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The Flipside of a Gentleman

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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 ending from his address.

Many of our company walked hand in hand when we left the park and I asked Artyom a little embarrassed why Dima hadn't taken mine. Clearly he liked me. After a short exchange of words Artyom answered, "You haven't given him leave."

I saw the disbelief in my friends' eyes as I stopped Dima to whisper, "ты можно руки." Ty mozhno ruki. You, may, hands. I lacked the vocabulary for anything more apt and he was holding back laughter again. Yet, having received his permission, he took hold of my hand with a quick chuckle, as if laughing at the silliness of it all - a grown man holding hands with his girl.

The skin on his palm was rough and his grip strong. To touch him was wonderful and my need to be penetrated flared. I imagined his fingers fucking me, which caused my cunt to contract so hard that, squeezing my legs together, I missed a step. Dima turned to look at me curiously, as if saying he knew I hadn't simply tripped. We resumed walking, his big hand around my tiny one, and shivers of lust rocking my body. I slipped my thumb up his sleeve, and stroked the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist in hopes of retaliating even a fraction of the turmoil he'd put me in.

***

As the night went on I noticed the silly merrymaking was losing Dima's interest. Though I hoped I had something to do with him staying for as long as he had, I was afraid he'd leave and I'd never see him again. Trying to rid myself of gloom I jumped down a stone fence while larking with the girls. I gave no thought to the high heels I was wearing and before Dima had time to stop me I had twisted my ankle bad enough that I couldn't walk anymore. I didn't want to ruin the night for anyone else but Dima, who didn't feel much at home with the group anyway, offered to take me home. Under the suspicious frowns of my backward friends we said our goodbyes to the others, and made our way towards the nearest subway station.

Sitting side by side, our journey was quiet after the raucous distraction of the group. It was awkward to be alone together, just the two of us and I kept my eyes down, stealing glances at his thighs and his hands resting on them. I was still stirred regardless of the change in the mood, and looking at him made me think of touching him, and to think that made me shiver.

We had to walk more to get from the subway station to my flat, I leaned heavily on him and sensed how strong he was. My limping was so laborious he joked he could throw me over his shoulder and carry me. After a short distance I was so spent that I had to take up on his offer, as embarrassing as it was. Chuckling once more, Dima squatted and lifted me on his shoulder.

My hips were right next to his face and my mound pressed against him. Acutely self-conscious, I realized he might smell my steaming pussy and felt unclean. The hem of my knee-length skirt hitched up as he walked, but I didn't want to draw his attention to my nakedness by tugging it back. He hugged my legs to his chest, and rested his other hand high on my bare right thigh making my pussy throb. I knew he could see my panties and worried if he could see how wet I'd become.

The streets were empty and for the first time I thought if it was wise to be alone with him. I'll need him to get up the stairs. Will he come in? Are we going to have sex? Will he play nice? He may have an STD. Will he use a condom? Does he have a condom? I wanted him, but I didn't know if I could trust him. After all, his only credentials were his good manners and being a cousin to an acquaintance.

***

We arrived at my building and he carried me all the way up. He put me down on my sofa and I was half sure he'd say a polite goodnight and leave, but he didn't. Dima sat down, took my head in his hands and started kissing me. I'd been waiting for it the whole night and whimpered, enjoying every second. He climbed on top of me, leaning me back on the pillows and started crudely moving his hand up my skirt.

"Dima wait, not so fast." He may not have understood my words but he understood my hands grabbing his wrist, resisting.

Displeased, he put his other hand over my mouth and said in English, "I know I come up I want you." The moments beneath the tree flashed in my head when he growled through his teeth, "No fight."

I imagined being brought to a hospital in an ambulance, laying on the gurney all black and blue and bleeding, and chose to obey. In a few impatient moves he unbuttoned his fly, yanked my panties out of the way and thrust himself inside. Christ what have I done. Not like this, please. He was terribly hard and ached for release, the pace of his deep thrusts was merciless from the start. I was cramped up and his chest pressed against my face. He hurt me and didn't care. I didn't dare to scream but groaned in distress, begging him to stop. When I tried to slow him down or hinder his roughness, he pinned my hands beneath my ass. I got them free but he just put them back if I tried to protect myself. Before I had time to realize what was happening, he came in me with a grunt. He stayed on me until he caught his breath. I lay frozen still as his flaccid penis slipped out and he sat down to clear his head.

My legs were splayed and my cunt oozed his white cum. I felt disgusting, used and dirty. He hadn't said a word or looked at me once the whole time. I wished he'd leave so I could go and wash. I'd have to go to the clinic in the morning to get a morning after pill and an STD test. Will a bug show up so soon? In TV rape victims are tested right after. Am I a rape victim? I recalled what a cocktease bitch I'd been all night. It's my fault. Fuck I'm stupid--, please leave! My foot was stuck and as I was too ashamed to look at him or speak, yet I couldn't get up before he did.

Finally he stood up to pull his jeans back on, and I slunk away from him hobbling straight to the shower. I let his jacket fall on the floor behind me. First he protected me with it, then raped me in it. I hugged myself under the stream, my face to the wall, burning tears running down my face. I undressed my wet clothes in a hurry, for they had clung to my skin and felt like another layer of suffocating filth. I wanted to carve my crotch off to kill the violent revulsion spreading through my body. My ankle hurt worse after the climb into the tub, and I waited anxiously for the door to my apartment slam shut. Instead I heard Dima step behind me.

My instincts demanded I turn around to spot possible danger, but I couldn't face him. Not with his semen still burning inside me. He got in with me, without pausing to remove his clothes. I screamed in alarm but he turned me away from the wall and pressed me to his chest. Fumbling for words he apologized to me.

"извини," izvini, sorry, he said in a hushed strained voice, his lips touching the top of my head. "I, crazy. Я не--, you, too much. I want, wrong." I wept against his chest and he stroked my dripping hair until I calmed down. He didn't force me to look up at him and I was grateful for that.

First keeping me close, then stepping back a little, Dima started to wash me. He massaged my shoulders and arms, making up for his previous lack of tenderness with kisses and strokes. He ran his palms on my skin round and round, whispering in Russian. I didn't know the words but his tone was enough. He started kissing my neck and lingered there when I reacted with a shudder and a groan. I tried to back away but he wouldn't have it. He started sliding his lips towards the back of my neck, teasing me with his tongue and my body jolted. He took my breasts in his hands, bent his head down and lifted them to his mouth, kissing and sucking.

He took the shower in his hand and bathed my breasts and stomach, slowly moving downwards. Inevitably I felt the warm stream of water on my mound and covered it with my hands. Why does he have to remind me? I'd just managed to forget for a moment how wretched I felt.

"Dima no, I don't want to," I repeated in English and Russian.

He kissed my hands and shushing me lifted them aside. I didn't fight him and his hand brushed my mound and the triangle of hair on it. Fingers traced my puffy lips all the way down, and back up along my slit. First I moaned in discomfort but it changed to a gasp when his finger slid over my clit. He parted the folds of my pussy tenderly and looked up at me, reassuring me I needn't fear. His hands were gentle and I let him touch me.

He washed my slit, nudged my thighs and, after I parted them some, moved down to my opening. I cringed but he kept saying in Russian, "It's ok, don't worry."

He aimed the stream on me, rubbing around the little hole washing away his cum and my juices. I breathed heavily, whimpering. One finger ventured inside me just a centimetre or two and circled, rubbing the walls of my pussy. As I didn't protest Dima went deeper until his whole finger was in. I let out a steady flow of ecstatic noises as he moved in and out, flooding my pussy with water, rinsing me clean.

I wanted him where I could touch him and tugged on his shirt. He made me yip by stroking my clit teasingly with his nose before he stood up. I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled 'til he bent down to kiss me. It felt good again, so good it made me glow. His face was hard-featured but his lips were the softest in the world when he wanted them to be. I'd forgotten the wrong he did me a moment ago, for now he was doing that which I'd waited him to do since hello.

He was ridiculous standing there in his wet clothes and I started to unbutton his shirt. He smiled at my prolonged efforts with the tiny buttons and the soaked cloth. Finally I got it off him and went on to remove his jeans and underwear. When I had him naked, I pressed myself against him and let my soaped hands explore.

He didn't look fit but I knew he was strong. His hands were hardened by work and self-consciously he started to pull them away. I pressed one on my cheek and kissed the palm and every finger of the other. After kissing I sucked on each, playing with my tongue, and was rewarded with a series of encouraging groans.

I was apprehensive to look at his penis but curiosity won and, with mixed feelings of desire and disgust, I touched it gingerly. Under the stream of water I jerked him a few times, and pulling back his foreskin I traced the length of him with a finger and kissed the tip of his cock. I slid my lips to engulf the head and sucked him deeper, but to my surprise Dima beckoned me back up. He kissed me gently and we got out of the shower wrapped in fresh towels.

I went to get us something to drink and left him in my bedroom. I stood a while in the kitchen rummaging my confused brain for an answer to how I should relate to him. When I returned with the glasses, Dima was sitting on the bed.

"Horny little girl," he smirked.

I had been single a long time, and dreaming of better days, I had bought all kinds of sex toys. The box was beside Dima. I guess he'd guessed I'd have a stash and looked for it. It wasn't hard to find for unimaginatively I stored it under my bed -- close by if I needed some relief. He shook his head slowly admiring the selection and made tsk tsk noises. Shit, he thinks I've used all of that.

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