and
boldly ran a hand along the boy's inner thigh. "Though you are a
virgin, Salim, I'm guessing that you might know something of the
wickedly fun pleasures that two boys may enjoy together."
Kamal's hand drifted up close to Salim's crotch. "I've done
nothing but think of you since I first saw your face. You were
in my dreams last night, my friend," he said, in words that
flowed like a languid curl of smoke from his full red lips.

Salim blushed a bit and looked away for a moment. Then he looked
back into Kamal's eyes and smiled. "Yes... I do enjoy those
things. And... well... I've had thoughts of you too, Kamal."

The boys were side-by-side on the soft couch, their bodies
turned to face each other... their faces only a foot apart.
Kamal's hand, which had rested on Salim's thigh, slid slowly
across his crotch, up his chest, and came to rest on the boy's
cheek. Without a spoken word, the boys' faces moved closer
together, very slowly... as if time were almost standing still.
Salim felt a hot rush of desire flow through his body as the
tempo and intensity of his beating heart made it difficult to
breath. Kamal's breath was warm against Salim's face.... 'My
God,' thought Salim; 'he is so incredibly beautiful!'

Salim closed his eyes just as his mouth made contact with the
Kamal's soft lips. Yes! This was what he had been fantasizing,
and the reality far surpassed the imagining. Their arms wrapped
around each other's bodies as their tongues glided together.
Salim's entire being melted as they kissed... his awareness of
time and place fading away as the whole of his consciousness
focused on the sweet taste of Kamal's mouth, and he explored the
texture of every little nub on the boy's tongue.

When their lips finally separated, Kamal whispered "Come, my
beautiful friend. Let know each other more fully in the comfort
of my bed."

Salim could only sigh "Yes..." as they stood up and walked hand-
in-hand to Kamal's cabin. It was decorated differently from
Salim's room, but equal in luxury. When the door was closed
behind them, Kamal reached out to unbutton Salim's shirt. When
the blond boy hurried to help, Kamal said "No; let me undress
you... as you undress me."

Salim smiled, and his fingers went to the gypsy's shirt buttons.
He willed his eager hands to slow down.... to undo Kamal's
clothing in the same slow, sensuous way the dark-haired boy was
undressing him. Nothing, however, could slow the heart-pounding
in Salim's chest.

Pulling off each other's purple uniform shirts, each reached for
the other's belt buckle simultaneously. Kamal moved quicker and
pushed down Salim's loose uniform trousers, and his fingers
nimbly untied the waist of the undergarment, then pulled down at
the sides. Salim's penis was already hard as Kamal reached down
to touch it, and the blood continued to pulse into the phallus,
demanding that it make itself stiffer yet. His foreskin was
pulled taut and the piss-slit peeked out from the end. Salim's
ball-sack hung down like that of an older youth... the orbs
within it having grown considerably in recent months.

Kamal's touch was sublime... light and sensuous. His fingers
glided the foreskin down the shaft, revealing an exquisitely-
shaped head. When he let go, the roll of pleasure-flesh remained
snugly behind the slightly-flared ridge of the cockhead.

The dark-haired boy gazed down at the beautiful genitals, just
on the verge of puberty, perfectly complementing Salim's
extraordinarily handsome face and body.

Salim touched Kamal's shoulder-length black hair, and his hand
slid down to the boy's cheek... to his chest... to the strings
that tied his undergarment. As he fumbled with the tie, he
dropped to his knees.

"Look how my hands tremble, Kamal! You would think I was afraid
to reveal your treasure," said Salim, looking up into the gypsy-
boy's face. "But I am not afraid, Kamal. In truth, I have never
felt such desire. I want so much to have pleasures with you."
The dark-haired boy merely smiled and caressed Salim's hair, his
burning eyes saying more than mere words could ever convey.

As Salim lowered the undergarment, he beheld a soft 4-inch
penis, pointing almost straight down. A short foreskin covered
half of the glans, and the dusky-hued balls dropped only as low
as the tip of his penis.

"Touch it.... Bring it to life with your hand," said the gypsy
in a sensuous, breathy voice.

Salim reached out and lifted the cockhead in the crook of his
thumb and forefinger, then wrapped his fingers and palm around
the soft shaft. As Kamal promised, it came to life... instantly!
Pulsating in Salim's hand, the penis throbbed to rigid erection
in 10 seconds. It was almost as if the gypsy-boy could cause his
cock to stay soft by the force of his will... then order it to
become instantly hard. When Salim released his grasp, the
erection stood up 5 inches and was of elegantly slender
proportions. No hair appeared on the smooth tan skin at its
base.

Salim's mouth was drawn to the cock as it had been drawn only
minutes before to Kamal's lips. With his face an inch away,
Salim breathed the delicate musk of boy-scent, and it
intoxicated him the way a tangle of honeysuckle does on a hot
summer day. He licked his lips and brought them down. That first
gentle kiss on the tip of the cockhead spread over and around
the glans, and his tongue twirled around the sensitive flesh. A
soft sigh echoed in Salim's ears, and gentle hands glided
through his shaggy blond hair.

The sensation of the boy's stiff penis in his mouth was so
intensely pleasurable that Salim's body glowed with a feeling
that was nearly orgasmic. Although he had sucked his friend
Havel a number of times, and orally pleasured his little cousin
Damir only a few nights before, this was different. The other
boys' cocks had been smaller and less sexually mature even than
Salim's own. But now the near-maturity of Kamal's erection felt
so intensely exciting in his mouth. The smooth, warm, throbbing
flesh... the unique taste... the pleasure of giving pleasure...
the eroticism of Kamal's entire aura. Salim would have been
satisfied to kneel there, suckling the gypsy-boy's cock all
night long.

But Kamal gently pulled his hips away from Salim's mouth. "Let
me lay on the bed, lest my knees collapse from the pleasure you
bring me." And he stepped back and reclined on the edge of the
low bed, his head resting on a cushion, his legs dangling over
the side.

Salim stayed on his knees, crawling over to kneel between
Kamal's spread legs and resume his oral attentions.  Bringing
the rigid cock upright with his right hand, Salim pulled the
skin taut to fully reveal the cockhead, and devoured it
hungrily. Moving his lips down the shaft, Salim knew that he
could not take the erection too deeply or he would gag, as he
had when he had tried sucking Havel's 4-inch cock to its base.
Instead, he concentrated on the top three inches, trying to use
his lips and tongue in ways that he thought would impart the
greatest pleasure. And the sighs and moans that filled his ears
gave Salim a rush of satisfaction that was nearly as erotic as
if his own penis were being sucked.

As he worked with his mouth, Salim used his left hand to fondle
Kamal's balls, stroke his belly, caress inner thighs. Then,
remembering his erotic discovery of several nights previous,
Salim wetted two fingers with spit and brought them to Kamal's
puckered asshole.

"Mmmmmm.... Oh, yes!" purred the dark-haired boy as he lifted
his legs up and back to make his ass more accessible.

As Salim pressed a finger against the anal muscle, the hole
flexed open to practically suck the spit-slick digit in. Kamal's
vocalized pleasure was an invitation for Salim to fuck his
finger in and out as he continued to suck.

"Oh yes, lover! Oh... Salim... please... use two fingers.... Ah!
Yes! Just like that! Yes!"

The gypsy's anal opening easily accommodated the two thrusting
fingers, and Salim worked all the more intensely with his mouth,
responding to every verbal and non-verbal cue by which Kamal
signaled his desires. Using his intuition to make up for his
lack of experience, Salim did things with his mouth that he had
never tried with Havel, all the while fucking his fingers inside
Kamal's slippery rectum.

As Kamal's legs began to tremble and his hands grabbed the
bedcovers tightly, Salim bobbed his head rapidly up and down on
the gypsy-boy's cock, flicking his tongue like a hummingbird at
a flower.

"Yes!... Oh YES, my darling!... It's so good!... I'm going to
cum!... Oh yes!... Here it comes!"

Though Salim knew about the spurting of semen, having watched
older teenagers of his village masturbate in open view at the
swimming hole, it still was a surprise when the thick salty
fluid pulsed into his sucking mouth. But Salim eagerly swallowed
it down and savored the unique taste on his tongue, delighting
in how the spasms of Kamal's cock corresponded to the rhythmic
clenching of anal muscles on Salim's fingers.

Kamal's hands reached down to pull Salim on top of him, and
their mouths came together immediately in a deep passionate
kiss. It was almost as if the gypsy-boy were hungry to taste his
own cum in Salim's mouth, as he licked at the boy's tongue and
lips. Salim's cock was rigidly erect, and he thrust it against
Kamal's belly and crotch.

"My beautiful lover... that was so wonderful," said Kamal.
"Would you fuck me, or shall I please you with my mouth
instead?"

"Well... I've never fucked anyone before, but..."

"Oh, please let me be your first! You'll love it; I promise! Wet
your cock with spit and put it in me."

Salim lubricated his cock and spread some additional saliva in
Kamal's anal passage. The gypsy-boy pulled his knees way back as
Salim's fingers probed into him again.

"Take me lover! Fuck me good!"

Salim knelt on the edge of the bed, his feet still on the floor,
and aimed his slippery cock toward the pink pucker of Kamal's
upraised ass. As his cockhead touched the rosebud of flesh, it
opened for him and he pushed his hips forward. Salim moaned as
his plump 4-inch boner glided in, all the way to the hilt.
Kamal's whimpering sighs showed his utter pleasure at taking the
immature boy-cock into his body.

Instinct guided Salim's movements as he leaned onto the backs of
Kamal's legs and began thrusting his hips. Slow at first, then
quickening with a compulsion to drive his cock deep... hard...
fast. The raw sexuality of the animalistic rutting had both boys
vocalizing their lust in sub-verbal grunts and groans. Kamal
wrapped his hands Salim's butt and pulled him deeper with each
forward thrust.

After only three minutes of fevered humping, Salim's orgasm rose
up, crested, and crashed down. He collapsed on top of Kamal,
gasping for breath, his body floating on a cloud of complete
sexual satisfaction.

As they lay in each others arms, hugging tightly and kissing,
Salim pulled his softening dick from Kamal hole and flopped over
to the side, exhausted.

"Salim, my love! That was wonderful! You know... I have served
so many grown men that I sometimes forget how good it is to be
fucked by another boy."

Salim was startled by the remark, but too reticent to ask about
its implications.

"But we hardly know each other, do we?" said the gypsy-boy. "How
old are you, Salim?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure...." Salim's family did not read
words or numbers and had no use for calendars. "My parents say I
was born on the night of the first good snowfall in the village,
12 autumns ago, so I'm very close to being 12. Maybe I already
am."

"I just turned 13 two weeks ago," said Kamal. "And that unlucky
number was certainly bad luck for my family when the collectors
of the sultan's boy-tax took me. I had been supporting my family
for 4 years with my work. Now they'll have to go back to their
old lives as travelers."

"What was your work?" asked Salim innocently.

"Why, giving pleasure to men, of course."

"You mean they would pay you to..."

"Sure! And pay quite well. I wasn't one of those ragged little
waifs who would sell a blowjob for a single copper mangir in the
shadows of a back alley. I only serviced quality customers, in
the bedrooms of inns. Shall I tell you the whole story?"

"Yes! Please!" said Salim who had turned on his side to gaze at
Kamal with wide eyes.

"When I was much younger, my family led the traveling life of
the Romany, camping outside of a town or city for a while, then
moving on. My mother told fortunes for the townspeople who came
to the camp for entertainment in the evening. My older sister
sang and danced. My father was a horse trader. A good one, too.
I would sometimes go with him to the town when he would do
business, and he always seemed to know just how high a customer
could be bargained up.

"One time, when I was 9 years old, a Turkish merchant told my
father that he was not interested in the horse, but would pay 10
copper mangir pieces for an hour with me in his room at the inn.
My father talked him up to a silver akche and agreed to bring me
to his room that evening. Father gave me a couple glasses of
wine and told me what I must do. As it turned out I enjoyed it,
even that first time. The Turk was middle-aged and fat and had a
small cock. And I had an inborn knack for pleasing a man. He
undressed me and delighted in touching my naked body and
diddling my little prick. I oiled up his cock and jacked him for
a while as he lay back, then straddled him and rode his cock
like a cavalryman rides a horse. I made sure he got his money's
worth. My father remained just outside the door, and when we
came out, the man paid an extra 5 mangirs to show his
satisfaction.

"We ate well that night, and from then on the family business
was ME! My father never had me entertain more than one man a
night.... Well, except when the price was too good to turn down.
And he always stayed just outside the room in case he was
needed, like if a customer wanted to spank my bare ass...
without having paid my father extra.

"Soon after I started working, the family settled permanently in
Mostar. My father made arrangements with all the innkeepers, and
paid them a regular fee to conduct business in their
establishment. I would go with my father in the evening, and men
who wanted me would often be looking for us in the tavern. My
father would bargain the price up, and I would stand there
quietly,  making myself look desirable to the customer. I always
could tell if he desired a tough street-boy... or a shy little
sissy-boy... or a wanton seducer." And with each of the three
descriptions, Kamal assumed the character, radically changing
the expression on his face and the way he held his body... a
true actor at work.

"There was one man   a regular customer   who was ashamed of his
desire for a boy, and I would wear one of my sister's gypsy
dresses when I went to his room. I can be a rather convincing
girl, you know."  Salim nodded; he had no doubt that was true.

"But enough about me! Tell me of YOUR life, Salim!" And Kamal
snuggled against the younger boy, crotch-to-crotch, and kissed
him gently.

The two talked into the night, sometimes pausing to eat,
sometimes feeling their lust rise up again. That evening Kamal
gave Salim the first of his lessons in cocksucking techniques --
an education that would go on for the duration of the voyage.
The gypsy-boy taught him how to take a stiff penis into his
throat without gagging; how the gentle application of teeth on
the most sensitive parts of a penis could drive a man crazy with
desire; how to vary the stimulus and make an oral session almost
unbearably extended and intense. When they finally drifted off
to sleep in each other's arms, they had given each other
multiple orgasms.

In the morning, Abdul-Aziz didn't have to guess where his pupil
could be found. "Come, boy; time to resume your studies." Though
not reproachful, he warned Salim to get sufficient sleep to keep
his mind clear for lessons and not waste the whole night on sex.

That day was much like the previous one. Ten hours of studying,
with hardly a break, then time with Kamal, who had been released
from his studies a bit earlier. Once again, Salim found his
friend in the common area, snuggling with little Hussein. This
time, however, Kamal did not dismiss the servant boy, but
convinced Salim to let him join the fun. The Turkish lad proved
as adept at pleasure-giving as the gypsy-boy, and that evening
was spent in a tangle of three bodies... licking, sucking,
kissing, humping.

Salim held fast to his decision not to be fucked, but he was as
happy to thrust his cock into the other two as they were to
receive him. And he had no objection to Kamal or Hussein sliding
a finger or two inside him, as one or the other gave him a blow
job. He was especially pleased when they massaged a particular
spot inside his rectum that seemed to have a direct connection
to the pleasure centers of his penis.

A particular talent that Hussein brought to the mix was his
skill in using his tongue to stimulate anal flesh. The lad was
content to lick and prod at the sensitive anal nerves of Kamal
or Salim for as long as they could stand it. The two older boys
experimented with this exciting new thrill as well, even
discovering positions in which all three could simultaneously
rim and be rimmed.

Hussein, being a Muslim, was circumcised. Salim took delight in
seeing the boy's penis with its little crown so blatantly on
display, even when it was completely soft. And it felt different
when he took it in his mouth too. Not more pleasurable or less
so; just an added variety.

The days went on like this for a week. Intense study, followed
by intense sexuality. The eunuchs never intruded on the evening
play, and the sailors were practically invisible as far as the
boys were concerned. On the occasions when Salim went on deck,
he often saw islands in the distance -- the sunbaked Greek isles
of the Aegean Sea. But the ship never stopped at any of them,
and the oars never stopped cutting through the water, day and
night.

On the morning of the eighth day, Salim went on deck to take his
morning pee, and saw that there was land not far away, on both
sides of the ship. And it went on for as far as the eye could
see. They were traveling through a narrow passage where numerous
other vessels could be seen.

"This is the Marmara Sea," said Abdul-Aziz. "It is not far to
our destination."

Indeed, by late morning, they were heading into a port, with a
sizeable city spreading beyond the docks. Several impressively
large mosques with tall minarets dotted the city.

"I'll not demonstrate my ignorance by presuming that this is
Istanbul, sir; but may I be permitted to know?" asked Salim of
his teacher.

"The city is called Bursa. See that great building over there?
It is the tomb of the great sultan Mehmet. And that mountain off
in the distance is Mount Uludag. The infidel Greeks called it
Mount Olympos and believed that gods and goddesses lived atop
it."

A few minutes later, the ship was moored and a gangplank
extended down to the quay. "We will travel in that carriage,"
said Abdul-Aziz.

"Will Kamal go with us?"

"No. Come, boy. No more questions."

They got into a rich-looking carriage pulled by two horses and
rode away from the docks and through the city. The outskirts of
town became a park-like setting of trees and open meadows where
nobody seemed to live. A few more minutes along, they came to a
complex of stone buildings surrounded by a 10-foot-high wall.
Two Janissary soldiers stood guard at the gate. Once inside,
Salim was amazed to see a vista of gardens and fountains; shade
trees and flowering shrubs. There were more peacocks wandering
about than people.

Abdul-Aziz led Salim into a building and directly to a room on
the ground floor. It was a bedroom, much like the one on the
ship, but larger and even more ornate. A second door at the
other side of the room opened onto a courtyard.

"I will return in the morning. You will stay here, though you
may make use the garden as you like. Make yourself at home
there."

Salim nibbled some of the food from the bountiful tray and then
headed out to the courtyard. It was a large square space, over a
hundred feet to a side, completely enclosed on all sides by the
walls of two-story buildings. But no windows looked out onto the
inviting gardens, and only a few windowless doors opened to it.
(The spy-holes in the walls were practically invisible.) Salim
wandered about, smelling flowers that were so different from
those in his alpine homeland. When he came back to the large
rectangular pond, he dipped his hand in. It was amazingly warm!
Far more so than would be expected in the 70-degree autumn
weather. Salim looked around, and seeing no one, took off his
boots and socks and rolled up the legs of his trousers. Easing
his feet into the warm water was an real pleasure, as he had
still not become accustomed to wearing shoes. The sun warmed his
back, and Salim decided to take off his shirt as well, feeling a
sense of freedom in this strangely deserted space.

The boy's mind wandered, thinking about Kamal, about his cousin
Damir, his old friend Havel, and his family. When he looked
above the roof of the building, he could see the snow-covered
summit of Mount Uludag, and the pang of homesickness hit him
especially hard. It was so like the summits that guarded his
mountain valley. His eyes felt as though tears might flow, but
the boy calmed himself and cleared his mind of sorrow. Then, as
he had done so often in the past, he began singing. It was not
one of the Bosnian folk songs he knew. Rather, it was words that
seemed to compose themselves on his tongue, directly from the
mental images of his imagination... a tribute to his home. The
song began in a near whisper, slowly building to a pure high
tone that was enhanced by the echo off the walls:

"... The bright snow glowing on Grandfather Mountain;
The red squirrel fussing at me from the pine bough;
I drink from the cold water of the meadow stream,
While the birds tell me to pick some flowers,
More colorful than the rainbow.
Returning to my quiet house;
Mother weaving at the loom.
She buys my bouquet with a kiss,
And my heart soars with happiness...."

"That's very beautiful," said a voice in heavily-accented
Bosnian dialect.

Salim looked behind him, completely startled to see a finely
dressed young teenage boy, not 15 feet away. A Turk, to be sure.
Perhaps a son of the wealthy family that owned this place? Or
maybe just a servant. Salim took no chance and scrambled to his
feet, embarrassed at having removed his boots and shirt.
"Forgive me, sir!" he said in formal Turkish. "I did not mean to
abuse the hospitality of the owners of this place." He grabbed
for his shirt.

"No. Please!" said the older boy. "It is I who must apologize. I
should not have surprised you that way. But your singing utterly
entranced me, and I forgot my manners. And please don't put on
your shirt; let me take mine off instead."

"Alright," said Salim as he relaxed and smiled, feeling
instantly at ease with the handsome, dark-haired teenager. "My
teacher said I could make myself at home here. I hope that is
alright. My name is Salim," he said, holding out his hand.

The other boy took it and held it gently. "I am Osman. They told
me I should feel at home here too. May I stay and talk?"

"Sure!" said Salim with a grin.

They spoke small-talk for a while -- in an amusing  mixture of
Turkish and Bosnian -- sitting with their feet in the warm
water. Salim told Osman that he was a Janissary cadet and about
his journey to this place from his village. He learned from
Osman that the boy was 14 years old, that he lived in Istanbul
with his widowed mother, and came here to visit this estate --
called Yildiz Park -- several times a year.

"Do you play cards?" asked Osman.

"Cards? I do not think so. Will you teach me?"

The teenager ran into the building and emerged in a moment with
a deck of large playing cards and also a basket with bread,
cheese, butter, and sliced meats. He set about teaching a few
card games to Salim, and they ate and laughed together as they
played. Osman was amazed, not only at how quickly the boy
learned the games, but how he picked up the subtleties of play
and could beat the older boy as often as not.

After a while, Osman said "Did you know that this is a bathing
pool? It is warmed by the famous hot springs of Bursa, and its
depth is over my head in parts. Can you swim?"

"A little. There was a small swimming hole near the village. The
water was rather deep, but very cold."

"Let's go in then," said Osman, and he began taking off his
trousers and the silk undergarment beneath. Salim did likewise,
and in a minute, they were both naked. Salim's eyes were drawn
instantly to Osman's dark-tan genitals -- much like Kamal's, but
a bit more mature, and with a fringe of dark pubic hair at the
base of his cock. And, of course, his penis lacked a foreskin,
making its appearance compellingly exotic and erotic to Salim.

"You notice how our dicks are different. Muslim and Christian.
Exposed and hooded. But I'll wager they look more similar when
they are stiff.... Shall we see?" And Osman began to gently
massage his penis, making it swell in his hand.

"Yes! Let's!" said Salim, and he excitedly ran the foreskin up
and down over his cockhead, making himself stiff even quicker
than the older boy.

They admired each other in silence for a long moment. Osman
sported a slender erection of nearly 6-inches... not yet adult-
sized in its proportions, but quite handsome.

"Time to swim!" said Osman, and he jumped feet first into the
warm water. Salim followed and thrashed about, laughing... just
barely competent at keeping his head above the surface.

"Come to this end. You can stand up," said Osman.

Once in shallower water, the two boys began to wrestle and
roughhouse, their naked bodies rubbing together joyfully.
Exhausted at last, the two boys lifted themselves onto the edge
of the pool and relaxed.

"Would you sing for me again, Salim? You do it so well. I had a
good voice until it cracked a few months ago, and now it sounds
terrible. But I can recite some poetry for you, if you wish."

"Oh, yes, Osman. Please do a poem for me."

"OK. Here's one that I wrote not long ago. I hope it does not
make you sad, but I thought of it immediately when I heard you
singing about your homeland. It goes like this:

Let it play with your hair, this gentle breeze
Blowing from the seven seas.
If only you knew
How handsome you are the way you gaze at the edge of the night
Steeped in the grief of exile and longing, in sorrow.

Neither you
Nor I
Nor the dusk that gathers in your beauty
Nor the blue sea.
That safe harbor for the distress that assaults the brain -
We spurn the elders who know nothing of the soul's pain.

Ignorant people
Brand you merely a fresh young boy
And me just a fool.
That wretched appetite, that filthy sight
Can find no meaning in you or me
Nor a tender grief in the night
Nor the sullen tremor of secrecy and disdain
On the calm sea.

You and I
And the sea
And the night that seems to gather silently,
Without trembling, the fragrance of your soul,
Far away
Torn asunder from the land where blue shadows hold sway,
We are forever doomed to this exile here."

Salim thought for a moment, and then said "I didn't know all the
words, but it was very lovely in its sound. It told of a boy
like me, did it not?"

"Yes, my beautiful one," said Osman. "And now a song from your
lips. Perhaps a happy one to balance the melancholy of my poem."

Salim chose a Bosnian folk song that told of young love, and
lost love, and true love found again. His voice was so sweet
that it would charm the nightingales, and it made Osman's eyes
glaze with moisture.

"I'm sorry, Osman," said Salim, seeing the tears. "I tried to
choose a happy one..."

"You chose well, Salim. These are tears of joy at the beauty of
your voice." They gazed silently into each others' for a long
moment. Osman's hand brushed the wet hair from Salim's forehead,
and the younger boy felt his heart skip.

"Could it be possible, Salim, that I have fallen in love with
you? My heart tells me it is so, though we have only just met."

Salim didn't have words with which to answer. Instead, he
wrapped his arms around the handsome teenager's neck and kissed
his lips tenderly. Osman embraced the boy, and their bodies
merged in a crush of instant passion, lying back on the warm
flagstones. Different-sized erections pressed together with a
shared lust, as tongues wrestled back and forth.

"Let us lay together on the grass, Salim, that we may share
pleasures."

And pleasure each other they did... rolling in each other's
arms, kissing, stroking, sucking.

As they lay together, panting with lust, Osman kissed the boy
gently. "I love you, Salim. I love you with all my heart."

"I... I love you too, Osman. I've never felt like this before,
but it must be what love feels like."

"I am burning to enter you, my beautiful one. I must ask... are
you a virgin, Salim?"

Salim blushed. "Yes, Osman. But I... I desire that you take me.
Let me offer my body that you may give me your love."

The older boy got between Salim's legs and pushed them back,
then brought his mouth down and lavished pleasure on the hole
with flicks of his tongue. Then he got up and went to the food
basket, taking some butter from its container and spreading it
over his erection and into Salim's anus. Then he positioned his
cock at the entrance and whispered to Salim "Push out that I may
enter you more easily. I will go slowly, but you must open to
me."

Slowly, Osman's stiff cock slid into Salim's virgin hole. Though
it burned the ring of muscle at the entrance, Salim felt
exhilarated by the sensation. His pleasure was enhanced by
Osman's hand, stroking Salim's erection.

Osman was patient and gentle. Salim, eager and willing. In a
short time, they were moving together in the eternal dance of
love, with Osman thrusting smoothly into Salim's body...
murmuring words of love... leaning down to kiss his lips. When
at last Osman's seed spurted into Salim's rectum, the younger
boy was moaning with pleasure, begging to be fucked hard and
deep.

They lay together in the glow of young love... touching and
kissing... until at last Osman said "The sun sinks low, my love.
Time to get dressed."

But as soon as the two boys had their pants secured, two plump
eunuchs hurried in the courtyard. When they came up to Osman,
they fell to their knees with their foreheads touching the
ground.

"Your Majesty," said the older of the two. "Your Council awaits.
I have not allowed anyone to disturb you, but there are
important matters to attend to. May I accompany you to the
Council Chamber forthwith?"

"*Sigh* Yes, I suppose so.... Salim, my love; I will see you
tonight in my bedchamber."

Meanwhile, Salim was dumbfounded at what he was seeing and
hearing. The other eunuch took him aside and said "I see from
your expression that the Sultan has not been forthcoming as to
his identity. He will sometimes do this to try out new boys
coming into his service. It would appear that he was rather
pleased with you, boy. Perhaps you will even be among the
favored ranks of his pages. He has 200 boys in his service, but
only 10 are in the first rank at any given time."

Salim could barely utter a word. "S..s..sultan? Osman is the
sultan?"

The young ruler walked out of the garden, talking with his chief
counselor.

"I have decided to make Salim my new favorite boy. See to the
arrangements."

"Yes, sire. And what of Nassim? Shall he remain in the first
rank or move down to the rank of an ordinary page? And if he is
to stay in the first rank, which of the others will move down?"

"Beautiful Nassim.... I think he is far too proud to tolerate
being anything but my favorite. Almost too lovely and desirable,
but always so vain about his beauty! What shall I do? Too young
for the army or an administrative job. And he has just recently
begun spurting the manly seed, so he is too old for the
physicians to transform into one of your kind. I do still love
him, but he is longer my favorite. Ah! I know. Next time I take
my archery practice, include him among the prisoners who will be
my targets. It will honor him to spill his blood for his sultan.
There! That's settled. Now let us see what the Council has for
me.


End of Part 4

NOTE: Yes; there really was a 14-year-old sultan named Osman in
1618. The history books say he was handsome, charming, smart,
poetic, bisexual, and notorious for his casual cruelty. His did
indeed take archery practice using prisoners (and sometimes his
own harem-boys) as the targets. Should make for an interesting
Part 5, don't you think?  Also, the poem is the actual text of
an Ottoman poem from the period.

Write to me at bil47@yahoo.com

- Bill