Bilgam
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How to easily win a cuckolding woman!
chronology - or: how the leaves fall off one by one...
Thu.15.8.2013
Nadezhda was due to arrive at half past eleven p.m. at the local bus station. It goes without saying that her bus was about an hour late. So that in the small hours of the morning, I stood at the bus platform number 11 to watch the bus from Berlin slowly gliding into platform 9 - at last!
I have known her for some 23 years. Words about love and feelings had been abundantly written by either of us. But our only meeting 16 years ago was then more like a business encounter, in which I had to make it clear that I could do next to nothing to make her win more customers who were willing to get their portraits drawn by her. Thus catapulted into this encounter, we conversed sort of superficially and I was busy anyhow, so after about 10 minutes we split for a longer period of time - 16 years. Mails and letters were exchanged - from time to time she sent me either a picture or a painting by snailmail. I - in return - sent her money in letters, no small sums but no riches either. So there I stood - looking at the two doors that opened and the passengers - tired and pale - getting off the bus at this hour. Nadeshda jumped out and almost without a look to the left or right she floated towards me. Judging from her last photo a year ago, she must have aged decades in the mean time. She wore blond hair, not very well dressed, emerging from grey stems and a reddish patch on one side, which I interpreted as a leftover from former hairstyle, which could not be dealt with anyhow. Her eyes in horrible mess, black lines and smear across the lids - an aging tart. A swift embrace as a hello and then I had my first shock - all she carried were two small handbags - no suitcase, no parcel of any sort! She possibly had packed her toothbrush, mobile phone and purse - nothing more..."where is your suitcase?" "I have none!" So I guided her to my car, which I had parked a short distance from the bus station, in case there was heavy luggage to be carried, but this proved to have been a pointless precaution...Then and from then on the main problem came up: She spoke no German, no English. So we spoke Polish. I had attended to a class for advanced students (however without knowing that I would need it soon!). So I spoke frantically Polish with gaps that I filled with Czech words - whereas she used Polish with Russian words, inserted here and there, whenever her vocabulary of Polish lacked a term. She made me specify how much I understood from her talk - and I exaggerated when I said "about 3/5th" - it must have been less...much less. Because the ticklish and really important turns and allusions got lost for good. In a naive attitude (which prevailed on my side for most of her stay) I had baked a loaf of bread and prepared some salt - an old Russian gesture of welcome, as I had been informed. Therefore, when we reached the apartment where my flower normally lives, I offered her slices of the bread plus salt. She did not seem to recognize the symbolic value and talking without a pause she swallowed some bits of it - adding salt and saying nothing about the meaning. She talked about her bus travel and what a trip it was! 30 hours in three different coaches, in four different countries, customs control, heat, unpleasant people and such. She droned on until half past three in the morning when I ventured to put a stop to her chatting and suggested we get some relax. I was not willing to **** or power her to anything - so I decided to relax on the couch. It was when we turned off the lights that she asked me to come over and there she held me on top her. She whispered "Kocham cie, Reechaad!" (i.e. I love you Richard). But when I tried to kiss her, she would not return my kiss, nor did she open her mouth for a tongue kiss. I was too tired to grasp the whole situation and after some soft touch we seperated and I slept two or three hours on the short couch - it was a particularly hot night, that night.
Fri.17.8.2013
In the morning I left her alone in the flat (which was rather risky - from what I know now!) and went for some bread. I made some tea and offered her some of the rolls and she bit off some and left bits and pieces lie around on the plates. Then I made some tea and we had to decide what to do. First I proposed a stroll to the nearby art academy of Munich, which was deserted at this time of the year. All the same she posed as an artist in the first place. The main entrance hall was white, without pictures and murals, so she was in a shock, because the Byelorussian and Petersburg academies were lavishly decorated already from the entrance on. But here - nobody was to be found - all doors locked and Nadja was almost insane with disrespect! What - this is said to be an academy???!!! Then I suggested we should drive to a small lake well inside the city. But before we could, she started walking more and more slowly, then stood and almost collapsed - she urgently needed some food, or she would collapse from lack of sugar (her diabetes). I put her into a street-café and she had some sandwiches, which she did not literally "eat", but tore them apart between her fingers (cheese, ham, butter, bread - in an atrocious mess!) and - let the remains lie truncated on her plate. An natural had been eating here. Then we drove off to the Lerchenauer Lake in the north. I found parking there easy - I thought because of the early hour (it was on a Saturday morning at half past nine), but when I saw the lake, I knew why there was nobody - the lake was partly covered by seaweeds, floating along the shores. One permister swam, others just remained on their blankets in the sun. A restaurant was there, built on a ponton over the lake. So we lay down on a little knoll, half in the shade - half in the sun. It was hot and one time she desired to be in the sun, then again to be in the shade. Suddenly she started walking up and down on the shore in a strangely active way - from unrest, nervousness? She was like haveged. Her walk was like that of a stork.
I dived in and swam, found myself afterwards covered by a thin layer of yellowish substance, which could be rubbed off - it dried in the sun and felt rough and unpleasant with body hairs - polluted water! To my surprise Nadja - instead of swimming - started drawing as soon as I gave her the paper and pen. She readied a sketch of my face - big beautiful eyes (as she was used to practice in her portraits!) splendid looks, generally speaking, embellishing my face shamelessly. She never swam and talked a lot about the clear blue lakes of Byelarus, her home country. They should really be different from the lake where I had taken her, because of not wishing to travel many miles to a more distant lake. About 2 p.m. she decided we had had enough sun and wanted to eat a dish with some fish. I inwardly prayed to God that there might be fish in the restaurant near the lake. And there was. In a tempura coating, with potatoe salad plus green salad. She wanted some beer in addition and while I took our blanket and things to my car, she sat there eating. When after ten minutes I came back, she was a bag full of complaints: The people behind her chair had been conversing loudly in English and the beer was sour/stale/bitter - something in that direction, she had had a little sip and the rest was for the dogs. Her plate was more or less untouched, because the salad was sour, the fish old and the only "edible" thing was the potatoe salad, which she had eaten. So I returned the plate to the counter and we drove off. I thought she might like to see Dachau, the shooting range, where hundreds or thousands of Russian POWs had been ***ed by SS-troops. There she made some plaintive noises, some tears, some reading of signs in Russian and some gestures (which I later learned to interpret - in their meaning). I am far from judging the feelings of others, but one is always wiser when it is over...and that is now! On the way there, she had uttered the wish to have a new pair of shoes, because she had arrived just in one pair of them. I drove into a shopping area and she took her time selecting a fitting pair. She then wore them on our walk to the cemetary and found out that they did not fit, so we returned and she bought another pair, made of some glass pearls and a little leather. She then strolled through an NKD-market and was fast to realize that for her, there were no clothes of value; she was swift in any case when it came to judging what could be worn, needed, bought or taken. She is a sort of a chooser! Back home we parked the car a little outside the city center to avoid parking tickets and drove to our flat by tramway. There we had to decide where to have our evening meal - and I suggested one Thai restaurant, where you have lots of meals on the menu to choose from. We went there and this time she ordered wine instead of beer. I had a coke and some vegetable, whereas she was set on crabs, pranks or fish. In the end she created a mess on her plate, having eaten something about a quarter of the food, the wine did not please her and I already abhorred another night on the couch and without sex. It became evident from her long discourses about what was exclusively on her mind: Making money and leaving old, shabby Byelarus for good. Some gangsters she knows make their money by driving to the Ural, digging for gold and smuggling the metal across the border into Byelarus and the West. She found this method effective and saw no other means of becoming a rich lady, since drawing and painting would never make her rich - moreover as a diabetes victim who has to use the needle twice a day to get her injection. She became - from time to time - really weak and exhausted, walked like a little young and fell from her sugar level often enough. I never found out when she had to eat how much, I had not studied her disease beforehand and was rather at a loss, when she talked about the conditions of her life. Not to mention the language barrier in such a subject! Ostensibly I ate my plate empty like licked and we proceeded to "our" flat. There the same thing happened as the night before - she slept in the large bed and I on the couch and I must admit that I have never felt so humiliated as by this woman, who had herself serve meals, be driven around town like in a taxi, ignoring my presence, my wishes and my permister at an absolute degree. She failed to ask me how I felt, what I had expected and what we should do. She simply fell arelax and I felt like a miserable tour guide and a man without rights - nonetheless in a position to have to organize and pay her stay.
Sat,18.8.2013
In the morning we packed and she nearly forgot to take her jacket - which would have caused funny questions from the side of my flower, as soon as she would get back into her flat. Then we left, direction Wasserburg, on a sunny Saturday morning. The nicest hotel in town was full up, so we had to look elsewhere. On the Kellerberg in the hotel-inn near the road we found a doubleroom for four days - I could have asked for 7 days but at the moment, our relationship was so undefined, that I could hardly imagine driving her around from place to place - paying food, takes, clothes and jewelry at her sweet will. After our first "approach" on the bed - which lasted about 2 minutes - there had been no more efforts by my side to bring up the subject of "milosc" = "love" any more. It seemed preposterous to even think of such a relation between two people who had major difficulty in communicating about the most insignificant details whatsowever. Otherwise I felt a little uneasy about her, because in the streets and at the hotel reception, people eyed her (in her looks, with the black-made-up face of a blond!) like a rare natural.
I would have given a penny for the thoughts of those people - if they saw a tart in her? I simply ignored their impression, however had the courage to indicate that this country did not necessitate such a colourful make-up as she was obviously accustomed to wear. I brought our things into the room and we took our bathing costumes to leave for the lake Griessee - about 13 km from this place. There we found a sunny place and I swam and enjoyed myself far away from her as she was again walking up and down on the shore. We had some take and some food which we gradually ate up until it was time to leave the lake altogether. We took a series of snapshots and my inner mental state was as deep as the lake in which I had swum. But back in our hotelroom, she suddenly became sexy and all of a sudden, she switched on the TV and initiated sex with me - again without kissing and this time without tender words. I came after a while and she seemed excited - from the wetness of her cunt. Otherwise she did not show any signs of love, tenderness, she simply let herself be fucked. She added a stereotyped: "I would never have believed that at 50 I would still have sex." But she was born in 1959, 54 years old, and the age can be seen in her face, to be sure...she seemed a bit surprised by my stamina, had seen me swim in the lake like a fish and she surely noticed that she was not a match for me - not in most respects. Yes, she can draw better than I can. Later we had a walk down into the town of Wasserburg and found a Greek restaurant where the owner greeted us permisterally like old customers. There finally she had a glass of wine which she liked, she got some food which she ate. There was only her devastated plate which she left unfinished, or finished in the "Russian style" - which means to throw away two thirds of good food. I don´t know...Before we went up to the hotel, we watched a historic reenactment of the townspeople in medieval dresses and I shot some dozen pictures of her with people in costumes and parading up the main street. Back in the hotel, we had again sex, but this time without me cumming again. I simply found myself able to fuck her but there was already enough of a problem between us which made me steam and grunt - silently. And not only the language barrier - something I had never felt so disturbing in my whole life!
Sun.19.8.2013
This day (I was so happy that only four nights were ahead!) we decided to pay the famous Alexandre Makedonsky exposition in the Lokschuppen Rosenheim a visit and drove off there. The weather slowly changed, it was hot and a thunderstorm threatened. We checked through the exposition, she desired a pearl necklace and was offered the jewelry - albeit it was not expensive. But her way of asking me was so blunt and rough that I did not know how to react (I remembered of course how she had purchased the two pairs of shoes!). In her former life she must have been a Roman empress, I guess! I did so much think of Marcela and Aurelia, it became painful and disgusting at the same time. A trip through my devastated past...Modesty and egocentrism, all these features which were so clearly to be found in these women - I considered turning gay forever! We had an icecream in the pedestrian precinct - which was also a mistake because she started coughing and accused me during the following days because of her throat having been cooled down. She had allegedly almost caught a cold from this ice-cream. I felt guilty. We drove back, passing by the church of Rott/Inn and after the visit to a series of churches in which she displayed religious movements and signs and gestures, I had to realize that this perhaps was not a sign of true religious piety, but a little show staged to pander to my expectations. I have no right to judge her in this respect, but I just got the feeling. Back in our hotel we had food on the terrace of the restaurant and she wanted meat with salad. I had spinach dumplings with parmesan cheese, which looked better and tasted better than her meal, I guess. Anyway, she did not eat it and had me order another plate with the same dumplings - for her. Unnecessary to say that half of these were left uneaten. I felt sad and depressed. I had been made a fool, even though she might not have voluntarily fooled me and thought it normal to buy and buy - well...anyway. I asked about the other men she had known in Germany and I struck a hot subject, because there seemed to have been closer ties in particular to one "Ernst" - who had made her suffer, or acted unfair against her. I asked more questions but she blocked and asked not be questioned about the subject any more.
Mon.19.8.2013
After a night of one sex contact (again without even the slightest tenderness), after our breakfast, she decided not to fly or return to Byelarus via Berlin, but to travel to her "friend" in Vienna. Svetlana - Svetka. She phoned to and fro and finally she made up her mind to leave for Vienna on our last day, Wednesday. For today, she wanted to see Hitler´s birthplace and so we drove to Braunau. There she saw a white tunic-skirt and she wanted to have it. I bought it for her and she wore it from then on. With all the people even more glancing and staring at her. I felt like walking with a tiger. By that time we had already shot dozens of pictures with her somehow in the middle, in the center and with gestures like poses. She wanted me to copy the pictures at once in a copy shop. But I was wise to promise her the memory stick to be sent to her after her return. To make a long story short: she will never see her photos - this is a sort of satisfaction to me! She informed me about her lady, who had "*******ed" her man by her dominant ways, she lives at the age of 86 - fat and dominant - greedy and unsensitive, a former construction worker, a welder, strong, fat and typically Russian. I then understood a bit more about Nadja...From Braunau we drove off to Burghausen, visited the castle among constant cries of "wow" and "phew!" - her "show" of words and gestures. I have difficulty in remembering, because at the time I thought there was some genuine feeling in her utterances. I was struck by her remark, that obviously I was a kind of a fascist. I asked for explanation and she said that my liking and pride of my own native country made this obvious. I answered that my love of this country was only one love among others for other countries and places I had visited. I had the impression that there was a strong discrepancy between what she uttered and what she thought. More clearly speaking - she played a little game with me - making me believe in the kind of feelings and impressions she supposed she should show - without actually feeling them. I concluded from there that her sexual attitudes (which also showed a certain paradigma) were judged relevant at a certain moment and then displayed by her. All seemed so guided and controlled, so artificial and intentional that the real spirit and feeling was evidently absent - and this is not only a conclusion from the fact that she could say "I love you" without being able to kiss the partner ("partner"). I naively went on showing her the famous baroque church of Raitenhaslach - this was when her "energy of wow and phew" was at its low and she needed some food. So she lacked her sounds of admiration when they were most suited. But when leaving the church, I saw her hold a little notice in her hand, containing the picture of a bishop, namely of the city of Passau, who had died in June 2013. A respectably looking permister of about 60 years. She took the photo with her and announced she would draw his picture. We then had a little snack at the local inn and then we drove on back home to Wasserburg. Hardly had she entered the room, when she took her painting materials (a gift of mine) and started painting - in a frenzy. It must be admitted that her effort was crowned by immediate success. After less than half an hour, the bishop was clearly caught on canvas and looked like his better self...I gave her much admiration which did not make such an impression on her, although my feeling was genuine and verbal. She did not consider me a competent judge of her abilities and let me talk, simply. I sat there, doing nothing and she showed mimics of fascination, fanaticism and concen
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Bilgam
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She murmured that she was becoming wild and fanatic when painting and did so long days on end, on her balcony. She informed me that her portraits were well done, well paid and she had lots of work. So it would be nonsense to consider her a poor beggar maid. She got about 100 euro for one picture and the Jews paid her 1000 $ for a mural painting in their synagogue. She did murals in restaurants - floreal motives mostly. She showed me some little photos on her mobile phone, quite well done, I must admit. She hoped to get into contact with the Passau diocese by presenting them the bishop portrait and to be able to decorate and renovate churches and chapels all around the place. Unluckily I ventured to remark that the diocese of Passau was most likely to have their own specialists and were not waiting for a Byelorussian lady who was a good painter. This hit her hard, without my wishing to injure her. Later she came back to the point when we were in Passau - on our last day. But for the moment, I could simply watch her act. I learned from her that her favorite place for painting was the balcony of her flat, from where she had a nice view of the countryside and was undisturbed. I wanted to make my remarks on my own painting and experienced her indifference in topics that concerned me myself. Later we drove to a shopping area, where we wanted to buy some take for the evening. Admittedly it was not a good idea to walk into an ALDI-market, because she almost went berserk, considering the cheap food and the high quality of the products. She came across a new idea of making money. No Ural gold mining. This time a little bus for her society of Byelorussian diabetics who could each travel to Germany and buy a couple of fish packages and sell them back in Russia for a fortune. Then, hardly had we left the shop, she spotted the Lexus car seller´s premises - closed, as it were... There were some larger SUVs which caught her attention and I would never have believed that after her shock at ALDI supermarket, an even stronger performance of desire, greed and frustration could spring from her bosom. I almost felt like being admonished to think of ways how to make her get such a car or help her with some stratagem to buy one, with illegal money and using all kinds of tricks to fool the custom officers. She went back to the hotel, depressed and sad - so much did she desire such a car, so impossible it had to appear to her and so much did she need to develop a scheme for a big win and moneymaking. I had some dangerous moments when she put me into the role of a helper and complice in her schemes. I have learned something about my effect on women and my seemingly soft and maniable character. Back in the room she drank half the bottle of red wine we had bought and with every take she wanted more. Sex, but along the old lines. She permitted me free entrance, but that was all. She gave no kiss, had no orgasm, in spite of my eagerly licking her - all she did was suggest a change of positions from time to time. I had no difficulty in responding, but it was more of a display of power than of love. My stamina was revealed not only by swimming but by the long way up from the town to the hotel where I could easily run - almost carry her - while she had to struggle heavily to follow me. Some time late in the evening she fell arelax. I awoke several times by her noise. She had the habit of splashing water in the shower and the basin while sitting on the toilet - in order to avoid being heard by me with the typical noises. I do not know what this fear and shame should tell me, but several times at night I awoke by the waterfalls and noises from the toilet. In the morning - it was our beforelast day - she finished the portrait - painting silently and absorbedly next to the window. I wanted us to go down to have breakfast and she - "just another five minutes" - just another five minutes... I had difficulty imagining, where I could take her on this last complete day.I figured out Mühldorf, where my grandlady had lived and worked in her grocery shop. We drove there and I showed her the shop and we walked across town. I showed her the church and the historic buildings around the main square. We had a little snack in a bar and then she entered a jewelry shop, its owner proved to be a Wolga-German and spoke some Russian. I had not expected her to stay so long in this Rolex-selling shop. Then we drove back home and strolled once more through Wasserburg, shooting some nice pics of the city wall and around town. Back in the hotel we decided to have once more those spinach dumplings which she was so fond of - whereas I had some noodles with cheese and onion rings. In our room there was still some red wine left and I poured her successively - at her demand - glass by glass until she was horny and tired at the same time. Whenever she was preparing for sex, she was in the habit of switching on the TV and turning it in high volume so that nobody from the adjacent rooms could possibly overhear our noises. So we did have some sex, but it came as an unwanted surprise that in the TV programme (while we were engaged in fucking) - by coincidence - there was a report about Russian and German atrocities during WWII and there were sequences of unearthed corpses in black and white films plus an underlying o-tone from cinema newsreels of the time. I felt well shocked in the act, while she understood nothing and had no idea what went on in my head. Anyway: it was clear that this kind of sex was not the uniting element between us, nor was the language, nor our ideas nor our cultural background. It was all so bleak and empty - I just felt depressed (more than I had been in the weeks before the visit). She repeatedly stated that I was a strong and mighty man who could still have a young wife and have youngren - sadistically I told her that it was, what I am looking for...I remembered a comment on "cuckoldplace" in which the husband of a Russian lady described how he took her to swingerclubs and how she hated being used by the horny men there. But another poor husband answered simply: "Serves them well, those Russian sluts!" I now understand what he had in mind! Her whole visit was a bad plan, a pointless scheme for two permisters like her and myself. Nadja, by pressing this trip to Germany, had some ideas in mind, financial plans - or all seemed to boil down to that. And ONLY that! Sure, she did not want to "win" the money, she was prepared to work hard and organize things even on an illegal basis - but for me this is/was no option. I did not want to join her in an effort to improve her monetary situation. So on our walk I rebuked her (and I am certain she understood): "Why are you looking for other people to change your life? What you want to do, do it yourself without pushing other permisters into positions helpful to your own cause!" I know, easier said than done: How can a poor Byelorussian artist in her totalitarian state possibly reorganize her life? A woman of 54? Grey hair, diabetes and in charge of an old lady? But her character - unfathomable for a permister like me - made her open for tricks and plans to get to where the money is! Not considering if laws or permisters or justice may stand in the way. She would ******* or commit any crime for money. How can permisters like that grow? Ask her to cuckold you, pay her an income and she will be the best hotwife on the globe.
Wed.21.8.2013
But I digress. On our last day, I showed her my purse in the morning: It was empty - 800 euros had been eaten up for the few days in hotels and restaurants. I said that no more purchases were possible. I did not mention that there was a second purse in my bag which contained another 600 euros - 250 of which I needed to pay for the hotel cost in Wasserburg. So I took out the 600 euro from the second purse into my regular purse, paid for the hotel and with about 350 euro we left the place for Passau. We arrived there at about 11 a.m. and I first checked for trains to Vienna. At 14.38 there was a direct train and I bought her the ticket. She had a good view of my purse, filled again with the "new" money. She could also theoretically have seen the code number for my plastic bank card. I guess she did not even thank me for the ticket purchase - 60 euro is a small sum one need not thank for, or isn´t it? Next we wanted to give or sell the portrait to permisters in charge of the diocese. Against my expectations I found a place to park my car - not far from the cathedral. There I supposed the administration of the diocese to be in one or another building. And right I was: In one baroque palace, there was the diocese office for art and craftmanship. I entered an office and was welcomed by a lady who offered to accept the painting for the time being, because the responsible permister was in his holiday. Nadja agreed on these conditions. We gave and took email-addresses and left. Twice I had to take some coins from my purse to feed the parking meter, and thus I left Nadja alone in the car. A mistake. I normally put my purse up into a small rail above the windscreen. I took with me just the coins necessary for the meter, the purse I left there in the railing. Before this, I had taken about 80 euro in cash from the purse which I offered her for "either to go to have a meal in a restaurant now or to give her the money for her stay in Vienna". No question that she would rather starve than NOT take my cash! So we strolled hungrily through the streets and malls in Passau. Suddenly she asked me if I could not give her more than the 80 euro. I simply said no. Little did I know that at that time, Nadja must have emptied (or was preparing to empty) my purse down to a remaining 10 euro, which I later found as the only remaining money from her stay. I accompanied her eagerly (to soon get rid of her) to the train and waited until it had really left the station. Unaware, I drove off happily, stopped at a supermarket for some food and with my caddy well filled, I automatically checked my purse to be ready to pay at the cash desk, when I had the shock of my life: Only a 10 euro note left - I did not search nor think it over for a single second, because some hours ago I had filled the purse myself and all I could do now was to back out from the cash desk file and spend just the 10 euro for some rolls and cheese. It was an experience which did not unfold or prepare slowly, which did not warn me beforehand and which therefore was much of a surprise. I must admit that the whole stay suddenly appeared under a certain light, all excuses she would or could possibly make seemed nil and I felt like an idiot. But can you feel as an idiot with a permister who has been in contact with you uninterruptedly for some 23 years???? Do you know more about Russian women now? I have my impression and I warmly recommend a Russian lady as the ideal cold and hot wife for cuckolding.
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