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A quick note: Thank you to ArdisX for taking the time to edit this story.
“How many tickets will you be purchasing today?” the voice asked through my telephone. I took a moment to think carefully. I’m sure to many it didn’t seem like a difficult question. But then, maybe those people never had to bury their best friend, and a loved one, as I had to.
My brother Johnny, who coincidently had been just that to me, was mentally challenged his entire life. We grew up in the city, and were raised by our mother. As his elder brother, I was responsible for taking care of Johnny. I was to make sure he did his chores and homework, and any other responsibilities kids usually have. She died two months after I graduated high school. With the money left to me, and some funds from family members, I decided to move into a small town outside of Klamath Falls, Oregon. Life was good. Hell, life was great. Johnny and I took part in a small community where each person was treated with dignity and respect. And in that time my brother and I were happier than anyone could have imagined.
Thirteen years went by, before that fate full day arrived. The town doctor had told me that based on Johnny’s condition, he would only live a fraction of the time a normal person would. I hit him in the face for calling Johnny different. It was the only time I’ve ever raised my fist in anger. But when I went to wake Johnny on that Tuesday morning I knew that his fraction of life that had been promised was now over. I shook him a few times, calling out his name, but there was no response. He just lay there in his homemade pajamas, lifeless. I collapsed over his body in anguish, and let a few tears run down my cheek. My best friend, and brother, had died.
“Mr. Scott? Are you there?”
“Yes, one ticket. One way please, I won’t be coming back.” As smoothly as my words came out, they felt far from it. I had never traveled alone. Johnny had always been there to keep me company, and though he rarely made any sense, I still could make out his intentions.
“Ok, than, I’ve got you down for a one-way ticket to Berkeley, California.” The man waited for my acknowledgment, which I never gave. Part of me wanted to go live with my family, and part of me didn’t. I knew that Johnny was buried here, and for that single reason, I wanted to stay. But if I stayed I would be utterly alone. And I must admit I feared that with all my heart. I did not want to turn into the old man whose highlight is to visit a filled grave.
“O…K…” the ticket mans voice said with obvious confusion. “So your tickets are here at the Klamath Falls Train Station. You’ll need proper ID, along with your credit card.”
“Thank you,” I said politely.
The next morning I woke up, realizing that it would be the last time I woke in this house. This would be the last time I ate breakfast at the table, or brushed my teeth in the bathroom. Once I had walked outside, past the “Sold” sign, I stopped for a moment. Brief case in hand, I turned to take one final look at the house that in all ways had signified peace and joy before Tuesday. I remembered Johnny’s laughter, and the way his eyes lit up when he saw a movie, or watched the TV. As I drove away in the Taxi, I tried to watch the house for as long as I could, until it faded away into the morning fog, and out of my life.
The train was a scheduled seven hour trip, but anyone who’s taken the train can imagine that it took a significantly longer amount of time. On that trip I had only my thoughts and questions to keep me entertained. I had only met the family members who I was going to meet and live with once. It was Christmas and my Mom had thrown a big party, inviting family from all corners of America to partake. That is were I met Uncle Louie and Aunt Sara for the first time. Uncle Louie had at that time a full head of hair, and an even fuller belly. It was as wide as he was tall. But he was nice enough. It was partly his funds that allowed Johnny and me to move.
What I remember of Aunt Sara was not her generosity with her pocket book, but rather her genuine care. Every time she hugged me it was as if the entire world embraced me.
“Ben! Benjamin!” A body lunged at me and embraced. It was Aunt Sara. She had managed to find me within the crowd. Behind her, trying to keep up, was her tall husband George. “Benny!” she shouted with excitement, “you made it! How are you!?! Safe Trip?!?” Her blond hair had gotten into her mouth. Before my lips could form an answer, she had already gone onto the next subject. “Frank, your Uncle, couldn’t make it. Business or something,” her hand waved in the air as if in question. “But he said he’d meet us at the house. Of course he thought it’d be ok for us to drop everything, which for you we did of course. You’d think his fiancé could lend a hand.” She put an extra sour emphasis on fiancé.
“Honey,” George interrupted, “I’m sure Ben’s had a long trip and-“
“Oh, of course!” she said looking at George, then at me. “Of course,” and she poker oyna was off to get the car, with a rather determined expression planted on her kind. George smiled gently and held his hand out for my brief case. As we walked out the train station he patted me gently on the back. “Welcome”
When we arrived at Uncle Franks house, there were no lights on. George carried my things to the large mahogany door, and Sara knocked. No response. She knocked again, this time with more force and less patience. Scuffling could be heard, followed by Uncle Frank answering in his nightwear. He had aged less gracefully than Aunt Sara. The once thick hair was all but gone, with only a thin ring around the sides. His eyes drooped, and face had wrinkled.
“Benjamin!” he shouted, just now noticing me. ” How are you?”
“I thought you were working,” Sara said a little annoyed. Uncle Frank’s attention shifted.
“Ah, yes well, it turns out that I finished a little early,” he said with an apologetic smile. Through gritted teeth Sara began to say something, but George cut in.
“Ah, well then it looks like everything is in its place,” he said, looking at Sara, who was clearly filled with rage. Uncle Frank took his queue by saying quickly “We’ll see you tomorrow for brunch. Night!” and slammed the door. I had to hand it to George, he had a great sense of timing, though I’m sure Sara would give him hell for it later.
Frank, unlike George, did not take my suite case. He was of a different kind, as evident by his house. It was huge, by my standards. Not so much in the elegant fashion, but in a more of a compensational feel. We walked through the living room and headed towards the stairs. Each step of the steep carpeted stair well felt even more heavy due to my bag. “When I heard your train was so late I tried to take a nap,” Frank explained while shrugging, “Guess it got away from me.” Though his words were flawless, Franks tone definitely was not in seek of forgiveness. More of a formality; something he believed that should be said to air out any withstanding awkwardness.
Finally we reached the top of the fourth story, all of us out of breath. “I’ve been looking at installing an elevator,” Frank said, while being clearly exhausted. “We’ll see how the fourth quarter treats me, eh?” he nodded to George. George was bent over, and simply stared at Frank.
Once all had caught their breath, we walked down a hall with six doors, I assumed all were guest rooms. Frank stopped in front of the third room from the left. “This is you,” Frank said, “and you’re welcome to stay in it as long as you want.” This time his words felt genuine.
“Thanks,” I said and went in, throwing my suite case onto the queen size bed. He showed me my bed bathroom and closet. He told me that right now I was the only one in the guest building so I could expect a lot of privacy. Before leaving he paused and turned. “Listen Ben,” he said gently, “I gotta let you know that I’m real sorry about John.” Though this might have been awkward, it wasn’t. I just smiled and thanked him. Once he had left I collapsed on the bed and fell asleep instantly.
The next morning I walked into the kitchen, located in the first house. As I walked in it was obvious that the battle between my Aunt and Uncle had resumed from the night before. I sat across from George, who was reading the local paper as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. But as I sat on the creaky wooden chair, Sara and Frank stopped momentarily. He grimaced and dug into his pocket, retrieving some bills. Sara simply said, “Told ya.” I looked at George with raised eyebrows. Without looking away from his paper he said, “They bet over who would wake first, you or Anetta.”
“And I won,” Sara said, raising the money in triumph.
“Who’s Anetta?” I asked, while grabbing some bacon and eggs from a pan.
“Anetta is my fiancé. She’s Russian,” Frank said with a devilish smile.
“How’d you two meet? Business?” I asked. George looked over his paper at the developing situation for a moment. There was an awkward silence.
“Yes, Frank, how did you two meet?” Sara asked slyly. But he was saved the entrance of his Russian love.
Anetta came walking in, dressed simply enough in spaghetti string tank top, with a skirt that modestly came to her mid thigh. She was probably no taller than 5 1/2 feet, with a lean physique. Anetta’s face was of an angel, with the perfectly full lips, and a cute nose. As she walked by me, I couldn’t help but stare first at her firm cleavage, and her perfectly tanned and toned legs. She glided by me barefooted, and I couldn’t help but notice her taut back end wiggle and drop with every step. Anetta flipped her dirty blond hair out of the way and kissed Frank lovingly. But her ice blue eyes were focused on me, piercing a hole through my own. I nearly pissed my pants.
“Oh, how rude. This is Anetta, my fiancé,” Frank said turning towards me with a smile.
“Nice to meet you,” was all I could manage. The room’s intensity had disappeared. canlı poker oyna Sara, who was very pretty as well, simply sat there at peace, as though the preceding arguments had never occurred. Anetta smiled towards me and nodded. My uncle suddenly looked slightly uncomfortable.
“She, er, doesn’t speak much English,” he said while looking at her. But there are some times that words are meaningless.
After my uncle and Anetta had left, I walked over to Sara and started talking. “So,” I said, “how did Frank end up with a beautiful Russian woman, whose probably not even half his age, and doesn’t speak English?” The words rolled off my tongue more casually than sarcastically. Sara analyzed the question for a moment.
“Well Ben, have you ever heard of a mail order bride?” she asked.
“Well, yeah, but I never thought…”
“A rich, single, old guy would do that?” she said finishing my sentence. “Well Frank would, and he did,” Sara said with a little hostility. I looked at George to see if he disagreed, but he just looked down at his paper.
Over the next few weeks, I spent my time on Frank’s property, rarely going out. I had no intention, or immediate drive, to starting a new life. So instead I did the only thing I could call a passion in my life. I read. In my room, by the pool and fireplace, I learned things I could only imagine doing.
Oddly enough I would end up sharing this time with Anetta. Both of us stayed by the property; me by choice, her on orders. I suppose Frank didn’t relish the idea of anyone outside his family finding out about his dealings with mail order brides. Often times when I read by the pool she’d join me in exotic and revealing little bikinis that showed off her flawless body. My sun glasses hid me as my wondering eyes rolled over her curves. And although I knew it was wrong, I began to like Anetta more than just simple aquatints. I began to anticipate and count on her beautiful presence, rather than consider it a pleasant surprise. I began to become infatuated.
One particular day I was watching Our Stories, and had seen Anetta in a thin white skirt and strapless top. She was of course barefoot again. Normally feet are rather a formality to me. Back in high school, the last time I dated, it was more important that the girl had a tight stomach or firm breasts, for which she had both. But Anetta’s feet were something special, and like the rest of her almost too beautiful.
She climbed on the couch next to me and as her butt went down her skirt flew up, exposing her inner thigh and underwear. She knew I’d seen and smiled, blushing a little. “It’s OK,” she said delicately through a thick Russian accent. It was enough for me to excuse myself from the room. Here I was, invited into my uncle’s estate with open arms, and all I could do was steal looks at his fiancé? After walking up into my room and opening the red door I decided to put it out of my mind by reading my book. But slowly I became drowsy and fell into a deep sleep.
I dreamt that I hadn’t left the couch. Anetta had noticed me glancing at her underwear and blushed saying something in Russian. I tried to say sorry, but she started to get up. I didn’t know what to do, so I kissed her. Anetta was stunned. Those perfectly full lips quivered for a moment, and she smashed her face against mine. Her tongue dodged at mine and I grabbed her firm ass. Some how she was missing her underwear.
She threw me on my back and stripped her shirt, revealing her perfect breasts. Her dime-sized nipples were pink and swollen. Anetta ripped my shirt open and kissed my chest. I flipped so I was on top and began sucking her ample sized breasts. She moaned and twisted her body. I traced my tongue down to her inner thigh and kissed up until I reached the border of her wet pussy. “Lick my pussy, Ben. Make me cum,” she said in Russian, which I some how understood. Her body wriggled in anticipation, and her hands clutched my hair as I lowered my head. I was about to eat her out when I awoke, with a jolt, cock in hand. But there was something strange, my door was cracked open and through it I saw two ice blue eyes. I got up slowly. It was not my intent to catch her though, no reason to embarrass anyone. But as I left my room I looked down to see a damp spot on the rug
After that day Anetta and I seemed to never see each other. I didn’t know if it was intentional or not on her part, but it wasn’t on mine.
One night, several weeks later, my Uncle threw a small party by the pool. By small I mean about 200 people. I was talking to a few people, a travel agent and an editor. The editor, who I noticed never took off his dark green glasses, seemed to like me enough to offer an interview for an internship, even though I hadn’t gone to college. He said I had the “stuff,” and though I didn’t know what that meant, I was pretty sure it was a good thing. This, in truth was what I needed. I had some cash from the house, but not enough to retire at 31. So I of course agreed.
A few hours went by and I grew tired internet casino and bored of all the wealthy old people. Each person was the same. They all were rich and shallow, and I’m sure left their mail order brides in the house, as Jack had done. But envied Anetta. Apart from the editor, these men were all obsessed with their own success, and nothing more. It was like having a conversation with three autobiographical books. So I decided to retire for the night, and watch TV.
After plopping down onto the couch, I was disrupted immediately by a faint, but noticeable whimper. I rose and searched the house, investigating for something suspicious. I eventually found Anetta in a small room crying and cursing to herself. I opened the door a crack to watch. “That fucking prick thinks he can just lock me up here,” she muttered between tears. Next to her was a bottle of whiskey, and a shot glass. I walked in and sat across from her. She was utterly shocked, mouth agape, and sat frozen with a whiskey shot glass mid way to her mouth. I took her glass and flipped my head back. After the burn left, I looked back at Anetta who was still sitting with her mouth open.
“So how long have you spoke English?” I asked calmly. My voice didn’t display the shock that was settling into my mind. Anetta’s face was all bunched up as she tried to think of excuses or explanations, but none came. A few tears streaked down her face and she shrugged. “I don’t know, all my life,” she said quietly. Even her voice was sweet. More tears streamed down, but this time I caught them with my hand.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, “I’m not gunna tell anyone, especially my Uncle.” To this she looked at me dumfounded. It wasn’t just because I liked her. No good would come from anyone else knowing. “So what, you’re a scammer after his money?” I asked.
Anetta shook her head no. I took another shot, knowing it probably wasn’t wise drinking with a woman you lusted after, but I also knew that our drinking lightened an already awkward situation. “No, I am actualy from Russia,” she said, “In fact I was raised there. But I always would visit my father here in America. I wanted to become a citizen, which he never did, but it is nearly impossible if you’re not rich. So I entered a program that guaranteed citizenship, the only catch being I had to marry a man I didn’t know.” This time she took the shot glass from my hand, as I sat there stunned. She took a shot. It was quite astonishing hearing this woman talk fluently, with absolutely no accent, after thinking for months, that she couldn’t.
“So, in this program they teach you to be a perfect wife or something?” She laughed and handed me the glass. I filled the shot.
“God no. If they knew I spoke English they wouldn’t have let me come,” she said looking into my eyes. “They teach us ways to please our husbands to ensure our marriage is successful. Cooking, cleaning,” she paused and looked down, “sex.” I raised an eyebrow and drank. Anetta took the glass.
“So you and Frank, have, uh, sex then?”
The alcohol began to kick in, as evident by my bold question. I was fishing and she knew it. She stopped filling the glass for a moment and scanned me with those ice blue eyes. “No, I think he believes that I must wait until the wedding day,” Anetta said, continuing to pour. “I do things to keep him at bay, and life moves on.”
Her eyes had glazed over and I knew she was also feeling the alcohol. Anetta asked me,” So why are you out here, Ben? Why move in to Frank’s house?” Her question was ballsy; I’ll give her that. She saw the sadness in my eyes, before I shifted my glance down, searching for words. I looked up and began to move my lips, but nothing came out. Anetta gave me a nod and the glass and I took a shot. By this time we were both pretty light-headed from the drinks. She stood and walked towards my chair. It wasn’t until then, that I saw what she wore. It was an elegant but sexy strapless dress, which reached her lower thigh, and her hair up in a ponytail.
Anetta stopped in front of my chair, biting her lower lip as if in debate over what to do. She raised a leg and straddled my crotch. We kissed, lightly at first, and than more and more passionately. I grabbed her ass and massaged it. “I have a confession,” she whispered in my ear, as her hips began to grind. “I saw you in bed last week masturbating. I heard you moaning my name.” I tried to explain but she put a finger on my lips. “No one has ever made me that horny,” Anetta paused to lick my ear, then whispered, “no one.” She got up and walked to the door, her ass dropping and rocking side to side. “Third floor, follow the change.” She bent over, reaching under her dress to pull off a red thong which she then handed to me. It was skimpy, more of a G-string, and damp. “Your ticket,” Anetta whispered with an alluring smile.
I ran up the stairs that lead to my room on the fourth floor. It was amazing not only how quickly I could climb, but how well my body had sustained the exercise. The excitement that coursed through my body was not one dimensional, though there was a great deal pending on Anetta. The possibilities of being caught, and perhaps severely injured by Frank somehow only added to the exhilaration.
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