Ninety-One

At 7:00 PM, the school was completely empty. Maria Genrikhovna walks toward the auditorium. Every step echoed in her temples like a dull thud. Her heart pounded so hard it seemed audible through her jacket. Her palms were sweaty, her fingers involuntarily clenched into fists, nails digging into her skin. Thoughts piled on top of each other, immediately tangling into a heavy knot. She enters as if hypnotized. All around was complete silence, and only fallen confetti from the last performance crunched under her feet — pathetic, faded, like everything else in this country. Tanya is waiting by the stage — wearing a sweater with stretched-out sleeves, a cigarette between her fingers. Smoke curled around her, enveloping her like a final shield. "I thought you wouldn't come." Maria doesn't answer. Her lips begin to burn as if she's already betrayed herself with a kiss, without even touching yet. Tatyana scoffs, flicks the butt into a tin can lid — an improvised ashtray. Takes the older woman's hand without a word. A confident, warm, steady touch, as if she'd always done it. She leads her to the storage room, which smells of paint and old rags. She doesn't turn on the light. Locks the door with the latch but doesn't let go of her hand. "You're trembling." "Shut up." And then Tanya presses her against the shelf of stage props — rougher than she'd have liked, without tenderness. Something — a book — crashes down from the top shelf, flies past them, but kicks up a cloud of dust in which they would have choked if they could even breathe at that moment. Tanya's lips found hers again. Hot, demanding, with the taste of tobacco and something bitter. Maria didn't pull away. Tried to respond, but her movements were uncertain, timid — she didn't know how to kiss. Not like this. Not with her. Tanya didn't wait. Her lips slid down — to her chin, to her neck. Stopped at a pulsing point near her collarbone. "You're all..." her voice broke off. Maria clutched at her sweater so hard her knuckles turned white. Tanya pulled her blouse out from under her skirt and touched her bare skin with her fingers. Her hands were rough from the cold and work, yet so warm. They slid over her ribs, making the woman shudder. "Wait..." Maria uttered, almost a moan. But Tanya didn't listen. The skirt slid to the floor. Maria squeezed her eyes shut. This is wrong. This is a sin. This is... Tanya bit her shoulder, and the thought shattered instantly. She didn't recognize her own body. It responded on its own — hot, treacherous. Her fingers tangled in Tanya's hair, slightly dusty, smelling of cheap shampoo. Her lips clung to Tanya's skin, and it was disgusting. And impossible to stop. Tanya wasn't gentle. Her teeth left bright marks. Nails scratched, breath hitched. Her hands were everywhere — rough, insistent, leaving no choice. She tore open the buttons of the jacket, stretched the buttonholes, the blouse gaped open, revealing thin skin dotted with freckles and goosebumps. The girl pressed her lips to the hollow between her collarbones, and Maria felt a chill run down her spine. "You..." she began, but the words stuck in her throat as Tanya ran her tongue over her nipple, already hardened from the cold and something else Maria was afraid to name. Her legs were trembling, but Tanya wouldn't let her fall, pressing against her with the full weight of her body. One hand slid down, first under the elastic of her sheer tights, and Maria gasped as rough fingers touched the thin lace of her panties. "Quiet," Tanya whispered right against her lips, "what if some cleaning lady hears us?" But it didn't stop. Fingers easily found their way beneath the fabric, and Maria bit her lip again, almost drawing blood. Inside, everything tightened, then fell apart when Tanya entered her with one confident motion. Surprisingly, it wasn't dry, it didn't hurt, not like with him. It felt very good, but terrifyingly so. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, only felt Tanya moving inside her, with each thrust making her clutch at the sweater, at her shoulders, at anything just to stay upright. "Look at me," Tanya whispered, but Maria couldn't. She felt tears streaming down her cheeks but couldn't stop them. The orgasm washed over her suddenly, in a wave, sweeping away all thoughts, all fears. She gripped Tanya's hair, her body arched, the back of her head pressed against a shelf, and she moaned, forgetting everything. Tatyana didn't stop until the trembling subsided, and only then withdrew her fingers, licked them, not taking her eyes off Maria. It made her feel sick. "See," she whispered, "you can, too." Maria didn’t respond. She felt the wetness between her thighs — warm, sticky — and she was ashamed. Tanya pressed her forehead to Maria’s shoulder — suddenly, weakly. She was trembling, smelled of tears. But she wasn’t crying. Maria didn’t hug her. Yet her fingers, against her will, brushed over Tanya’s nape. Once. Secretly. A floorboard creaked outside the door. They both froze. One second. Two. Tanya pulled away, adjusted her sweater. Maria tugged her skirt back on so hastily, as if it all had been just a silly misunderstanding. She stuffed her blouse in haphazardly and darted out of the storeroom, nearly colliding with Nina Petrovna, who had come to scrub the paint-splattered stage. From that evening on, Maria almost hated herself. For giving in, for letting her body tremble under Tanya’s fingers like a string touched by the wind. In the morning, she scrubbed herself in the shower until her skin turned red. During the day, she pretended not to notice the girl’s glances. At night, she remembered Tanya’s hands again and again, and how firmly they held her fragile body. But three days later — she knocked on the storeroom door again. Tanya laughed, but her eyes were serious: “So, deputy principal, here to discipline me again?” Maria didn’t laugh. Their meetings became a ritual: First — silence, greedy, painfully quick touches, never in the light. Then — words that could no longer be hidden, yet each time they made her want to run from them: “I’ve known since I was a kid that I wasn’t like the others,” Tanya whispered in the dark. “I didn’t,” Maria answered, not looking at her. “But now you do.” Tanya tried to find the woman’s slender wrist in the darkness, but Maria moved her hand away. She stayed silent, not even denying it. Tanya laughed, though it sounded more like nervous sobbing. March 1st. 11:17 PM. Maria knocked three times on the door of Tanya’s one-room apartment — a five-story building on the outskirts of Kaluga, where the hot water had been cut off. Tatyana opened the door. She stood before the deputy principal in a tank top and underwear, her eyes bleary with sleep, but they widened as soon as her gaze focused. “What are you doing here…” “I’ve been called to the District Education Department. The day after tomorrow.” Tanya stepped aside, extending her hand in a gesture of invitation. She closed the door, helped Maria hang her coat, pulled spare slippers from the cupboard — with faded blue bunnies, clearly long unused. She led her inside — a pull-out sofa, a rug hanging on the wall, a guitar in the corner, a bottle of Stolichnaya with a single shot glass on the table. Dim yellow light came from a desk lamp. “Sit down.” Tanya quickly tucked the bottle into a small sideboard. “Want some tea?” But Maria didn’t sit. She trembled, her eyes darting around the room as if afraid to meet someone else’s gaze. Tanya stepped closer. Touched her shoulder with her fingertips. The older woman didn’t flinch, only sighed a little louder. Tanya wasn’t one to beat around the bush — she placed a palm on Maria’s freckled cheek, fingers of her other hand weaving into the soft hair, and kissed her for the first time tenderly, unhurriedly, without insistence. Not the kind of kiss you give to just anyone. “Shh, Masha…” The woman let out a loud sob, tears welling up in her eyes — a storm of emotions she desperately wanted to stifle right now. Maria leaned forward and met Tanya’s lips herself, exploring what it was like to be the one to initiate. Tentative at first, but when she felt Tanya smile into the kiss, she deepened it immediately, grabbing her neck like a drowning woman clinging to a straw. The tears retreated. Tanya led her to the sofa without breaking the kiss. She grabbed the fabric of Maria’s dark burgundy blouse and started pulling it up, but paused, searching the glistening eyes opposite her. “May I?” “Are you serious right now?” Maria nipped at Tanya’s earlobe. “Got it.” The younger woman pulled the blouse over Maria’s head and dropped it to the floor. The older woman didn’t even question the cleanliness of the floorboards, just returned immediately to the lips she craved. Tanya gently lowered her onto the slightly rumpled sofa, supporting her shoulder blades. Pulled back, looked into her eyes. Then another few inches back, settling on her knees. Maria was almost naked before Tanya now, in just her bra and skirt. Her breathing quickened, and she automatically brought a hand to her bare shoulders — a gesture women make when they want to feel more sensual. And Tanya melted more visibly than ever. Her eyes began to radiate warmth and a wild, breathtaking infatuation. The kind that steals your breath and makes you want to squeal. She slowly unzipped the gray suede skirt, not forcing it, not tearing it off right away. Carefully slid it down, sent it to join the blouse. She didn’t rip the tights, took them off herself too, studying every curve of Maria’s body in the dim light while she still could. Leaving her in just her underwear, Tanya leaned over her, kissing her wetly and deeply, with tongue, with feeling. Her hand reached for the lamp cord, but Maria’s fingers gently wrapped around her wrist. "Tanya, don't…" The girl didn't argue. She wrapped her arms around Masha, deftly removed the vintage bra, and kissed her. Kissed her cheekbone, her jawline, her neck. Ran her tongue along the prominent collarbone — Tanya noted how unnaturally thin Maria Genrikhovna was. She pressed her cheek to Maria's chest for a few seconds, listening to the uneven heartbeat. Maria sighed loudly when Tanya circled her nipple with her tongue, blew on it, and then took it into her mouth, making her arch her back. Masha's fingers wove into the girl's curly hair, gently massaging her scalp. They began to slowly dissolve together, as if sinking into the sheets, and even the sofa no longer seemed so hard and springy. For the first time, they weren't surrounded by anxiety, haste, and thick dust, but by calm, tenderness, and… love? And this silence, filled only with soft, wet sounds, no longer felt jarring. "Masha, just don't stay silent…" came a muffled voice from below. "If anything's wrong, stop me right away." Tanya hooked the waistband of the panties with her fingertips, sliding them down slowly, as if unwrapping a precious gift. Maria lifted her hips to help and felt a shiver run across her skin as the cool air touched her damp flesh. "Cold?" Tanya covered her body with her own, warming her. Her voice was husky, her lips gliding over Maria's stomach, leaving wet trails, her hands gently parting her thighs. Masha shook her head, unable to find words. Her fingers tangled in Tanya's hair again as she moved lower. The first touch of her tongue made Maria cry out — louder than she'd intended. Tanya smirked, pressing her hips into the sofa. "Quiet, the walls are thin," she whispered, but there was no teasing glint in her eyes — only warm understanding. "Is this okay?" Maria nodded, biting her lip. She felt her body responding to every circular motion of the tongue, to every light brush of hot breath between her legs. It was too intense, too new — she had never imagined she could be so exposed to someone. Tanya worked slowly, attentively watching every reaction. When Masha began to move her hips involuntarily, she held her steady with one hand while carefully parting her folds with the other. "You're so beautiful…" Tanya breathed out, and her words made Maria burn with shame and something else, something stronger. "May I…?" Masha just nodded, closing her eyes. She felt Tanya slide one finger inside, then a second, moving in rhythm with her tongue. It was too much — her body arched, her legs trembled, her fingers dug into the sofa. "Tanya, I…" Her voice broke as a wave completely overwhelmed her. She didn't have time to warn — the orgasm came suddenly, making her gasp and clutch Tanya's shoulders tightly. Tanya didn't stop immediately, helping her ride through the spasms, then gently withdrew her fingers and moved up to hold her. Their lips met — Maria could taste herself on Tanya's tongue, but it didn't seem as repulsive as she'd thought. "So? How was it?" Tanya smiled, wiping her chin. Her eyes were shining, but there was worry in them. "Not too much?" Masha silently pulled her in by the neck, kissing her with newfound confidence. Her hands slipped under Tanya's tank top, clumsily trying to take it off. "Do you want…?" she whispered, and her voice trembled, but not from fear — from arousal. Tanya bit her lip and nodded. She helped take off the tank top, then, after a moment's hesitation, the thin bra as well. Her breasts were firm, her nipples already hard with arousal. Maria cautiously touched one, watching Tanya squeeze her eyes shut. "You can… like I did…" Tanya guided her hand lower, to the waistband of her panties. "If you want." Masha felt the hot, damp skin pulsing under her fingers. Hesitantly, she repeated the movements she had just learned on her own body, listening to Tanya's breathing grow faster. "Yes, like that…" the girl wrapped her arms around Masha's shoulders, pressing her forehead to her collarbone. "Oh God, Masha…" That whisper, her name spoken like that… Maria felt a new wave of desire. Her movements grew more confident; she found a rhythm that made Tatyana moan right into her ear. When Tanya came, she bit Masha's shoulder, stifling a cry. They lay holding each other, listening to their heartbeats. Rain rustled outside the window. The room smelled of sex, cheap soap, and a little bit of wet asphalt. Only now did Masha notice that the sofa creaked with the slightest movement, but even that didn't bother her. "They're shutting down the club. I saw the order," she said to the ceiling. Tanya laughed, but her voice was ragged. "Well, screw it then." "Don't you dare say that!" Maria grabbed her arm. "It's your…" "The only thing I have?" Tanya turned to face her. "Not anymore." Maria doesn’t answer. She just presses her lips to Tanya’s collarbone — like in a prayer. Through all the fear and shame, she understands there’s no going back. March 2. At 5:30 a.m., Maria tiptoes to the kitchen, gulps down a glass of water. But when she returns to the hallway — the light is already on. Araik is standing over her purse. In his hand is a note Maria knew nothing about: “Waiting for you after the District Department meeting. Tanya.” “Where were you?” “At school…” “Liar.” He slams his fist against the wall. “I called!” Maria can’t find any words, and that irritates the man even more. “Do you want to disgrace me? Acting like a slut. I’ve known you since you were a kid! You’re normal!” he shouts, and his eyes hold not anger, but fear. And then — a slap. Maria’s lips tremble, not from pain — from a strange, icy calm. Araik’s palm left a burning stripe on her cheek, but it feels so… small after everything that happened yesterday. She touches her burning skin with her fingertips. Normal? In her head again: Tanya. Tanya. Tanya. Araik shoves her shoulder, walks past her into the bedroom, muttering something about “disgrace” and “letting herself go.” No. Not normal. And I never will be again. Maria stays in the hallway. Doesn’t cry. She picks up the note from the floor — the one that fell from her purse. The letters are shaky — Tanya wrote it in a hurry, in pencil. Maria crumples the paper in her fist. He’s right. This is a disgrace. This is the end. But when she closes her eyes, she only sees her — flustered, in a tank top and underwear, on the threshold of that wretched one-room apartment. March 3, 1991. The office of the head of the District Education Department. The air is stuffy. On the desk — folders with official seals, an ashtray overflowing with Belomorkanal cigarette butts, and an order for the reduction of “non-essential expenditures,” already signed from above. All that’s left is to fill in the school number and the name. The head — a man with fingers yellowed from nicotine — squints at Maria. “Well, Maria Genrikhovna, let’s settle your issue. Your Siri… she’s a headache. First dubious plays, then kids shouting about ‘freedom.’ The times, you understand, are not for free-thinking.” Maria clenches her hands on her knees. Don’t tremble. “Her club gives the children…” “Gives what?” he interrupts, tapping his finger on the order. “The list for cuts is already prepared. The question is — who flies next?” She freezes. “What?” “You’re not stupid.” He leans in. “People are already whispering. That the deputy principal helps that… actress in the storeroom a little too often.” Her heart plummets to her boots. “That’s slander.” “Your husband called. Quite concerned about your… reputation.” A vivid image flashes in the woman’s memory: Araik slamming his fist on the table: “If you lose your job — I’ll kill you. Everyone will think it’s over a dirty divorce!” The head slides a pen toward her. “Your signature — stating the club doesn’t meet standards. And we’ll close it quietly. With no consequences… for you.” For me. And Tanya? Maria takes the pen. But her mind is clouded. Tanya laughing in the storeroom: “So, deputy principal, here to discipline me again?” Her fingers in her hair that night: “Shh, Masha…” The smell of cheap shampoo and tobacco. Her hand scratches across the paper. “…corrupts the youth.” She hears her own voice as if from a distance. “I recommend its liquidation.” The head takes back the order. “A smart woman. Otherwise, we might have had to check who else is doing the corrupting…” He looks pointedly at her left hand. Bare. She took the ring off this morning. Masha almost runs out of the office, bursts into the restroom, which, by a fortunate coincidence, is empty. She doesn’t make it to a stall — only to the sink. Her body folds in half, her fingers dig into the cold porcelain. Vomit — bitter, burning, like her words in the head’s office. I recommend its liquidation. Her ears are ringing, her chest is hollow. Maria stares into the drain — everything is disappearing down there: her career — now she’s on the hook with the District Department; Tanya’s freedom — the club will be shut down, she’ll be thrown out on the street; the last shreds of hope that someday… She gags on saliva, grips the sink. Behind the wall — laughter. Someone is washing their hands, whistling a tune from Laskoviy May. The world remained the same. It’s just that now she was part of the grime hidden behind the façades. March 5. They meet in the storeroom. Tanya presses her against the wall — teeth sink into a lip, she kisses more fiercely than usual — as if sensing this is the end. Her hands slide under Maria’s skirt. Maria tries to push her away. “I can’t.” Tanya doesn’t let go. Her eyes are red, swollen, as if she’s been crying. Her breathing is ragged, uneven. Her fingers are trembling, but still tenacious, like a hungry animal’s. “Coward.” It’s not anger. It’s pain. Masha feels Tanya’s hand squeeze her wrist — it hurts, but she doesn’t pull away. Feels lips slide over her cheek — wet, salty from tears. Feels a heart hammering somewhere between them, as if trying to break free. But she slips away. Runs. Doesn’t look back. When the door slams shut, Tanya punches a shelf — blood wells on her knuckles, but she doesn’t feel it. She finds the last cigarette in her pocket — her hands are shaking so much she can’t light it. She looks at the handkerchief, smudged with stage makeup, that Maria left behind days ago. Damn it… Damn it! She doesn’t cry. Just sits on the floor, swallows smoke. She knows she’s lost.