Date: Sun, 9 Oct 2016 06:34:43 +0000 (UTC)
From: simon peter <simon23232@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Gypsy Connection

Dear Reader

The names and places in this story are all fictitious.

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simon23232@yahoo.com

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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.