My Women

— What do you mean, “unbearable gaze”?

— Women love you, don’t they?

— Magda, are you interested in me, or in how women feel about me?

— You see, I’m a psychologist. Don’t worry, I’m not going to start lecturing you about work, but I see you more clearly than you see yourself. There you sit, looking at me with that outrageously sexual, trusting gaze that says, “I like you, but it’s up to you — just say the word and I’ll leave.” But you know, just as I do, that your main weapon is your voice. Its timbre fills a woman with a velvet mood. Usually, she can think of nothing but how to seduce you, fully convinced that it is her desire and that you are exactly what she needs. Enchanted by your voice, she thinks only you can understand her soul, that she can open up to you knowing you won’t take advantage, but will simply help as a desirable man can. And you only use that weapon with the women you want to be seduced by. That’s how it is, my dear.

— And all of that is me? Perhaps, as a psychologist, you’re just imagining things? Maybe I’m just an ordinary, average family man who met a whimsical psychologist on a business trip — a woman who’s bored with her husband and doesn’t know what she wants. Because she doesn’t know what she needs, she drifts from Tallinn to Leningrad, exhausting that poor major by making him follow her. And now, she sits here with me, speaking from the heights of psychology about how I’m seducing her with my voice.

6. Cognac in the Tub

— I see how it is. You’ve exhausted that poor major with your games, and now you don’t know how to tell me that you’re afraid to go to your room alone. You want me to suggest it myself — to save you from God knows who, thereby prolonging my own pleasure while justifying it to myself as a sacrifice made for the sake of that young Georgian couple.

— Colleague, — she said, — don’t you think you owe it to me to give me at least one chance to feel like I’m the one being seduced?

— Just to keep your conscience clear? No, Magda. If I give you that chance, you’ll only torment yourself later, thinking that it wasn’t your seduction, but rather that you simply couldn’t resist and were pushed off the path of righteousness. So, what’s the plan? Will you offer the major and his lady friend a spot on your sofa, or will you entrust that mission to me?

— Only for the sake of your friends, Keti and Vasiko, you understand!

— Naturally. Who would doubt it?

— I trust you’ll spend the night on the sofa in the lounge?

— The sofa it is. I don’t mind. But is this just for tonight, or for the duration of our stay in Leningrad? I’m joking — don’t change your mind, or that maniac will have you dying of fright.

— Well then, shall we go? I’ll show you your “workplace.”

I reached into my pocket, mentally calculating the bill for the feast.

— Consider it payment for your services. I hope you aren’t offended that I’ve already settled the bill?

— Well, considering we’re providing wine for your bodyguard and his lady, I’d say we’re just about even, — I smiled, offering Magda my hand to help her up.

Magda’s two-room suite was on the third floor, at the very end of the corridor. She turned the key, and we entered. This was a far cry from our triple-occupancy room that felt like a train station hostel. It had a leather sofa and armchair, a coffee table, a mini-bar, a TV, and a large rug on the floor. There were fruit and candies on the table.

— Alright, go take a shower. There’s a large brown robe in there, and I’ll make up the sofa for you. I need to call my husband to reassure him that Ainar has taken measures, and I’ll call Keti to tell her you’ve stayed to guard me. After that, you can watch TV, and I’m going to sleep.

— What, won’t you take a shower because of the robe?

— I have a bathroom in the bedroom.

As I washed, I thought to myself: Am I really going to sleep on the sofa alone? Did I overplay my hand somewhere? What a letdown that would be. She wants this just as much as I do, but she’s playing me — damn psychologist! Though, she was spot on; she laid it all out perfectly. Smart woman.

The thought of leaving crossed my mind, but it felt awkward. I peered out the window to see where someone could possibly be peeking from, but there wasn’t a window in sight for miles.

— You made it all up about the peeping tom, didn’t you? There aren’t even any windows opposite!

— That’s because the window is in the bedroom. Come, I’ll show you.

In the bedroom, the window faced sideways, and indeed, about three or four meters away, there was some kind of service window.

— I bet that’s exactly what he’ll do. He was watching yesterday, and knowing you’re alone today, he’ll definitely make his move.

Magda’s jaw dropped, and she threw up her hands.

— Well, then why are you here?

— Exactly. I can’t see him from the lounge. I’ll only hear him once he’s already attacking you, and by then I might be too late.

— God knows how I fought the temptation. However, rather than being attacked, I’d better spend the night in bed with you. You’ll save me then, won’t you?

— Of course. And to prove that I’ll only be guarding you in that bed, I would…

— Stop! Not that. Have mercy on me!

— Lord, what a pair of psychologists we would have made!

— I hope we make an even better pair of lovers!

— Then go get the candy and the cognac from the bar while I head to the bathroom.

First, I went and locked the front door, checking for any “ambushes” first. Then I called my own room — I’d peeked at the number on a slip of paper I’d tucked into my wallet — and informed them that I’d signed up for the night watch and they could “sleep” peacefully without me. In the bar, I found a bottle of Eniseli, took two glasses, some fruit, and candy, piled it all onto a tray along with a carafe and a glass, and returned to the bedroom.

The bed was already turned down, Magda’s clothes were draped over a chair, and Magda herself was in the bathroom. I opened the cognac, poured a little, set the bottle on the nightstand, and placed the glasses and a dozen candies on the tray.

— Well, here we go. Champagne in the cafe this morning, cognac in the bathroom tonight! The ice has broken, Madame Professional Psychologist — from here on out, I’m the one in command!

I undressed, tossing my clothes onto the same chair, and using the tray of candy and cognac to cover my “vitals,” I walked into the bathroom without knocking, leaving the bedroom door wide open. The curtains were drawn, and the shower was running with a seductive hiss.

7. The Orgasmic Jackpot

— Did someone call for a guard?

— A-a-ah! — Magda shrieked, peeking from behind the curtain. — I didn’t expect that. A guard with a tray and no pistol?

I lifted the tray slightly; the “pistol” was already cocked. Magda burst into laughter and said through her giggles:

— I was afraid of one maniac outside, and I brought another one inside with me. Maybe you’d like to scrub my back too?

— Only if it brings you pleasure. But for now, hold the tray.

I handed Magda the tray with the glasses, and while her hands were occupied, I switched off the bathroom light and slipped behind the curtain. Back then, of course, there were no Jacuzzis, but a suite was still a suite; the bathtub was a large, two-meter affair, clearly an old-fashioned model. Light spilled into the bathroom from the open bedroom door, leaving the tub area in a soft twilight. Magda set the tray on the sink and, taking the glasses, asked:

— What shall we drink to?

— To you, and only you. To your mind, to the beauty of your face and body. May you never be frightened by maniacs, and if they ever appear, may someone always be there to protect you.

I took the glass from her, we drank to “Bruderschaft,” and as is tradition, we locked into a long, deep kiss. Before Magda could catch her breath, I was already kissing her neck, stroking her back and hips, my body pressed against her chest.

— Young man, don’t you think you should have asked my opinion on all this kissing?

I turned on the shower and began to kiss her breasts under the cascading water. Her nipples became firm, and my tongue traced slow circles around them. I sat on the edge of the tub and pulled Magda onto my knee, letting her feminine essence spread across it, allowing me to move slowly in a steady rhythm.

— Magda, you’re a psychologist. You aren’t used to being led. If I had asked if you wanted sex, wouldn’t you have said no? But right now, I’m caressing you and you aren’t resisting — which means yes. So now I’ll ask: wouldn’t you like to caress me too?

— Let’s do it! But I’m going to wash you at the same time. It’s been a long time since I’ve washed a man for pleasure. Oh, I’m going to give you such a scrubbing!

I don’t know which of us was enjoying it more — her as she tenderly washed my “anatomy,” or me as I lathered the soft hair that led to her own charms. Afterward, we lay in the tub for a long time. I held Magda from behind, my hands wandering wherever they could reach, kissing her neck and shoulders. Meanwhile, she reached between our bodies, handling me like a brave cowboy from the Wild West twirling his pistol. Fired up by the sexual prelude, Magda murmured to me — quiet, broken sentences about her husband, about love, about the impossible…

I could barely catch the specific meaning of her words over the sound of the shower. It didn’t matter anymore. I don’t think she even knew what she was saying, driven by a sudden novelty and sharp desire. The main thing was that the violin was tuned and played without a single false note; all that remained was for the violinist to skillfully draw out the melody without breaking the rhythm, letting the soul sing and sink into passionate bliss.

Naked, Magda was magnificent. Once the husk of her pride, her status, her psychological theories, and that final feminine bastion — shame — had fallen away, she stood as simply a beautiful, desirable woman: tender, passionate, and responsive to every movement of the bow.

I was thoroughly ready, but I waited for Magda to make the first move. I didn’t have to wait long.

— Are you just going to lie there in the tub waiting for that maniac I invented out of boredom?

Magda stood up and slapped my shoulder.

— So, there’s no maniac after all? I’m protecting your honor for nothing?

— Are you a monster or just pretending? I want you! What, do I have to get on my knees?!

I stood up, and as she wrapped her arms around my neck, I hoisted her up by the legs and did exactly what she so desperately wanted. Magda’s legs immediately locked behind my back, and the energy of our bodies could have boiled ten tubs like the one we were standing in. Magda kissed me, hammered on my back, and screamed that I was both a bastard and a darling. She wanted everything she had been deprived of all those years.

— I don’t want to feel like I’m being used whenever my husband feels like it. I want to be pleasured when I want it and how I want it! I want to soar in the clouds! I want… I waaaaaaant…

The climax was explosive and simultaneous. Magda slid back into the tub, her body limp and occasionally twitching. Her head rested on the rim, her eyes closed.

— Heavens… what a difference there is between being “had” and being given sweet pleasure. I always wondered how I would feel after being unfaithful. Even now, I don’t know, because I didn’t feel unfaithful — I was just getting what Pyotr was supposed to give me. Today I won the lottery — six out of forty-nine! Yura, will there be a five out of thirty-six to follow?

— No, Magda. There won’t be a five out of thirty-six. There’s going to be a jackpot!

— You almost scare me. I can’t imagine anything being more than what just happened. Unless it’s dying.

— Magda dear, you are a very beautiful and smart woman. You’re a brilliant psychologist. You described my personality type with amazing accuracy — bravo! Но there are situations in life that even a good psychologist finds hard to imagine. I’m talking about unconventional situations in intimate relations between a man and a woman who meet by chance. Though, it’s a well-known fact, especially for sports psychologists.

— Well then, amateur psychologist, enlighten the professional, — Magda laughed, provocatively wiggling her hips. — But wait. There are towels and two robes in the cabinet. Let’s go lie down. You can philosophize there while I caress you back into “fighting shape.” I know your excuses: “I can’t, I’m tired, I have work tomorrow…”

8. She Carried Out Her Threat

It felt wonderful to slip into a terry cloth robe without even drying off. I felt a hollow sense of hunger and exhaustion. Handing a robe to Magda, I took a couple of candies from the tray — I gave one to her and ate the other myself.

— Are you hungry?

— A little.

— I’ll order a light supper with some coffee; it’ll restore your strength!

— What are you, some kind of underground millionaire? — Magda smiled.

— I’m a frequent guest here; they know me. I often order dinner to the room, though it’s a bit late now.

Magda glanced at the clock; it was eleven. She made the call. I brought the glasses from the bathroom and splashed in another thirty grams to keep us warm.

— Magda, I’ve never slept with an Estonian woman before. I always thought they were cold and blonde.

— And you were right to think so. But I’m not a pure-blooded Estonian. My father is Russian, and my mother is half-Estonian, half-German. That’s why she named me Magda, and my last name is Orlova. Yura, let’s drink to that bathtub; I’ll never forget it! A normal woman is naked before a strange man in only three cases: when she’s stripped by force, when she’s flaunting herself for profit, or when she simply wants to be naked. Back there in the bathroom, I started out flaunting myself, but then I just wanted it. It gave me pleasure. At first, the sight of you naked with that tray shocked me, but then I wanted you exactly as you were. If someone had told me this morning that I’d be happily holding a man’s member in my hands, I wouldn’t have believed it. But now I think I definitely have to give you a climax myself. I was right about you back there at the restaurant, and I was so foolish to think I wouldn’t buy into it — but I’m so glad I did! Yura, you aren’t playing me, are you?

— Amazing! No matter how smart a woman is, she’ll always ask “Do you love me?” in bed, even when she knows it isn’t so — because if it were, she wouldn’t need to ask! Your question about playing you is from the same opera. Look, imagine if from the very start I’d acted like I clearly wanted to sleep with you. Since you don’t know me and clearly aren’t a prostitute, it would have likely insulted you and made you shut down. It would have been hard to overcome that, certainly not in a single day. At most, I might have gotten a kiss and a chance to press against your chest. But this way — we have total trust and mutual desire. I want you very much, I feel good with you, and I’m simply melting from your kisses, your touch, your temperament, and your beauty.

I pulled open the robe of Magda, who was lying in bed, and began covering her body with kisses that barely brushed her white, velvet skin. With one hand, I caressed her stomach and legs, while the other fondled her breast. Magda purred, occasionally signaling her pleasure. Finally, I got a good look at her body — the body of a woman who either hadn’t given birth or had recovered exceptionally well. For her age — somewhere in her thirties — she looked quite stunning. Her breasts, slightly heavy for her fragile frame, were beautiful with large, dark nipples. A small birthmark decorated her belly below the navel, peeking coquettishly from her trim. Everything below was just as magnificent as I had discovered in the tub.

There was a knock at the door. Magda wrapped herself up and went to collect the order. I stretched out blissfully in the bed. This was something else — this morning I didn’t know where I’d sleep without bothering the newlyweds, and now I was in a two-room suite with excellent sex in the tub and a fair chance of bedroom athletics until dawn.

Magda brought the order: a jar of caviar, julienne, champagne, an assortment of meats, butter, bread, two bottles of Borjomi, and a pack of cigarettes.

— Now, while we eat, give me some of that philosophy regarding the unknown facts of business-trip sex known to sports psychologists.

— Ah yes, I forgot! Well, speaking as one psychologist to another, since the dawn of time, when a man went hunting, he went to get game; fishing, to catch fish. And he went to bed with a woman to finish. I think most women know this all too well, and they’re lucky if they manage to climax while the man is furiously working toward his own end. Many women die thinking they are frigid simply because their men are “sprinters.” But there is also sport hunting, sport fishing, and wildlife photography, where the criteria are different than just filling your belly. In that sense, I’m a “pro-lover.” For me, the goal isn’t to “finish” as fast as possible — I can always do that. But if I finish too soon, my partner will likely miss out on her own climax, and I’d have to finish the job with my hands. Once a man finishes, he’s only indirectly interested in his partner, and if it’s his wife, he’s usually not interested at all.

— Do you remember when you asked me why I travel to Leningrad under guard? — Magda asked. — It’s quite banal. Let’s just say my husband has an “official” mistress. Yes, official, because his career depends on her. Her husband is a high-ranking official, long since impotent due to diabetes, so he placed his wife nearby and under supervision. In six years, my husband went from a penniless investigator to the head of a district police department, and if anything happens, he can always go back to being an investigator. She often goes away to the dacha with Pyotr as if I don’t exist at all. That’s when I come to Leningrad, and my husband assigns me a “guard.” I used to love him, of course, but now I just use the money and try to get the most out of life. I’ve never actually been unfaithful before. There were a few times when I could have out of spite, but it felt shameful. I had the impression I was selling myself for a meal, and besides, those men weren’t to my liking. They might have been prime specimens, but that’s not what I need. My Pyotr is man enough; I’m not neglected. I’m a psychologist; I see right through you men. I don’t need just that; I need my soul warmed. And you, you rascal, you showed me exactly what I needed! I needed it to be me, not just something done to me! Yura, after this caviar, I hope you aren’t planning to sleep?

— Of course! I’ll just have a few sandwiches, get dressed, and go ask the major to take my place!

— Well, at least I got my share under the shower. But you aren’t going anywhere. Tonight you’re mine. I’ll squeeze you like a lemon. Just try to leave for the major and I’ll leave you without your member! — Magda laughed.

— Well, if that’s the case, then don’t blame me. Make me a caviar sandwich, and I’ll handle the rest, deal?

— As long as you don’t kill me, deal.

After fortifying ourselves with caviar, we went to bed. The night was stormy. In the morning, Magda said:

— I’m going home tonight. And if you don’t come to visit me in Tallinn at least once every six months, I’ll come to you in Tbilisi myself.

A year later, that wonderful woman carried out her threat!

Dasha

In the summer, after finishing the 9th grade, I was in Sukhumi for a training camp with the Georgian national underwater sports team. It was there that my older diver friends “opened my eyes” to that alluring and, at the time, unknown side of life — women. Everything happened in a way that was as romantic as it was comical. I suppose there is no need to mention the air of importance I had while walking along the beach with my scuba gear and fins, passing by pretty girls. How much of an “Amphibian Man” I imagined myself to be, whistling the song about the sea devil from the movie of the same name.

It seemed that all the girls were staring at me, enchanted, and if I only wanted to… but there was no time yet, training and all that — no time for women!

And so, one day the older guys decided to enlighten me. On the quiet, they talked one of the tried-and-tested workers of beach pleasures into giving me a “young recruit” course — but in such a way that I wouldn’t suspect a setup. They desperately wanted to see “Romeo and Juliet” performed by a virgin and a prostitute.

The next day on the beach, I picked up the pretty Dasha and, of course, strutted around her like a pheasant, seeing the “envious” looks of our older guys! In principle, I might not have dared to go further than spreading my peacock tail, but one of our swimmers said that he had talked to the guys and they were giving up the “fazenda” for the evening. My path of retreat was cut off!

How “charming” and “attractive” I was to women became clear to me the moment I even hinted at going to my place. A “passionate glint” appeared in Dasha’s eyes and a languid word escaped her breast almost immediately: — Of course.

How I regretted then that the guys couldn’t see or hear this, and most importantly, that if I told them later — they wouldn’t believe it!

On the way home, I feverishly played out situations in which I seduced her, where I looked like a sort of “Casanova.” But whenever I glanced at Dasha, something still clawed at my soul and I thought, maybe to hell with it…

However, I seduced Dasha surprisingly quickly. It seemed to me she didn’t even have time to recover when I lightning-fast and technically “laid” her in bed.

How I threw myself onto the “embrasures,” I don’t quite remember now, and only at the end, having “finished my fire,” I saw in the gap of the front door a row of satisfied, smiling heads. That was when I realized who was seducing whom, but the pleasure I received did not diminish because of it, and by the look in Dasha’s eyes, I knew — there had been no misfire!

The most pleasant surprise was when, the following evening, Dasha came to visit us and asked the guys to go for a walk for an hour or two!

This time, Dasha locked the door herself.

Masha

1. The Neck-Heads

It was a late autumn evening, but Tbilisi, heated by the scorching summer, was giving off its warmth slowly, as if reluctantly. This was my eighteenth autumn. I was sitting on the parapet that separated Vake Park from the sidewalk, right across from my house, which was nestled between two institutes — Foreign Languages and Physical Education. I was lazily smoking, killing time and loneliness. I aimlessly watched the passing cars and the rare tourists. Locals usually didn’t walk on the side where I sat, as there were no residential buildings, offices, or shops. There was only the park and, at the end of the road, the tourist base.

Suddenly, a pretty stranger approached me almost at a run, waving her hand. I looked back, thinking someone might be behind me, but behind me was only the park! The girl was clearly a stranger, and her outfit was definitely not local. She ran up and whispered anxiously, asking if I could walk her to the tourist base. In her eyes, there was both supplication and terror! Well, well… could I walk her to the tourist base? I wanted to tell her that I had been sitting here for an hour exactly for this purpose — to escort such a lost lamb, even to the end of the world! And then, almost through her, I saw why she was so out of breath, why she was rushing to the base, and why there was terror in her eyes.