Chapter 1

Tanya’s Story

Tanya is from Eastern Europe; she’s in her late-30’s or early-40’s; a Slavic beauty from a rich, family-heritage; about 5’8’’, a size 8 or 10, blue eyes, long, blonde hair, classic, high-cheek bones, pouting rosy-red-lips set in a pale-visage, with long, slim, well-shaped legs. This woman has an amazing brain behind one of the most photogenic of faces and atop an ultra-erotic body that many amongst mankind will be hard-pushed to imagine, let-alone believe, such reality actually exists in their world.

At one time, she’d borne this beauty with ease but her life of prosperity, grace, and outstanding achievement had foundered on the rocks of divorce to a foreign-man in a foreign-land and pride had prevented her calling her family for relief, let alone rescue.

Such was discovered, by a Star-Graduate from a prestigious State University; a former Investment Banker, Model, Musician and Businesswoman, that, when you’re caught between a rock-and-a-hard-place, you get squashed. Yet, in all of this, she’d had good-fortune to thank because, although Tanya was desperate to become a Mother, she’d never fallen pregnant during her slide from feast-to-famine.

Our encounter was in a railway station; her big, blue-eyes had latched onto me like a laser-beam and the awareness of such intensity was impossible to ignore; so, after breaking-step, I caught her gaze and smiled.

That did it; a long time had passed since anyone had smiled at, or showed any warmth towards, Tanya and she didn’t try to mask her glee.

“Are you going my way?” seemed like a pretty-good opener and this was the trigger to rekindle her coyness; her face lit-up, her mouth opened to flash brilliant-white teeth and her eyes shone like a spring-morning. “Yes, as long as you can handle me!”

By this time, we were standing face-to-face in a closed-twosome and the lines of exhaustion were visible. “Are you ok? You can tell me.”

“Can I? I have a lot to tell…”

“Yes, you can, but you don’t have a ticket or anywhere to go, do you?”

“No; no, I don’t”

“Well, we can fix that but it’s a four-hour journey and then a bit of a drive. Can you handle it?”

“Yes: yes; yes, yes, yes…and thank you; thank you, thank you…”

So, after re-scheduling my ticket to reserve the whole of a Four-seat-booth over a Dining Table, we boarded in good-time but not before Tanya was able to go to the Shower-Room, clean up, change her clothes, revitalise her spirits and come out, looking like a Super-Model, to join me in the Bar.

“What’ll it be?”

“Is that a Gin and Tonic?”

“Yes, it is; but it’s a large-one! Can you handle it?”

“Hey, Mister”, she smiled, “that’s my line, or is it your regular question?”

“Yes, it is. I need to know; presumption isn’t allowed!”

The ice was broken; Tanya was thawing-out; she looked good and, although the lines on her face hadn’t disappeared, they were not so deep as before and her natural radiance was beaming its way in my direction.

So, we sat; easily and quietly, nursing large Gins and Tonic and absorbing every shred of subtlety and nuance towards the pictures we were building; it was looking promising and, whereas we both knew there were depths to plumb, we also knew there would be time and little resistance to the flow.

We sipped and sipped and, with 15 minutes to go, left the bar to board the train, stack the luggage and take our seats before ordering two more Cocktails, a bottle of wine and Dinner. Tanya was relaxed; she was comfortable; she’d resumed her natural poise and it was clear she wasn’t wearing a bra.

A four-hour, evening-ride is a long journey, so, after all the liquor, dinner and post-prandials, driving for another hour-or-so was abandoned in-favour of booking into the Village Hotel. Tanya declined her own room and opted to share mine and, more so, my bed: so, we ordered a bottle of champagne, sea-food canapes, a pot of coffee, cognac, sweet cakes and chunky, rich biscuits; then, after we’d flipped into the showers, we met in the Drawing Room.

It’d been a long, hard, tiring day yet, even though it was ending on an unexpected high, we sat-up in our bath robes; we ate, we drank and we talked; we talked and we talked some more. The outline of her story was worse than unpleasant and it was getting nastier by the moment until I leaned in, took hold of her shoulders, wiped away her tears and kissed her: the kiss was the release that opened the flood-gates.

Despite her brave-face, this woman was broken; she was crying-out, silently, for a touch of humanity, something more than a human touch; for the security of being allowed to ‘Be’ and she’d sensed this capacity from the other side of a mainline railway station. So, we segued towards the bed, slipped under the covers, still swaddled in our bath robes, still holding onto one-another, and, as her breathing slowed, she fell asleep and I followed-suit.

It was about 0300hrs when her lips clamped around my cock and, within moments, her mouth was full.

“What’re you doing?”

“Oh, gosh; I’m sorry, I’m so sorry; it’s a practise that’s been burned into me. I forgot where I was and who I’m with. Forgive me, please, and let me explain…” but it was too late to explain because my kiss had landed on her lips; it stopped her talking and her tongue tasted of my salt.