Anna (Part 4)


I called Anna, as promised, and she answered the phone. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m making the cake! It takes some time so right now he has to sit for a while.” I mentally translated cake into Russian and confirmed that it’s a masculine word, hence her reference to it as a “he.” I never corrected her English mistakes because it would just make her frustrated and embarrassed. It’s part of her charm, anyway.

“I like that,” I said. “Tomorrow I will go to the store to buy some things for our little dinner. Did you sleep well last night? You were texting me late.”

“I had a dream.”

“What was it?”

“There were two men, and they were fighting for me, and I didn’t know what to do, but the second guy fought more for me, and I went with him.”

“That’s an interesting dream,” I replied. I didn’t inquire further.

I considered telling her she didn’t have to dress up when coming over, but then I thought that I’d be a fool for telling a girl she had permission to put less effort into me. You give a girl an inch of laziness and next thing you know she arrives to dates in pajamas.

When it came time to say goodbye, neither of us wanted to hang up the phone, and only after the third goodbye did we hang up.

I met up with Roger to grab some dinner. My favorite barbecue restaurant closed early so we ended up at the same bar where I met Anna. While waiting for the bar fare we ordered, I caught him up on the newest developments.

“The thing that’s really fucked up,” I said, “is that I’m cursing my luck of having met her a few days before leaving for Poland, but it was because I was going to Poland that I wanted to give the nightlife here one last surge. If I was staying here longer, or going to Kiev, I’m sure I wouldn’t have met her.” Then I added, “But I still don’t think it’s right of me to not tell her I’m leaving on Saturday.”

“You told her you have to travel often, right? Just say you have to go to Poland for a couple weeks. Then you can extend that time once you are there and invite her to fly over. Your lie is not that bad. You seem to genuinely want to pursue something with her, so it’s not a pump and dump.”

“I guess.”

I began to wonder what information Anna hadn’t yet told me. She seemed to be too much of an open book to hide anything significant, like an ex-husband or a love child, but it was obvious that there were other men in her life and I was simply being lined up as a potential front runner. It’s not as if I would fly out of her city and she would be left alone and destitute, so I believed it wasn’t horrible of me to take measures to get what I desired first.

“I need some luck on my side,” I told Roger. “So many variables can come up. Maybe her period runs late. Maybe she flakes. I’m close, but I need a good push over the edge.”

“It’s out of your hands now.”

“There’s always Friday. I absolutely must bang this girl. I’ll pull out every trick in the book.” I paused and then added “…even rape.” We both laughed.

I liked how talking to another man dulled my feelings for her and made it more about the notch. It made me visualize the bang and not a relationship, but I knew that if Anna showed up to my apartment looking sexy, and started with the touching, sweet talk, cute puppy dog expressions, and endearing English mistakes, my mind would drift away from seeing her as a conquest and into a girl I wanted to pass time with and maybe even fly around Europe on my dime so I can keep these romantic feelings alive.

For most of the next day I thought of two previous times I met a great girl but elected not to stay and pursue a relationship. It felt like a bad move to do so, because I believe the minute you change plans for a girl is the minute she will sense it and then get turned off. I began to seriously debate taking this risk with Anna or not, trying to understand what it would entail.

If I leave Odessa, I have to assume that nothing would progress between us, since I have past experience to be mostly sure of that. Out of sight, out of mind. I’d go to Poland and probably regret my decision when facing just the slightest problem like one sausage fest night or a supermarket that didn’t have my favorite type of cheese (gouda).

If I remain, I will have to make the tough admission that I’m staying in a city that I had already decided I wanted to leave, only because of a girl. I can rationalize that Odessa is nice, but my bags were already packed in my mind. Plus Roger was set to depart in two weeks, so I’d soon have no friends. In spite of the fact she was putting herself at the top of my list, I would feel like a chump for making such a big change to my plans.

In the middle of my contemplation, she sent me a text message: “Without you, time passes very slowly.” Girls never text me these types of statements before I have sex with them. I stared at it for a good minute.

As the hour of her arrival approached, I realized that whether we had sex or not would not make my decision any easier. Of course I would go for the lay, but even if I failed, I’d want to stay longer to finish the job. If we did have sex, I’d still want to stay to have sex with her again. There was no piece of new information that would make the decision easy, so I went into the date not looking for answers, but just wanting to get laid. I had to crush it, at the minimum.

She called me when she was five minutes away from my apartment to ask if I could come downstairs to help her. I went down and, like usual, she was dressed up in heels, short dress, and so on. She handed me the cake and we walked upstairs. Once in the kitchen, I opened a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses.

After a couple sips, I said, “Do you want to have sex before dinner or after?” I put my arms around her and rested my hands on her ass. She looked at me for a few seconds before giving her answer.

“I want to have sex before and after dinner.”

Withholding my excitement, I began kissing and squeezing her body. I had a boner for half the day so I was worried it wouldn’t take much for me to explode.

“Did I give you the tour of my apartment before?” I asked.

“No, I don’t think you did,” she said sarcastically. Only five days had passed since she was previously in my room.

I picked her up in my arms and walked slowly to the bedroom, to prove to her that I was strong and could carry her. Standing next to my bed, I removed her dress over her head, frustrated to find a slip underneath. I removed the slip and she stood before me in matching blue bra and panties. “My turn,” she said. She removed my shirt and undid my jeans. I reached to her back and unstrapped her bra with one hand, which seemed to amaze her. I pushed her onto the bed and got on top of her, pressing my dick against her crotch. Her eyes closed and I removed her panties and then my boxers. “You have to use…”

“A condom,” I interrupted. I reached for a condom in my drawer and put it on.

Ukrainian girls are usually lackluster in bed, but her performance matched her personality. We fucked in at least five different positions. She moaned, gyrated her hips, squeezed my body, and massaged my hairy balls, a move I particularly enjoyed.

The ultimate test of whether she was the ideal girl for me was when I sensed my nut on the horizon and put her stomach down to penetrate from behind. I like the sound a thick ass makes against my body when I pound a girl with her face stuffed in the pillow. Her ass was—almost miraculous for her petite size—a robust thickness. My orgasm was so pleasurable I almost felt like I would black out.

Afterwards I lay on my back, trying to catch my breath. She put her head on my chest. I was happy.


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