“Ah!” Hasim laughed. “Yes, yes. You wish to see?”
“Absolutely.”
“Soon,” Hasim said, his knee brushing against Francis’s leg. An accident or on purpose, Francis didn’t care, he was exhilarated all the same.
Soon the tram came to a stop deep within the busy backstreets, and Hasim gestured for them to disembark.
Francis was eager to follow but waited first for the women in their party. The three of them didn’t rise from their seats and waved their hands at Francis for him to go first, speaking in Turkish and grinning at him.
Francis looked at Hasim. “They aren’t joining us?”
“Not where we’re going,” he said with a smile, and offered Francis his hand.
Francis took it and stepped down from the tram. They both waved goodbye to the ladies as the tram pulled away, and they waved back with knowing smiles on their faces.
“Hasim,” Francis said teasingly. “Are you planning to leadme astray?”
“I was, yes,” Hasim admitted with a smirk. “But…if you prefer, we can go elsewhere?”
“No, no,” Francis said. “I’d like to be led astray. Lead on, if you please.”
* * * *
They took side streets and back alleys, vibrant with life and the constant hum of people speaking Turkish and some other languages thrown in.
Hasim led the way to an entryway obscured by a hanging carpet, guarded by a burly man with a long moustache, and a large curvy woman dressed in fine silks.
The woman showered them with greetings in Turkish and allowed them to pass. They ducked inside the barely lit passageway; the luring sound of pipes and stringed instruments caught Francis’s ear instantly.
Hasim parted beaded curtains to reveal a smoky enclosure lined entirely with soft fabric and cushions. A trio of musicians played together in the corner; an exotic lute, a long pipe, a set of bells shaken in a steady beat.
It was hazy in here, but the smoke didn’t sting the eyes and didn’t smell of the usual tobacco. Francis inhaled, trying to place the scent, and instantly became lightheaded.
It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation.
“You wish to try?” Hasim asked, gestured to the pile of cushions.
Men in linen robes and turbans sat and lounged around one central hookah pipe, puffing away on its many long arms.
It was one of those scenes where, on the surface, things appeared decent, but upon closer inspection revealed hints of indecency and queerness. In the flickering candlelight, Francisspotted one man’s hand on another man’s thigh, caressing before inching higher. And over there, on a red silk cushion, two men engaged in a lazy kiss.
Passions Francis hadn’t felt in years stirred in him. Desire. Longing. Urgency. Need.
He swallowed past the nervous lump in his throat, for he was indeed a little nervous. It had been so long…
But as he looked at Hasim, his newfound companion, and saw the patient yet hopeful look in his dark eyes, Francis knew he would be cared for.
“Yes,” he answered. “I should very much like to try.”
Francis thought they would join the group of men on the cushions, but Hasim bid him follow to a more private spot.
Two women attendants greeted them. They were dressed in revealing silk robes adorned with golden coins that crashed together in a soft melody whenever they moved. The two women reached up to move a gauzy curtain aside, and the coins on their ample bosom jingled.
Hasim took Francis by the hand and led him inside the private room.
Inside were draped silks and the plumpest fine cushions, arranged so that two people may lay side by side.
Coloured lanterns hung from the low ceiling, the only source of light, casting shapes and patterns against the silks on the wall.
