The Russian Wife Ch. 11

"And he?"

"And he accepted: they were friends for him, almost brothers, and it was a proof of esteem... But most of all, he was a patriot, a Russian, and proud of it..."

"Then... he would be not so happy now... In Russia..."

"Oh, now it's not so bad, after all. The real problem was ten, twelve years ago, in the nineties... But he had died before... And I was here already... "slava Bogu", thank God!"

"Are you happy to be here?"

"Yes... But this does not apply to every given Russian girl who has come here, you know? I had married your uncle, when we were there... This was the difference, for me. Even if I would have remained there, with him, I would have been happy all the same. Nineties or not nineties. But many girls have come here, thinking to have got to the Heaven on the heart, and ended up badly. They have become whores. Or they have married men who were unfit for themselves..."

"And he is fit for you..."

"Absolutely... And not because he is weak, or "podkablùchny", as we say... He is a man, which no woman can keep underfoot... He knows how to get respect... For himself and for me. And for my country... You have seen how he speaks about the medals of my father..."

"Did you hear..."

"Yes... And however, I know that he is so, besides that... You know, once we went to Moscow. It was summer, we were dressed very... fancifully!" I snorted. "He wore a cowboy hat, and I had a pair of glasses with big dark lenses, Like an American movie star, but of some decades ago... We were on the plane already, and then a guy came to us and started talking, in English. He was an American, and he thought we were his countrymen."

"And what he was saying?"

"Oh, Jingoist crap... He was going to Moscow for the first time, and he did not give a damn for Tretyakov Gallery, the Bolshoy and the like, you got the picture... "

"He wanted to have fun..."

"Yes, and there's nothing bad in it... But he spoke as he thought to go in some colony, or something like that, say... well, I figured he was on a sex tourism trip, in a nutshell."

"Sex tourism?"

"Oh, yeah... You know, it was in the nineties, and that guy had a full-blown post-cold-war-booze in his head, if you know what I mean... "We have won the cold war, we could buy everything, women included"... Things like that..."

"And then?"

"You speak each other Russian?""And then your uncle looked at him, with a face like, you know... something like Clint Eastwood in those Spaghetti Western movies, of Sergio Leone... And he told him, just grinning: "My wife is Russian, you asshole!"... just grinning, no shout... Do you know what it mean? It's a VERY bad word! I have raised my glasses, as if I awoke just then from a nip, and that guy saw my Slavic face... And then he shut his mouth and went away... Fun!" I shook my head, smiling.

"Oh... yes, fun..."

"And then... I told your uncle, in Russian... "Strange guy, ain't it?". And he leaned his head on the back of the seat and said: "Yes, very strange..." and covered his face with his hat, as a real cowboy... " I laughed. "What a man..."

"Sometimes... He speaks Russian very well, you know... Without any accent... Any foreign accent, I mean."

"Why do you do it? You speak Italian very well too..."

"Well, we got used to do that, from the beginning. I like it... I feel a bit more at home, so."

"You don't feel at home, in Italy?"

"Well, I feel fine, in Italy, but it's not my "home". You know how they say in Sardinia: "Blood is not water", and it's true... I love this Country, but it's not MY Country. My country is Russia. And he never asked me to forget it. He likes Russia too..."

"Would you live in Russia, now?"

"Well, I want to live with your uncle, and he could have trouble to find a job there... But for the rest... I know, there are problems there yet. But every Country has problems, here there are problems... Israel has problems..."

"Israel?"

"Yes... I knew lots of people who wanted to leave Russia and go there, and now they are there... and some of them would even come back!"

"Why?"

"Because it's almost as living on a front line. The Palestinians fire rockets on the occupied territories, or set up attacks in the legal territory of Israel, and the army retaliates, or even the settlers and other Jewish gung-ho do it... A fine mess, worse than our Caucasus. And if this was not enough, there are the ultra orthodox Jews, who say that Russian Jews are not REAL Jews..."

"Why?"

"Because they are too much secularized, they are not "pure" Jews, say, too many mixed marriages, and all that crap... And so they say that if one of ours dies, even fighting for the Country, he has no right to be buried in a Jewish graveyard... And they insult our girls too... They say "Natasha" as to say... a girl who makes the oldest profession..."

"Who has told you that?"

"A girlfriend of mine. Thank God she does not live in the occupied territories: she and his husband have set down in Haifa... It's the economic capital of Israel. Do you know what they say? "Jerusalem prays, Haifa works, Tel Aviv has fun"..."

"But there are terroristic attacks, there too, I've heard..."

"Yes, every now and then, as in Moscow... But compared to Gaza or West Bank... "Vive la différence", as the Frenchmen say..."

We kept packing his dress for a while, then he talked again.

"Sorry, but... Do you never fight with each other?"

"Oh, sure, we fight." I said. "As everybody... when we are nervous, for some reasons..."

"I mean... seriously..."

I got what he meant. And I snorted.

"No, no fistfight and no throwing of dishes, if you mean that... And not so much fighting at all, lately... And not because I am sweet and submissive. Never think that Russian women are so, especially, not submissive... We know a man who believed that, he had married a good Russian girl, but now he is alone again, all the same... Because "good" means not "gèisha"."

"And you are not "gèisha"..."

"Not on your life! It has been not so easy to live with me... He made it up, that's all. He "tamed" me, as far as I could and should be tamed. And he gave me all I needed. He has been my father, my son, my friend, my lover... And my anxiolytic too." I smiled.

"Anxiolytic?"

"Yes, the stuff you can take when you are upset, over a barrel... That is, some people take it, but if you do it for too long, it can cause problems... I never did. Maybe because I have him. Or else, who knows... With my temper..."

"He says you are SWEET, with him..."

"And why shouldn't I? We are not sqaws or "gèishas", yes, but don't be scared: if we find the right man, we are like the other women. Maybe even a bit better. Because we value him: we know the right men don't raise as weeds... And you have to do what you can, for to hold them tight, if you got them..." I snorted.

"A right man... Does it mean "a rich man"?"

"Better rich than broke." I said. "But if a man is smart. he will be rich enough, if not in the present, in the future. And if not, he will not be rich forever. And if he is stingy, he will live like a poor man. And you too. So, money is not all..."

"What is a right man, for you?"

"Not drunkhard, not violent... loyal and true... trustworthy... Good in bed..." I chuckled.

"And he is so?"

"Yes... All down the line..." I nodded.

"I think he too is in love with you..."

"Oh, he's strange... Once he told me that he was fond of me, but he did not love me... but I know it's not true..."

"It's not true that he is fond of you?" he asked.

"It's not true that he does not love me..." I shrugged. "But I've said, he is strange... He is scared of such word as... Love, death... God... Country... He feels they are... "pàfosny"..."

"That is?"

"Melodramatic..." I shrugged again. "Too much sentimental, rhetoric... He dislikes them... He is also scared to be too much mawkish when he gives me something as a gift, for holidays, anniversaries... "

"So, he makes no gifts..."

"Oh, no, he does it... He always looks like a bear who wants to give a bouquet of flowers, but just so, as if it was casual... It's fun, I like it... " I smiled. I raised my fist as if it was holding a bouquet, and looked to the other side. "Well, huh, like, this SHOULD BE a bouquet!" I mumbled, making the most baritone, manly voice I could.

"Oh, I've got it!" he laughed. He looked at me. "But are you sure he is faithful to you? Aren't you jealous?"

"Oh, yes, I am!" I nodded. "You better be careful about that too, if you ever engage with a Russian girl! We don't kid about that!"

"But you are sure he is trustworthy..."

"Yes, I am... He knows I am potentially jealous, but he jokes about that. He tells me something like "I like you, what can I do?"... Or even "Never fight on two fronts"... And that's enough for me. He doesn't need to say "I love only you" or the like. I trust him."

"Always?"

"Well... Once I looked at his SMSs, and then in his wallet. There was something like a voice in my head who pushed me to do that... An do you know what I have found in his wallet?"

"A picture of a girl?"

"No, a picture of Sean Connery..."

"Sean Connery?"

"Yes. As he is now, mustaches and all the rest..."

"Maybe he is a..."

"Oh, no, he is not, I know it for sure!" I chuckled. "But, you know, Sean Connery is a nice old man, healthy, charming too... Got the picture?"

"You mean... He is a model for him?"

"I guess yes... Say, an antidote to the mid-age crisis... And yes, even an esthetic model. He wants to be like him, or thereabouts. And he is quite like him, indeed. No mustaches, a bit more hair, a bit less slender, but, more or less... "

"And maybe he wants to be so, to pick up some girls..."

"Oh no... he wants to be that for ME!"

"How can you say that?"

"Well, first, I like Sean Connery too... We have seen together "Russia House", where he played with Michelle Pfeiffer, from the novel by John Le Carrè... Wonderful movies. Michelle seemed a real young Russian woman, as her character was, and I can say it... But Sean was fine too, and he knew I had liked him a lot... Maybe then he has decided what he will be, as an old man..." I chuckled.

"And second?"

"And second. I've said it, I trust him." I shrugged. "That's all..."

"So... It's all right, here, for you..."

"Yes, it's all right... Why?"

"Well... I thought... I was thinking... "

Poor boy. I had annihilated him. "Unichtòjen". I took his chin between my index and my inch, and forced him to look into my eyes. Eyes like those of a sphinx. Of a "chekìst"...

"You thought you could have some chance with a secretly disillusioned wife..."

"Well... Yes!" he said, looking at me. Is it so clear? Of course, it's clear, boy. I read you, like an open book, no, like a poster. Loud and strong, five on five. "I would like to..."

"Don't tell it." I said. He looked down. I shook my head, smiling. No, I was not at all disillusioned, I loved my man, I was happy and proud to be his wife. And I was not in love with that young man with a boyish hearth. I did not even desire him, there was no passion between us. I just wanted to be his first woman. His first female. The one he would have never forgotten. His second mother, in a sense.

So I closed my eyes and give him a motherly kiss on his cheek. Nothing shameful, boy. You are a man, I'm a woman. Maybe not your woman, not for a life, not for this life... But it's all right... You wish me, your body desires my own... It's normal...

He sat on his bed, always looking down, and I seated close to him. And then I started to undress myself. He looked at me and his eyes got wide open. I take his arms in my hands. He gasped...

"Kiss me." I said. "Come on, kiss me, now, don't be afraid..."

"But... Uncle... Your husband..."

"This has nothing to do with my husband... Just with me..."

I know: not only I was acting like a whore again, but I was using the wrong tactics. You can't do that with a boy, with an absolute beginner... Yes, they want it, they want "that", but not "that way". They dream about something more solemn, like an initiation. But sex and war are never what you expect. A woman decides, undresses herself, undresses you, and that's all, or thereabouts. The rest is "dèlo tèkniki", a matter of technics, of skills.

So there was the chance that he could run away, shocked and awed, "vade retro Satana". But he did not do that. He was too much surprised. Or too much smart. He let me hug him, always more like a mother than like a lover. I was talking at him, calmly, as to teach him the rules of the game. I had my bra upon yet. When I was sure he would have not fainted or got mad somehow, I take it off. And he looked at my breast, shaking his head.

"If this is a dream, don't wake me up!" he said.

And then he jumped over me, like a wildcat, making me fall down, my spine on the mattress. Maybe the spectacle of my breasts had put an end to his stupor. They were real. It was as if he never saw real boobs before. Not so close, at least.

"Oh!" I said, while he grabbed my wrists and blocked them on the bed, just in case I was thinking to defend myself... But I was NOT thinking to do it: i was laughing... His face was between my breasts, and now he knew my breasts were not a dream. They were better... In that moment, he had forgotten his uncle, the fact I was a married woman, and everything. And better off that way...

"Your breasts... Are so soft... and firm... " he said. "You are wonderful!"

"Hm!" I answered. Maybe he understood that it was the time to act, and not to tell. He kept kissing my breasts, my body, without losing time with comments... He was almost a kid, for me. His hands were not big, warm and strong like the hands of my man, and his kisser were acts of worshipping, not acts of possession as those of my man... But he scrupulously followed his teachings. Warm up the woman, let her have fun, before to think about yourself...

Of course he had no idea HOW to warm me up: he was just too happy to touch and kiss a REAL woman, and not a pillow or the like, without being bounced, or even beaten. I was not even a whore: I was a woman who REALLY wanted to make love with HIM. So he was on cloud nine, happy to kiss my body as a horse is happy to run, and a dolphin is happy to swim... And I smiled looking at him.

At a certain point, I started to pull him down. Not "away": down along my body. It was a hint, and he got it. He looked at me, as if to ask "can I really do it? May I?", and then he began to kiss my sex. And I relaxed while he was doing. Even on that trade, my man belonged to another league, but that boy had got the real stuff too! He played with his nose inside my vulva... And this reminded me my man again... But I felt no remorse at all. I had the permission of my man, it was not a REAL adultery, after all... Maybe a sin, but not THAT sin... However, the cleanest, sweetest sin in the world...

When he started working with his tongue around my sex, I started "warming up", but seriously! I don't think my man had taught him his "tactical tricks" too, but he was using them all the same. All around, and then inside... teaching or instinct, he was really a "yebàr ekvìlibrist", as his uncle... so sweet, so clever...

I was worried my sex was not exactly "fresh" for him: there were almost two decades, between us. But he was not a bit disturbed by that... He outstretched his arms, stopping to kiss my vulva, and looked at me, his eyes wide open.

"It's wonderful!" he said. And I knew what he was talking about.

I smiled, stroked his hair, and he started it over again. The inner side of my thighs, my crotch again, from the perineum to the clitoris and back, and then, inside, one more time...

"Kiss me anywhere else too... Don't be sectarian!" I smiled. And he complied, as a good pupil, eager to please the teacher... I felt his kisses on my belly... It's strange, but many women like to be kissed there too, though there is nothing special, just skin, just as on the inner side of the thighs... And I liked it too...

"Can I kiss your nipples?" he asked. Strange question... An excess of politeness?

"It's all at your disposal... ", I smiled again. And he did it. He liked to play with his tongue with my areolas, and my nipples too. It was tickling, pleasurable, relaxing. He too had no hurry to plant his flag inside of me, and this was good. He was waiting for me to give him the "clearing for landing"... And in the meantime, he was enjoying my skin, my flesh, my softness, my taste... He pressed his nose in my sweaty cleavage and breathed, satisfied.

"Do you like my smell?" I asked, smiling.

He nodded. I did not tell him his uncle liked it too. He would have been puzzled, if someone of something would have reminded him he was making love with the woman of another man. And I wanted him to be as "at ease" as possible. Smell, boy. Smell me, taste me, kiss me... And tell me if to lead can be better than this! To lead is not better THAN to bone: it's better FOR to bone... Because women like the leaders, those who ARE or CAN BE leaders...

Yes, I thought, while he kept revelling with my body. Women like those who CAN be leaders. Not only the strong one, not only the rich ones, but the smart ones, the clever ones, the cunning ones... And so it was, since the oldest ages, before they invented the money, the land owning, the agriculture itself... When the nicest women looked for the smartest hunters, the cleverest warriors... who sooner or later could become the chieftains of their tribes... Somethings never change...

Could that young man become the chieftain of something? His uncle had become. Why not him? Now he had to face a trial, a test of resistance. To kill the child inside himself, once and forever, or for to coat him with a thick armor, that he could undress, just at the right moment, with the right person... As my man did with me...

I was giving him the strength to face that prove. I was showing him that there was something worth to survive for. Sex, why not? Good old sex...

He had come back with his face between my legs, and was blowing on my pubic hair. And I laughed. This too was a touch of class, if not of genius. It tickled not only my hair, but my sex too... Funny and arousing at the same time. I smiled at him.

"Don't take it bad, if I laugh. You are clever!" I said.

He smiled and kept on playing with my nymphs, my clitoris and my insides, aptly, to the point I "finished" on his face. He had really got talent!

I looked at him. I was happy, excited, sweated, breathing hard after the orgasm, and I took his arms to pull him over me. Come on, boy. You have primed yourself well, the teacher is satisfied. "Kràsny diplòm", red diploma, the top of the top. Now, stop with the games, come, inside of me...

He was a good young stud, as he had been a good foreplayer. He rode me, hard and quite long. His sex was smaller than the one I was used to, but not so much, and however, I knew how to feel it better, and how to make him feel my inner heat more... He was in ecstasy while he ploughed me, and even more when he "finished" in my womb... And I "finished" too, again...

And then, looking at the ceiling, panting at my side, he came back on the planet Hearth, and started to think about what had just happened. And he was not proud of himself.

"Sorry, but..." he said. "Why did you do it?"

"What do you think?" I asked him, tranquilly.

"That is, excuse me... WE did it, it's right... But... Why did YOU do it? You say you love my uncle, he is good with you... I don't understand!"

"What do you think?" I repeated.

"Maybe... you are not satisfied with him..." he inferred. I burst out laughing. " I mean... physically, sexually... " he specified. And I laughed even stronger, looking at the ceiling.

"Oh, no, you're very wrong!" I answered. Then I looked at him. "No, sorry, don't take it bad. I have REALLY come, no fake, you have been REALLY good... It's difficult that a young man can be so fine in bed, especially a virgin. I did not expect it... I have heard you and my husband talking to each other, some days ago... But I did not think you had learned his lesson so well..." I shook my head, smiling.