The Russian Wife Ch. 07

The crown, maybe, was the only thing that puzzled him. He came from generations of republicans, and had some anarchic uncles too. To get crowned, even for the best reasons and for a short time, was a bit embarrassing, for him... Sometimes he looked up, with a perplexed face... I had to force myself for not to smile too much. It was a very serious matter, for me. We were in a church. We were married again, this time in the presence of God... Maybe my man felt a bit less than me the importance of the event. While Batyushka was not seeing us, she looked at me a smile.

"You're a fairy queen, with that crown..." he whispered. I blushed, but smiled too.

His mother was there too. She had had no objection to my choice, all the way round, she defended me from anyone who raised objections: "Signòra", we are in Italy, we are catholics..." or the like. She just said "Mind your business, "bìschero"!", with a tone which allowed no reply...

I felt guilty towards her: I had failed to give her a grandchild... But she did not care. I was a nice, good "daughter-in-law" ("nuòra"), and I was going to marry "il su figliolo" in church. In a bit different church: so what? God was God, Jesus was Jesus, Our Lady was Our Lady, for her and for me, right? And then, the rest was "bischeràte da prèti", priests' craps, not our business, "che ci frèga a noi?"

"Ti gàrba lì, spòsati lì!" she told me. You like going there, you marry there. And don't dare NOT to invite me...

Of course we had talked about the child too. By chance, once she came to visit us, but my man was not at home, I offered her a coffee, the minimum of hospitality in Italy (in Russia is tea), but she saw I was not ok. She thought I was still week, I came from the hospital a week ago. But it was not that. I got the chance of the absence of my man and told her what it was. Virtually, I begged his pardon.

"But what pardon do you beg, it did not depend on you!" she said. "It has happened. So it goes..."

"The point is... I am afraid... I will never have the courage to... do it again..."

"I guess it..."

"You too have lost some..."

"Oh, no! Thank god, no! They all came down like water!" she smiled. Then she hugged me, an arm behind my neck. "But I've said: it doesn't depend on you. There's nothing you can do. May be, one time is fine, the next go nuts. And till you are there, you never know... I know it, and my son too..."

"I'm frightened... I would like to give a son to him, but... I'm so scared..."

"Sure... I know what fear is... And not only the fear of the childbirth..."

"Sorry, but... do you mean... the war?"

"Yes. I am younger than your father, but... I've seen it..."

"The bombings?"

"No... we were "evacuees" on the Appennines... We saw the planes, but no one bothered to bomb us..."

"And then?"

"Then... " she looked at me, smiling. "I was a little partisan..."

"Partisan?"

"Yes... runner, messenger girl... It seems like a game... But once, I had just delivered a message to a group, and we met some Germans... Of course we started shooting, and they too... Do you know what means to be in a firefight? You can't... It's not like the movies, in the movies, you stay out, safe, there you are in... a hell of a noise, stray bullets everywhere, and each one of them may be the right one for you... And if some "bìschero" start throwing grenades, beware the splinters... They buzz, buzz, and can hit you even two hundred meters away... In a nutshell, we had won, or I would not be here, but not all of us had been so lucky... And a dead man is never nice to be seen, guess if they are a dozen or more... Yours, Germans, it's not so different... And even without this, you can guess how I felt... You know, it's not just the noise, it's the air that moves... A near miss, you know, you feel it IN your ears, as if someone sucks the air away, and you know you are alive by miracle... And I had had a near miss, maybe two... Then I decided, no more message to deliver, stop being a runner. At the cost of being put on the execution line..."

"And then?"

"And then, nothing. I spoke with my commander, and he did not put me on the execution line: he smiled like an actor and patted my shoulder and said no worry, you have done your share, and even more... And before I left, he stood on "attention", smiling, and greeted me, militarily, as a heroine... And however, the day after the Americans came, and for us the war was over... But I say, I KNOW what fear is!"

I remained speechless. My father never was so precise, when he told me about the war. "Vsiò seriòsnee cem v kinò"... All more serious than in the movies... Really...

"Listen!" she told me, taking my hand. "I'm very sorry you didn't have the child. With two parents like you and "mi figliolo", he would have been wonderful. If you want to try again, all my best wishes. But if it is for me, don't do it. "Non fare bischerate"..." she said, very serious: don't make shit... "I have grandchildren already. Just take care of my son, that's what I ask you. Never leave him. I will not live forever, and there's a lot of stupid bitches and bastards, out there. He has been lucky to meet you, and you have been lucky to meet him. And with this, end of discussion: when he comes, no more a word about that matter, okay?"

After the wedding, my man got some vacation and we had a trip. Theoretically, a second "viaggio di nozze", but a white one. I was not yet ready to start again with sex, and my man respected my times. He said that we could take twin rooms, with separated beds, if I would, and it was not a jest, or an accusation: he simply wanted me to be at my ease.

But I wanted to sleep with him, literally "to sleep", like when he was my "Papa Bear", after the death of my parents. So we took always double bed, and I could hug him in the night again.

That time he too needed to speak, sometimes, and not only me. He felt responsible for what I had undergone. I mean, of course, HE got me pregnant, and then... Maybe that was why he wanted twin beds... Sense of guilt... Absurd, but real.

We always did sex without "protection", every time we thought "what if", not in fear: with a smile. We were willing to have a child, son or daughter, never mind, even more than one. Then, things went as they went, "c'est la vie", live's like that, "Kosh ty dièlay"... "Vòlia Bòja", God's will, said Batyushka: his way to say that there was nothing to understand. And I knew that already. It was relaxing, after all... You can do nothing, so, relax...

Where was my man's fault? Nowhere. No one of us was to blame. Even less, he.

After a while, I started doing some exercises I have found in a book. Kegel, you know: tighten your thighs, etcetera. I wanted to be as "like before" as possible, for him. And make love with him again. My way to "pardon" him, if he really needed it.

When I told him to "disrespect" me again, he did not ask me if I was sure. He just smiled, hugged me, and started kissing me, everywhere. Not a word, they were useless. Virtually not a sound at all. He descended slowly to my hub and below, kissed my thighs, and waited for my request, before to kiss my sex, to open it, to penetrate it with his tongue...

It was just the sex, the vulva, the vagina of the woman he loved, nothing else. No matter what should have got out from there and did not. That was the past. He kept himself, and me, in the present... And I was grateful to him for that...

"Do you like it yet?" I ask him. He looked at me.

"As always!" he smiled. And licked me inside to show it, to prove it... His tongue, as always... Long, strong, clever... The tongue of my man, of my love, of my "sàmez". There were no bad memories, no sad thoughts, no nightmares... just love, pleasure and... yes, mutual help... We both needed that... What else must be, in a marital sex?

"Now..." I said. He came over my body, slowly, sweetly, and penetrated me, calmly, with his sex... It was his place, no matter what had happened, he was mine, and I was of his... My body did not refuse him, it let him in, like a "kniàz", a prince, in his "dvorèz", in his castle... up to the bottom, again...

"It's better if you don't get... by now..." he said. I nodded.

"No worry... I am sure... No risk..."

He breathed with relief, and started ploughing me, strongly, but gradually. That time I did not ask him to do it "silnièie", of course. He was warm and strong enough to make me enjoy it, and slow and tender enough for not to hurt me. My insides needed to be massaged, not rammed, and that was what he was doing...

I was breathing deeply, without moaning, without crying. That was enough for him to understand: he was doing well, "tak derjàt", go ahead that way... He started moving his sex with his low muscles only, up and down, without pushing with his limbs... It was good too! And this too did not hurt me...

"I love you, my "sàmez"!" I said. He smiled. No need to answer, I knew it was mutual...

"Tighten your cunt, please... if you can..." he asked me, gently.

I did it, a bit, carefully, and it was enough for him to push his head behind and moan. Those exercises were working! He looked at me with wide open eyes.

"Wow!" he said. I smiled and did it again. Same reaction...

"Do it slower, by now!" he suggested me. "You never know..."

"I can do!" I said, and did it again, stronger. No problems inside, and he howled with pleasure...

"Am I like before?" I asked, though I knew the answer. I wanted to hear him say that...

"Maybe better!" he nodded.

"Really?" I asked. He nodded again. "Do you want to try... "silnìeie"?"

"No need for that!" he said , shaking his head no. He was afraid to hurt me, clearly... "Just keep tightening your sex, when you want..."

I nodded and let him plough me, ride me, slow and sure, enjoying when I tightened my sex. Then he "finished" inside of me, and me too, calmly... A deep, tranquil orgasm, relaxing, soothing... No cries, just breaths, deep breaths, closed eyes...

"Next time, maybe, I've to use..." he mused.

"What?"

"If you don't want..." He shrugged. "Why risk?"

"You mean... "galosh"?"

He smiled and nodded: it was the old "soviet" jargon for "condoms"

"No, I don't want!" I said. "You know what they said: to make love using "galosh..."

"Is like to smell a rose with a gas mask!" he snorted, nodding again: he knew, of course... the message was: you don't feel a damn, with that stuff... "But now there are different kinds, not so thick..."

"It's the same. I want to feel all, when we do it. To feel you, all of you, since we begin, till the end..."

"Till the end? Till the "finish"?" he asked, surprised. I nodded.

"Yes, till the "finish"... Till you "finish" inside of me!"

"Do you like it so much?" he asked. He thought it was strange. But why?

"Yes, I like it... It's warm, strong, abundant... You know, I feel it not only as you semen... but as your... energy too..."

"My "yang" inside your "yin"?" he smiled. I nodded again.

"Yes, your "yang"... And your love... I feel you love me, when you do it... You are not just emptying your balls into me: you are giving me your strenght, your love... Your life..."

"My life strength? My lifeblood?"

"Yes..." I smiled. "And however, I like to feel that warm, strong thing flooding into me... It's a part of you, it's you... And it's good, a good sensation... "

"Do you feel a female? A real female? An..."

"An alpha female possessed by an alpha male," I nodded, smiling. "Till the end... till the bottom... to the deepest of me... where your sex can't get... It's always something yours..."

"Even if... you don't want..."

"Yes... You know, I'm scared yet, about that... But I want to feel that way, all the same... I want to feel YOU that way... My man, my male... "

"No problem, for me. There is the pill, if you want. You go to your gyn, do the tests you need and let her advise you, what kind is better. Or I can sterilize myself..."

"Oh, no, don't do it..." I shook my head no, worried.

"Why not? If you don't want... It's not castration, it's just a little cut," he snorted. "The tool works all the same!"

"No, no... I don't want NOW, maybe later... And however, I would feel as if you maim yourself, for me... I can't accept that... Please don't do!"

"Karashò!" he smiled: all right... "Then let's go forth with the pill. If you can change your mind, it's the best thing, indeed." he said. I nodded: clean, safe and reversible, just in case. "But what the Church says? Is there something like the "Humanae Vitae" of the Catholic Church?"

"No, nothing like that." I said. "The Church does not support the use of contraception, but there is no strict prohibition. The rule is that, in the room of the spouses, there are the spouses, not the priest..." I smiled.

"I like that Church more and more!" he snorted.

And I hugged him. The deal was done, and we both were happy about it.