(also known as horny_dad or lexxjld on some sites)
====
In August 1964 I was hitchhiking up through Yugoslavia from Greece. It had been a long hot day with few lifts, and at lunchtime I found myself walking through a small dusty village. There was one shop, so I bought myself a cold drink, and continued through the village looking for somewhere to sit in the shade.
On the outskirts of the village was a large factory, which appeared deserted. I sat on the wall opposite in the shade of a tree and drank from my bottle of orange. At 1 o'clock a bell sounded and the factory doors opened. I couldn't believe my eyes!
Out of the doors walked about 25 young men. All of them were stripped to the waist and sweaty, and were dressed in what looked like loincloths. They were all so similar that they might have been clones -- dark hairy chests, short dark stubble, and black hair. Their skin was dusted with what looked like flour, and on their heads each of them was wearing a hat made out of newspaper to keep the dust off their hair and out of their eyes.
Beautiful muscles rippled in each of the similar bodies -- they were all quite slim, and showed the beginnings of a six-pack, nicely rounded pecs and biceps, and tempting bulges at their crotches.
They waved, smiling happily at this stranger, and I shouted my only words of Serbo-Croat, "Dobre dan!" [Good day!] To my great regret, they walked off into the distance.
When the sun had gone down a bit and it was a little cooler I stood outside the village for ages waiting for a lift. That part of Yugoslavia was very poor, and few of the locals had cars. Most of my lifts had been with Italian businessmen. I was just beginning to despair, and thinking about camping for the night, when an ancient lorry roared into sight. My thumb waved urgently. It stopped!
I ran to the passenger door, which opened on a sight that took my breath away -- one of the floury hunks, still in his loincloth and newspaper hat, still sweaty and dusted with flour. He moved his legs sideways and gestured for me to get in past him. I dumped my rucksack on the back shelf and slid into the middle of the long bench seat in the lorry. "Hvala," I said [Thank you], "Titograd?" (the name of the town I wanted to reach).
"Da," [Yes] the driver replied. I hadn't looked at him yet, as I was too taken with staring at the young hunk next to me. The driver seemed a much older man, wizened and grey (though probably only in his 40s). He drove with one hand on the wheel, looking sideways at me, occasionally (not often!) glancing at the road through the all-obscuring dust and swearing at the chickens and goats that sometimes appeared in the road.
The two men tried to converse with me, but I had already exhausted my meagre stock of Serbo-Croat phrases, and they didn't speak any English or German. I was totally wedged between them, and we settled down to a companionable, if very sweaty, silence. Fresh male-sweat is an incredible aphrodisiac for me, and my cock was soon throbbing in my shorts.
After a while the older man said something to the younger, who glanced at me and said, "Ne" [No]. But he kept looking at me, and I noticed that his eyes were a beautiful deep brown. Again the driver said something to him, and this time the floury young man took my hand in his huge paw. I'd seen men throughout the Balkans wandering along holding hands -- it didn't seem to mean anything other than friendship -- but at the same time it made my cock pulse harder than ever.
I glanced sideways at this gorgeous man, and saw sweat glistening on the long dark hairs peeking out from his pits. My mouth watered and my cock leaked.