Foreign Affairs

by Jacqueline George

  “Ah-ha! You are bad when I am not here.” Tulin pulled her down, squeezing against Mark to make room for her, and whispered something in her ear. He could not guess what it was, but Kerima looked at him very sharply. Tulin put her arm around her friend's shoulders and laughed.

  “Mr. Mark, you are a very bad man. You make Tulin crazy. She wants to come again tomorrow and listen to music.”

  “Good. Any time. Stay all day if you want to. We can make lunch together.”

  “I do not think she should come,” said Kerima, but there was something in her tone that suggested she might be open to persuasion.

  “Please let her come, Kerima. I'll make something special for you both.”

  “Yes, please bring me here. Mark will be very polite, and we will listen to music.”

  “Polite!” Kerima was not convinced. “When I leave the room, you are bad together.”

  “Only a small piece, and it was very nice, wasn't it?” She was embarrassing Mark.

  As they rose to leave, Kerima allowed a visit next afternoon, longer than this one, to listen to music. They promised to bring music more to their taste. Bundled up, they prepared to leave. “Now I give you a proper goodbye,” said Tulin, kissing him deeply on the mouth. Mark was surprised, but even more when she pushed him towards Kerima and ordered a proper goodbye for her too. He felt ill at ease as Kerima pressed her mouth inexpertly against his as Tulin watched, but if this was the price of her silence, so be it.

  When they came the next day, they obviously felt at home. Their boots and jackets were thrown aside and they started to roam the apartment examining everything and commenting on it in giggling Turkish. From the kitchen, he heard the cassette being changed for a Beatles compilation at least twenty-five years out of date. When Mark returned with his tray of Irish coffee, he found them sitting together in the centre of the room, examining a magazine they had unearthed from a hidden pile. Oh Christ! How did they find that? He had bought it to while away his flight, a girlie magazine of the best sort, explicit but artistically photographed. He did not know what to say, but he took comfort from the fact that they were studying it together, in silence. He set his tray in front of them and knelt to join in.

  “They are very beautiful,” said Tulin thoughtfully, “But they show themselves. Even that part. That is ugly!”

  “Ugly? Men find that very exciting. It's your most interesting part.”

  The girls clung together as they grappled with the idea that he was talking about them, about their secret places. Mark continued, “You make men excited by dressing up, looking beautiful. When you start to take off your clothes, they will get very excited. By the time you are showing everything, they will explode.”

  “But it is different for us,” objected Tulin. “These girls are beautiful.”

  “Not as beautiful as you.”

  “How do you know?” she laughed. “I have not taken my clothes off for anyone.”

  “I can tell you're beautiful. You've seen her without her clothes, Kerima. Is she better than these girls?”

  Tulin made a violent dive for her friend, horrified that Kerima might expose her secrets. Mark grabbed her from behind and wrapped her in his arms, smothering her body against him. Even that would not serve because she was shouting at Kerima in Turkish. He put his hand over her mouth and she was reduced to groans and gurgles.

  “What does she look like when she takes her clothes off?”

  “She has very good figure, very sexy.”

  “Which one does she look like? I want to know.”

  Kerima flicked slowly through the magazine. She settled on a slim model with small but elegant breasts. “In front she is like this, but I think a bit more colour at the ends.” He bent Tulin forward to look at the charming girl who was combing her hair at a dressing table mirror. Her raised arm displayed a perfectly rounded breast with its nipple sharply pointed, and her reflection in the mirror showed its companion was equally interesting. They pondered on the sight of her for a moment in silence. Tulin raised no objection to the comparison.

  “Very nice. I can just imagine. What are her legs like? And her bottom?” This did raise an objection, for Tulin's gurgles increased and her elbows poked him sharply in the ribs.

  “Not like this one. This one is a little too fat. Tulin's legs are more like this.” A sensuous Creole girl was draped over a blue satin coverlet. “She is not brown, of course, but her legs are long and straight.” The girl's legs were indeed long and slim. On the next page, she had rolled over to give the photographer another view.

  “Ah—those beautiful legs,” said Mark. “And her bottom is like that too?” Tulin struggled fiercely in his embrace, but Kerima was merciless.

  “Just like that. Smooth and round, and sticking out behind!”

  Tulin was becoming more difficult to restrain, but he had to ask the final question.

  “And the other side of her? What's that part like?” Tulin stopped struggling and sank her teeth into the palm of his hand.

  Kerima lowered her eyes, but gave her friend no relief. “I do not know. These girls have only a little hair on – er – inside their legs. Tulin has more, and I cannot see correctly.”

  Her sharp teeth were making him wince. Something of his pain must have communicated itself because she loosened her bite, and he felt the tip of her tongue trace the welt she had raised. “You make her sound even more beautiful than I'd imagined. I want to see for myself.”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Mark! That is for married people only. Even I will let you kiss her, but I will not let you see her like that unless you marry her.”

  “You will let me kiss her? Doesn't Tulin have anything to say about it?”

  “Yes.” Tulin swung around his neck and pulled him down to the floor. “I say yes.”

  She was a sweet girl and hungry for kisses. He squeezed her until she protested, and then covered her eyes with gentle nibbles. His hand found its way to her breast, but this was too much for Kerima. She pulled at his wrist.

  “No. You must not touch her there. You are not married.”

  Mark looked down at Tulin, and his heart leaped at her beauty. Her hair lay in waves over the lewd pictures of the magazine, and her deep brown eyes had a faraway look in them. He let Kerima pull his hand away.

  Tulin spoke. “Kiss Kerima also. I do not mind.”

  Still holding his hand, Kerima came eagerly to him, greedy for kisses. She did not taste as sweet as Tulin—probably just his imagination—but she was enthusiastic. To his surprise, Mark found that she had pressed the back of his hand against her chest, and he could feel her softness. Was this purely chance? He turned his hand and she responded by releasing it and reaching for the back of his neck. Wondering at her forwardness, he took one of her small breasts and gently squeezed it. A shudder ran through her, and she clung to him more fiercely. Kerima was disclosing hidden fires.

  A movement made him look down. He held one breast, but a slim hand with manicured nails covered the other. Tulin was helping her friend enjoy life to the full. Mark brought Kerima down to the floor next to Tulin and, lying half across both of them, continued to caress her. Coming up for air, he found Tulin trying to give him a silent message. She gestured to the door with her eyes. Uncertain what she wanted, he nodded and returned to Kerima. Tulin got up and left.

  Moments later, she returned with pillows, duvet and a blanket stripped from his bed. She spread the duvet on the carpet and, after adding the pillows, called them over. She knew what she wanted. She pushed Mark into the centre of the duvet and pulled Kerima up to one side of him. She wrapped the other arm around her shoulders, pulled the blanket over all three of them and snuggled up close. Mark lay with a head on each shoulder and his arms around them. The girls were silent, apparently absorbed in the sensation of being in bed with a man. Their hands lay still on his chest.

  Kerima said something in Turkish, and Tulin asked the question for her. “Mark, she wants to know if you have made sex with a woman.”
r />   “Sure, although I don't think I'm a great expert. I've only had a few girlfriends.”

  “Only a few? And you made sex with them all?”

  “No, not all. I don't know, maybe half a dozen. That's six. I made love to about six of them.”

  That was worth discussing in Turkish, and it was a while before Tulin framed the next question. “Were they all virgins?”

  “Virgins? I don't think you'd find many of them in a university nowadays. Some of them knew a great deal more about sex than I did!”

  “And you still wanted them after they had made sex with other men?”

  “Of course! Why not? It's best to have a girlfriend who knows what she's doing. That way you both have more fun.”

  “But they must be, I don't know how to say, bad women.”

  “Tulin, there's no such thing as ‘bad women’ in that sense. Only women who enjoy sex on the one hand, and women who don't or who haven't started yet on the other. And they're all nice!”

  Kerima started to speak directly to him. “My mother and her friends, they say that sex is not good. They do not enjoy it, and they only do it to make their husbands happy and to have babies.”

  “That's sad. Really sad. Women should enjoy sex much, much more than men. If they don't, they and their lovers are not doing it right. Good sex should drive you out of your mind.”

  “I don't understand. Sometimes in the western magazines like Cosmopolitan, they say things like that, but in Turkey, married women do not enjoy it. They say that only dancers and women who do it for money enjoy it. For normal women, sex is only to have babies.”

  “Well, all I know is, if the girl isn't enjoying making love, it's not much fun for the man either!”

  Mark enjoyed the opportunity to be a different sort of teacher. It was very pleasant to hold the two girls and fun to lift at least a corner of the veil covering love and sex. The girls were deeply interested in talking about them too. Perhaps it made them feel grown-up.

  Kerima's hand was restless, and she ran it over his chest. She seemed to like the feel of him. He felt her fingertips slide through the front of his shirt, and then she undid a button and slipped her hand nervously inside. She stroked the hair she found there and the unfamiliar muscles. She brushed over his nipple and found it erect. Mark sighed. “Mmh, that's nice.”

  Tulin pushed herself up on her elbow and lifted the blanket. “What is nice?” she asked. When she saw what Kerima was doing, she spoke sharply to her in Turkish, but got a firm answer. “OK. Then I will do it also.” She undid more buttons and, settling back down, added her hand to Kerima's.

  It was a very voluptuous feeling, having two hands stroke him, and Mark was still happier when they undid all his buttons and pulled out his shirt tails to give themselves full freedom. Tulin pinched at a nipple. “Is this good for you?”

  “Mmh. Yes. Very nice. Not as good as it would be for you, but very nice.”

  “What else is good? What should we do?”

  “Everything's good when you do it, Tulin. That's what it's all about—making love.”

  “Are we making love?” asked Kerima.

  “Of course. It's good, isn't it? And even more fun when I do it to you.”

  “Mmh,” said Tulin and snuggled up closer. She stroked lower and lower. Mark began to feel very tense. Then her hand slid over his belt, and his stomach jumped. Feeling her way, patting uncertainly at the front of his trousers, she outlined the straining bulge of his sex. “So big!” she muttered, half to herself.

  Now it was Kerima's turn to lift the blanket and see what was happening. She stared and said nothing. She brushed the blanket out of the way, and her hand reached out to touch. The girls whispered to each other, not sure of exactly what they were holding. The three of them watched the hands exploring. Mark found it hard to believe what they were doing.

  “It is very big!” said Kerima in awe.

  “Very big,” agreed Tulin. “I think this will hurt your girlfriends, no?” She continued squeeze him.

  Mark felt desperate under their scrutiny but did not want to frighten the girls away.

  “I have no idea,” whispered Tulin, “that it is so big. How does it go in?”

  “It is much bigger than my brother,” said Kerima. “and hard. I have only seen my little brother when it is soft.”

  “That's because this is a Christian one,” Mark said. “If you undress him properly, it will look just the same.”

  Through his trousers, Tulin tried to wrap her hand around him. It jumped and she jerked her hand back as if burned. Carefully she reached for him again and took him between finger and thumb.

  “It is heavy,” she said thoughtfully. “Hot and heavy, and it moves. It is alive. Is this good for you?”

  Oh yes,” said Mark. “Don’t stop.”

  Kerima was still whispering in Turkish, but then looked at Mark and said, “It is so fat and long. It cannot go inside.”

  “Oh yes it can, if you give it permission. Would you like to try?”

  “Mr. Mark! I will try when I am married. Not before. But I think it will hurt me. Perhaps my husband will be smaller.” She pushed Tulin’s hand aside and gripped him. “Is this good for you?”

  Mark's excitement was mounting. “Yes—that's so good.” He could not stand much of this treatment after his long drought. “If you keep doing that, you'll make me explode.”

  “I think I want,” said Tulin and joined Kerima at squeezing and pulling him from side to side.

  “Don't stop—don't stop…,” he gasped.

  Of course, they did stop. As the first surge of his climax came, they dropped him in surprise. Crushed by his encircling arms, they whimpered as he crushed them to him.

  Mark slowly relaxed, his pounding heart returning to normal. “So that is how you make babies?” asked Tulin.

  “Ah―yes. Do that properly, and you could have a little problem.”

  “It would be a very big problem. You would have to marry me then, or my father and brothers would be very angry with you. They would be very angry with you anyway if they knew I was here.” Mark cringed at the thought of meeting a Turkish family in such circumstances.

  He whispered in Tulin's ear, “I want to make love to you.”

  “And give me a baby?” she whispered back.

  “There are ways of stopping that happening.”

  “Of course I have heard of such things. But I do not think Kerima would let us.”

  Mark took his arm from around Tulin's neck and with the blanket. Pulling it up, he covered them all but did not put his arm back around Tulin. Instead pushed his hand down the front of her jeans and rolled her half on top of him with the other hand. Tulin was shocked and grabbed his arm, but only for an instant. She let him go and reached instead his sex. Kerima wriggled onto her side and snuggled up comfortably. She too reached for him.

  Kerima was content to lie quietly, and perhaps Tulin would have done the same but for the hand working its way into her clothes. Mark crept under her shirt and inside her thick winter tights. Now he could touch the bare skin of Tulin's stomach, and his fingers slid down inside her panties, through the thick hair and into the rich, slippery wetness beyond. Tulin sighed and buried her face in his chest. Her grip on his sex tightened as she fought to lie still. His restless fingers drew her from orgasm to orgasm.

  “It was very good,” she assured him on the telephone next day. “You are very clever. Kerima is looking at me, and she is smiling. She liked what you did to me.”

  “You told her?”

  “Of course. At first she was angry; then she was jealous. Next time you must do it to her also.”

  “But did you like it?”

  “It was very good. I dream about it last night, and I wake up wet down there. Next time we will all do it together. Do you like me, Mark?”

  “Tulin, you are fantastic. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever been in bed with.”

  “Hmm. You like me then?”

  “I like
you very, very much. More and more every day.” It was no more than the truth. Thoughts of Tulin filled every waking hour, and most of his dreams as well. The fact that he did not want to stop what was happening made him realise that he was in serious danger of falling in love with the girl.

  “I like you, too, Mark. I want to be with you all the time. I want to make love with you. One day Kerima will let us do it. Do you like my figure, Mark?”

  “Your figure is wonderful. Yesterday I wanted to take all your clothes off. I'm sure you're much better than the girls in the magazine.” The line fell silent, and for a moment Mark wondered if he had upset her by his mention of the magazine.

  “Mark, you know in the magazine the girls have very little hair. Why is that? Do I have too much?”

  “Oh, they just cut it, and use hair-removing cream to clean it away. But you're just fine.”

  “But why do they do that?” she persisted.

  “Well, I suppose they want to look nice for their lovers, so they take a lot of care over it. Their lovers want to enjoy everything about them.”

  “Oh Mark, you are making me wet again, I think. Kerima is watching me, and she does not understand what we are saying. She is coming here. Mark, you must promise you never talk of this to her. This is for me only.”

  They came to his apartment for an hour during the week and hurried him straight into the bedroom. They threw their sweaters aside and started to unfasten their jeans. Mark was stunned. Perhaps coming from large families, partial undress did not seem strange to them, and he was clearly being treated as “family.” The girls were, in fact, well covered. He could imagine Tulin's long straight legs under the thick, practical winter tights, but only just. The girls jumped into bed and left him to undress. He slid under the duvet wearing only his underpants.

  Tulin's welcoming body enfolded him. His back was being explored by both Tulin's and Kerima's hands, but the rough wool-covered thighs that gripped his hips belonged to Tulin alone. The heat of her embrace kindled his flame, and he felt his cock swell and try to burst out of its thin covering. Doubled back on itself, the stubborn swelling pressed against Tulin's soft valley. Her kisses became more urgent as her desire mounted, every nerve taut until she relaxed with a shudder.