While living on the island of Cyprus, I developed quite a taste for young Turkish men. If you could get a good-looking, well-constructed Turkish guy before he got too far into his forties, you could almost guarantee you'd have something forceful, vigorous, straightforward, and good-natured to play with. You also, quite often, would have a guy with a pretty heavy pelt on him. Now, I didn't particularly favor a hairy guy, but on a Turk, it could be quite arousing, and sometimes I just felt like rubbing my nipples against a fine chest of hair.

Cyprus is a divided island, with the southern two thirds being in Greek hands and the northern, more isolated, third in Turkish hands, with a UN-guarded "Green" zone separating the two belligerent sides. I was able to go back and forth between the sides with my job and had been on the island long enough to see that both Greek and Turkish young men had their good points. I quickly found, though, that the Turks—at least the Turkish Cypriots—had fewer inhibitions against male-male activity than the Greek Cypriots did as a rule, despite the historical reputation of the Greeks, although it was never difficult to make a hook up of either. The Turkish men were just more matter of fact and lusty in their fucking and weren't given to long drawn-out preliminaries if they saw something they were interested in.

Thus it was that the first opportunity for a weekend alone on the Turkish side, I was off and running. My wife and kids were in Athens for five days, over a weekend, and so I decided it was time for me to check up on the office on the Turkish side one Friday and just to stay over at the Turkish Cypriot seaside for the weekend.

After a brief Friday-afternoon appearance at the office in the Turkish sector of Nicosia, the capital—which the Turks called Lefkosa, I was racing my BMW convertible across the width of the island to the remote Salamis Bay Hotel. This hotel sat on a rocky beach at the edge of the ancient ruins of the Greek city of Salamis, which had been founded by the Greek troops returning from the sack of Troy and had been destroyed by an earthquake and largely reclaimed by the Mediterranean Sea in the third century BC. I had picked this destination because it was in a remote corner of the island, where it was unlikely I'd be recognized, it boasted an infamous nude tourist beach, and I had been given the address of a small gay bar near the hotel. I wanted to make the most of my free weekend on the Turkish side.

When I got to the eastern end of the island, I got off the not-so-good direct road to Salamis onto the really-not-so-good coastal road so that I could locate the bar I wanted to go to that evening. I found it by following the really bad music of a live band gearing up in the twilight hour before the sun sank below the Troodos Mountains at the other end of the island. It was a beach bar composed of beverage carts surrounded by bar stools, under grass umbrellas around an ill-kept swimming pool on a terrace that went out over the Mediterranean. The enclosure was barely sectioned off from the view of the road by a scraggly bamboo-slatted fence. I could see that guys were already arriving for the evening; it looked like a young crowd and mostly the queen type,