A Finnish girl meets a very polite and gallant older man on a summer night in Helsinki. Language barrier makes getting to know each other tricky but the laws of attraction and arousal are universal. Yet a man, when teased, can forget his manners. This is based on a true encounter with an Estonian man in the mentioned places.
***
I was hanging out with the girls on a Friday night in mid July. We'd spent the evening at the port dangling our feet off the stone docks. When sundown drew near we headed towards Esplanadi, a park lane which serves as a popular gathering place right in the middle of Helsinki city centre. On our way we ran into old acquaintances in a group of Estonian Finnish guys, and since we'd always had fun with Artyom and his friends we decided to join them.
When our groups mingled I glimpsed him behind the others. In his late thirties he was considerably older than us twentysomethings, a fact which made him exceptional and thus special above all the others. He didn't take part in the commotion of introductions and I moved in to break the ice. When I introduced myself in Finnish he answered curtly in Estonian, "I'm Dmitri." At first I thought him gruff but he simply didn't speak any Finnish. He was Russian Estonian and Artyom, his cousin, explained that Dmitri spoke Estonian but in practise his language was Russian. Of English he knew only what little he'd picked up along the way.
Dmitri nodded in appreciation when I said in Russian, "Good evening, nice to meet you." Some of the textbook phrases from my high school studies were stuck well and good in my head. Just to seem casually friendly I had Artyom tell Dmitri that I knew some Russian, and could be able to understand a little Estonian (which has many similarities with Finnish) if he wanted to chat. I didn't add that hearing a man speak either of those languages made me wet my panties.
Dmitri gave me a dutiful smile and a reserved little bow. He was so different from the others: manly instead of boyish, quiet, guarded, a little misplaced and something of a mystery with the language barrier and all. I was definitely interested. Granted, he wasn't good looking, but pretty boys have never really been my thing. With effort I pretended nonchalance for I feared that figuring out my motives would scare him away. I had hoped to find someone to take home that night but I hadn't dared hope for someone like Dmitri. I wanted the exciting stranger to use my body in every way it could be used, and I wanted him to do it hard.
Following narrow cobbled streets we explored the historical parts of downtown. Pairs were forming as we walked and I stayed close to Dmitri. In the twilight deepening to darkness the Art Nouveau buildings, little fountains, huge elm trees and high iron gates created a dense atmosphere, a surreal sense of walking through reality into the early 1900s. I hadn't known a place like that existed but we found it merely by wandering the streets aimlessly. In those surroundings the titillating feeling Dmitri had roused in me grew more dangerous and demanding.
When a tricky shortcut led us to a railing to climb over, a bank to jump down from or a steep slope to rise the guys would help us, gentlemen as they were raised. This was a game I knew how to play and I haunted Dmitri's steps as much as I could without him taking notice. Were an obstacle to appear, it would always 'just happen' to be him to assist me, and afterwards I got to reward him with a quick shy glance or a demure smile. The first time he offered his hand Dmitri asked me in Russian if he may help me and I thanked him. I counted this conversation of exactly three words a victory; I had established contact.
Despite what I had said through Artyom, Dmitri didn't talk much, but he didn't seem to be much of a talker to start with. Still, encouraged by our conversation - as short as it was - I tried out more of my rusted Russian saying, "Cholodnyi vecher." A cold evening. And Dmitri, without hesitation, took off his black leather jacket and helped me into it. I wanted to think that he lingered close to me longer than was in fact necessary but couldn't be sure. Either way I surfed a surge of glee to have him perform that ancient gesture of caring. The jacket was still full of his warmth and I willed my body to absorb every little bit of heat that had come from inside him.
The touch of his jacket burned on my skin and to keep erotic dreams from absorbing me totally I talked. I prattled on nervously in Finnish and English about the places we walked in and the little of Helsinki's history I knew. He smiled and nodded, understanding perhaps one word out of ten, save when I got in a word or two of Russian. Content to let me make myself look silly, he spoke little. Occasionally he uttered a few sentences which I took to mean things like, "We have one of those in Rakvere." I had constant flashes in my mind of him fucking me. In each I was begging him to slow down 'cause he was hurting me, but he just kept going, rougher and rougher, not understanding my words.
I got to keep Dmitri all to myself. The others - part from Artyom - didn't know what to make of him. He was a good ten years older than the rest of us and composed rather than raucous and not obviously drunk like the other guys. Time moved slowly as I eagerly waited for things between us to develop.
After it was already established that Dmitri and I were one of the pairs that walked together, he took me aside of the group. We looked from the hillside over the lights of the city centre to the dark sea. He said solemnly, "Ilus." That's Estonian for beautiful. Then he looked at me and said again, "Ilus." I didn't know the word then, but the meaning wasn't difficult to guess. I beamed at him and took a step closer, but with a quick after-you gesture he steered me towards the others. I was there for his taking and I couldn't fathom why he didn't let it happen.
After learning that he thought me beautiful his proximity sent shivers down my spine. Thus encouraged I escalated my behaviour to more seductive. When he helped me up and down various impediments I lingered, breathing excitedly to demonstrate how his closeness affected me. When I wanted his attention, instead of using his name, I touched his arm feigning insecurity of his reaction to such familiarity. Every time I looked into his eyes I gazed at him just a few seconds longer than was casual. I leaned to show him my cleavage as many times I thought I'd get away with my coy act still intact.
The girls noticed my activities and didn't approve my choice of prey. I didn't let their narrowmindedness mar my fun for I had managed to unsettle Dmitri as well. Not quite ready to believe I might be interested in him, he didn't know what to make of me. I knew full well I was teasing him shamelessly, but I wanted to fuck him, so what could it hurt? I yearned for him to abandon his restraint and ravage me.
Someone noticed a beaten path that disappeared into a low gap in a hedge. We followed it and found ourselves in a park: a wide, sloping field of grassy mounds strewn with old elms and ashes here and there. I recognized the building on the edge of the park. It was the house of Sinebrychoff, the mansion of a rich 1800s brewer and we were in his park, in which, though now a public park, lingered the atmosphere of a secret garden.
Some of us sat on benches, others explored. I took Dmitri a good distance away from the others and led him behind a tree. I stood looking at his face, smiling. I wanted to touch him but considering his reticent demeanor I supposed it wouldn't have been proper. He'd set a glow in my chest and a feverish lust in my loins, both of which I had difficulties withholding; I wanted him to grab me and kiss me 'til my lips hurt but he only lifted his hands to his chest.
"Dima," he said with a voice slightly hesitant.
It was the familiar form of his name, a petname for family and friends, which Artyom had used. He gave a little nod, prompting me.
"Dima," I replied with a little smile, carefully mimicking his pronunciation.
My body ached for something tangible and such a polite gesture of fondness was a disappointment. Nonetheless I wanted to use this new name and stuttered, "тихий Дима," quiet Dima, for it was one of the few adjectives I could remember.
My Russian must have left plenty room for interpretation, for he burst out laughing, sputtering, "прости, прости," prosti, sorry, as he tried to get a hold of himself. It might have been due to my younger age, or perhaps he considered it appropriate as we were in nickname basis, but he'd dropped the formal and serious
-te
ending from his address.
Many of our company walked hand in hand when we left the park and I asked Artyom a little embarrassed why Dima hadn't taken mine. Clearly he liked me. After a short exchange of words Artyom answered, "You haven't given him leave."
I saw the disbelief in my friends' eyes as I stopped Dima to whisper, "ты можно руки." Ty mozhno ruki. You, may, hands. I lacked the vocabulary for anything more apt and he was holding back laughter again. Yet, having received his permission, he took hold of my hand with a quick chuckle, as if laughing at the silliness of it all - a grown man holding hands with his girl.
The skin on his palm was rough and his grip strong. To touch him was wonderful and my need to be penetrated flared. I imagined his fingers fucking me, which caused my cunt to contract so hard that, squeezing my legs together, I missed a step. Dima turned to look at me curiously, as if saying he knew I hadn't simply tripped. We resumed walking, his big hand around my tiny one, and shivers of lust rocking my body. I slipped my thumb up his sleeve, and stroked the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist in hopes of retaliating even a fraction of the turmoil he'd put me in.
***
As the night went on I noticed the silly merrymaking was losing Dima's interest. Though I hoped I had something to do with him staying for as long as he had, I was afraid he'd leave and I'd never see him again. Trying to rid myself of gloom I jumped down a stone fence while larking with the girls. I gave no thought to the high heels I was wearing and before Dima had time to stop me I had twisted my ankle bad enough that I couldn't walk anymore. I didn't want to ruin the night for anyone else but Dima, who didn't feel much at home with the group anyway, offered to take me home. Under the suspicious frowns of my backward friends we said our goodbyes to the others, and made our way towards the nearest subway station.
Sitting side by side, our journey was quiet after the raucous distraction of the group. It was awkward to be alone together, just the two of us and I kept my eyes down, stealing glances at his thighs and his hands resting on them. I was still stirred regardless of the change in the mood, and looking at him made me think of touching him, and to think that made me shiver.
We had to walk more to get from the subway station to my flat, I leaned heavily on him and sensed how strong he was. My limping was so laborious he joked he could throw me over his shoulder and carry me. After a short distance I was so spent that I had to take up on his offer, as embarrassing as it was. Chuckling once more, Dima squatted and lifted me on his shoulder.
My hips were right next to his face and my mound pressed against him. Acutely self-conscious, I realized he might smell my steaming pussy and felt unclean. The hem of my knee-length skirt hitched up as he walked, but I didn't want to draw his attention to my nakedness by tugging it back. He hugged my legs to his chest, and rested his other hand high on my bare right thigh making my pussy throb. I knew he could see my panties and worried if he could see how wet I'd become.
The streets were empty and for the first time I thought if it was wise to be alone with him.
I'll need him to get up the stairs. Will he come in? Are we going to have sex? Will he play nice? He may have an STD. Will he use a condom? Does he
