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From: "Luis Woolsbury" <luis_woolsbury@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mariya (Mf, rom, teen)
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The contents of this story are for adults only. It's not wild
cheerleader donkey bondage sex, but it's still for adults only. This story
is fiction; any resemblance between the characters portrayed and actual
people is purely coincidental. Copyright (c) 1997 Luis_Woolsbury. For
entertainment purposes only; no commercial distribution of this story is
authorized. Archiving is allowed as long as the entire contents of the
story, including this notice, are retained unchanged. Please report any
commercial use to the author. Comments, flames, flirtations, etc. are
welcome, and may be sent to the author at:
Luis_Woolsbury@hotmail.com
Mariya (Mf, rom, teen)
I usually take the bus to work because it's only a ten-minute
ride and is easier than trying to park downtown. Parking downtown
really sucks. We call the city meter-readers the "Parking Nazis" for a
good reason.
It was while waiting for the bus on a cold January morning
that I first really noticed Mariya. She was carrying a black instrument
case. I knew her, vaguely, like I knew most people at the bus stop--a
stranger, but a stranger that I saw more often than I saw my own
relatives. Dressed in a billowing yellow vinyl rain coat, she looked like
the picture on a box of Morton salt.
As she was dragging her instrument onto the bus, she slipped
on the icy stairs. I was boarding behind her, and stopped the case from
falling with my free hand. She appeared grateful, or relieved, but also
embarrassed. She sat down quietly in the first empty seat at the front
of the bus, and I went towards the back. She didn't even look up as I
walked by.
I saw her again the following week. I was in a pretty good
mood, and had even put on my favorite gray suit and a new tie. She
was sitting on the bench, holding the instrument case in her lap. I
smiled at her as I approached.
"Hi," I said as her eyes glanced up.
I barely heard her say "Good morning" as she quickly looked
down again.
We were the only people at the stop, and there was an
awkward silence.
I continued to look at her from where I stood beside the bench,
and remembered how I had caught her instrument when she almost
dropped it the previous week.
"She's not exactly an attractive girl" I thought. Her profile
showed that her nose was too prominent for the rest of her face, which
had no make-up at all. Her pale hands, stretched over thin, bird-like
bones, looked as if she didn't get out in the sun much. I saw that her
thick mane of hair was pulled back into a fabric and elastic band, but
some big strands had escaped the elastic and hung randomly beside her
face. She was either in Junior High or High School; I'm really bad at
guessing ages. She was about ten inches shorter than me.
I remembered how hard it was for me when I was a kid like
that, with no real friends except for books and my dog. I guess I was
lucky, finally developing into a thirty year-old guy with a respectable
income and decent appearance. I didn't seem to have trouble getting
girlfriends now, but had really struggled when I was as young as this girl
on the bench.
I think that she began to realize that I was staring at her, and
she played nervously with the latch on her instrument case. A single
gold ring, with a small rose-colored stone, was on the index finger that
she used to flip the latch. She didn't have on any other jewelry except
for some gold stud earrings, barely visible on small ears that lay close
against her head.
I heard the approaching diesel of the bus, and Mariya stood up.
She boarded first as I fumbled through my overcoat, trying to find my
bus pass. I finally climbed aboard, flashed my pass to the driver, and
gave Mariya a friendly smile as I took my seat. With some
embarrassment she returned a brief smile through pursed lips, then
looked away.
I saw her for the third time on the following Wednesday. When
I arrived at the stop, the only other person there was an older lady who
chain-smoked generic-brand cigarettes and coughed between drags.
Mariya walked up to the stop a few minutes later, and I again
gave her a big "Hi. " She stood there, as if uncertain what to do. I
noticed that her chestnut-colored hair, which today hung loose, was
unevenly cut. I am not sure if it needed trimming or was a purposeful
style. Her corduroy pants hung on wide, bony hips that had developed
before the rest of her body could catch up, giving her an unbalanced
look. All of her clothes, although a little worn, were clean and neatly
ironed.
I asked her what instrument she played. She said that it was a
cello. I noticed then that she had a strong accent, and asked her where
she was from.
"Belarus" she said.
"Oh," I said. "How long have you been here?"
"Three years"
"What's you name?"
"Mariya," she said.
"That's an interesting name. Are there many Belarussians
here?"
I knew the answer already; there are a lot of Eastern European
families in the neighborhood. Quite a few of them immigrated to this
area over the past few years. There's a Russian Orthodox church and a
synagogue just south of the area. The immigrants are generally good
people, but can be kind of pushy. I guess that's because they grew up
standing in line at the government-controlled stores back home.
"Yes, there are many" she said. "Many families there are living
in this neighborhood."
After some more questioning, she told me that she lived with
her mom and spent a lot of time practicing her instrument. I told her
that I lived alone, and worked for the telephone company as a
communications consultant.
Her sentences had a strange grammatical construction, because
she was not completely fluent, but I could understand what she meant
despite her heavy accent. I found her conversation to be mildly
entertaining. She seemed to be a pleasant person, without a hint of the
scheming or posturing that you found in most Americans. It seemed as
if Americans learn to play head games at about the same time they
learned to walk. Mariya did not have a hint of game-playing about her.
The next day I was running late, but on the following day
Mariya was at the stop when I showed up. She smiled a little, we talked
about her school, and I sat in the seat behind her. I asked her about her
music and her family. She responded to my questions in a low voice,
and I could see that she was still embarrassed.
Over the next month and a half, I saw Mariya at the stop about
twice a week. I noticed that she always left for school at a certain time,
while I just walked out the door whenever I was ready. Mariya and I
started to develop a hesitant friendship. If there were a completely
empty seat, I occasionally sat beside her, although sometimes she still
seemed embarrassed by the attention.
One Wednesday I gave her a muffin from the two that I had
bought that morning. She seemed very appreciative. I told her that I
would have to drive to work for the rest of the week, since I would be
working at another office for a short time, so I would not be taking the
bus.
"You go to the Classic Arts School, right?" I asked.
She nodded her head.
"That's only a few blocks from Boston street. I'll be taking
Boston straight to the other office. Would you like a ride?"
This time, she did not nod her head. I continued anyway.
"Besides, this weather has been really crummy. I'd hate for
you to wait in this stuff."
She blushed, looked down, and said "I don't know."
We found an empty seat on the bus and sat together. The
weather really had been unpleasant, and it was still dark outside due to
the low clouds.
"I'll pick you up tomorrow at the same time. You'll get to
school a few minutes earlier, though" I said.
"Perhaps. I am not sure" she said blankly.
She looked outside. There was a long silence before she said anything.
"But I do not like this weather at all."
We talked a little more, discussing a book on music history that
she had shown me. As I was getting off of the bus, I told her that I
would pick her up at the stop the next day, if she would like.
The next day I arrived a few minutes early. She was waiting at
the stop in the freezing drizzle, and I opened the passenger door.
"Hiya Mari! Would you like a ride?"
Looking down the block towards her apartment building, she
hesitated , then quickly sat beside me. She pulled her instrument behind
her, and leaned over the dripping case to close the door.
She pulled the hood back from her cheap raincoat. Her hair,
already wet on her bangs as usual, fell around the yellow plastic and
stuck to the beads of water that had gathered there.
"So you are working not in downtown anymore?" she asked in
her weird English.
I pulled away from the curb. "No, it's in the satellite office down
near Blue Ridge. They have some trouble with a system, and I have to go
troubleshoot it. It'll probably take a week or less, depending. I'd
prefer to be downtown, though."
She wrinkled her forehead. "My mother does not go to
downtown. She says it is too much dangerous."
"That's weird," I thought. Downtown is actually a pretty safe
place, compared to most other cities. Mariya didn't seem familiar with
any areas of the city other than our particular neighborhood and a
building on the East side where her mom worked. She said that she and
her mom had lived in the same apartment building since they moved
here.
Ten minutes later I dropped her off at school. She didn't
wave a long goodbye, but just flipped her hand and smiled as she
walked away into the groups of kids standing in front of the building.
There were lots of moms in their Volvos and sport-utility vehicles
dropping off kids, so I didn't look out of place.
I picked her up the next day. She was waiting on the curb
expectantly.
"So what do you have planned for Monday?" I asked. It was
Presidents' Day, and the schools were closed.
"I will probably watch television and practice music" she said
in a resigned voice. "my mother will work."
"Well", I said, "If you'd like to have lunch, I'm off of work." I
had lots of holidays off in my particular division. "Perhaps we could
have a sandwich for lunch or something?" I asked.
She seemed startled; she looked around the car, as if
embarrassed.
"Yes" she said in an unsure voice, and finally met my gaze. I
gave her my business card and wrote my home number on the back.
"Call me around eleven on Monday," I said as she dragged her
instrument from the car.
"OK", she whispered, blushing as she turned to walk towards
the school yard.
On Monday she called at exactly eleven o'clock as planned. I
picked her up five minutes later at the bus stop. She said that she didn't
want to be picked up near her apartment, as her neighbors were a bunch
of old ladies who (presumably) gossiped.
We went to Mike L. d'Angelo's, "The Great Italian Place
With The Stupid Name" on the North end of town.
She seemed unsure what to order, and so we both had
vegetable calzones and a Coke. She liked the calzones and the
parmesan cheese topping, and she smiled happily throughout most of
the meal. As I watched her eat, I noticed how beautiful her teeth
were. Each one was opaque, like a flat pearl, and her lips framed
them perfectly.
"Would you like some gelato?" I asked after we had finished.
"I do not know what this is?" she said, her inflection turning
the statement into a question.
"It's like ice cream. The flavors are up there." I pointed to a
chalkboard that showed the available flavors. She chose mint, and I
had chocolate. We ate the gelato at the counter, sitting next to each
other on stools.
The taste of the ice cream was a perfect finish to the lunch.
Watching her tongue lick the small plastic spoon, her face just inches
from mine, was heartbreakingly cute.
I asked if she would like to see my place. It's a condo, by the
way, with a really great view. She shrugged, as if she weren't sure of
the correct response. "My mother would want that I practice my
instrument while she is working." she said. "She would not let me to
leave the house, so I must be home before four, she will know I am not
practicing."
It was only two o'clock, so we drove back to my place while
she aimlessly fidgeted with the clasp on her purse. I was having some
difficulty navigating through the ice that was forming on the streets, so I
could not pay as much attention to her as I would have liked.
Once in my home, we looked out of the glass door to the
balcony and the street below. The condensation circles caused by our
breath on the cold glass slowly expanded. Standing close, I could smell
the mint from her gelato. I began to doodle in the condensation with
my finger. With an amused smile, she moved away from the glass and
walked along the wall of my book case, bending to the side to read the
title on each volume.
I like to keep the thermostat up in the Winter, so she took off
her knit sweater as she looked at the books, then neatly folded it
over a chair. It was then that I noticed how thin she really was. She
wasn't anorexic, or so skinny as to have the `waif' look, but she
certainly didn't have any excess muscle or fat. Black flat shoes
highlighted her thin ankles, which came up to skinny but smooth calves,
visible through the gray hose that she wore. Her dark knit dress hid the
outline of the rest of her legs. As she bent to the side to look at a book,
I could see the panty line on her thigh. The legs of her panties were
full-length, like tight men's boxer shorts, or the panties that you see the
old ladies buying at the discount stores. I often thought that you could
tell a lot about a woman by her panties. Obviously, Mariya was very
conservative. She squatted down to look at the books on the bottom shelf.
Her waist was beautifully emphasized by her broadly proportioned hips.
I walked over and stood beside her as we talked about various
books that she pulled out. She seemed to like books, as do I.
Soon we were sitting on the floor together, looking through
the over-sized books. As she turned the pages, her elbow came to rest
against my thigh. She seemed startled, then looked at me with a smile as
she pulled her elbow away. A few minutes later her elbow was back, and
stayed resting against me for the next half hour. I could feel my heart
pounding, and knew that she felt something, too.
It was getting close to three-thirty, and Mariya seemed anxious
go home. I helped her with her sweater, noticing the smooth line of her
neck and the clean, unpolished nails on her hands that came up to
straighten the collar.
"I will walk home" she said nervously. "The neighbors, they
will maybe see your car."
I offered to give her a ride, but she was determined. We only
lived a couple of blocks apart, anyway.
"Thank you very much for taking me to lunch today" she said
at the door. I clasped her hand and told her that she was welcome.
I watched her walk away, and realized that I was starting to
become attracted to a girl that was a baby when I graduated from high
school. I didn't even know how old she actually was.
All through that evening, I kept replaying the events of the day
in my mind. I recounted her facial expressions, the phrases she used,
and most of all I remembered her standing by the bookcase.
The weird thing, I thought, was that she is not what most guys
would consider to be attractive. Even her personality was subdued.
We don't have very much in common, I thought, other than
the fact that we just seem to enjoy being together. As I thought about
her, I felt the same sense of arousal and subsequent embarrassment that
she had inspired in me all of that day.
I laughed to myself. It would probably not be a good career
move to go to company parties with someone that looked too young to
drive, right?
I couldn't help it, though. I was falling for her.
She was at the bus stop on Tuesday, and so was I. I was
going back to my office downtown. We both grinned when we saw the
other.
She spoke first.
"Thank you again for taking me to eat. I enjoyed it very
much."
"Me too," I said. "I hope that we can do it again sometime."
She smiled. "My mother is working every Saturday."
"Then Saturday would be a good day to spend some time
together" I replied, already looking forward to the weekend.
We began to show up at the bus stop at the same time
everyday.
For Saturday, we had made plans to go to a lunch, then a
matinee. She really wanted to see a new comedy/romance movie that
had just launched a huge advertising campaign. The film wasn't very
good, but there were some steamy scenes. I'm not sure that Mariya had
ever seen anything like that before.
As we were leaving the theater, some girls that looked a little
bit older than Mariya stared at us and whispered as we walked by. I
think that they were trying to figure out the nature of our relationship,
since we really didn't look like brother and sister. After we were in the
car, waiting to leave the parking garage, Mariya looked back at the
girls, then at me. She didn't say much on the way back.
Once back at my place, we sat in the living room on the sofa.
Mariya took off her cheap quilted nylon snow boots, and revealed her
long, thin feet covered by navy blue socks. She stared at them,
stretched out in front of her.
"Why with me?" she said, still looking at her feet.
With a confused look, I asked her what she was talking about.
"I see the way that the many other girls look at you. Why do
you wish to be with me?" she said again.
"Well," I said, and paused to collect my thoughts, "I really
enjoy being with you. I look forward to our time together."
She blushed, still not meeting my eyes. "No, that is not," she
said. "That is not. Those other girls are much prettier than me, and are
wearing very prettier clothes. They look at you. You should go to the
movies with them." She paused, for what seemed a long time. "I see
how those other girls look at you," she sadly repeated.
I touched her cheek, and her face looked up to meet mine. I
bent slowly over, and as her mouth opened slightly, she began to
tremble. I gave her a long, light kiss on her thin lips. Her eyes closed.
I gave her another, with slightly more pressure, holding her cheek against
my palm. I stared at her face, and her eyes opened. She was still
trembling.
We sat silently on the sofa for ten minutes. She leaned against
my chest while I caressed her head. I played with a single small braid
she had made on the right side of her hair, something that seems popular
with the girls now. A few minutes later I turned her head and kissed her
again. We began to kiss strongly, and my tongue touched hers, gently
probing her mouth. She began to hesitatingly explore my mouth with
her tongue, and soon we were kissing slowly and deeply. I moved my
mouth to her chin, her neck, then her ear. Encircling her ear with my
open mouth caused her to lean back against the sofa, stretching her face
away from mine, and she began to breathe heavily.
I knew that I was becoming more aroused than I should. I
moved my lips back to hers, softly biting her chin and lower lip on my
way. We softly kissed again, then I slowly pulled back.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Perhaps we should get you home," I said as I looked at my
watch.
She nodded her head. I was not sure how much she knew
about male anatomy, but I shifted uncomfortably as I tried to hide the
bulge in the front of my pants. I was actually aroused after kissing her,
and was desperately trying to remain in control of my physical desires.
She got up. Taking her hairbrush from her purse, she went to
the bathroom.
"You mentioned that other girls wear prettier clothes than you"
I said out loud, while still trying to arrange my pants. "Would you like
to go shopping some time?"
I didn't hear a response. Getting up, I looked around the
corner into the open bathroom where she stood in front of the mirror. I
could see the reflection of her face and noticed again the attractiveness
of her waist and hips.
"I do not buy many clothes," she said, looking at me in the
mirror. "My mother does not have a lot of money to spend on clothes."
I sighed in exasperation. "No, that's not what I mean. I want
to take you shopping, and I'll pay for everything. I'd really like to."
She looked at me as if I were some sort of hallucination. I
didn't wait for an answer.
"Next weekend, if it's OK with you, we'll have lunch and go
shopping. I insist. OK?"
She nodded and soon followed me back into the living room.
As she stood placing the brush back into her purse, I kissed the back of
her neck from behind. She froze, leaning slightly back against me. I
stayed there, kissing her neck and ear, and heard her breathe deeply. I
moved my hands to her stomach, pulling her body close to mine. I
allowed myself the brief pleasure of pulling her lightly back against the
erection still trying to burst my zipper. After drinking in the barely
perceptible talcum-powder scent of her neck, I slowly unclasped my
hands and she began to buckle her purse with confused look. After
one last long kiss, I opened the door and watched her walk towards her
apartment building.
That night I went out and drank beer with some guys from
work. I didn't tell them about Mariya--what could I say?--but it was
good to get out and socialize. Most of the women that I saw, though,
seemed like counterfeits compared to the simple honesty of Mariya. I
thought about her the whole time.
At the bus stop the next morning we stood very close, leaning
shoulder-to-shoulder. A brief glance from a lady also waiting at the
stop was enough for Mariya to move away in embarrassment. We
talked for awhile, mainly about her music instructor and the pieces she
had to practice for an upcoming competition.
On Thursday I asked her, "Are we still on for Saturday?" and I
took her embarrassed shrug, as she bit her lower lip, for a "yes."
She called me Friday after work. I told her that I would pick
her up the following day as soon as she was ready.
On Saturday we had lunch at a Japanese fast-food place, then
drove to the mall.
After walking out of the second department store without any purchases,
I finally had to tell Mariya to not look at the price tags. She did not
want to buy anything as it was all "very much expensive."
We went to the last department store in the mall. I bluntly told
her to buy several things or I would not be happy.
Her taste in clothing turned out to be very traditional. She
finally chose a pair of dark green pleated twill pants with a full cut, a
natural cotton blouse with embroidery around the collar and cuffs, and
a pair of burnished brown woven leather shoes.
I had to go away when she tried items in the dressing room,
since she was embarrassed to have me stand outside.
Her clothing size tended to be somewhat small, but she was in
that awkward adolescent stage, so many items did not fit well. I
absolutely insisted that she also buy a coat, as the cheap plastic raincoat
that she wore was not very attractive. She had stared several times at
the women's trench coats with zip-out linings, so I finally made her try
them on right there until she found the right size.
When the cashier rang up the merchandise total, I thought that
Mariya was going to faint. Her lovely brown eyes became huge, and
she practically shouted "No, it is very much too expensive!" as she
tugged on my arm. I told the startled cashier that it was Mariya's
birthday, which of course it wasn't, and the clerk smiled at us both.
"What the heck," I thought. There were times when I had
spent this much money in a single night out, and wasn't nearly as happy
as Mariya appeared to be.
We walked to the car, and the chill air made us walk faster. As
we were driving home she opened each bag and looked. She did seem
extremely happy, and I guessed that she had never had this many new
clothes before.
"I am very happy to wear these to school," she said as she
looked at the new pants. "You are very kind to buy this for me. I still
think that other girls are very much prettier and you should be buying
for them. But it is so VERY expensive, I cannot believe."
I looked over to her. That was about the most that she had
ever said in one sentence.
"That's okay," I said. "I'm glad to spend money on something
that you really like."
She reached over to hold my hand, and her fingers intertwined
with mine. She smiled for the rest of the ride home, still peeking into
her bags.
When we arrived at my place, we were still a little cold, as the
car had not completely warmed up on the drive home. I told her that
she was welcome to try on her new clothes while I made some tea.
Most women that I knew had always tried on new clothes immediately
after buying them, and Mariya was no different. I heard her close the
bathroom door and fumble around with her packages.
About ten minutes later she stepped out and sheepishly asked
me what I thought. She actually looked very nice. Her hair was pulled
back using one of her new barrettes. Her hair exploded like a wide
fishtail behind one shoulder, the dark brown color going well with her
blouse. Her fashion instincts, it seems, were very good.
I sat down the tea and approached her as she stood in the
hallway. She was indeed quite attractive. I looked into her face, held
her by the waist, and slowly kissed her. Her arms went around my neck.
Still locked in an embrace, I moved against her and her back went up
against the closet door. I felt my hips press against hers. I was afraid of
scaring her, but our kissing just became rougher, with gasps of air as I
began to grind against her. I couldn't help myself, and knew that it was
the wrong thing to do, but continued to press against her as we
embraced for several minutes.
I turned slightly, put one hand under the back of her thighs,
and swept her off of the floor with my other hand supporting her in the
middle of her back. She continued to kiss me, her thin arms wrapped
around my neck, as I carried her towards the bedroom.
It was in early afternoon, and the cloudy sky gave quite a bit of
light through the partially-closed mini blinds as I placed her on the bed.
I lay down beside her, first nuzzling her ear, then the fine muscles on her
neck, then back to her lips. Her feet, with her new shoes still on, were
hanging over the edge of the bed. I took her shoes off slowly. Each
one made a dull "clunk" as I dropped it on the floor, and my hiking
boots followed.
I kissed her on the lips as I positioned one leg between hers,
then grabbed her hip with my hand and pulled her pelvis closer to mine.
I could feel her thighs squeeze against my upper leg. My lips moved
back to her neck. I slowly moved down her throat, pulling the collar of
her blouse slightly open to reveal two thin, well-defined collarbones.
Each was crossed with a peach-colored bra strap that disappeared
behind the shoulder. With one hand I started to unbutton the top button
on her blouse. My mouth followed my hand, kissing her upper chest. I
again caught the light sent of talcum powder.
I moved my mouth back to hers, pressing her lips against mine
and feeling her body against my leg. My hand continued to unbutton
her blouse as we tongued, finally pulling it out from her pants so as to
open it completely. After the last button, the same hand reached over
the bed and pulled a patchwork blanket over us both.
I rolled slightly so that I was now centered between her legs, as
if we were making love. I rubbed against her, sure that she could now
feel my hardness and hoping that it did not scare her. My mouth slowly
made its way back to her chest, nuzzling the small, tight bra that
covered her breasts. I kissed around the edge of the fabric. The cups
completely and tightly covered each breast, so that there was no
cleavage visible. Her breathing changed slightly as I slipped both hands
around her back and fumbled with the clasp. I felt it open, and the stiff
fabric relaxed as the tension was released.
As I lifted the front of her bra up, I stopped in disbelief. Her
two breasts looked wonderful. They were not full and round like you
see on models. They were small, coming straight out from the bottom
and sloping gently back at the top. They appeared to be much longer
than they were round, like cones. Her nipples, huge pinkish-brown
crowns smeared evenly down the sides, looked out of proportion on the
breasts.
I easily placed a whole breast in my mouth. I thought about
the gelato that we had eaten on our first date as I moved my tongue
around the tight flesh and felt the tip of her hard nipple against the roof
of my mouth. I played with her wonderful little breasts, pushing them
together and pulling them gently, slowly popping them in and out of my
mouth. I looked up at her face as I nearly devoured them. Her head
was thrown back, mouth open, and she gasped in short breaths.
This was wrong, I knew, but I was beyond control, wanting
her madly. I moved down to her stomach while I continued caressing
her breasts with my hand. My saliva had made her nipples slick, and I
slowly pulled them between my fingers while her hands covered mine.
That action, combined with my chest between her legs and my mouth on
the soft skin of her tummy, caused her to breathe more softly, emitting a
short sigh with each exhalation.
I nuzzled the top of her pants, below her bellybutton, then
across her flat tummy from hip to hip. Her stomach contracted,
allowing my face to push the front of her pants down an inch further. I
knew that I was making her lose control of the situation. She probably
didn't know much about sex, and I felt guilty that I had much more
experience than she.
One hand of mine grasped the top of her pants where I was
mouthing her stomach. I unbuttoned them and quickly had her zipper
down. "No," she gasped, and pulled my shoulders towards her face. I
moved back up, my tongue trailing from where her fly lay open, past her
bellybutton, between her two breasts, and over her neck back to her
mouth. I rolled to my side, next to her, and tongued her warm mouth
while my hand started to caress her stomach. I went a little lower with
each stroke, under the pants, finally rubbing directly on her crotch
through damp panties. I pushed her loose pants down lower, slowly,
past her hips. I began to caress her thigh, and soon I had one leg of the
loose pants around her ankle, then her leg was free.
As I moved down to kiss her stomach again, I freed her other
leg and pushed her pants to the side of the bed, near her tangled bra. I
moved back up to her breasts again, and took a full look at her
prostrate body lying in front of me, wearing only long panties and socks.
Her eyes were closed, and she was absolutely beautiful. I pulled the
blanket up further, covering us both to our necks, and tongued her
mouth as I slowly unbuttoned my own shirt.
She didn't say anything until I began to take off my pants. I
heard her whisper with fear in her voice: "what are you doing?!"
I didn't answer, but again placed my tongue in her mouth. I knew
that I was going too far. My physical desires were outweighing my
rationality.
As we continued kissing, I moved from her breasts, to her neck
and mouth, and back to her breasts, each time freeing myself from more
of my denim. As my jeans finally fell off of the edge of the bed, I could
look down and see the tip of my penis trying to poke through my
underwear waistband.
I turned, slowly, and positioned her directly against the
mattress. I began to rub against her through the underwear. I grabbed
her hips, feeling her sharp bones against my palms. I could see the tips
of her breasts against my chest as I sucked on her neck and moved up
and down against her crotch. Her eyes were closed, lost in the moment.
She began to breathe with more force, building with each
stroke against her body. She exploded into a muffled groan, throwing
her head further back into the pillow. I stopped moving, thinking that I
had hurt her, then realized with some amusement that her legs had lifted
up and were pulling me harder against her. She was having an orgasm!
I moved back down to her panties, pulled them down slightly,
and sank my face into the thin row of dark hair in her groin. The hair
was just a small furrow on an otherwise smooth crotch. She said
something then, small hands pulling my head up, but my tongue found
her sensitive area and I smelled her sexual excitement. I probed her
vagina with my tongue, slowly and firmly, and her pulling hands finally
relaxed against my head.
I kissed her upper thigh and began working the panties down
and off of her thin, nearly hairless legs. I supposed that she had not yet
had to shave them. Small blue lines were visible on the back of her
inner thigh, tiny blood vessels that reminded me of satellite images of
rivers. Nuzzling back to her crotch, I spread her vagina lips with my
thumbs, and looked at her most private areas as her knees
unconsciously moved further apart. The dark, wet line of hair on her
vagina contrasted against the expanse of her thighs and hips.
I continued to probe, feel, and lick her from her belly button to
her knees , and heard her breathing with an occasional sharp intake of
breath and involuntary kick against my shoulders as I passed her most
sensitive spot. As I did this, one of my hands slipped off my underwear.
Now I was ready to take her. I wanted Mariya more than
anything else in the world.
I moved up to the pillow, kissing her body along the way. I
saw her eyes then, wide open, staring at me as if pleading for me to tell
her what was happening. Her head turned away as my face approached
her. No doubt she could smell her scent still on my lips. I kissed her
neck, her ears, moving down to place one breast in my mouth, then back
to her neck.
I could feel my stiff penis pressing against her. She did too,
trying to look, but she did not know enough to be sure what she was
seeing.
One arm supported my weight, while my other hand rubbed my
penis against her vagina. It was picking up leftover saliva as I stroked
against her inner legs. Her head turned from side to side, her eyes
closed, as I began to penetrate her. I moved my penis around her opening,
feeling the slickness of her vagina help lubricate the area.
When I knew that I was entering the right place, the hand on my penis
changed position and I grabbed her in the small of her back.
I pushed a little...just squeezed my buttocks, really.
"It's in!" she whimpered. I pushed it in slightly further,
resisting the urge to push as far and deep as possible. I began a gentle
in and out rhythm, just the head of my penis inside of her, trying all the
while not to ejaculate as I felt her fluids begin to increase. I was going
extremely slow, looking at her for any signs of discomfort, battling my
desire to get deeper with each stroke. I supported myself on my
elbows, and then both hands had her by the hips, unconsciously
positioning her body for the most leverage.
She whispered my name into my ear, and I began pushing a
little further with each stroke.
She said my name again, louder, and her arms gripped me
harder around my neck.
"I love you...I love you" she whispered through closed eyes. I
said the same words back to her.
I was surprised when I pushed my penis past her hymen,
feeling the slight pressure build and quickly give way, her head falling
back in a tearful grimace. I couldn't help it now.I held onto her as I
pushed in and out, deeper each time, her hands gripping my shoulders,
her elbows pressging against my chest. My tongue had again found her mouth,
and she was silent except for a gurgling yelp when the head of my penis
seemed to bump something deep inside of her and make her
involuntarily buck.
As it bumped something inside particularly hard, all of my
inhibitions suddenly broke. I could feel the tip of my penis pressing
against something deep inside of her as I began emptying what seemed like
an infinite amount of warm sperm. There were several short, strong
spasms that quickly tapered off into smaller ones.
I felt spent, like I had just run a marathon. Minutes later I
raised myself off of her body onto my forearms. Mariya lay silently
under me, her head on the pillow, eyes closed. Tears were visible in the
corners of her eyes and on her flushed cheeks. As my penis slowly
became flaccid, I asked her if she was all right. She buried her face into
my chest, saying nothing. I slowly pulled out of her, and we lay
together for some time.
She rose up and quickly went to the bathroom, clasping both
hands to her crotch as she walked. As I pulled back the blanket to get
out of bed, I saw the small smear of blood where we had been.
I got up, put on my underwear, and went to the bathroom sink
to wash my face. The door to the toilet was closed. I pushed it open
slightly, where she was sitting. "You made me bleed," she said sadly,
with alarm in her voice. "And there is something coming out," she
whimpered as she kept wiping herself with toilet paper. I told her that I
was sorry, and she continued to sit there, wiping, while I cleaned myself
up.
I felt like a jerk.
Later, after we both had dressed in silence, we sat on the sofa
together. She was stunned, and I did my best to explain to her what had
happened, that she meant very much to me, and that sex for women is
usually not very pleasant the first time. Her fear seemed somewhat
placated by my explanations, and she hugged me as we sat together.
She cried a little, though, and each time it tore at my heart. I don't
think that she really understood everything that had just happened. She
did have to go back and clean herself several times, and her normally flat
stomach and small breasts had swollen a little bit. We hugged a little
more, and she seemed more secure when I told her how much I really
cared about her.
Of course, I saw her the next day at the but stop. She smiled a
little when she saw me, sadness in her eyes, but I took it as a good sign.
We held hands as we sat together on the bus, covering them with my
coat. In whispered conversation, she said that she was all right, but
wanted to be a good person and was very ashamed at what she had
done. She said that she did want to be with me, though. I told her that I
wanted to be with her, too.
All through the week I could not stop thinking about her. I felt
that perhaps I should break off the relationship, but knew that I did not
want to go on without her.
The next Saturday, and many Saturdays following, went much
the same. We would go to lunch, perhaps a movie, museum, or
shopping, then come back to my place and make love.
At first, that's not the way I had planned it. It just seemed that
as soon as we got back to my place, we began to kiss, and that always
led to sex. After our second time I went out and bought some
contraceptive gel, and Mariya was grudgingly willing to use it when I
explained what it was for. The gel had the added bonus of increasing
lubrication, but it made her itch after we were done. She seemed
surprised to find out the detailed physical causes as to how babies were
made. She had her period several weeks after our first physical
encounter, so I stopped worrying so much about a possible pregnancy.
She was a caring lover, and tried very hard to please me. It
was an honest, simple relationship. I cared about her and tried to make
her happy, and she did the same for me.
Mariya did not like to give oral sex, even after I was freshly
showered, but enjoyed receiving it. I was able to get her to try almost
anything, since her inhibitions had been thoroughly shattered by that
time. She really didn't like to put her mouth on my private parts,
though.
I am almost ashamed to say that she even allowed anal sex, if I
went slow and used lubrication. I would often excite her orally, which
was the most sure way to bring her to orgasm, then she would turn
over, her arms crossed under her head, and let me enjoy her. It still gets
me excited to think about taking her that way, her face turned to the
side, my hands cupped around her small breasts as I took her tight
buttocks and tongued her ear. It was also great because she didn't have
to use the itchy contraceptive gel, and I didn't have to worry about her
getting pregnant. She would breathe with my rhythm, small high-
pitched sounds coming from her mouth before I exploded inside of her
and she had to run to the bathroom.
We spent many weekend afternoons just laying naked next to one another,
talking and playing silly games like young lovers.
We would shower together before she had to go home, and I would
watch her in admiration as she blow-dried her thick hair.
I have never had a woman, before or since, that was so
unconditionally loving and trusting as Mariya.
We continued our relationship for months. I was wondering if
it would be better to marry her as soon as possible, or after she
graduated from high school. We discussed what our children might
look like.
One morning in April she did not show up at the stop. I waited
for twenty minutes, then went to work assuming that she was sick. The
next day, I didn't see her either, and she hadn't called. I started to
worry a great deal. On the third day I left the stop and went to her
apartment building. I knew that she had a real fear about her mother
finding out about us, but I was almost frantic.
I knocked on what I thought was her door. When I didn't
receive an answer, I knocked on the next door. An older lady
answered.
"Pardon me," I said, "I'm from the City Truant office, and am
wondering if you know where I might find Mariya, from apartment 205.
She hasn't been to school for three days."
The old lady looked at me and yelled something in Russian (I
think). Another lady, this one middle-aged, also came to the door, and
they had an excited conversation in the same language, with "Mariya"
thrown in occasionally.
"Oh," said the second lady. "Mariya and her mother have
moved to..to...how do you say..Detroit?..or maybe it is Dallas?
It is one of those places that starts with "D,"...or maybe it something
else...I am not sure, it is one of those big American cities. She has
been very bad daughter, she was not proper, her mother was so
mad...her mother says that they go to live with her...her...how do you
say...her "godparents?"
The lady talking to me stopped and rubbed her forehead as if
the conversation was taking a lot of concentration. "Mariya was being
with some man, going to his house, not even Belarussian, such a
shame." She rolled her eyes in disgust.
I thanked them for their time, went back to my apartment, and
called in to work sick.
I don't know how her mother had found out about us. We had
been a little more bold lately, holding hands in public, and perhaps
someone from her building had seen us.
I started looking for her that day. Her mother had personally
picked up her records at school, and there was no forwarding address
with either the landlord or post office.
I found where her mother had worked, and the other hotel
employees were very kind but unable to give me any solid leads.
Mariya's mother had given a two-week notice, so she had obviously
planned this for some time. Neighbors said that she had packed
everything into an old white van before she disappeared.
I took a week off of work. A Russian-speaking skip-tracer
that I hired could not find out much more than I already knew. Like
many immigrants, Mariya's mother had conducted most financial
transactions in cash, so there was little paper trail. None of the local
Belarussians seemed really sure where she had gone. She had
mentioned several different places to different people, including a
possible return to Belarus.
In a very roundabout way, I sort of explained the situation to a
local Orthodox priest. He said that many of the Belarussians in his
congregation placed a lot of emphasis on proper moral behavior, and
expected their children to marry within their ethnic group. He assumed
that Mariya's mother had moved far away, intending for her daughter to
have no more contact with me.
I took drastic steps. I hired an immigration attorney, but he
said, after researching Mariya and her mother, that they were
"Permanent Residents. " This meant that they had almost six more
years before they had to re-apply for citizenship. The Immigration and
Naturalization Service still had their local address.
The Belarussian embassy, in D.C., was not at all helpful.
I had another private investigator obtain recent airline
passenger lists to the former Soviet Union, but none of them produced
any solid leads. Since her mom had packed a van, I assumed that they
were still in the States somewhere. I hired local private investigators in
Detroit and Dallas, but none of them could find Mariya.
Mariya's school, and music teacher, seemed as concerned as
me. Their records only listed the local address.
Where she went is anybody's guess. I was sick, heartbroken,
and spent a lot of money on searching. I also began to spend a lot of
money on alcohol.
I began to give up hope. After two more months, I realized
that Mariya was just temporary gift that would never be forgotten.
Since Mariya knew my number, I set up caller-ID in case she should
call.
She never did.
I never saw Mariya again.
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