Sex Magick Page 16

  But Wednesday morning was the last straw which fully motivated Jim to once-and-for-all find and approach Ms. Lutrova. Since the office of Mapleview Cable would be closed on Thursday and Friday for the Christmas holiday, the weekly staff meeting was held on Wednesday morning. As usual, Jim sat in the powwow circle, wearing his Ivan Trovskov attire. I suppose to be festive; Ivan Trovskov wore a pair of black and green checkered, baggy, wool pants with the legs tucked into his shiny, black, leather boots. And as he would soon find out; the baggy, wool pants had a noteworthy feature that would reveal embarrassing phenomenon at inopportune moments.

  The plant manager made all sorts of boring announcements about stagnant sales in recent months. “We're not really seeing any growth in our customer base. We're not losing customers or any revenue, but the business is currently not at a growth like it has been in recent years.”

  Such boring discussions; Jim didn't care about any of that. As far as Jim believed, businesses go through ups and downs. Mapleview Cable should have felt lucky for all its continuing support from current customers. The meeting was so boring that Jim allowed himself to slip off into a little daydream. Mentally he was relaxed—enough that he could have fell asleep if allowed. And in this state, the unwelcome swelling of his penis could be felt within Jim's pants.

  Ms. Lutrova was doing this to Jim! He just knew it! Raped all night, then teased and tortured throughout the day; the woman could not leave his penis alone. It was as-if she wanted it. Perhaps Ms. Lutrova had been so sex-starved for a number of years that her desires for Jim could be felt through his penis—as if it were a radio antenna.

  Slowly it continued to inch its way up until it was quite apparent that Jim had a bad case of boner pants. He had no choice but to sit there so nonchalantly and act as-if nothing out-of-the-ordinary. But surely someone in that room would recognize it. It would only be a matter of time before the small, checkered black and green Christmas tree would be noticed at the crotch of Jim's pants.

  The plant manager encouraged employees to finish the doughnuts brought in for the meeting and then wished everyone a Merry Christmas before adjourning. Now Jim had no choice but to stand up with a full, ninety-degree erection in his pants and sneak out into the hallway.

  “Jimmy!” called out the plant manager. “Have another doughnut?”

  “No, I've got to cut back. The doctor says I need to lose weight. Merry Christmas, by the way.”

  “Merry Christmas, Jimmy!”

  Every second counted! With an annoying erection just throbbing in his pants, Jim briskly walked down the hall in an attempt to escape outside to the Mapleview Cable bucket truck. But wouldn't you know it? Someone else arrested Jim while halfway down the hall.

  “Jim? Oh Jim!” It was Suzanne, the forty-something divorcee who may or may not have had a special someone to spend the holiday with.

  “What's up, Suzanne?”

  “I gave you a couple disconnects for your route today, but one of them is cancelled. The customer came in and paid the outstanding bill.”

  “Which one is it?” asked Jim.

  “Umm… Want to come over to my desk so I can check? I forgot which one it is.”

  Jim had no choice but to follow Suzanne over to the front office where the dispatcher, administrator, and few other office girls worked. By now, his erection was softening and gradually lowering to idle position. But it had some distance to go.

  “Okay…” Suzanne grabbed a stack of papers off her desk and flipped through them. “Woody!”

  Jim nearly blushed, “Woody?”

  “Yes, the customer's last name is Woody. Just write 'Cancelled' on your copy before turning in the paperwork. And be sure not to disconnect them!”

  Originally a ninety-degree, stiff erection; Jim's penis was now extended at forty-five-degrees and bulging through the loose, baggy, wool crotch of his pants. Suzanne definitely saw it and certainly liked it! It was a special Christmas hard-on just for her.

  But what was this? Soon other women approached Suzanne and Jim, seemingly in a means to surround the man who possessed a special Christmas surprise. What were they doing there? It was supposed to be Suzanne's. Kelly the radio dispatcher was eager to satisfy her curiosity. Wasn't Jim a little old for her? Jen and Laura had beaming smiles on their faces. Weren't they married?

  There was just no pretending to ignore the reality for Jim. Four women surrounded him with much interest in what was happening down Jim's pants. And they didn't help matters, either. Pretending to make small talk, “So did you get all your Christmas shopping done…? Are you and the family going away for the holiday…?” they all maintained awareness on Jim's erection and caused it to rise and swell to a returned full ninety-degree capacity.

  * * *

  And it was all Ms. Lutrova's fault! Ms. Lutrova was being blamed for every unusual occurrence in recent weeks. Take for example; has the reader noticed Jim's peculiar belief that the doctor-prescribed ErexBoost is a sex potion created by Ms. Lutrova? You and I certainly realize that ErexBoost was created by a pharmaceutical company and tested for a few years on monkeys before administering it to humans for testing. But you see, Jim coexisted in a separate realm in which, somehow, Ms. Lutrova concocted a spell in a candlelit attic with results that manifested themselves sometime later as the experimental ErexBoost male performance drug. Through all her magick, Ms. Lutrova was the cause of all the bizarre perceptions, erotic dreams and now discomfort experienced with his penis. Jim probably even believed that Ms. Lutrova placed the office girls under her spell to influence the intensity of an erection. I suppose he imagined her seated before a crystal ball and observing Jim's events and surroundings throughout the day.

  Ms. Lutrova was drastically affecting Jim's life in a negative way, probably for no other reason than to call out to him and demand sex. For this matter, Jim drove down Mapleview Road in the older section of Mapleview later that afternoon, en route to Ms. Lutrova's house. It was time to put an end to the woman's torment, maybe give in and provide what she was looking for.

  And that's the only thing required for Jim to finally establish contact with the Mapleview Community High School orchestra teacher! She now stood at the very location where Jim originally saw her on the morning of All Saints Day, seemingly to wait for him!

  Jim could hardly believe his eyes. He was so taken back by the woman's startling presence that he nearly drove away. But he reminded himself for his reason for coming while pulling into Ms. Lutrova's driveway and stopping with the back tire at the curb. Jim rolled down the driver side window and greeted Ms. Lutrova. “Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon.” answered Ms. Lutrova.

  There were a few seconds of silence. Exactly how was Jim going to break the ice and disclose his “schizophrenic” reasons for coming? To buy more time, he did what was natural and stepped out of the Mapleview Cable bucket truck to introduce himself. “I'm Jim. Nice to meet you.” He offered his hand to shake.

  Ms. Lutrova accepted the handshake. “Ekaterina, here at your service.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ekaterina.” Finally, Jim learned of her name!

  It was apparent to Ekaterina that she needed to take control of matters and wasted not a further second in suggesting, “Well, why don't we go to my house and we'll see how I can help you?”

  “Sounds good to me!” From what Jim could see, Ekaterina's driveway was over a hundred feet in length. It wouldn't be right to drive up to her house and let the older woman walk alone. “Do you want me to give you a ride up to the house?”

  Ekaterina returned a queer look. “No, maybe just park here on the shoulder. And why not pull up a little bit past the house?”

  This was certainly an unusual demand for Ekaterina to make. Why couldn't Jim pull his truck up to the front door of the home? And why the apparent need to shroud the truck from the view of her house?

  Jim parked where he was ordered, locked the doors after stepping out and met Ekaterina on the shoulder of the highway. And what w
as this? Rather than head towards the house, Ekaterina crossed the highway and motioned Jim to follow! From what Jim could see, there was nothing on the other side of the road other than untamed forest.

  With Ekaterina already on the other side, Jim jogged across shouting. “Where are you going? Isn't that your house?”

  “Noooooo! That house? I don't live there. What gave you that idea? Come, this way.”

  I suppose it's safe to conclude that all those predawn rose petal assaults were all done in vain! Ekaterina did not live where Jim originally suspected.

  Jim followed the older woman over a guardrail, down a small ditch which led to an open patch of bushes. Passing through, Jim was now in Ekaterina's realm where he continued to follow through dense forest. Wherever Ekaterina was going, she apparently had the region memorized and hesitated not a moment in zigzagging around large trees, thorn bushes and crossing small streams. Where was she taking Jim? From what Jim could remember, there were no homes or subdivisions located near this section of forest.

  It was a good thing that Jim wore his Ivan Trovskov attire that was complete with double-breasted wool coat, black boots and a furry, Russian hat if needed. It was cold in Mapleview. In studying Ekaterina as she led, Jim was reminded of an elderly person who is not so financially well off, and must walk the streets in the frigid cold for necessary trips to the store. She, too, wore a heavy, black, wool coat. In addition she wore a babushka to help keep her head warm.

  They must have zigzagged and crossed the forest in a series of diagonal directions for about a mile until; at last, Jim could see a small building some distance away. As they neared closer, Jim could see that it was nothing more than a makeshift cabin that resembled more of a hut. It appeared to be crudely constructed with dead lumber from the forest, leaves and maybe held together with mud or clay. Somehow, Ekaterina managed to install two windows—as seen from the front of the building—and an entry door.

  “This is your house?” Jim asked.

  “Yes, this is where I live.”

  “Wow, you built this yourself?”

  “All by myself…”

  Ekaterina reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the keys needed to unlock the door. For being merely a hut-like cottage in the forest, the building was locked and secured quite well.

  The inside of Ekaterina's home was warm and safe from the brutal, Mapleview winter. From what Jim could see while standing at the entrance, the cottage was nothing more than a large kitchen with a smaller room next to it that—as Jim speculated—might have been Ekaterina's bedroom.

  At the center of the kitchen was a potbelly stove. This apparently radiated enough heat to be felt throughout the home. There was a kitchen table constructed with more lumber collected from the forest along with two chairs made with the same. Makeshift shelving that was nothing more than bound lumber was attached to the wall with pots, pans, dishes, glasses and necessary cookware resting on top. There was what appeared to be an antique ice box at the corner of the kitchen. Obviously the cottage had no electricity, and the ice box preserved any perishables of Ekaterina's. Finally, there was a third chair by a window with another forest lumber table at the side. On top were a few old books and an oil lamp.

  The afternoon forest light glowed through one of the windows, but was not enough to illuminate the inside of the cottage. Because of this, Ekaterina lit two candles in the kitchen; one on the table and the other on her cupboard shelving. Then she bent down near the potbelly stove for a couple of logs and loaded them in the soon-to-die flames. Within a minute they caught fire; more heat to be enjoyed in the safe cottage on a winter's afternoon.

  There's an interesting psychology with immigrants that come to America who never fully adapt to the culture. In fact, it can be seen to some degree with just about every immigrant. They seem to believe that our American society and culture is backwards and all wrong. Offering harsh criticism of our government, finances, education system, economy, job market and our overall modern culture; they can fix everything by comparing our country to the way things were back at the old country. It might lead one to ask, “So why don't they just move back home if things are so miserable here?”

  Ekaterina was an extreme case. She saw much wrong with American culture and constantly lived up to her self-imposed expectations of being Russian, not American. Probably because she was older and isolated herself in the forest, she was under the assumption that all Russian people were exactly like her and believed the same things she did. While conversing with the woman, it wasn't uncommon to be educated of what Russian people do, think, believe and how they behave. These pointers were often used to reinforce how correct Ekaterina was in her actions and manners.

  “Have a seat.” Ekaterina invited Jim to sit at the kitchen table. “And take off your coat; stay a while.”

  Jim removed his heavy, black, wool Ivan Trovskov coat. The cottage was warm enough and there was no need for extra clothing.

  Now we all know that Ekaterina was a Russian immigrant who spoke with broken English and a heavy accent. But it isn't necessary to emulate her manner of speaking. I'll spare the reader any of these poor attempts. She asked Jim, “So where are you from?”

  “Oh I live here in Mapleview, just down Mapleview Road in the Maple Sap subdivision.”

  Ekaterina paused for a second, “Yes… but you're not originally from here. Where are you from? You look maybe Russian or from East Europe.”

  “No, I'm American. I was born in Mapleview and lived here all my life.”

  This intrigued Ekaterina as Jim didn't dress like most people in Mapleview. “Oh… You just don't look American. I'm Russian, and most Russian people dress the way you do.” Again, Ekaterina was somewhat in her own world. Since when does the majority population of Russia dress like Jim's secret persona, Ivan Trovskov? Maybe his style reminded her of someone or perhaps an unusual era in her life.

  Jim smiled and laughed nervously. “No, these are my clothes for working outdoors in winter.”

  “The cable company gives you these clothes to wear?” asked Ekaterina.

  “No, I bought them.”

  “Well it looks Russian. I like it. You look Russian. Are you sure you are not from Russia or maybe East Europe?”

  “Nope. I was born here in Mapleview.” Jim was getting a bit annoyed with Ekaterina's insistence that he was Russian. But I suppose that one should be careful of what he or she wishes for. Wishes come true when you no longer want them.

  Jim attempted to change the direction of conversation. “I really like your home. This is nice. Did you make this place all by yourself?”

  Ekaterina was proud of her home. “Yes I did! I'm Russian and Russian people are accustomed to building their own homes. We are not like American people who take out mortgages and end up in debt. Think about it. If you lose your job and run out of unemployment, what is going to happen to your home? And what about your food? Well nothing will happen to me. I live out here in the wilderness and built my own home. I built all this furniture. Nobody owns it but me. Today I go to the store and buy the food I need and items needed for cooking. But if I have no more money, I can hunt for my food. Russian people know how to get the basics. We are not dependent on our jobs or the economy to survive.”

  Jim was impressed. “Wow! I wish I could do that! So does anyone know that you live out here in the woods? This is land owned by the government and preserved for wildlife.”

  Ekaterina laughed, “No one knows where I live! You see how hard it is to get here? Who is going to find this place?”

  “Very true…” Jim agreed.

  Ekaterina suddenly had the urge to show even more hospitality to her guest. “Can I get you something?—something to drink, perhaps?”

  “No, I'm okay.”

  “You sure? I'll get you something. Russian people treat their houseguests really nice. You'll see.”

  “Well… coffee would be okay.”

  Ekaterina paused for a moment. “Oh, Russian people do not dri
nk coffee. We drink tea. I have a pot of tea on the stove. Maybe you would like some?”

  “Sure, tea would be fine.” Jim was never much of a tea drinker, but he felt it best to accept Ekaterina's hospitality.

  “I make my tea really strong and it sits out all day on the stove, brewing. I hope you like it this way.” By now, Ekaterina poured the contents from an ordinary cooking pot into a cup. The pot was loaded with tea bags and the brew appeared terribly dark. And Ekaterina was sure to pour herself a cup so that she and her newfound friend could enjoy a late afternoon teatime, together.

  Jim took a sip once the cup was set before him. The tea was Lukewarm and terribly bitter. It was so bitter, in fact, that the initial sip caused him to briefly convulse while swallowing.

  Ekaterina nearly cackled hysterical laughter. “You Americans like things nice and sweet. Every morning it's coffee and doughnuts and then more coffee and doughnuts in the afternoon. Russian people do not like sugar like American people. We like a nice, strong cup of tea.”

  By now, Jim took a second sip and was already marveling at how refreshing the overpowering flavor was. “It's good! I like it. You make good tea.”

  “Why thank you.” Then Ekaterina wasted not another moment in asking her burning question. “So who is the young lady always with you? Is she your girlfriend?”

  “My wife?”

  Ekaterina cackled some more. “No, not your wife. You don't have to lie to me. I know everything and can see everything. I'm talking about the young lady with you. She's your girlfriend, right?”

  Jim was caught off guard. No one had ever mentioned the significance of Amber in Jim's life before. Now he needed to answer some questions. “She's just a friend.”

  “Oh, I think she's more than just a friend. I see the way you were smiling, laughing and looking at each other at the carnival. You remember me? I was operating the carousel.”