Tatyanja

Enraptured I listened to the sounds that descended upon me from an open 
window of the Tchaikovsky Conservatory in Moscow. I was Russia on a 
cultural tour and had already been in Saint Petersburg, where I had 
visited the Hermitage Museum and enjoyed a splendid evening at the 
Maryinsky Theatre (The Nutcracker by the Kirov Ballet) . From there I 
travelled by train to Moscow, where I'd like to see St. Basil's 
Cathedral, the Kremlin and, of course, attend an evening at the world 
famous Bolshoi Theatre.

It was about half past ten in the morning after my arrival in the 
capital and I had decided to bring a visit to the statue of Tchaikovsky 
on the forecourt of the conservatory.

It was then that I heard the music. They played the third movement of 
Rachmaninov's cello sonata, one of my favourite pieces, and it was 
beautifully performed. The deep sonority of the cello, masterfully 
accompanied by the piano, affected me so strongly that I got tears in my 
eyes.

When the music finally stopped I could not help but applaud, whereupon a 
young woman appeared at the window, with a bow in her hand. She saw me, 
still applauding, and smiled at me. I made a curtsy, after which she 
laughed. Then she waved at me and disappeared, leaving me there, excited 
and confused.

What a lovely face and what a smile! My heart leapt and I felt like an 
amorous schoolboy.

That afternoon I visited the Danilov Monastery, the centre of the 
Russian Orthodox Church, where I dropped into talk with a young priest, 
who spoke English very well. He showed me the wonderful Church of the 
Holy Fathers of the Seven Ecumenical Councils and told me that, after 
the revolution, it had become an umbrella factory. In 1983 it was given 
back to the Church, but it would still take much time and money to 
restore it to its former splendour. This very evening there would be a 
chamber-music performance at the monastery by the famous Moscow Piano 
Trio, to raise some funds. If I were interested, I could buy a ticket, 
which of course I did.

I was rather early, but when I came into the hall where the music was to 
be performed, it was already crowded with people and soon no single seat 
was unoccupied. I realized I had been lucky to get a ticket at all. The 
program leaflet announced the 25th piano trio of Haydn, Rachmaninov's 
cello sonata (again!) and the 2nd piano trio of Shostakovich.

When the three musicians entered I got a surprise. The cellist turned 
out to be the woman I had seen at the conservatory! Looking on the 
program I saw her name was Tatyana Ilyanova. Nearby she was even more 
lovely than I had imagined. She was about 5'7" and had blonde hair, 
expressive brown eyes and a nice figure with the right curves on the 
right places. 

The musicians sat down and began to play. The Haydn trio for piano, 
violin and cello, a joyous piece of music which I like very much, was 
played masterfully. The Russians don't always have the right feeling for 
that kind of music, but this performance was the best I ever heard. The 
cello part, however, is not very interesting, because it is only 
underlining the bass notes of the piano. Therefore, although I enjoyed 
the music enormously, I was yet looking forward to the cello sonata, of 
which, as I now understood, I'd heard a rehearsal that morning.

The performance of the sonata was in one word fantastic. I got goose 
pimples all over and with fascination I watched Tatyana play the cello: 
utterly concentrated, but at the same time full of passion. Her 
technique and virtuosity were unbelievable and the musicality of her 
interpretation moved me deeply. No doubt, I witnessed a great artist at 
work! The audience apparently had the same opinion, for the applause was 
ovational.

After the cello sonata there was a pause, in which people could talk 
with the musicians. It was, however, almost impossible to get near 
Tatyana, but just as I lost any hope she saw me, smiled, broke off her 
conversation and came directly to me. 

"Preewyet (hello)," she said, adding something in rapid Russian that I 
could not understand. I asked her if she could speak English. "Oh yes," 
she replied. "I recognise you. You were my audience this morning at the 
conservatory. Where are you from?"

"From the Netherlands," I answered.

"Ah, Gallandia (Holland). Last year I was in Amsterdam on a concert tour 
and next month I will be in Holland again to play in Amsterdam, Utrecht 
and Rotterdam. I liked your country very much. And what brings you 
here?"

"My quest for beauty," I said. I introduced myself and explained what I 
was doing in Moscow after my visit to Saint Petersburg.

"Then you should go to the Bolshoi Theatre. Tomorrow evening The Swan 
Lake will be performed by the Perm Ballet Theatre with the Russian State 
Orchestra."

"I know," I said. "I have already got a ticket."

"Kharasho, good)," she said. "You sure will enjoy it very much. But 
sorry, I have to play again. It was nice meeting you. Da sveedanya 
(good-bye)." And off she went.

The Shostakovich trio, a sarcastic but very impressive piece, was also 
played masterfully and Tatyana excelled once more. After the performance 
she went away with some people, so I got no chance to talk to her again.

That night I almost didn't sleep at all, because I could not get Tatyana 
off my mind. And when, finally, I fell asleep I dreamt she was with me 
in bare room, playing Bach's prelude to the 4th cello suite for me, 
naked. She had lovely firm little breasts with erect nipples and a nice 
shaved pussy with fleshy lips. And while playing she looked at me with 
those wonderful eyes.

Afterwards she sat down on the floor, next to her cello, staring down 
dreamily. Then she looked at me, smiled and stood up. She came to me and 
undressed me. Seeing my erection she kissed me and rubbed her belly 
against my penis. "Come with me," she whispered and took my hand. 

She led me through a maze of corridors to a bedroom and pulled me with 
her on a big double bed. She spread her legs, offering me her wet pussy. 
I kissed it and, oh wonder, her pussy lips kissed me back. Then they 
opened wide up like a flower, showing me the secrecy of her vagina. 
"Enter me," they seemed to say. When my penis touched them, the lips 
kissed its head and sucked me inside. And then we began to fuck, or 
rather: her pussy began to suck me off with slurping sounds. 

It was the most wonderful feeling I ever had. Tatyana was breathing 
heavily under me, staring at me with wide open eyes, smiling all the 
time and whispering: "Oh my love, oh my darling, I need you so much, I 
love you, I love you." She kissed me and her tongue entered my mouth, 
exploring its interior and meeting my tongue in a passionate and 
delicious duel.

Then she turned herself on top of me and straddled me. She guided my 
penis inside her pussy again and began to ride me, first slowly, but 
gradually faster and wilder. She panted and moaned, looking at me full 
of passion and desire, with wide open radiating eyes. Her nipples stood 
erect on her firm breasts and she blushed like a rose. And every time 
she came down on me I heard her buttocks slap against my upper thighs. 

All of a sudden, the room was filled with people watching and 
encouraging us. "Come on, girl," they shouted, "faster, faster, take it 
from him! Wriggle your little ass. Yes, that's the way!"

And: "Let her have it, boy. Give it to her, fill her up. Go on, go on."

I felt her vagina tighten around my penis until she had me in an iron 
grip. The excitement I felt reached a to point where the need to get an 
orgasm was almost unbearable. Tatyana, on her part, began to shake and 
tremble. "Oh my God," she cried, "Oh my God, yes, yes, yes, o-o-o-oh, 
o-o-o-oh, I'm coming, I'm coming, yeeeeeees!!!"

The audience cheered and applauded, shouting: "Hurrah, hurrah, we want 
more, we want more, bis, bis." And again she came, crying out with 
pleasure, and then once more.

I could not hold on any longer and, when she climaxed for the fourth 
time, I came with her.

At that moment I woke up, still ejaculating and covered with sweat. 
Disappointed I got up and took a shower. After that I removed some 
telltale semen spots from my sheets and got to bed again, but I could 
not sleep any more.

The next morning I went to the Red Square. First I visited the Lenin 
Mausoleum, where, as always, long queues of ordinary mortals were 
waiting to be let in. As a foreign tourist, however, I'd got a free pass 
from the Tourist Bureau , so within 5 minutes I descended the gloomy 
stairs into the tomb. And there he lay in his glass case, Vladimir 
Ilyich Lenin, the leader of the Russian Revolution, for many Russians 
still a sort of saint, but in my opinion a downright scoundrel. He 
looked stubbly and ashen-faced, wearing a jacket and a polka-dot tie. He 
could have been made of wax (perhaps he was, you never know in Russia).

Afterwards I visited St. Basil's Cathedral, which rises as a fairy tale 
at the south end of the Red Square, with its bizarre domes, its vivid 
colours and its heterogeneous assortment of architectural elements. I 
had often seen it on pictures, but nevertheless I was deeply impressed. 
The interior was smaller than I had expected and rather sober, but with 
beautiful 16th and 17th century frescoes.

I spent the rest of the day within the walls of the nearby Kremlin, 
where I visited four more splendid cathedrals, the bell tower of Ivan 
the Great and some palaces, including the Armoury Palace, which was in 
one word fascinating. The abundance and wealth of the tsars was 
indescribable (while the common people starved). I never saw so much 
gold and jewellery in one place together. 

At the end of the afternoon I went to my hotel, where I took a little 
nap (which I really needed after such a night and a busy day) and had 
dinner (baked sturgeon, not bad at all). Then I went to the Bolshoy 
Theatre, for the ballet performance of The Swan Lake.

I was in luck to have a seat on the 2nd balcony, from where I had a good 
overall view on the stage. It was a full house this evening and a 
cheerful hum of voices filled the hall. One by one the musicians came in 
the orchestra-pit and began to tune up their instruments in a cacophony, 
that always brings me in a mood of pleasurable anticipation. 

Everyone applauded when the conductor came in, the lights were dimmed 
and the audience got silent. And with the first notes of the 
Introduction began one of the most wonderful evenings of my life...

The Swan Lake is my favourite ballet. Tchaikovsky's music is a 
first-rate masterpiece, full of magnificent melodies and the sheer 
beauty of the choreography is unequalled. The performance of the Perm 
Ballet Theatre was the most excellent I'd ever seen.

The prima ballerina, Yelena Kulagina, who played the role of 
Odette/Odile (the white/black swan), was a miracle. She combined pure 
and touching artistry with a fabulous technique. Now and then she gave 
the impression of total weightlessness. The same could be said about 
Vitaly Poleshchuk, who danced the role of prince Siegfried.

After a very moving Second Act (the scene at the lake) there was an 
interval. I went to the foyer to get a cup of coffee. It was very 
crowded there and I feared already that I wouldn't have much chance to 
get at the buffet at all, when someone touched me on my arm. I looked 
and saw it was Tatyana with two cups of coffee. "Hello," she said, "take 
one. I saw you in the queue, so I took two of them. How do you like the 
performance?"

"Oh, marvellous, but what a surprise to see you here. I didn't know you 
would go as well."

"Well, I play in the orchestra. Didn't you see me in the pit?"

"To be honest," I said between two sips of coffee, "I didn't pay special 
attention to the members of the orchestra."

"Alas, that's our fate. We musicians get no attention at all, however 
much we put ourselves out."

"Oh, poor soul," I said, "how can I ever make it up to you. Let me 
invite you to a drink and a bite somewhere after the performance."

"Spaseeba (thank you)", she answered, touching

my arm again and smiling at me. "I would like that very, very much. And 
if I might make a suggestion, I know a nice and quiet place not far from 
here. The owner knows me and will treat us well. You will like it 
there." 

"Sounds good to me," I said. 

"Okay then. Meet me after the concert at the rear exit."

We chatted for a while about the ballet and the music.

"Don't tell me," I said, "it was you who played the cello solo in the 
2nd act." 

"I have to disappoint you", she answered, "but it was really me".

"I should have known after yesterday evening," I grumbled. "Stupid me". 
And we both laughed.

Then sound of the bell warned us that the interval was nearly over. 
"Sorry, I've to go now" she said. "Da fstryetchee (see you later)," and 
off she went.

When I was near my seat, I saw her enter the orchestra-pit. She looked 
up, saw me and waved to me. Than she sat down and took her cello to tune 
it.

When the lights were dimmed again I could still see her in the shine of 
the reading-lamp attached to her music stand.

The second part of the ballet (acts III and IV) was also very 
magnificent, with a dramatic and spectacular finale, that sent shivers 
to my spine.

The applause was ovational. People cheered, shouting "Bravo, bravo!" 
Flowers were thrown on the stage and the curtain went up and down, up 
and down.

When the curtain got up for the last time the conductor and all the 
musicians stand on the stage, Tatyana with her cello before the first 
row, smiling and bowing.

I went to the back of the building and before long Tatyana came out of 
the artists' exit.

"Where is your cello?" I asked.

"It's in the strong-room," she answered.

"In a safe? Why?"

"Because it's worth a fortune. It's a Stradivarius."

"You own a Stradivarius?" I asked astonished.

"No, it's State property," she said, "but I'm allowed to use it." 

"That's a great honour, I guess. You must be pretty good."

"Mm, not too bad. C'mon, let's go," she said and hooked her arm into 
mine. After a short walk we came at a nice little restaurant, where the 
owner greeted Tatyana with a big kiss on her cheek, chattering in 
unintelligible Russian. He brought us to a table in a quiet corner, 
where we sat down in front of each other.

We agreed on white wine and on Tatyana's advice I ordered a bottle of 
Traminer from Moldovia, which turned out to be excellent. After our 
first glass we ordered Borshch, an Ukrainian soup, made of stock, 
cabbage, beetroot and tomatoes. It came from the oven in a big cup with 
a piecrust on top of it and tasted delicious.In the mean while we 
talked.

Tatyana told me she played the cello since she was five years old. Her 
mother, a piano teacher, wanted her to play the piano, but after she'd 
once heard someone play the cello Tayana only wanted that instrument. 
"It was love on the first sight and sound," she told me. "At first my 
mother was not very enthusiastic. It's a man's instrument, she said. It 
is not ladylike for a girl to spread her legs wide open. But afterwards, 
when she heard me playing, she was won over."

Then we talked about her favourite music and mine. It turned out we had 
basically the same taste. "Do you like to play Bach?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, I love playing Bach. His suites for cello solo belong to the 
best ever written for the instrument, don't you agree? And speaking of 
Bach, last night I even dreamt playing one of his pieces."

"Was it the prelude to the 4th suite?" I asked before realising what I 
said.

"Yes, indeed. How did you guess?"

"Well, just a hunch. It's one of the pieces I like very much. But tell 
me, were you playing for yourself or for an audience."

Tatyana hesitated for a moment and then answered: "For someone very 
special".

"That has to be me, for if one person is very special, it's me," I said 
jokingly.

"Phew, what a conceitedness!"

"Well, sorry, it's difficult to be modest, if you are as special as I 
am." We both laughed, but the way she looked at me made me thinking: 
"Could it be.... impossible .... but yet ...."

"Tell me, what were you wearing in that dream of yours?" I asked.

"What I was wearing? Boy, are you curious! Well, uh, nothing 
particular."

"What if we leave the word 'particular' out?"

She said nothing but looked at me with big eyes and blushed. At that 
moment I was certain,

"Tatyana," I said, "you dreamt you were in an empty room, with no 
wallpaper and no floor-covering, didn't you?"

"Yes," she replied, "but how ....."

"And you played Bach for me on the cello, and you had no clothes on."

"Harry, you scare me. How is it possible that you know all this? Are you 
a mind-reader of some sort?"

"No," I said, "but I believe I had the same dream last night. Shall I go 
on? After playing Bach you undressed me, didn't you?"

"Oh my God, this is crazy. Such things don't exist, do they, things like 
mutual dreams?"

"I've no idea," I said. "I only know it was not unpleasant, to make the 
understatement of the year, for after you undressed me ....."

"We made love in a bedroom, didn't we?"

"Yes, you brought me there and you performed very well, Tatyana, if I 
may say so."

"I did it before an audience, like a porn star, mind you ... the idea 
.... ridiculous, but kind of funny nevertheless."

"And they applauded, when you ..."

"When I, uh, had it, yes. Oh, my God, I still can't believe this! It's 
is absolutely crazy. Do you know I really had it, an orgasm I mean. It 
woke me up."

"The same with me," I said, "and I felt so disappointed ..."

"So did I ..." Then we were silent for a long time, looking at each 
other. 

"So," I said finally, "what now?"

"Yes, what now?" she said, looking from the corner of her eye".

"Do you think what I think?"

"Absolutely," she answered, putting her hands on mine with the sweetest 
smile I'd ever seen.

"Are you sure you want what I want?" I asked her.

"Very sure," she replied. "Our common dream was a wish-dream, wasn't it? 
I think we longed for each other so badly, that we came together in our 
dreams. To be honest, I had a crush on you from the first sight at the 
conservatory and when I saw you again at the monastery I thought: Waw, 
what a hunk. In my mind I undressed you button by button and that's what 
I did in my dream."

"Maybe you are right," I said, "because when you played the cello that 
evening, I saw the nice curves of your body and imagined you playing 
naked."

"And on my way home I asked myself how it would be to make love to you 
and I fantasized about straddling you."

"Which is what you did in our dream," I added.

"But it's still spooky that we had exactly the same dream, don't you 
think? Tell me, do you have a birthmark on the left side of your groin?"

"Yes, I have, did you see that in your dream???"

"Yes. Isn't that awfully strange? Can you explain that?"

"No, not for the life of me," I said. "There are more things in heaven 
and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

"Pardon???"

"Shakespeare, Hamlet. We have to accept that our knowledge is far from 
complete and that there are things we can't explain. I don't believe in 
telepathy, but yet ...."

"Yes, it sets one thinking ... But enough philosophy, my dear.... My 
place or yours?"

Tayana's apartment was rather small, but tastefully furnished. In a 
corner of the living room, next to a piano and a music stand, stood a 
cello. "That's my own cello," she said, "the one I use to study on every 
day." On the piano and on the floor were piles of music sheets with 
titles, like Brahms, Chopin, Schubert.

On our way, during the taxi drive, we'd been silent, just holding each 
other's hands, caressing and pinching them now and then and I kissed her 
fingers a couple of times. However, when she'd let me in, leading me by 
the hand, I'd felt that she trembled.

"If you have second thoughts, please say it," I said. "I don't want you 
to do anything rash."