Please note: The fractured use of English by the main female character is deliberate. The proper use of English when she thinks or is speaking to her parents (or anyone else for that matter) is because that dialogue (both ways) is in Bulgarian - her native language.
1
Alan Clarence Murdoch
I hate puddle jumpers. You know, the small feeder aircraft that serve outlying destinations far from major cities. I was stuck in the middle of Bulgaria - god knows where - while our antiquated Antonov AN-24 with its crippled engine was waiting for a replacement part from Sofia. Finally the captain had told us that the part we needed wasn't in Sofia but the airline had sourced one in Moscow. The bad news was it was going to take two or three days to get to us and probably another day to fit it and do an air-test before we could finally carry on to our destination. I looked round and noticed no one seemed happy with this news. I was on a specialist aircraft buying trip so I texted my local contact to inform him I would be delayed. He agreed to contact the owner of the collection I was interested in to see what he wanted to do. He got back to me to say that both he and the owner agreed to wait until I arrived.
The local hotel (if you could call it that) only had four empty rooms and there were nine of us including the two pilots. Two of the passengers were nuns so they were given a room to themselves as were the flight crew. That left five passengers, four men including myself and one woman, to occupy the remaining two rooms. The three men were brothers and spoke no English while the woman spoke English badly but well enough to let me know that even though she had been invited by the nuns to share with them, she had no intention of doing so. Telling me she had turned down their invitation as she had no intention of sharing a room for two or possibly three nights with 'those ---- nuns' as she called them, the blanks being a Bulgarian expletive. It looked like I was going to be sleeping on the floor as she and I would be sharing the last room. Her name was Stoyanka - she gave me no other name - a name she told me later means 'Resolute' in Bulgarian and she certainly lived up to that!
She also told me she was going to the London soon to see the sights and wanted to improve her English a little and hoped I could help with that. She looked in her late twenties or early thirties and tall for a girl, with a dark hair and piercing blue eyes. However, dressed in a high necked blouse under a full tracksuit that had seen better days and with flat shoes and a heavy woollen coat, she looked about as sexy as a cart
horse and I fancied her as about as much.
We found our room and compared to what I was used to it was quite dingy. Whilst clean, it looked exactly what it was, a Soviet era construct. There was a bed, two chairs, a wardrobe and a threadbare carpet. The whole room was lit by a single low wattage light bulb. Still we were only going to sleep in it and at least the bedding was clean.
After we settled in for the night Stoyanka told me me in broken her English that the airstrip we were currently on had been built as a military base sometime in the 1920's and the town had grown up around it. When the Russian Air Force left in the mid 1980's and the Bulgarian forces left ten years later the town started to die as people gradually moved away to Sofia for work. Then she asked if I could talk to her as she needed the practice, knowing lots of words but having problems with conversation. Getting to the city twice a year didn't help and no-one in her village and very few people in her town spoke any English.
I started the 'lesson' with "So, you tell me about you and I will tell you about me."
We talked long into the night, she telling me of her family and early life with me correcting her grammar when she got it wrong. It seems her village is about thirty-five kilometres from Stara Zagora where most of her relatives still live. She moved to that town when she got a job in a pickle factory and is proud to have risen to become a supervisor. She is on her way back from visiting her sister who now lives in Vratsa after giving her the news that their brother is getting married. Strangely her sister seemed reluctant to come to the wedding, saying she would probably be out of the country on business then. When asked about where she was going and why, her sister had got very defensive and clammed up, telling her "You don't want to know."
In return Stoyanka wanted to know about me and why I had come to Bulgaria. I told her I am a divorcee who owns a company that buys props for films and T/V. I explained this buying trip was because of a rumour that at the end of the first world war a Bulgarian Army general had 'purloined' a number of intact German aircraft, looking to get at least one example of every type in service at the time. After the war this collection (if it really existed) became known as the 'Ghost Jasta.' They were taken - it was said - to protect them because under the 1919 Treaty of Versailles, all Germany's offensive aircraft were to be broken up and their weaponry put out of use. If I could find this elusive collection I wanted to rent or buy all the aircraft for an upcoming film.
As it was getting quite late now I took a pillow and blankets from the cupboard to make up a bed on the floor. With a frown she told me in no uncertain terms not to be stupid as we would be sharing the same bed. I argued but she insisted. We had discovered on arrival that the bathroom was communal so I let her go first. Instead of going fully clothed as I expected and without even asking me to look away, she stripped down to just her lacy Boy-Shorts before wrapping herself in a towel. I couldn't help but notice that under her travelling clothes she had quite a good figure with high, pert breasts, topped with long amber nipples and there was a neat dark triangle showing through the flimsy white lace of her underwear. Giving me this display didn't seem to phase her one bit. After she left the room I stripped off my jeans and boxers then put just my jeans back on while waiting for her to return so I could shower. This was because my boxers had a rather visible damp patch in them: I didn't want her to see that! Whilst I was having my shower she had got into bed leaving the light on.
When I returned she was already in bed and had placed her underwear strategically on the top of all her other clothes where I wouldn't fail to see them. Did this mean she was naked under the sheets? Should I be the same? Then I remembered that under my jeans I was naked too. She turned away from me and pealed back the covers to show she was indeed naked from shoulder to knee. Then flipping the covers into place as she turned on her back, with just a smile just laid there waiting. I turned away to divest myself of my jeans knowing she was getting a full view of my butt but hoping she wouldn't see my now rampant erection.
After getting into bed and turning off the light I felt her hand touch my cock, probably to assure herself I was still erect. She left her hand covering me for a moment while it pulsed away before turning her head and kissing my cheek. Then taking my hand she turned onto her side pulling me with her.
Settling in behind her she reached down and gently eased my cock between her thighs, snuggling back until it nestled right up against her sex. All the while I was leaking onto her leg but she didn't seem to mind. To get herself even more comfortable she moved her hips a couple of times which only made matters worse for me. We finally fell asleep with me taking longer than her. I woke with my arm draped over a warm soft woman with my usual morning wood pressed tightly against her back. She took my hand and placed it against her breast whilst murmuring something in Bulgarian then switching to English, "We shower and dress soon, yes?"
As we dressed neither of us said anything about last night or this morning.
Being way off the beaten track the hotel food was a mixture of Bulgarian or Russian dishes. The breakfast choice was either a dish called Popara that looked a mess - that's the only way I can really describe it - and a yogurt drink that looked like white beer served in a glass. The other alternative being a cereal that looked like the local equivalent of Corn Flakes. I chose this and coffee while Stoyanka chose the former, wolfing it down with great relish.
While we were eating we could hear the brothers talking but because of where we were sitting they couldn't see us. I overheard the word 'Jasta' and whispered to Stoyanka to translate. It seemed that they are searching for the same aircraft I'm after. Two of them wanted to abandon their search. From what we could gather, they had been on the hunt for eight months now and just wanted to go home. The third one (the leader?) was telling them the job was only over when he said so. It seems they're not brothers after all! I knew we would be seen when they left so when the time came I took Stoyanka's hand and started kissing it as I gazed into her eyes. She whispered in English "I like."
We also saw the two nuns who were having breakfast at the same time as us. I'm sure I caught them glancing in our direction more than once. Perhaps they were upset with the way we were 'acting' although I didn't see any disapproving looks, just furtive glances. I mentioned them to Stoyanka who said she thought they were following her. She told me that they had boarded her flight from Sofia to Vratsa on her outward journey and they were on her flight again when she returned, now they were on this one too. I suggested we go onto the town and see if they followed us. If they did we would split up to see who, if anyone, they tailed.
We put our plan into effect and saw our 'nuns' in town as we half expected. Strangely they were dressed in normal street clothes and now wearing makeup. We split as planned and when I looked round both the women had disappeared. So it seems she was right, she is being followed. She had told me that for several weeks she had the vague feeling of being watched but couldn't prove it. We met back at the hotel about an hour later and Stoyanka confirmed one of the women had been following her: Where was the other one, I thought. She couldn't understand why she should be followed, although it actually came as a relief to her to know she had been right all along.
Back in our room she opened the bag she was carrying and produced a pair of boxers, telling me I could now wash the pair I was wearing and not have to go without while they dried. She also produced the smallest lace thong I have ever seen, asking "You like?"
I asked "To wear in bed?"
