Foreign Affairs

by Antonia Adams

  ‘What’s he saying?’

  Nick smiled. ‘He’s complaining to his friend about the government.’

  ‘Ah.’

  I noticed two attractive women talking as they were glancing at us. One was holding what looked like an intense conversation. The other girl giggled.

  ‘What about them?’

  Nick grinned and leaned into me. ‘She is telling her girlfriend, her new boyfriend is almost too big for her. She says he stretched her like a leg in a stocking.’ Then Nick blushed. The two women, wide-eyed, continued their talks holding newspapers over their lips. I chuckled.

  ‘I think you just got made.’

  At the next stop a woman got on with two kids. They could’ve been five and six. A boy and a girl, both with brown, almost black hair and wide unblinking eyes stared at us as they entered the cabin. The woman was blonde with straight shoulder-length hair, and a pleasant oval face that seemed to await a smile. Large eyes like the kids. She clutched her coat together and sat, crossing her ankles. The pale skin of her ample calves showed just above her white socks and sensible black shoes.

  She was pretty. Young. A face still maturing. Petite nose. Lips without lipstick, but full. Her hair was in wispy blonde bangs cut along her eyebrows which were brown and I bet pretty expressive, under the right circumstances. Apple cheeks.

  I smiled at her. She smiled back quickly, as her kids leaned on her, not taking their eyes off us. I noticed how her pale hands clutched that cloth coat. I wondered what lay beneath.

  As the train lurched, the boy asked her something in Russian, and she nodded. They rose from their seats and ran to the door, sliding it open. Nick talked to her in Russian. Her face exploded with discovery. She shot back to him a multitude of phrases that I caught in gleanings, about our trip, friendship and Russia.

  ‘Nick,’ said Nick and encircled my shoulder. ‘He is Donny.’

  She said, ‘Donny,’ then nodded. The kids returned and she told them about us. Then they seemed to be OK with roughhousing, now that Mom’s OK with the strangers. I watched as they romped and figured they must make this trip often. Nick tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Her name is Natasha.’

  I smiled wide.

  Nick punched my shoulder. ‘Don’t start.’

  I grinned and watched the scenery as it zipped by. We were getting out into the country. I thought about Natasha and the kids and wondered how often they made this trip. I mean commuting is one thing, but ...

  The kids were really wrestling. The girl was holding her own. Then Mom, spat some Russian at them. They stopped, stood and looked up at her, hands crossed in front. I smiled. Yeah, don’t mess with Mom, I thought remembering my own encounters, she’ll put you off this train in a minute. They looked back at us and took their seats, while Natasha kept talking to them.

  ‘She said if they’re good, she’ll let them have ice cream,’ Nick said.

  I nodded. ‘Bribery. Even here in Russia. I’m shocked.’

  I watched cattle and workers and farmhouses and realized that I was thousands of miles away. Over five thousand. And in another country. And not even its capital. The scenery and the trip started to hit me. I knew no one except for Nick and whoever I was going to meet when we got to the farm.

  The farm. I imagined I’d be sleeping on a mattress stuffed with hay, then in the morning, naked, in a field, pumping water for a bath. What have I done?

  ‘You OK?’ asked Nick, ‘you look a little worried. You can’t be homesick. This is our trip. Here we are.’

  I slapped the seat. ‘You’re right. Log in memories.’

  I looked at Natasha who was reading quietly to the kids. Her coat was open and revealed a flowered dress that looked to have had quite a few washings, but fit her well. I noticed her impressive breasts that served as the kids’ pillows. They listened, eyes opening wide at certain passages. We were no longer the centre of attention. I nudged Nick.

  ‘What’s she reading to them?’

  ‘Harry Potter.’

  Nick stood. ‘I’m gonna check the dining car. Want a Coke or something?’

  ‘Bring me something Russian,’ I replied.

  Nick smiled, ‘How about Opecka?’

  I smiled. ‘That sounds pretty local. What is it?’

  ‘It’s this lemon-lime drink they have over here. Kinda cloudy looking, but they drink it by the gallon, cold.’

  ‘I’ll go for that.’

  The next stop practically emptied the train, but Natasha and brood stayed put. I was glad. I was used to them and apparently, they to us. I wasn’t ready to ride the rest of the way with say, a scowling old woman, retired KGB or a member of the Red Guard. I watched the departed passengers on the platform greeting their friends, business associates and loved ones. One couple seemed really glad to see each other. Her hand reached around him and got a handful of his butt. Nice, I thought.

  The kids broke from Harry Potter’s spell and got restless. Mom called them together and like a basketball coach laying out a last-minute game plan, she talked to them. They nodded vigorously, then ran to the door, slid it open, then closed it, and barrelled down the aisle. Ice cream time, I guessed.

  Natasha smiled at me and crossed her leg. Nice full leg. She shook her hair and blew her bangs up from her face and giggled. I raised my eyebrows. What is going on here? She brought out a People magazine. I laughed. Even in Russian, I recognized the typeface and the layout. Not to mention comrade Drew Barrymore on the cover. I decided to read, too, rummaging through my bag, when she said, ‘Denzel.’ I looked up and she was smiling wide and laughing. ‘Denzel, yes?’ She held up the magazine.

  I looked at the picture. Yes, it was Denzel Washington, but I couldn’t believe she thought I was him, though the likeness was mentioned at my school.

  This is too easy, but I decided to play it honest. Whatever kind of mischief that could evolve from me pretending to be a movie star probably wasn’t worth a month in the Gulag or worse. I shook my head, ‘No,’ but she patted the seat next to her.

  ‘Denzel,’ she said, again.

  I sighed and sat next to her. She was scented nicely in lavender and peppermint, and I detected a hint of Ivory soap. She touched my cheek, and I touched her hand. Then she turned back and flipped the pages.

  ‘Jackson? Noo.’ she said, then frowned making me frown, turned the pages again to Morgan Freeman. ‘Morgan ... uhhh ... no ...’ Then she laughed.

  I got it. She was comparing my face to stars, and Denzel was the closest match. I touched her thigh and she nodded, handing me the magazine. I turned the pages, until I found Madonna (easily done in People). I held the magazine next to her face.

  ‘Madonna? Hmmm ...’ I touched her forehead, and hair. She smiled, barely containing her amusement. ‘Ohh ... no ...’ She frowned.

  I turned the pages until I got to Naomi Campbell and held up the picture. She shrieked in gales of laughter, waving her hands, gesticulating like Naomi in one of her hissy fits. I laughed and said, ‘no ...’

  We turned the pages together, laughing and snuggling closer. I loved watching her full mouth, and her breasts that bounced and shook cradled by her large bra. She watched me, radiating a warm smile that I felt surround my body. I liked her, I thought as I turned the page. There was Anna Kournikova, Tennis star. I smiled. ‘Anna?’ I said, and nodded. ‘Yes.’

  She looked at the picture, then at me with a startling gaze of appreciation. I thought I’d misstepped, but she kissed my cheek, looked at the picture, then kissed me again, full on the mouth. I must’ve done good.

  I put my hand on her thigh and felt her soft skin. She purred – I had never heard a woman purr before – then giggled as we kissed again. This time, our tongues touched and danced slowly with each other. My hand moved up her thigh pulling the light fabric of her dress with it. I looked into her eyes and she grabbed my cock and squeezed, drawing a moan from me I thought I didn’t have the will to expel. She stopped and patted my thigh, got up and closed the window blinds.

>   Oh man, it was my turn to sigh as she kissed my neck, and I moved my hand farther, as she draped one leg over mine, and opening her thighs for my advancing fingers. I touched the crotch of her panties. She shook as I stroked the fabric feeling her moisture ooze through. She shifted so I could slide her panty aside and ease my fingers into her. She breathed hard into my face, her breasts bouncing as I stroked her. She grabbed my face for a hard kiss then leaned back, as I fingered her to a rousing come, while she held my prick.

  Then, she pulled me up and to her, unbuckling my belt, unsnapping my jeans and pulling them down. She sank her mouth onto my hard cock and I saw flashes as she ran her skilled tongue along the ridge, and flicked the slit of the head. I crumbled like a building in an earthquake, as she sucked and pulled my ass closer to her with her free hand, her finger sliding deep inside my rectum. ‘Jesus,’ I cried as she sucked, then pushed me back and raised her legs, to slip off her panties.

  I moved between them and slid my cock into her deep, feeling our pubic hairs mingle and our hips grind in deep coupling. She nodded sharply and I pumped her in long, hard thrusts. She raised her head and watched in a lustful gaze, as my cock slid in and out of her pussy. She grabbed my head and let her hips fly into me in uncontrolled fury, while drumming my back. She expelled and in my ear, whispered things in Russian that sounded vivid, guttural, dirty and wanton. I responded with a come that felt like it was flooding her inside and deflating my balls. We thrust into each other until my cock fell limp and swung dripping, to her amusement. She kissed me and touched my dick.

  ‘James Bond,’ she said and laughed.

  We reassembled ourselves smiling, and touching as much of each other as we could before we were fully dressed. She put her panties in her purse, which aroused me, knowing the rest of the trip, regardless of how far, she’d be naked underneath that dress. We sat next to each other and kissed before she directed me back to my seat across from her. I chuckled as we sat looking at each other. She crossed her legs and read her magazine.

  The kids returned. Nick returned with a couple of sandwiches and two bottles of Opecka. They looked at us. The kids got back on the seat with Natasha, each holding a cone.

  ‘You know the kids attend an advanced school. They told me about it. Interesting. You and Natasha get along?’

  ‘Kinda. I don’t think she speaks English at all, but we managed.’

  ‘Good.’

  The train came to a stop, Natasha and the kids got up and gathered their stuff to leave. I watched Natasha’s face as she rose. She gave me a small, sly smile. I smiled back, and she pushed the kids out of the compartment, off the train to the station. I watched her on the platform rustling the kids up the walkway. Nick watched me. ‘What was that about?’

  ‘She thought I was Denzel Washington,’ I said, ‘but it didn’t last.’

  ‘Well I’m sure she didn’t expect Denzel Washington to be riding a commuter train to a farm in Russia. Hungry?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I took a bite of sandwich and a swig of Opecka. ‘Hey this is good. This Opecka.

  Nick smiled. Opecka is Fresca in Russian.’

  ‘Asshole.’

  Nick said our destination was just a few miles away. I sat. If I said I was watching the scenery, I’d be lying. I was replaying and replaying my dalliance with Natasha. I decided not to tell Nick. He’d be worried about pregnancy and international relations the rest of the trip. I wondered what Natasha’s rest of the day was like. Would she think of me, is she thinking about me, now, like I’m thinking about her? I was an idiot. I didn’t even get her phone number or mailing address, even when things were just getting cosy. Was it the single mother thing? Would I have done different had she been single?

  The train made a couple more stops. A few folks got on but no one of note. An older couple watched us and smiled as they moved past our seat. I looked at Nick then back out the glass as the train slowly continued.

  Nick gave me a shove. ‘Hey. What’s up? Ground control to Major Don.’

  ‘Just thinking about dating and stuff.’

  ‘Oh, Natasha, huh? The one that got away? Well, don’t worry. My friends promise we won’t be latched to the farm. We’ll hit a couple of clubs in the nearby city. Most of the kids speak English, too, and love Americans. You might even meet someone.’ I looked at Nick, then back out the window.

  The train arrived at Kuta River Station. Nick signalled this was our stop. We gathered our backpacks. I followed Nick down the aisle to the exit, onto the platform, where stood his pen pals, Ivan and Ingrid.

  ‘Hello, my friend,’ said Ivan, giving Nick a big hug. Ingrid gave him a kiss. I thought about the People magazine game with Natasha. A nice couple. Ivan looking like a Russian version of a young Tom Hanks and his wife Ingrid, tall and willowy with short, spiked blonde hair. A face like Uma Thurman’s.

  Ivan shook my hand. ‘You must be Donny. Lots I heard about you. Good friend.’ Ivan looked around. ‘Ah here she is. Someone you to meet.’

  Over walked Natasha, minus the kids. I recoiled from the shock, rendered speechless. Nick wore a huge grin.

  ‘Dude, aren’t you going to introduce yourself?’

  I stepped to her and outstretched my hand, while inside my jeans, further outstretching was taking place. Natasha smiled, and took my hand.

  ‘Hello again, Donny. Nice to meet you. Nick told me all about you.’

  ‘Waitaminute. You speak English?’ I looked over her shoulder. ‘Where are the kids?’

  ‘My niece and nephew are with their parents, my dear. You have me all to yourself.’

  I looked at Nick. He said, ‘gotcha.’

  Ivan stepped in and encircled us both.

  ‘We have limited rooms, but I understand no inconvenience if you two together ...’

  I smiled. ‘No. No inconvenience at all.’

  Lucky Lucy by Jenna Bright

  The warm sun soothed the tense muscles in my back from the moment I stepped out of the car from the airport. Miles from home, in the sultry Tuscan air; away from London, away from real life. Away from Tony.

  And staring at the most beautiful villa I’d ever seen outside the movies.

  ‘Lucy!’ Maria hurried down the villa’s stone steps, looking every inch the Italian film star, from the bright red scarf wrapped in her midnight hair to the oversized sunglasses that hid her eyes. ‘You’re here!’

  I submitted to the inevitable European kisses on both cheeks, then stepped back. ‘Of course I’m here. It’s your wedding weekend. Where on earth else would I be?’ Even though I hated weddings, right then. Maria gave me a sympathetic smile, and I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.’

  ‘No you’re not,’ Maria said, blunt as ever. ‘But you will be. Come on. There’s someone waiting to see you.’

  She tucked her hand through my arm, motioning to the driver to follow with my case, and led me up the steps into the incredible opulence of her father’s villa.

  I’d known at university that Maria’s family were rich. It had just taken a while to sink in exactly how rich. And by then it didn’t matter. She was just Maria. My best friend. The one who put up with me all through our drunken, promiscuous university days. Maria was the one I could curl up with, glass of wine in hand, and confess my most embarrassing escapades, most wild excesses. The one who gave me my nickname, Lucky Lucy, laughing over a bottle of red with Jamie, our third housemate, and saying, ‘Because you always have the best men after you, whenever we go out. You always get lucky!’

  Jamie had just winked, I remembered, and run his hand up my thigh. ‘Feeling lucky?’ he’d whispered when Maria went to open another bottle.

  But then we left university. Jamie went travelling, I met Tony, and Maria met John. We grew up.

  And now Maria was marrying John, and I would be there, sober and well behaved, to hold her veil and make sure her lipstick hadn’t smudged. Because I loved Maria. And even John was ... well, he was lovely, actually. And he adored Maria. Which put h
im far above Tony, swanning around London with his intern – diamond on her finger not mine – after I spent three years trying to please him.

  I followed Maria through the imposing front door into the shady cool of the hallway. It was about the same size as my flat in Hendon.

  But magnificent as the villa surely was, my attention was quickly drawn away from the majesty and pomp of Maria’s wedding venue, to the man descending the sweeping staircase.

  Jamie.

  ‘Told you you’d be OK,’ Maria murmured in my ear, before taking a step back.

  Jamie took the last few steps at a jog, his smile wide and wicked, his dark eyes every bit as seductive as I remembered. I drew in a deep breath, feeling my nipples tighten under my sundress, as an image flashed across my mind. A memory; the last time I saw Jamie, just before graduation. Sprawled across my bed, tangled in the white sheets, afternoon sunlight playing on his golden skin as he ran his sure, certain hands up my sides, from my hips, over the curve of my waist, up to my breasts ...

  But it was just a memory. I wasn’t that person any more. Was I?

  As if he could hear my thoughts, Jamie grinned at me, crossing the hallway to wrap his arms too tightly around my middle, hauling me tight against his chest.

  ‘Hello Lucky Lucy,’ he whispered in my ear, and I felt my knickers soak through at the desire in his voice.

  God, I was in so much trouble. But I couldn’t help but grin back.

  Maria had planned a rehearsal dinner for that evening. I thought for a moment that Jamie planned to follow me up to my room to help me get changed, but instead he let me go, squeezed my hip, and promised to be waiting for me downstairs.

  ‘But don’t be long,’ he said. ‘We’ve got catching up to do.’

  Maria showed me my room with a knowing grin, which I ignored, and left me to shower and change in peace. As I rifled through my suitcase, relief filled me. Thank God I was such a compulsive over-packer. My planned, sedate sundress would never do for tonight’s dinner now I knew Jamie was here.