Self destructive behaviour is my go to after a rejection and with a skinful of incredibly cheap and tasty Ukranian vodka and the soreness of losing out to another woman, Azerbaijan’s advances towards me were met with great enthusiasm. Young, gorgeous, drunk, he completely fitted the profile for a Friday evening with a miserable and dejected Lola. Luckily for us, he was one of the few people designated a single bedroom instead of a bed in a four person dormitory and it wasn’t long before we slinked away from the rest of the group and were holed up necking local Ukranian beer and discussing all the usual nonsense that drunk intellectuals discuss.
Relaxing on his bed, first he slipped an arm around my shoulder, then I tucked my feet up near his thighs. Another arm made it’s way to my waist and my fingers perched tentatively on the collar of his light grey T-shirt. Our faces were so close as we spoke that soon enough, Azerbaijan could control himself no longer and he kissed me. It was hard and intense, accompanied by a slobbery sound I’d only heard before when dog’s drank from their water bowls on hot summer days, but Azerbaijan was really sweet and clearly into me. I vowed I wouldn’t sleep with him and that a little heavy petting was perfectly acceptable given the circumstances. This was a feelgood factor hook up and was not to be taken any further. The tremendously large bulge protruding from his khaki shorts was not going to sway me into having sex with him….it really wasn’t….I’m not that shallow nor am I that easy to turn on…I had willpower….we would not be having sex…OK, I totally slept with him!
I couldn’t help myself and nor should I have to. Azerbaijan and I were two consenting adults letting off a little sexualised steam and where he lacked in the sloppy kissing department he more than made up for with finger work. I kissed him harder to surpress my moans of pleasure as he worked me into a jittering frenzy,
‘You’re so wet,’ he whispered in my ear.
‘Get a condom,’ I replied, my voice raspy and wanton.
We whipped our clothes off at lightening speed and Azerbaijan took my nipples in his mouth, each in turn. I could feel the heat from his bronzed skin against mine and revelled in running my fingers up and down his back. His body was slender yet toned and defined, with small wisps of black hair scattered across his chest. As he climbed on top of me I guided his hard cock inside me, a sharp intake of breath as I realised the pleasure of his girth.
For the record, ‘am I doing this right?’ is not something a girl wants to hear as a man pumps away between her thighs. It most certainly wasn’t great but it could pass as sex so I wasn’t really too concerned until he uttered those immortal words. Here I was, lying in a single bed at a hostel, fucking a 22 year old from Azerbaijan and it hadn’t even crossed my mind that someone this good looking hadn’t lost his virginity yet.
‘Have you done this before?’ I replied, desperately trying to hide the panic in my voice but failing miserably,
‘Once,’ came his reply.
I’m a bad cougar, a very, very bad cougar. Guilt swept over me faster and more intensely than the orgasm his fingers has granted me moments earlier, but we were way passed the moment of no return. I had defiled this sweet young boy and the only way I could make myself feel better about it was to take his cock out of my dripping wet pussy and put it in my mouth. No, I don’t understand my logic either but at the time it seemed the lesser of the two evils. With my exemplary blow job skills I was sure I could satisfy Azerbaijan and save us both the embarrassment of continuing with the mediocre planking sex.
‘That was the best, the best I’ve ever had!’ he beamed as I swallowed down his hot cum and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, ‘you’re so sweet Lola, you’re so amazing!’
Bless him. I fell asleep in Azerbaijan’s arms that night as he peppered my neck and breasts with what seemed like hundreds of tiny little kisses. When we woke in the morning, our legs were still entwined and his arms were wrapped tightly around me. He was, of course, hard and eager for round two but now that I had sobered up the idea of taking this young lad back down into the Lola pit of filth filled me with guilt and I contemplated handing myself in to child services. Alas, a kiss goodbye before I crept out of his room and directly into the shower was all I offered him.
‘Lola, Lola! I need to talk to you!’
I was coming out of the dining hall after breakfast when India cornered me in the courtyard. I’d forgotten I’d drunkenly text him the night before, expressing my disappointment that he’d chosen the American over me. Now was the time of recompense. I should not have been so hard on him when I never had any ties to him in the first place.
‘What’s this about me and the American girl,’ he asked, his brow furrowed and his dark eyes piercing a hole into my very soul. He looked devastated.
I explained what had happened the night before, how the American girl had told me herself that he had been flirting with her and a hook up was on the cards. When neither of them could be found several minutes later, the whole group had assumed they had sneaked off together for some privacy. India was mortified.
‘Never. That never happened and never would happen. I don’t like her like that, shes not my kind of girl at all. Come on Lola, do you not know me better than that?’ He seemed genuinely hurt. It suddenly dawned on me how insecure the American was, how she knew nothing about the friendship between India and I and how after one drink too many she was most definitely the kind of girl to make something like that up to boost her own street cred. She was young, naive and desperate. I wasn’t angry at her for it, all young girls make silly mistakes like that, but I was angry at myself for believing it. I’m not a silly young girl. I should have realised sooner. I should have found India and spoken to him instead of jumping into bed with someone else. Now I not only had to apologise for jumping to conclusions, but I had to risk losing him by telling him the truth of where I’d been that night.
‘I need to tell you something…’ I started.
‘You don’t owe me anything,’ India interrupted, ‘I know about you and Azerbaijan. Its OK, but I’m not losing you again. I’m totally into you Lola and I need you to know that. I’m 100% all in. I’m going to prove to you how I feel, I’m going to work very hard to improve your self esteem and I’m going to treat you properly’.
The Indian accent has never really been one synonymous with seduction and charm, but as the words rolled from his soft, velvet lips, I succumbed. I wanted to fall into his arms and find comfort beneath his skin, to share a body with him and dissolve myself and my sins into his very bones. I have no idea how any of this is happening. I cannot explain the connection we have. I am fighting with everything I have to not use words like fate and destiny. I am more aware than anyone how utterly ridiculous and reckless all of this sounds. I did not come to Ukraine to find a man and I certainly did not come to fall in love with someone after only knowing them for a week, but if it was going to happen, if it IS going to happen, India has me. I’m 100% all in.