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

clarifying that I needed nothing but mere technical assistance. Not that such frankness would hurt her in any way. The floozy had seen much more than I could imagine in the wildest dreams before she had to transfer to the Nezhyn State Pedagogical Institute to avoid being sent down from the University of Kiev for grossly unleashed fucking and sucking. Possibly, there were other reasons too, because she casually mentioned that her husband did not wear anything under his jeans at all. Well, I dunno, but for me, an innocent lad from the Settlement, the like extravagances seemed way too deep…

The technical assistance was applied in a neutral, of course, room and in a distanced, orogenital way. With the business-like warning not to crumple her breasts, where there were no erogenous zones, she flung my jeans open, zapped my cock out and went down on it. The pecker met the attacking force with brave unyielding hardon which attitude was retained thru all of the procedure. Regrettably so…

Time went on, she obviously ran out of her store of tricks in giving head but I still couldn’t cum. The situation more and more acquired the air of monotony and even considering the ringlets of her hair the color of raven's wing, and the glasses which she never took off, was of no help. And when there started to surface superfluous analogies and uncalled-for reminiscences of a dark alley in the park of Stavropol, I beat a retreat which is not an easy maneuver with a stubborn stalwart at presenting arms in the leg of your jeans.

Still and all, what a smart hell of a subtle plan it was! The second to none willingness for genuine self-sacrifice! A knightly deed, if you find a second to consider it with sufficient introspection… Catering a blow job to Spotty, who had no idea of whereabouts of those f-f…er…frigging erogenous zones of hers. A selflessly chivalrous readiness for anything just to please your beloved! If it was not an irrefutable example of devoted love and tender care, I know of nothing else that could be…

Nevertheless, I did not disclose to Eera what namely I had to get thru just to make her feel good. Because I never was keen on flashing my positive aspects and advertising my noble deeds overmuchly… Later on, that New Year night, when Eera and I sat up at the table again, wrapped in bedsheets like Romans in their togas, Spotty walked by the door opened to the corridor. Out there, with gleeful vehemence, those who met the New Year in the hostel congratulated each other.

Spotty politely knocked on the door jamb, was invited to the table, treated to wine and allowed to ask Eera about her life circumstances. Eera started to drive a fool to her, like, she was a married woman but her husband being a geologist seldom came home. Having just recently moved from Kiev to Nezhyn, Spotty believed anything driven to her which made us laugh immoderately.

The haughty, naive Romans in those loose togas, we were making fun of gullible Spotty without realizing that any jest was the truth which just needed some time to mature…

After the winter examination session, Eera and I went to Borzna for the wedding of her course-mate Vera to her solid groom in the rank of Major. Unlike the wedding of my course-mate two years before in the same Borzna town, the celebration was not a khutta affair but took place in the large café-canteen on the main square of that district center, and lasted for two days.

After the first day, Eera and I spent the night in a small khutta among the snow-filled vegetable gardens on the outskirts. The khutta owner, a distant relative of Vera, was told that Eera and I were a married couple, newlywed, and she, after having her fill at the wedding table, went to sleep over at some other relative's, because her place was a single room with a whitewashed oven, a table, a chair, and a bed. The bed stood by the wide windowsill with the sharply outlined black shadow of the lattice, lightened from outside by the full moon, whose beams set a-gleaming the glass walls in the empty three-liter jar left on the same shadow-crossed sill.

I liked everything there, and the crusty earth floor made of firm, washed-down, clay, and the bed with boards in place of the mesh, and the hay-stuffed mattress… It's highly unlikely that the mistress believed in our being a husband and wife because during the wedding feast I a couple of times caught her gaze, both encouraging and gruffly sneering, from behind the table where she sat among the elderly women in their Sunday best black padded jackets, or in black plush coats with thick plaid kerchiefs spread loosely over their shoulders…

We threw our clothes off on the chair and ascended to the matrimonial bed as it was a century and centuries before in those same khuttas lost among those same snowdrifts. The moon reluctantly rose up above the window frame and could no longer follow the merrymaking couple of newlyweds, pressing hay at the alternate ends of the bed rooted in the earth floor of the unchanging khutta…

On the second day, Eera grew silly jealous when I was called out from the wedding hall by a local beauty. I did not really get it what's what as in the din of celebration Vera's brother, Mozart by his handle, shouted into my ear the unintelligible message.

Leaving the café-canteen, I went to the half-dark backyard where a beautiful, in general, girl was staging a pathetic hysteria on the trampled snow, pinioned by two girlfriends, all the trinity in light festive dresses. A group of young spectators, who came out to air themselves, crowded by with exhortations to her and pieces of advice to the girls gripping her arms. Without the slightest participation in the amateur show, I turned to leave and met the unforgiving stare of Eera. Back at the