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Russian men are very polite in courtship. They never presume to touch a woman without permission. Vanya came to me and asked “May I?” I was confused of all that was happening and blurred “Yeah,” without thinking. Before I had time to savour it, he kissed my cheek teasingly just beside my ear. He whispered good night and something in Russian, of which I understood only sorry, go, want. His kiss left me trembling in desire. My hands shook as I finished my drink. I felt terribly empty. I was sad and disappointed; we didn’t even get a chance to dance. I was wet and stirred and wanted to be pressed hard against his body. I dearly wanted to kiss him, have his large hands fondle me roughly. And now I lost him. My pussy didn’t feel just empty. It felt hollow. * I was moving between racks of skirts when I saw him. It was two weeks since that night at the club. He stood there, smiling at me, just three racks away. He looked less ominous in the daylight but had lost none of his charm. I. Tell them there’s been a murder at the...”Glen finished it for him. He shouted, “Metchette place. Tell him this is Glen Wiseman!”The man on the porch asked, “That you, Glen?”“Yes.”The man lowered the shotgun with relief. He knew Glen only slightly, but Glen had a good reputation. Word had gotten out about all of the charity work he had done in the area. He had met Glen at the Orphanage as a member of the Elks that had catered the Christmas Eve Party there. He remembered the wooden chests that Glen had created for each child and the happiness that Glen had delivered. He called over, “Damn, I didn’t recognize you. All I could see was the shotgun in your hand.”Glen looked down and realized for the first time that he was carrying the shotgun. He set it down and collapsed on the driveway. He couldn’t move or talk, his shoulders shook as he cried like a baby. The man on the porch came over to him awkwardly, not used to dealing with an emotional outburst from another man. He shifted.
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