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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 Burden of a Creative Spirit

September 12, 2017 Leave a comment

One who is filled with the creative spirit is always alone. When driving to work or riding public transit, the creative spirit is working within the mind. The face of the old woman in her kerchief would be nice to sketch, one’s mind thinks. The kid with the striped beard might be from the city’s wealthiest family. He might have ostracized them because they did not believe in his yet-to-be-discovered talent. The creative mind is relentlessly working, painting pictures or writing stories.

Those creative spirits among us are in inevitable conflict with the surrounding community. That’s why ‘creative communities’ develop, where the eccentricities of bohemian personalities are a comfortable norm. That’s fine for those of us who reside in cities or towns where such a community exists, but what of those who lack access to like-minded companions.

An old woman on a remote farm might be developing some wonderful paintings. A young man in the military might be writing admirable short stories. Those people, in their inappropriate environments, are likely to be regarded by the community around them as ‘peculiar’, or at least ‘different’. The constant desire to experience things of all kinds keeps the creative spirit working within the creative person.

The secret inner life of the creative person is a mystery to the surrounding community. Often, I am presented with problems that need a creative solution. Over the decades, I have learned to trust my instincts and just execute the ideas that form within. I no longer worry that I might have missed the mark.

It is always a bit of a surprise to me that clients don’t think of the same idea on their own. On the contrary, they seem blown away by the idea that is simple and quick for me. I recall a time when I created an entire newspaper campaign in my head, while driving home from the meeting. I presented it to the client the next morning. It was approved and put into production.

Creativity is a mystery to everyone, including those with the creative spirit.

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.”

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – part 5 of 30

August 23, 2017 Leave a comment

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 tits 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 candle 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.

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – part 4 of 30

August 22, 2017 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 realised 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 manhood.

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?

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – part 2

August 18, 2017 Leave a comment

The first week back at work was the usual mess of misunderstandings and scheduling conflicts and what have you.  In spite of the lonely, empty house in Szentendre, I was looking forward to getting home to my garden and my sculpture studio.  I like to make pottery or sculpt animals and human figures in clay. It’s just a hobby, but it was satisfying in a way, and helped to pass lonely hours.  I worked in my garden during Saturday and Sunday mornings and in my studio on weekend afternoons and evenings.

The first Friday night of the new semester, I boarded a later than usual train to Szentendre, because the hectic first week of school left me with some extra duties.  Evening was settling in when I took my seat.  The coach was empty except for a young man seated across the aisle from me.  He looked at me and smiled with a slight tilt of his head.  I averted my eyes and stared out the window at the passing scene that was fading in the descending light of evening.

I had never seen the young man before, and I wondered for a moment why he had smiled at me. I was one of the first passengers to leave the train.  I hurried across the platform toward home, and didn’t see him disembark behind me.   When I arrived at home, I made a small supper for myself and did a bit of housework before I went to sleep.  Saturday morning, I busied myself with my garden and my studio.  The weekend passed with the usual boring loneliness, and by Monday morning I was ready to return to the University.  At least I had some human interaction at my job, even though it was only with the students in my anatomy classes or some professors in the lounge.

As usual, I kept to myself on the platform, waiting for the commuter train to take me into the city.  Most of the scattered people were reading newspapers or talking quietly to each other.  I tilted my face up to the rising sun, closed my eyes, and let the warmth soothe me.  I heard the train coming, and I felt the people around me moving about in preparation for its arrival.  Someone stood next to me, almost brushing the sleeve of my coat, but I did not acknowledge it.