Blog Novel

 

 

4. Chapter

Greg nodded, trying to get a grip on his rising anxiety.

All the patrons of the bar were patted down for weapons, loaded into police vans with no windows and taken away. An armed officer sat with them, submachine gun ready.

Greg whispered to Sergei, "Where are they taking us?"

The officer barked, "Shut up!"

After what felt like an eternity, they had to get out. The courtyard of the police headquarters was brightly lit and in a short time Greg found himself sitting alone on a chair in front of the desk of a uniformed officer. The insignia on the dark blue jacket meant nothing to Greg. The officer was tall, about Greg's age, and muscular. You could quite clearly see the weights he must have been moving on a regular basis. You don't want to clash with someone like that if possible. Had they met elsewhere, Greg would have looked at this man with different eyes. Now, here, he saw a threat in this muscular man in a Russian police uniform. Greg had to control himself to sit still. He was scared and every lousy movie scene of interrogation he had ever seen was playing out in his mind's eye. And always the Russians had been the bad guys. Hollywood had done a great job. All the prejudices he had heard about the Russian police came to his mind. The officer let him stew. He sat upright across from Gregory, his fists to the right and left of the pad that lay on the table in front of him. His dark brown eyes taxed Gregory for minutes, top to bottom. Greg could literally feel the stares burning his skin, and he didn't know where to look himself. When his gaze met the officer's eyes very briefly, he imagined the hint of a smile on the otherwise motionless face.

"Empty your pockets, take off your jacket!"

The voice was dark, and the tone brooked no argument.

Greg obeyed. He didn't want any trouble with the authorities. Silently, he resolved not to let Sergei choose an establishment again. The official looked at his American passport and then asked, a tiny bit kindlier, "Do you understand our language?"

Greg swallowed hard. "A little."

"What do you do in Irkutsk, Mr. Burton?"

"I work for PETROL SIBERIK."

"What's your address?"

Greg had to struggle to pronounce the street name correctly.

The officer wrote along.

"Where are you from?"

"Valdez, Alaska, USA."

"Address?"

Greg also gave his home address. His voice was unsteady, though he tried to speak loudly and clearly. Too many people, throughout history, had already disappeared forever in Siberia. He certainly didn't want to give the police a reason to hold him. The policeman stood up and in a sharp voice ordered, "You wait here!"

He left the room with his notes and with Greg's passport. It was quite a long hour before he finally returned.

Greg tried to see if there was a surveillance camera in the barren, grey office. He looked around thoroughly but didn't dare to stand up. The contents of his pockets lay on the desk in front of him: cell phone, keychain, pen, gum, wallet, and a rather crumpled notepad with the audit results he had not yet transferred to the computer. He leafed through it, thinking about how to improve this process. Somehow, he had to distract his thoughts. The policeman came back. He slammed the door behind him. Greg winced and had a feeling that was the reason for this door slamming. They were trying to intimidate the suspects. It was in keeping with this that the grey folder was slammed down on the table with far more momentum than was actually necessary.

The uniformed man stood up in front of Gregory. Broad-legged, tall, intimidating.

He ordered, "Stand up, hands on the wall, legs apart."

Greg obeyed. However, it slipped out, "I've already been searched for weapons."

The cop stood so close behind him that he could feel his warm breath on the back of his neck. "This isn't about guns."

Greg wanted to ask what it was about, but it could only really be drugs, so he kept silent. The hands that settled on his shoulders were hard as iron.

"Do you have any contact with drug dealers, Mr. Burton?"

"No!"

Panic intensified the sinking feeling in Greg's stomach. It cost him strength not to shake.

Hands let go of his shoulders. For minutes, nothing happened. Greg stared at the wall. His hands and feet were ice cold. He felt his own heartbeat at his temples.

Then, suddenly, the hands were back. They worked their way up from below, over Greg's calves and shins, and they didn't miss an inch. Almost tenderly, they touched Greg's thighs, back and front, outside and inside. As the policeman grasped his hips and slid his hands first into the back and then into the front pockets of his jeans, Greg could no longer hold still. His knees began to shake uncontrollably. The officer stood so close that he could feel the man's thighs against his own. Warm breath brushed along Greg's neck and a large hand stroked his crotch with a practiced grip. Greg couldn't help but feel his cock rejoice at the attention it had missed for so long. Hot blood rushed into it and the cop had to feel it under his fingertips. Obviously, he stroked it again, as if to make sure. With way too much feeling for this situation, over the whole length. Which, of course, intensified the reaction. A short snort, very close to Greg's ear put him on the verge of collapsing. Excitement, fear, and shame prevented any clear thought.

The officer continued the strip search without saying a word. His hands stroked Greg's chest and back, into his armpits, down his arms to his wrists. Both men were almost the same height. Greg felt the uniformed man's lap against his buttocks and his service weapon. Then the procedure was over, and Greg had to sit back down at the table.

He answered more questions without looking his counterpart in the face.

The questions became more and more private and went in a completely different direction than what one would expect in a drug crime investigation. Greg began to wonder what this was all about. He looked up cautiously and was completely unexpectedly met with an interested look that meant the same thing anywhere in the world! But it couldn't be here and now! Never!

"Mr. Burton are you ..."

The door was yanked open from the outside and someone asked in a sharp undertone, "Alexei! What about the Amerikanski now? Are you still not finished with him! Is there something wrong with him?"

Now it was Alexei who blushed and who hurried to stand up and answer his superior: "No, everything is fine! I'm done with him."

"Yes, then! Hurry up! We have more to do!"

"Yes Sir!"

Within minutes, Greg found himself in the brightly lit courtyard.

By now it was one o'clock in the morning and Greg wondered where in the world he was going to get a cab now? Sergei came out of the darkness to meet him. "Hey, Gregory! What took you so long? I've been waiting for you for almost two hours!"

"Hello Sergei! Good to see you! I was beginning to think they wouldn't let me leave at all."

Sergei pulled him to his broad chest like a little brother. "What have they done to you. You look like you threw up?"

Sergei listened and Greg told him what happened. Only he left the embarrassing erection unmentioned, of course. In the meantime, they walked down the main street to possibly find a cab after all.

Sergei couldn't hold back for long. "What an asshole! Just because you're a foreigner! How dare the traffic light man! That was just the criminal militia! Order enforcers! For road traffic and ordinary criminals, thieves, small dealers, and such.

It would have been enough to check your papers and that's it! With me and the others it was like that."

There were no cabs, and the streetcars weren't running at that hour either. After an hour's walk, they arrived back at the bar where this evening had started. Greg's car was parked there. The fresh air had done him good, and he had sobered up anyway. "Come on, Sergei. I can drive you home."

Sergei had an apartment in a block very similar to the one Greg lived in, but a little closer to the hall where they stored their equipment.

By the time Gregory was finally in bed at home, it was after three o'clock.

He slept badly and dreamed weird stuff. Something woke him up at six thirty. The bed was rumpled. He himself was drenched in sweat and his heart was racing. The remnants of a bad dream flew away. Then Greg realized the doorbell was ringing. He was tempted to just ignore it, but the ringing wouldn't stop. The neighbours would complain, after all, it was Sunday morning. Whoever rang his doorbell at that hour would just have to endure the sight of him: naked except for a pair of shorts, rumpled hair and unshaven. Greg jumped out of bed indignantly and opened the door without looking through the peephole first.

"Holy shit!"

The curse came spontaneously from his mouth. Fortunately, it was in English. In front of the door was the policeman from last night. He was in uniform and had an envelope in his hand.

Alexei stared at Greg, probably perplexed at the door being ripped open or at the fact that Gregory Burton was facing him almost as God had created him and God had taken pains with him in every detail. They stared at each other and neither spoke a word. Greg was suddenly wide awake. Thoughts rotated in his head: what could the police want with him? He was not a drug dealer. Did they actively pursue gays like this in Russia? Had the cop done this on purpose, touched him in a way that a gay man would react to, but a straight man wouldn't? What could happen to him now?

 

Just one minute ago, Alexei Urbanokov had been so sure of himself.

But now he was standing here and the American, whom he had long since called Gregory in his mind, was staring at him as if he was about to jump down his throat at any moment.

I have to say something, or he'll think I'm a complete idiot. Forcing himself to look into Greg's eyes, he said softly, "This visit is not official. I just got off the night shift. That's why I'm still in uniform. I want to apologize to you."

Greg took a step aside to let him in. There was no need for the neighbours to catch on that he had a visit from a uniformed officer at the crack of dawn. There was enough gossip about him as it was. The door closed very quietly behind his visitor, who held out his hand and said, "My name is Alexei Urbanokov. I forgot to give you back your passport last night and I wanted to apologize for that."

Greg took the hand offered to him. It was cold. Alexei was nervous.

He handed Greg the envelope he had brought with him. Gray paper with a stamp that showed the city arms of Irkutsk, a lion holding a dead fox in its mouth.

"For this, and for ..." Alexei looked down and at that moment, Greg was absolutely sure that he had NOT misinterpreted the look in the night. Alexei was a handsome man, and if Greg saw it correctly, he was in a much more complicated position than he was. Gay as a cop! Here! That was dangerous, but it made Alexei very interesting to Greg. He was interesting anyway because he was handsome and strong. And also, just as lonely as Greg himself. Otherwise, he probably wouldn't be here right now. He could have had Greg pick up the passport himself or send it in the mail.

Gregory had really been scared last night. He wouldn't let the policeman get away without a little retort.

First, he asked him into the small kitchen.

"Do you know English?"

"Yes, a little."

"Won't you at least take your jacket off?"

Alexei hung the uniform jacket over the chair. He was trying convulsively not to stare at Greg's naked torso the whole time. Greg noticed with amusement and asked succinctly, "Coffee or tea?"

"Nothing, actually."

He asked again, "Coffee or tea?!"

"Tea. Please."

"There you go."

The water would take a moment to boil. The coffee machine wasn't warm yet, either. Greg excused himself into the bathroom and Alexei looked around the apartment. It was large by local standards and the furnishings were brand new. Although there was only one room, plus kitchen and bathroom, it seemed very spacious. Greg had removed all the kitsch that hung on the walls, crosses and pictures of churches and landscapes in unnatural light and packed them in a large box. He would be living here for a whole year, so he had furnished it the way he liked it. The company had rented the apartment furnished, but Greg had immediately made some modifications.

The bed was king-size, and a flat-screen TV hung on the wall opposite. In front of the bed, on the floor was a large, black, and white cowhide.

Patterned curtains and a garishly colored bedspread had been banished, as had the ornate dishes from the kitchen.

 

Alexei heard the shower rushing and gave in to the temptation to get up and look at the books that were on the shelf at the head of the bed.

The bed was totally rumpled, but still very tempting after the night shift. He would have liked to smell the pillow, as he had last night on the man who had felt so arousing under his hands. The desire to lick over the fragrant skin on his neck had been so incredibly hard to suppress!

The water stopped rushing and Alexei sat back down at the kitchen table.

Gregory came back. Clean, fragrant, and dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. His blond hair was so short he didn't need a blow dryer.

 

It was Sunday. The sun was shining, promising yet another summer day.

Sitting in his kitchen was the most handsome man he had seen in a long time and Greg would be careful not to spook him away.

The water was boiling, and Greg was pouring tea. He always had cereal and fruit for breakfast, except on Sundays. Then it was eggs and bacon.

With his back turned to Alexei, he began preparing a real American breakfast for two. He was taking his time, and Alexei was getting more and more nervous. Greg knew that. Last night he had waited.

He put cups and plates on the table, propped himself up on his arms and looked down at Alexei Urbanokov. "What did you want to tell me?"

"The interrogation, last night and the strip search, that wasn't necessary and I ..."

He found it hard to speak. Greg felt sorry for him, but he was also in favour of clarity and asked, "Can you imagine approximately how I felt when you stroked my cock with your hand?! That was some stroking, wasn't it?"

Alexei's cheeks burned and he stared at his hands.

"Why did you do that?"

"You look great, and I wanted to. I just wanted to make sure."

Greg set the pan, with the bacon and eggs still sizzling, on the table and sat down across from Alexei. "How did you even think I was gay."

The word alone hurt Alexei. He literally winced. But he replied, "Your hands. And your eyes."

Greg looked questioningly and Alexei continued, "No one who works in the oil business has hands that well-groomed! And no man I know plucks his eyebrows. There's no such thing here, but I was in Berlin, and I saw a lot there and ..."

"And you saw exactly that I almost pissed myself with fear and took advantage of the situation ice cold!"

"Yes."

His voice was quiet but not uncertain.

Greg asked, "And now? What were you thinking on the way over here?"

"I wanted to set the record straight, and I wanted to ... would like to ..."

His brown eyes investigated Greg's blue ones, open and honest. "I'd really like to get to know you."

Gregory gave him a smile. One with flashing eyes and gleaming white teeth. "You've quizzed me so thoroughly; you already know me pretty well. Will you tell me as much about yourself?"

A beautiful smile came back to him and for the first time Alexei seemed a little relaxed. "Right now? Or can I have some of your breakfast, too? It smells very delicious."

Not only did it smell good, but it also tasted good. Greg wasn't a gifted cook, but he liked to eat well. And what he liked to eat himself, he could cook. There was no Emily here at whose table he could indulge, but his mother emailed him instructions when needed. Alexei was hungry. He hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon, and the night had been exciting and exhausting for him, too. After a cup of tea and a good helping of eggs with bacon and bread, he began to talk about himself.

The decision to entrust himself to Gregory certainly had nothing to do with reason, but the state he had been hovering in for a whole year now was unbearable. Alexei was 29 years old. A few years younger than Greg, who didn't look 35.

Even as a teenager, Alexei had known he didn't really like girls, but it wasn't until his military service that he realized that men made his blood boil. He would never forget the one night when he happened to listen to one of his bunkmates jerk off and the suppressed sounds alone were enough to make him violently come. The remaining months in the barracks were hell. He started weight training. Only to be tired enough in the evening to be able to sleep immediately. It was not enough for top performances in weightlifting, but once he was allowed to represent his unit in a nationwide competition. After his military service, he had not competed in any more competitions, but he had stuck with lifting. He had gladly accepted the offer to join the local police force after the army, as it meant earning money right away.

Alexei had become a master at pretending. He never mouthed the words homosexual or gay or whatever pointed in that direction. He occasionally flirted a bit with female colleagues and rarely had private contact with members of the service. In his free time, he went to the gym or went running. His salary was not enough for his own car, but he had a computer and a cell phone. The short trip to Berlin was the only real luxury he had ever afforded himself. The fact that he had been desperately dreaming ever since of the one person with whom he could finally be who he was, he preferred not to say out loud here and now, in Gregory Burton's kitchen.

Greg poured him another cup of tea and himself another coffee. The table was small and even though it was no coincidence that Greg's lower leg was leaning against Alexei's, neither of them pulled their foot back. It was these little things that Gregory missed so much. He missed the wild sex with Douglas, too, but this was different.

Maybe Alexei would be willing to do anything right now if Greg really put his mind to it, but Gregory also sensed an interest in his person that went beyond sex.

This was all new to him. He wanted to see what Alexei was willing to dare on his own. Because Greg understood he was taking a gamble.

"Actually, I should go now. I'm sure my father is already wondering where I'm staying."

"You're still living with your parents?"

Greg knew by now that living conditions here were quite different from those in his home country, but the fact that men Alexei's age lived with their parents still always alienated him.

"Only with my father. My mom is already dead. He needs my help. The pension he gets doesn't go far, even though he worked at the refinery all his life."

"And what do you do when you want to be alone, or with someone ...?"

Greg smiled ambiguously over the rim of his cup.

"I've never been with anyone."

The cup was set down and Greg asked incredulously, "You've never ...?!"

Now he was glad he hadn't just dragged Alexei to bed.

"I don't even know how to say this, but that last night, my hand on your ... lap. That was the most intimate thing I've ever experienced with another man."

He looked convulsively at his empty plate.

Greg asked quietly, "I thought ...!!? And what happened in Berlin?"

"Oh, Berlin was great. I went to clubs and discos, but I just looked and didn't really dare. I was afraid of HIV. But it was great to see, you know, men like me. It was only three days and nights. However, since then I feel even lonelier. Irkutsk also has a place run by a transvestite, but I'm really not into men in drag."

"And what are you into? That yesterday, did you like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that dominant one in uniform and all ..."

Alexei blushed and shook his head wordlessly. This was all going too fast for him now!

He stood up and put his plate and cup in the sink.

Greg stood up as well.

"So, are you going to give me your number?"

Alexei smiled at him. "In the envelope is your passport and a piece of paper with my number on it."

He looked at Greg uncertainly. "Can we meet again?"

"Next week I have to work in Omsk. Tomorrow morning I'm flying with my colleagues, but I'll be back on Friday. Should I call you, or will you get back to me?"

Alexei thought for a moment. "I'm off next weekend. Can I call you?"

Greg spontaneously gave in to his feeling and pulled Alexei into his arms. He felt so good. Warm, strong, and enticing.

"Sure, you can call me."

Alexei didn't resist the embrace. On the contrary. He snuggled against Greg's chest for a moment and then did what had tempted him so much yesterday. He kissed the spot under Greg's ear.

Then, however, his courage left him, and he quickly disengaged himself from the American's arms.

"I wanted ... just ... you smell so good ..."

Gregory only with difficulty suppressed a grin and once again gently pulled Alexei back to him with his hand on the back of his neck. The kiss burned on Alexei's lips for minutes after.

If Greg had shoved his tongue into his mouth ...

But he had only pressed a warm smack on his lips and whispered, "I'm looking forward to next Friday."

 

 

***

 

 

Alexei ran all the way home.

His head was rushing, and a thousand butterflies were dancing in his stomach.

He knew he should go to bed and sleep as soon as possible, but that was probably out of the question.

His father was not there when he arrived home. There was a note on the kitchen table. The apartment was dark, poorly ventilated, and compared to the straightforward, pared-down style of living in Greg's apartment, downright horribly cluttered, crammed, and full of faded mementos.

Alexei tore open the windows and began cleaning up the kitchen, which also served as their living room. There was also his father's room and a tiny chamber for himself. The toilet and shower were in the hallway. They shared it with two other families. In other ‘kommunalkas’, the residents also had to share the kitchen. Alexei was glad that they didn't have to.

His thoughts circled around Gregory and that strange morning.

The feeling of how the strong arms had simply pulled him to his chest made him tremble even afterward. His mind told him that it was reckless and very dangerous to get involved with the American, but his heart and body had long since decided otherwise!

 

Greg actually found a small note with a cell phone number in the envelope. An official note from the Irkutsk police, stamp, and all. He smiled at the idea of how Alexei had packaged something so private, so official. The envelope could just as easily have contained a search warrant, or worse, an arrest warrant!

Behind the facade of the tough cop, there were some interesting things to discover. Gregory was curious if and how this would continue. Maybe Alexei would realize the risks step back.

The idea of secret but hot dates with this muscular but so inexperienced man fired Greg’s imagination and his mood was still so good on Monday morning, on the plane to Omsk, that it immediately struck Sergei. "Seems like your Sunday was pretty nice? You're in such a good mood today!"

Gregory just grinned and did not comment further. He just said succinctly, "You sure gave me some entertainment on Saturday night!"

Igor cut in. "What did you guys do?"

"Big show, it was!"

Sergei told about the raid and their trip home on shoeless horses. Igor listened to the whole story and then said smugly, "Typical of you, Sergei! You're always hanging out in the wrong places! They should have warned Gregory about you better!"

They laughed so loudly at Igor's sweeping gestures and exaggerated tone that the businessmen traveling with them looked up indignantly from their stock market newspapers.

Greg asked, as a joke, "Igor, tell me, if Sergei is such a lousy consultant, where would you take a date?"

Sergei played along with the game. "Gregory, you're asking the right guy! Just look at him, the great Igor Tomaczinsky, our first-class womanizer!"

Igor winked at Greg and spoke quietly and conspiratorially: "I would have one or two nice addresses! But we'd better discuss that between the two of us, without that oaf of Sergei's!"

Again laughter, this time interrupted by the stewardess' announcement of the approach to Omsk.

 

***

 

tbc   

 

"If you don't miss any new chapter you might follow this blog or the author on Twitter!"