Nighttime, at Yamaku. In a dorm room, two souls are intertwined. Their forms, heated by passion and soaked by perspiration, rested together on the bed. Their paths had been set by destiny to cross here, and there was nothing that could pull them apart.
Hisao couldn’t contain his disbelief. Here, now, he was with his lover. This was really happening, not a dream, not a fantasy. Beneath him, his love rested; the shapely thighs, the ample bosom, the well-trimmed beard.
        “Oh… Pasha…” moaned Hisao, still gripped in the throes of their earlier romance. As he looked down at the still trembling form of his paramour, the 18th century Ottoman ruler of Rumelia smiled knowingly back at him.
        “Please… call me Ali.”