Author: Dane Lowell
Submitted by: redadmin

Chapt. 277 - 2869 words
Columns :: Remodels: The apartment and Sasha

MOSCOW, February 14, 2008 -- Comments:   Ratings:
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Nice to be missed
Apartment is getting remodeled
Sasha reappears
And revitalizes my life
With Igor a step behind
Zhorik may have serious problems
I vote for Obama



MOSCOW, February 14, 2008 -- It’s nice to be missed. “Keywestdan” noticed that the Red Queen has been neglecting her duties of late, and wrote: “Hope that the Red Queen is alive and well. Actually hope you are getting laid so much that you have no time or interest in writing.

Actually, my excuse is much less exotic – and erotic! I have been having recurrent problems with my computer compounded by a lack of excitement and inspiration; but that may be changing, as you can see from the accompanying photo and the Red Queen’s breathless account below.

Thanks for the good wishes, Dan, maybe they worked


Russia has gotten a big boost in the Russia-vs-Spain battle for the next decade of my life: One of my sorest sore points – my ugly and dilapidated apartment – is being resolved: Sergei and I have agreed to do a superficial remodel – paint, wallpaper, new wiring. He called his “Uncle” Pasha from Volgograd, who’s in the remodeling biz, who agreed to do the job for 1000 bucksi – a major bargain.

Although it doesn’t really matter, Pasha isn’t actually Sergei’s uncle. You see, Sergei’s mother was the second wife of his father, Valentin, and Pasha is his first wife’s brother. Sufficiently confused? Anyway, Pasha is 50, married and the father of four children, including a son who lives and works in Moscow. Pasha and Sergei haven’t been close, but Pasha seems happy at the chance of doing this project for Sergei. He’s honest and competent, which puts him a cut above most Russian remodelers, and he seems to be enjoying living with a weird American. Despite my affection for Sergei, Igor, and Sasha, I don’t think he’s figured out yet that I’m gay.

The materials are costing about another thousand bucksi. We’ll also have to buy some furniture. Sergei called the landlady and she agreed that if we didn’t have all the rent money because of the remodel, we could pay the rest later. When she comes to collect, he’s going to try to talk her into footing the bill for part of the remodel.

Sergei is taking charge as I’ve never seen him before. He is trying to salve his conscience for being responsible for my $ 4200 loss two months ago (Chapt. 273, A happy ending – just in time for Christmas). He wants me to have a nice apartment and a nice room where I won’t be ashamed to bring my students.

He also wants to continue living here with me. He has become absolutely devoted, responsible, and protective.

The icing on the cake is that Igor finally came Friday! He said he didn’t come earlier because his supposed best friend “Finish” had confiscated the money I lent them (Chapt. 272, Contrived vote paves way for endless Putin rule) “and wouldn’t give me a kopek.”


And speaking of the $ 4200 heist: Zhorik SMS’d me Saturday morning because he wanted “urgently” to speak to Sergei. I walked into the room where Sergei and Pasha were sleeping on mattresses on the floor, and there, passed out between them and looking absolutely angelic in his repose was Sasha, our beautiful and charming thief who was just beginning to develop into a major fantasy when he and the money disappeared!

What the hell is going on here?

Sergei was still too drunk and sleepy to talk to Zhorik. When he finally got up and was able to mumble a few words, I asked him what the deal was. He said Sasha says he had nothing to do with the theft and didn’t know about it until Sergei went to his workplace to confront him. He said he denied then that the key was Sergei’s because he was scared to death and didn’t know what else to do. And Sergei’s mobile phone, which he had with him when he returned to the apartment the last time I saw him….?

He has a job paying about $ 1,000 a month. Although he denies stealing the money, he acknowledges that it was his fault because it was his friend and classmate who stole the money, and Sasha feels responsible. He agreed to repay me at the rate of $ 1,000 a month. The power we hold over him is Sergei’s threat to swear out a warrant against him if he fails to pay.

But I don’t think, in light of the relationship that’s developing between him and the rest of us – Sergei, Igor, and me – that we’ll need the threat.

Sergei and Sasha had run into each other at a party and Sergei had brought him home.



My pretty Sasha in his new role as painter in our remodel. His pants barely cover his cock, and still not a trace of pubic hair -- though he does have some, I discovered in my night of unforgettable passion.

Sasha and I didn’t actually encounter each other until about noon, when I walked into the room where he was assiduously painting the ceiling as part of the remodel. We took one look at each other and he bound into my arms. We picked up the kissing and passionate embrace exactly where we had left off just eight weeks earlier.

He was hugging and kissing me as joyfully as I was him. “I really missed you,” I said. “I really missed you, too,” he responded, beaming.

We continued to repeatedly kiss – I’d say passionately except we weren’t tongueing each other (yet) – and hug until I left for my new Inst. of Diplomacy class about 3 p.m. His pants were clinging to his lithe 18-year-old body only a few centimeters above his cock, but still there was not a pubic hair to be seen. My peter meter was buzzing the whole time and I had to fight back the image of him naked in my arms and the feel of his throbbing dick down my throat.

Would it ever happen, I sighed. I had a strong feeling that it might. There was certainly something happening between us, and it felt like deep and sincere affection, if not love.


In the meantime, Sergei has decided he’s going to be queer again. He said a couple of days ago, “the one thing I do know is that I don’t want a woman.” He, too, was fantasizing about Sasha, and shook his finger at me once when he caught me kissing him.

He is also jealous of me and a little worried. “Now that Igor is back, I’m afraid you won’t need me any more.”

He’s also expressed the hope that he can continue living here after Zhorik returns in June, despite our earlier agreement that Zhorik and I would live alone.

Sergei is unquestioningly becoming increasingly close and an integral part of my life. We can only see what happens over the next few months.

Anyway, that night, Saturday, Igor, Sergei, and Sasha all went “gulyating” while I fixed a pot of spaghetti. Sergei returned alone about 4 in the morning. He said Igor and Sasha had continued gulyating.

About 6:30 the front entrance doorbell rang. Igor and Sasha?

No, just Sasha. Igor had gone home with his strumpet of the moment, and Sasha had returned by himself. With both Sergei and Pasha passed out after staying up nearly all night, I realized that for all intents and purposes Sasha and I were alone. We put our arms around each other and what started as a casual embrace became a passionate attack as we kissed each other in the mouth, on the ears, on the neck.

“I think I love you a little bit,” I smiled.

“I love you too,” he said, with utter sincerity.

My peter meter was ringing off the hook.

“Sergei and I are sleeping in here,” I said, pointing to my old room. “Come sleep with us.”

“Okay.”

I crawled back into bed, with Sasha only a few seconds behind me. He pulled off his shirt and we immediately held each other tightly, our naked torsos touching and our legs wrapping around each other as we furiously swallowed each other’s tongues.

I pulled away long enough to say, “Don’t you think you’d be more comfortable without the pants?”

He quickly pulled them off and we resumed our cuddling and our frantic kissing.

I reached into his shorts and squeezed his ass. He didn’t flinch.

“Do you mind if I play with your piska?”

“No.”

I put my hands down the front of his shorts and took hold of his dick. Sergei had seen him naked while he was taking a bath and had said he had a small dick. “Not just a small dick,” Sergei had said, “but a really tiny dick.”

He obviously hadn’t seen Sasha with a hard-on. As it struggled between my fingers, his “tiny” dick began growing. I felt as if I had discovered Jack’s beanstalk growing out of his pubescent crotch.

I pulled my tongue from his long enough to ask him if I could suck his dick.

“Umm-hmm.”

It nearly filled my threat. I bobbed my head a few times and then reached up to kiss him again. He was clawing, passionate!

“Do you want to come?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I turned my attention back to his dick. The foreskin was “redundant,” as the docs at Providence Hospital used to describe the foreskin that covered the head completely, ending in a pretty little tit – for me an exotic turn-on. When I started pulling the skin back, I discovered it was also phymotic – too tight to fully retract.

“Does that hurt?” I asked as I pulled it back from the top third of his head.

“Huh-uh. If it hurts I’ll tell you.”

I licked and sucked and stroked while he rubbed and stroked my head, face, and neck.

When I tried to pull the skin back again, this time more forcibly, he flinched slightly, then took it in his own hands and began stroking.

“Tell me when you’re going to come,” I whispered. “I want to swallow it.”

Only a few seconds later I heard him gasping. I took it all the way down and felt the throbbing of his shaft as he shot his gism into my throat. It was almost tasteless.

“I’d like to jerk myself off,” I whispered. “Can I?”

“Okay.”

I held his still rock-hard cock while I pumped my own a few strokes, then fell back into paradise as it washed over my stomach.

We pulled our shorts back on and held each other face to face, lips to lips.

“This will be our secret,” he said.

“Of course.”

He fell asleep in my arms a few seconds later.

I’m still numb with shock that it really happened! This beautiful, sweet, gentle, tantalizing, teenager. But the best thing about it is that it seems to be the product of a real, throbbing love between us, more sincere and more alive than the love between me and either Igor or Zhorik. There’s a united spirit of not only passion, but deep affection.

I can only wonder how long this miracle will last and if we will ever again hold each other naked in bed.

But it’s promising. We continue to kiss each other avidly at every opportunity and the one time we were alone together for a few minutes we again clasped each other and kissed each other wildly. So I think this was not the last time.

But even if it should be, I will long be sustained by with one of the most breathless memories of my life.


With the remodel underway, it’s a bit of a circus: Pasha is sleeping and eating here for the two or three weeks it takes to finish the apartment. Sergei and Igor are helping with the wallpapering, the cleaning, and the painting, and Sasha is proving invaluable help, especially with the painting.

He’s working just like the member of the family that Sergei and I initially envisioned for him. I haven’t talked to Sergei yet, but I’m hoping that perhaps Sasha will live here and share the bedroom with Sergei as we initially planned, while Igor – if he gets straightened out – and I share the other one.

Igor’s first few days have proved a disappointment. The first night he didn’t come to bed until 4 a.m., and then was “too tired” for sex. The second night, Saturday, he never came home at all, but went home with the strumpet, setting the stage for my delirious roll with Sasha. He didn’t come home till Monday noon. Tuesday night I asked him when we were going to “play.”

“Tomorrow.”

To his credit, he was true to his word, but a bit of the spark is gone. Maybe Sasha took it away. But it was like old times to have his robust cock down my throat and to spew my own gism to the rhythm of his.


The urgency behind Zhorik’s call to Sergei yesterday could prove to be frighteningly serious.

A couple of weeks ago he told me that a store near his caserne had been broken into and robbed, that the clerk had been killed, and that the police suspected the crime might have been committed by a soldier in his barracks.

The next day he told me that a soldier had been arrested.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

“Of course, we all served together.”

“Did you ever think he could be this kind of a person?”

“Never.”

Yesterday he told Sergei that the military prosecutors have forbidden the soldiers to call or communicate with their mobile phones indefinitely – maybe for a couple of months – until they complete their investigation.

This morning while Sasha was sleeping in my arms my mobile signaled an incoming SMS. It was Zhorik.

“How are things?” I asked.

“Not so good,” he said. “Maybe another soldier or two is going to be arrested.”

“Are you in any danger?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I’m the squad leader of the second squad.”

“Was he in your squad?”

“Yes. As the leader of his squad I could be punished because I didn’t pay enough attention to him.

“Did you obey all the rules and regulations?”

“Of course.”

“Then it’s not your fault and you’re not responsible.”

“I have to answer for what happens in my squad.”

“What can you do?”

“I don’t know. I hope everything will be all right.”

“So do I.

“I still can’t believe that he did it.”

“Do you think he really did it or are they framing him to solve the case quickly?”

“I don’t think they’re framing him.”

“So he really did it?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I’m not there. But you say you can’t believe he did it, and a soldier is helpless, has few defenses, and is easy for them to frame.”

“Anything could happen,” he SMS’d.

So now we’ll see if Zhorik gets punished for a crime allegedly committed by a soldier in his squad. It’s a good example of Russian military justice.

In the meantime, I’ve heard nothing from him for two days.


I officially cast my vote on Sunday for Barack Obama! Russia is one of 33 countries around the world where a group called Democrats Abroad has made it possible for ex-pats to register and vote in the Democratic primary.

Although it has been around since 1976, its impact this year is expected to be much more significant, because it is now possible for America’s 6 million ex-pats to cast their vote by e-mail or fax.

So with Obama locked in a to-the-convention struggle with Hillary, whom I distrust almost as much as Bush – she did, after all, vote for the war in Iraq and is heavily funded by the Israeli lobby – I actually feel my vote could, for the first time in the 10 years I’ve been living here, make a difference.

And they were paper ballots, so we don’t have to worry about the whatever-those-things-were-called that enabled Bush to steal the election in Florida.

Of course I don’t expect Obama to win, but miracles still happen, as my passionate roll in the hay with Sasha proves.

So maybe there will yet be a President Barack Obama.

But beautiful Volodya raised an issue that I’d already started to be concerned about. Obama is out of the old pol loop, even more than Kennedy. The same sinister right wing conspirators that so artfully did in Kennedy could even more easily hit Obama.

So while I desperately want Obama to win and restore the country I used to live in and be so proud of, I’m deep-down sad and afraid that if he is elected, he won’t be around long enough to make the difference that we are voting for him to make.

Or am I just an inveterate hand-wringer who spends his spare time worrying today because he’s afraid that tomorrow there won’t be anything to worry about?



And what about Russia? Oh, yes, it’s still here. They’re still putting political opponents in psychiatric hospitals and disqualifying would-be presidential candidates on trumped up pretexts.

Dmitriy Medvedev is considered such a shoo-in that he’s doing virtually no campaigning, and Putin made it clear in a major speech that he plans to continue to run the country in one form or at least the next 12 years.


See also related pages:
Chapt. #278 - New incentive to reach 80!
Chapt. #276 - Putin succession battle brings uncertainty to Russia too
Chapt. #272 - Contrived vote paves way for endless Putin rule