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THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – part 14 of 30

September 12, 2017 Leave a comment

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. His hands were big, warm, and gentle.

Attila held me and pressed himself to my back. His firm chest was pressed to me and he was kissing the top of my head through my wet hair.  He caressed my breasts, and I could feel him getting hot, pressing against me.  I laid my head back on his shoulder and just let him have me, and silently rejoiced in the mounting thrill. The orgasm consolidated in me. I could feel its fragments lifting up through my legs from my toes, through my arms from my fingers, through my breasts to my vagina, 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 turned in Attila’s arms and pressed my breasts flat against his hard stomach.

Attila didn’t speak with his voice, but his hands were worshipping me.  They wandered slowly over my back, down to my butt, 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. I felt him quiver at my touch.  I had not had a lover to caress in more than a year, and I didn’t want to miss any potential for pleasure. I might never get another opportunity like that.

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THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – part 13 of 30

September 8, 2017 Leave a comment

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 am, 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.

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – part 12 of 30

September 7, 2017 Leave a comment

“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 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.”

The Szentendre Train – part 11 of 30

September 6, 2017 Leave a comment

“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. 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.

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – part 10 of 30

September 5, 2017 Leave a comment

“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 suit 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 goulash and 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.

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.

 

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – part 8 of 30

August 30, 2017 Leave a comment

“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.

“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.

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – part 7 of 30

August 30, 2017 Leave a comment

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 not care about the people milling about.

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 don’t mind,” 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.”