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Simon
The Gypsy Connection
By Simon Peter
Ken was totally excited. Finally, he graduated with a BA in advertising, and he was planning for the break of his dreams. He had a variety of options. Money was not a problem for him. During his second year in college, he had submitted an advertising assignment for one of his courses. He had received an A for it and had been gladly surprised when his professor told him that an advertising agency was interested in using his work, if he accepted. It had been his first "employment," so to speak. The two thousand dollars he had received for the rights to use his assignment had given him much confidence.
The same agency had later contacted him for more work. Since then, Ken was able to accumulate an impressive bank account, something around twenty thousand dollars, after he paid his college tuition and his living expenses.
Ken went online for destinations. He wasn't interested in visiting the popular touristic spots. His dream destination was Europe, but not places like Vienna or Venice. He was thinking that somewhere in East Europe would be interesting for him. He didn't have any specific place in mind, so his decision was to backpack his way through that part of the world. He had considered gay-friendly places like Ibiza or Mykonos, but he wasn't planning to start a relationship, not after he had broken with Jimmy. Ken wanted to discover new things.
The average-looking 22-year old grad was gay. Although he kept himself fit, he was not a male model.
Wearing eyeglasses, standing at 5' 9", weighing just over 160 pounds, Ken was someone you would look at and think, "nice kid," and walk on.
Ken sat on the edge of his bed, in his pajama bottom, naked torso, bare feet-the way he enjoyed lounging around whenever he was in his small apartment-and studied the various brochures he had collected. He could easily get online for information, but for him the printed material was more enticing, more "personal." He flipped through the brochures advertising East European countries.
What drew his attention the most was Hungary and Romania. Although in Europe, they were not characterized by crowdedness and concrete. He thought that the rustic nature of these countries should be an experience not to be missed.
Ken would fly to Frankfurt in Germany, and from there foot it down Eastern Europe. A short stop in Prague, maybe, but he would snake his way down to Hungary and see what developed.
Two weeks later, as he trekked down East Europe from Germany, Ken experienced some kind of euphoria of cultural infusion. From the scenery to the food to the people to the folklore displays and markets, the variety and richness filled him with excitement. When he finally made his way to Budapest, he decided to spend some more time there and discover more about the rich culture that he was being exposed to.
He sought out a cheap pension house near downtown Budapest. Walking the streets of this old city which he was told had been two cities, buda and pest, Ken marveled at the richness of the heritage still existing in this part of the world. He would follow groups of tourists led by guides and listen in on the explanations and background information which the guides shouted out.
However, today, Ken was more interested in the guide rather than in what the guide was saying. Like the other guides that Ken followed, this one was spewing all kinds of information about the buildings, the churches, the streets, and so on. But what was different today was that the guide was exceptionally good-looking. Ken examined this young Hungarian. Something about him which Ken couldn't put a finger to made him look not only handsome but mysterious. Mysterious? To Ken, the guide exuded an aura of male sensuality that reached deep into Ken's consciousness. Unexplainable, but there, nevertheless.
Was it because Ken hadn't been laid for quite some time that he found himself so attracted to the young guide? Ken wished that he could explain the affinity he was feeling toward that man. He felt attracted like a magnet to him. Ken couldn't take his eyes away. The face, the physique, the movements, all of which, to a bystander, would probably appear appealing, but not necessarily heart- throbbing. But what Ken saw was much deeper than an outsider. Ken somehow saw beyond the outward looks.
The young guide was probably in his early twenties. He was taller than Ken, perhaps 6 feet tall, lean and fit, probably because of all the walking he had to do as a guide. He had a beard. Most young men were now growing beards but Ken was not one of them. He was clean shaven. But this guy's beard was extremely sexy, rugged-looking, accentuating his dark skin, darker than the men Ken had seen as he backpacked his way down to Budapest. The lips, however, were full and red, and the eyes were black and deep. Intense. Almost erotic.
The guide was wearing an embroidered black vest, buttoned half-way down a bare chest, silky- smooth, dark-skinned, and glistening. Ken thought that perhaps this was some kind of gambit to lure the ladies in the groups to increase tips. It was sexy without being too vulgar. The outfit also had a wide sort of cloth belt, red, tied at the side of his waist, dangling over loose, black, folkloric-looking pants, also embroidered. In spite of the looseness, Ken could detect a nice bulging crotch. Ken sighed.
Yes, Ken, reflected as he followed the tourists, his eyes glued at the hot Hungarian guide. Could the young man be a gypsy? A Romani as the locals called gypsies? To Ken, gypsy translated to hot, fearsome, and erotic. He just wasn't able to tear his eyes away from the man. A few times, the guide caught Ken staring, and Ken's heart raced in response. Was that a smile? Maybe a wink?
Yea, yea, Ken, dream on.
When the tour came to an end, and after the tourists greeted their guide goodbye, tips passing from hand to hand, Ken approached with a ten-dollar bill, his whole body tingling.
The young guide stared at Ken, intensely, no smile, but no frown either. Ken felt dizzy as he pressed the ten-dollar bill into the guide's hand. The guide appeared to take the money, but did not release Ken's hand. What? Was this Hungarian pressing on his hand? Why wouldn't he release his grip?
Astonished, Ken pulled his hand out of the guide's grasp noticing the ten-dollar bill still in his now- sweating palm. He looked questioningly up at the handsome, dark face.
"You are not one of the group," the Hungarian said, his voice low and rich.
"I'm sorry," Ken stammered. "I didn't think it would be a problem."
"Oh. No problem," came the answer, now with a touch of a smile. "No problem at all."
"Then why won't you accept my tip?" Ken asked, staring at the deep, dark eyes, almost feeling as if he were at the tip of a deep chasm, ready to fall into nothingness.
"A beer would be better, I would say," the Hungarian said, a touch of a smile on his mysterious rugged face.
Ken couldn't agree more. He hoped that the trembling throughout his body didn't show, and that the sweat drops under his arms didn't stain his shirt. He didn't want to wonder why the Hungarian had suggested the drink instead of the tip. Had the guy noticed Ken's interest in him, that it wasn't really an interest in what he had been telling the tourists, but a different kind of interest? Was Ken's gayness written all over his forehead? Otherwise, the guide's suggestion for a beer didn't make any sense, did it? It couldn't have been just friendliness, the Hungarian playing a gracious host to the young tourist, could it?
"You will have to suggest a place," Ken heard himself say over the pounding of his heart, as they walked side by side on the cobble-stoned street. He felt heat emanating from the body of the young guide walking beside him, heat inexorably attracting him like a magnet. He had to force himself from the urge to wrap his arm around the hot Hungarian's waist.
"Your first time in Budapest?" the guide asked. "By the way, I'm Brishel," he added, extending his hand.
Ken felt the grip a second time. "Kenneth. Ken," he responded, not pulling his hand away this time, currents of electricity streaming throughout his body.
The Hungarian's grip was firm. Ken felt Brishel's thumb rubbing on his hand. His mind reeled. This man, met only minutes ago, was making advances to him. If he had been a woman, it would have been understandable. Brishel looked every inch a man's man, all masculine, all straight-looking and acting, all testosterone. To a woman, he could be a gigolo, looking for a good lay and a wad of money. But to Ken? What?
Ken felt shivers run throughout his body. He pressed back on the sexy guy's hand, communicating his acceptance of the forward gesture. Seconds later, the Hungarian broke his grip. He led the way, striding lankily, sexily, alongside the young and shaking Ken. Even now, Ken could not make out the intentions of this Hungarian. He gave up on logical explanations, responding to the need he felt under his nuts and in the pit of his stomach.
The bar was in one of the side streets, small, darkly-lit, not very crowded. The barman seemed to know Brishel, as he greeted them and pointed to a booth along the far corner from the entrance.
"Two beers, Milosh, please," Brishel told the barman. "Kenneth? Would you like a man's beer?"
Milosh, the barman, smiled, waiting.
"Huh?" Ken said, his mouth remaining open. What the fuck was a man's beer. Of course, he wasn't going to say he wanted a woman's beer! He nodded his head.
"Soproni," Brishel told Milosh, who immediately took out two bottles of Hungarian beer and poured them into glasses.
With a big smile on his face, Brishel took the two frosted glasses as Ken placed his ten dollars on the counter, still speechless, trying to figure out what the Hungarian meant by a man's beer.
"A man's beer," Brishel explained as he slid into the bench behind the round table, placing the glasses on the table and motioning for Ken to join him on the bench, "is 5% strong. Soproni. Best Hungarian beer, 5% strong. Do you think you can handle a man's beer, Kenneth?"
Ken was not much of an alcohol person. But as he sat beside this hunk of a man, he knew that he would drink the devil's poison if that was what it took to get into the sexy pants next to him.
Ken sipped. The beer was heavenly. Ken's scorched throat welcomed the icy fermented liquid. The beer tasted delicious, a bit stronger than the one he was used to, but delicious.
"Good, huh?" Brishel said, wiping foam off his full lips with the back of his hand, and then placing it on Ken's thigh, not as if by accident, but meaningfully.
Instinctively, Ken dropped his own hand on top of the Hungarian's, pressing. He couldn't trust himself to speak for fear of displaying his shaking voice. But he needed some conversation. He needed to control his shivering body.
"What with the outfit you are wearing, Brishel? Is it for the tourists?" Ken finally managed to ask, now getting more comfortable, his hand still resting on the Hungarian's hand, which in turn rubbed lightly on his thigh.
"Oh, no, Kenneth," Brishel smiled wider, pressing more on Ken's thigh. "This is what I wear every day."
Ken eyed the young guide's exposed chest, the nipples peeking from behind the vest. "Really?
Hungarians wear this every day? I haven't noticed any since I came to Budapest."
Brishel laughed, again this rich, deep, oh-so-fucking-sexy laugh. He rubbed Ken's inner thigh. "I'm Romani."
"Romani? As in gypsy?" Ken had read a little about those people.
Brishel nodded, moving his hand up and down Ken's thigh, reaching further up almost to the crotch, making Ken start to erect.
Nervously, Ken looked around the bar. Milosh was busy, his back towards them, and the other clientele were involved in their own drinks and conversations. Nervously, starting to sweat, Ken moved his hand off Brishel's and placed it on the Hungarian's thigh, also rubbing, also sliding into the inside of the thigh. He felt muscles, man's muscles, hard and rippling.
"Yes," Brishel's voice turned a bit husky as he felt Ken's hand almost at the base of his balls. He cupped Ken's crotch, squeezing on the hardness inside.
Ken moaned, reciprocating by grabbing the gypsy's crotch, feeling the manhood inside the loose pants. He was dying to bend over and lick the smooth chest, the peeking nipples. He ached to be able to gulp down on the Hungarian's tool, sucking. Instead, he just rubbed Brishel's cock, feeling it increasing in shape and hardness under his groping hand.
"Nice," Brishel whispered, leaning and brushing Ken's neck with his lips, grasping the erection inside his jeans, squeezing it playfully. Ken almost exploded. He was shivering and sweating all over. Brishel's erection filled his hand; he was desperate to grab it and stroke it raw.
"Do you have a place we can go to?" Brishel whispered, licking the side of the neck. "I want to make love to you, Kenneth."
Ken melted.
Twenty minutes later, Ken led the sexy Brishel into his room in the pension house.
Two minutes later, the two young men were naked, their erections throbbing.
They fell on each other with hunger: kissing, licking, groping, stroking. Lips and hands and cocks all over each other, rolling on the carpeted floor next to the bed. There was barely enough room, but the way they glued to each other, they didn't need much room.
Carrying Ken in his arms and placing him on his back on the bed, Brishel knelt between Ken's legs and started to finger his ass, his other hand stroking Ken's cock. Brishel was hung, Ken noticed, some 8 uncircumcised inches. Brishel was rock-hard, Ken also noticed, the foreskin already halfway down the pink head. Brishel was horny, preparing Ken, his man rod pointing upwards.
Ken was totally surrendered. His eyes closed, he felt the gypsy's finger working his hole. His cock throbbed inside the palm of the Hungarian, already covered with spit.
As Brishel placed his cockhead at Ken's hole, holding him by the ankles, he said, "Born during a rain."
Ken felt the manhood starting to press against his rim muscle. He opened his eyes.
"Huh?" Did he hear correctly? What was this guy saying? What the fuck was born during a rain? What had a hard erection ready to fuck his ass to do with rain?
Brishel nudged, feeling the rim muscle stretch for him.
"Born during a rain," the Hungarian repeated, his voice coming out husky, urgent, fantastically imperative. He towered above Ken, all manliness, all muscle, all beauty, and urgently pressed to enter the body under him.
"Ahhh," Ken grunted as the hot gypsy's cock head stretched the rim muscle. "Awwww... Easy, Brishel.
Easy, man."
The Hungarian penetrated with a little bit of spit anyway. The ensuing pain was enormous.
"Born during a rain," Brishel repeated, nudged and thrust some more, insistently, sliding halfway inside Ken, forcing his thick rod into the stretched cavity.
"BORN DURING A RAIN!" Brishel grunted as he plunged his eight inches inside Ken's body, heaving, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, his back arching, his hands gripping Ken's ankles with force.
Ken almost fainted. The pain was blazing.
"WHAT THE FUCK, BRISHEL?" he said almost in a scream. "What are you saying? FUCK! Man, Brishel, take it easyyyyy. It fucking hurts. Fucking Brishel. Oh, fuck, it's huge!"
Ken's ass squeezed tight around the Hungarian's cock base, his hands reaching down and holding onto his fucker's butt cheeks, forcing him to remain deeply buried inside him, allowing for his ass hole to accommodate the invading cock, digging his fingernails into the firm, muscled butt cheeks.
"My name," Brishel whispered, sweat dripping down on Ken's bare chest. "Brishel. Means 'born during a rain'. My name. Is. Born. During. A. Rain," he thrust deeper with each word.
Raising Ken's ankles higher, not minding Ken's hands to restrain him from fucking, Brishel pounded.
Hard. Fierce, even. Going faster, repeating "rain" over and over with every thrusting of his pelvis, sending his cock deeper into the fully-stretched ass.
Ken wanted to make Brishel stop. But at the same time, he reveled at the hard fucking he was getting.
He had never been fucked this hard before and the experience helped in somewhat easing the searing pain. Drops of the gypsy's sweat fell on his chest. His ass was on fire as it was plowed with vigor.
With a huge grunt, Brishel froze, his dark eyes almost popping out of his head, as he shot his full nuts inside Ken. Ken felt the invading cock thicken and throb. He didn't feel the squirts that struck his insides, filling him, but he did feel the Brishel's rod getting thicker and harder with each squirt. Brishel's stomach muscles towering over him were taut and glistening with sweat, rippling with each squirt of semen. The hand grips around his ankles felt as if they were going to crush bone.
With a final heave, Brishel dropped on top of Ken. "Dragam! Dragam!" he kept repeating, covering Ken's mouth with his thick lips, his cock flexing inside Ken's burning ass, the two naked bodies slick with sweat and sizzling with sex heat.
"Dragam?" Ken was able to utter between kissing and tonguing, his rim muscle squeezing on the cock still inside him, milking it.
"Darling, dragam, my darling. Oh, Dragam!" Brishel thrust his semi-erect cock deeper into Ken. "I want to fuck you forever, my darling, my dragam."
Wonderingly, Brishel started to regain his erection before sliding out of Ken's squeezing ass. Lying totally on top of Ken, he resumed his fucking, now made easier by the cum he had just unloaded a minute ago. He started slowly, almost gently, pressing his body hard on Ken under him. Ken wrapped his legs around Brishel's waist, pressing, his arms around Brishel's neck, both their mouths open and tongues flicking. Brishel's belly rubbed on Ken's hard cock as he increased his thrusting tempo. Ken felt weak under the hulking, sweating gypsy. It had been more than ten minutes since the hung gypsy eneterd his body and he was still inside, filling him, stretching him, fucking him.
When Ken exploded between their naked bodies, under Brishel's belly rubbing, he felt as if his insides were shooting out of his cock. As soon as Brishel felt the stickiness under his belly, he triggered his second load into Ken. Brishel's squirts seemed to go on for ages, his cock thickening and pulsating with every shoot. Ken's fuck tunnel sucked it all in.
Lying on their backs, naked, covered with sweat and semen, the two young men slowly came down from their ecstatic heights. Brishel's arm was under Ken's neck, holding Ken close to him. Ken felt scorched from the heat emanating from the gypsy's sweaty and naked body pressed at him. He placed his thigh on top of Brishel's crotch, feeling the slimy cock getting soft, but still throbbing.
Ken could not believe his luck. He had just been fucked by the most handsome, hunk gypsy in all of Hungary, fuck, in all of Europe. He glowed in this realization, sticky semen seeping out of his ass onto his thighs.
"Dragam, huh?" Ken said laughingly, replacing his thigh with his hand to hold the Hungarian impressive cock. "So, I'm your darling?"
"Oh, yes, Kenneth," Brishel leaned and kissed Ken's mouth.
"So, what's this about rain?" Ken asked, stroking the manhood rising from the thick, curly black pubic hair, pulling the foreskin up and down the pink, glistening head.
"My father called me Brishel-born during a rain-when I popped out of my mother in the middle of a rain storm."
"Oh," Ken said, fisting the cock harder. "So names have meanings here? What does Milosh mean?"
"Milosh: generous... merciful," Brishel moaned under Ken's ministrations, hardening instantly in the grabbing palm.
"I want to fuck you again, Kenneth. Now. Now, Kenneth. Oh, Dragam, NOW." Brishel was breathing hard, his cock throbbing. "Now, Kenneth. I love you my dragam. I want to go inside you, to fill you with my love, with my cock, with my juice. Baby, I want your ass. NOW!"
Ken was amazed. Brishel seemed insatiable. But he looked so deliciously lustful that even with a sore ass, Ken would never think of refusing.
Ken let go of the now rock-hard cock and flipped over onto his stomach spreading his thighs, raising his butt, willingly offering his ass. In no time, Brishel was inside him, topping him, fucking him, licking his neck, biting on his ear, sweating all over his back, grunting with every thrust.
Ken took the pounding as if he were on another level of existence. The sensations of the manhood delving deeper and deeper into his body was elevating him up to unbelievable plateaus of ecstasy.
Brishel knew how to fuck, that was for sure. He was hitting all the right spots.
Ken's ejaculation shot with force into the mattress under him. This was the second load his nuts emptied without even touching himself. Brishel seeded him a third time, again filling him with hot gypsy juice.
Needless to say, Ken's stay in Budapest was unforgettable. He followed Brishel on his tours every day, never taking his eyes off the gypsy, just like a puppy dog. Brishel rewarded him now and then with a smile or a wink. Once, Brishel even blew him a light kiss over the heads of the touristic crowd and Ken almost died, right there in the middle of a Budapest town square.
The night fucking sessions increased their intensity by a thousand degrees each time. The Hungarian was amazing; Ken was hungrier and hungrier. Every time Brishel's lips touched Ken's, there was electricity in the air. Every time the Romani's cock slid inside Ken, there was lightning and thunder. The two men went at it without tiring, always craving for more.
Tears welling in his eyes, Ken waved goodbye to his beautiful short-time lover as he walked into passport control at Budapest airport.
The tears flooded down his cheeks as the airplane lifted, the ground moving away, receding, getting smaller and smaller. His ass twitched, accentuating the soreness of being fucked over and over for more than a week, and his dick erected in immediate response.
Ken had had his gypsy, born during a rain.