The Rascally Romance (in a single helluva-long letter about a flicking-short life) - Сергей Николаевич Огольцов

Aunt Nina worked at the Meat-Packing Plant in three shifts. To reach her workplace she had to walk two kilometers along the railway track on the city outskirts. But on the other hand, her family didn't need buying meat at Bazaar because even though the bags of workers after their shifts were looked thru at the Meat-Packing Plant check-entrance, they never frisked the panties of exiting women…

And on that same bench, we talked about Art. For example, there we discussed the "Romeo and Juliet" after watching the movie together in the basement cinema at Loony.

"They talked and talked and I could not make a damn thing out what all their talks were about, yet tears were dripping from my eyes all the same just like by some fool…”

(…which was a very well-defined assessment, by the by, because the rhymed and metered speech makes words you know seem unknown obscuring even so simple a fact that more than one of noble ladies in Verona, way younger than you, had babies at your age…)

It was also there (I'm still about the bench) that Olga harpooned me up, hard and securely. She uttered just one phrase but if you're a born patsy of graphomaniac you're in a deep trap.

"Yesterday I entered in my diary: ‘…when he kissed me goodbye I was devastatingly happy.’”

Dammit! You're done for! And there is no way out! Firstly, in many tons of the read and re-read literary output, I had never come across such an expression " devastatingly happy". Secondly, she kept a diary! Thirdly, but not lastly, I was there in that journal!.

After the dances, we sometimes saw her girlfriend Sveta to the porch of Sveta's khutta. At so late a time the Konotopers who dwelt in khuttas did not venture into their yards, more so Sveta's Granny and Grandpa. After giggling by our side for the stretch of a smoke, Sveta went in to bed, and the porch with the narrow plank bench was left at our disposal.

On one of such evenings, Olga told me to wait on that porch while she'd be gone to her khutta because Aunt Nina had the third shift that day and Uncle Kolya left by his motorcycle for someplace in the district.

It took a long wait before from the neighboring yard came the tinkle of the handle-latch in the wicket closed by departing Aunt Nina. A few minutes later, Olga appeared at the porch and mutely beckoned me to follow. We went out into the back-alley and noiselessly entered the yard of her khutta.

The door from the veranda opened to a large kitchen succeeded by an even larger living-room to the right, and a bedroom to the left, both separated from the kitchen by cloth curtains in the doorways. After the living-room, there was another bedroom for Olga and small Olya. We did not go there but turned into the owners' bedroom to the left.

Olga switched on the feeble night-light lamp and went out to the bedroom behind the living room. I was left alone facing the large double bed of a ceremonial aspect dimly glinting its nickel-plated siderails, and a smaller, more casual, bed next to the curtains in the doorway to the kitchen. Tight grip of unrelenting tension overwhelmed me.

She returned in a dressing gown whose unbuttoned sides were kept in place by her arms folded on its front. Not uttering a word, we both looked at the smaller bed and Olga put out the light. Under the gown, she had only panties on. I hastened to follow the suit reserving just my underpants. Then, in the bed, there followed a long wordless wrestling match for each of her dressing gown sleeves. Finally, I threw the whole item on a chair by the wall, the score of the clothes we had on became even – 1:1.

When I turned over to her, she lay on her back under the cover pulled up to her chest shielded by her tightly crossed arms. I felt it was chilly in the room and got under the cover too. The scramble to peel her small panties off took no less efforts than that about the large dressing gown. At last, there we were both stark naked, next to the cover shoved aside because it got darn hot under it. And then…

Then she writhed and dodged furiously from under me, pushing my hands away. I managed only to rub my cock between her thighs and against the tiny turf of hair without knowing what was what but feeling just a little more and…Now, almost…about there…Damn, she turned off again!.

(…I would do the deed, I swear I would, if only I had time enough… That night the cuckoo in the kitchen clock went crazy and jumped out with her shrill "coo! coo!" every other couple of minutes and now it was already croaking six and soon Olya was gonna be up for her breakfast, school so I had to put things on, quick, and get away before Aunt Nina were back from her work…)

Of course, that night we allowed ourselves too much and got way too far for any fail-safe. Hugs and kisses by the khutta wicket or on Sveta's porch were not enough anymore, and wouldn't do.

But where? And when? On November 7, said Olga, after young Olya would have passed in the holiday demonstration column of her school and be taken by Uncle Kolya and Aunt Nina on a visit to his village.

And that time no tricks would help Olga to wriggle away, the cuckoo's cries would mean nothing with the whole night being our own…

On the morning of the Great October Revolution Day, I came after Olga because we also were going out in the festive city. She was retouching with a pencil her trimmed, thread-thin, brows, and marking the corners of her eyes, spiffing up, in short.

There was no one but us, yet to my hug, she didn't respond with her body and said, "Why hurry? The khutta