Tiffany was furious with her parents. What were they thinking, sending her to this godforsaken place? She wouldn't have minded a summer in Rome or Paris but no, they had to send her to Istanbul. Just because she got in a little scrape back home in Tennessee, her parents decided that she should spend some time with her uncle, a career diplomat, and his Turkish wife.
Istanbul! It was foreign to her in every sense of the word. The smells, the language, the cuisine and the customs were all strange in the extreme to a girl who had never before left the United States. Even her arrival at the airport and drive into the city had been traumatic. It seemed that every man at the seedy terminal had leered at her in the most obvious and demeaning way, and every driver on the crowded streets was trying to kill her. Tiffany was grateful for the cool quiet of Uncle Edward's Mercedes, but she still didn't feel safe. Even the bus drivers raced from stoplight to stoplight like lunatics in hot rods.
That spring Tiffany had turned fifteen. She was a lovely girl, with wide brown eyes, long chestnut hair, and a slim but shapely figure. It's true that she had fallen in with a wild crowd in high school and liked to go to parties with older kids, but it was her arrest for possession of marijuana that proved to be the last straw. Almost before she knew it she was on a flight to Atlanta, and from there a Delta 747 whisked her off to Istanbul. Her parents had given her a couple of guidebooks and kissed her goodbye, feeling that some time in new surroundings would straighten her out. In fact, that summer would change their daughter's life forever. But not in the way that they'd hoped.
Tiffany was by no means naïve. She had lost her virginity the previous year, and had had several boyfriends since then. But there were plenty of sexual matters that were simply beyond her experience. All that was about to change.
She was pleasantly surprised when she finally arrived at her uncle's home in the old European quarter of Istanbul. It lay in a tree-lined street of century old houses that could have been in Amsterdam or Brussels rather than here in the exotic East. While the exterior of the house was impressive, the interior was downright opulent. The high-ceilinged rooms were beautifully and expensively furnished in a mixture of Turkish and Western tastes. Original art work was placed with care on the walls, and thick Turkish carpets covered the floors.
And if Tiffany was amazed by the house, she was absolutely shocked to meet her uncle's new Turkish wife. She looked to be about half her husband's sixty years, and was one of the most beautiful women Tiffany had ever seen. Large hazel eyes were framed by long thick lashes. Her nose was straight and delicately shaped, her lips full. Tiffany had supposed that all Turks had dark skin, but the woman before her was fair, almost pale, though her hair was indeed very dark. She wore a form-fitting black dress that showed off a curvaceous figure.
The woman greeted Tiffany warmly when Edward introduced her as Ayshe Hanim. "Oh, that's too formal," she said. "You can just call me Ayshe. I'm sure we're going to be great friends." She spoke with an upper-class British accent. "Perhaps you'd like to freshen up a bit, and then we'll have some tea."
Tiffany was not thrilled by the prospect of tea, but she was more than pleased by the private suite of rooms where she was to stay. There was a small sitting room with a comfortable sofa and chair, a bedroom with balcony overlooking the garden and a huge four-poster bed, and a luxurious marble bath with tub big enough for three. Maybe the summer wouldn't be so bad, after all.
The next day, Ayshe showed Tiffany some of the sights for which Istanbul was famous: Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque, and Topkapi Palace. After lunch at an outdoor café above the Bosporus, Ayshe took Tiffany's arm and led her to the car. "Now it's time to shop till we drop," she said, smiling.
"Are we going to the mall?" Tiffany asked when they were in the car.
"Yes, the oldest mall in the world."
At first Tiffany was not impressed with the Kapali Charshi, or Covered Bazaar, a maze of shops over 500 years old. But once they reached the jewelry shops at the center of the Bazaar, she was hooked, and Ayshe had to drag her out after three hours.
On the way home, as their driver weaved through the dense crowds of vehicles and pedestrians, the two women chatted like old friends. It seemed that Ayshe had acquired her command of English (and her accent) while attending boarding school near London. She also had a degree in filmmaking from the Sorbonne. "It's very common for Turks of the better families to send their children to secondary school and university in Europe," she said.
She also explained why so many men had leered at Tiffany in the airport. "You have to realize that Turkey, while a secular country, is 99 percent Moslem. Women are expected to dress modestly. I thought you looked great in the top you were wearing yesterday, but those men assumed you were a prostitute." Tiffany remembered that she had taken off her jacket in the terminal, and wore only a small tank top that showed a good bit of cleavage. She blushed, and looked down to see what she had on. "Don't worry," Ayshe laughed. "The T-shirt you're wearing today is fine."
They were soon drinking chilled white wine on the veranda, Tiffany trying on the antique silver bracelets and earrings that Ayshe had purchased for her in the Bazaar. She told the older woman how much she liked the bath in her room.
"Ah," said Ayshe. "If you like that, tomorrow I'll take you to a hamam."
"What's a hamam?"
"It's a public bath house, or as people elsewhere call it, a Turkish bath."
After a long nap and a shower, the two were served dinner on the terrace. The wine flowed freely and before long Tiffany realized she was quite drunk. Ayshe complimented her looks and her figure. "I think you're beautiful," Tiffany replied, looking into Ayshe's huge hazel eyes. The older woman thanked her, a mysterious smile on her lips.
"Yes," she said. "I think you're going to enjoy the hamam very much."
Tiffany woke up too early, still suffering from jet lag. She had a vague memory of Ayshe kissing her goodnight--a lingering kiss on the lips--but she thought it was just another strange Turkish custom. As they drove to the oldest part of the city Ayshe told her what to expect at the hamam. "The Turkish people like to be clean," she explained, "and it's required by the Koran. But up until the middle of the last century few people had indoor plumbing. A wealthy woman could use her own private hamam, while those in the lower classes would go to a public bath. Some hamams have separate facilities for men and women, while others use the same space on alternating days."
"Which kind are we going to?" asked Tiffany.
"This one has a men's side and a women's side. It's one of the oldest in the country--it opened in the seventeenth century."
"And it's still in use?"
"Yes, but most hamams have closed now that everyone has bathrooms in their houses. Only a few are left in the city."
They arrived a short time later at an ancient limestone building, its walls yellowed with age. The door was in the shape of a Moorish arch, as were the windows, which were set high in the walls to preserve the privacy of those within. The woman who admitted them was cheerful, rather zaftig and appeared to be about thirty-five years old. She wore a silk robe which did little to conceal her enormous bosom. Ayshe instructed Tiffany to undress in one of several small changing rooms and wrap herself in one of the towels the woman had given them.
As they walked into a large chamber Ayshe apologized for the woman, whose name was Peyma, because she spoke no English. The room was circular with a domed ceiling and was decorated in white marble inlaid with patterns of blue and green. It was very hot inside. There was a shallow pool about ten or twelve feet in diameter in the center of the room. "This first room is to make us perspire and open the pores," said Ayshe, peeling off her towel.
Tiffany did a double take. Ayshe's body was flawless--rounded and very feminine, but with no extra flab anywhere. The woman clearly worked out. Her breasts were full and round--about a C cup Tiffany guessed. Tiffany couldn't help noticing that her pussy was completely shaven. She looked incredibly sexy stepping into the pool. As she seated herself on a towel Ayshe turned. "Aren't you coming?" she asked.
Tiffany hesitantly removed her towel though she had nothing to be ashamed of. Her body was every bit as lovely as her hostess's: long shapely legs, slender, girlish hips, and upturned breasts that seemed a bit too large for the rest of her body. Ayshe gazed at her, almost hungrily it seemed, as Tiffany sat on the edge of the pool. "In days gone by," said the older woman, "the hamam was a social place and a woman might spend the entire day here talking with friends, eating and observing important occasions. It even gave mothers a chance to choose the, ah, shall we say healthiest looking girls for their sons."
The heat was intense and both women were perspiring freely. "Now it's time to get clean," said Ayshe. Peyma clapped her hands and two girls entered the room. They were very young and very much alike--long dark brown hair tied back with a bow (one pink, one yellow), dark, nearly black eyes, dark straight eyebrows, and slender figures that had not yet acquired any curves to speak of. Their breasts, the size of plums, had only begun to develop. Both were naked except for soaking wet white bikini panties.
.... There is more of this story ...