MOSCOW, July 29, 2005 -- I have a sense of deep foreboding. Sergei left here about 4:00 yesterday afternoon headed for the airport. “Zhorik, are you going to see me to the metro?”
Or did he say “to the airport?”
“If you want me to,” Zhorik replied.
So Sergei and I kissed longingly and lovingly.
“Call me so I can get your mobile phone number.”
“Absolutely.”
Sergei had in his pocket the USD2,150 his friend Edik had given him to take with him to Edik’s mother. He also had with him a very expensive new combination cell phone/computer that he said he had gotten from a friend of his.
When I left for my class at Masha’s law firm at 5:30, I left Zhorik a note asking him to clean up the kitchen for my 8 p.m. class with Marya’s husband Aleksei.
When I returned just before 8:00, the note was still on the door. Alan was finishing the dishes. Maybe Zhorik decided to drop by somebody’s house, I thought, a little annoyed that he hadn’t come home and hadn’t called.
All evening I waited. No Zhorik. I turned on TCM on TV and watched Dr. Zhivago until midnight. Still no Zhorik and no phone call from either him or Sergei.
Disappointed, I downed a couple of bloody Mary’s to make me sleep.
I woke up at 2 a.m., and that’s when it hit me.
The cops! The fucking cops!
They stopped them for the ubiquitous documents check. Sergei had his passport and his money together, and in his pocket the expensive cell phone. They took them to the holding cell in the metro station on suspicion of robbery. They took the money and the phone, and have deep-sixed them either figuratively or literally. The lawlessness of Russia’s cops is legendary. They are all bandits in uniforms. They’ll kill for that kind of money. Or trump up a charge assuring they’ll be there interminably.
So now at 5:30 a.m., I wait, hoping against hope that Zhorik did go to a friend’s and that Sergei has just been too busy to call. I’ll try to wait until about 9 a.m. to call Andrei to see if he’s heard from Sergei.
If he hasn’t, then what?
I wait some more.
How many hours? How many days? How many forevers?
From abject despair to sublime ecstasy! “Where have you been?” I almost screamed when they arrived about 6:00 this morning. “Dane, I’m going to bed,” mumbled Sergei. “Zhorik will explain everything.”
Zhorik was already sucking a fag :-) in the kitchen.
“Where have you been?”
“We were at some girls’.”
“I thought Sergei was leaving yesterday and you were just accompanying him to the metro.”
“The ticket was too expensive. They only had business class. He’s definitely going today.”
“Honey, I’m not trying to hurry him off, but I thought you and he had left for the airport.” I put my arms around him, hugged him tight, and kissed him. “Do you realize how worried I’ve been? I was sure you were dead or in jail. You know the cops here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“I didn’t have a phone.”
“Didn’t the girls have a phone?”
“Not a house phone.”
“Honey, you’re going to be living here. Don’t ever do this to me again. If you aren’t able to be home when you say you’re going to be home, you must call me and let me know.”
“I’m very sorry. Okay.”
Then he joined Sergei on the bed and I returned to my computer. I heard him taking off his shirt and turned around to look at him.
“Do you want to lie down?” He was patting the bed beside him.
Holy hemorrhoids, Batman; what gives?
I took off my glasses and lay beside him, our naked torsos touching. I kissed him on the face, on the lips, on the chest, on the nipples.
“Did you have a good time?”
“A really good time.”
“How many were there?”
“Two.”
“What were their names?
“Irina and Nastya. I really liked Ira. I’d like to see her again.
“When are you planning to do that?”
“Maybe Saturday.”
“Are you in a better mood now?”
He gave me the thumbs up.
Throughout this time we were nestling together intimately, and I was periodically hugging, kissing, hugging some more, stroking his face. He seemed very content.
I got up to lock the front door that Yura had just exited.
When I came back he had rolled over on his stomach. Oh, well, I sighed to myself as I sat down at the computer again. It was fun while it lasted.
Almost immediately he rolled onto his side in the semi-fetal posture. I immediately crawled in behind him in the spoons position and put my arm around him and hugged him tight. I slowly began stroking his stomach and the little patch of fuzzy straight hair on his chest. I let my hand drop to his navel and continued caressing. He rolled onto his back a little more. I moved enough to let his body finish dropping full on his back. I lay my hand on his crotch. I could feel his semi through his trousers.
After a few minutes, I stealthily unzipped his trou and let my hand slide in between them and his shorts. Then I lifted up the top edge of his shorts and let my fingers search: skin, hair, but no dick. His left leg was under mine and his right leg was cocked and almost touching his left. When he let his right leg slide flat so that he was full on his back, I probed again. Bingo! Rock hard!
I put my fingers around it and lifted, played with it. He erected it several times. I pulled the shorts down a little more and I heard the top button pop loose. I pulled the throbbing head loose from his trousers into full view and gently massaged it, then brought my tongue down to it and let my lips slide down over its tumescence.
And by that time, I had a good case of tumescence of my own.
I continued stroking, touching, tonguing, sucking. He didn’t move; his face remained immobile, and he was making no breathing sounds. It was as if he was comatose, mesmerized, content. I brought my left hand to my own cock. I touched it and slid the skin back and forth. Six short strokes was all it took. I spread the cum over my leg so it would dry quicker. I didn’t want to ruin the moment by getting up and washing it off.
I continued to lie with my arm around him for a couple of minutes, tucked his dick back into his shorts, zipped his trou, and drifted off into ecstatic, sweet sleep, my Zhorik still cuddled in my arms beside me.
How much did he know and when did he know it?
I’m really at a loss to answer. Again, I think he purposely set it up. Fucking Ira last night perhaps has made him less up-tight about fearing that he might be queer and has made him more comfortable letting me stroke and suck his cock. On earlier occasions when he’s stirred and seemed to become aware of what I was doing, he shifted hastily to his stomach. Not this time.
Sergei is leaving tonight after his full week here. Zhorik and I will have an intimate conversation tonight. We’ve promised to have no secrets. I will start by reminding him of that, and then tell him that while he was asleep this morning, I fondled and played with his cock, that it was stiff and hard, and that I even sucked it, and that I came while I was holding his cock.
Then I will ask him if he’s angry.
We’ll see what his response is.
So:
Could I? Yes.
Would I? Yes.
Should I? Well, I did.
While I was still soaring in bliss, I checked my e-mail, and then soared a little more. There was a message from Sam Love. He had send me a snippet from a short story or novel he’s writing about Mississippi in the ’60s, which purports to be the diary of teen-aged Sarah Lee “as she explores a cure for the problem Colonel Billy is having with his ‘Big Gun’.”
Here’s one excerpt:
It has just the right mix of innocence, drollery, and jaded manipulation. I assured Sam that if he could sustain this voice, tone, and level of humor, he’s got a winner.
In his reply, Sam asked again about my press release for the Red Queen, which I immediately sent as an attachment.
So with “Seduction Serenade” still floating gently in the background, I read Sam’s response:
”An American journalist lifts the veil on homosexuality in Russia etc....”
Definitely use the quote about "At his age my worst nightmare would be…”
“Follow the nightly adventures of ...... in an ongoing blog from Moscow."
Your material is great. After you build up some readership you can probably get a book deal.
He said the “B” word: Book deal! That was my whole raison d’etre in writing these columns in the first place: to let let become known and read and then use them as a springboard to sell my memoirs! So Sam thinks I’ve got a chance!
Oh what a beautiful morning!
If he doesn’t miss his plane, Sergei really is leaving today following one delay after another. I went with him to buy his ticket. I saw him pay for it and put it in his pocket.
On the way back home he called Andrei, who told him he had an emergency and could Sergei please lend him USD1,000. Sergei said at first he couldn’t, because he had to give me USD2,000. But Andrei pleaded, and Sergei asked if he could only give me USD1,000 so he could let Andrei have USD1,000 for his emergency.
I talked with Andrei for a minute. “Are you having a problem, honey?”
“No, everything’s fine. I’m planning to go to Chechnya to buy tomatoes!”
That scares me! Chechnya is a hell hole and there are killings – both grudge killings and Russian military killings going on constantly. He said he was going with a friend who had made the trip many times and that he wouldn’t be in danger.
“Something’s wrong,” I told Sergei. “Andrei’s always having ‘emergencies.’ I don’t think his business is doing very well.”
When I talked with Zhorik about it later, he said that he had talked with Andrei yesterday, and the USD1,000 – and perhaps the trip to Chechnya – was in connection with the threat against Zhorik. Maybe another ransom payment?
It’s unnerving, but there’s nothing I can do except keep my fingers crossed and try to keep my Zhorik safe here.
