It was January of 1994 and I suppose by this time we had all finally accepted that the Cold War was over, done and past. There were no more surprises lurking around the corners of history, it was truly finished. At the same time we lost that sense of danger that comes from living under the volcano. It had been said again and again that we were just 48 hours away from being overrun by Warsaw Pact armored divisions and who really knows how much truth there was to that pessimistic prophecy ? I’m glad I never found out.
In any case I have always been fascinated by the old Soviet Union, having just missed out on learning Russian in school back in the States when my family (and my feebly protesting self) moved to Europe. And even though I wrote my college thesis on Cold War origins, for some reason or other I never traveled across the Iron Curtain. Was it prudence that undoubtedly came from listening to my father’s old war stories ? In 1942 in Archangel way above the Arctic Circle, he had come just a hair’s breadth away from being either summarily executed or shipped away to a camp in the Gulag by Stalin’s goons in the NKVD. Or so the family tale went. And that just because of his sailor’s lust for pussy. Maybe it was all somewhat less harrowing in actual fact or maybe his stories grew in the telling. Who really knows, or cares ? Still, whatever did happen, it instilled a healthy sense of caution in me that persisted longer than was actually necessary.
As I started out saying, it was January of 1994 and my wife and I were going to Finland for ten days. She to attend a conference in Helsinki and me just to tag along and take a break from the routine of running my shop. Since I hate being dependent on public transportation, especially in a foreign city, we booked passage on a ferry from Lübeck to Helsinki and drove our car across the Netherlands and Germany to the port of departure, making a little detour into former East Germany just for the charm of it all : watchtowers, minefields and barbed wire.
We spent a night and a day on board steaming over the gray Baltic, wondering how it was possible to feel so desolate on what appeared to be such a small body of water on the map.
Helsinki proved to be quite a charming city. It was blanketed by snow of course, the harbor frozen over but for a channel kept open by ice breakers. In many ways the city was reminiscent of Amsterdam. There were no canals and thankfully no hordes of maniacally suicidal cyclists, but the modern architecture was very similar : dark bricked buildings and store fronts done in a vaguely utilitarian ‘30s Art Deco style. The older buildings were more pleasing than those in Amsterdam, though maybe not as old. Most were plastered in light pastel shades and were built in what could best be called a classical manner with a central
The customs officials were very polite and friendly and soon we were on our way to the hotel which was located about 30 km north of the city. It was a novel sensation, navigating snow covered roads. In my country, most folks have a heart attack at the mere thought of snowfall, my wife being no exception. I just loved it though, having missed New Jersey country winters for so long. We made it to the hotel after nightfall, which comes early in these polar regions and were more than grateful for the cozy warmth of the rooms.
We spent the next two days touring Helsinki before my wife left to attend the conference she had come for. I had several days on my own now. At the hotel I went through folders and promotional material and came up with something that really intrigued me : a day trip to Tallinn in Estonia. The Tallink Ferry lines had a daily service that left early in the morning.
Obtaining a 24 hour visa was just a mere formality, nothing more than an entry payment as it were. I had never been across the Iron Curtain before and now a golden opportunity was staring me in the face. Never mind that the curtain was torn and down, that the Evil Empire had ignominiously collapsed and broken down into several new countries, now I finally had the chance to make a visit. And no excuse not to.
I talked it over with my wife and booked passage for one. I packed a small overnight bag and bright and early at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m. boarded the ship at one of the Helsinki docks. Much to my surprise it was quite crowded, though as it turned out not all with tourists. No doubt some of the passengers were legitimate businessmen, but I am sure that a sizable number were in enterprise for themselves, lugging Western goods back home for sale on the black market.
The passage was uneventful and I tried sleeping on the way over, but that never works all that well for me. Finally by late morning and in the dawn’s early light (remember the sun rises late in these high latitudes in winter), I caught my first glimpse of former Soviet territory. Dilapidated docks, rusting cranes and a few desultory cargo ships languishing around quays and storage tanks. It looked like the Third World on the Baltic.
We docked and I walked down the gangway into the customs building. The inspection was somewhat less friendly than in Finland but by no means intimidating and hardly thorough. There was just some uninterested looking at passports and then with a wave of machine pistols the border guards indicated we were allowed to leave the building.
So here I was finally : at the western outpost of the late and unlamented Soviet Empire. I was still tired and groggy, hungry and thirsty and also wondering if I had really made a good decision in coming here. I was trying to figure out how to get into town and was looking about for some sort of public transportation, say a bus line or something when I had a pleasant surprise. It was the first of the day but not the last.
As a customer service the ferry lines provided complimentary free transportation to and from the city and even included a guided tour of the old medieval city of Tallinn. It was the tail end of January and us tourists weren’t all that thick on the ground but we gratefully boarded the heated bus. Then our guide joined us.
Her name was Anya and she was in her early 20s. I’ll tell you more about her later at the appropriate time but for the moment suffice it to say that she was a very nice looking young lady. She entered the bus all smiles and obviously very nervous. A quick tally of nationalities told us that we were a mixed group of Germans, Swedes, Norwegians and one Belgian.
Anya offered us a choice of languages for the tour and as so often happens in the new European Union there was only one realistic possibility : English. Every one understood it to a degree. It wasn’t to be the King’s English but Anya obviously had a diploma and was well practiced. Her accent was charming as was her grammar and intonation : slightly high pitched and sing-song, she seemed to end most sentences in a question mark, as if unsure she had got it right. She didn’t sound Russian since she was Estonian and Estonian is a language closely related to Finnish and that sounds like something Monty Python could have dreamed up.
After a short welcome speech we set off for the city. Tallinn is a very picturesque old city, well conserved and quite charming. I won’t bore you with all the details but we got an interesting tour on foot as well, visiting the ramparts, orthodox churches, old houses, the town square and other points of interest.
But in truth, after a while I became more charmed by Anya than by my surroundings. She liked to use her hands in gesture to make a point, she smiled a lot and did her best to interest us in her city. Her wavy hair was cut to shoulder length and colored a darkish brown. Her face had a very milky color to it, though her cheeks and the tip of her nose were tinged with red, from the cold no doubt. She wasn’t very tall as Europeans go and was already well filled out. I was sure that she was enjoying this tour as well herself, in any case that was the impression I received. Or maybe she was just pleased to have landed this cushy job that brought her into daily contact with us supposedly rich Western capitalists.
By the time we finished the tour it was one p.m. We were standing in the snow in the town hall square as Anya made her final parting speech. She thanked us all for visiting Tallinn, hoped we would enjoy our further stay and wished us back in the near future. Etc etc etc.
I was absolutely delighted by my stay up to now, in no small way just thanks to her uplifting presence. I thought it a shame she had to leave. In any case to show our appreciation it was time to hand out a gratuity. I looked around in my wallet and having no notion whatsoever what would be considered a normal sum in Estonia, I took out a 10 Deutschmark note and handed it over. All of the others did something likewise and with her profuse thanks she left us to get on with our visit. I had the impression that the tipping was quite extravagant by Estonian standards, especially since everyone handed over one or another type of western currency.
So here I was with time on my hands. I won’t bore you too much telling you about the city of Tallinn. But still, to try and confer my frame of mind that day it’s necessary to describe a thing or two.
First of all I felt as if had stepped through a timewarp and been transported 30 years into the past. Now this is not necessarily an undesirable thing provided it is only temporary and reversible. I can imagine that all these former Soviet citizens around me had different thoughts on the matter, but for me it was all curiously pleasant and enchantingly dreamlike.
The streets were full of people bustling to and fro, shopping in the uncountable and numerously varied stores in the town center. The stores were all vaguely shabby looking and run down but nonetheless boasted a large clientele. Car traffic was light and the streets were still unadorned with such modern amenities as speed bumps, traffic platforms, parking meters and what not. It was all quite delightful.
In another way I felt as if I had stepped onto a Hollywood stage set, being either an intrepid and fearless agent of a Western intelligence agency (say Clint Eastwood in Firefox), or else an indomitable Allied prisoner of war bent on escaping captivity and on the run from the Gestapo or SS. When I was taking a cup of tea in a café just off the town hall square I would not have been surprised had Steve McQueen or Richard Attenborough walked in looking around furtively from under scruffy hats. It was silly on my part and quite childish but fun.
This is just to describe the other worldly quality of the city. Several times I was stopped and offered all manners of goods shown from under open held winter coats : Russian caviar, vodka, Red Army fur hats, insignias and God knows what else. I had no doubt at all that had I so wished I could have purchased anything from a Kalishnikov assault rifle to a T-72 tank.
But I wasn’t in the market for either. And I had already bought several Soviet decorations and uniform parts a few years ago when a visiting Red Navy flotilla in Antwerp held it’s Going Out of Business Sale.
Instead I just wandered around, entering shops and looking at the goods. I spent a lot of time admiring the local architecture as well. There were wonderfully preserved 14th century houses with stepped gables and small windows, beautiful intricately decorated Jugendstil apartment blocks and everything in between.
Actually it is here that the interesting part of my story starts. I was on some side street or other staring up at the houses when I noticed our guide Anya coming from the other direction. She saw me as well and with a big pleasant smile came up to me.
“You are lost ? I can show you way back to town hall square.” She offered.
“That’s very kind of you, but I was just admiring the beautiful buildings.”
She looked up mildly surprised that anyone should be interested in such things and probably wrote it off as just another western eccentricity. We stood around, talking a bit about a few inconsequential things and somehow or other I got up to nerve to ask her if she would like to go for a drink. Far from being rebuffed as I had expected she seemed delighted and asked me where I would like to go.
“It’s your city,” I said, “choose someplace nice and typical.”
We ended up in another café/tavern that seemed to be taken right out of the set of The Great Escape. Coffee or tea cost around 8 cents a cup and one paid extra for a spoonful of sugar or milk. I splurged and took two spoons of sugar with mine, feeling for all the world like the last of the big time spenders.
We got a conversation going, one of those so typical between people from different countries and languages. She was a very easy person to talk to thankfully, full of questions about Belgium and the US once I told her that I had grown up there. We got through all of the usual territory with hardly any silences : what we did for a living, were we married (she wasn’t) how many kids I had, etc.
It was fun talking to her, her accent lending a certain note of movie-like unreality to being together. I picked up the feeling that she wasn’t here with me just to polish her language skills. It was hard to believe that she found me in any way attractive for I have no illusions on that account. Neither have I ever been known as a charmer or sweet talker, listening being more suited to my nature. Still I had the impression that she was being more than just a polite and considerate guide. Maybe she was hoping for some form of financial gain, something not altogether inconceivable, since she told me that the foreign currency tips she
had gotten from the few tourists today was almost equal to a weeks normal wages.
We passed an hour over several more drinks and I admit that I found Anya more attractive as time went by. I do not mean this in a strictly physical sense, for she was more of a plain good-looking young woman than a raving beauty. Rather it was her personality that gave her an edge. She was very likable and easy going, smiled a lot, was quite unassuming and very friendly. She was also exotically foreign and somehow old fashioned as well as being young and seemingly free of care. She had the charm of an unshackled university student, a state I had long ago left behind me without ever having really appreciated it at the time.
I was becoming more attracted to her and sensed that she too would like to prolong our meeting. I had the option of catching either the evening ferry or the early morning boat back to Helsinki. In the first case I had to be back at the docks within an hour, in the second I still had more than 11 hours of time left. What to do ?
“Alex,” she asked as if she could read my mind, “must you not be getting back to the ferry soon ?”
“Well, I was thinking of taking the one in the morning actually. My visa is still valid until then isn’t it ?”
“Of course. That is no problem. You like it here ?”
“Yes Anya I really do. It is quite pleasant, especially now that I have met you.”
She made a silly dismissing face but I think she was pleased. I suppose that by then we were already into playing the flirting game.
“You know, Anya,” I said, “I was thinking of getting something to eat for dinner. Is there any place that you as a guide would recommend? Some place special maybe ?”
She thought a bit. “I know very good restaurant. It is called the Royale. I will show you where it is.”
“I meant it as an invitation for you to join me, if you’d like.”
She refused at first, but having lived in Europe long enough I knew not to give up since in many countries it is considered very impolite to accept an invitation the first time. But by the third time she relented, obviously eager. I paid the ridiculously low bill and together we stepped out onto the streets. Somewhere along the way she playfully took hold of my arm when I was about to take a wrong turn. She placed my hand proprietarily in the crook of her arm and smiled.
I was feeling very pleased with myself and how this trip to Tallinn was unexpectedly turning out when we came to an unassuming building and entered a hallway. We went up a flight of stairs and were greeted by an ornately dressed up doorman. Anya said something to him and we entered.
We gave our coats to an attendant in the cloak room and were ushered into the Royale’s main room. It was an amazingly flamboyant and stately decorated room, with intricate gilded molding and bas-reliefs, high ceilings with crystal chandeliers and thick draperies hanging around the windows, colored a dark burgundy red.
This was a surprise. Where previously I had only entered what seemed to be semi-proletarian places of business, this appeared to be something more akin to a Tsar’s town house or ball room. What an opulence and splendor. I felt out of place to say the least, but Anya was obviously quite at ease and pleased to be here.
The waiter brought us menus. Anya said something to him and he in turn addressed me in flawless English, sounding for all the world like a dignified British butler. We ordered and were brought wine while we waited.
Truly I was becoming more mystified and charmed by this city as the day went by. I was not used to experiencing such contrasts of appearances, expect maybe in museums back home and I was sure that taking part in ‘Living History’ re-enactments was not something that this establishment was known for.
We talked and chatted about all sorts of things until the food was brought. It was truly superb and elegantly served and presented. The waiters were also very proficient at both their job and in speaking English. I complimented their mastery to Anya and asked wherever they had learned it. Was it at the same school or institute where she had studied ?
This caused her no end of merriment. “Oh Alex, you are joking surely ?” she laughed, “in days of Soviet Union, this was KGB officers club.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. I was astounded. “KGB officers club ? Here ?” I asked, my mouth no doubt hanging open in incredibility. “You’re joking, surely ?”
“No, no joke. This is true. This is best place to eat in all of Tallinn for many years. But only for KGB. Now it is normal restaurant for everyone with money. It is with same staff but still very good to eat.”
That was certainly true I had to admit. We had coffee and something to drink. Finally I
summoned the waiter to pay the bill.
It was after nine by now and I was very curious how the evening was going to proceed. Anya had not indicated that she was expected back any place. She seemed to have attached herself to me and was apparently prepared to accompany me wherever I proposed. Or so I hoped.
I was wondering what to do. Suggest another round of drinks somewhere or try for something else ? This brush with the boys from the former ‘Komitet’ had only reinforced the feeling of unreality I had been experiencing ever since arriving in Tallinn. Why not try for the whole enchilada ? Tomorrow I would be back in the dull boring everyday world of Western Europe.
“Anya, I was wondering if there was any nice hotel that you could recommend ? I think I’ll stay the night.”
She didn’t hesitate too long, and it seemed to me as if she had already given the matter some thought. “Yes, I know several. I will show you. Come.”
We went back out onto the streets, which at this time of night had become very cold indeed. Without any pretense she took hold of my arm and snuggled up closer to me than I would have expected. One part of me thought I was being naïve and a sucker for a pretty face, another part of me couldn’t believe this was happening and yet another part was definitely excited about the prospects for the night ahead.
She showed me an old looking building with a sign saying ‘something-or-other Hotel’. “This
is good place ? I should ask for room ?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind.”
“Why should I mind ? Come, I will see if there is room for us.”
Us ? I had to keep myself from grinning.
“Ah,… you know Anya,” I said ever the idiot, “I can find my way to the ship in the morning.
There’s no need to go out of your way you know.”
“Silly, I must be at ship’s office in morning as well. For my job.”
“Oh I see. Well I guess we can get something to drink in the meantime. OK ?”
“Of course is OK. Come, let us go inside. It is cold out here.” Which of course it was. I suppose that it was then that we both stopped being polite and pretending that we weren’t going to spend the night together. I for one felt my heart start beating rapidly and I felt somewhat giddy, but I was very pleased at the way things were turning out. This was the point at which one commits oneself and from which it is very difficult to back out of gracefully. As if I had any intention of doing so.
“Well, OK, if you’d really like to, I think it would be very nice indeed.” I added just for clarification.
She stood in front of me and looked up and smiled. She took hold of my hands and standing tiptoe bent forwards and kissed me softly on the cheek. “I think it to be very nice also. So come now. I will get us room.”
I gave her several currency bills to pay for the room, this time they were Finmarks I think. It was much more than was necessary but I let her take care of formalities and discretely keep the rest. I didn’t feel as if I were buying a girl for the evening, but did know enough not to expect any favors (sexual or otherwise) on the strength of my personality and charm alone.
We got a large and well heated room with bath and double bed. It looked quite out of date and had obviously seen better days, but it was cozy and clean I was more than pleased to be here alone with Anya.
We took off our coats and drew the curtains. I quickly put my overnight bag in the bathroom and went over to Anya, taking hold of her. She returned my embrace without hesitation. I felt my heart leap at the unspoken acknowledgment that soon we would be exchanging intimacies. Something else leapt up as well. Anya half laughed and half sighed, probably just as nervous as I was.
We kissed a bit and Anya withdrew. “Alex, I have not been home all day and have had no possibility of washing up. Would you mind if I do so first ?” she asked.
“Of course not, Anya. That’s probably a very good idea.”
“I will go to bathroom and hurry back.”
“Great, then it will be my turn.”
Eager as I may have been, I had all night to fool around with my Baltic brunette. It wasn’t such a bad idea now that I thought of it. A wash or a nice bath before intimacies was hardly ever wasted.
“There is no soap here,” Anya called from the bathroom. “I am undressed. Can you ask for soap downstairs please ?”
I smiled. I doubted that the owner would have personally objected to an unclothed lady walking around the hotel but it might have shocked the guests (if there were any others). I told Anya to just look in my bag and take what she needed. I had all the necessary toiletries along with me for eventualities such as these.
“Just take whatever you need. I think there is two of everything anyway.” I told her.
“Thank you, Alex. That is very kind of you.”
She must have taken the bag and started looking around. I heard some sort of muffled laughter coming from the bathroom and went over to see what it was. When I came in I saw that she was dressed in her panties and bra. Anya quickly turned around.
“Oh I am sorry. I think this is not your bag,” she said.
“What makes you say that ?” It looked like mine all right.
“This is belonging to lady.”
“I don’t think so, Anya.”
Grinning timidly she held up my traveling clyster syringe. It was a red rubber bulb syringe with black plastic nozzle. I always had one along in my overnight kits since not only does the urge overcome one in the most unexpected of places, but also because traveling does hell to my metabolism.
“This is for ladies. For cleaning in special manner…you know…” she was obviously rather embarrassed and didn’t know how to explain vaginal douching to me.
I laughed softly. “Oh no, this is my bag all right. That’s mine as well.” I pointed to the syringe.
“Oh…? Really, I am sorry but I do not know….I think it is for lady…” she was quite flustered and tried to put it back into the bag.
“It’s OK, Anya, no big deal. I use it quite often.”
She looked at the device. “What for …?”
“Well for different things. Sometimes when I’m stopped up, ah…constipated. You know what I mean ?”
She nodded, understanding dawning. “Ah yes for klyzma. Now I see. Here we use different thing : rubber bag. This thing you have is for ladies, not for men.”
“Well, I’m no lady and I certainly use it.”
She blushed. “But …you say you use for other things ?”
Should I or shouldn’t I ? I decided to risk it. “And for fun as well.”
“Fun ? What kind of fun ?” That was obviously a new one for her.
“You know, sex fun.”
“Alex, I know you are from West Europe and do many things we do not, but you should not make fun of me.”
“Hey, I’m not joking. Not one bit. I’m serious. Taking a clyster can be very nice if you know how to do it.”
“I cannot believe you.”
“Well it’s true. Really…..” she looked skeptical. “Do you want me to show you ?”
“Show me ?”
“Sure. I can take one right here, or you can give it to me.”
“I do not know about this, Alex. What happens when you do this for fun ?”
What indeed ? How do you politely explain that you squirt your ass full of warm water, that it feels great, gives you a tremendous erection and makes you come all over yourself ?
I took my time explaining, being truthful but obviously very biased and enthusiastic. Her interest was piqued after her initial confusion and she became more interested and curious. She asked many questions which I answered as humorously as possible, being candid and sheepishly bashful all at the same time. Soon she was smiling along, acknowledging that the sexually arousing and the comical are often not far apart, all depending on one’s viewpoint. I suppose that Anya had a naturally benevolent and trusting nature which did not keep her upset for long.
Whatever the case, we were back on a good footing again. I would however have to keep my promise and show her what pleasure I took in getting clystered. I’ll grant that it was not much of a hardship, but however much I fantasized, I had neer gotten a recreational enema with anyone else present.
“All right Alex, I will watch you do this thing to yourself, this fun klyzma. We begin now ?”
“OK.” How to start ? First, since Anya was already stripped down to her undergarments I decided to follow suit. For some reason I didn’t think it prudent that I strip completely yet. But, since it is notoriously difficult to get an enema with briefs on I had to take them off. Not that they were doing much good in covering up my state of eagerness anyway. I followed Anya’s eyes as I slipped my underpants off and was pleased to note no sign of disapproval as my stiff prick was bared to her sight. No maidenly averting of the eyes on her part as I strode around with waggling penis. In fact, I was certain that I noticed an approving look and a narrowing of the eyes, which I hoped was an indication of impending lustful desires.
With my undershirt still on, I took the syringe over to the sink and gave it a good washing with soap and hot water. Since this was to be a demonstration of sorts I decided to leave out adding soap or other additives and just simply fill the bulb with warm water. It gurgled quite audibly, as bulb syringes have the tendency to do as they suck up water when held upside down. Oddly I found that to be more embarrassing than eventually inserting the nozzle into my anus.
I asked Anya to look in my bag for a tube of lubricant. I applied a small amount onto the syringe tip. Now there are several positions in which to administer a bulb syringe to one’s self, standing/squatting, lying on the back with knees to chest, or lying on the side in the good ol’ Sim’s position. I choose an on the spot variant however, something a bit more dignified than the knee-chest, if less fun. I stood with one foot on the bathtub rim raised high, and the other on the floor, legs spread open somewhat.
Watching me from the front, Anya stood by with a half smile on her lovely face as I inserted the nozzle and squeezed the bulb. I refilled the clyster three more times and repeated the pleasant operation in short order, the last time Anya watching me from behind. There was no soap or anything else in the water, so it was not difficult at all to retain. In fact 4 bulbs amounted to just about a liter of liquid, probably less.
She asked me how it felt and though I could just as truthfully have said that I felt quite at ease and relaxed with the water in me, I told her that it felt very pleasant and arousing, a statement equally true. I told her it was quite easy to retain and had I so wished I could keep it in me for a long time if need be. I didn’t explain that after an hour or two the water would most likely be absorbed by my body anyway.
“You can do this ?” she playfully asked.
“Sure Anya, no problem.”
“Good, then we take bath. OK ?”
Well, it looked like she was enjoying this in some manner or other, even if she was only seeing if I could make good on my boasting. She turned on the taps and adjusted the flow of water to a nice hot temperature. I took some stuff out of my bag to add to the water, bath gel, oil or something and soon a strong flowery fragrance filled the bathroom.
While waiting for the bath to fill, we slowly recommenced intimacies. Anya felt my abdomen and had to lift my undershirt to do so. She commented on my general lack of visible body hair.
“You like your men like hairy bears ?” I asked. “Russian bears ?”
She laughed, but not too much. “Men in Baltic countries have much hair on chest and body. Very strong and virile.”
I wondered where she had ever had occasion to use the word ‘virile’. Certainly not on her city tours. I just laughed back and told her that she would see how unimportant it was.
We kissed a bit and groped around under each other’s remaining garments, until everything was finally removed. I played around with her panties first though, sliding a finger or two delicately under the lining, caressing the crease along her thighs and pubis. Before pulling them down I did just the opposite, pulling the hem upwards and forcing the fabric taught against her pussy and into the groove between her buttocks. She seemed to like this and kissed me back fiercely, trusting her tongue deep into my mouth. She finally grabbed hold of my prick and squeezed with a fervor. If I had been uncertain of her willingness in any way, now it was certainly dispelled.
Now as I described before, Anya was certainly not a slim waisted girl. She wasn’t heavy or plump either but tended towards being well filled out and full fleshed. Her breasts were certainly the proverbial melons, nicely rounded cantaloupes if you want to take the botanic allegory all the way. She had a thick patch of pubic hair, already moist and glistening. I would have loved to shave it off for her and initiate her into the joys of bare-skinned pussy-licking, but I figured that I was pushing the limits of her capacity for novel sexual practices by introducing her to enemas.
The tub was finally filled and Anya disengaged to turn off the faucets. We stepped into the hot bath and I slowly lowered myself, acclimatizing to the temperature. I always enjoy taking long hot baths under any circumstances, alone or in the company of a pretty companion. It was so agreeable being allowed the intimacies of soaping in a partner, exploring those little recesses and hidden parts that even in sex play are not always considered to be politely accessible.
Anya worked up quite a lather on me, pulling down my prepuce quite energetically and cleaning my prick very thoroughly. She also paid rigorous attention to my anal area and teased me saying that since I liked to be cleaned inside and out she would see to that I was taken care of. Grinning naughtily she soaped up her hands and began rubbing my anus and pressing into me with a well coated finger. I relaxed and let it slip up into me.
Well, the soap covering her finger was enough to cause a slight burning sensation in my rectum. It was not unbearable by any means since I am used to injecting soapy solutions for cleaning enemas if necessary. But that added sensation was enough to make me aware of the water filling up my lower bowels and caused my anal muscles to pucker up and pulse around her inserted finger. It felt deliciously intimate and enough to make me want to open myself up to my partner body and soul. I was aware that I began to softly moan as I pulled away from Anya’s lips and rested my head in the crook of her shoulders.
“You like this, Alex ?” she softly whispered in my ear.
“Very much so…oh yes…”
“I make you come now…?” she asked.
“No…please not yet Anya…..just leave my prick alone and keep on with….what you are doing.”
“All right, I play with you like little girl or maybe my nancy boy. Yes ?” she seemed to like that thought.
Even though I was experiencing quite the gauntlet of gratifying sensations and had to concentrate on not coming, I wondered where she had learned the out of date slang words. There was more to her than met the eye.
“Anya, I am not a nancy boy…” and I had to keep from laughing and breaking the sexual momentum.
“No…but you still like fucking in backdoor, no?”
“Oh Anya, not now…please.” I just wanted her to keep at it. Which she did, every now and then extracting her finger and soaping it up again. I wanted to do the same to her but she wouldn’t allow it, saying she would not be able to stand the soap in her.
We broke off, just before I thought my heart would fail or I would swoon from sexual excitement. It was hot in the water and I had to get out and cool off, in more ways than one. She too was sweating profusely but a quick dunk in the tub cleaned her off before she got out.
“You still have water in you ?” she asked obviously knowing I had not expelled it in the bathtub, heaven forbid. She had also kept her finger in my anus all the while so she would know that nothing had passed that way out.
“Now you let it out please. OK ?” Whatever the lady’s pleasure. I complied and sat down on the toilet. Now normally this is not something I do with others present but apparently Anya was not going to leave. I composed myself, flexing my internal muscles and pushed out, expelling what water there was in me. It was not much thankfully nor did anything else follow.
I cleaned myself off and stood up. “There, see ? It wasn’t difficult to retain at all. Would you like me to give you one now ?”
“No I think not. This is too difficult for me. But maybe I give you one more ?”
Well now, that was something of a surprise. It was fine with me of course, though I hadn’t really expected her to be so willing. Anya took the clyster syringe and filled it up with fresh water. She had me lie face down on the bathroom rug and kneeling beside me, pried my buttocks open with her left hand. She inserted the nozzle somewhat eagerly though roughly and squeezed the water up into me. She must have liked doing so, for I got 7 bulbs full from her.
I told her that 7 was more than enough for these circumstances.
“Oh, you are filled up ? This I must check out.” She gestured that I turn over on my back. The position was more exposing, but at least somewhat less punishing on my prick, it could now fly at full mast unhindered. And believe me it did.
Anya felt my abdomen which had become slightly distended. I told her to go easy with the pressure and not press down too hard. “I will help you from loosing anything,” she said after which she once again inserted her finger into my anus, wiggling about and feeling as deep as she could. How delightful that was.
As if all this was not enough Anya then bent over and took my prick into her mouth. She sucked and licked quite passionately and proficiently as well, I might add, grabbing my balls and lower shaft while she was at it.
Now luckily I have never been prone to climax during oral sex. Why that is so I have never been able to figure out. I appreciate the practice just as much as the next fellow and indulge whenever possible, but without ever ejaculating. I think it’s all for the good since it allows me a leisurely appreciation of all the fine nuances and delicacies involved in the act. It’s also reassuring to know that I will not succumb prematurely to my opposites’ oral ministrations.
“Anya,” I said softly. “Let me taste you too. Come, turn around for me.”
She turned around and spread her legs open to either side of me. As I grabbed hold of her hips to guide her, she lowered herself onto me. She was dripping wet and engorged as I began sucking and licking her vaginal lips. Her taste was fresh and clean, sweet and salty at once and deliciously appealing. I gave her my utmost attention orally while using a finger or two to probe for delicate places and spots that would excite her more. I had to explore a bit for her clitoris, Anya being more hairy than I was used to.
We rolled over on our side and continued our mutual embrace. In this position it was tiring for her to keep her thighs spread wide and high open, so Anya flexed them a bit forwards allowing me to place my head between then. She then closed her thighs over my head, enveloping me in her lovely scent and taste. Since my ears were covered in this position I could hear nothing else except the beating of my heart and my rapid breathing. Indeed, captured as I was between her lovely legs and genitals, at times I had to elegantly disengage myself to get a lung full of fresh air before going at it again. I have always had an
inordinate fear of drowning or suffocation, but this was a manner that I could reconcile myself with, if need be. Of course I had no intention whatsoever of passing on now, or in the far future either. I did withdraw from this position, if only to catch my breath .
I turned around and kissed her on the mouth. While I have no idea whatsoever if Anya liked to make love to the occasional female or not, I did notice that the taste of her sexual secretions on my lips seemed to arouse her even more, if the frenzy of her licking and sucking be any indication.
I figured that by now, sexual etiquette required that I give (allow ?) my partner an orgasm, hopefully the first of several. When she was satiated then I, as a well brought-up gentleman would follow suit, much in the same manner as in using a door : ladies first.
I whispered in her ear if she would like to come now and she moaned something that I took to be a yes. I asked her if she wanted me in her but here she said please not to, she had no protection or condoms to use. Neither had I for that matter, for while my trusty overnight bag contained all kinds of toiletries and sundry, I would have had difficulty explaining to my wife
whatever I needed a package of rubbers for.
But truthfully I did not mind so much. Old fashioned in and out fucking is very pleasurable indeed, but there are more sexual variations thinkable than you can shake a stick (or a prick) at. I had Anya lay on her back and spread her legs while I used my hands to caress and play with her labia and clitoris. She herself grabbed hold of her nipples and twitched them quite
roughly, pulling outwards and around in circles. Her eyes were closed and she had her tongue sticking out of her mouth, licking in circles and wetting her own lips.
As I rubbed and stroked her cunny I let my hand move ever lower until I had a finger or two pressed up against her anus. She wriggled around with her bottom, either trying to move away from the offending finger or else she was trying to get me to insert it up into her. I wasn’t altogether sure which it was. I made sure that her asshole was well lubricated with her own secretions and decided to press on and try sliding a finger up her backdoor. She had had great fun doing so to me and I wanted to return the favor.
Steadying her I pushed up against her little bumhole and slid my ring finger up into her. I heard her sigh and felt her anal muscles tighten around me. With my other fingers in her vagina I pressed both together at the same time, scissors-like, pulling her pussy taut in the opposite direction with my other hand. Then I lowered my lips over her clitoris and began a gentle but steady licking. I could feel her entire body shiver and begin to pulse in a slow rhythm, building up to sexual release.
She came, unmistakably and none too quietly. I could feel her asshole pumping around my finger, trying to suck it up into her. She buckled around with her hips, moving to and fro frantically and pushed upwards into my mouth.
When she was done I stopped moving about inside of her. After several moments I delicately removed my finger from her bottom and tenderly kissed her and patted her fanny. We cuddled for a while, I asked her if she had enjoyed it, if she wanted to come again and so on. We uttered little endearments and rested a bit.
Well, the rest of the evening, or rather the rest of the very early morning went on in a similar fashion. We fucked our brains out without technically ever fucking and I for one can state that I had a ball. Anya amused herself as well, climaxing several more times in various positions while employing her personally preferred procedures. None were unique or unheard of, but all were quite satisfying, for her as recipient and for me as spectator and co-pilot.
By the time Anya had enjoyed her third orgasm we both figured it was time for me to get off as well. As there was still no question of me sticking it to her and actually entering her. I wanted to climax in a manner I had not often done before.
I stood up and asked Anya to come stand behind me and hold me tight. With one hand around my prick I indicated that I would like her other hand to be used in finger-fucking my asshole. Well, by now she had enthusiastically taken to using the anus as an object to lavish attention on. She pressed up close against me, breasts to my back, crotch to my thighs and lips in my neck. I did nothing but try to stand up straight as she stoked, rubbed and pulled on my stiff penis. Eyes closed, I allowed myself to be overcome by the rhythm of her pumping finger. I relaxed and let the sensations flow inwards and out. Mentally I urged myself on to climax, surrendered to the build up of tension and then let it all pass. My body shook and my knees buckled as I came, semen spurting and pulsing. Anya held me tight to her as I shuddered in release. It was all I could do to keep from falling down.
Finished, I turned around and let Anya hold me in her arms while she muttered endearing little sounds and stroked my hair.
We rested together after I expelled what water was still in me. I had not spilled any thankfully, but given the time we spent playing around with each other a considerable amount was absorbed by my body.
I tried to induce Anya into taking an enema, but passion spent, neither of us were in the mood. She did accede that the practice certainly hadn’t impaired my ardor in any discernible manner whatsoever. I made her a present of the clyster syringe. Laughingly she accepted but told me she doubted she would ever get up the courage to use it on herself. I replied that she had better not make any promises she wasn’t going to keep. I was sure that sooner or later she would take my trusty little device and put it to good use, either on herself or on some other lucky fellow.
There was no pointing trying to get any sleep afterwards. Getting out of bed after 2 hours of rest would be much more exhausting and cruel than not sleeping at all, so we just stayed up till it was time to leave for the ship.
Anya got the worst of it since she would have to be back at work while I would at least be able to sink into some kind of stupor back on the ferry to Helsinki. In any case the bitter cold woke us up as we trudged hand in hand through the dark streets of Tallinn to the bus that would take us to the harbor.
To my utter surprise I recognized another couple of tourists who had stayed the night just as I had. They too were taking the 5 a.m. boat back to Finland. I wondered if they had had just as enjoyable an evening as I had. We nodded to each other and I think I saw the ghost of a smile on the ladies’ face when she saw Anya and I arrive arm in hand, obviously just back from exchanging intimacies.
We took leave of each other under the street-lamps just outside the customs building. Both of us knew we would most likely never see each other again outside of our dreams. Passengers and workers started arriving in little groups and I could sense the hustle and bustle associated with departing trains and ships build as more arrived at the quay. We kissed a bit and embraced, though not too much or too long for fear of embarrassing Anya with any of her colleagues. In my romantic mind it was not unlike a war-time departure, when you climb aboard a troop-ship most likely never to return again. In the movies the hero
always has a girl in every port or comes back after the war. I knew that wasn’t to be the case for me, nor would I be able to boast much of my little escapade in Estonia either. But I could dream and the memories would always be there, to reminisce over in lonely moments.
I was going to have to figure out a way of explaining the missing clyster syringe, however. I wondered if my wife would believe me if I told her it had been impounded by customs officials ? I doubted it, but for the life of me I couldn’t come up with anything more plausible. And so I just let it fade as I sat back in a lounge chair below deck and tried to catch some sleep before arriving back in Finland.
The same old question : what’s true and what is not ? Well in this case more than what you’d expect really happened, but not as much as I would have liked.
My wife and I did go to Finland for a holiday but we both visited Tallinn together. Our guide was a young lady named Anya, whom I have tried to describe as accurately as I can, but sadly I’m not 100 % sure about all the anatomical details. I was quite taken by her, though maybe it was just a case of rampaging travel-hormones : unfamiliar places and strange cities have a pleasantly unsettling effect upon my libido. After our city tour, we did meet Anya again while my wife and I were admiring the local architecture on some side street. Anya came up to us, thinking we were lost and began a conversation, all smiles and good will. I had the impression that had I asked and then followed a simple script which can be picked up from most Hollywood movies, I would have been able to bed her in some manner or other, maybe even as a three-some.
Of course I didn’t ask. While I could have taken a rebuff by Anya as no big thing, I’m sure my SO had other thoughts on the matter. So we just talked a bit and parted. I think of her at times and wonder about what could have been.
We didn’t go to the Royale, the former KGB officer’s club turned restaurant, but it does exist. A customer of mine, who had been employed in some oblique manner or other by Her Majesty’s Secret Service (no joke this) told me about it over drinks one night and heartily recommended the place. All the more so since he could personally vouch for the management, having been ‘in business’ with them previously during the good ol’ days of the Cold War.