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  • Years old:
  • 45
  • What is the color of my hair:
  • Dark-haired hair
  • My body type:
  • Muscular
  • What I like to drink:
  • Whisky
  • Smoker:
  • Yes

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Description

Borya, the fearless and determined revolutionary leader, finds his secret desires reawakened. The future Russian Revolutionary leader Borya Petrov le the way, his life entirely dedicated to the cause, with thoughts of nothing else. Until he met Natasha, who rekindled long buried feelings, secrets and desires, Together they embark on the sexual adventure of a lifetime.

She had chosen her favorite, the one with the red feather. Tonight would be worthy of it. She was to have dinner with Borya Petrov, the outspoken, determined Russian revolutionary exile. She was originally from Petrograd and had been a regular contributor to his underground newspaper for a couple of years but had never anr erotica him in person. She had all sorts of ideas of what sort of man he would be in person as she arranged her stacks of notes on her kitchen table. Well, he should be easy to spot then, she thought with a bit of amused sarcasm.

Gathering her papers and tucking them into a leather folder, she reflected on what originally appealed to her about his party.

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One important factor was the willingness to address the dismal state of women in Russia at the time, and the necessity to grant them equal rights, to escape loveless, abusive marriages and pursue a proper education. Natasha was a forward thinking woman who was only too glad to have set up an independent life for herself in both finances and love.

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This new generation of women believed in free love, the right to choose their lovers and whether or not to even marry. A bourgeoisie domestic life never appealed to Natasha and she wanted none of the emotional fuss and drama that relationships always seemed to dredge up. Hailing a cab to his hotel she made sure she was in proper order in her red and black dress, her fashionable hat and folder with the correct papers in hand.

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Just before she entered the glass revolving door to the hotel lobby she dabbed on some of her favorite vanilla perfume. She walked into the lobby and thru the doors of the restaurant. He had told her specifically where he was going to be seated so she moved forward thru the room of diners expecting to see him at a certain table. There was no man with a little beard and mustache, she thought. She then suddenly stopped, looking around a little lost.

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Had he stood her up? From nearby she heard a voice call out. This way. Here he was, waving her over, dressed in a simple suit and slightly crumpled coat, with a black cap in his hand.

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The little ginger beard and mustache was there as expected. Yet still, there an immediate charisma in his ironic little grin as she came over to shake his hand.

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His face suddenly contorted into a ridiculous scowl. There was something wonderfully awkward about Borya as he initially fumbled about looking for his reading glasses and making sure she had a menu.

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Skillfully entertaining women at the dinner table was not on his list of talents. She found herself giggling at his self effacing muttering as he realized he had left his glasses back up in his room and that he would be lucky if he got any food into his mouth properly that evening.

She was already finding him amusing in an endearing way and let him lead the conversation while they waited for their food. He wasted no time diving into his favorite subject-politics. He talked as he had always written to her, precisely, intensely and persistently. They agreed on many points, and already had a few they did not, and she noticed how he would be insistent with his point, then dismissive if she pressed her disagreement.

By the time the food arrived on the table she had likened him to a goat butting at an opponent. She teased him for his stubbornness. He teased her about the red feather in her hat. Anr erotica called him a billy goat. He complained about his overcooked beef.

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She offered him some of her chicken. They talked about her art, her writing, and what her job duties would be as editor of his paper. She mentioned that she had just gotten over a terrible cold.

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He launched into a medical report in regards to his frequent stress related stomach pains, headaches and skin rashes. She finished her last bite of food and wiped her hand in her napkin. She discovered he saw the world as very black and white. It was to be pounded at, relentlessly, until it gave. He found her filled with the open-mindedness of an artist who was far more willing to absorb other points of view. As they talked her brown eyes would blaze with excitement when she energetically expanded on a concept she felt passionately about.

They really began to connect when Borya found himself eagerly leaning forward in his chair to fully engage in her ideas and really enjoying the company of this intelligent, articulate woman in person after at least two years of reading and publishing her work. That was what life was like for Borya, anr erotica but work. He had abandoned all of his pleasures to focus on nothing but the coming revolution.

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When he frowned at her, she informed him that she was adept at both art and music and could play the piano quite well, for his information. Now it was his turn to laugh. As they spoke, he looked at her lovely auburn hair which was done up neatly under her hat he actually did like very much, despite his teasing. He admired her smooth milky white skin and generous cleavage, which any man could not help but notice.

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As they talked, he casually, or at least tried to in all his awkwardness, steal glances at her breasts as they spoke. These days he was in a passionless but enduring marriage and it had been a very long time since he had indulged in anything intimate, discarding that thought to the pile of other sacrifices he had made for the sake of the cause.

But tonight, while talking and laughing and debating…and glancing…. For each anr erotica he gave, she pushed right back. For each of his mocking barbs, she threw one right back. They exchanged playful scowls and he would listen to her melodious laughter. It was thrilling.

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What a strange and wonderful night, he thought. She seemed like some completely unexpected gift, some anomaly, a sudden bright splash of color in the endless grey of struggle. After their dinner plates were cleared they looked at the dessert menu. Although neither knew it that night, this was to become their special shared pleasure once they were together, the quest for a great dessert to share on those romantic nights to come in Moscow.

Without realizing it, they were already beginning to form a foundation.

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Over dessert Natasha suddenly remembered that she had brought her article outlines with her. She pulled out the folder. You are making a speech, correct? He reached for his pocket watch and popped open the lid, looked at the time then sighed. Natasha was hoping for a bit more time with him but knew he was extremely busy, and accepted his fairly early departure as an inevitability.

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She politely thanked him as they got up from the table. As they walked thru the lobby he stopped at the front desk and requested a cab for her. When he turned to tell her he had arranged for her transportation he found her standing by the hotel lobby piano. He walked over to her.

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He rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. She lifted herself with her back erect and her fingertips poised, then she began to play. He could not believe at first what he was hearing. It just could not be true.

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Standing transfixed, it was as if time had stood still. This was it. This was his most beloved piece of music, the sound that could bring him to tears, the sound that stirred his emotions so much that he wanted to bury it, never hear it again…how did she know? How did she know?

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