Sasha's beautiful face had typical Eastern European features: high cheekbones, chiseled jaw line, pale skin. His eyes were hard to define - sometimes gray, sometimes blue, with abundant dark lashes. He kept his thick, black hair short in the back, but had an unruly lock that he often pushed back as it fell into his face. He wasn't exceptionally tall, but his lean, hard body and confident posture gave one that impression. I remember thinking that he was
cute
when I knew him at school; I could not believe how incredibly good-looking he had become.
About seven years earlier, I had a serious flirtation with this angular Russian while we were students at a prestigious international graduate program. We were both dating others, but I got to know him better when we worked on a couple of projects together. We enjoyed chatting when we met in the dining commons or at the campus pub, where we engaged in fierce matches of foosball. Yes, I probably was quite a tease, much to the annoyance of my then-boyfriend.
One night, having consumed far too many of my favorite, champagne cocktails, I let him escort me back to my room. He playfully pulled me down on my bed and I let him have a few tongue-laden kisses. By the time his hands made it down my torso and wriggled under my pants, I was helpless. I just lay there while he took one finger and ran it up and down my lips, slowly. Dipping his fingers into my abundant moisture, he made lazy circles around my clit. He applied more and more pressure until I came in a short but intense burst. When I stopped convulsing, I couldn't move.
He then did the most amazing thing - he kissed me on the forehead and said goodnight. I wanted to show my appreciation, but he was gone before I knew it.
A few weeks later, we were at a school party; people were dancing outside in the quad on a fairly hot evening. The periphery of the quad area was very dark. I was walking through an unlit corridor back to the party when Sasha came up suddenly from behind and pulled me into a doorway. He pinned me to the wall, his mouth and his hands all over me. I returned his kisses with an excitement that took me by surprise. He whispered, "Let's go back to your room," but I protested that my boyfriend would come looking for me there.
"You know what? I owe you! I never forget an unreciprocated hand job! Over there," I commanded, pushing him around the corner into a totally secluded, dark recess behind the building.
I fell to my knees in front of him, and reached for his zipper. Cupping his balls from the outside with one hand, I pulled his already hard cock from his pants. He let out a low moan. Wetting my lips, I rubbed them on the tip, around and around. My fingers ran up and down, all around his huge, silky shaft. I looked up to see his eyes closed, his head thrown back against the wall, an expression of amazed pleasure on his face. He grabbed the back of my head and pushed me onto his shaft. I sunk his cock all the way to my throat. He moaned, jerking his hips in and out; I just stayed still and let him work it. When I felt a blast of warm cum hit the back of my throat, I swallowed it like crazy. He stopped moving and slumped against the wall, totally spent.
The memory of these two encounters flooded into my mind in a fraction of a second. It happened during the last few weeks before I graduated, so we didn't have the chance to explore a relationship. After I left school, we lost touch, but I never did stop thinking about him. I wonder what he would have thought had he known he was the object of many of my masturbatory fantasies in the time since we had parted.
"I am so amazed that we ran into each other like this. And here, in my favorite spot in the world! How long have you worked here?"
He grinned broadly. "For a few years. Started out translating for an exhibit from the Hermitage in St. Petersburg. I guess they liked me here because they've kept me on. I'm a special projects director now. So what about you?"
"That's wonderful! As for me, well... You know, there's a lot to tell. Is there somewhere we can go, maybe get a drink?"
"Let's go upstairs to where I work. I think you'll be impressed. And, I've got something for you up there!"
"You do? Then let's go!" I enthusiastically agreed.
We took the elevator to an upper floor of the administrative building. We walked to the end of a corridor where Sasha opened the door to his office. He invited me in, saying, "It's a little small, but it's not so bad, is it?"
I strode over to a plate glass window opposite his desk.
This is a nice perk!
His office may not have been spacious, but it had a superb view of the coast. "I'd never get any work done with a view like this!" Even better than the view, it shared a patio area with other nearby offices. At that late hour, there was no sign of any other staff members working. We had the place to ourselves.
Sasha opened a small refrigerator and brought out a bottle of champagne.
I laughed when I saw the bottle. "How did you remember my favorite drink?"
"How could I forget the effect it has on you?" I felt my cheeks grow hot and red.
He remembers very well
, I thought. He chuckled and gave me a look that made me realize I would be feeling that effect very soon.
We took our glasses out to a table and chairs. We didn't talk much, though; I suddenly couldn't think of what to say. There was a tension, thick and heavy, that hung around us. His eyes bore down on me in a gaze that paralyzed any molecule of reason in my brain.
Could I just be imagining this after such a short time? Are we going to pick up where we left off, right here, right now?
The setting sun lit the scattered clouds on fire, a perfect backdrop for the inferno that was building between us. I quickly drank one glass; he refilled it. Without thinking, I blurted out, "I must tell you how I have never been able to forget you. Seeing you now makes me feel..." I couldn't finish the sentence with the swell of emotion I felt.
"I know, sweetheart, I've never been able to get you out of my mind either."
I felt the champagne going straight to my crotch, the effervescence stimulating images I couldn't control. I was afraid there would be a puddle on my chair.
