City of Whores -Part Three

Read the previous instalment here

Part Three – Leah

Chernivtsy formerly Czernowitz Ukraine – 2010

By the time their tourist party had reached Przemysl, on the sleeper train, Leah was tired, and starting to feel that sense of loneliness and depression that can overwhelm solitary travellers.  Not that she was the only single in the group but, despite her six months of study at the Humboldt University, despite the wide social circle she had  formed in Berlin, she still felt unsure when speaking German. And she guessed she would always be different from her fellow travellers, as an American, as a Jew. But she knew that this visit to Czernowitz, to the town from which her family had emigrated to the US a century ago, was a visit she had to make. She had to connect, connect with the past, of her family, of her people, draw the picture together across the bleak caesura of  emigration, of the Holocaust.  

They stood in the warmth of the square in front of the ochre yellow Habsburg era railway station, waiting for the Ukrainian coach to arrive, making polite conversation.

“Ach, Sie sind Amerikanerin? Aber Sie sprechen wunderbar deutsch!”    

The bus when it came was a shock, Leah noticed he worn tyres and rust as she stood waiting for the driver, smelly cigarette in mouth, to take her case and load it into the trunk. Inside it smelt of weed. She took a seat near the front and fell into conversation with Martina, a blonde in her, well, early 30s. They both joked about the smell and together decided to call it the “Kiffbus”

Martina became Leah’s friend for the trip. They hung out on the excursions, they went together for a beer or a coffee after dinner with the rest of the party. Together they explored the back streets, small alleyways, and the old Jewish quarter. So much to see, so much to take in.

On the last day they went for a drink, sat on the terrace of a cafe in the old town, sipping Coke, watching two pretty teenage girls striking poses and photographing each other in the street, making Leah think about the dreams they doubtless nurtured. Dreams of escaping from the dust and the grime and the poverty, escaping from Czernowitz as had so many in previous ages.

“I really like your clothes Martina, they just look so practical.”

“They are. I just have a skirt, a top and trousers that are also shorts when you unzip the legs. And that’s all I need. Very practical.”

“And you wash them every night, right?”

“I wash them, hang them up to dry and they are ready for the following day. ”

“Wow! As simple as that?”

“So simple.” She smiled and added

“Come round and wash them for me. Tonight at 10. Room 326.”

This sounded  as much a command as a request but I was there,

“It’s open!” shouted Martina as Leah knocked on her door on the stroke of 10 o’clock,

Leah walked in. Martina was lying on the bed naked, her sweaty clothes in a pile on the floor.

“The bathroom’s there. Just use the bar of soap.”

Leah, picked up the clothes and took them to the bathroom. She laid them on the toilet seat and ran water into the washbasin. She took the skirt and moved to drop it into the water. Martina had come in and grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t think you are going to wash your clothes without taking your clothes off. I want to see you naked.”

Leah undressed, dropped her clothes, T shirt bra, skirt and panties on the floor. Martina held out her own panties and stuffed them against her nose.

“Smell me Leah. What do you smell?”

Leah smelt sweat, she smelt urine, and there was a faint aroma of arousal.

“Do you smell horny woman. Hot for you. Now wash my clothes. And there will be a little thank you when you’ve finished.”

When Leah I had finished hanging up the dripping clothes, she  turned round and faced Martina. She stood there, playing with herself.

“Get on your knees Leah. Lick me”

Leah didn’t think. She complied as she knew she would.  She knelt; kissed the hair, buried her face in it, rubbed her cheek against Martina’s bush. Leah parted Martina’s labia with her fingers, licked her opening, tasted her juices. Oh God, she thought, she could kneel here for ever. The tiled floor was hard, it bit into her knees, but she hardly noticed the pain. Before she could think about moving her tongue to pleasure Martina further, the German woman was already rubbing her clit.

“Make yourself come” she said.

So Leah did. They came together. Leah kissed Martina;s feet, And I kissed her feet. Dusty sweaty feet but she kissed them long and lovingly. Leah remained kneeling, tired but happy.

Martina ran a bath, they lay together, heads at opposite end, clothes dripping onto them, Martina sucking Leah’s toes and arousing her over again. Martina knelt up and Leah washed her back with a pink sponge, moving it in gentle circular motions over her new lover’s firm body, squeezing the sponge softly, gently, licking the rivulets running across her skin. She put her arm round Martina.   kissed her shiny, wet back. She took Martina’s nipples in her fingers, squeezed gently, then a little harder, gave them a twist and Martina gasped. Leah took out the bath plug and slid down onto my back in the ebbing soapy water.  Martina shuffled back and came down on Leah, licking greedily at her wet cunt.

Leah didn’t remember them going to bed when she woke up wrapped in Martina’s warm body. She reached for Matina’s cunt and felt the body jolt, heard a purr as her finger went in. Martina slept on.    

It was an early start but Leah was already awake and dressed before Martina woke up. As Martina woke up, stretched her arms out and noticed Leah at the table writing, she asked

“What are you writing?”

“Something to remember you by.”

She had out a pocket edition of Celan and paper with the hotel branding. She copied out a poem, changing the final couplet, wrote

CZERNOWTZ AM HOF

Heart time, those
we dreamt stand up for
the midnight cipher.

Something spoke into stillness, something was silent,
something went its way.
Banished and Vanished
were at home.

You queer women.

Your soft cunts enjoyed yet unseen,
your pleasures unheard,
your fingers deep in us.

A post for Wicked Wednesday. Click here for more wickedness.