Gadje

We Roma, Gypsies as you call us, are nomads. Always have been. That's how we spread all through the Balkans, all through Eastern Europe in general. I guess there's a certain romance to life on the open road. At least, you

gadje

certainly seem to think so. That's the word we call you outsiders.

Gadje

. Me? I've shared a bed with a hot

gadje

from Budapest to Minsk. Even scored with twins, freaking

twins

, one time up in St. Petersburg. But the absolute best lay I ever managed to score was this one time out in Belgrade.

I'd gone down to Serbia to crash with my cousins down there. We Roma, we tend to have big families, and pretty much everyone knows everyone else, if only by reputation. They welcomed me with welcome arms, naturally asking me everything they could about Hungary and Romania, where I had been living for the past couple years or so. The situation in Serbia at the time was pretty bad, so they were all thinking about making a trip up north. Can't say that I blame them either. We Roma, we tend to be the scapegoats for you guys. Either you love, or you hate us, and sometimes even both at the same time!

Well one night, a couple of Serbian guys came out to our camp. I know you Americans like to think that we Roma live out in the countryside in some sort of traveling caravans, but that's not the case these days. My family and I were crashing in a crumbling Soviet-era housing project with drab concrete walls. The Serbs, yeah, they had the nice places. They kept us out in the slums, so when we saw a couple of city boys we got kind of curious.

Turns out they were from some big important family over in Belgrade. They were having a wedding, and they wanted to hire an

authentic

Gypsy band for their wedding, you know, just like the good old days. Considering that those "good old days" included a time when we were virtually slaves to some lord or another, I didn't exactly share the same sense of nostalgia, but money is money. They talked to us for a while, asked if we were any good. Naturally, I replied that my cousin Grigor could play the fiddle, and Ivan was a great singer.

"The best voice in all of the Balkans," he proudly exclaimed, a huge smile across his face.

Not entirely convinced, they asked us to perform for them. Considering that none of us had worked in weeks, we jumped at the opportunity. Grigor went into the decrepit apartment and came back out with his fiddle. Ivan started to sing. And I just clapped my hands to provide some sense of rhythm, because I had nothing else to do, and wanted to get a hold of that money nonetheless. It seemed we put on a good show, because our Serbian friends were impressed. They began clapping and cheering, so we continued, playing a couple more songs late into the night.

Eventually, the duo told us that we had the job. It was good, because I really didn't feel like clapping all night. They thanked us for our effort, and told us where and when the wedding would be held. One of them passed a note to Ivan, though I'm not quite sure why, as none of us could read Serbian. Ivan just tucked it into his jacket pocket. The Serbs assured us that we could help ourselves to food at the wedding, and then left. They probably didn't want to stay out in the slums much past dark. Again, I can't say I blame them.

After they were gone, Ivan turned and asked me if I could play any instruments. Everyone else in the family could play, so it was going to be a big band. I told him that the only instruments I knew how to play were the fiddle (which was already taken), the

nai

and the cimbalom. I mostly grew up in Romania, after all. Since they didn't have a cimbalom I could borrow, and nobody else in town knew where to find them, it looked like I was going to be stuck playing the

nai

. That was good enough for me! I spent the rest of the week practicing.

When the day finally came, we loaded up a couple pick up trucks full of instruments and drove up into the city. I have to admit, Belgrade wasn't as depressing as I would have expected, but everywhere we went, it seemed like the Serbs were giving us disapproving looks. Well screw them. We made our way out to the hotel where the wedding was being held. Like pretty much everyone else in Eastern Europe, the Serbs have big damned weddings. There were easily a few hundred guests crowding into the dining hall, and the place was overflowing with food and decorations.

One of the two Serbs who had hired us greeted us at the door. He complemented the entire family on being dressed up for the occasion, and then cleared away a platform for us to play on. We performed a whole repertoire of old Balkan folk songs. Most of them were about love, death and legendary heroes who died centuries ago fighting the Turks. The guests quickly got up and began dancing, but as the night wore on, people were quickly becoming exhausted. Us too, in fact, so we wound up taking turns.

Well, when I went outside to get away from the crowd and enjoy a quick smoke under the night sky, I noticed a crying woman out beside me. She was another Serb, but she was wearing a wedding dress. Yes, it was the bride. Not quite sure of what to do or so, I decided to strike up a conversation with her.

"Hello," I said, still not quite confident in my ability to speak in the Srpski.

"Hi," she said, wiping a tear from her eyes, "You're one of the Gypsies."

I nodded.

"Yes," I said.

"You're music that you were playing back in there was quite pretty," she said.

"Thank you," I replied, "So are you okay?"

"Yes," she said, "I'm fine... it's just... that song reminded me of how much I don't want to get married."

"Then why are you," I asked her.

"Because," she sobbed, "Because I have to. My family expects it. I... I can't just walk out on him now."

I understood that. We Roma are the same way, bound by centuries of tradition and, quite frankly, superstition. Our family fueds are legendary even in the Balkans, as are our love affairs. That reminded me of an old song we have, about a handsome young Gypsy man who is hired to play at a wedding, and then sleeps with the bride, leading to a fight between the Gypsies and the

gadje

families. And then I thought about it again, and a wicked smile crossed my face. It actually made perfect sense.

"You know," I told her as I sauntered over towards her, "I think I

may

just have an idea of how you could get out of the wedding, and it wouldn't even be your fault..."

"Oh," she said, a tone of hope in her voice.

"Well," I said as I took her hand, "If you just so happened to be seduced by a rakish Gypsy, I'm sure your husband would be furious! He'd want nothing to do with you!"

"But," she started to protest.

"No," I said, "Think about it. No Serb would tolerate that sort of humiliation."

She paused for a moment, and then leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered into my ear.

Slowly, she began to unlace her white satin wedding dress. Let me tell you, it took quite a lot of effort to get the woman out of her fancy dress. She wasn't even wearing a bra underneath the garment, so I got a nice view of her ripe, firm young breasts. Already rock hard, I quickly slipped out of my clothes too. We Roma... we have a way with those sort of things. The bride gasped as she stared at my dark, fully nude body. Her eyes quickly went down to the massive and rock hard cock between my legs. It was clear to me that she'd never seen a

real

Gypsy man naked before.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed, "It's... so big..."

"Don't worry my sweet," I told her as I moved to embrace her, "I'll be gentle with you."

And I was. I may be poor, but I've still got my honor, and I'm nothing if not a man of word!

I gently set my Serbian lover down on the grass. I've always found it invigorating to make love under the night sky, with cool droplets of dew all over my naked body. But you

gadje

... you just aren't that romantic! I think that's why so many white women wind up having flings with Gypsy lovers. The squealing young bride certainly seemed to be enjoying it as I spread her legs and positioned myself between them.

Yes, soon I had pushed my dick up into her juicy cunt. I leaned down and began to playfully run my tongue across her neck, breasts and nipples as I penetrated deeper and deeper into her waiting womanhood. She was moaning and squirming beneath me. And distantly, in the background, I could hear my cousins playing back at the wedding. They wouldn't expect me back for a while yet, so I kept up my assault on the woman's juicy young cunt.

She was getting into too, and let me tell you, this bride was one wild demon in the sack! She was cussing at me, yelling out cries of pleasure that I have yet to find out what they meant in Serbian! She began to thrust her hips back at me, trying to accommodate as much of my dark brown Gypsy cock as she could.

"Oh yeah," I said, "That's what I'm talking about baby."

I could feel her raking her fingers across my back. I knew that was going to leave some scars tomorrow morning, but right then, all I really cared about was fucking her good and hard. She wrapped her surprisingly muscular legs around my hips as I continued to pound away at her cunt. I knew that I was going to be cumming soon, so I slowed down. As the big moment hit me, I became absolutely motionless, my breathing labored and my heart literally racing in my chest.

The woman flinched a little as she felt me shoot one, two, and finally three spurts of my virile Roma seed deep into her waiting (and hopefully fertile) womb. Afterwards, I could hear her breath in relief as she lay back. I looked down and smiled, kissed her on the forehead, and then pulled out. My dick was still coated in a mixture of our juices.

I was stood up and, to be quite honest, was going to get dressed and go back in before anyone suspected me of something. The bride, however, stopped me. Before I knew what was happening, she was kneeling before me, sucking on my dick. I went along with it, throwing my head back in satisfaction as she bobbed up and down, trying to fit as much of it into her mouth as was humanly possible.

Honestly, I thought that I was spent, but much to my surprise, I had another load or two in me. It wasn't long before I spurted even more of my Gypsy seed down into her throat. She looked up at me a smiled as she swallowed it. Damn if that didn't turn me on even more.

Unfortunately, before I could suggest anything else, I noticed a look of absolute terror in her eyes. She quickly jumped up and tried to cover her breasts. I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I turned around, fearing for the worst. Sure enough, a large crowd from the wedding reception had gathered behind us. I wasn't sure exactly how much of our little act they had seen, but it was probably more than enough to land me in trouble.

"What the hell," one of the Serbs said as he walked over to me, "You dirty Gypsy trying to fuck my wife!"

I'm not quite sure if that was meant to be a question or an exclamation, but I'm smart enough to know those were what you call 'fighting words.'

He got right up in my face, but I didn't even flinch, despite the fact that he was considerably bigger than me. Neither of us was going to back down from this. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally pulled back his fist and moved to strike me.

See, this is where I start to feel bad for the poor fool. We Roma are tough as nails. We have to be! I grew up with a dozen or so brothers, cousins and even uncles who put me through worse every time we had a fight, so having some self-proclaimed Serbian tough guy trying to beat on me just wasn't going to do the trick.

I quickly ducked, dodging his fist, and then struck back, hitting him in the stomach. He cried out, but quickly got back up onto his feet. I don't think he was expecting me to hit him again, this time straight on the nose. I could hear a sickening crack as I broke bone. As he hit the floor, I could see blood, drool and tears mixing together over his face. The poor bastard didn't even know what had hit him.

The crowd gave me wide berth after that, a few of them rushing back into the building. I looked down at the crumpled mess at my feet. I suppose I'd humiliated him enough, and it looked like his bride would be able to get out of her unwanted marriage. I picked up the pile of clothes I'd left on the ground and started to get dressed. Good thing I did too, because soon one of the big Serbian guys who'd hired us ran out with a shot gun. From what he was shouting at me, I gathered that he was the father of the groom, and he was bloody pissed at me.

I guess I'm not welcome in Serbia anymore, but I don't know for certain, because I quickly started running through the woods. I easily lost them a couple miles outside of the city. You know, us Roma know how to live off the land, being travelers and all. But me, I didn't want to take any chances. I kept racing for days until I finally saw signs written in the Latin script, and knew that I was back in Romania.

Maybe, just maybe, in a couple of years, after things cool down a bit, I'll go back to Serbia. Who knows, I might even have a little son running around there after that last adventure!