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Aimee Tyler

Author’s note: this didn’t happen. I wish it had.

My thanks to my editor.


Hmm… that must be them. The younger man was tall and slim, longish brown hair and beard. His comrade looked in his fifties, short, balding, greying, but with an engaging smile, even when dealing with security at Sherematyevo. His look came with the self-confidence of a man sure of himself. The younger man was plainly nervous. She knew it was his first visit to the USSR, and it showed.

Security finally cleared them and she stepped forward to greet the men. Firm handshakes, smiles, the usual introductions and formalities. She knew neither of them spoke Russian. She knew a great deal about them. Part of her job. She summoned a porter for their luggage and led them out of the terminal and into the shocking chill of a Moscow February afternoon. The younger man hastily donned a wool balaclava whilst they waited for the car. She smiled and joked with him about his preparedness, told him it was around minus thirty. He explained that he was a mountaineer.

A black Volga drew up beside them. The porter assisted the driver heft cases into the boot as she opened the back doors for her charges, then slid into the passenger seat. She said a few words to the driver, and he put the car into gear with a grunt of acknowledgement.

The younger man was in a daze. This morning he’d left Glasgow on the first shuttle for Heathrow, and a few hours later he was speeding down broad boulevards heading into Moscow. A different world… and escorted by a most alluring woman, maybe ten years older than himself. A woman lightly scented with something he’d never smelled before. Different, exotic. He took the cigarette when she twisted round to offer it, inhaled her scent with the smoke as she sparked the lighter for him. She knew he smoked, knew Willie didn’t. She lit one for herself:

-So, Sandy, is this your first Soviet cigarette?

-Um, I think so. I’ve been to Yugoslavia and the GDR before, but never here. I like the taste, strong and sharp. Different. The nearest I can remember is Balkan Sobranie.

-You’re close. They’re Turkish tobacco; this is Georgian. Not so far away. Um, the original Georgia I mean, not the US one. Georgia is also famous for its brandy, as you will discover.

Her voice was warm, accented but completely comprehensible. She half-turned in her seat to make talking easier. Sandy was sitting behind the driver, and couldn’t help but notice the shortish skirt sliding up her thighs, allowing him a brief glimpse of suspendered stocking-tops. She smiled warmly at him, knowing she had him where she wanted. But she was careful to engage both men in conversation. Willie was the younger man’s superior, and position counted in the Soviet Union. She’d have to offer herself to the older man, it went with the job, but if he wanted her it’d be mechanical for her. Sandy on the other hand… was very attractive. And he was a Party member, which Willie wasn’t. She juggled sexual protocol in her head as they chatted.

It was dusk by the time the Volga stopped before a sixties building. Hotel Sputnik. Sandy reflected that bad sixties architecture appeared to be universal. The driver refused assistance with the luggage, and Tanya — she’d told them to use the diminutive of her name — fussed at the registration desk. The driver disappeared into the lift with the cases. Smiling, Tanya handed the two men their keys:

-I don’t know about you guys, but I could do with a drink? We need to discuss your itinerary anyway. Then you have a couple of hours before I return to have dinner with you.

Willie smiled graciously, shaking his head:

-Thanks for the offer lass, but I need some rest. What time’s dinner?

-The table’s booked for seven-thirty. What about you Sandy? You wouldn’t leave a woman to drink on her own, would you?

He grinned at her teasing:

-Ach no, I couldn’t do that. See you later Willie.

She took his arm, drew him into the cocktail bar:

-What’s your pleasure young man?

She was really most alluring. He’d heard tales of the pleasures Soviet interpreters sometimes offered, but doubted he would be a recipient. He knew his position:

-Well, I don’t think I’ve ever sampled the Georgian brandy you mentioned. But I’m parched dry. Too much Aeroflot wine on the flight. Is it in order Kartal escort to ask for a beer and a brandy?

Tanya smiled into his eyes. Cocked her brow slightly:

-It’s in order to ask for anything that pleases you Sandy. My job is to make your visit as good as I’m able.

She wondered, briefly, whether she was pushing the boundaries of protocol too far. But hell, she was enjoying herself…

There were only a couple of others in the bar. Probably he thought, like him, trades union officials from the capitalist world, invited to explore the glories of socialism. The hotel was owned by the AUCCTU — the Soviet trades union organisation. The other men were also in the care of an attractive woman interpreter.

Tanya sat facing him diagonally, and his eyes were drawn again to the thigh she showed as she adjusted her skirt. He rapidly redirected them to her face:

-So, my new friend, tell me something of Tatyana please?

-Hmmm. I’m a linguist, as you may have guessed. I have French and German as well as English, but English is my strongest. I’m the luckiest woman in Moscow to have this job. As I’m sure you know, not many Soviet citizens get the opportunity to meet dangerous westerners, far less visit their countries. So I’m very privileged. And relish it.

-Aye, I realise that. I’m a Party member, but I have no illusions about Soviet life. Married? Children?

-Separated. He couldn’t cope with the lifestyle my post entails. Our daughter Olga is ten. Fortunately my mother loves indulging her; I couldn’t hold down this job otherwise. You?

-Married. No children yet.

-Why did you join the Party?

-Hmm, d’you have a few hours?

There was something sexual about her laughter.

-Not right now… but over time, yes. It’s always interesting to uncover why someone in an advanced capitalist country became a communist. So please make a start. We can discuss your schedule with Willie over dinner. No point in doing it twice.

-Aye weel. A brief summary then. I knew I was a socialist by the time I was fourteen or fifteen. Began studying economics at school, then at university. Somehow what I was taught didn’t make sense. Life’s about more than supply and demand curves, and that’s the centrepiece of bourgeois economics. A completely static model, and life’s about why things change.

-The only thing constant is change.

-Glad you know your Hegel Tanya. Anyway, I discovered marxism. Finally I had an intellectual explanation that made sense. I joined the Party a few months later. It fitted for me. For the first time I found a political and intellectual culture in which I was comfortable. Been a member for ten years now. Was heavily into student politics: anti-apartheid, Vietnam, supporting workers’ struggles, feminism. Lots of things. I got the best job a Scots marxist economist could hope for. So in some ways we’re similar. We both enjoy our work.

She was beginning to like this Sandy. His enthusiasm, his verve for life, shone from him. She shifted in her seat, deliberately showing more thigh, watching his eyes as she did so:

-Yes young man, I think we might share a lot. For all its shortcomings, I love my country. I’m going to really enjoy showing you around… and Willie, of course. Tell me about him?

-I respect and like him. He’s an engineer, his formal schooling stopped when he was fourteen. But he never stopped learning. What Gramsci termed an ‘organic intellectual’. He married late. You should see the pair of them together! Like teens in love. I like Liz too. They were made for each other. And he’s engagingly modest. I’m glad I work with him.

Tanya drained her brandy:

-I’m going to enjoy showing my city to you. But now I must leave. Have to catch up on Olga’s day before I dine with you both.

He was tempted to kiss her as she rose, but resisted it. They shook hands and she was gone. He went to the bar and pointed to the Georgian brandy.

His room was fine. Only a single bed, but that was all he needed. Alas. It was pleasantly firm when he sank on it after unpacking. The lights all worked. Both bath and washbasin had plugs, contrary to received wisdom about the USSR. He set his clock. The last memory before he slept was of Tanya’s thighs.


She dozed as the car rushed her to her mother’s small flat. Was a bit Kurtköy Escort distracted whilst Olga spoke of her day, to the point that her mother enquired:

-Hard day at work, little one?

Tanya stifled a chortle. Little one? She was much taller than her mother, though slim in comparison:

-No, mum. Rather a good day actually.

-Ahhh! So you met an interesting man?

Tanya cocked her head at her daughter, and her mother smiled:

-You’d better see to her homework.

She did, with love. Before tidying herself up for her dinner-date.


They were in the bar when she reached the hotel. She smiled shyly as Sandy handed her a brandy, re-adjusting to worklife after her brief domestic interlude:

-We can take the drinks to the restaurant, dinner’s waiting.

Caviar, borcht, smoked sturgeon. They ate their way through the banquet, sipping delicate wine. Sandy had rarely eaten the roe before, and never the fish which produced it. It was quite bony, but delicious. He tipped his glass with Tanya’s, then Wilie’s:

-Slainthe. A most beautiful meal.

-A toi.

It was barely a whisper, and he knew Willie hadn’t a word of French. As did she.

But the meal was over. Tanya rose, and linked her arm in Willie’s:

-You and I need to talk.

She smiled engagingly at Sandy as they reached the lift. They entered it together, the three of them. His room was on the third floor, Willie’s some way above. She remained in the lift when Sandy exited, her arm still hooked in his comrade’s.

He felt the twinge of disappointment as he opened the door to his room. Ach weel. He undressed, opened his duty-free Grouse, and sank on the narrow bed. No thought of Tanya’s delightful thighs now.


After Sandy had left the lift, she smiled at the older man. Moved closer, pressing herself into him. This was her job. Protocol. He didn’t grip her. He looked terrified.

She took his nervous hand when the lift jolted to a halt. Led him to his room, watched as his fingers fumbled with the key. Almost pulled him in when he opened the door. Sat on the bed and drew up her short skirt, revealing nakedness between her stocking tops:

-Yours Willie. Take it.

The man turned away from her, scared to look. The bottle-neck and glass tinkled as he poured his whisky shakily. He took a slug. Poured another. Turned to face her. Her gaping needy cunt:

-Tanya, you’re gorgeous. Thank you for the offer. But I’m very happily married. I cannie do it lass. Sorry. Please leave.

She left. Happily. She’d followed protocol. The coast was now clear.


The next two days were the usual, for Tanya. Red Square, the Lenin Mausoleum, Saint Basil’s Cathedral, the Stalinist glory of the University on the Lenin Hills. A couple of factories, a Combined Heat and Power station. Her charges were intrigued; neither had seen a CHP station before. Nor anything else she showed them. She was doing her job. Willie was polite but distant. Sandy was clearly excited, both by Moscow, and by her, though she sensed his attempts at restraint. She teased him mercilessly, when she thought Willie wasn’t looking. Over their nightly dinners. Everywhere.

On their third morning together, over breakfast, she announced:

-Beethoven’s ‘Chorale’ is on in the Kremlin Concert Hall tonight. The Bolshoi Orchestra and chorus. I’ve provisionally booked three tickets. Anyone interested?

She knew Willie wasn’t interested. Fascinating man though he was, his musical tastes were rooted in Sinatra, Country and Western, and Scots folkmusic. Typically Scots working-class.

Predictably, he bowed out graciously. Her eyes turned to Sandy. She knew he’d jump at it. He did:

-I love Beethoven. The Ninth is his best. Of course I want to go. And the Bolshoi. Wow!

Her cunt dampened at his words.

Dinner was perforcedly early that night. Willie begged off quickly, pleading tiredness. For some reason there was no car, and in the freezing cold she guided Sandy to the tram-stop. Insinuated herself close to him in the crowded vehicle.

-You’ve quite captivated me, Tanya.

-As you have me Sandy.

Her mouth was so close, but he couldn’t kiss her.

The concert hall was vast, bigger than any he’d been in. Maybe five thousand seats. They were in the front row of the Maltepe Escort first tier: the best seats in the house.

She grasped for his hand as the conductor came onstage, a podgy old man. He returned her grip, entranced as the orchestra rose to welcome its leader. His neighbours on the other side appeared to be uniformed bus or tram workers. He’d never ever seen workers in uniform at a concert in Scotland. Or anywhere. This was somewhere he’d never been before.

The conductor bowed to the orchestra, raised his baton to the strings, and the first bars opened. Tanya, delicious Tanya, gripped his hand more firmly. The music immersed him. He lost the ability to think as Beethoven and the Bolshoi transported him into the ether.

The interval came. Tanya tugged him to the bar, which extended the entire width of the building. They were served in seconds. So unlike the long bustling queues to which he was accustomed at home. He gazed at her as they sipped the wine, discussing the music. Her return look was electric. They returned to their seats when the bell tinkled.

He tentatively stretched his arm along the back of her seat. She nestled into his shoulder. Emboldened, he dared to allow his fingers to flicker briefly over her nipples. She sighed and sank closer to him. Jesusfuck.

She drew her fur coat over her knees. As the ‘Chorale’ began, exquisite singing throbbing through both of them, his fingers touched her thighs under the fur. Her legs parted. She was naked beneath the skirt. His hand stroked her wetness. He kissed her mouth for the first time. She opened to him as the chorus achieved crescendo. And she did. Whispered in his ear:

– Spasibo.

She was quiet during the tramride back to Hotel Sputnik. Leaned into him. Kissed him, soft and gently. He pushed her away, smiling:

-I need to have my first Soviet woman, sweet Tanya.

-You will. Sometimes I have to fuck, it goes with the job. Tonight I want to. That’s rare.

The cold shrivelled his cock when they left the tram. He guided her to the lift. Fingered her cunt as it rode up. More blood surged in him:

-You’ll give me this tonight, won’t you?

-Da. Have to.

For the first time, she stroked his sex. They left the lift. Stripped each other as soon as the door closed. Jesus, he adored her sexuality. Knelt. Ate her beautiful cuntstink. Adored her, her everything. Lapped her, his cock dripping:

-My cock needs in you Tanya.

-Da. Spasibo.

He thrust her nakedness on the bed. No more foreplay. Just a dirty fuck into this profound sexuality. Drove into her. Hard, unforgiving. She panted at this naked cock in her. So unlike the others she had to tolerate in her line of work. Not toleration now. This was joy, fulfilment. Acceptance. She grunted:

-More Sandy. Hard and dirty.

-How hard and dirty?

Her muscles clung tightly to him.

-In my…. backside.

He almost exploded at her words. His wife had never given him her arse, though he’d had anal from others. A few…

He kissed Tanya’s needy mouth as she lifted her knees over his shoulders. Her cunt was wet from orgasms, and he slid the sexmoisture in and round the tight anus with his fingers. Poised himself at her entrance. She smiled at him lasciviously:

-Now. Do it now, Scotsman.

Her fingers tightened on his arse. Pulled him slowly in. She grimaced, face twisted in abandonment, as he slid into her. He adjusted his angle so that his pubic bone ground her clit. And fucked her. Loved that there was no pretence about this, just beautiful sex they both needed. She grunted as his fingers went to her nipples, closed, pulled them firmly…

-Spasibo… more, harder…

She was quivering under him, getting there. His fingers twisted the nipples as his teeth sank into her shoulder, hips pumping cock into her tight arse. Jesus, so beautiful. She wasn’t doing this because she had to. She wanted it:

-You’re a most delicious fuck Tanya. Need to spunk you soon…

-Yes. Give… me… everything

She was moaning, nearly there. One more dirty thrust… how she needed this, how much better than the mechanical duty-fucks her job entailed… she spasmed under him, watching his face contort in lust. Felt the explosive jolts as he filled her. Then sank on her. She licked his sweaty face, giggled:

-Tomorrow we’re visiting a sauna. I do hope Willie doesn’t want to come.


Her mother woke to the sound of her daughter entering their flat at five am. Called to her:

-This one wasn’t just in the line of duty, was he?

-No mother. Better than that. Much better.

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