Andrey

Like many other guys on this website, I like things left as they should be.

Uncut.

And for everyone who thinks like me, continental Europe's the boy heaven.

I've never quite understood why, but the surgeon's knife's never cut very far into that particular neck of the woods.

And that leaves literally millions of Euroboys in all their fully-hooded glory - from Trondheim in the north to Taormina in the south and from Antwerp in the west to Athens in the east.

And I make it my quest in life to uncover as many of them as I can.

In recent years, though, that's been getting just a little more difficult for us regular summer visitors.

Quite apart from 9/11 and SARS, the boys themselves have changed.

In Rome nowadays, they're still romantic - but rapacious.

The boys in Madrid are still young marvels - but mercenary.

In Amsterdam they can be utterly amazing - but avaricious.

While the boys in Prague are certainly pretty - but they're also pretty pricey.

So, just for last summer, I thought I'd travel just a little further afield.

Somewhere off the beaten track.

Somewhere unexplored - and a place where the boys might still be unexplored too.

And that's how I ended up in one of Bulgaria's Black Sea resorts for just a few days.

To be honest, the whole country's still, as far as I could see, caught in a time warp.

My hotel, for instance, still boasted a name - the Comrades' Rest - that harked back to the Cold War, as did its plumbing and décor (a portrait of Stalin would have fitted in well on my bedroom wall.)

And the staff were caught in a time warp too, with waitresses and chambermaids who bore a striking resemblance to those old Soviet shot-putters, while the barman gave a first class impression of an eavesdropping KGB agent.

And then there was Andrey.

The waiter.

To continue the analogy, I guess that in some ways he was almost the archetypal Soviet Young Pioneer with his fresh, open face, strong well-muscled limbs and invariably sunny disposition.

But in one or two ways Andrey was a real 21st century boy.

After all, while a real 1950s vintage Young Pioneer would have energetically rejected any sexual approach with some learned-by-rote garbage about "decadent capitalists' deviant un-Marxist behaviour", Andrey turned out to be more than happy to consider absolutely any suggestion on its own terms.

The first day we met, I bought him a drink in the local village bar after he'd finished work.

On the second day it was a meal.

And on the third day - his day off - we spent a day in the beautiful surrounding countryside.

Of course, Andrey wasn't stupid.

He'd already worked out the direction I was coming from - and, come to that, my intended destination.

And, in all sorts of subtle little glances and gestures, he'd made it clear that he was more than willing to meet me half way.

After all, I guess that if his only alternative sexual outlets were those shot-putter types who looked like men anyway, then he might as well try the real thing instead.

That final day of my Black Sea vacation would, therefore, have been completely memorable, even if I hadn't filled three whole digital memory cards with his pictures.

Here are just a few of them.

As you can see - and you'll see even more clearly next week when the full set of pics are posted here - I had a great time that day.

And I think Andrey did too.

He's certainly given me a good impression of his country.

Bulgarian boys?

Beautiful…

…and…

…BOUNTIFUL!