Barricades Page 2

“I have to go,” I said. “My friends are waiting for me.”

  He nodded, looking down at the pavement, and stood up. We walked through the alley, and before I could step back on Ledra Street, he pinned me against the wall and pressed a passionate kiss on my mouth. He grabbed my butt and pulled my hips into him. When his lips detached from mine, he stared at my mouth, and I kissed him again.

  “Bye,” he breathed. He turned on his heels.

  “Wait.” I caught his wrist. “Will I see you again?”

  He turned his head a bit. “Better not….” His voice was low. I let go of his hand, and he walked away. A few meters before the checkpoint, I dashed toward him.

  “Hey!” I called out. He turned his head at me, frowning, looking dazed. “What’s your name?”

  His smile challenged the freshness of the morning dew, and his eyes captivated me once again.

  “Emir,” he said, and with his voice ringing in my ears, he turned and walked away. I stood there speechless, staring at his fading figure, waiting for another shared glance that never happened. My phone rang, distracting me.

  “Yes,” I said as I picked up.

  “Orestis, where the fuck are you?” Alex asked.

  “I’m coming….”

  “What happened?” His voice lowered in concern.

  “Nothing.” I hung up.

  I dragged my feet back to the car with an inexplicable emptiness in my chest and got in.

  “Whoa!” Alex exclaimed. “You did get laid in the end.”

  “Oh yeah, I can smell it….” Nicolas clapped his hands, laughing.

  I was in no mood to talk about it. I felt like an idiot for being sad over a fling of the night. I put on my glasses and leaned back.

  Alex stared. “Dude?”

  I closed my eyes and whispered, “I’m cursed.”

  Emir

  “SHIT, HE is perfect.” I cursed to myself walking through the passport check. I had to summon all my willpower to restrain myself from turning back for one last glance. I knew he was staring. His eyes burned holes on my back.

  As soon as I lay on my bed, it was time for Sabah namazi. When I heard the recitation, I put on my headphones, listening to some 90s pop music. His face danced in front of me, and I caught myself smiling at his dark brown eyes, my personal ecstasy. The shape of his lips, his straight nose, his awkward gaze, everything on him… was perfect. There was something there, some outlandish vibe I’d never felt before. I was regretting not asking for his name. I knew more than what a person should know from a brief encounter, but I didn’t know the first thing I should have asked him.

  That’s the reason I was going to Nameless. To meet nameless guys, be shameless with them for a while, and leave numberless. In the south, I was freer. Nobody knew me, and if I happened to see an acquaintance, they were there for the same reason.

  I left my hometown, Girne, to not embarrass my parents for having a queer for a son. It’s not like they didn’t know about it, but they never touched the subject, and neither did I. I moved to Nicosia in 2014 to achieve freedom, but the road to independence wasn’t all flowers and butterflies. I was a nineteen-year-old kid in an unknown place with enough money to cover pasta and legumes for a month. I took all kinds of odd jobs. Loading cargos, cleaning streets, waiting tables, steelwork, and others. I would occasionally have sex with tourists for some pocket money and maybe a good meal. I wasn’t proud of it, but I wasn’t ashamed either. Everything got better when my art pieces began to sell online, and I managed to make a living out of them.

  I never engaged in a romantic relationship. Nothing more than one-night stands, but it wasn’t like I pursued it. Loneliness was a teacher, and I was close to getting my PhD. Then, my ideal appeared—I didn’t know I had an ideal—and all I could do was taste and dismiss him. Did I just flush my chance at love down the toilet? Being together would have been worse. Even if feelings were to evolve, we would’ve had a hard time dealing with distance, culture differences, and language. Bigotry would be the worst. As if sleeping with another man didn’t point enough fingers at me, I would have more enemies for sleeping with the “enemy.” Irony at its finest.

  I got to spend some time and have a decent conversation with an intelligent human being. Nobody, ever, shared my passion for astronomy. No one except my father, the person who liked—not only accepted—who I was, apart from one detail. He’d been so loving, and I always knew his views. I couldn’t just go out and ask him to love that detail. It was enough that he turned a blind eye and didn’t hate me for it.

  The nameless guy was on my mind when I woke up and his scent persisted on my skin, prompting my loneliness. Visiting my parents was the distraction I needed. My mom was still wearing a hijab, a reminder of the religious and traditional family she came from. Her surprise when she saw me didn’t stop her from retreating to the kitchen to cook some menemen for her only son. My sister came out of her room when the smell of cooked eggs and tomato filled the house. She ran and hugged me before she slapped the back of my head like always.

  “You found the way back home, shorty?” She laughed.

  “You’re shorter,” I protested.

  “But I’m a girl.”

  “A short girl.” I patted her head.

  She was well dressed in her crop top and skinny jeans, makeup on her face, and blue eye shadow matching her nail polish. I was ready to ask what she was up to when she punched my arm, waved goodbye, and slammed the door behind her.

  “She’s got a boyfriend,” my father said, shaking his head.

  “That’s normal, Dad. She is seventeen.” I comforted him.

  “I know….” He sighed. “But I still worry.”

  “She is smart, and a good girl.”

  He had always been strict but reasonable too. Protecting us from afar, letting us fall and learn from our mistakes, and then helping us stand back on our feet.

  “I will always worry about both of you,” he said. “How are you? How are you holding up?”

  “I’m good.”

  He took my hand, clenching it. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

  “I know, Dad,” I assured him. “I know you are.”

  He lit a cigarette. “You’re lonely, Emir, I see it in your eyes.”

  I had nothing to say. I couldn’t even laugh it off and deny it. I just nodded. “I am,” I whispered, “but I like it.”

  His eyes widened. “Don’t befriend loneliness, son.” He pointed his finger at me. “Humans need companionship.”

  I looked at him, noticing the deep lines next to his eyes, and lowered my head, facing my palms. He was a man of few words but always to the point. My distraction wasn’t serving its purpose. I hadn’t stopped thinking about him, and in my father’s words, I could hear my regrets. I had to stop. Overthinking and what-ifs would drive me insane. I had the chance; I threw it away, maybe for the best.

  The three of us had dinner on the veranda. My mom, as always, seized every chance to ask when I was moving back home. All I could give were vague answers. I wasn’t planning to leave my house, but I didn’t want her to feel like I left because of them.

  I didn’t stay for the night; instead I went back to my apartment, opened a sketchbook, and started scribbling lines and curves, drawing his face from my memories. The day was dawning when I gave up and went to bed. I closed my eyes, waiting for my consciousness to fly away, but he appeared in front of me, jolting me up. What the fuck? I could hear him. His moans were echoing between my ears.

  The sun was up when I managed to fall asleep, and I woke to the reddish dusk. Drinking a cup of coffee, I navigated Facebook, found every gay club and gay-friendly bar in the south. I checked every photo, every page, and every face in hopes of finding him. Not knowing his name, all I could do was become a creep. In the end, he was nowhere. Serves me right.

  The week passed with me working on a painting. I would go out to buy cigarettes and check on the widow next door, whose only daughter had married and moved to Ankara. Sa
kine was your typical cynical old lady with the mouth of a truck driver. Sometimes I would sit on her balcony, listening to her endless rants about the vegetables being too expensive or our neighbor moving furniture to clean at four in the morning.

  Every night before bed, I made another attempt to draw his face. If I wasn’t going to see him again, I could as well have a sketch of him before his memory faded away. But in vain—every time the sketch was further from reality. My memory failed me.

  Saturday evening, with midnight around the corner, like always, I passed to the south, and headed to the club. The atmosphere thickened as I walked downstairs. The dance floor was overcrowded while the night heated up. Even though I danced and flirted with every twink who came my way, my mood was soon watered down. Retreating to the bar, I ordered a beer and leaned over to catch my breath, debating if I should stay and get dead drunk or gulp down my beer and go home.

  “Hello, Emir.” The familiar voice jolted me. My chest burned, and my stomach stiffened. I turned, and what I faced had me thinking I’d passed out and was long lost in a dream.

  Orestis

  “WE MEET again,” I said, my nervousness probably giving away that our second meeting wasn’t by chance. I’d lost my mind stalking him. I was surprised and thanked my luck at finding him on the first page when I searched his first name on Facebook. His profile was public, but he wasn’t very active on it. A dozen selfies served as wank material. Random artistic photos and one of his paint-stained shoes was posted on Wednesday. I was lazing in my bed after a shower when Emir checked in at Nameless. I didn’t think much. I quickly dressed up and speeded on the highway. I arrived outside of the club in less than an hour.

  I pulled him closer. “Were you thinking about me?”

  He nodded. His stare moved from my eyes to my mouth and back, speaking tomes. He wants me was all I could think. There was lust. There was need. He was undressing me and licking me all over with his gaze.

  This week had been torture. I’d replayed our liquid exchange over and over in my head. My mind had decided to obsess instead of forgetting, and it got stronger every day. Stalking him was Alex’s idea. On Sunday night, when I drove him and Nicolas to the airport, I’d spilled everything to them.

  My mind always wandered, but I knew I had been overdoing it when my mom started nagging me more than usual.

  “Wanna leave?” His cheeky smirk heated my blood, but I didn’t lose my composure. I had already decided not to be a coward.

  “Certainly….” I reached for my pocket. “I happened to carry my ID card today.” I tilted my head, failing to hide my embarrassment.

  Without any more words, he grabbed my hand and climbed up the stairs. We walked fast, then faster. The wait for the road to clear off felt endless before we went above the huge construction site of Eleftheria Square. We traversed Ledra Street and passed through the barricade, to a part of the road I’d never been before. A place like everywhere else. This is Ledra, but from the other side. I slowed down and wandered around until we reached Emir’s apartment. He looked at me, studying me. I exhaled hard. He couldn’t have opened the door faster. All I could think was I wanted him on my face, on my dick, on my skin, on… me. I wanted to know if what I felt a week before was a fleeting passion or something stronger.

  The door was still closing when I found his lips. T-shirts pulled off, pants stepped on, sloppy moves, muffled moans, and wet, popping sounds of mouths detaching filled the room. He pushed me against the wall, dropped on his knees, and took me in his mouth. His lips closed around my cock, making it harder. He looked up at me and placed my hands on the back of his head, hinting for me to move however I wanted. And I did, realizing my fantasies. I clenched my fingers around the strands of his hair, keeping him steady. I thrust into his mouth deeper, harder, faster. His eyes squeezed shut.

  “I’m close,” I cried.

  He placed his palm around the base and pumped me, imitating the movements of his other hand on his own dick.

  “Fuck,” I breathed, releasing in his throat.

  He pulled back, creating more suction, and he swallowed, licking me again until he ejaculated between my legs. He opened his mouth, and I put my finger in, massaging his tongue, smearing my remains all over his mouth. Bending over, I tasted my own spunk. I pulled him up and pushed him down onto the bed, climbed above him, and starting at his ear, I licked his neck. He shivered in my arms as I moved to his chest. I reached for his pelvis, raised his legs, and ran my lips across his inner thigh. I spread his cheeks and licked him, dripping my saliva.

  My tongue entered him, and his muscles twitched. My fingers played along, stretching him. I was opening him to fuck him senseless, but I was exploring his insides too. His sensitivities, what he liked, what he hated. I was studying his face, gauging his reaction. I wanted to give him pleasure. I wanted to do it right. I wanted to make it explosive. For the first time, giving mattered more than receiving. I moved my fingers deeper, up and toward me. Ahh, there it is. Emir cried in pleasure, his eyes bulged, and his head rose from the pillow. My excitement was indescribable as I massaged that same spot, hardening his precum-soaked cock.

  I nipped at his balls, taking out my fingers, and let him catch his breath. I reached for the scattered clothes to find a condom from my back pocket, and I kneeled in front of him.

  “Ready?” I asked, nudging his rear. He nodded with a gasp, holding his knees against his shoulders. He groaned as I entered him.

  I pushed four or five times before he could take all of me. I held his legs up, moving my hips back and forth, enjoying the sound of my pelvis slapping his ass. Spreading my knees, I lowered my body and pushed him higher, thrusting in a different angle. His lips trembled, his watery eyes rolled, and the erratic spasms of his abdomen signaled me to slow my pace. I leaned in, supporting my weight on my elbow, and caressed his cheek.

  “Shhh.” I calmed him down, encouraging him to match his breathing to mine. I stopped moving and stared as his lips curved into the sweetest smile. “Did you think about me at all?” I whispered. I wanted to know. Was it only me? My manager had called and asked me if anything was wrong because my mind was wandering more than usual. I couldn’t argue with that. I nearly dropped a game console, I suggested a high-tech smartphone to an eighty-year-old grandpa, and I found myself unable to answer basic questions for customers. With his harsh rejection in mind, I needed to know we were on the same page.

  “A bit….” He sniggered.

  I lifted my eyebrow. “A bit?” I nipped his earlobe and licked behind it, provoking him.

  “Maybe a bit more…,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around me.

  “Well,” I said, brushing his lip with my thumb, “I was thinking about you. A lot.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah….”

  We didn’t say anything else. Our bodies spoke for us as we immersed ourselves into passion and lust until dawn. Exhausted, we cuddled and kissed, bound into a tight hug until he fell asleep, buried in my chest. I spent a few minutes looking at his face before falling in the arms of Morpheus too. My dream began with a rose, beautiful, bold, and high maintenance, just like him.

  Emir

  THE SUNLIGHT reached through my eyelids, waking me. I was facing the window and a hand rested on my hip. I turned around and took a glimpse of his drooling face. The bird-chirping was the only sound filling the silence of the neighborhood, meaning nothing more than a peaceful Sunday noon. I got up and looked outside at the old buildings’ rooftops and stretched my arms, aiming for the sky. The nameless guy looked pure and innocent while sleeping. I couldn’t believe my body ached in the best possible way because of him. I had a pattern of targeting nerdy introverts, loved unveiling their secret kinky side. It was like his satisfaction depended on my reaction. The way he looked at me was like a kid waiting for the fireworks to appear in the night sky.

  I picked up my camera and captured a shot of him, then took another, including his body. What am I doing? Am I falling for him?
I could feel sadness at the thought of being without him, even though he was still next to me. By this point I knew he wasn’t a one-night stand and it scared the crap out of me. There was something there, and it was too late to ignore it.

  I took another glance at his cock, flaccid, resting on his thigh. Flashing back to how it felt in my mouth when I swirled my tongue under the foreskin made my blood flow south. I got hard at the memory of his bittersweet taste, warm on the back of my throat. My dried-up sweat and cum made my skin sticky in the heat.

  I stepped into the bathroom for a quick shower, but when I gazed at the mirror, I spotted a red mark above my collarbone. That bastard! When did he do it? Instead of being mad, I smirked at the thought of him branding me.

  I wrapped a towel around my hips, situated myself on my desk chair, and rested my legs on the windowsill. I lit a cigarette. How did he find me? It was the question circling in my head from the moment I saw him. Was it by chance? Did the universe conspire for us? I laughed at myself. The universe doesn’t give a fuck about us. We make our own lives. We create our own destiny.

  I heard a groan and turned to see him stretching his arms. He blinked as his gaze wandered around the room before resting on me.

  Cracking a faint grin that made the skin under his jaw fold, he muttered, “Good morning.” His hoarse voice sent an electric current from my nape to the base of my spine.

  “Good morning,” I said, smiling back at him.

  He sniffed, wiping his mouth. Sitting up, he asked, “Should I get lost?” He stared behind his eyelashes, prepared for any answer.

  I shook my head. I wanted him to stay, for today, for tomorrow, for a little bit more. He sighed and stood up, letting his junk dangle between his legs, attracting my attention.

  “Bathroom?” he asked.

  I pointed to the door behind him and enjoyed the view of his ass. Damn, isn’t he a piece of art?

  I stood up, put on my shorts, and when I heard the water running in the shower, knocked on the door.