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
