Randira Minsky and the Russian Way

Going to college is a new experience for most people, and it's especially so if you grew up in a really small town and you were the first in your family to go to college. We all have a frame of reference for how things are supposed to be depending upon the environment in which we grew up. The environment in a major university is so different you sort of lose your place in the world until you get it all figured out.

That was how I felt after the first day at The University of Tennessee. I lived in a dorm complex that had as many students in the six dorms as my whole town had residents including kids. About half of those students were girls, and that was a huge change. My graduating class from high school had twenty seven guys and nine girls. Needless to say, none of those girls had any trouble at all getting dates, even Marjorie Evens. Marjorie was a nice girl and I dated her a few times. She just wasn't very pretty and she didn't have much of a figure.

There's no way to hide anything in a small town. Everybody knows what everybody else has done, is now doing, and is thinking about doing in the future. As a result, girls in school are pretty chaste. They all want to look sexy, but just try getting your hand in a bra or up a skirt and you'd get shut down really fast. Sex was something they all fantasized about, or so Marjorie told me one night, but she didn't dare do anything for fear the whole town would know.

That was probably the case. High school boys like to brag about their prowess with girls, so if one of us had gotten lucky, he'd have told everybody he knew. As a result, I graduated without so much as a feel of a naked breast, or even a feel of a breast through a bra, and I'd given up on getting my hand in a girl's panties. It didn't really matter all that much with Marjorie because Marjorie didn't have much of anything in her bra. I wasn't sure what she might have in her panties.

That all changed when I got to college. There were a lot more girls around, and while there were a few like Marjorie, most had big enough breasts they jiggled when they walked. The other thing was that back home, all the girls dressed so you couldn't see that jiggle. At college, the girls seemed to dress to accent that jiggle.

One that really did was Randira Minsky, and Randira had a lot to jiggle. Randira was in my Rhetoric 101 class, and the first day of class she was wearing bell-bottom jeans and a tight blue top with a deep "V" neckline. That's all I remember about her because of how that top fit. Sticking out of that neckline was cleavage like I'd never dreamed existed. I mean, it wasn't just cleavage like a separation between her big breasts that you could have stuck your finger in. It was both her big breasts pushing out her top and squeezed together so tight the cleavage was just a line between them.

She took the desk next to mine and smiled at me. I couldn't do anything except stare until the professor started the lecture. Even after that, I kept stealing little glances at her. She'd see me doing that and grin.

She knew I was staring at her. She obviously knew why too, and it didn't seem to embarrass her. If anything, she seemed to like being stared at. I'd never met a girl in my life who liked being stared at.

The Rhetoric 101 class met three times a week, and every day the first week, Randira sat in the desk beside me. After that first day, I was still staring, but I'd sort of gotten used to the way she looked and could see the rest of her.

Randira had long, dark brown hair, and her ass was pretty great too. It wasn't like Marjorie's ass at all. Marjorie had a little ass that didn't move much when she walked. Randira's ass was alive. Watching her walk out of the room after class was mesmerizing. Her ass had a life all it's own, and that combined with her huge breasts made her a sight to stir the imagination of any young, horny guy. More than one time I'd jacked off in one of the stalls in the dorm bathroom while imagining how Rondira would look naked.

It was two weeks into the semester when she stopped me after class.

"Jerry, your last name's Markarov, right?"

I said it was and she smiled.

"That's a Russian surname, just like mine. Are you Russian?"

Well, from what I'd been told, my family was originally from Russia. One of my ancestors was a ship's carpenter on a ship that brought a group of Russian men who sailed to Alaska sometime around 1810 to hunt fur seals. While he was waiting to go back to Russia, he found a Native American woman he liked a lot. He stayed in Alaska with her and they were living there when the US purchased Alaska from Russia. One of his grandsons moved to Colorado when gold was discovered there.

I told her that my grandfather said the family was originally from Russia and we probably still had relatives living there. Randira smiled.

"I haven't met many students with a Russian heritage. We should get together sometime and compare family histories."

Now, I'd always thought it was up to the guy to ask a girl for a date, but Randira had basically just asked me out. I didn't quite know what to think about that. I mean, all the girls in my high school had seemed pretty shy. They'd never have even thought about asking a guy out...well...I suppose some of them did, but they never said that to any guy I knew of. As a result, I'm sure I came off like some dumb hick from the sticks.

"Uh...what do you mean by 'get together'?"

I probably should have noticed the way Randira grinned, but I was too busy looking at her big breasts. She'd pulled her shoulders back and that forced them up and out against her white, low cut blouse.

"Oh, just that we should meet somewhere and talk about our parents and grandparents, that's all."

I asked her if she meant a coffee shop and she shook her head.

"No, I'd like it to be someplace quiet so we can really talk without anybody else overhearing us. A coffee shop would be too noisy. Hey, I know where we can go. We can go to my apartment."

That was a little odd, I thought. The university rules required all freshmen to live in a dorm unless they were twenty-one or older.

"How did you get to live in an apartment?"

Randira smiled and shrugged.

"I'm twenty one because I got a late start on college. My parents couldn't pay for school and I didn't want to borrow a bunch of money, so I got a job after high school and worked for three years. I like being by myself and an apartment is cheaper too. It's not much, but it's a place to sleep and study. Wanna come see on Saturday?"

Randira's apartment wasn't a palace, but it was a lot better than my dorm room. Actually, it wasn't even an apartment like I'd always thought of as an apartment. She had two rooms on the second floor of a house and her landlord lived on the first floor. She did have a separate stairway, so she could come and go as she pleased without him knowing.

The main room was kind of a living room/kitchen combination. She had a tiny little range and a refrigerator and a sink. The rest was furnished with a couch, a chair, and a small table where she ate and studied. The second room was her bedroom, and she said it had a separate bathroom.

While we ate, we mostly talked about school - what classes we were taking and which professors we liked and didn't like. Randira was studying to become an English teacher and loved Rhetoric 101. I was studying to be a mechanical engineer and hated Rhetoric 101. I couldn't see why it was important that I be able to write a paper about what it means to be confident. That was the latest assignment - write a paper describing how it feels to be confident. I told Randira it was a hard paper to write, but she just laughed.

"No, it's easy. If you're confident, you aren't afraid to say what you think because you know you're right. Don't you feel that way? I do. Just write how you feel when you know you're right and tell that to somebody."

I must have made some sort of odd face, because Randira reached over and touched my arm.

"Tell you what...you write it and then let me read it and I'll fix anything you've done wrong. Now, tell me about that ancestor of yours who came to Alaska from Russia."

I shrugged.

"I don't know if it's true or not, but supposedly, about 1810, one of my ancestors was a ship's carpenter on a ship that brought fur seal hunters to Alaska. While they were hunting, he made some repairs to the ship. He also met a Native American woman he liked a lot. When the ship sailed, he stayed behind with the woman and built a small boat. Together, they traded with the settlements up and down the coast of Alaska.

"As the story goes, they had one son and two daughters. Nobody knows what happened to the daughters, but the son, Nikolai, came to Colorado about 1840 because he'd heard rumors of gold there."

I had to grin at the next part because it was a family joke.

"He found a little gold, but decided building saloons for the gold miners was less work and paid better. His dad had taught him ship's carpentry and building saloons wasn't much different. That's when he met my great, great, great, great grandmother. Her name was Flossie Sexton, but when he met her she called her self Madamoselle Rene LeBeux. She was the star attraction at one of the saloons he built."

Randira gasped.

"She was a hooker?"

I chuckled.

"Well, the women of my family refer to her as a "dancer" because they're embarrassed to admit to what Flossie probably was before she married Nikolai. From what the women of the family all say, Flossie was a nice girl who just got off on the wrong track, but she straightened out once she and Nikolai hooked up. They're still embarrassed to say what happen after they got married though. Apparently, Flossie liked sex a lot because she and Nikolai had three sons and four daughters.."

Randira grinned.

"Why would they be embarrassed about that?"

"Well, in my family, women don't think it's ladylike to like sex."

Randira frowned.

"Huh...that's odd. My mother told me she likes sex a lot and that I would too. The only thing she cautioned me about was having sex before I got married to the guy. She said I'd probably get pregnant and that would ruin my life."

I had to grin because my mother had told me the same thing.

"Yeah, mom's all must think alike. Mine said if I had sex with a girl, I'd probably get her pregnant and then I'd have to marry her and it would screw up the rest of my life too."

Randira cocked her head.

"So...have you...had sex, I mean?"

I shook my head.

"No, I haven't. How about you?"

She looked pretty coy then.

"No, not real sex anyway. A couple guys said they'd use a condom, but Mom said sometimes they break, so I never let them actually screw me. There are other ways, though, you know."

Well, like I said before, I'd led a pretty sheltered life up until then. I knew about jacking off though, and though I never heard a girl say they did, I assumed girls did the same thing. I figured that's what Randira was talking about.

"Yeah, there are. Do you...I mean...I do, but I never heard a girl tell me she did."

Randira grinned.

"Of course I do. That's not what I'm talking about though. What I'm talking about is a guy and a girl making it together without the girl being actually screwed."

Well, I wasn't about to jack off in front of Randira. I mean, that's a pretty personal thing. It would have been neat to watch her do herself though.

"So, you're saying the guy does himself and the girl does herself at the same time and they watch each other?"

Randire grinned a wicked grin.

"It's a little like that, but I never do it on the first date. Maybe if you keep coming over on Saturday for help with your writing, I might show you."

Well, that was another shock to my sheltered life. Randira was pretty good looking, and her big breasts and wide hips made her look really sexy to me. I couldn't believe she wanted some dork like me to keep seeing her.

"You want me to keep coming to your apartment on Saturday?"

Randira grinned that wicked grin again.

"Sure. I want to know all about your family and I want to tell you about mine. I want to hear a lot more about this Flossie lady. She sounds like my kind of woman."

}{

Well, for the next month of the semester, I went to Randira's apartment every Saturday night. I'd take the theme I'd written for the Rhetoric 101 class. Randira would read it, make all the corrections she thought needed to be made, and then we'd eat dinner. After dinner, we'd talk about our families.

Randira's family hadn't been in the US as long as mine, but the history was more interesting. Her great-great-great-great grandfather, Leon Minsky, had been a private in the Russian Army during a series of major defeats during WWI. When Tsar Nicholas assumed control of the military, Leon figured the worst was yet to come. He was right, and once Tsar Nicholas abdicated the throne, Leon figured it would be healthier if he was somewhere besides fighting in the Russian Army.

Because his home was in Lithuanea and near the border with Germany, Leon spoke German as fluently as any German. One night, he came upon a dead German soldier and decided to pose as a German soldier trying to find his unit. He'd just walk across Germany until he came to France and then become a civilian again. He took the soldier's clothes and equipment and identification papers, and started walking, being careful to avoid any military of either side. That worked for a month until he was captured by American forces and shipped to a prisoner of war camp at Fort McPherson in Atlanta, Georgia. There, he learned how to build furniture and spent the last five months of WWI doing that while learning English.

On his way on the boat back to Germany after the war was over, Leon had a lot of time to think. If he went back to Russia, he'd be treated as a deserter and probably shot. If he stayed in Germany like his stolen identification would let him, he'd probably starve to death because the German economy had pretty much totally collapsed. Neither of these options appealed to him, but as he thought about other options, one kept coming up as the best -- re-assume his real identity and immigrate back to the US as a political refugee. That's what he ended up doing.

When he landed in New York, he found a furniture maker who needed help and Leon settled down in the Russian community there. He also married a Russian girl who had immigrated with her parents. They had four children, three sons and one daughter before the Great Depression rendered most of the working people in the US dependent upon the government for what they needed.

The three sons struck out on their own to find work. Randira didn't know what happened to two of them, the oldest and the youngest, but the middle son ended up in Tennessee working on the dams on the Tennessee River started by the TVA. When that work was done, he settled in Chattanooga and began working in construction. Just as his father had, he married a Russian girl from New York City who worked for the TVA as a clerk. Her father had followed the family occupation of construction worker and still lived in Chattanooga. He had also married a Russian girl though she was born and raised in Chattanooga.

"So see", smiled Randira after she'd explained all that, "we're not that much different as far as our families are concerned...well, except for the women in your family not liking sex. I still don't understand that."

I didn't have an answer for her because I had no idea why the women of my family thought that way. I knew the men of my family didn't have the same opinion of sex. They talked about sex when they went fishing and they talked about sex when they came over for family dinners as long as their wives weren't around.

"I don't know, Randira. They all have kids though, so I know they must have sex with their husbands."

Randira chuckled.

"I think they just don't talk about sex when men and kids are around, that's what I think. They have to have had orgasms, and any woman who's had an orgasm couldn't wait to have another. I love having orgasms. I can hardly wait until I can have one the usual way. Until then, I'll keep having them by doing what I've read is called 'the Russian way'."

I shook my head.

"Never heard of that. What is it?"

Randira grinned.

"It's kind of hard to explain. I could show you...if you're interested."

Well, what would any horny guy say to that? What I said probably wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"This isn't one of those things where you tie me up, is it?"

Randira giggled.

"No, I'm not into that kind of stuff. Wanna see what it is?"

If she hadn't pulled her shoulders back which lifted her big breasts, I might have said no, but seeing what that did made me say yes.

"I...I guess so."

Randira stood up then.

"We have to go to my bedroom then. Come on, I don't bite."

Randira's bedroom was pretty plain. It had a bed, one dresser, and a bedside table with a lamp. There was a closet on one wall. I know it was a closet because there wasn't any door and I could see Randira's collection of tops and pants on hangers and several pairs of shoes on the floor. Randira sat down on the bed and then patted the mattress beside her.

"There's something I need you to promise before we do this, OK?"

"Sure."

"This is going to be fun, but I can't have you getting carried away. Will you promise me you won't try anything else?"

Well, since I had no idea what we were going to do, I had no reason not to agree.

"OK, I promise."

Randira grinned.

"I didn't really think you would, but a girl's gotta be careful you know. OK. I need to use my bathroom. While I'm gone, you get undressed."

She didn't give me time to say I couldn't do that. She just hopped off the bed, opened the only other door in the room, and left me sitting there. About five minutes later, she came back out and all I could do was stare at her.

Randira was naked, and that naked was like no naked I'd even imagined. Her breasts were bigger than I'd thought they were, her nipples stuck out from her breasts and looked really hard, her waist was pretty small, and her hips...well, they looked a lot wider than Marjorie's. What really caught my eye was the mass of dark brown hair on her mound. I'd seen some pictures in a magazine one of my buddies brought to a camping trip, but they were nothing like Randira. I was imagining running my fingers through that thick bush when Randira giggled.

"You're sitting there with your mouth hanging open. Haven't you ever seen a naked woman before?"

That shook me out of my stupid staring a little.

"Actually, no, I haven't."

"Well, you are now. Why are you still dressed?"

I didn't really have an answer for her, so I started unbuttoning my shirt. As soon as I took it off, Randira crossed the room, put her hand on my chest, and purred, "I like a hairy chest on a man. Keep going so I can see the rest of you."

Well, a few minutes later, I was standing there naked and embarrassed as all hell. Randira made it worse when she reached down and gently stroked my hard cock.

"You have a nice dick. I'm going to like this a lot. Let me lay down and I'll show you what I want you to do."

Randira opened the drawer on the bedside table, and took out a bottle of what looked like baby oil. Then she pulled the blanket and sheet down to the foot of the bed and laid down on her back. She crooked a finger at me then.

"Come here, Jerry, and straddle my tummy, but don't sit down or you'll mash me."

It felt weird to do that especially because my cock was stiff as a board and pointing right at Randira's face, but I did it. She grinned.

"OK, I'm going to put baby oil between my boobs, and then you're going to put your dick between them like you're screwing me. Then, I want you to used your fingers to rub between my legs. You can stick a finger in me if you want, but you don't have to."