My name is Melisa Jones of Turkish descent. I am forty-three years old and have been married to an Englishman named, Paul. I was born in Istanbul but was raised in London with my family, so English is my first language. My parents taught me my heritage language. So whenever we travelled to Istanbul to see relatives I was able to have full conversations with them.
It was July time when I went with my husband and our four-year-old boy, Adem. The air was so hot and humid. I walked the local streets with little Turkish shops selling rugs, towels, and jewellery. I thanked the lord that I was wearing a blue summery dress with my long dark hair up in a bun. I had to stop and buy a bottle of water from the grocery shop with alcohol, sweets, nuts, and my favourite drink, Ayran, which is buttermilk: only three ingredients – yoghurt, salt, and water.
I was walking alone as Paul and Adem were with my family slaughtering a goat for Bayram, a special holiday in Turkey where you sacrifice a goat, cow, and sheep for religious tradition. I didn’t want to see it as I was very much an animal lover.
I took a sip of water as my eyes glanced up and saw a gorgeous, and dark-haired young man with a beard in a carpentry shop up ahead. I walked over screwing the top of my bottle of water back on and then placed it in her my blue bag. I gazed in awe at all of the tables and cupboards as I walked around the shop.
The young man walked over to me in a dirty red t-shirt and jeans with a smile. “Hello, welcome to my shop,” he said pleasantly with an accent.
“Thank you,” I replied.
Our eyes met as electrical bolts of attraction ran through our bodies. I stepped closer, he stepped closer.
“My name is Cihan,” he said, introducing himself.
“Melisa,” I replied. “And I am married and a mother.” I turned and rushed away but my body was feeling all hot and flustered. I slipped and would’ve landed on the ground if the young man named Cihan hadn’t saved me in his arms.
“Are you OK?” he asked with concern. “Come inside my shop to stop and have tea.”
I gathered myself together as I gazed up into his blue eyes. I nodded. I followed him into his carpentry shop and sat down on a white plastic stool at the back. I watched as he poured some Turkish black tea into a Turkish glass and then topped it up with water from the Turkish kettle on the gas stove. Images of him naked flashed before my very eyes making me all hot and flustered again. “Thank you,” I replied when he handed me the tea.
Cihan poured himself a glass of tea. “So, Melisa, you’re English?” he asked.
“British-Turkish,” I replied. I saw the look of surprise on his face. “I was born here and then I was raised in London, England.”
“Wow, so you speak Turkish?”
“Yeah,” I sipped the tea and gazed around the shop. “You have such a beautiful store,” I said.
“Thank you. All handmade.”
We sipped our tea filling in the silence while looking at each other. I finished my tea quickly.
“Thank you,” I said. “I must be going now.”
“Are you sure? You don’t wish to look around my shop? You might find something you like or for your husband,” Cihan said.
Over the next ten minutes I looked around the store at all of the tables, chairs, cupboards that he had made from scratch. I was in awe.
“These are so beautiful,” I commented, turning to him.
“Thank you,” he replied.
We stopped at the back of the store at a double-sized bed he’d made at the back of the store. We faced each other with our bodies wanting each other as our eyes met.
“I have to go,” I said in a hurry.
“I don’t think you’re going anywhere. The weather,” Cihan said.
I glanced back and saw that it was raining heavily now. “I have to go,” I said.
Cihan stopped me by grabbing me by the waist. “No,” he said firmly.
I started hitting him to get off me but then stared at him with passion and hunger for lust.
Cihan and I kissed each other passionately. I tore his shirt apart with my hands and he lifted me up onto his waist feeling his cock growing hard, We rolled onto the floor and he pulled my panties out the way after he unzipped his jeans and pulled them down. We gasped together with pleasure as we began to make love.
Our lovemaking increased with intensity moving faster and harder, and our breathing heavier and heavier. I wrapped my legs around his waist for more pleasure.
“Daha hizli, lutfen!” I screamed in Turkish.
Cihan looked at me and smiled. “You do speak Turkish then,” he replied in English. “As you command, Melisa hanim.” He fucked me harder and faster. His breathing got heavier and heavier. “Ben geliyorum!” he cried out in Turkish.
Our bodies spasmed on top of one another as we both reached the sweet heavenly bliss of pleasure.
He rolled off me with sweat dripping off his body, breathing heavily. “Vay be!” he continued to speak to me in Turkish.
I stood up and adjusted my panties and dress and then turned to him. “Please speak to me in English,” I said.
Cihan stood up and fastened up his jeans. “Wow, my lady,” he replied.
“Well, you better remember this moment because that will never happen again!” I said firmly.
He smiled at me with a cheeky glint in his eye. “I saw how you wanted me. The husband is not satisfying you in the bedroom.”
I slapped him. “How dare you!” I cried. I looked outside and it had stopped raining.
Cihan grabbed me up in his strong arms and kissed me passionately and I kissed back.
I slapped him again and then rushed away, feeling ashamed.
“You’ll be back, Melisa hanim,” Cihan called out after me.
No, no, this will NEVER happen again. I am a happily married woman. I am a mother. But I glanced back and saw the sexy carpenter staring back at me. Oh, no.
