Faith and Sex

Dusty fields drifted past the window. Then came barracks and Khrushchyovkas—the train had entered some town. Signs flashed by: elite toilet salon, Atlantis real estate agency, Vesta strip bar, discounted airfares, online sex shop, intimate goods wholesale and retail…

The train didn't slow down—it passed by. A sex shop… In a dump like this…

Funny, really: you do It so many times in your life—and sometimes one time stays with you for life. So much so that it seems like nothing valuable ever happened except that one time.

I leaned back and closed my eyes.

***

Back then, I was renting a room in N-sk, near the sea.

A married couple with a son and daughter lived next door. The son was called Stepka, and he was a terrible little bastard, the scourge of the whole Podgornaya Street, and the neighboring streets, Ozdorovitelnaya and Chelyuskintsev, along with it. Fair-haired, freckled, sun-bleached and peeling in multiple layers like the plaster at the train station, Stepka was chubby and pampered, yet cunning as ten Redskin Chiefs. I nicknamed him Nero.

His sister, a somewhat wild girl named Vera, timid and very beautiful, tried to look after him and took all his antics to heart.

For the first few days, I kept seeing them argue, and Vera would cry, turning her flushed face away from people. One day I approached her:

— Don't cry. He's just a kid, maybe he'll wise up.

— But he's… Oh, you don't understand anything! — Vera suddenly squealed, looking at me with wet eyes, her head lowered like a bull's.

— Yeah, probably don't, — I agreed.

Vera didn't expect that and was taken aback:

— Oh… well…

— Well? — I asked cheerfully. — That's me: I don't understand—and I'm always butting in with advice for everyone.

I smiled, looking at her, and thought she'd get offended now and run away. But her cheeks suddenly twitched, and she snorted loudly, covering her mouth with her hand. Two little droplets hit me—maybe spit, maybe tears.

— You're such a… teaser, — Vera said, still looking at me, but now grinning from ear to ear.

From then on, we saw each other every day. She was desperately naive and talented, as sometimes happens in the backwoods: she wrote poems with strong, passionate lines, sang, drew clumsy but eerily accurate portraits. She spoke wildly, mangling declensions and everything under the sun (slazhivat' things, a poshlite to the sea, atasny film, ne bezhite za mnoy, khoshite pirozhoshkov, etc., etc.). We swam, and in the water she turned into a little devil—a worthy sister to her brother Nero. She splashed, kicked, snorted, squealed, puffed, and wheezed like a dog, and her swimsuit kept slipping off her breasts, which were downright huge for a schoolgirl (3rd or 4th cup size). Vera flashed her nipples, pale from the water, and I pretended not to notice.

On shore, she was completely different: constantly blushing, stumbling over her words, blurting things out, grabbing my hands and pulling me to run, or the opposite—sulking and falling silent, full of secret grievances. I chalked it all up to shyness. She could be difficult, but I justified myself by thinking she was smart and talented.

Deep down, I knew it was all much simpler. Vera had long, chestnut hair down to her waist, slightly wavy, with individual beige strands bleached by the sun. In the water, it always came undone and clung to her skin like snakes, her skin matte, smooth-velvety, without a single flaw. Her breasts always swayed when she walked, and when she ran, they bounced like cheerful little balls up to her collarbones. Vera was self-conscious about them, and Nero teased her, calling her a heifer and a little cow. She always went barefoot, and her small, beautiful feet were silvered with dust. Her eyes matched her hair—amber-brown, like a cat's, and large, as if Vera was surprised by everything in the world. Without those eyes, without her thick, grown-up voice that Vera hadn't yet grown into, without her shapely, busty figure, the day felt empty.

I wandered the shore with her and admired her thin, straight nose, always-red lips that she bit like a little horse, and long black eyelashes that looked like they had a kilo of mascara on them, even though Vera wore no makeup. The shore was littered with boulders, and Vera got used to holding my hand, and I got used to her hot hand in mine.

***

One day the weather turned bad. Rain hammered down, storm waves boomed behind the houses. People holed up in their huts, while I, pleased, wrapped myself in a hooded jacket and headed for the shore, hoping to maybe ride the waves if possible, and at the very least—enjoy the storm and solitude.

There was only one downside to all this: Vera wasn't with me. Dragging her out into the rain seemed out of the question, I didn't have her phone number, and I walked to the sea, talking to her in my mind.

Imagine my surprise when I saw two figures on the shore. I recognized one immediately by its barrel shape and shrill voice: it was Stepka Nero. The second, frozen and strangely dark, puzzled me.

Getting closer, I saw it was a statue, a brown statue of a naked girl, life-sized, resembling an antique one. Nero was running around the statue, slapping lumps of clay onto it and smearing them into its brown thighs.

— What are you up to here, sir? — I approached him.

— Shiiit! The fuck did you have to come here for, — Nero froze, hiding his dirty hands behind his back.

"Did he really make it himself? Can't be…" I thought seriously.

The statue stood, thrusting out its abundant bust, and for a while I didn't understand anything. Only after a minute did I realize it was a living girl, smeared with clay.

And another minute later, I realized it was Vera.

Her eyelids were sealed shut with a thick layer, tightly coating her body and hair. She stood motionless, hands behind her head, completely naked and covered in clay, with glossy streams running down her.

— What is this? What are you doing? — I finally found my voice. — Hey, you!..

But Nero had run fifty meters away from me and was yelling from there:

— She allowed it! She allowed it, honestly! We made a bet, and she promised me! All fair and square…

— Vera! You… what? What does this mean? Why are you silent? — I pressed. Vera was silent, aiming her bare nipples at me. The rain enveloped her in a shiny gloss, and it seemed she was shimmering and flowing in the air.

— …Why are you silent? Vera? Vera!!! — I yelled like a fool. — Wash all that off yourself right now! And you, Nero…

Vera was silent and didn't move. Her eyelids were tightly shut, only her stomach trembled slightly, and her lower lip was slightly bitten.

When I left, Nero returned to Vera and started pawing at her. I watched them from afar, then trudged home, squelching through the muddy road, thinking about Vera—about what she felt when she stood there with her eyes closed, knowing I was looking at her naked pussy.

***

From that day on, we didn't talk. The bad weather didn't let up, the rain poured and poured as if from a bucket, and I wandered the sodden hills, collecting tons of clay on my sneakers.

As luck would have it, I kept running into Vera, wet, gloomy, and she'd pretend not to notice me, or greet me crookedly, sideways, trying to slip past. Her bare feet were always knee-deep in clay, like in gray stockings. I felt muddled inside and was already thinking of showing up at her house. Only one thing held me back: every night I'd taken to staining my underwear.

One day I wandered into the park of the 40th Anniversary of the USSR Sanatorium, locally known as Esesserovka. It was always deserted, and now even more so.

At that moment, a furious downpour with hail started. Even for me, a wanderer without fear or reproach, it was too much, and I ran through the slashing murk towards a gazebo.

Rushing under the roof, I caught my breath, swore—and saw Vera.

She was sitting right there on a peeling bench, wet and pink, with clumps of clay on her feet.

— Hi, — I said.

Vera looked at me.

— Hello, — she replied after a pause.

We were silent. I opened my mouth to say something, but she spoke first:

— Well… well? You probably need me to explain everything, right?

— Yes,

she yelled.

— We're a pushmi-pullyu. Do you know what a pushmi-pullyu is? — I said, approaching the gazebo, and couldn't hold back—I plopped onto the bench and started fucking Vera, who was rooted onto me with her pussy. — Here you go, here you go!

— What for? — Vera moaned.

— For being like that. Aaaaarrrgh!…

My balls burst in a blinding fountain, and I turned inside out—right into Vera, into her pink body, darkened in the twilight. A warm little tongue licked my eyes, nose, and ears, and I wanted to howl with bliss, and I sobbed like a kid…

— …Now let's take care of the women. Get up, you little beast. Give me your goods… — Vera lay on the bench, I positioned myself over her and started slurping, licking out her pussy from the inside, just like I'd licked her hot mouth. Vera whimpered, arched, laughed—and came very quickly, gasping from the spasms.

Catching her breath, she asked:

— No squirting?

— You want more? Your belly button won't burst?

But she looked at me, and I shoved two fingers into her pussy—and sent Vera into convulsions, made her scream again like she was giving birth, and tickled a new fountain of female juice out of her, lifting her up…

She couldn't speak for a long time. Then she said:

I wanted to say something clever, but instead buried my face in her and started kissing her everywhere and all over.

I felt like a boy, like twenty years ago, and at the same time—like a loving daddy and a rapist. I smacked and licked Vera, quiet after everything, whispered some endearments to her, stroked her wet body, and howled from the lump in my throat, sharp as a knife.

***

In the morning, Nero came to me:

— Need a little chat.

I was expecting him, but didn't think he'd be so brazen.

— What kind of chat?

He swaggered in, imitating gangsters, leaned against the doorframe and said:

— I'm coming to you man to man. Got a proposal. Short version: I won't say a fucking word to the 'rents about you and Verka. That'll cost thirty grand. Deal?

— Thirty grand of what? — I ask.

— Weeell… rubles, of course, fuck. As if you got green! I'd rather have it in national currency. I'm a patriot, fuck, heh-heh!…

— A patriot? — I say. — Come here, patriot. Let's make a deal.

The bastard stands in the doorway, doesn't come.

— Come on, come on, — I say. — Man to man.

I quickly jump towards him, grab his arm, twist his fat back, cover his mouth and say:

— I've got a proposal too, — I say. — You crawl home right now, sit there quieter than water, lower than grass, don't squeak half a word to anyone, and I won't tell the 'rents about you and Vera. Not Verka, mind you, but Vera. About your sculpting experiments, you get me or not, Phidias? And not just that. If you swear even once in front of me—I go straight to the 'rents and tell them everything, as is. Clear? Get lost!

If he were twenty, it wouldn't have been so disgusting. When the door slammed, I cursed him out like a shoemaker and went to Vera.

She'd gotten sick after all. She was wracked with fever and from the Postinor I'd ordered her to take. She lay in bed, disheveled and red, looking at me pitifully.

It was my first time at their place, and I felt like Vronsky at Anna's house. They didn't leave us alone, and only in the evening did everyone rush out to watch "Cops".

Vera said to me:

— Stepka saw everything. He'll blab to mom and dad if I don't give him… Well, you get it.

— So what? — I ask. — You'll give it?

— Oh, fuck off!… Sorry, please, please! — she grabbed my hand. — I'll tell them everything myself. Tomorrow. And you need to leave. Understand? Straight away tomorrow. Or better today.

— I don't understand, — I said, though I understood everything.

— You understand everything. Dad will kill you. And then there'll be nothing, no future, nothing. Go to the ticket office now, get a ticket, even a sleeper, whatever.

— He won't kill me, — I say. — I'll tell him myself.

— That'll be even worse. He's jealous. I know what's best, why won't you listen!…

— And you? — I ask. — How can that be?

— I'll be fine, — Vera says. — I'll say we lost our heads, and then I sent you away. Like we had a fight. They'll even feel sorry for you. They know I'm no prize. Yesterday—that was just, you know. You talked me into sex, and I really wanted to go wild