I eyed the rows of passengers warily as my wife and I boarded the tour bus. Sure enough, we had botched it by being late and there wasn't a spot where two people could sit together. There he was, though, fifth row. Anton. He had one seat reserved with his backpack. Of course my wife, Natasha, sat with him. Damn. The feeling in the pit of my stomach was uncomfortable.
Our vacation had actually started pretty well. We had arrived at the hotel in Torremolinos in the south of Spain for a two week vacation on the Mediterranean. Being from the U.S., I was very excited to visit such an exotic location. A hotel on the beach, a clear blue pool, a wonderful bar for drinks, and two fantastic meals a day, all-inclusive. The men had to wear slacks in the dining area, no shorts. It was old-school middle class European tourism, casual with a touch of class and plenty of booze.
Natasha and I were on our honeymoon. She was from Ukraine, and she was beautiful. Blond hair, curvy, with a pert mouth and a wide Slavic face. When I'd first met her, we worked for the same semi-conductor company, but on different sides of the planet. We'd met when she'd come out for a sales and marketing meeting held in Las Vegas. She helped manage a team out of Kiev, and was thrilled to be able to visit the States on the company dime. She'd been to New York as a student, but that was it. We hit it off, big-time. It was a five day company meeting and even though we'd made love that last night, when the trip was up, she was gone.
I wasn't able to see her again for a whole year when the whole process repeated itself. I was so busy I didn't have time to meet interesting women. I wasn't interested in barflies or pill heads, plenty of which I saw on the road. Natasha never left my mind. She had a Facebook account that she rarely used, but I'd still find myself trolling it regularly, looking for any excuse to chat or comment on her homepage. We agreed to meet early the next year to get some together time. I wasn't entirely certain if she had a boyfriend but she claimed to not see anybody regularly. About a month before her arrival, I was jittery. I waited at the airport with 11 roses. The previous year she'd mentioned that an even number was bad luck in Ukraine, and she appreciated the gift and recalled our conversation. It was as if she'd never left. The first night we kissed on the observation deck of the Stratosphere, and I surprised her with a $500 helicopter ride to the Grand Canyon.
After that meeting ended, we made a pact to get her transferred to the U.S. office, even temporarily, and our effort paid off. She came, we dated, and after six months she was living with me. A year later we married. So from the time I met her to marriage, we'd already known each other for three years. Time flies when you're having fun.
The first time I'd met Anton was before we married. He'd come with his wife, Sveta to a party we had hosted at our apartment, mostly attended by Natasha's Russian-speaking friends. Natasha had really reached out to other Russian speakers since she'd arrived as she wasn't comfortable making American friends. I'd found them interesting, and the women were usually good looking. Anton and his wife were invited because he'd known Natasha since elementary school, but had only recently came to attend grad school while his wife worked at a local technology firm. They were a great couple and very social. One weekend when Natasha and I were in Tahoe, they rang out of the blue to announce they were also in town and wanted to meet up for dinner and drinks. It was great. We weren't exactly best friends, but we found ourselves invited to almost every party they hosted, which was seemingly once every few weeks.
Keep in mind Natasha always laughed at Anton's jokes, enjoyed singing old Soviet Pioneer songs and dancing to Russian-language pop with him during our drunker late nights. I was too embarrassed to join my them during these moments, so they were a natural fit. It made me feel kind of funny in the pit of my stomach during these moments, but Anton's wife was always gracious enough to sit with me and laugh at them together. So we'd chat while our spouses sang and danced and I never felt left out. Sveta was a great woman.
If I had to pinpoint when our relationship dynamic changed, it was definitely during a small get-together that we hosted. Anton, his wife, and another couple were there, six in all. We were drinking around a coffee table, when something amazing happened. The third couple's wife was telling some crazy story in rapid-fire Russian and I thought I heard "lesbiyanka", and everybody started laughing. When they settled down, she apologized and repeated the gist of the story in slightly broken English.
One time in Kiev, her work took her to a hotel bar where she was hosting three ladies, one of whom happened to be a lesbian. Ruthlessly, she wanted to fool her into thinking she was also a lesbian, and she did her best to pretend. As she was repeating this story, I looked at Natasha and smiled knowingly. She had admitted some attraction to particularly attractive female friends. We'd had great sex as she described looking at one of her friend's naked ass from behind, how her eyes were drawn to her pubic hair and lips as she'd bent over a bathtub as they were getting ready to go out one evening. Now, listening to this lesbian story, I noted she wasn't looking back at me. Her gaze was on the storyteller, and as she finished, Natasha asked a risqué question to which everybody laughed. How far, exactly, did she go with her lesbian act. The storyteller motioned for Natasha to come close, one thing led to another and as a "demonstration", she kissed Natasha full on the lips. Natasha did not pull back but returned this kiss reaching out to cup the back of the head of her friend as they actively showed each other affection. We sat stunned. I glanced over and Anton's wife had a look of disapproval but Anton was transfixed with gleaming eyes and a smile.
They kissed long enough and husband of the woman my wife kissed took a picture. Interestingly, months later his wife mailed a hard copy of the photo to us. I consider it a priceless if somewhat embarrassing treasure. The important effect was the kiss made Anton very horny.
More drinks were had, and late into the evening Natasha disappeared into the kitchen to wash up. Anton offered to help and followed despite her protestations. A few minutes later they rejoined us and we finished out the evening with aspirin and waters for everybody. My mood was electric. Even the hug from Anton's wife as she left seemed to have deeper meaning.
We retired to the bedroom, she took my hand as we entered and said, "You know, he tried to kiss me and then tried to feel me."
Then she kissed me.
My mind couldn't process this new information, so I kissed her back for a few seconds before I withdrew and stammered out, "Huh, what?"
She smiled. "Between my legs, under my skirt!"
I felt kind of strange and didn't know how to re-act.
"Did, uh, you let him?" I nervously asked.
"Oh no." She replied, shaking her head and giving me a weird look. "I pushed him away and told him to go back to Sveta."
I kicked off my pants and she eyed my boxers, my dong pretty much sticking straight out. We skipped the foreplay as she pulled off her panties and I could smell her sex as my dick easily slid into her. We fucked in the missionary position.
Is I fucked her, I felt the need to preserve my dignity and blurted out, "I better say something to him tomorrow, give him a call."
I dreaded saying it as I spoke. I really didn't want to have that difficult conversation with him.
