At the agreed upon hour, the Friday following their meeting, Mac stood outside her red brick, ten-story, apartment building, studying the ornate concrete work along the roofline, gathering his courage. He entered the building, where he pressed the apartment number she had given him on the building intercom. Without a word of greeting, the interior door buzzed open, and he entered the non-descript mirrored lobby, walking the shiny marble floor to the elevators. He checked himself in the immaculate mirrors, brushing his wind-blown hair in place with his hand. The elevator door opened at his approach, as an older Germanic looking woman in a rather festive hat passed him with a nod and a smile, coming out of the elevator. Mac took the ride to the sixth floor, as he was told to do, stepping out onto the rather drab and worn hallway carpeting, looking for apartment 6H, around the corner, the furthest apartment from the elevators.
The door was black, clearly painted many times over to cover its past chips and dings. What caught his attention more, however, was the name on the doorbell; “Campbell.” He rang the doorbell anyway, despite his perplexity, and the door being slightly ajar. His heart was pounding; his hands were sweaty. The door opened, Sara greeting him to enter.
It is like the Wizard of Oz, he chuckled to himself considering the movie he had just seen, when it turns to color.
His whole world was about to come alive, and he knew it. While he was certainly no babe in the woods when it came to the ladies, this was clearly different, as he was most certainly not the one in control here.
Mac entered her apartment, the blood coursing through his veins. When he had seen Sara in her spectacular Technicolor real life splendor, he forgot to ask about the name on the painted door. She kissed his cheek, cooing “Thomas” in his ear. Her warm, sweet-smelling breath caressed his neck, causing the hairs on it to stand up at attention. She took his hand, and she showed him into her world, like a spider welcomes a fly. At this point, he could care less about anything but being with this beautiful, seductive temptress, whether this be real or not.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Sara said, as she gently dropped his hand to hug him warmly, their cheeks touching, on fire.
As they embraced, he immediately noticed there was no furniture to speak of in the studio apartment, except for a bookless glass bookshelf, a matching end table, and a big, spreadless, bed. The huge headboard was Art deco, black faux leather, with silver colored tufting pins, and matching sideboards that formed a ledge that could be sat upon. There was nothing adorning the off-white walls of the apartment except a rather large, full-length mirror, hanging between two slightly open sets of closet doors. And yet, the place appeared to be freshly painted, again with years of stark white paint on the wood moldings and doors.
Perhaps she just moved in, he considered, seeing nothing of a personal nature anywhere, other than a sliver framed photograph that sat on the glass bookshelf.
She invited him to sit on the ledge of the bed, as she attempted to open the bottle of white wine he had brought, at her suggestion. Rather than sit, he took over the duty of opening the wine, pouring it into two fluted crystal glasses, waiting on the end table. He took a sip, as did she. Neither of the would-be lovers seemed in the mood to waste time drinking white wine, however, as they sat together on the edge of the bed. He put his half full glass on the end table, and he gazed into her eyes. She looked down, seemingly nervous now, as she took another sip of her wine.
After a few seconds, she looked back up, warmly smiling at him, this time evidently ready for more. He leaned forward, kissing her gently on the lips. She welcomed him, parting her lips. He took the wine glass from her hand, putting it down with his on the end table, and he kissed her again, this time deeply, with passion. His hand was on her, first on her waist, then on her bare leg peeking out between the slit in her long gown. She wore no stockings this time. She held his forearm in place, as they continued to kiss. He felt her thigh getting warmer under his touch. She suddenly stood up, gave her back to him, with her head still turned alluringly in his direction.
“Unzip me, Thomas,” she urged.
He rose behind her, already excited, and he complied, as she lifted her hair, and lowered her chin to her healthy chest.
“My God, this zipper is so long!” he whispered in her ear.
In her heels, she was almost as tall as his six feet. As her uncovered back came into view, so white, so soft looking, his knees became weak. There was no unnecessary musculature that he could discern. Her sexy flesh colored bra strap and top of her panties were just calling out for his attention as the zipper drew down further. The lovely blue gown fell to the floor so naturally. She lithely stepped out of it like a delicate ballet dancer.
Stunning, he thought, taking her in silently, allowing his eyes to do all the speaking.
Her body was exquisite, her unending sumptuous curves captivating. She turned to face him, a shy smile across her face. Her soft, supple breasts were spilling over the top of her bra, seemingly begging to be let out. Her rounded hips he found sexy; her white thighs, he thought, were creamy, like butter.
Sara stood before him, he in awe of what he was seeing. She cocked her head cutely to the side in appreciation of his attention, with a genuinely warm smile.
“You like me?” she asked in her melodious eastern European accent, already surely knowing the answer by the expression on his face.
“Very much, Sara. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
She reached out to him, a playful look on her face, as she gently pushed off his suit jacket, placing it carefully on the end table. She then more forcefully tugged at his tie, and she pulled his suspenders to the side, allowing his trousers to fall to the floor. He laughed, as she began to unbutton his shirt with her delicate, manicured fingers. She was so close he could feel the heat of her body. He boldly reached around behind her with one hand, biting his bottom lip, as he deftly unclasped her straining bra. Her breasts bounced up to greet him, as her bra fell to the floor on top of her dress. Perfect, was the only word that came to his mind, big, firm, and alert to his attention. He pulled her close to him, kissing her passionately, feeling her breasts pressed against his now bare, hairy, Italian chest.
“Is this really happening,” he wondered out loud.
She kissed him again, rather than answering.
Off came the rest of it. Down on the bed they fell, into each other's arms.
How good she feels: too good, in fact, his mind was wandering, as his hands wandered all over her naked flesh. Am I the only man she does this with? How could she pay for this apartment in mid-town Manhattan, as Spartan as it is? Did she really live here? What is that name on the doorbell? This is all too easy. Is this really what it seems? His mind was going a mile a minute, as her mouth was all over him. Oh my God, who cares?
He was going to relish every second with her, and he did. He ravished her, and she ravished him right back. For hours, they made passionate love. They loved each other as if neither wanted it to end. The summer heat still lingering in her apartment was no impediment. They celebrated their passion in a pool of perspiration. They drowned their youthful inhibitions in a sea of love.
Mac watched Sara get up afterwards, running to the bathroom.
My God, she is so beautiful!
Yet, while she spent time in the bathroom, a renewed sense of careful curiosity overtook Mac's thoughts. He took a good look around the room, including in her slightly open, clothing filled closets.
She does live here, I guess, he pondered, as he considered the female clothing jammed tightly in the closets.
Sara eventually returned with two matching, plush light blue towels, so they could dab each other's still wet bodies. When Mac went to use the bathroom himself, he confirmed his conclusion that she, if fact, did live there, by opening the medicine cabinet, and surveying the contents. All the expected lady things were there.
There's no evidence of a man being a part of her life. Not yet anyway!
Mac came out from the bathroom, finding Sara back in bed, a big smile on her face, the sheet pulled up to her sweet chin, the outline of her supple body clear underneath. Never one to not take advantage of a situation, Mac dropped the towel he had around his hips, he jumped right under the sheet himself, and he pulled her close to him. She kissed him on the cheek and nuzzled lovingly into his neck.
“You checked out my medicine chest, didn’t you,” she said laughing, after their brief cuddling.
“How did you know,” he said smiling, but embarrassed.
“It squeaks.” She laughed again. “Satisfied?”
He laughed again, and he held her tightly to him.
“You are too wonderful to be real, Sara. Is this real?”
“Of course, it's real, sweet boy. You are beautiful yourself, by the way.”
“Whose name is that on the doorbell?” he inquired, ignoring her compliment as his curiosity had finally gotten the best of him.
Sara laughed out loud. “So observant!” She laughed again.
“No really, who is this Campbell?”
“I just recently moved into this apartment, and I haven’t had the chance to change it yet,” she giggled. “Oh my God, didn’t you notice my name on the intercom downstairs? The building put my name on the intercom already. I never thought to change the name on the doorbell. Sorry.”
“Yeah, I guess I would have noticed if it were not your name downstairs. Sorry! You are just too good to be true!”
“As are you, Thomas. Such a gentleman; so handsome; so smart.
Such a courteous lover. Amazing!”
“Thanks Sara. I think I am in love with you!”
“Oh, I think you are in love with our sex.”
“No, sex I can always get. I am in love with you, my mysterious temptress. You are so passionate, so bright and articulate. So beautiful. I want this never to end.”
Both were content to just lay there, nestled into each other's arms. Mac was only too thrilled with his new friend. Sara reached across him to the end table, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, her breasts rubbing against his hairy chest. She gave him the lighter, and she put two cigarettes in her mouth, allowing him to do the honors. She then reached for a crystal ashtray, which she put on his chest, while blowing smoke up into the air, smiling at him demurely. She gave Mac one of the cigarettes, as she brushed a stray ash from his chest.
“I don’t have too many things, Thomas. I was not planning on staying here long. My mother and sister are back in Moscow. With all that is going on, I know they will need me. I will have to return to help them, at some point soon.”
She put the cigarette in the ashtray on his chest, jumping up unexpectedly from the bed. She went over to the glass bookshelf, naked in all her glory, retrieving the picture frame, bringing it over to the bed.
“This is my family,” she said proudly, showing him the photograph. “They are my heart. My father here, he was taken away, how do you say, drafted, into the army. My mother and my younger sister are all alone. I look like my mother, no?”
“Yes, you do look like her, at least what I can see of her with her clothes on.”
She hit him playfully but laughed along.
Sara is certainly not shy, Mac opined to himself, as she continued to stand there in her nakedness, the framed photograph in her hand.
“Well, let's not talk about leaving. Not yet. I do not want to think about you going anywhere,” he said, trying to subdue his obvious emotion.
She put the photograph down on the end table, looking back at Mac smoking on her bed, a tear in his eye.
“God, you are beautiful, Thomas, inside and out.” She paused, taking him in, and then she continued. “Sometimes life gets in the way, love. If I go, I will be back, war or not. I will find you; trust me. I do not want to lose you either.”
Mac put out their cigarettes, placing the ashtray next to the photograph on the end table. He got out of bed, taking her in his arms. They kissed deeply; their naked bodies intertwined.
“I got you a little gift, Sara. I hope you do not think me too forward.”
They both laughed considering what they had just been through together over the past couple of hours.
“Really?” she cooed, with a genuine excitement, like a little girl at Christmas.
“Just a little something, so you will think about me. Now that you are telling me you are leaving, it seems even more appropriate, I guess.”
He pulled out a square turquoise box with a big white silk ribbon from his suit jacket pocket, and he handed it to Sara, both still standing next to the bed in their nakedness.
“Tiffany's?”
Sara pulled at the ribbon. It came off easily, falling gently to the floor with their clothing. She opened the box, seeing a leather case inside. She sat back down on the bed ledge, crossing her long legs, and she delicately flipped open the case, peeking inside. He sat besides her, watching her reaction. The look on her face made Mac feel it was certainly worth the thought. Sara looked at him, and she again shed a tear, as she put her face against his, hugging him tightly. He too got a little choked up, as he felt her tears, wet on his skin.
“Oh, my teddy bear mamochka,” she sobbed, as she pulled out the dainty platinum chain, with a pendent of three sapphire leaves, along with matching earrings, the blue of both pieces perfectly matching the bold color of her moistened eyes.
“Teddy bear mamochka,” he laughed. “What is that?”
“It's a term of endearment, where I am from,” she smiled, wiping away her tears. “Like the kind of love that you have for your mother, enduring. Help me put this on please?” she asked, as she tried to clasp the necklace behind her neck while holding her hair out of the way.
She sees me with the same kind of love she has for her mother?
It looked perfect on her white skin. She clearly adored it. Sara jumped up to look in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall once Mac had clasped the necklace around her neck. She put on the matching earrings herself. She admired her reflection, pulling her hair up with one hand, playing with the pendant on her chest with the other.
Perhaps I could love this woman the same way, I’m her teddy bear mamochka? Already?
“Oh my God, I love it, Thomas. You have such wonderful taste. And so thoughtful! It is beautiful. My teddy bear mamochka!”
“Like you, my dear. I knew it would match your eyes,” he said, as she continued to play with the jewelry in the mirror, seemingly oblivious to what he was saying.
He was smitten. He was hooked. All seemed so good; too good!
How could she just disappear?