Warning: This story contains graphic sex between adult males. If you are under the age of 18 or your country or state does not allow this sort of literature to be read please read no further. If you are offended by sex between adult males or have other prejudices, please leave now. Otherwise, enjoy the story and remember that it is at least partly a work of fiction. You decide which part. If you have any comments or suggestions don't hesitate to e-mail me: jason34@plovdivcityguide.com.
Yep, I'm a pushover for the tall, dark handsome ones. Maybe this is one reason why I packed up a full suitcase of clothes one cold, dreary December day in Kansas City and boarded a flight to Europe; final destination Plovdiv, Bulgaria.
This country wasn't really new to me because I had found friends there years ago and had maintained contact, even helping one young man to visit the USA for several months. In return, I spent 10 wonderful days visiting him, his parents and handsome brother in Varna, on the Black Sea coast. Bulgaria had been no great surprise to me. I knew it was a poor country, but had not imagined how sincere and hard working any people could be. The fresh outlook on life and wonderful scenery (both the natural and masculine human variety) was the opportunity I had always wanted. Some months later, I had sold my home-based Internet business and prepared for a complete change in my life.
I've now been in Plovdiv for more than a year, seen the seasons come and go, learned the Cyrillic alphabet and am able to read and speak enough Bulgarian to get by. I have even been able to easily adopt the Bulgarian head movements ... up and down for "no" ... side to side for "yes". The first winter I was here, it was cold. Extremely cold! We had ice from January 1 until March 21. The springtime was beautiful; summer was hot and dry; almost parching. Autumn's ripening grapes, figs, apples and pears filled the air with a heavenly sweet aroma.
Now, another winter had come and passed, this one not at all so cold and it seemed that spring came a bit early. Before the end of April, we were wearing short-sleeved shirts and cutoffs, even if there was a cool breeze blowing off the nearby snow-covered mountains. And this was the day I met Mitko. Very early this Sunday afternoon I realized I needed fresh tomatoes and some new baby potatoes. I put a few coins in my pocket and headed to the big open market, called Chetvertyk Pazar (Thursday Market), which is quite near my apartment in Plovdiv's central area. One learns quickly not to carry more cash than necessary; pick-pockets are common wherever there are crowds of people, whether you're in Kansas City or London and these in Bulgaria seem to be the most clever of all. So I made it a habit to carry only what would be needed just to eliminate the possibility of falling as a serious victim.
Locking the apartment door behind me, the street seemed deserted. This is not unusual for any Sunday afternoon in the cities here in Bulgaria. Many people keep their weekend homes in the surrounding villages and live in the city only during the workdays. As I walked around the corner and the open-air market came into view, it was apparent that I was not the only one with a quick, last- minute shopping list. There were a number of people; young couples, older ladies and men, even a few of these dark-haired handsome Bulgarian boys carrying shopping bags with a few green onions (or perhaps it was fresh green stalks of garlic), tomatoes, potatoes, cabbages or some fresh fruits. I had stepped aside for a moment to let a crowd of people who seemed to be all members of some large family pass by when I saw him.
"Him" was a strong-looking dark-skinned and quite handsome young man whom I guessed to be about 30 years of age. He wasn't especially thin as many of these boys seem to be, but was fully developed with a powerful-looking chest and strong arms. His clothes were neat; not dirty but not clean and new, he had perhaps one day's growth of beard and his hair really needed combing. I began to melt. He was in an earnest conversation with some older man and I realized this guy was a gypsy, trying to sell the wristwatch he was holding out to the man. The man nodded a sharp "No!" and walked away. I was the next target, and the guy approached me, began to speak quickly in Bulgarian, holding out a beautiful gold watch with a jade-colored face. He reached for my hand so he could let me examine the watch. I smiled, said "imam" (I have) and my heart nearly broke as this handsome face suddenly turned into a sad one when he looked on my arm and saw that indeed I already wore a wristwatch.
He lifted my hand to examine my watch more closely. In the back of my mind I know that I wondered if he would try to slip it off. Thinking quickly, I explained that I was American, spoke very little Bulgarian; that my name was Jason and extended my hand to his in greeting. By clasping my hand with his, it was no longer on my arm, and as his dark brown eyes met mine, he managed a smile and said his name was Mitko. He explained (more in gesture than in words) that there was a small baby at home and he needed money to buy milk. He held the wristwatch beside mine and offered it to me for five Leva ($2.50 in US dollars). I reached into my pocket and showed that I had only a few coins. Again that sad, pained look on his face and I felt surely that this strong man would show tears, but I felt just as certain that perhaps he was only staging a performance for my benefit.
Just then, some very young, dirty gypsy child with an equally dirty dog on a length of thin rope came up to me with his hand extended. Mitko looked as if he would strike the child and pushed him away with a sharp tone of voice, perhaps in the gypsy Roma tongue, and the boy promptly ran off into the crowd with his dog in tow. Now, turning back to me, Mitko offered the watch for three Leva. I didn't need the watch as much as I thought I wanted to prolong this contact with Mitko, so I agreed to pay the three Leva price.
My money, I explained was back in my apartment and he would have to wait while I went back to fetch the money. "No problem," he smiled. "I will help you shop. What do you need to buy?" So with Mitko at my side, we wandered the crowded open market, choosing a half-kilogram of red-ripe, juicy tomatoes. He seemed distressed that I was selecting the smaller new potatoes, and I as tried to explain that these were easier to cook and had a sweeter flavor, he shook his head as if he understood and smiled again as our eyes locked. I didn't understand the seller as she told me the price for the potatoes (ninety-six Stotinki) and held out the few coins I had left. Mitko took them, counted out the money to the seller and handed the remainder back to me. I put them in his hand and was rewarded by another of his warm smiles and he pocketed the coins.
"I carry for you", Mitko said, taking both bags from me. "Well, if I lose these I can buy more" I thought to myself and agreed to let him. After all, if he was carrying my purchases, his hands couldn't be slipping off my watch off my arm, but by this time I was feeling more comfortable with my new-found friend and we began the walk back to my apartment with little conversation. There was only enough for him to understand that I lived alone in an apartment and had some work on computers. I smiled to myself as I recalled the stories I had read on Nifty about bag boys in the grocery stores and wondered how I could successfully convince this young man to spend some extra time after we finished the deal on the watch. It took only about 10 minutes to arrive at the front door of the apartment building and I fished the door key from my pocket. As I opened the door, Mitko held out the bags to me and indicated that he would wait outside. My heart sank, expectations flew away with the breeze. But I remembered that normally the gypsies who wash the storekeeper's cars in the downtown shopping area would not go into the stores, but would wait at the door for their payment, rather than cause concern if they went into the shops. "Well", I thought, "it's certainly worth a try...." and I nodded my head "No", for him to come in, that it would be ok.
There was a puzzled look, a moment's hesitation, then that now-familiar warm smile crossed his face again and he stepped inside with me in the lead. I re- locked the building's door behind us, then up one, two, three flights of steps we went, Mitko just a few steps behind me. "Is he watching my ass and thinking what I am thinking?" I wondered. Suddenly I was glad I had worn these old tight- fitting cut-off jeans. At the door to my apartment we stopped while I turned the locks. Mitko put the bags on the floor of the entryway and slipped off his shoes, a pair of old, worn sneakers. I picked up the bags and carried them to the kitchen and remembered I had left the coffeepot turned on. "Kafe?" I asked with a smile. He looked a bit surprised (most Bulgarians show only disdain for gypsies) then shook his head in agreement. I told him to sit down at the table and brought two cups of steaming hot, strong black coffee to the table, then set out two glasses and a liter of fresh orange juice. There happened to be a 5 Leva note on the table at my side and as I sat down next to Mitko, I handed the bill to him. "I don't have change", he told me. This time, it was my turn to smile and say "No problem!"
I remembered my digital camera which had been used earlier in the day as I walked through the center of town taking some photos of the buildings along Plovdiv's main street and wondered how he would react to having his picture taken. A picture, at the minimum, would be evidence for the police if something happened to me, or any of my property. There was an empty disk already in the camera and I reached over to pick it up. Mitko watched, grinned and asked "Kamera?" I replied in the affirmative, turned it on and took his photo, then showed him the playback on the camera's screen. "Offfffffffffff!" he exclaimed (a simple Bulgarian phrase which conveys surprise, disappointment or other emotion, depending upon the tone of voice) and he ran a hand through his disheveled head of dark black hair. Wait a moment ... this guy was actually concerned for his appearance?
I had been through one experience here, with a guy named Krassimir, who spent so much time in front of a mirror that we nick-named him "Krassimirror" and did not care to relive the frustration of a partner who was more concerned with himself than anything else. So I tried to re-assure Mitko, roughing his hair just a bit and telling him that he was a good-looking man. Mitko laughed , "A ti!" (and you) and put his hand to my thigh. I liked where this was going. We sat in a friendly silence for a few moments, probably both of us thinking over our mutual lack of adequate language skills, sipping at our coffee and orange juice. I became aware of a "tenting problem" in my shorts, but wanted to see just exactly where this would go and made no effort to hide my arousal. If he wanted to see....
Sure enough, as if on cue, Mitko asked if I was married. I quietly said "No," with a nod of my head. Again, silence, but it seemed there was a little increase in pressure from Mitko's hand still resting on my thigh, inches away from my now- rapidly growing erection. "No, I am not married," I repeated, "but I have some friends and we help each other with some problems..." and I put my hand on top of his. There! Certainly now if Mitko if had any inclination to be "friendly" he would definitely rise to the occasion. "Ah", he said, "and you help me already with my worst problem", indicating the 5 Leva Bulgarian note in front of him, "and now Mitko can help you." Surely his hand moved upward and rubbed the bulge in my shorts. With a grin, our eyes met and I squeezed his hand, then moved to rub against a rapidly-growing bulge in his pants. With my other hand shaking a bit, I reached under his shirt, found a moderate amount of what I knew was heavy dark black hair and rubbed against his chest. "Mmmm, I like this", he said. "And I", was all I could think to say at the moment. I stood up and pulled Mitko toward me. His aroma was simply that of man ... poor, hard working, plain, simple ordinary man.
Mitko responded by pulling me closer to him, and started to unbutton his shirt. I pulled off my T and then we were bare-chest to bare-chest. The heavy black hair on Mitko's chest felt soft and exciting as he rubbed it against my nipples. "Come with me" I suggested, and led the way to the bedroom. We sat side-by side on the bed as I removed my cutoffs (I had worn no boxers this day) and Mitko removed his worn pants. He also wore no boxers, and I indicated for him to lay back on the bed. With my left hand I felt his very hard uncut cock and large, heavy balls and my lips found first his left then his right nipple and teased them in turn. Mitko placed a hand on the back of my head, pushing me further down his belly until I could smell the scent of his hot manhood. With my tongue, I bathed his foreskin and felt the tip of his cockhead beginning to emerge. "Mmmmm : very good. I like it", he said. I took his length into my mouth, pushing the heavy foreskin back with my lips and my tongue swirled over the head of it, bathing it all and tasting the precum beginning to flow from its slit as my fingers continued to massage his ballsack. I bent down and began licking his hair-covered balls. Mitko sighed again when I sucked both his nuts into his mouth. He leaned back and closed his eyes. I could not know how much, if any, experience he had with man sex, but I know that when I find something my partner enjoys, I stay with it. I moved alternately between his balls and his cock and I felt him begin to tense. He whispered something which would probably translate almost into "It has been a long time:", and I understood that his married life was probably not so exciting. Everywhere in the world, women just don't know what feels good to a man.
He pulled me up and off his cock and I sensed he was about ready to climax. I let Mitko relax for a bit and caressed his chest, running the fingers of my free hand through the ample hair there. He held me close to him and reached down to feel my own hardness and my balls. As if he realized what I wanted most, with one finger, Mitko began to feel for my hole. I took my hand from his chest, turned to the bed-side stand and found a nearly-empty tube of KY that I had brought with me from the USA and a condom. When I felt his tensions had eased enough, I unwrapped the condom. He grinned again as put it on his steel-hard dark cock then opened the tube of KY and I handed it to him. I lay next to him on my back and indicated to Mitko that he should get up between my legs. "I want to feel you inside me", I told him. He smiled and said "Ok" : the only English word, or phrase, which he seemed to know or felt comfortable enough to use.
He put a hand on my chest, went up on his knees and pushed closer to me, pulling my ass up against him. With the lube on his fingers he spread it around and in my hole and put his cock where his fingers had been moments before. He paused only briefly as I felt him begin to enter me. I pushed against him to make entry easier for us both and in one moment he was fully inside me. I held unmoving only just long enough to savor the intense pressure of this desirable invasion, then reached up to hold both his shoulders and look into his eyes.
Raising my hips, he started to fuck me, gently at first then more assuredly, faster, deeper, harder. Then Mitko began taking me in full; burying his cock deep inside me with each thrust, each one sending me into pure pleasure as I felt his cock fully in my ass, then only to beg for it back again in anticipation as he withdrew. I was thoroughly enjoying the heat and passion of this strong, dark, handsome man inside me and I only wanted more. He gave it to me now in a series of ass pounding thrusts, and his balls slapped against my ass with each one, then shooting his cum deep inside me while I moaned in pleasure and felt myself cumming in response to the pulsing of his cock against my prostate.
Finally he stopped, holding hard against me while he shot a final spurt or two inside me. He looked down and saw the pleasure on my face (and my own cum on my chest) and laughed. "Offffffffffff," he exclaimed, "kasha!" (The Bulgarian word for "mess"). With a finger, he traced a line from the tip of my nose, down my chest, through the puddles and to the head of my now-softening cock. I kept a towel handy at the bedside and Mitko saw it. He wiped away the evidence of our excitement, then I felt his cock withdraw, leaving me empty. He pulled off the now well-used condom and left it on the far side of the bed along with the towel.
We lay back together on the bed for a few minutes, curled against each other, our hearts regaining their normal beats and ourselves gathering the desire to move on with our lives. During those moments, I regretted that I did not have the language skills to tell him how much I had enjoyed this time together and how I wished there was some way to make this afternoon last much longer. But I knew that even for this short time, this man realized how it felt to have the worries and burdens of his difficult life set aside and I hoped he would happily remember this brief encounter. Mitko held me close again, then said he must leave. We dressed together and lingered for another bare-chest hug before putting on our shirts and going back to finish our now-cold coffee and juice. I put the 5 Leva note in Mitko's hand and he reached into his pocket and held out the watch to me. I took off the one I wore, shoved it into a pocket of my shorts, then held out the arm to Mitko. He smiled again, and in understanding, he slipped the watch over my hand. "Now I go", he said. Unlocking the apartment door and taking the keys I walked down the steps at his side. I unlocked the front door and Mitko stepped outside into the empty street.
If you enjoyed this, let me know. Better still, I would welcome suggestions of how to continue stories of my adventures here in Plovdiv, Bulgaria. You can read about Plovdiv and see some photos of the sights from this ancient city at www.plovdivcityguide.com. Your thoughts and ideas are always welcome at jason24@plovdivcityguide.com.