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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 6 of 30

August 24, 2017 Leave a comment

I was dancing with him, my mystery lover.  As the warm water caressed me, I imagined it was he.  I imagined his gentle hands caressing me all over, passing gently over my breasts, lingering tantalisingly on my erect nipples before travelling down over my belly.

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 usually saw there.  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 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. 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 on 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.  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 thought I was having a breakdown.  Maybe I was, in a way.

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – part 3 of 30

August 21, 2017 Leave a comment

The breeze from the moving train touched me, and I opened my eyes to climb aboard.  I took a seat and looked up to see the same young man I had seen on the Friday evening ride home.  He again smiled and nodded at me.  I half-smiled in return, took some papers from my briefcase, and pretended to read them.  I didn’t understand why the young man noticed me, and I dared not look at him long enough to see if I knew him.  I doubted he was a student in one of my classes because I know each of them quite well.  I had the impression from my quick glances that he was tall, broadly built, and with a good-looking square face.  He had a high forehead under thick, blond hair that he wore tied low down on the back of his head in a long ponytail.

The train rolled into the Budapest station.  I did not hurry to leave my seat because I hoped to see the young man from a different angle, when he couldn’t see me staring.  I pretended to be searching in my bag for something when he got up and went to the door.  His legs were long and his ass was absolutely beautiful.  The muscles in his thighs were tight in his jeans, stretching the denim.  I could see on the back of his red windbreaker the symbol of the University of Fine Arts in downtown Budapest.

He left the train and turned right toward the exit that leads to downtown transportation.  I turned right toward Semmelweis University.  Before I left the station I stopped and looked back, hoping to see the red jacket in the flowing crowd.  I was stunned to see him standing in the middle of the people rushing this way and that all around him while he looked back at me.  Flushed with embarrassment, I turned quickly and rushed up the stairs with the crowd and out onto the street above.

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.