Date: Fri, 20 Jul 2001 23:49:05 +0300
From: Jason <jason24@plovdivcityguide.com>
Subject: Ambush - Part I

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.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The wonderful early spring weather was rapidly giving way to promises of
another typical hot summer here on the Plain of Thrace where a strong tribe
of ancient Thracians had first inhabited this land around the Hebros River.
By the 6th Century B.C., it had become one of the Greek colonies and Homer
chronicled the great wine and multi-petal roses first found in this
area. In the winter of 343-2 B.C. Phillip II, the Greek-educated and
powerful ruler of ancient Macedonia and father of Alexander The Great, had
transformed the Thracian town into a fortified city with splendid public
works and a stadium, then permitted it to carry his name.

Today this land is called Bulgaria, the quiet river is known as the Maritsa
and the modern city is known as Plovdiv.  The walls of that ancient city
remain and Philip's stadium is now restored as the Philipoppolis
Ampitheatre; a cultural center hosting varied dramatic and operatic
presentations on warm summer evenings.  The region is still a noted
production center of great wines and the famous rose attar is sold around
the world, used in the production of perfumes.

The fertile land surrounding our city is planted every spring and produces
lush crops of almost every vegetable, melon or fruit imaginable.  Some of
this crop is transported to other parts of Bulgaria or is exported to
surrounding countries for sale, but the best and freshest is always found
at any of the several "green grocer" open markets which are tucked into
parts of our city.  The largest one is the Chetvertuk Pazar, the one
closest to my apartment.  You may recall that was where I had met Mitko.
His was the first story of my adventures in Plovdiv which I chose to share
with readers of the Nifty Archive.  Nearly two months had passed since that
fondly-remembered Sunday afternoon and today I had ventured alone into a
different section of the city's central area, in the area below the antique
ampitheatre, and just one street away from the major thoroughfare named
after Czar Boris III Obedinitel.  Here was another open market, Ponedelnik
Pazar (Monday Market); you might actually prefer to call it a bazaar as the
many open-air stands have a nice selection of not just fresh vegetables and
fruit, but also apparel, trinkets and various personal and household
products.

But I'll get right to the point: I wasn't out shopping for any of these
things today; I was people-watching and was intent upon doing it alone,
away from any of my known Bulgarian friends. Earlier this morning, I had
caught a glimpse of a few of the people I knew and carefully calculated
that my path did not intersect with theirs.  I wanted to move today at my
own slow, deliberate pace, taking the time to inspect not only each stand
but also any interesting person or people who happened to catch my eye.
This part of the city was only a bit strange to me.  It was close enough to
the Plovdiv Old Town that one only needed to glance upward to see at least
part of the Renaissance city that had been preserved there.  The culture at
this market was more mixed than in my own neighborhood, which seemed to
have a large number of older residents.  In an earlier visit here last
winter, I had first noticed the many different types of people.  And since
I am a true "people watcher", this is what brought me back today.

There were more young people here, a number of Turkish, and some whose
culture I could not readily identify ... and yes, indeed there were a large
number of those wonderfully-mysterious Roma people ... the Gypsy!  An
entire neighborhood of gypsies had settled in this area and the gypsy
children had adopted a nearby ancient ruins as their playground.  Some
lived in make-shift dwellings on the almost-wilderness side of the hill
known as Jambaz Tepe.  It is the southeast and largest of the three hills
which comprise Plovdiv Old Town.  It was from here that these gypsy people
would begin their day of work, cleaning the gardens, streets and sidewalks
in the central part of the city.  While usually the women were seen at work
with brooms sweeping along, you would also see some of the men at various
odd jobs of whatever they could find to earn a little money for the day.
Some would wash the cars of shop owners downtown or just run errands,
moving things from place to place.  A few had real jobs, working as
construction laborers at the many perpetual renovation projects which
seemed underway at any given time of the year.  A few had small stands at
these open markets, others just sold from the sidewalks, probably without a
license.

I had hopes of seeing Mitko again but had no idea where he lived with his
family. probably he lived in another gypsy settlement closer to my
apartment.  I still wore the wristwatch I had bought from him and I will
admit that every time I went to the market in my neighborhood I still look
for him.  But today I had come across town and was anxious to explore here.
The first stand in the long row offered jars of honey and packets of bee
dust, a product collected from pollen laden bees with a special device
placed at the entrance of the hive that brushes the material from their
hind legs. Bee dust contains the essence of every plant from which bees
collect pollen and it is a perfect food, very rich in vitamins and
minerals. Bee pollen is a popular nutritional supplement that builds the
immune system and provides energy for the entire body. It is also said to
increase hormone levels and sexual strength.  The jars of honey were varied
in color from a light golden to a very thick dark reddish-brown.  Some also
contained an intact segment of natural honeycomb.  The most popular honey I
recall in the USA was produced from clover; in Bulgaria the most common is
a wonderfully aromatic honey produced from the abundant spruce trees.  Many
here start the day with a spoon of either honey or bee dust and a glass of
water.  I had a half-full jar of honey at home and did not cherish the
thought of burdening myself with heavy or bulky purchases early in the day,
so I smiled at the lady who operated this stand and moved on to the next.

Here were some beautiful handcrafted items; carved and painted wooden
containers, icons and small wall hangings.  There was nothing I needed at
all from here, although the well-tanned and slim young Bulgarian man who
seemed to own the shop told me that he had personally hand made every item
he sold.  I congratulated him on being able to imagine and create such
wonderful things and smiled to myself as I wondered what other magic those
strong brown hands might be capable of doing.  He smiled, shook his head
and exclaimed "Molya!" (translation: please do!) when I told him I would
try to return before the end of the day and I started to move to the next
stand offering both fresh and dried herbs and spices.

At the first glance, my attention was fully arrested by the seller at the
stand.  Not once but several times I looked back at the guy with the
handcrafts, then again at the guy selling the herbs and spices, at first
seeing smiles, then laughter.  It was as if there was somehow a mirror;
these two were not just identical twins, they looked like exact duplicates
of each other.  I guessed they were in their late 20's ... in every detail
of appearance there was only duplication. They wore identical light-brown
shirts, the top two buttons not fastened and the exact same tuft of thick
dark-brown hair peeking out from their chests.  >From the appearance of the
shadow of a beard on their faces it looked as if they had shaved last
evening and it seemed the exact same lock of hair was out of place, falling
over their left brow and seemed to accent the steel-blue eyes of each boy.

The young man who had just spoken to me undoubtedly realized my
astonishment and, without need, explained that they were twin brothers.  "I
am named Ilian," he said, "and my brother is Simian".  Now it was my turn
to smile, clasping first the hand of one, then the other in greeting.  I
will leave it to you to only imagine my thoughts of the possible pleasures
which could be realized from two such handsome guys.

It's enough to make one's head spin.  I am terrible about remembering
names, especially unusual Bulgarian ones.  Still trying to gather my wits,
my eyes shifted away from the boys and I began to inspect the packages of
herbs and spices on display at the stand.  There was the fine powder of the
deep red dried sweet pepper that is quite similar to paprika, packages of a
more coarse ground red pepper which I knew was quite hot.  In Bulgaria, we
have one spice which I have found no other place.  Chubritsa (pronounced
like shoo-BRIT-za) is said to grow only in Bulgaria.  Each year, the crop
is harvested and dried as with its Mediterranean cousin, Oregano.  We
sprinkle it on fresh bread and salads, add it as the final ingredient in
soups, and in general always use it with anything made using tomato.  The
aroma of pizza baking with Chubritsa is just great.  I have thought of
finding some way to export it to the United States, but that's beyond my
capabilities.  My thoughts at the moment were perhaps more about how to
export Ilian and Simian to a more suitable place where we could somehow get
more acquainted.

Activity at the market was beginning to pick up, it was now about 10
A.M. and we could feel the heat from the bright sun.  I had worn shorts and
T-shirt today, not thinking how hot the sun might become.  I knew that if I
spent the entire day out in the sun, tomorrow I would be as red as some of
tomatoes being unloaded at the surrounding stands.  Without making a
purchase, I moved on toward an area that was shaded by several large linden
trees.  Here there were stands selling fresh cut flowers of many varieties
including long stem red roses.  The sellers misted the flowers frequently
to prevent them from wilting as the day warmed and the humidity in the area
was pretty intense.  I stepped out of the way of a bunch of young gypsy
children who ran laughing through the market.  I was continually checking
my pockets to be sure the little cash I carried was still there. Further
ahead was a small cafe with tables and umbrellas set so you could watch the
activity at the market and enjoy a coffee, and I decided to do just that.

I ordered a "double coffee" and a juice, then took the plastic cups to one
of the tables, from where I could sit and look down the street and see
Ilian and Simian's stands.  From behind me, a man passed by in a hurry,
heading down the street.  He stopped at the handcraft stand where I knew
Ilian was waiting for customers.  When he turned to talk to Simian, I could
see his face; it was Mitko, my gypsy friend!  He was smiling, laughing and
talking in an animated way, then turned his head more, probably to talk
with Simian and it was then that he looked up the street and saw me.

"Jason!" I heard him yell ... then he turned and quickly walked away from
Ilian and Simian, stopped for a moment half way, then continued toward me.
In his hand he held a single wide-open yellow rose.  Mitko smiled, handed
it to me and in Bulgarian said "For you, my very special American friend!"
I stood and took the flower he offered, and asked if he wanted a coffee.
He shook his head affirmative and said "Also for my friends."  I was
confused by the plural and told him "Imam" (I have), thinking he wanted me
to have another.  I guess Mitko realized my confusion and, pointing toward
the twins, asked for three coffees.  Now I fully understood and realized
that Mitko could easily be the way to make connection with these Bulgarian
twins and now it seemed apparent they were also gypsies, as Bulgarians do
not readily associate with Roma people.

"Hi-de-bay!" Mitko cajoled ("Come on, let's go, man!") and with the cups of
coffee, we worked our way down the street to the twins.  Not realizing we
had met already, Mitko made introductions.  The boys looked quizzically at
Mitko, probably not understanding how we were acquainted.  "Special
friend", Mito said smiling, "as you."  And everyone laughed at once in
complete understanding.  With two easy words and his special smile, Mitko
had broken the ice.  We three passed the remainder of the morning easily.
The market was not extremely crowded on this day, but there was some
constant flow of people around.  I learned to enjoy the word games these
guys each played, as they talked amongst themselves.  In English, we say
"innuendo" ... innocent-enough phrases that attract no attention unless one
is "tuned-in".  It was past lunch time and when everyone agreed we were a
bit hungry, I handed Mitko a little money and suggested he go up the street
to buy sandwiches and drinks for us all.

When Mitko returned, we enjoyed our sandwiches in-between taking time to
greet a few customers who stopped at the boy's stands.  Between them, there
was some laughter and lots of conversation I did not understand, but I
heard enough "Oooo's" and "Ahh's and even noticed some re-adjustment of
crotches to know that Mitko was sharing our experience of several months
ago.  I began to fidget and looked around to find some way to pass the
remainder of the day.  I knew there was a public water-closet at the end of
the street, and the glasses of juice, coffee and the soda we shared with
our lunch was beginning to signal a need for release.  I got Mitko's
attention, pointed up the street and said "Toiletta".  He shook his head in
assent, "We go!" he announced to Ilian and Simian.  I had expected to go
alone, but Mitko came along with me and Ilian had left his stand of
handcrafts to the charge of his brother and followed along behind us.

I wasn't too pleased with this, as I don't care for casual sex in the water
closets or in the bushes on the hills as so many others seem to prefer here
and I hoped there would be a line of people waiting their turn.  During our
lunch and the conversation, I had time to observe the demeanor of both
these boys and found them both to be quick-witted and evenly matched with
reactions and personality.  It would, indeed, be a challenge to choose one
over the other, and I felt some pity for any girl who would eventually
marry either of the twins.

At the corner where the water closet is found, I glanced up at the old
church building on the side of the hill, maybe for a quick silent prayer,
and I went inside with the two gypsy boys.  I stepped up to the urinal
first, Mitko and Ilian silently waiting their turn.  As I finished and
shook away the last the last drop of urine, Ilian stepped up to the urinal,
even before I had put away my cock.  He looked down and a little smile
crossed his face. I noticed as he pulled out his own dark brown cock that
it was a good size and seemed to be partially erect.

Mitko put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me back toward him, turning me
so we faced one another.  "Good to see you," he smiled, putting a hand on
my cock and placing a gentle peck on my cheek.  "And you, Mitko," I said.
He quickly unbuttoned his fly and I reached inside for his cock, willing
that no one else should enter at this moment, because there would certainly
be a lot of embarrassment.  Ilian had finished his business and turned to
watch us, stroking his own now fully erect cock, which I estimated to be
about 20 cm ... only a little larger than Mitko or myself.  I reached for
it ... holding Mitko in one hand, Ilian in the other and both boys with
their hands on me.

At that moment, there was a noise, some children's voices from outside, and
the three of us startled.  Obviously, these guys were as jumpy as I was and
I removed their hands from me, forced my cock inside my shorts and zipped
up. "Po kuchno!" (later!) I advised and both seemed not surprised or
terribly disappointed.  Then, just as Ilian and myself stepped outside, a
Bulgarian man with his two small sons walked in.  They saw Mitko at the
urinal and came back outside to wait impatiently.  A minute later, Mitko,
smiling as usual, joined us.  There was an open water tap just before the
cafe, where the flower sellers would fill their watering cans and we made a
quick stop there to wash and take a drink.

The afternoon was still early and I had several hours before the boys would
want to close their stands.  As we walked back toward the market, we passed
an older Bulgarian man sitting on a bench and he raised his hand to stop
me.  He showed me the contents of the bag beside him: scissors, comb, hair
trimmer, a brush and large cloth.  "Podstrigvane - Edin Leva!"  he said.  A
haircut for 45-cents American?  Right here on the street?  "They'll never
believe this back home," I thought. He had the tools and I all I could
think was "Well, why not?" So I sat down on the bench while he tossed a
cover on me to keep the hair trimmings off my clothes and after 45-minutes
I had received a very decent haircut - at a fraction of the price even in a
hair salon here in Bulgaria. And right there on the side of the street!  It
seemed almost like having the barber come to you!  Mitko had waited
patiently, offering suggestions to the barber as he trimmed and it was
Mitko who reached for the brush when the old gentleman stepped aside for a
final look at his work.

Both he and Mitko gave a "Thumbs Up!" sign (it seems strange how universal
some things have become) and I stood, handed the old man a 2-Leva bill and
motioned for him to keep the extra Leva.

Simian had passed by us, making his way up the street to the water closet
and had long ago returned to his stand of herbs and spices. The end of the
afternoon was now close at hand and as I remembered our short interlude
after lunch, I now wanted to hurry and buy a few things to take back to the
apartment.  With Mitko again comfortably at my side, I stopped to buy a
kilogram of those fresh deep red tomatoes, a half kilogram of green peppers
and a half kilogram of the little red/yellow plums that are great for
snacking out of hand.  Coming to the spices at Simian's stand, I paid him
for a small package of dried chubritsa and finally, from Ilian, I picked up
a small wooden whistle that he had made.  It had several holes which you
could cover with your fingertips to change the pitch of the whistle and
could make music.  Perhaps some fantasy might also cross your mind, as it
did mine, of the symbolism of making music on this young man's handmade
whistle.

All around us the people were beginning to close their stands and I knew it
was now up to me.  I wasn't at all familiar with the expected formalities
of asking Simian, Ilian and Mitko to my apartment, so I chose the "gentle"
approach.  I mentioned that now I wanted to go home for a beer and a
sandwich and that I would feel better if I had some company on the long
walk home.  Happily, all three immediately agreed at once and Mitko picked
up the plastic bags with the things I had bought and this odd-looking
quartet struck out across the city.  We walked, joking and laughing, past
the Djumaya Mosque, built in 1423 and one of the oldest Ottoman worship
buildings still preserved on the entire Balkan peninsula. This widely-noted
Plovdiv landmark is nearly at the center of the city. Its 23 meter high
minaret decorated with zigzag lines rises from the Northeastern corner of
the mosque, while diagonally, in the Southeastern corner, there is an
ancient sun-dial. Ahead of us off to the left was the open market where
Mitko and I had first met, but we walked straight ahead down Street 6
Septemvri.  As we passed the little food shop closest to my apartment, I
handed Simian (or was it Ilian?) a Leva and asked him to see if they still
had a loaf of bread.  He caught up with us a minute later, smiling, holding
a loaf in his hands and gave me the change.  I unlocked the downstairs door
and the guys waited while I locked the door behind us.  "Come on, let's see
if that beer is cold," I said as I led the way up three flights of stairs
to the apartment.

Maybe I include too many details, but this story became much longer than I
intended and I have decided to break it into two parts.  But actually, it
does honestly represent activities over the better part of an entire day,
soon to become a long and happily-eventful night.  Part two of "Ambush"
will be posted in just a few days ... don't worry. And my thanks to Tom
from England who read the first two of these stories and decided that
Plovdiv sounded like a nice city to visit.  We enjoyed dinner and several
coffee dates together and he left, agreeing with me that Plovdiv is a city
to love.

This story was inspired, in part, by reader suggestions.  If you enjoyed
it, let me know.  Better still, I always welcome suggestions of how to
continue stories of my adventures here in Plovdiv, Bulgaria.  You can read
about Plovdiv and see some of the sights of this ancient city at
www.plovdivcityguide.com. Your thoughts and ideas are always welcome at
jason24@plovdivcityguide.com.