Russia is a hard country. Moscow is no exception to that rule, in fact it might just be the factor that pushes the whole country over the edge. The life is hard, women are hard, the police are hard and the drinks are the hardest. It makes me think I should have gone to Prague, but I wanted to see what things were like since I’d last been here, since the Iron Curtain lifted to reveal a world of makeshift capitalism and black market gangsters.
In Russia everyone smokes. It’s the smoke that got me. The bar didn’t have much ventilation and the cigarettes don’t even have the semblance of a filter. A single slow spinning fan connected to a belt just sort of pushed the smoke back down into the room, creating the homogenized smog I had been staring through. I hadn’t had much to drink, just a few shots of some domestic potato piss. I watched two d***ken teenagers dancing the Barynya and falling over with shouts in so sharp I could see the Cyrillic Ks flying from their throats. They must have been college students; no one else would have been performing anything so humorously traditional in this part of town.
Like I said, it was the smoke that got me. My eyes were practically bleeding when I exited the place and I must have stumbled a little while wiping the tar out of my retinas. That’s when the police saw me. Before I knew it two men stronger than they looked had me pushed up against an ally wall. My Russian wasn’t so good, but I knew the basics of what was going on.
I played up the foreign edge, speaking English in a worried tone, exclaiming that I didn’t understand. When one of the men bl**died up the side of my face with that gloved hammer of a fist, I shouted and threw up my hands and then produced my wallet and offered them everything in it. Of course I only kept a little cash in the thing. American dollars, just so they wouldn’t be exactly sure how much it was worth. The real money was in the money belt, snug against my hip.
After receiving their goods, the two men disappeared into the night just as fast as they had come, a trail of chuckles fading into the cold air. I watched my breath for a moment, billowing in plumes. My cheek was soar, bleeding.
A bright flash lit the corner of my eye and I turned slowly to see what it was, hoping I wasn’t about to meet with a fate less savory than the police. To my relief it was just a girl, lighting up a cigarette in the back of the alley. I wondered if she had been there the whole time. I didn’t blame her for not helping; there wasn’t any help to be had. That’s just the way things work in these parts. She was probably just glad it was me and not her.
I gave her a nod of the head, just to say thanks anyway. She blew out a stream of smoke and started to walk over with a clip clop of thick heels on pavement. She was wearing long coat with a thick fur collar, but it was open in the front revealing a slim body in a tight black skirt and purple-pink halter-top. The heels were a pair of ankle high boots. She had bleached blonde hair, straight and cut shoulder length. It sort of gave off a blue glow in the moonlight.
She came into full color when she got closer and the lights from the street took precedence over nature. She was young, but had a few lines in her face that said she wasn’t the kind that wore a perpetual smile. No one here did, but she gave me a smirk, a half smile posed on lips painted up fire engine red and glossy. She took a drag from the cigarette and mindfully blew it away from me. Leaning up close she took a handkerchief from her coat and wiped the bl**d off my face.
“Thanks” I said.
“Pazhalooysta” She replied in a husky voice indicative of a cigarette habit started early.
She pointed to herself, tapping her index finger right in between her small partially hidden breasts and said “Tatiana.”
I don’t know what it is about eastern block women, the thin physiques and angled features, the attitude and strength they convey, whatever it is, I’m a sucker. I smiled. “Max,” I said. She smiled, took a long drag off her cigarette and tossed it to the ground, stamping it out with her boot.
Tatiana took my hand and said something I didn’t quite catch. It wasn’t a good idea, but the next thing I knew I was ascending stairs in some dingy apartment complex with peeling paint on its walls and exposed pipes that ran this way and that.
She took me up to her room and turned on a small lamp on a small table which buzzed with the current from the wall. It was a one room apartment, the kitchen separated from the bedroom by just a small counter. Bent Venetian blinds hung in the window above the bed and a few sparse decorations adorned the walls. I tried to take them in, looking for f****y photos or some hint of who this girl was. All I found was posters written in Cyrillic of bands I’d never heard of, and some generic paintings that seemed left over form the last tenants.
Tatiana took off her coat and tossed it on the bed. Now that I had a good look at her, she was thin, not unattractive, but toned with a curve to her like a swan’s neck. Her legs were shapely, but you couldn’t call her a curvy girl. I could see her hip bones just a little above her skirt, but her stomach was hard and flat and smooth. Her breasts were small and firm, little nipples poked through the halter, a side effect of the cold. Her neck was long, something I had missed with that tall collar of the coat.
She went to the icebox and took out a bottle of vodka. She took off the cap and lifted it to her lips, swished the stuff around for a few seconds and swallowed it. It took me a moment to realize what she was doing, rinsing the taste of smoke away the best she could.
She took out that handkerchief and inverted the bottle into it. The next thing I knew my face was lit up with a chill and then a burning sting as the drink met the edge of my lip. She wiped my mouth and cheek down firmly, without any of the tenderness and care I was used to. My thoughts of what those breasts looked like outside of the halter were momentarily placed aside as my mind centered on my stinging face. I tried not to look too unhappy about it.
She tossed the cloth into the sink, stood back and smiled, placing her hands on her hips and said “Good as new” in English in a terribly Russian accent. It was possibly the most adorable thing anyone had ever said to me in my lifetime. I made a stinging smile.
Tatiana pointed to the cabinets behind me and raised the bottle of vodka with a tip of the head that said “go on”. I turned around and opened loose doors, looking for two glasses. As I was about to reach for a pair of mismatch tumblers, the little lamp clicked off and the room became a great deal darker. I turned to look at what happened, and there she was, stone naked glowing in the moonlight.
The blue light that filtered in through the blinds cast over her in stripes, breaking her body into luminous segments like the interlaced still frame of an old security camera. A ghostly image, slender and spectral. I took the bottle from the counter where she had left it and took a gulp.
She walked up to me, lines of light tracing along her body, revealing every curve. The tight thighs moving as she walked, her chest expanding and contracting with breath, and those firm breasts, nipples hard and pointed upward, defying gravity. Her short hair bobbed as those glossy lips came ever closer.
We kissed, locking lips together in a soft embrace. I could feel the sting from my wound, but I pushed it out of my mind. Her tongue reached out to mind and we pressed closer together. I wrapped my arms around her and pressed my hands into her back, running them up and down feeling the beautiful curve of her body.
I felt myself stiffen, struggling against the cloth of my trousers, so I pulled her in and ran my knee up her leg and between her thighs. I could feel the warmth radiating. She reached down and felt for my cock, taking hold and sizing it up through the fabric.
Tatiana sighed, a sort of exhale of release, and then traced her hands down my chest, over my stomach and began to undo the buttons of my shirt. I picked her up, she was heavier than I expected; and took her over to the bed. I laid her down in the streams of moonlight. My eyes were adjusting now. And I could appreciate the whole of her form. Lookignher up and down, I was drawn to the black arrow that marked her natural hair color, the triangle pubic hair that pointed to that forbidden erogenous zone. I couldn’t wait to run my fingers down her stomach and into that thick hair, somewhere hiding within was the soft hot wet lips of her pussy.
I removed my clothing, while she watched me. And then, both of us naked, I climbed into the bed. I took her legs, spread them apart and leaned in to kiss her thighs. I think she was surprised at that, and she let out a moan as I traced my tongue along her leg and into her that soft skin where legs become something more exotic.
Diving I found warm flash and circled those lips, swirling around until satisfied I could find my destination, the salty sweet center, pouring with wetness. Then ran my tongue from bottom to top tracing it in and then out and then... Tatiana uttered something in Russian. I can only imagine what it was, because she leaned forward and grabbed my head and pulled it into her. I buried my face into her mound and lapped at her clit, looking up above to see her contorted body and jiggling little tits.
I wrapped my arms around her thighs to pull myself in and she slowly let go, dragging her fingers through my hair. The flexed her arms and clung to the sheets, arching her back on the mattress. I could feel her juices running down my face and I licked, slowly, quickly slowly. Her body moved in wave forms, breasts riding the crest.
When the time was right I stopped, softly exhaled and then flicked the swollen bud with my tongue. She quivered and I dove in again, lapping at her pussy with all of my energy, pulling myself in tight between her thighs. She straddled my head, crisscrossing her legs around me and then let the fly out, screaming with pleasure as her body undulated. I gave a few more good licks and then got up. Kneeling I wiped my face which stung still, and for good reason. I Crawled over and lay beside her.
I stared at Tatiana, body moving with short breaths in the filtered moonlight. I kissed her gently on the lips. She tried to say something but couldn’t yet find the energy. I held her for a few minutes, just to know what it would feel like. Then, I got up, got dressed and left.
Why not more? Why did I leave like that? It’s a simple answer to a simple question. I wanted to keep my money. I would have woken up the next morning alone and penniless, hopefully not naked and sans one passport.
Moscow is a hard city, but I’m glad I didn’t go to Prague.