Archive

Archive for January, 2014

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – [8]

January 30, 2014 Leave a comment

trainAttila held me firm and pressed himself to my back, his  penis pressed against my ass and it felt thick and heavy.  His firm chest was pressed to my back, and he was kissing the top of my head through my wet hair.  He caressed my breasts and I could feel him growing stiff, getting hot, pressing against my crack.  I laid my head back on his shoulder while his caresses gradually brought an orgasm up through my body.  I just let him have me, and silently rejoiced in the mounting thrill as the orgasm consolidated in my pussy.  I could feel its fragments lifting up through my legs from my toes, through my arms from my fingers, through my tits to my pussy where it all came together in a gut wrenching contraction that made me yowl like an alley cat.  I was too weak to stand, and Ati’s strong arms held me securely.  The warm water continued to cascade over me while I regained my composure.  I was feverish with desire.  I turned in Attila’s arms and pressed my tits flat against his hard stomach.  I would have to get him lying down to put my tits on his chest because of his height.

Attila didn’t speak with his voice, but his hands were worshipping me.  They wandered slowly over my back, down to my ass, around my hips… like he was a blind man, reading me in Braille.  My cheek rested on his chest, and I just stood there enjoying the mounting desire within me.  I felt my inhibitions drifting away and I was sure I could do anything I wanted to do.  His hard penis had been poking at my pussy, and I slid down to my knees to be face to face the sweet thing.  I held it in my hand and I felt him quiver at my touch.  He was circumcised and his cock was very pretty.  I kissed the head of it and it responded with a twitch.  I had not had a cock to caress in more than a year, and I didn’t want to miss any potential for pleasure.

I cupped his balls in both my hands and took his rigid cock between my lips.  I held him steady by holding his balls while I slid my mouth down over his cock as far as I could.  He was big, and I could only take half of him in.  My hand was wrapped around the base of the beautiful monster, and it was so thick my fingers couldn’t touch my thumb.  I released him and stood up to turn off the water.  I took his hand and pulled him out of the shower enclosure and led him dripping wet to my bed.  I didn’t care any more.  I wanted to make love with Attila Nagy, and I wanted to do it every which way.  I might never get another opportunity like that.

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – [7]

January 28, 2014 Leave a comment

“I promised you goulash and bread,” I reminded him.  “Please make yourself comfortable while I change.

I sent him to the living room where he sat while I went to the kitchen.  I took the pot of goulash I’d made on Wednesday from the refrigerator and put it on the stove to warm and went upstairs to my room where I chose very tight jeans and a very loose white jersey top, and of course, no brassier.  My legs were quite long for my height, and my boobs were big and beautiful and I knew it.

When I returned to the living room, Attila jumped to his feet and just stared at me.  He had turned my CD player on, and a Charles Aznavour song was playing softly.

          “You really must let me draw you,” he said.  “And paint you and sculpt you.  You really are remarkable to my eye.”

I served the bread and goulash on my gallery, overlooking the dark garden where individual pools of light surrounded each light pole.  He ate quietly, pausing only momentarily from time to time to complement my cooking skills.  He looked out over the garden from time to time and back to me.

          “I am eager to see your garden in the light,” he said.  “I’m sure it’s beautiful, having been created by so beautiful a flower as you are.”

I looked at him and searched for irony in his eye, his handsome face, in the tone of his voice.  But I heard no irony or sarcasm or even humour.  I looked into his soft hazel eyes and saw desire.  There was a glowing fire within this young man and I had ignited it.  I decided to bring the obvious subject to the surface.

          “You do realise that I’m your mother’s age,” I said.  I studied his face for a reaction.

          “My mother enjoys a full, satisfying life,” he said.  “She is in love, she has lovers, she has a profession and a home, and is very happy.  It’s true that I am young enough to be your son.  It’s also true that I am old enough to be your lover.”

We washed the dishes and the gulas pot together, standing side by side at the sink.  Attila was much larger than I was, and it made me feel young and fragile and safe to be near him.  He asked where he could shower and sleep, so I took him upstairs to my en suite bathroom.  I went into my bedroom and got undressed.  When I returned to the bathroom, Attila was in the shower and his clothes were on the floor under the sink.  I shed my kimono and stepped into the shower facing the warm spray.  I was afraid to be frontal with him.

I stood with my face up to the spray, the warm water flowing over my nipples, around my breasts, down over my belly and between my thighs.  My heart was pounding, the warm water, the scent of the young male animal behind me and my imagined images of how he looked made my knees weak.  After a moment he put his hands on my shoulders and sent a wave of heat through me.  He stepped closer and slid his hands down from my shoulders and wrapped his thick arms around me.  He cupped my breasts in his big, warm hands and caressed my nipples.  They became erect and stiff.

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – [6]

January 28, 2014 Leave a comment

I preceded him off the train and waited a moment on the platform for him before we walked off together.  Boldly, I put my arm in his and guided him toward my house.  We walked along the sandy street past the small, stucco houses in their large, fenced lots.  Bushes heavy with red roses clung to the high fences.  Some fences were so thick with ivy that they formed solid walls of green that hid from our sight the serene beauty of the orchards and gardens within.  We walked together, and the warm evening air was fragrant with the scent of roses.  There were no streetlights, so we could see the road only because it was light coloured sand and lit by the glow of garden lamps in yards along the way.

          “In what part of Szentendre do you live?” I said.

          “It’s quite an obscure place,” he said.  “Off the beaten track, so I am not bothered at all.”

          “Are you a hermit?” I laughed.  He laughed too, and threw his head back, his face radiant with youth and humour.  I could love him, I thought.

          “I think I am a hermit of a sort,” he said.  “I believe hermits prefer to be totally alone, with no other person ever in their lives.”

          “And you have a girlfriend,” I said, “so you are not a pure hermit.”

          “No, not a pure hermit.”  He said.  He grew thoughtful as we approached my home.

          “This is my home,” I said.  He stood looking up at it while I dug my gate key out of my bag.

          “It’s very large,” he said.  “I didn’t expect to see so large a place, with such magnificent gardens… although I can only see them in the glow of your garden lights.”

          “I time them to come on when it grows dark, so I can find my way to the house,” I explained unnecessarily.  I opened the gate and led him inside before I locked the gate again behind us.  I was feeling a breathlessness come over me.  I began anticipating sex.  My pussy was crying for this beautiful young man.  Neither of us spoke until we reached the door to the house.

          “About the girlfriend,” he said softly while I unlocked and opened the heavy door.

          “It doesn’t matter,” I said, wishing I could retract my girlfriend reference.  I was embarrassed that I had been so foolish.

          “It’s not like a deeply loving relationship,” he said.  “She used to pose for me, and we both needed financial help to manage the downtown rent.  It’s more like a business arrangement.”

          “But you are lovers, no?” I said, and again regretted my outburst.

          “We are occasional lovers,” he said, “but we do not have any exclusive expectations or requirements of each other.  The truth is, she has an ongoing affair with a married man.”  I suddenly felt defensive.  I was just a way for him to even things out with his roommate.

          “So I am to be your other lover, to balance your relationship with her,” I said.  I could have slapped myself.  It was a cruel, stupid thing to say and I knew it.  Who was I to judge Attila Nagy?  He had no obligation to me.  We had just met, and I would be lucky to have him just touch me, let alone ravish me.

The hurt was etched on his face.  He looked squarely into my eyes, and I knew in an instant that I had been mistaken.  He had no desire to use me as a pawn in any game he might be playing with another lover.  I could see clearly that he wanted me for no reason other than his inner animal felt desire for me.

          “I’m sorry, Attila,” I said.  I went to him and put my arms around his thick, strong neck and his fragrance made my blood rush in my veins.  I pulled his face down to mine and kissed him full on the mouth.  His tongue darted into my mouth and his hands ran down my back and cupped my ass.  I became wobbly on my legs, it had been so long since I’d felt the caress of a man’s hands, and this man was extraordinary.  He was strong and handsome, young and sensitive, and best of all, he might want to be my lover.

          “Am I forgiven?” I said.  I stepped back from his arms.

          “As long as you are clear about my intentions,” he said.

          “I promised you gulas and bread,” I reminded him.  “Please make yourself comfortable while I change”.

Categories: life, Uncategorized, writing Tags: , , ,

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – [5]

January 26, 2014 Leave a comment

“I’m not surprised because some kind of fate, or scentless fragrance, or the miraculous features of your face, or the elegant way you move made me notice you,” he said.  “The first time I noticed you on the platform in Szentendre I was compelled to watch you whenever I could.”

          “That is curious to me,” I said, “but first I’d like to know what you meant by ‘our true work?”

          “I don’t know you, I admit,” he said, “but I’m very sensitive to people, and I can tell that you are brilliant in your profession, a leader in your field, but it is not where your passion lies.”  I held my breath for a moment, wondering what he meant by passion, and where he thought it lay.

          “Where do you think my passion lies,” I said, squelching my anxiety.

          “I think you probably like nature, outdoors, plants and animals, so you probably have a garden,” he said.  “And in your studio, you probably draw and paint, perhaps sculpt animals and figures.”

          “Have you researched me?” I said, half seriously.

          “Just a bit,” he said.

          “Does your girlfriend go to the Fine Arts School also,” I said.  I immediately felt like a fool, being so obvious like an amateurish schoolgirl.  Well, actually, that’s how I felt… and it felt damn good.  I felt myself coming alive.  I felt warmth in my belly and a tingle in my pussy, and I wanted to talk to this young man for hours to rejuvenate my dormant spirit.

          “Yes, she does,” he said.  “She has a flat near the campus.”

          “Is that where you stay on weeknights?” I said.

          “Yes,” he said.  “You know, shared rent, studying together, cooking for each other, going out once in a while.”

          “Yes,” I said.  “I know.  I wasn’t always old.”

          “You are anything but old,” he laughed.  “There is a graceful energy in the way you move, and elegance to your bearing… well, I hate to embarrass you, but I do just love to look at you.  You are, to me, the proverbial poetry in motion.”  I was speechless.  What could I say in response to this avalanche of uplifting words?

          “I have something to ask you,” he said.  Oh God, I thought.  What could he want?  What if it was sex?  God, I hoped it would be sex.

          “Would you let me sculpt you?” he said.  “Would you pose for me?”  It hit me like a truck.  My mind became a black hole that sucked all rational thought away from my brain.  I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

          “If you’ll pose for me,” I laughed nervously, “I’ll pose for you.”

          “Excellent!” he exclaimed.  “Who shall be first?”  My mind was racing.  Did he mean pose nude?  Did he mean only my face?  What did he mean?

          “What kind of pose do you mean?” I said.

          “I will hope for a nude pose, and I will accept whatever you permit.”

          “Would you pose nude for me?” I said.

          “I have never done it before,” he said, “but I will do whatever you wish.”  I had the feeling he was meaning more than just posing for me.  But I didn’t trust myself.  I was a seething caldron of desire by this time, my mind making pictures of us naked… he at my place, me at his place… I was stunned.

          “Can we… would we… begin this weekend?” I said.

          “I’d love to, if you’re free,” he said.  I was surprised at how eager and excited he was.

          “I am free,” I said.  “Will you come to my place tomorrow?”

          “What time will suite you?” he said.

          “Depends upon how late you will be up with your celebration tonight,” I said.

          “What celebration?” he said.

          “You said you were dressed because you had something special to do this evening,” I reminded him.

          “Oh, yes,” he laughed.  “I’ve done it.”

          “You’ve… you mean I’m the something special,” I said, blushing.

          “Yes, you are something very special,” he said.  I again relinquished my sense of responsibility and blurted out what I really wanted to say.

          “Well then, we should not interrupt our special evening too early,” I said.  “If you’re free, you can come home with me now, and we can discuss our artistic endeavours over bowls of gulas and slabs of bread.”

          “Nothing would please me more,” he said.  “And you must promise to come to my studio on Sunday morning.”  We sat silently, looking out the windows at the darkness for the remaining minutes before the train stopped at the Szentendre platform.

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – [4]

January 25, 2014 Leave a comment

At last the week was over.  I went into the lounge and did what I could with my face and my dress.  My face was like a train wreck.  I decided that I would talk to the lad, but from the point of view of a dowager aunt rather than a panting lover.  The dress was good, though.  Dark blue, supple, clung to my body in the best places, and allowed a delicious looking cleavage.  Convinced it was hopeless I headed for the station with my obsession on my mind, and I was determined to kill it or cure it.

The Szentendre train was idling at the platform.  I didn’t see the young man anywhere, and I boarded the train hoping to see him already aboard.  I had prepared myself for the confrontation.  I was going to mention that I observed by his red jacket that he was a student at the University of Fine Arts.

          “It seems we ride the same trains every week, and I thought we might ride together, if you agree,” he said.  I looked up and was shocked to see the young man standing right there in front of me.  He wasn’t wearing the red jacket.  That’s why I hadn’t seen him on the platform.  He wore a black T-shirt under a Harris Tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows.  He was even more handsome than I thought with only my furtive glances to go by.

          “Uh… certainly… sure…” I stammered.

          “I’m sorry,” he said.  His voice rolled into my body like warm honey.  I felt like I was being caressed by his words.  “I seem to have interrupted your reverie,” he said.  “I’m sorry.  My name is Attila Nagy.”

          “I wasn’t… it’s nothing, really,” I stammered like an idiot.  “I’m Piroska Szabo.  I admit I have seen you before.  Your red jacket… I noticed you are a student at the University of Fine Arts, but… you are not wearing your red school jacket.”

          “Yes,” he smiled.  “I have something special to do this evening.  I know that you are an assistant professor of anatomy at Semmelweis.”

          “How do you know?” I said

          “My older brother is in your class.  That’s where I first saw you.  I was outside you classroom to meet him before a football game and I saw you,” he said.  His eyes were glued to mine.  There was an easy, comfortable way he had of simply looking into my eyes while he spoke to me.  He sat beside me and the wonderful fragrance of Guerlain Vetiver reached my nose and sent a renewed rush of desire through me.

          “Your brother,” I said, forcing myself to appear indifferent.  “Yes, I see it now, the resemblance.  Your brother is Sandor Nagy.”

          “That’s right,” he said.

          “How is it that Sandor doesn’t commute with you to Szentendre?”

          “He stays with our parents in Budapest,” he said.  “I prefer the quiet of Szentendre, where I have my studio.”

          “How wonderful,” I said, sincerely impressed.  “I have a small studio also, behind my house.”

          “I’m not surprised that we have so many things in common,” he said.  “We like our weekends in Szentendre, we are forced to spend our weeknights in Budapest, we both have studios in which to do our true work.”

          “What do you mean, you’re ‘not surprised’ that we have things in common?” I said.  “And what do you mean, ‘to do our true work?”

The train had begun to move, and we were rolling out of the station into the descending darkness.  I did not stare blindly out the window this time.  I was more and more intrigued by this young man, and was gradually letting myself desire him.  Sitting and talking, hearing his mellow voice while his fragrance engulfed me, I began to convince myself that the age difference should be eradicated.  If he found me attractive… if by some miracle he found me desirable, I would plunge headlong into any and every sexual adventure I could imagine.

Categories: Uncategorized

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – [3]

January 24, 2014 Leave a comment

I was dancing with him, my mystery lover.  As the warm water caressed me and found its way into every intimate part of my body, I imagined it was he.  I imagined his gentle hands caressing me all over, passing gently over my breasts, lingering tantalizingly on my erect nipples before traveling down over my belly and nestling between my thighs.  His careful, skilful fingers parted my pussy lips and found my clit.  He swirled his fingers slowly around it until it stood up in its little crevasse and glowed hotly.

He pushed my knees apart and knelt between them so he could bend to my pussy.  His long blond hair was loose, and it spread over my thighs like a silk shawl while his soft lips kissed my pussy lips.  He licked them slowly and gradually moved his tongue rapidly but with a feather touch on my clit and I came with a loud moan that woke me out of my reverie.  I had nodded off in the tub.  The foam had dwindled to nothing, and the water was cold.  It felt terrible after the hot thoughts of my dream.  I realized that I was becoming obsessive over this kid… this young man, I mean.  I resolved that I would speak to him the next time I saw him.

Thursday morning I put the cooled goulash into the refrigerator and went to the Szentendre platform, where I was among strangers.  The young man wasn’t there, nor were most of the people I was accustomed to.  The Thursday morning passengers were a different lot than the Monday morning passengers.  It didn’t matter to me, because the young man was not there, and that was all I cared about.  He was all I cared about.  He was in my mind’s eye – usually naked – while I shopped, cooked, gardened, bathed, and taught.  At night, he was in my bed while I slept, and his tight young body was mine to enjoy.  And enjoy it I did.  In my dreams, I was the woman he always hoped for.  His lips lingered wherever he kissed me.  His warm lips were soft upon my mouth, upon my hands, over all of my face and all of my body.  He was worshipping me, and his prayers were in his kisses.  In the end, his handsome young face was pressed eagerly to my pussy, and while I caressed his long, silky hair, his tongue caressed my clitoris.  My orgasm woke me each time, alone in my bed, dreaming of a man twenty years my junior, to whom I’d never spoken.

I was barely able to keep my mind upon my classes.  Charts of the male anatomy covered most of the wall space in my classroom.  To my fevered mind, each of them was the young man.  Charts of the female anatomy were my body and my mind continued to couple the naked bodies.  Throughout that agonising Thursday and the restless night in my city flat I felt like an addict without her drug.  My body ached for him.  My arms quivered with the desire to enfold him to my chest.  My nipples begged for his lips.  My pussy trembled with anticipation for an event that was never going to happen.  I realised the foolishness of my infatuation, and vowed to end it by dissolving the fantasy.  When finally I could speak to him, the reality of who he was and what he wanted would emerge.

Friday morning I was beside myself.  The agonising night had left me looking like Hell on the very day when I wanted to be radiant.  It was hopeless, and my spirit fell to the bottom of the barrel.  I resolved to get a hold on my emotions.  I was an intelligent woman, and I would overcome the emotional turmoil with logic.  It was beyond emotional… it was psychological.  I explained the whole scenario to myself through the day, just vaguely aware of my students.  I’m sure they must have though I was having a breakdown.  Maybe I was, in a way.

That final Friday class passed slower than I could bear.  Minutes dragged by like hours, and I wanted to scream and rush out of the room and run to the station where the Szentendre train waited.  I wanted to see the lad on the platform and run to him and crush him to my chest and suck his whole tongue into my mouth and not care about the people milling about.

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – [2]

January 23, 2014 Leave a comment

The week dragged so slowly, I was insane with impatience for the Friday evening train to Szentendre, so I could see the young man again.  By Wednesday afternoon I was beside myself.  One of my students even asked if I was feeling well.  I hadn’t realized that it showed.  I was building up a volcano of curiosity, a lava flow of desire, a fantasy of romance that was ridiculous and I knew it.  My mind was filled with visions of myself in my studio, the young man naked on a platform while I drew him and sculpted him and painted him.  I saw myself walking around and around him, casually viewing his legs, his ass his arms and chest and finally, his penis, hanging like salami over his plump scrotum.

Suddenly, in the middle of my final Wednesday class, I had a thought: maybe he didn’t take the train back and forth only on Fridays and Mondays.  Maybe he took the train back and forth every day.  It’s only a half-hour each way.  I spent my weeknights in the city because the University provided a living allowance that almost covered it, and the house was just too lonely to live in alone all the time.  At least I could occasionally enjoy a good restaurant meal, or a concert, or just walk anonymously among the strangers in the square.

The final class ended, and I impulsively rushed to the train station and got there just in time to see the train boarding.  I looked everywhere for the red jacket, but could not find it.  I decided to board the train anyway, and go home for the evening.  Maybe the young man had taken an earlier train on Wednesday.  Maybe he would be on the Szentendre platform in the morning – with me also there… on the platform.  I went up and down through every car on the ride home.  I tried to pretend I wasn’t looking for anyone, in case I saw him.  It was ridiculous of course, because what other reason could there be for a foolish old woman to be wandering up and down a whole train, if not looking for someone?

He was not there.  I walked home on the dusty road, unlocked the front gate and carefully locked it behind me before I went up the stairs to the door and let myself into the house.  I felt like a real idiot, going on like this about nothing.  I was obviously emotionally screwed up, or I wouldn’t feel weak as a kitten just thinking about…who?  Thinking about this stranger who is young enough to be my child.  I had to do something to keep busy or I’d go crazy, so I got a bunch of vegetables out of the refrigerator and cut a slab of beef into cubes and made a pot of goulash.

I left it to simmer.  Meanwhile, I ran a bath and undressed while the tub filled.  I poured in a good deal of vanilla scented bath foam and prepared to soak my silly stress away.  I paused in front of the full-length mirror and turned this way and that, looking at my naked body with a critical eye.  I had not really looked at myself in a long time.  I had not looked at myself with the intent to see what someone else might see.  I wanted to see what that gorgeous young man would see if I was naked before him.

I was encouraged.  I was not that bad, for almost forty.  My breasts were still quite high, because I’d never been pregnant.  I was a bit meaty, but still, my waist was small and my hips smoothly rounded.  My skin was not too bad, except that it was two colours.  Working in my garden, I got tanned from my shoulders up and from my thighs down.  From my tits to my thighs, I was ghostly white and smooth except for the triangle of curly, black, thick pubic hair.  I wondered if the young man liked dark, thick pubic hair.

I lit a few candles around the bathroom and switched off the light before I stepped into the warm tub and sank down into the hissing foam.  The warm water enveloped me in vanilla fragrance and I lay back and gazed up at the shadows dancing on the ceiling.  They swirled and shivered as the various flames trembled in the moving air.  While I watched, the swaying shadows became two figures, dancing a dance of passion and desire, of mating and parting.  I couldn’t keep my imagination from the young man – I hesitated to call him a boy, because he is at least twenty.  In a way, a boy, I suppose.  But something in the way he looked at me, something in his gentle, hazel eyes told me that there was an exciting man inside that young body.