Rushing Cyprus

Valeria, the woman with the most beautiful long legs in the world, held me in her lap and talked on the phone for hours in a foreign language. She had retired from active ballet because she was too old, but she was still far too young to train the next generation as a ballet mistress. She had once whispered in my ear that it was a good thing, she could catch up on all the fucking she had missed during training. The fact that I was lying in her lap was because I had a loft with a glass dome and a direct view of St. Stephen's Cathedral, she could sip champagne and eat strawberries because my housekeeper was simply good. The fact that she was allowed to shop with my credit card was only fair in her opinion, in return I was allowed to fuck her whenever I could and felt like it. Oh Valeria, you balm of my soul!

Yes, why did my soul need balm? I had been divorced from the best woman in the world for months. I had my VW‐list with hundreds of VWs in the trunk of my Mercedes. A big point of contention with Valeria, she wanted a hot Italian runabout, but she was always miffed when I recommended a Fiat Topolino. As for me, I needed a reliable car and not a speedster, i.e. good German workmanship, and I also needed a driver's license, which the sober ones simply took away from me, one or two vodkas too many. I see, why VW‐list? I had made a list when I started drinking about why my wife had left me. "Maybe because," was how each line began. I shortened it, vw, .... and had some sensible arguments and hundreds of pointless ones. Women came from Venus and men from Mars, that would probably be the most accurate explanation. Or as Otto put it, women were genetically closer to gazelles, men to apes. All of these sayings, justifications and arguments could be washed away with a vodka or two.

Valeria said on the first evening that I was only the second man she'd fucked. Of course I wanted to know more, the girl was practically brand new! Valeria had grown up in poor, cramped conditions, one of the two rooms was the kitchen, shower and toilet, the other was the bedroom. The child didn't need her own bed, her father said. So Valeria slept with her parents. Every night her father fucked her mother roughly, Valeria didn't know any different. He was constantly swearing that the mother was bad to fuck and only calmed down when the child Valeria hugged him from behind and held his cock like a stick, a stick that was soft and gentle at first, but became wild and aggressive again in Valeria's childlike fist. Valeria already knew it by heart, the father growled and fucked the mother with wild curses and sank to the side to fall asleep immediately. His screaming got louder and louder, they argued before and after fucking. He wanted a better woman to fuck, the mother cried and let herself be fucked patiently, in tears, what was she going to do without her Vanya? Valeria threw herself between the two squabblers and hugged her father, who was screaming furiously. He stared at her in amazement, she was so pretty and stuck her pussy out at him. He calmed down and hugged his princess. He took her virginity and fucked her like a wild boar. The mother was really angry at first, but then she was reassured. The 13‐year‐old child was to fuck him and tie him to the house so that her Vanyushka would have no reason to cheat and go away. The father fucked Valeria once or twice every night, there was no more screaming and the mother masturbated when Valeria and the father fucked. "I need it badly," said the mother defiantly, because Valeria didn't know what masturbation was, back then. The father stared at his wife's passionate masturbation and squirted much faster than usual. Valeria snuggled into the crook of her father's arm and looked with lust at her mother, who was heavily struggling to orgasm. So she learned to masturbate and did it as often as she could. She ran 4 kilometers to the dance school and back every day, impressing everyone. The girls all wanted to see her hole, where her father raged day after day. Valeria knew that she was something special in every respect, they had her audition for the Bolshoi Ballet, the Mad Scene Aria of Lucia di Lammermoor with Maria Callas on tape. She was 19, lived at the Bolshoi boarding school and danced, trained hard and danced. Her roommate masturbated every night with her vibrator, which had long since run out of batteries, and Valerie masturbated too, as there was no television or radio. So she watched Ludmilla as she rammed the vibrator into her hole furiously in and out and Valeria masturbated softly with horny feelings. Her father came once a week and fucked her hard. No, Ludmilla didn't want to let her father fuck her too, she wasn't stupid enough to let a child be attached to her, although sometimes she did give in and let the berserker fuck her. She let him fuck when she found out that he could ram her pussyhole the way she did with her Vibrator. But she pulled the dick out of her hole when he squirted. Valeria had reached the top, she trained conscientiously, danced wonderfully. She masturbated at the same time as Ludmilla, her father came over every week and fucked the two ballerinas. Then a new dance master came along, she couldn't smell Valeria and forced her out of the Bolshoi in her first year. Years later, Valeria wrote to me from Paris that she had been examined when she was 19, President Yeltsin had ordered all girls to be examined for fitness for war. The gynecologist took two extra X‐rays. She shook her head and studied the images very carefully. "You haven't bled yet, have you?" she asked and Valeria said truthfully, only when she was deflowered when she was 13. The doctor remained serious, "as long as you don't have a monthly bleed, you won't have a baby," she said and Valeria wasn't concerned, so she could fuck whenever her father came. She let her father fuck her every week until she had to leave the Bolshoi at the age of 28 and came to Vienna. She spoke fluent German because her mother was from Vienna. Now she was in my arms and I was only the second man she'd let fuck her.

Valeria gave us both free rein sexually; after all, she had come to the West to lead a modern life. She had less and less fun with my vodka noodle and so did I. My divorce whining scared away even the most willing, they wouldn't even come near my noodle. Valeria probably had more fun with her freedom, because ballet was sport for her, and sportswomen only sipped champagne, they didn't drink and were stone cold sober while fucking.

"We'll be in Cyprus next weekend," said Valeria, completely surprisingly, "all the important people are coming, even some from the Bolshoi. No suit, no tie. It's all relaxed, we'll speak Russian, you can manage with English. I've already booked everything."

I wondered if I had an appointment lined up, but no, I had hired a nice manager and sold the company, I had no more appointments. "But I'll take my tennis bag with me," I said stubbornly, although I hadn't taken the heavy tennis rackets with me for a long time, they were too heavy and because I didn't have any rackets, I just watched the others playing, which was also nice. "The hotel has two courts, of course I thought of that, Vanya!" My name isn't Vanya or Vanyushka, of course, but Valeria thinks Edmund is uncool and stuffy. I don't care, my dog wasn't born as Rex either and still went by Rex. "There's also a supermarket next to the hotel if you want to buy a bottle." Oh, Valeria! "Thank you, Lera!" I called out to her, she liked that form of her name. We took a cab to the airport, that much I remember. We probably arrived at the hotel in Larnaca too, but I've rinsed away the details, you understand.

I liked lying in the pool, Valeria had meeting after meeting and I was hiding, Russian was not my preferred foreign language. I only knew two or three words. A nice girl rescued me twice in the pool when, to my surprise, I went under. But I was able to save my bottle, that was important. The girl was from Holland or Spain, that wasn't important. My English is understandable even in heavy seas and with my tongue impaired, she laughed, giggled and giggled all the time. As a true gentleman, I accompanied her to the changing rooms, but she ambushed me in the corridor and we fucked standing up, Dutch or Spanish, it didn't matter.

I got a little more sober and a little less drunk, let us go to your room, we did and fucked two rounds in her bed. She had no idea or desire to care for her orgasm. I was totally exhausted and left, my last glance falling on her bedside table. Her vibrator laughed wryly at me and she turned deep red when she saw my gaze. I didn't understand Dutch or Spanish, and I hate the humming of those things. At reception I found out that I was in the wrong hotel and was directed to the right one. I lost my bottle, I was only wearing a bathing suit that probably wasn't mine. I went to my room, the right one, and went to sleep. Valeria came in quietly, "I've been looking everywhere for you!" A comment I ignored and went back to sleep.

For dinner, showered and only a vodka or two later, there was a good meal abroad, I don't understand Russian, didn't I mention that? I drank alone and toasted with Pyotr, Irina and others. Valeria whispered in between who was who and how important he was to the ballet business. Every other person seemed to have something to do with the Bolshoi Ballet and the Bolshoi Theater. I only knew the Bolshoi from photos, it could just as easily be in the Josefstadt or at the Volksoper, two Viennese theaters that were in no way inferior to the Bolshoi. Valeria thought it was Mount Olympus, so I pinned my smile to the corner of my mouth. Let her dream!

A chance acquaintance was beneficial and fruitful. A broad‐shouldered mafia boss sat down opposite me and ordered two vodkas plus two empty glasses. He spoke English as well as I spoke Russian. But I understood him just the same. When the waiter had left, he poured the empty glasses from his silver flask. He pointed to the glasses, "Zyprija" and "Rossija". All right, I said "Cheers, mate" and he said something non‐English. Then we drank. I pointed to "Zyprija" and grimaced. Then I pointed to "Rossija" and beamed like a freshly polished Philharmonic, a gold coin and not a violinist, mind you. He leaned over and kissed me on the lips. I was surprised, he was arguing with the person sitting next to him, who immediately jumped up and came back 5 minutes later with a plastic bag. The mafia boss took out a bottle and put it next to his chair. It was the "Rossija", which we emptied together. He pressed the plastic bag into my hand, four bottles. He gesticulated, "Vienna" and "Austria", I should take the bottles with me to Vienna. I thanked him in English and he pressed his business card into my hand. "Towarisch," he said, "Towarischi!" Valeria whispered, meaning buddy, friend. I repeated his "Towarisch" and then we attacked the "Rossija" head‐on. Towards the end, his torrent of words came crashing down on me and I looked for Valeria's hand. She listened and translated. Tomorrow around noon there will be a barbecue on his yacht and the girls will be grilled too. We are invited, absolutely! Valeria agreed, we would come.

Getting up at lunchtime is a real challenge. I seemed to have collided with a locomotive, my head said. The shower helped and so did a vodka or two. Valeria said, "there's grilled food, vodka and girls, fuck till you drop." I said, "for God's sake, I hope there's enough vodka on board!" Valeria shook her head, "Men! They'll all fuck, the ballerinas as well as the old dance mistress. The old director of the Bolshoi will be fucked hard until she faints, I've seen it myself. And there will be a bunch of Russian prostitutes there, the Russian men need that!" I looked at her questioningly. "They'll all want to fuck me too, but I'll only fuck the important ones, I'm not stupid!" I nodded in agreement, "Don't lose sight of your career!" We were of one mind on this. "Only fuck those under 40, you'll be on the safe side," she impressed upon me. Not that I was lying on the dance mistress or the director, that would embarrass her. We went on board.

The grilled food was excellent, I only had white bread with the meat, I don't need a salad to stay slim. The yacht cast off and anchored 300 meters from the harbour. Everyone undressed, a second yacht came alongside and anchored. They were also important people, Valeria whispered, and they were bringing the whores with them. I looked at my eyes, girls like something out of a catalog. "They're all Russian, Vanyushka, you won't have to talk and you'll still have a great time," whispered Valeria. "Remember, Spasibo, that means thank you, that's what they expect. Once said, it was good. Said three times means it was perfect. Five times means she's the best in town." I nodded, spasibo, spasibo, spasibo, spasibo! "You're my best, Valeria, you know that!"

I ate meat, drank vodka and looked at the people as they went about their acts. They fucked until the yacht was shaking, the girls disappeared into the boat for three minutes, probably washing their pussies. They came back, beaming all over their faces, and paraded between the fucking, smacking and drinking until someone grabbed their hand. There wasn't much talking, I'm Julia, I'm Monique, I'm Tanja. I ate a proper steak with white bread and a vodka or two. I recognized the senior women Valeria had warned me about. I watched them all closely, I could tell the difference between prostitutes and ballerinas. The muscles in their bodies made the difference, as did the way they were parading. I downed two more glasses and grabbed the hand of a ballerina. She seemed a little scared, I always had her in my sights, like most ballerinas she hadn't fucked yet. I stroked her face and said a few paragraphs in German, she smiled and thanked spasibo and dankeschiijn, sir! We looked for a place, she fucked very shy and unsure, like Valeria when we fucked for the first time. I gave her a peck on the cheek, then indicated with my hands that she could wash her pussy in the boat. She nodded and turned to leave, but I stopped her and gave her 5 spasibos. I went back to the grill, took two vodkas first and then a chicken leg.

The beginning was done, now I drank more determinedly and picked out the ballerinas only. I found them much more natural than the whores, a prejudice with no statistical basis. By nightfall I'd had a good shake — or was the yacht sinking? I didn't count, but I think I must have fucked a dozen ballerinas. I'd never fucked so much before, I was in Olympic form. Valeria kept coming over, she knew all the ballerinas from before. She whispered that I had chosen very well. She had watched me stick my poor noodle into the ballerinas' hole and ask them to masturbate. The girls had to do the main work, my cock only came into action just before her orgasm. I fucked and squirted in the middle of her orgasm, Valeria said with a wry grin. "Way to save your strength, you've already fucked almost all the ballerinas, you little rascal!" She'd fucked seven big shots and had had enough. She supported me as she took me to the hotel room. She was smart and focused, she had only sipped the champagne flute and had only fucked the main 6, one turned out to be an unimportant aide. She asked him where she could find his boss and he grinned broadly and said downstairs, in one of the cabins where he fucked the boys. That was a miss, Valeria said, because the assistant didn't fuck very impressively.

We flew home at the crack of dawn. Three days later, I heard Valeria gulp after a phone call. She had to go to Paris immediately, maybe she could get a job! We searched through the offers, each on our own laptop, but there wasn't a single flight to Paris. She booked a seat on the train, an hour and a half later I said goodbye to her at the train station, I spat three times over her left shoulder, that guaranteed her success, Valeria assured me, who was a modern Muscovite with one leg, but with the other leg stuck in the deepest superstitions.

When I got home, I saw that an email had come for her, and since it was marked "urgent", it appeared on her screen. I had it translated, "If you want, I'll send you my private jet." Well, a direct hit! I replied in English that she was already on the train, arriving at Gare de l'Est tomorrow at 11:50. I hesitated to sign. But then I wrote "Edmund/Wanjuschka" and sent the email.

I knew she wouldn't come back, but she did. She fucked me nonstop for four days and said in this way goodbye to me. She became a dance master in Paris and we wrote emails every other day for 15 years. She was touchingly concerned about my sperm congestion and made sure that ballerinas from all over the world were in my arms almost without interruption. She was happy to cater to my preference for these shy, inexperienced fuckers. There were even a few virgins among them, tender, shy and trembling with lust. We wrote pages and pages about the girls we had both fucked with a time gap. Valeria wrote that in her bisexual activities the men became fewer and fewer, she had no pleasure at all with the gay boys in the ballet. But she had fucked all the girls, she wrote proudly, the affairs sometimes went on for months. And she was happy with it.

The "Rossija" vodkas arrive at irregular intervals, the boxes pile up in the front room and I always have guests who, I suspect, only visit me for the sake of the fine drop. I turned 45, obviously an important birthday. I've decided never to get senselessly drunk again. I drink two vodkas on ice every evening, exactly two, no more or less. I feel like I've been reborn and am full of energy. I still have enough money and would never have to work again. But with sobriety came a thirst for action.

I enjoy the ballerinas, they make me feel 25 again. The deepest affection, the shyness, the bashfulness, the breathless curiosity and the childlike wonder of fucking are something truly wonderful, I wouldn't want to miss that.

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