Sugar Cube Ch. 06

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Ethen Mollenkay sat in the cramped airplane seat and wished he had taken a sleeping pill. The man seated next to him was a very large man; he did not fit in the small seat. He crowded against Ethen, and his body odor was quite strong.

Thankfully, though, the plane began its descent. The pilot made the announcement they would be landing in Porasch, Poland in twenty minutes.

And again, his companion's elbow up against him.

"Pardon," he said.

Ethan did not answer; the one time he had answered, the man had used it as an excuse to start a conversation. Ethan had smiled and answered the large man in English. He had looked at Ethan American hairstyle and American clothing and had assumed he was American.

Then he tried to speak English and Ethan had politely told him his English was deplorable.

It was five forty two in the morning when they landed. By seven o'clock, Ethan was seated on the train that would take him from Porasch to Tremblink, his small hometown. And his airplane companion was traveling from Porasch to Amstern, the town just past Tremblink. So, again, he attempted to seat himself next to Ethan and engage him in American English.

Ethan made a point of getting to his feet and sitting in another seat away from him.

"He is rude American," the embarrassed man said to the few passengers that were staring at him.

"But I am not fat bore," Ethan called out in perfect Polish.

The man waddled to another car as the passengers laughed.

It was just after twelve o'clock when Ethan directed the taxicab to the apartment building his mother lived in. His mother had considered herself fortunate to secure a two bedroom apartment forty nine years earlier, during the Communist regime that had held Poland in its fierce grip. Even after the fall of the Communist powers, his mother kept the large apartment, rather than move to a smaller and more modern apartment. His mother did not believe that the Communists were no longer in power.

The taxicab driver carried Ethan's eight large cardboard boxes up the flight of stairs. On each trip, he complained bitterly of his back.

Ethan and his mother, Anna Mollenkay ignored the driver; they were too busy laughing and crying and hugging.

Finally, Ethan paid the driver his fare and gave him a little extra for his troubles.

Ethan smiled sadly; his bedroom was exactly as he had left it twenty five years earlier, when he'd left the apartment to marry Elena. There was a small bed, an Army cot, actually. His father had bought it for him when he was nine years old, and it had excited him then to think that he was sleeping on the bed that a brave soldier in the Polish Army had slept on. Now, at age forty seven, it was not nearly as exciting to think of sleeping on such an uncomfortable bed.

His dresser was still there, and sliding open the top drawer, Ethan smiled; his old undergarments were still there.

Each drawer held his old clothing.

"Mother, really, why did you not throw this out?" Ethan asked.

"We paid good money for those things," Anna answered, then coughed again.

His mother must have been waiting to see her son again; she passed away in her sleep four days after Ethan's arrival.

His ex-wife was at Anna's funeral; she and Anna had maintained a friendship even after Ethan had asked for a divorce.

"So, you will be staying?" Elena asked, not introducing Ethan to the bored looking muscle bound teenaged boy that stood next to her.

"I suppose so," Ethan said.

He given his home and automobile in Bender, Louisiana to his last lover, a sweet faced blonde eighteen year old girl. So Ethan did not have that to return to. And truthfully, his entire time in America, Ethan felt more like a visitor than a resident.

Here, he did feel like he was home.

"Good, good, ever need anything; you just call, all right?" Elena said, kissed his cheek fondly and turned to leave.

"Uh, whatever became of Walter?" Ethan asked, mildly curious.

Walter had been the muscle bound young man he'd found in Elena's bed, the reason he'd asked for a divorce.

"You did not hear?" Elena asked eyes wide.

"Walter Pemikan?" the muscle bound boy asked, but both Ethan and Elena ignored him.

"You remember Sophia, right? The beautiful red head?" Elena asked. "Anyway, Sophia and Walter; they're in my movie and they meet and fall in love and they get married.

"The French girl, right?" Ethan asked.

"And she's on the set and she is feeling sick so I send her home early," Elena continued. "And she come in and she catch Walter in bed with his lover..."

Elena paused, enjoying the dramatic.

"...Ivan. Yes, Walter is soft," Elena laughed. "And Sophia starts screaming and she will tell everyone that Walter is soft and he takes his gun and he kills her."

"Oh my God!" Ethan gasped, horrified.

"And Walter is arrested and he tell Ivan at his trial, Ivan should confess, then at Ivan's trial Walter will confess and that way, they will both go free," Elena continued her tale.

"Oh, ho, that is smart," Ethan agreed.

"And at Walter's trial, Ivan gets on witness stand and cries and confesses that he is one that killed Sophia," Elena said. "Then, at Ivan's trial, Walter screams at Ivan why did you kill my Sophia, we were in love and we were going to have babies."

"No!" Ethan gasped.

"And then Ivan goes in front of firing squad and Walter gets away with murder," Elena said, delighted with the sordid tale.

"So where is Walter now?" Ethan asked.

"Oh, Ivan had older brother, Peter, and Peter pay Walter little visit and no one ever see Walter again, and Peter? He is not saying what happened to Walter," Elena concluded the tale.

"And so Elena Mollenkay's next movie will be..." Ethan suggested.

Elena's eyes opened wide and she abruptly turned to leave.

"Come on, Timothy, I've got a movie to write," she ordered her muscle bound companion.

"Uh, it's Thomas," the young man said, but dutifully followed.

Six days after his mother's funeral, Ethan roused himself out of his lethargy. He'd been sitting at his mother's apartment, doing little but eating and sleeping. He had not even bathed since the day of the funeral.

So, he scraped his face clean of the thick beard of stubble, careful not to nick himself. He then fiddled with the taps until he finally got a warm spray, quickly lathered up and rinsed and got out before the hot water ran out.

Then he dressed in American Levis jeans, a fashionable shirt, pulled on a pair of well-worn sandals, found his swimming trunks, and walked the four blocks to the community swimming pool.

When he had been a teenager, the community swimming pool had been the place to go, to see the girls, to talk and laugh. And every now and then, he'd meet a girl that would allow him some liberties.

At the community swimming pool, Ethan found a locker, stripped out of his clothing and wiggled into his trunks. A few of the men and boys in the changing room did look at his swimming trunks, which had the American flag sewn into the right leg.

Because it was the middle of the day, there were only a few people at the pool. Most of the girls paraded back and forth in their bikinis, but they did not get into the swimming pool. Ethen put his towel onto a stool, and then climbed the ladder to the three meter board.

The water was ice cold. Had he not been underwater, Ethan would have screamed. That was one of the things he had forgotten about the community swimming pool; it was kept very cold.

"Quite cold, isn't it?" a cute red headed girl giggled as Ethan surfaced and gasped.

Despite the chill, Ethan couldn't help but smile at the girl's giggle.

The girl had short red hair, sparkling green eyes, and a plethora of freckles all over her round face and neck and shoulders.

"Quite," Ethan agreed and the girl looked slightly bemused.

"Your Polish is very good, but that is not a Polish accent," the girl observed.

"Because I have been in America for the last ten, almost eleven years," Ethan admitted, paddling furiously in an attempt to warm himself.

"America!" the girl gasped. "With the cowboys and Indians?"

"Well, I've seen the Dallas Cowboys play the New Orleans Saints," Ethan said. "A girlfriend was very much into the American football so we went to the game; very noisy. But the cowboys you are thinking of? They are all but gone, I am afraid."

"I am Nadia," the girl said. "Nadia Tamarin."

"And I am Ethan Mollenkay," he said. "Do you attend the finishing school?"

"No, I have completed that," the girl smiled. I know, I do not look it, but I am nineteen."

She then looked closely at Ethan again.

"Did you say 'Mollenkay' like...?" Nadia asked.

"Elena Mollenkay, the famous movie director," Ethan affirmed. "My ex-wife. I am sorry, though, I'm very cold."

With that, Ethan began to swim as rapidly as he could, trying desperately to warm up.

Soon, though, he tired of this; Ethan had not realized just how out of shape he really was. So she decided to get out and towel off and let the June sun warm him.

And when he got out, Nadia did as well. Nadia grabbed her own towel and then walked to where Ethan was briskly rubbing himself dry.

Out of the water, Ethan could see that Nadia was exactly the sort of girl Elena loved to feature in her films. Nadia's breasts were large, probably a Double D, her waist was tiny, and her hips were full, womanly hips.

"Please, tell me more of America," Nadia begged.

So he did. He had to correct her knowledge of American geography.

"No, no, not everything is in New York City," he laughed and pointed to a can of soda a nearby girl was drinking. "Coca-Cola? Is made in Atlanta, which is in Georgia. And the automobiles? Are from Detroit, far away from New York."

"But I read in American magazine the pretty models are in New York City," Nadia argued.

"Most of them are," Ethan agreed.

"As if you could ever be model," a nearby girl sneered and her companions laughed.

"I think you could be; you are quite beautiful," Ethan told the girl.

Nadia beamed under his praise and continued to pepper him with questions.

"The library has American magazines but they are so old," Nadia said as Ethan began to stand up.

"I bring a few magazines with me," Ethan said.

"Oh! May I read them?" Nadia begged, green eyes sparkling.

"They are naughty magazines," Ethan warned.

"Like the Playboy and the Penthouse?" Nadia asked, grinning. "My older brother has some from when he was in military."

"Yes, like Playboy and Penthouse," Ethan agreed, smiling. "These are Parasols, lots and lots of sugar cubes."

"Please, may I see them?" Nadia begged.

"I also have the fruit punch," Ethan concurred. "First day in America, I try some and I say, I do not know what fruit this is but I like it."

They walked to their individual changing rooms and met outside of the gate. Nadia admired Ethan's American jeans and shirt, and then chattered incessantly as they walked to Ethan's apartment.

"And, here, I get you fruit punch," Ethan said as he steered Nadia to his kitchen table.

He poured them each a glass of the bright red liquid and Nadia drank it with great relish. Then Ethan went into his old bedroom, found the box of magazines and selected five of them.

"Oh, Cosmopolitan! I love Cosmopolitan!" Nadia squealed at the magazine that was on top.

"I buy to read on plane, but fat bore next to me make reading impossible," Ethan admitted.

"And..." Nadia tittered at the next magazine, an issue of Parasols.

She looked at the cover, which showed a very beautiful blonde woman, a bright red umbrella open and covering her from just above her nipples to just below her crotch. Nadia looked from the Parasols to the Cosmopolitan, trying to decide which to look at first. Then she decided to see what other magazines Ethan had brought out.

The next one was also a Parasols magazine, the anniversary issue. It showed a striking brunette, holding an unfurled but not fully opened umbrella, pointing down. Her nipples were barely covered, as was her crotch, and the sassy smile on her face was quite appealing.

Nadia phonetically pronounced the title of the next magazine and Ethan gently corrected the pronunciation of the odd English words, and then told her the Polish translation.

"Barely Legal Sluts," Ethan said. "Means they're all eighteen year old sugar cubes."

"My Daughter's Best Friend," Ethan said as Nadia looked at the cover, which showed a nude man standing behind a young woman. The young woman was dressed in a cheerleader's uniform.

She blushed hotly at the hardcore magazines and Ethan worried that he might have gone too far. To hide his nervousness, he chuckled and Nadia looked up from the magazine covers.

"Nadia, are you virgin?" he asked.

She blushed hotly but smiled her playful grin, a grin Ethan was becoming enamored with.

"Of course not," she quipped. "I've got two older brothers."

Ethan looked at her questioningly.

"The old joke?" she said and he still looked at her questioningly. "What do you call a virgin in Tremblink?"

"Someone that hasn't had sex, I assume," he said and finished his glass of fruit punch.

"An ugly girl with no brothers," she corrected and laughed.

A moment later, he laughed too.

She opened 'Barely Legal Sluts' and again Ethan worried that he might have gone too far as she flipped through a few pages that showed fresh faced young girls engaging in various sex acts with older men, and with each other.

Nadia quickly closed the pornographic magazine and opened a Parasols magazine, the anniversary issue.

She smiled at the photograph that showed the Anniversary model, the striking brunette doing a leg split on a large mirror, opened vulva pressed against the glass surface.

"I can do this," she declared.

"You can?" Ethan asked and Nadia got to her feet, made sure she had enough room, and then quickly slid to the floor, legs spread apart.

"Naked?" Ethan asked and the girl blushed hotly.

His mother's old clock gave a wheezing chime and both Nadia and Ethan looked to see that it was three o'clock.

"Is that correct?" Nadia asked as she pulled herself to her feet.

"Yes," I wound it this morning," Ethan confirmed.

"Then I must leave; my younger sister will be home soon," Nadia said.

She looked at the magazines.

"Take some," Ethan suggested. "Bring them back after you have read them."

"You sure?" Nadia asked.

He gathered their glasses and walked to the sink.

"Thank you," Nadia called out from the door and was gone.

Ethan noticed that she'd taken both Parasols magazines and the Cosmopolitan magazine.

Then he worried; Nadia had said her brother had been in the military. Her brother, or possibly her father may not approve of lecherous old men giving their sweet sister, their innocent daughter such material.

Two days later, Ethan was running his mother's ancient vacuum cleaner over the quite clean but threadbare carpet, when there was a knock at the door. He wasn't sure he'd actually heard anything, so he turned off the noisy appliance and listened. There was a second knock and Ethan cursed that there was no way to peek out of the apartment to see whom might be at the door.

"Hi; I finished these," Nadia said brightly, holding out the magazines. "Do you have more?"

"Yes, yes, many more," Ethan smiled, ushering her in.

"And do you have more fruit punch? I like the punch very much," Nadia asked as she put the three magazines on the table.

Ethan poured them each a glass of the liquid and Nadia's eyes goggled when Ethan showed her the large can of powdered drink mix he'd brought with him.

"The magazines?" she reminded him when there was a lapse in their conversation.

"Well, I let you read those and I did not charge you," Ethan pretended to muse.

"What will you charge me to read another magazine?" she asked, playful grin on her face.

"A kiss, I think a kiss would be good," Ethan declared.

She leaned and gave him a soft, lingering kiss, and then smiled up at him.

"Oh! And one more for each of these, right?" she asked and gave him two more soft kisses.

"Thank you," Ethan said sincerely.

"Now, go, go, get me magazines," the girl demanded playfully.

"Did you like the Parasols magazines?" Ethan asked as he got to his feet.

She blushed hotly and nodded.

"Yes, and I find girl like me," Nadia said.

She flipped the Anniversary issue open and found a pictorial of a red head girl and Ethan nodded.

"She is almost as beautiful as you," Ethan agreed.

"Are you...? I am not beautiful," Nadia argued.

"Nadia, you are beautiful," Ethan disagreed. "But, I'll go get the magazines now.

He gathered up the seven other Parasols magazines he had and also grabbed the twelve hardcore pornographic magazines and brought them to the kitchen.

"Teenage Anal Desire," Nadia read aloud and looked at Ethan for the translation.

"Look at the cover," Ethan said, pointing to the girl, hair in two pony tails, getting a large cock in her ass.

She fought down her squeal and flipped the magazine open. She again fought down the squeal as she looked at page after page of fresh faced cuties being sodomized and having copious amounts of semen squirted onto their buttocks and pussies.

"Are all girls in America the cheerleader?" Nadia asked and Ethen smirked.

"No, these magazines would have you believe that, he agreed. "They would also have you believe that all girls are very slender and that is just not true at all."

"I am not slender," Nadia said, holding her arms up.

"No, no, you are beautiful woman with beautiful body," Ethan agreed.

"My Daughter, Her Two Friends, And Me," Nadia read out loud and Ethan translated.

"So he is having sex? With his daughter?" Nadia asked as she saw an older man having sex with a young woman while two young women looked on.

"They are all actors," Ethan chuckled as he opened a Parasols magazine and practiced reading in English, even though he was quite proficient in the language.

Nadia looked through the other hardcore magazines, and then also selected a Parasols magazine.

"And I can do this too," Nadia declared and Ethan looked to see what Nadia was looking at.

The picture showed a large breasted blonde doing a handstand, legs spread wide. The position caused the blonde's vulva to open and her inner lips were also gaping slightly.

"And this," Nadia claimed as the next picture showed the same blonde standing on one foot while her other leg was kicked forward, her foot actually reaching above her head.

"I was in gymnastics in school," Nadia confided. "My teacher said I was very good, until..."

She pointed to her full chest.

"...these started to develop. Then he lost interest in instructing me," Nadia said.

"He is soft," Ethan declared. "I would have become much more interested in instructing you."

"In gymnastics?" Nadia giggled.

"Yes, and we would not use the leotard or any other clothing," Ethan said and she gasped and slapped his arm playfully.

"But, really? You can kick your leg over your head? Like that?" Ethan asked.

"And I can hold it too," Nadia confirmed and got to her feet.

She determined the kitchen was too small so stood in the living room and took a few practice kicks, then did kick her leg up. But she did not reach and there was a slight tearing sound.

"Oh no!" Nadia gasped and tried to look over her shoulder.

"Did you?" Ethan asked and looked at her chubby backside where a small rip at the seam of her slacks had begun.

"I have some pins," Ethan assured the young woman and found his mother's sewing kit. "In fact, I can do the repair if you would like."

"You know how to do that?" Nadia asked. "My teacher tried to show me but I just kept sticking myself and she finally said 'Stop, stop, you are getting blood all over everything!' and so..."