My Women

Ten minutes later, Katya appeared before us looking like a different woman — beautiful and knowing her worth. She studied me with clear curiosity but no obvious interest. Either my age was the reason, or her sister. We sat in the kitchen, drank coffee, smoked, and told jokes — or rather, I told them and the sisters laughed. It was funny to see them making almost the same gestures, facial expressions, and intonations. Only their eyes were different: in one, there was understanding; in the other, an interest in the matter.

Katya shouted out the window to the other sister, Alyona, telling her to bring beer and come over with her husband. I remembered my gifts and went back to Masha’s house to fetch some churchkhela, a bottle of Akhasheni, and a string of dried persimmons. When I returned, the table was set. I met Kolya, Alyona’s husband, but Alyona herself made a stunning impression on me. Hay-colored hair, huge green eyes, a large chest, and a wasp waist. She sounded like Tatyana Doronina — completely unlike her sisters, but outclassing them both with her youth and looks. Kolya was an ordinary guy, freckled, slightly older than me. Both were students in Moscow.

We had a great time at the table. After some wine and beer, we decided to go to the forest to see the birch groves and pick mushrooms. I really wanted to wash up, and when I told Masha, she laughed: — There will be a bathhouse tonight!

The Russian birches didn’t trigger a fit of sentimentality in me. I was more interested in how Alyona picked mushrooms, bending over so that her breasts were visible almost to the nipples, while Katya, occasionally casting a sideways glance at me, tried to reach my very masculine core with her eyes. Masha didn’t pick mushrooms; she just smiled and skipped like a young goat, knowing I had come specifically for her, and that her sisters were married and had nothing to gain from me.

How naive young women can be about their sisters — especially when they are young, and the sisters are predatory!

5. Only During That Trip

The bathhouse was waiting for us in the evening. While the girls were splashing around, Kolya, the sisters’ father Dmitry Fedorovich, and I drank beer. Later, while we were thumping each other with birch branches in the steam room, the sisters were cooking mushrooms and setting the table on the terrace. There was no lake nearby — thank God, I can’t stand cold water.

We sat at the table wrapped in sheets, steamed and red as lobsters. The girls chattered incessantly, and we, having downed a hundred grams “for safety,” devoured the fried mushroom medley. Masha sat next to me, her head on Katya’s shoulder, trying to start a song. Alyona and her husband sat opposite us; Kolya was discussing something with his father-in-law. I was in bliss; not even the swarming gnats could break the idyll.

And then, like a bolt from the blue, I felt a leg — no, Alyona’s leg — parting the sheet and sliding between my knees. I nearly choked, but Alyona, with her large cow-like eyes, kept watching the singing sisters, nodding her head to the beat while her toes reached their target. Not expecting such agility from Alyona while her husband sat right there, I drank more vodka to hide this sudden “stroke of luck.” For a nineteen-year-old guy, this was beyond the limit, but the alcohol helped; I discreetly stroked her leg and tucked it in more comfortably.

The weekend flew by. On Monday, everyone went to work, and I went to discover a “sexually correctly oriented” Moscow.

Since those distant years, I’ve loved “Lakomka” ice cream — a whole day’s worth of calories — and half-kilogram bricks in cardboard boxes that perfectly brightened the commute. For many years, I knew by heart every station on the Yaroslavl line from Moscow to Mytishchi.

Now, a small digression: The “Details” that struck me in Moscow.

Only during that trip did I realize that the expression “Vai me” (the Russian “oi”) was actually Georgian.

Only during that trip did I hear a live human being on the street, rather than an automated phone service, say, “It is currently 13 hours and 27 minutes.”

Only during that trip did I understand that for a Russian, a queue doesn’t have a beginning and an end, but “edges.” Hearing someone ask for the “edge” person instead of the “last” one felt wild. Apparently, for a Russian, being “last” is unbearable — pure pride!

Only during that trip did I hear a woman addressed in the neuter gender: “Woman, you weren’t standing here!”

Only during that trip did I learn that one could refuse to give up a seat to a pregnant woman or an old lady with a cane, while blissfully reading “Scientific Communism.”

Only during that trip did I first see children drinking vodka.

Only during that trip did I first see a drunk woman lying on the sidewalk in broad daylight.

Only during that trip did I realize that women in Georgia and women in Russia are different types. When I paid the fare for a fellow passenger in a bus — a woman over fifty — I received such a tongue-lashing I didn’t know where to hide. Apparently, she thought I wanted to sleep with her for the price of a bus ticket! In Georgia, that’s just the norm.

Only during that trip did I learn that a night with a woman could be traded for vodka. I was smoking in the train vestibule. A group of students was heading to see girls at a dormitory near “Stroitel” station. I heard them vividly describing their upcoming “adventures.” Suddenly, one of them said, “Let’s just go get a drink instead…” and the whole gang got off the train to go drinking! In Georgia, that would be treated as a joke; no one would believe it in reality!

But most importantly, during that trip, the police checked my documents for the first time. The cop said in surprise: — Strange. Doesn’t look like a “black-ass,” but speaks with an accent.

But back to “our little goats.” Sometimes I was too lazy to go to Moscow and stayed in Mytishchi. I’d take a basket and go mushroom hunting. I’d wander the forest for two or three hours, gather a full basket, though most of it would be thrown away later, with barely a dozen ending up in the pan. However, a more pleasant task was going into the garden with a basin to pick berries. There were gooseberries — the first time I’d ever seen them — raspberries, and currants, both red and black. I’d cover them with sugar and devour them twenty minutes later so fast my ears whistled, as my grandfather used to say.

I mentioned that Marina (Masha’s mom) showed me on the first day where the family money was kept. Dmitry Fedorovich knew too, of course, but he never took a kopek. Instead, he’d approach me and ask to borrow three rubles — not until payday, but until… my departure. I always gave it to him, and he’d vanish happily until late at night.

Masha and I walked almost every evening. We walked where there were fewer people because we wanted “closeness,” but only up to the “sacred line.” At twenty-two, Masha was still a virgin, and I didn’t want to be the cause of her future troubles — my Caucasian upbringing kicked in: no “yes” meant no “go.” Otherwise, we denied ourselves nothing and enjoyed life to the maximum. Of course, the house would have been more convenient, but her grandmother — I forgot her name — was constantly and sharply vigilant. Several times at night, I tried to crawl over to Masha, but the old woman, sleeping behind a screen, would immediately whisper my name, quietly but firmly.

Masha joked: — Grandma, don’t you ever sleep?

She’d chuckle: — If I fall asleep with this shaggy one around, you’ll end up with a belly in no time. — She’d wag a finger at me, but not unkindly.

Several times Alyona asked jokingly: — So, they won’t let you eat the fish? If you need anything, come over, we’ll go “fishing.” Or did you not like my leg?

One evening at dinner, Marina said: — Yura, you’re almost like family now, and I have to say — we all go to the collective farm field and dig up a bag or two of potatoes. Just for ourselves, instead of the store.

She paused and added: — We’re just stealing what would rot anyway. Volodya is away, and Kolya won’t go out of “Komsomol principles” — though his principle is actually just fear. So, you’ll have to help. Katya and Masha will dig, and you’ll carry the bags to Alyona’s house, since it’s closest to the field.

There was no way out; I agreed. I was never actually a Komsomol member, but that’s a story for another time.

Kolya prudently went to sleep at his mother’s. Alyona was home, and I went to the field with the sisters. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine myself stealing young potatoes from a collective farm. They dug skillfully, I gathered them into a bag and hauled it to Alyona’s on my back. When I brought the first bag, Alyona said in a tone that brooked no refusal:

— I’ve heated the bathhouse. After the field, tell them you want to wash up. We’ll wash together! Go on now, or I’ll start ravishing you right here.

I went back to the field. The second bag was already full. The girls gathered another bucket each — enough for three families — and we trudged back to Alyona’s.

The tension broke. We sat in the kitchen, laughing and discussing the details. I remembered Alyona’s words and was far from opposed to her initiative, but I couldn’t figure out when or how to act, as sex was out of the question with Masha and Katya around. Chattering like the rest, I kept watching Alyona and didn’t miss the look she threw at Katya. “Oh, these sisters!!!” I thought. We were all sweaty and covered in mud. Then Katya said:

— We should wash up. Mashka and I will go bathe at my place. We’d take Yura, of course, but Masha isn’t allowed yet, — she laughed loudly.

Alyona chimed in as if on cue: — Kolya heated the bathhouse here too, so Yura can bathe here. I’ll set the table and we’ll eat afterward.

Masha, as if apologizing for herself, put a hand on my shoulder: — That’s perfect. You worked hard; you should have a good wash.

And as she left the house, she said to her sister jokingly: — Alyona, make sure you scrub his back! Try your best!

6. Alyona

Yes, Alyona did her best! Young, beautiful, green-eyed, stately, passionate, and shameless — she tore into me fiercely and selflessly, like a shuttle in a sewing machine. Her young, firm breasts tossed from side to side with such frenzy that it seemed they might fly off. Her sex was completely silent, somehow self-absorbed, and it felt so unnatural to me that I felt like a human vibrator. She neither hugged nor kissed; with eyes rolled back, she plowed straight toward satisfaction, not responding to my caresses or words. It gave the impression that Alyona was simply snatching at the sacred sex she had dreamed of but which her husband, unfortunately, failed to provide. She was taking revenge on me for everything she had missed in bed until then. She wanted maximum pleasure, trying to get everything at once in that one unexpected opportunity.

Of course, this staggeringly passionate, completely uncontrolled indulgence of the libido ended in a quick, violent orgasm accompanied by such convulsions that I followed suit instantly, driving into her as deep as humanly possible.

— Well? — Alyona asked, catching her breath while soaping my still swollen but softening weapon.

— Wonderful, but too fast and not enough.

Alyona smiled. — Thank you! It was more than enough for me. That was my first orgasm. I still feel as if I’m impaled. I need to digest all this; I actually thought I was defective as a woman. And you, you tomcat — if you didn’t get enough, you can finish up tomorrow with Katka. Do you think she led Masha away for nothing?

— So, you’re “recharged” for life now? Maybe we could try it without the bathhouse next time, in a bed? You know, with caresses, a blowjob… this was a bit like a schoolboy’s quickie.

— Listen to the professional. Aren’t you afraid I’ll bite it off?

— People don’t bite things off out of pleasure.

— I’m not in the mood for that now. Maybe later, if there’s a chance, we’ll play around. I liked it very much! As for the blowjob — tomorrow, Katerina will do it. She loves everything in sex.

— You really are bitches. Don’t you feel sorry for Masha?

— Don’t you feel sorry for us?

Poor Masha — I felt a pang of pity for her. It felt like I was cheating on her, and considering Alyona’s looks promised much more than I had actually received, it felt doubly unfair to Masha.

Alyona was working magic with the table when the steamed sisters arrived. I sat, as is customary after a bathhouse, wrapped in a towel with a mug of homemade kvass, my eyes half-closed either from the heat or exhaustion. Alyona’s face radiated indescribable joy that we had “dug the potatoes.” While Alyona and Katya exchanged meaningful glances, Masha slapped her thigh and said with a laugh, as if joking: — Well, that’s it! I need to end this virginity business, or a man comes to visit me and ends up sleeping with the whole village.

Everyone roared with laughter. — Exactly! — Alyona chirped. — Don’t give him to anyone! The women here are all “blood and milk,” he won’t be enough for everyone. Guard him!

Marina, the mother, came in: — So, how are the potatoes? The sisters took turns telling the story of the “Battle for the Young Potato.”

— Well, there it is. The man broke his back, and there was no one to scrub it for him in the bathhouse? Some wives you are, — Marina quipped, looking at me.

— Don’t worry, we scrubbed it, — Masha muttered under her breath, sitting down indifferently at the opposite side of the table.

I felt uneasy. Alyona looked too satisfied; only a blind man wouldn’t see the word “Slept-With” written on her forehead. And Alyona’s words about “finishing up with Katka tomorrow” now took on a sinister meaning of a conspiracy against Masha and me. More precisely: an attempt to open Masha’s eyes to me as a “dog,” so she wouldn’t build any plans. Looking at the sisters and the mother, I smiled — some kind of village women’s CIA — but a bitter aftertaste remained.

After midnight. Masha and I were sitting in the gazebo by her house, watching the Mytishchi stars. Masha leaned back against my chest and tilted her head to look into my eyes. Suddenly, she started talking about exactly what I had been thinking in Alyona’s yard:

— Yura, tell me, why is life so unfair? I know for a fact that if Alyona’s or Katya’s husbands had been in your place in Tbilisi, those “brothers” would have dragged me into the park and raped me. They wouldn’t have stirred, or they would have crossed to the other side of the street to stay out of “trouble.” You, on the other hand, practically saved me and didn’t use it like a “savior” should. I wouldn’t have even resisted you, because I had decided — whatever happens, happens. But you didn’t even kiss me.

— I didn’t save you just so I could rape you myself.

— Yura, be honest. Did you come here to marry me? If you don’t want to, don’t answer; I’ll understand.

— If I’m being honest, the thought of marriage never crossed my mind. I was traveling to see you as a very good friend. Of course, I had sex on my mind, but then your virginity interfered, which I hadn’t thought about. Imagine if you weren’t a virgin; we could have enjoyed ourselves under every bush without worrying about marriage. But I’m only nineteen, I’ve just started my second year — what kind of family could I have? But I like you. I want you, very much. You see yourself: mom, dad, sisters… everyone is on guard for your purity. You don’t know how they’d react. I don’t want a scandal, and I don’t think you do either.

— Yura, I know you were with Alyona. It’s written all over her face that she was in seventh heaven. Thank you for not bragging about it or badmouthing my sister for “seducing the boy.” And I know about Katka, too. Don’t worry, it’s fine. Well, almost fine. I shouldn’t be like a dog in the manger. They are my sisters; they married blindly. Katka’s husband, we think, goes to Leningrad to see a lover and sleeps with Katya maybe once or twice a month. And Alyona’s husband is some kind of “circumcised Komsomol member” — and they clearly cut off more than necessary. He can’t even change a position without his mother’s permission. How could he leave his wife alone knowing there’s a handsome “Georgian” in the house? It serves him right. I hope at least now Alyona knows what an orgasm is and maybe she’ll leave that fool before they have kids. With her looks! I won’t mind if you “chop some wood” for Katerina on Monday before her husband returns. Let her have some joy too.

A heavy silence fell. I didn’t know how to react to such openness, while Masha seemed to be gathering her thoughts to say something else.

— Actually, it’s all my mother. She wanted to kill two birds with one stone. To show Alyona that her husband isn’t worth holding onto, because a man is much more than just wearing pants. And to discourage me from the idea of marrying you. I understand her well. I know she’s right.

Masha fell silent, then turned and looked me in the eyes: — Only, my dear… before you leave… I don’t want any noise, I know my mother, she might even call the police… will you give me a night? I don’t want it under a bush in the forest. I’m with you in my dreams every night, but for the last one, I want to be with you for real.

7. Katerina

As I suspected, the “village CIA” — as ridiculous as it sounds — was operating at full capacity. On Monday morning, before leaving for work, the mother approached me and, in a pitiful tone just as Masha had predicted, delivered her line:

— Yura, maybe you won’t go to Moscow today? Help Katerina split some logs; all her firewood was burned up for the bathhouses the other day. — Marina’s gaze flicked momentarily below my belt.

— You’re a fit lad; swinging a splitting maul is like a morning workout for you. Help the woman out — who knows when her little “slug” of a husband will be back. By the way, no need for breakfast; Katya will feed you something delicious.

Marina turned, businesslike, picked up her bag, gave Masha a questioning look, and left the house.

— Well, what did I tell you yesterday about the firewood? — Masha asked. — I find it all disgusting, but it’s like paying tribute to the Tatars. You understand me: Mother wants to push us together through sex with my sisters. It’s her guaranteed way to discourage you from me, and at the same time, she probably thinks she’s winning her daughters over at your expense.

— Well, it seems I’m being passed from hand to hand according to your mama’s script. What if she decides to bury me in the potato field after I’m done with Katya and Alyona? Just so I don’t have time to take your virginity? — I smiled.

— Look, do as you wish. I’m not planning to marry you, so don’t make a problem out of nothing. If there were some “Vasya” here instead of you, he’d be sleeping with my sex-starved girls within a day and would be perfectly happy with his vacation in Mytishchi. But you’ll spend a year agonizing over your conscience because you gave my sisters pleasure while not forgetting yourself. You weren’t exactly at a forced labor camp, after all.

Masha pressed against me in a long kiss. — But with me, you’ll have to make up for everyone — for Mom and for the sisters — or I’ll strangle you in bed.

Masha kissed me again and ran after her mother, shouting over her shoulder: — Don’t forget to split the wood!

I sat on the porch and watched the street beyond the gate. Someone was in a hurry; two drunks, holding onto the fence, were watering the grass with their former booze; a man on a bicycle wanted to shout something to them but fell into a puddle instead. Masha’s father, having borrowed another three rubles from me, successfully vanished through the gate.

I smoked and thought about what to do — go “chop wood” or spit on it all and head to Moscow. Moscow was fine, of course, but I wanted to “chop wood” more, even if the compulsory nature of it was a bit strange.

Katya approached quietly from behind. — Come on, let’s have breakfast. I know you know everything from Masha; I told her about Mom’s sneaky plan myself. Come, let’s have coffee.

— And the wood?

— You can do the wood too.

We walked through the inner gate and found ourselves in Katya’s yard. About a dozen logs and an axe lay by the shed. I took the axe and drove it into a stump; it didn’t split.

— You need to eat first; you need strength for chopping.

In the kitchen, Katya worked skillfully. Coffee, eggs with bacon, and Olivier salad appeared on the table with striking speed; she clearly enjoyed being a hostess.

— Eat. I’ll just have coffee; I’ve already eaten.

The eggs and bacon were delicious. We drank coffee together, smoking cigarettes and chatting about nothing. Katya looked very much like Masha, only with blonde hair and gray-blue eyes; she looked slightly plumper, perhaps because she was shorter.

— Maybe I’ll go chop now?

— Go ahead. We’ll have beer afterward; it’s in the fridge.

At first, the chopping went poorly, likely due to a total lack of experience. Either a chip would fly off the log, or the axe would get stuck without the wood splitting. I noticed Katya laughing in the window. Out of spite, I started putting in more effort. I got soaked with sweat and took off my shirt. The work started going better. I split more than half but rubbed a blister raw and even tore it. I sat down to smoke. Katya came up and ran her hand over my body:

— That’s enough, you’re all wet. Go to the bathroom and rinse off.

It felt good to stand under the warm shower after swinging the axe. Katya unceremoniously entered the bathroom, bringing a towel.

— Dry yourself. Yes, Alyona didn’t lie, — Katya poked a finger at my abs, — you’re good!

Katya quickly washed my shirt and hung it in the hallway. The torn blister hurt; I asked for a Band-Aid. Katya brought some zelyonka (antiseptic) and dabbed it on the blister, blowing on it so it wouldn’t sting. I kissed her on the head.

— Yura, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. Maybe at twenty-four I’m too old for you?

I kissed her eyes, then her lips, pressing my member against her stomach. Katya threw off her robe; she was magnificent. From the surge of desire, the slanted nipples hardened on her firm breasts, and I felt a sudden urge to stroke the trimmed hair on her pubis. I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. The bed was already turned down.

In bed, Katya was the total opposite of Alyona. She instantly caught my every movement and adapted. For her, there were no “forbidden topics” in sex. While giving me a blowjob and looking into my eyes, Katya asked me not to rush; she was afraid I’d waste all my fire on “blank shots.” Unlike Alyona, she didn’t want everything at once; she wanted everything in turn, resting and becoming aroused again and again through caresses. There was no hurry. In the breaks, we ate apples or drank beer. Then we dived back into the soft, passionate haze, tasting our bodies sinking in lust. We enjoyed not only the change of positions and tempo but also swapping caresses for hard sex, using every place Katerina could be entered. The pleasure was wild, and the sex was perfect. Four hours flew by. We lay naked on a completely soaked sheet. Our overworked “tools” were practically smoking.

Cold beer in a hot bath was exactly what we both needed.

8. Zagorsk. The Enthronement of Patriarch Pimen

Now I will turn your gaze toward something I will never see again, and something many of you have likely never seen and will never see. I will turn your gaze toward the sacred — the Enthronement of Patriarch Pimen.