My Last Summer Romance Pt. 03

This session was nothing but straight sex under the stars. The day was filled with erotic actions, sights and smells and her passion was high. We came together. As I shot my load into her hungry pussy, she arched her back and let out a long, low, and very loud moan. After a day of sexual tension, we collapsed into each other's arms. Suddenly I was chilly and pulled the quilt over us.

As soon as I covered up, a blinding light pierced the night and shined on us from where my car I parked my car.

"Hey, Lake Country Sheriff. Now that you are finished, you two need to move along. This is private property."

"Ah, sorry. We were just watching the sunset."

"I know, I heard. I am going out to the main road. I expect to see your car come out of here in less than ten minutes. If you do, that will be the end of it. If not, then you and your friend will take a ride with me. Have a good night."

The light snapped off and I heard the gravel crunch under his feet, his car door slam and he leave the area. We looked at each other in the darkness; I could tell that she was scared. I laughed and said that we should probably leave.

We got dressed, grabbed our stuff and headed to the main road. As promised, a patrol car waited. He did save my ass by not issuing me a ticket, so when I passed his car, I rolled down the window and thanked him.

"Are you Dennis Johnson?"

"Ah, yes. How did you know?"

"I ran your license plate. Aren't you Lester's business partner from the Cities?"

"Yes I am. You found that out from my license plate?"

"No, Lester talks about you all the time. I am glad you saved his resort; he's a good guy, and I could hardly arrest someone who did that. My wife and I stay there sometimes and it is something special. By the way, I have been trying to figure out the meaning of your vanity plate. What does 'FUB' signify?"

"It is a tribute to my ex-wife. It stands for 'Fuck You Bitch'."

"God I love it. You and your friend have a good evening."

I rolled up the window and we headed back to our cabin. I looked over at Tatiana, and she was shaking. "Are you cold?"

"No, I'm not cold; I am scared shitless. I hate dealing with police. In Russia, it was never pleasant. Once when I was riding with Brien he was arrested for drunk driving, and was treated like a criminal. When that policeman caught us down by the water, naked and having sex, I didn't know what to do. I was so glad to get out of there, but then when you stopped and talked to him just now, I was so scared."

"I am so sorry. I guess I didn't realize. Can you forgive me?"

"Just hold me."

"Oh, Baby, I can't. Our friend is behind us and if I pull over now, he will pull over, too. The resort is just around the next curve in the road."

As we came to the turn-off into the resort, the red and blue lights of the squad car flashed for an instant as a form of good-bye. Of course, he had no way of knowing how they would affect Tatiana. She jumped across the center console and wrapped her arms tightly around me. She was obviously terrified.

"It's okay, Baby. We just turned into the drive and the police have gone. We will be in our bed in about two minutes."

Although the temperature had only dropped a few degrees, Tatiana was shivering violently. I wrapped her in the quilt and carried her into the cabin. As I put one arm across her back and the other under her knees, she desperately clung to me. She felt cold to the touch and figured she was either scared or slightly hypothermic. Either way, I knew I could not carry her up the spiral staircase to the bedroom without bumping her head and causing major injury.

Instead, I took her into the small downstairs bathroom. I turned on the shower so it was quite warm, stripped off her clothes and then mine and got under the stream of hot water.

It was a tight fit, and all I could do was hold her shivering body against mine, letting the water ran over both of us. She held on to me in desperation. I tried to pull her away to look at her face, but she almost panicked and held me tighter.

After a few minutes of wondering what to do, the shivering stopped and her pulse came back to normal. She still hung on to me, but her hands started moving across my back and she started kissing my chest. Then, she took in and let out a deep breath, and the panic attack (which I figured out later) had past.

The water was beginning to get cold, so I shut it off and grabbed one of the huge, thick towels and wrapped it around her and dried her off.

She looked up at me with a look of embarrassment on her face. "I'm really sorry about that. I don't know what came over me."

"Well, if I had to guess, I would say there is a story to be told, but not tonight. Do you think you can make it up the stairs?"

"I'm fine. Let's just go to bed...and thanks for not pressing me on this. I promise I will tell you about it."

We went up the stairs together and climbed under the covers of the huge bed. After our session on the deck earlier, I had left the door open. The breeze caused the sheer white curtains to blow into the room like ghosts of summers past. Tatiana climbed in, naked, between the crisp white sheets and drew the quilt up around her neck. I climbed in beside her and spooned around her still damp body. I leaned over to kiss her goodnight, but she was already asleep. I stayed close to her and soon, the now familiar feel of her body, and her steady breathing pushed aside the thoughts of why she was so afraid of the police, and I drifted off to sleep.

Facing the lake, on the North Shore, it means that the sun is streaming in the windows all day. The next morning, I woke up after 4:30, and the sky was turning from black to predawn grey. The three quarter moon was still high in the sky, but began to fade as the impending dawn came closer.

I slipped out of bed and onto the deck and watched the daily transition from night to day. By 5:15, the sun rose from the lake and a new day had begun. As I watched, my mind went back to the previous night. Why had Tatiana reacted so badly to a very nice cop, who cut us both a break?

I was so deep in thought that I did not realize Tatiana was up until I felt her warm, naked body against mine as she wrapped the quilt around both of us to ward off the early morning chill.

She kissed my shoulder and laid her head against my back. "You must think I am a real nut case after last night. When I woke up and you were gone, I thought maybe you wanted to get away from me."

"I hope you are joking, because I never want to be away from you. I do want to know what happened so I can make sure it never happens again." I turned under the blanket, facing her. I wrapped my arms around her so she would know that she would always be safe as long as I was around. I kissed her, but not deeply. (She has a thing about kissing before brushing her teeth.)

"We discovered last night that the showers are not really big enough for two people, so can I get in first while you make some coffee? I will come downstairs and then I feel like I owe you an explanation for last night."

I reminded her that she had to wear a robe or get dressed because the widows on the ground floor were at a height that people could look in. I put on my robe, grabbed my toothbrush and as I started down the stairs, I realized that while the kitchen was fully equipped, I never got any supplies. "Shit, I was going to buy coffee and some other staples on the way up here, but I totally forgot. Let me see if there is anything left from the last residents."

I threw on my robe and walked down the spiral staircase and to the kitchen. When we came back last night, I did not notice the note sitting on the counter.

Dennis and Tatiana,

I figured you two had other things on your mind than food, so I took the liberty of getting you some staples. There is coffee and bread in the cupboard and milk, cream and eggs in the fridge. If you need anything else, just call me on my cell, or come down to the lodge.

It is so good to have you here,

Marge

I yelled to Tatiana, "Good news, we have coffee!"

As I sat waiting, the resort was coming to life. It was only 6:00, but already guests were getting an early start on that Friday, what was unofficially the start of the long weekend. Soon I heard the water shut off, and saw her walk, naked, into the bedroom. I poured her a cup of coffee with cream and a little sugar and waited. She came down the stairs wearing the short, red silk robe that I bought her during Annika's one-week visit with us. It covered her ass and pussy, but as she came down the stairs, it hid nothing. She walked over to me, put her arms around me and thanked me for a wonderful evening. She thought it was so romantic, watching the sunset and then making love under the stars. "I am so sorry I messed everything up with my foolish behavior."

"You didn't mess anything up. It was a very good evening because any evening I spend with you is a good evening. I just need to know what happened so it doesn't happen again."

"Unfortunately, that is something we cannot avoid. I am just so afraid of police. I know it is irrational, but it is a fact."

Tatiana had told me much about herself, but she was very sketchy when it came to details about her life before coming to the States. I felt that I was finally going to get a glimpse at that life because I felt it had something to do with her fear of the police.

"Can you tell me about it?"

"I was born in the last decade of the Soviet Union. When I started school, I was too young to understand that history was being made around me as the Soviet Union began to crumble. My father was a good provider. He was the manager of a factory that produced machine parts. We were not rich, but we had a nice home and we were comfortable."

She paused. I think there was a tear in her eyes, but I did not try to comfort her. She was in her own world, describing her early life as though she were describing a movie she saw, or a book she read.

"Anyway, in 1992, the Soviet Union broke apart, and suddenly, I no longer lived in Leningrad, I lived in St. Petersburg. I no longer lived in the Soviet Union; I lived in Russia. My father no longer had a job because the factory closed down. There was no food and certainly no clothes or toys: none of the things that are important to an 11-year-old. We still had our apartment, but the elevator never worked and the hallways smelled of urine and filth."

Another pause, and by this time she was struggling to keep her composure. I moved towards her but she held up her hand to stop me. She was telling me things that I knew from reading the newspapers, but this was a personal story. I think she would have told the story in the same way, even if I were not in the room.

"One day there was a knock on the door, and then the door flew off the hinges as three policemen kicked it down. They grabbed my father, threw him to the floor, and beat him with black rubber sticks. He curled up in a fetal position to protect himself, but they still hit him in the back and around the head. They said that he stole bread and milk from the market. They put handcuffs on him and dragged him out the door. They literally dragged him and I could hear as his feet hit every step. As a child I could not figure out what was happening, but that night I had nightmares about it."

Her coffee sat on the table, untouched. She got up and walked to the window. To the southwest, storm clouds were building. It would rain later today. In our little hideaway, a cloud also hung over my lover.

She turned toward me and continued, pacing around the room as she talked. "The next day, my mother went to the police station with me and my little sister, Svetlana. She pleaded with the officer at the desk to allow her see my father, but they would not. While she was talking to the officer, I walked around, like 11-year-olds will do and I saw other men in uniform beating men in the same way my father was beaten. I turned to ask my mother a question, just as I saw the policeman she was talking to, slap her hard across the face. It was so loud that the whole police station went quiet for a moment. I ran to her and held her while Svetlana grabbed Mother around her leg. The man told her to pay the shop owner what my father stole, and then bring Rubles to him and he would see if he could help."

She slumped on the sofa next to me. She was openly sobbing. "It took mother two weeks to beg for enough money to pay the shop owner and pay off the policeman. In the mean time, my mother went to the station every day to ask about my father. Every day, she was told that sooner she got the money, the sooner my father would be safe. When Mother finally got the money, she went to the same officer, and he told her to come back tomorrow. Later that night, there was a knock on the door and there stood my father, beaten, sick and weak. He could barely stand up. I almost did not recognize him, but when I did, I was so happy to see him. He said he was okay, but he was never the same. He died of pneumonia about two months later."

She looked up at me. "As it turns out, he never stole the bread or the milk. The clerk stole it and blamed my father. The police did not investigate or check out the clerk's story. They just came in and beat him. In my mind, the police beat my father to death."

She gave a deep sigh. "Then, just after Annika was born, Brien was arrested for driving drunk. He got nasty with the police and they slammed him against the car and put him in handcuffs. When one of the policemen came back to the car, I was so afraid. He asked me if I could drive, and when I said I could, he saw Annika in the back seat. He started yelling at me for putting my baby in such danger. I knew how my mother felt when the policeman slapped her: powerless and scared. Then he told me to come to the station in three hours with $500 bail and Brien could go home. Otherwise he would have to spend the night in jail."

She continued. "I called Julia and she had the money and drove me to the police station. When I paid the bail, Brien came out and his eye was swollen. I thought the same thing happened to him as happened to my father. What I found out later is that he said the wrong thing to someone in the holding cell and they hit him."

I could see now why she was afraid of the police. Her only interaction with them had been negative. I did not know much about the police in Russia, but I knew that in the USA, especially Minnesota, if you show them respect, they generally treat you with respect.

"Denny, I've never told that story to anyone before. I never even told Brien. I've had nightmares about it for the past 18 years. There is always a policeman in a green uniform and black leather belt swinging a rubber club at the people I loved: first it was my mother and sister, then it was Brien, then Annika. After I left Brien and realized I had feelings for you, you were the one being beaten. When we became lovers the dreams stopped, but last night, I was so scared. I thought the policeman was going to do the same to you, and that it would be my fault for lying there naked, and having sex while the police were waiting to beat you."

There was no point trying to get her to think rationally. By her own admission, she had an irrational fear. What I could do was give her comfort and support. I sat beside her, put my arms around her and held her close. She slid her hand under my robe and ran her fingers across my chest. She looked up and gently kissed my lips. By this time, it was about 6:30.

"You know," she said. "It is much too early to be up. I'm going back to bed for a while. If you want to join me, you will get a treat." As she climbed the spiral staircase, the robe slipped off her shoulders and she made the assent naked. I scurried to the stairs, gathered up the discarded garment, and followed her to the bedroom.

When I entered the room, she was sitting on the side of the bed. She had her hands folded in her lap. Her perfect tits were exposed for my eyes to feast upon. Despite the serious and sad conversation we had just a few moments ago, I got hard, as I always do when I see her naked body.

"Denny, take off the silly robe and let's lie here for a while." I dropped her robe and mine on the floor and climbed in beside her. A few minutes ago, she was so sad and crying and now, she beckoned me to be with her.

Was it the right thing to do? A long time ago, I made a promise to myself that I would never have sex with anyone who was vulnerable: not when she was drunk, on the rebound, or in this case, when she was sad and seeking sex for comfort. But this was different, wasn't it? After all, how could I take advantage of someone with whom I have been having sex twice a day for more than a month? I could not explain it, but doing so just did not seem right.

I climbed into bed with her. I was going to hold her and give her the comfort that she needed, but I was not going to make love to her...then it occurred to me. Make love. That was the difference between having sex with a vulnerable woman, and making love to someone as a way of showing them love, support and protection. As I lay down, I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her. She pulled herself to me as if she were trying to get inside me. I held her naked body against mine and did not say a word for what seemed like hours. When she came up the stairs, I am sure it was her intention to make love to me: maybe even take the lead. But once we got into the bedroom, that was not want she wanted. I could tell by her breathing that she was not sleeping.

"Tatiana, tell me about your father."

"Oh, Denny, he was a wonderful man. He would have been about your age now...maybe a couple of years younger. You and he could have been friends. He was tall and very handsome. He worked as a manager in a parts factory, and to everyone else, that is who he was, but to me he was my hero. Every Friday he would come home from work and bring my sister and me some candies from the International Store. I know now it was very expensive, but nothing was too good for his two girls."

She reached down and stroked my legs and belly as she told the story of her father. "Every Sunday, we went to one of the parks, or to the museum or for walks along the river. No matter what Svetlana or I told him, it was as though our words were the most important and insightful he had ever heard. He expected us to take advantage of his position to excel in school and to make a difference. He made sure we knew about the history and art of Russia. He never called it the Soviet Union; it was always Russia. Oh, how he loved the Hermitage Museum. As huge as it was, I think he knew every square meter, and regarded the artwork as his friends...then they arrested him. When he came home, he was changed. He was no longer interested in anything. He would just sit by the window and stare into space. He was a broken man. He developed a cough, but we did not have the money to go to a doctor and he got worse and worse. Then he died. There is nothing more to it than that."

"What about your sister and mother? What became of them?"

"My mother got a job at a hotel as a maid. My sister grew up and went to a university in St Petersburg. In that, we were very lucky. Back then, most Soviet citizens knew how to do things, but they did not think. When Yeltsen became president, the government paid for any student who wanted a college education. He knew that Russians needed thinkers, not just doers like during the days of the Soviet Union. My sister Svetlana is engaged to be married next spring and still lives in St. Petersburg, very near our mother."

"When was the last time you were back to Russia?"

"When I left eight years ago, I have never been back. Life is much easier here, but I still miss the beauty of St. Petersburg. I really wish I could show you around."