Mishka Ben-David - Forbidden Love in St. Petersburg

A further thought. I found it odd that she sent me off to shower in my own apartment. But who knows, perhaps she felt that after a day’s work my body odour was unpleasant? Perhaps that’s what lovers in Russia do? Also something about her shop didn’t seem quite right to me. Everything looked too new and spotlessly clean–but maybe that’s the way bookshops in Russia are, like a sort of pharmacy? And anyway, her knowledge was so profound–clearly she lived her life with books and among books. And there was the matter of the car that perhaps had brought her to the vicinity of the restaurant. But her connection to the vehicle was purely circumstantial. I didn’t see her get out of it.

This was how I conducted my self-interrogation with respect to our relationship. I decided not to write anything about her. A procedure is a procedure. But there is life. I don’t believe that every operative who brings a woman to his apartment reports it. This was the first time in my apartment and only the second occasion on which I’d slept with her. I am not prepared to accept such interference and my relations with Anna are too precious for me to allow a stranger to intrude into them. And who on earth knows whether there will, in any case, be a continuation of these relations?

But the very fact that I had transgressed compelled me to respond to HQ’s demands. I informed them that I had to establish the commercial cover that would justify frequent trips to these godforsaken countries and that I was starting to do that as of now.

There will be a few lucky traders in these Republics who will shortly be getting offers at prices lower than they could possibly have dreamed of–a temptation they won’t be able to resist. This time my aim was to buy and sell agricultural machinery that would require maintenance. My plan was based on the belief that my farming experience would enable me to be the person taking on the maintenance work as well, and that if I added periodic inspection every few months to the quotation, that would provide me with the necessary cover to visit these places frequently.

I decided first of all to approach my amiable Mafioso from Makhachkala–to him the deal would look even better on paper after I added his twenty per cent since the money going back to him would be sent directly from the offices of the company in Canada and wouldn’t show up in the books here.

This time I was equipped with Anna’s number at the bookshop and phoned her immediately after transmitting the message to HQ and before beginning my search for a suitable item of agricultural machinery. She didn’t answer, which surprised me. Just before I went out for a late lunch I considered going to the shop instead of eating at either the Japanese or Italian restaurant in my street. I tried her number once more and this time she picked up the phone, breathless and excited.

I heard the ringing from the door and got to it just in time, she said. You won’t believe it, but when I got home I went straight to bed again and simply didn’t want to get out of it. I thought about our night together again and again in my mind, each and every movement, and couldn’t bear the idea of getting up and going to the shop. I so want to see you again.

At Vashkirova’s?

What about coming straight to my place? I’ll make us dinner.

Wonderful cooking smells greeted me as I climbed the stairs to her apartment. I don’t know how to distinguish between various spices, but I did smell steak as well as some kind of fish, stewed fruits and what afterwards I discovered to be cumin and cinnamon. Anna opened the door for me wearing an apron over her clothes, her hands wet. She kissed the tip of my nose and said she had to get back to the kitchen and that I should make myself comfortable.

The kitchen table was tastefully laid in the living room, with a tablecloth, cutlery and matching napkins, fresh flowers in an old-fashioned vase and white candles flickering in an antique three-armed bronze candlestick.

I went into the kitchen behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. She tilted her head back and rubbed her hair in the furrow between my neck and shoulder. Very slowly, I moved my hands up and gently cupped her breasts in my palms, kissing the nape of her neck as my stiffening cock caressed her buttocks.

You know I won’t be able to resist, and the food will get burned.

Can’t you simply turn it off for an hour?

It’s obvious you were never a woman or a gourmet chef. I can, but it will be spoiled. Do you think you can control yourself for a while?

She asked this in a tone of voice that implied she was ready to accept ‘no’ for an answer. But I couldn’t ignore all the effort she’d made, so I stopped brushing myself against her.

I’ll try, can’t promise though, I said.

I’ll compensate you for it afterwards, she said. Meanwhile have a whisky.

On the worn sideboard were two unopened whisky bottles, one Irish, one Scotch. I poured myself a glass, sank into the sofa and let the good feelings brought on by the drink swirl around in my head.

Anna came into the room with a tray and a smile that expressed triumph. Let’s sit, she said.

Her food was very much to my taste. I don’t know if this was due to the Russian cuisine, her talent, or love, but everything was incredibly delicious. From the soup in which, apart from the fish, there were dumplings, vegetables, and even cherries, to the filet steak, one of the tenderest I’d ever eaten, the pastry puffs filled with all sorts of vegetables, and all the way to the steamed fruit that adorned the plates–it was simply wonderful. And with every compliment Anna’s face beamed with joy.

I couldn’t possibly have imagined how generous she would be in ‘compensating me’ when we went to bed. Though she once again insisted on the lights being off, she knew even in the dark how to reach all the exquisitely sensitive spots in my body which I didn’t even know existed. Orit and I were children who grew up together, I thought, and at a certain stage, certainly so far as sex was concerned, we stopped growing. What we had was good enough for us and we didn’t learn anything new. Anna, on the other hand, gave me an appetite for new experiences with my body and hers that thrilled me from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair.

I made love to her slowly, as she had asked me to, and wanted her to guide me to those hidden spots that gave her pleasure. I remembered Orit and the discovery of such a spot, which was the key to long years of great pleasure. I immediately banished her from my thoughts.

Anna directed me, at first shyly, and then I felt her yield at the touch of my fingers. In the dark I’d come to know her soft body, now exuding all the aromas of the kitchen, very well. I’d learned to recognize the sounds she made, to know when it was good for her and when I should intensify my movements. As excitement overcame her she lapsed into Russian and I was forced to guess at some of what she was saying. But when I quickened my movements a bit more she suddenly said, don’t move, don’t move, I’m so nearly there, but it needs to be exactly right and your rhythm is chasing it away. I didn’t move. Anna adjusted her dance around my cock and around the bone at its base and then sounded a few thin moans and suddenly also a loud scream, very different from Orit’s deep ‘oi’ that once again returned to my consciousness. And then, all at once, she let go and stretched herself over me. Don’t wait for me any longer, she whispered, and immediately after feeling me spill into her rolled herself to my side, gasping. A moment later she held me tightly in her arms and asked with a smile: Where have you been all my life?

When we’d cooled off, Anna switched on a small bedside lamp, leant on her elbow, her face and body towards me, pulling the bedcover up to her shoulders. Are you prepared to tell me about your wife? she asked in a loving tone.