The flight from Dubai to Moscow was as comfortable as 5 hours on an airliner can be-business class on an A-340 is definitely the way to travel. I spent a day in Moscow getting my paperwork together, then an early flight out on a Siberia Air 737 to Yekaterinburg, nice three hours. Things went down from there. As the sun was setting (3:00 PM local) I got on a, well, best described as 'scary' old Tu-134. The inside was dingy and no one had thought to make it a no smoking flight, regardless of the cigarettes with the circle and slash. I guess I left the flight attendants behind on the 737, I was pretty thirsty by the time we skidded down the runway in Novosibirsk.

It was now around 11:00PM local and, not knowing the lay of the land, I decided to stay in the airport until my next flight at 8:00AM. I was awfully weary when I climbed into the freezing AN-26 and we rattled into the air.

There were two rows of seats in the front of the old turbo-prop, a threadbare blue curtain separated us from the chain smoking pilots, a green tarp from the cargo pallets that took up most of the plane. My seat wouldn't recline and I soon learned that I couldn't lean my head on the wall next to me-it was about -20C and covered with frost. There was, however, a good heater that blasted jet exhaust (my guess is that it might have actually been bleed air) out of on overhead vent onto my left shoulder. There was probably an 80 degree temperature differential between my left shoulder (which was ready to blister) and right (frostbite). The fellow beside me matched the pilot cigarette for cigarette and burped cheap vodka. The butts built up on the metal floor. Finally I managed to doze some leaning forward with my elbows on my knees and my head hanging.

After three and a half hours of this I was brought awake by a change in the engine note. We were in a steep left turn and, looking out my window, I could only see sky unless I peered down at a gray horizon. Looking across the cabin I saw bare woods, snow, and an ice covered river flashed by. Then a few buildings went underneath us and I think the pilot reversed the engines before we hit the cement. The plane disappeared in a cloud of snow crystals and we stopped. He turned around and taxied back up the runway, we turned a couple of times, then the engines quit. In the silence (around the ringing of my ears) I could hear the pilot and copilot talking, a couple of my fellow passengers talked, then the door behind me banged open and I got my first real taste of true Siberian cold-it seemed that someone shoved a frozen steel rod straight down the back of my neck all the way to my ass.

It was clear, the last time I'd see the sun for a good month. It was also dead calm. I could feel the heat radiating off the engines standing 15 feet from them. My breath raised a cloud of steam. Aside for the electrical whine of the cargo doors being opened it seemed absolutely silent. A truck came around the terminal, cinderblock with a metal roof, and stopped near the plane. As I trudged toward the terminal carrying one duffle bag on my back and a large soft side bag in one hand, the driver of the truck sprinted past me toward a beat up fork lift.

I'm not sure which smelled worse, the cigarette-vodka sweat-hydraulic fluid smell of the airplane or the cigarette-vodka sweat-sewer gas smell of the terminal. It was obvious that the fellow behind the desk hadn't shaved for three days, had a shower in seven or been sober for 30. All I did was put my papers on the counter in front of him, he dialed a phone, talked to it, hung up and looked at me, then said in very accented English, "Taxi, ten minutes."

I thanked him, collected my papers, then went to find the origin of the sewer-gas smell.

The 'taxi' wasn't a taxi at all but a fairly new Toyota Land Cruiser driven by an Indian chap who spoke good English. He had been dispatched to give me a ride to the company offices.

"So, what will you be doing for LUKoil?"

"Setting up some remote monitoring gear on gas wells."

"Welcome to Baykit."

"Is there a paved road in this town?" I asked.

"No, only a few parking lots."

We left the airport, driving on rutted frozen mud, crossed a bridge over a small frozen stream and continued.

There really didn't seem to be any life to speak of. Occasional clumps of bare trees intermixed with grey-green spruce, no grass in the yards of the run down houses, mostly wood with metal roofs, a few rusting cars, the occasional bundled up person walking with hands in pockets, a pack of half a dozen cur dogs rooting through a pile of garbage. Occasionally, off to the right, I got a glimpse so a mostly frozen river, grey ice out to the middle where darker grey water flowed.

"I was expecting more snow," I said.

"No, no snow yet, it only got cold last week, before that it was up to 10 degrees during the day. Only for a few days it hasn't gone above freezing. There'll be snow, just wait." The truck bounced over some ruts as he turned left and headed up a shallow hill toward a group of two story white buildings with blue roofs that seemed to overlook the city.

"It's still warm, -5 right now, only down to -15 in the night. The larch trees just lost their needles a couple of weeks ago, early October."

With a thump we hit the concrete surface of the parking lot and stopped at the curving drive to the front of one of the buildings.

"I'm supposed to get you checked into a room, then take you across to the offices."

A young oriental woman was behind the counter, tastefully dressed, cheerful, sober, bright eyes. Her English was accented but good. She handed me a key and my friend, Nirmalendu ('call me Norm') helped me with my bags.

"You probably want to rest and wash up," he said. "It's 13:00 here, I'll get you at 14:30 and introduce you. They'll just say hello, then tell you to come back tomorrow."

"Thanks Norm," I said. "You've been a real help."

"See you in 90 minutes."

The room was comfortable and definitely up to western standards-queen bed, fridge, microwave, TV, utilitarian but nice bath. The windows were triple pane glass-in short, a reasonable hotel room. I had been told that I'd be assigned my own apartment but to expect to only be there a couple nights a week, that most of my time I'd be out in the fields.

I opened the blinds and looked out across the village of Baykit to the river and the low hills on the other side. The clear sky had been overtaken by a grey overcast, there was a little breeze blowing now, the vapor rising from the chimneys of each run down house was now snaking off to the right before dissipating. At the riverfront there was a rusty tank farm and a group of tanker trailers, yellow and rusty. On the shore there appeared to be a number of small boats, pulled up and turned over, at the edge of the ice. The opposite riverbank rose maybe 5 meters to a mixed spruce and barren larch forest. Everything was a mix of grays and tans, even the yellow trailers were washed out by the gray light. I turned from the window and went to take a shower.

An hour later I was introduced to my new boss, given a tour of the headquarters building, issued a Toyota 4X4 pickup, and told to be back at 8:00 the next morning. There was a bit of snow falling when I crossed the parking lot and narrow wooded strip back to the 'dormitory'. I found a hamburger in the 'canteen' just off the lobby, then went back to the desk but found it empty-the sign saying in English, Arabic, and Russian that the clerk would return at 6:00AM.

It was still light, the TV didn't interest me, and, after the nap I had gotten, plus the fact that I had picked up three hours in the time change, I wasn't ready to sleep. So, I decided to explore the metropolis of Baykit, Evenski, Russia (pop. 5700).

The Toyota started up but vibrated a lot for a little while until the engine mounts got some of their elasticity back. I trundled down the hill, then just drove around some. Eventually I crossed the bridge back toward the airport and found what might pass as a commercial district-one unpaved street with some shops and, I did note for later, at least three bars. Continuing north, the road curved around to the left and then went along the low ridge north of the airport, paralleling the runway. Before I left the settlement I lit off the Garman GPS, then followed the gravel road off to the west.

This area of Siberia is mostly long rolling hills, there are few steep slopes and the land generally flattens out at the tops of the hills. Rivers have cut the shallow valleys and run lazily west and northward to join the Yenizey River and eventually the Arctic Ocean. The hills are covered with spruce and larch forests but, because of the cold and rather poor soil, the forests are not terribly thick. Both spruce and larch are coniferous trees, spreading their seeds in cones, and having needles, but the larch loose their needles in the fall, they turn yellow then brown and fall. The layer of needles on the forest floor restricts the growth of thick underbrush.

Generally, the rivers are shallow and slow with gravel banks. They are navigable and so the short summer sees a rush of boat traffic to supply the villages and cities with items that can't be reliably moved by truck on the winter roads. Most of the rivers are clean, many even 'pristine' where they aren't down stream of larger villages, mines, or the few industrial efforts. The Russians have never been very conscious of protecting the environment but they are beginning to try to preserve what they have left-and Siberia remains largely untouched.

I was looking forward to fishing, the trout and salmon fishing is supposed to be great, and hunting for moose. Reindeer far outnumber moose but are considered domesticated; hunting reindeer would be seen like hunting cows. There are also rabbits, sable, and a few wolves.

The forest was totally deserted, no houses, no people, not even trash. After three kilometers it turned south, passed through a number of clearings and started back down hill. It ended abruptly at the river. I got out and was again struck by the quiet. The shore was hard mud and gravel, the river had apparently fallen a few inches since freezing because there was a sharp edge of ice jutting out over the shore where it had been left stranded. The only sound was the faint note of the breeze in the treetops. A few cold birds flew by out over the river but didn't make any calls.

It wasn't long before the cold on my face had insinuating itself in the cuffs of my coat and pants and made me want to escape back into the truck. The sun was also setting and I really didn't want to have to find my way back in the dark, even with the GPS. For about a minute an orange sun broke through the clouds, only making the scene seem colder. I started the truck and headed back. As I passed the airport a small jet was taxiing to the far end of the runway. I stopped and watched it. At the end it turned around then started its take off roll. I realized, with a bit of a surprise, that this airport had not been built as a Soviet Air Force base back before the fall-the runway was much too short for military jets. In fact, the little Rockwell biz jet used two thirds of it before rotating and climbing, disappearing into the clouds seconds after leaving the ground. I made my way back to my room just as it was getting dark, lit off my laptop and sent some e-mails, telling friends and family back in the states I had arrived. I also sent one to a special friend back in Texas, someone I hadn't seen now for a year and a half but had kept in touch with. I went back out in the dark (now really cold) to check out the bars I had seen earlier.

Baykit actually has seven bars, only three are on the main drag. I went into the first and received a number of hostile looks from the scruffy looking locals huddled around their bottles of cheap vodka. Now, I've been in a lot of bars but this one really looked pretty bad. There were a series, maybe seven, of metal tables with folding chairs, the bar appeared to be made of plywood, lighting came from a line of bare bulbs down the centerline of the place. In the corner, a black and white TV sat on a table. There was a shelf on the wall behind the bar, maybe two meters long, holding maybe 10 bottles of the same sort of vodka. I took my hint from the look on the face of the bartender and left.

The next place was luckier. In fact, I had just happened to walk into the class joint of Baykit. Here, the lighting came from long neon tubes that circled the ceiling. The outer loop was blue, then red, then white, then the order repeated. After a while I realized that, in alternating loops from the edges to the center, they were copying the Russian Flag. The bar ran one side of the joint with mirrors behind the shelves that were crowded with a variety of bottles. The tables were covered, on one wall there were two dart boards and in opposite corners were large flat screen TVs. The place was noisy with some metal Russian band on the speakers and two different football (soccer) games on the screens.

There were about a dozen customers, a mix of different types, some locals but mostly ex-pates like me. Not a bad place and I soon fell in with a couple of Brits and one Aussie. There were three barmaids, one oriental looking local and two European Russians, a cuty with very short blonde hair and a darker girl with a broad open, if not pretty, face and black hair down her back. She's the one who took care of us and we talked some in her broken English and my broken Russian. When she laughed she'd put her hand on my arm and a couple of her looks were-well she obviously was looking for a little more than just being my waitress. At one point, she got up to go serve another table and left a napkin right next to my hand. I turned it over, "RR 80" was written on it in green ink. When she came back I had slipped a 100 ruble note under it. I normally don't go for hookers but it's really hard to get laid in the Persian Gulf. Not that there aren't hookers, a lot of girls are shipped in from the far east and Russia, it's just that they're for the locals, not the ex-pates that can find themselves in jail for a long time for propositioning some local Sheik's current favorite squeeze.

I did have a regular relationship with a Dutch flight attendant while I was there, but our paths only crossed about once a month, when I'd be in Dubai off the rigs and she'd be doing an overnight. What really bothered me was that I know that many of the rich locals were shipping in little ones of the sort that I had learned about before leaving the States. But these were, of course, completely out of sight. It was just maddening to know that some of these guys in white from head to toe had a lovely little 6-10 year old (or two) at home, shipped in from Cambodia (of course, no telling what their sex might be).

Twenty minutes after my money disappeared, Anna appeared in her coat and mittens. It was bitterly cold as we walked down the street to my truck. As soon as we were in it and the engine started she jumped me, kissing my face and squeezing my crotch. "No, no, hon," I said, "let's get back to my room." She stopped, then sat on her side of the cab and didn't say anything for the short, cold drive back to the hotel.

When we walked into the room she went straight into the bathroom-OK, I guess she needed to go. Instead I was surprised to hear the water running in the tub-Hey, maybe this WOULD be different. I walked up to the door to see her from the back, her shirt was already off and she was reaching behind her undoing her bra. Then she bent down and untied her shoes. When she stood back up she startled a little, seeing me in the mirror. She turned around and came up to me with a smile, wrapping her arms around my neck and giving me an awesome kiss. She was definitely 'A' cup size, her nipples pointed out in slightly different directions and there was just the start of a crease under her breasts. Her arms were thin, shoulders light, she was truly lovely.

She stepped back and pulled her pants down, slim hips and thin (not skinny) thighs with just a little patch of black curls where they met. She went back and stepped into the tub, then sat down. She looked up at me with a really cute smile as I stood over her just before stepping in. We sat facing each other as she stroked my dick, then leaned forward and started sucking me. She had this really neat way of giving a blow job where she'd just hold the head in her mouth, running her tongue back and forth and around it while pumping the shaft with her hand. It was only a few minutes before I pumped my jez into her mouth. She made little squeaking noises as she took my load and then, when I had finished, she let go and let a long goopy string of my cum drip out of her mouth and into her hand. As she slowly worked my goo out of her mouth, more letting it run off her lower lip than spitting, making sure I could watch, she stood up and stepped out of the tub, then got some toilet paper and wiped her hand and lips. I just lay in the hot water panting. She took a drink of water from the sink, then came back.

We spent the next while washing each other. I really enjoyed soaping up her tits and she got me hard again with soap and soft hands. We were in there for quite a while (we added hot water twice) but then retired to the bed. What happened next was some of the best sexual Olympics I've ever had. We must have fucked in a dozen different positions, me on top, her on top, doggy style, sitting up facing each other, her on the bed me on my knees, her legs over my shoulders, us both on our backs looking at the ceiling. I pumped my final sperm of the evening into her a good two hours after we had arrived-I definitely got my money's worth. At about 2:00AM I dropped her off in front of a two story apartment building with one last tongue duel, then watched her go inside. It was colder than shit out. At 8:00AM I was in the anteroom of my boss' office, rested and ready for my new job. Obviously, Baykit Russia had some good qualities.

Most of the morning was taken up with the usual HR stuff, all sorts of paperwork, introductions to dozens of people who would look familiar in a couple of days but that I'd be embarrassed because I wouldn't remember their names. My new boss, Fylip, (call me Phil) gave me a brief of the local operation and my work. I also introduced to a German engineer, Kris, who'd teach me what I needed to know about maintaining computer systems at -70C. Phil's secretary, a Japanese woman whose name I can't pronounce, told me to be at the infirmary at 1300 (they use 24 hour clocks) for a physical.

So, after lunch I was sitting on a bench in a hallway reading some of the HR documents I'd been given when the door at the end of the hallway opened and a long, slim, and beautifully swaying woman in a lab coat came down the hall. Short black hair, a face that, made up right and with a less worn expression, would stop traffic, petit figure, awesome knees and calves in high heel black pumps below a straight blue dress and white lab coat.

"You new employee?" she asked.

I stood up and looked straight across into her green eyes, "Yes Ma'am."

She pulled a ring of keys out of her pocket, "Welcome to Baykit." She unlocked the door and I followed her in. "First, I have survey," she said. She crossed to a filing cabinet and pulled out a five page stapled form, put it in a clipboard that was on top of the cabinet and handed it to me. "This English translation." She nodded to a chair (we were in a waiting room, two chairs and a sofa, end tables, lamps, a second story view of the parking lot and the bare forest). I turned to sit down. "Knock when you're finish," she said as she went through a door into an adjoining hallway.

Ten minutes later I knocked and heard her heals on the tile approaching. I followed her into an examining room, sat on the table while she stood and went through the form. She asked me a couple of questions about it, took my blood pressure and pulse, looked in my mouth and eyes, then went to a cabinet and took out a syringe, one of the old glass and metal ones, not a plastic disposable one. She did screw a disposable needle onto the end.

"I take little blood for tests," she said.

I rolled up my sleeve and, with me sitting, my arm straight, wrist on my knee, she drew the syringe full of blood. Then she turned and went to a microscope. "I look at slide and do a couple tests. You may undress."

Her back was turned as she first did a smear on a slide, then put samples in little cups that went into a couple of different machines. As I pulled off my clothes I watched her, running a number of tests with tubes of different liquids, Petri dishes, thimble sized test tubes. She even mouth pipetted a sample into one of the machines.

From her manner, I figured that when she said, "You may undress," she meant it. She left the room with two Petri dishes, the syringe and a test tube, when she came back I was sitting on the edge of the table as naked as the day I was born.

It was a bit of a turn on to be naked in front of this beautiful woman, I really didn't mind. She had me lay down on the table, listened to my chest-feel my stomach--sit up, listen to my back-thump my back-hit my knees and elbows-feel my neck and shoulders (her hands were sexy warm).

"Stand up," she said.

Oh boy, I definitely swelled while she checked me for testicular cancer and hernias.

"You Jew?"

I was confused for a moment, then I realized why she was asking. "No, most American men are circumcised."

"Oh," she said, I saw a hint of a smile. She went to a drawer and took out a box of latex gloves.

"Turn around, put elbow on table...." DAMN...my cock began to grow even more.

The feeling of two of her long slender fingers up my ass, her other warm hand on my shoulder, was just too much and my cock went to almost full hardness. She seemed to linger there, longer than any doctor had before, moving her finger back and forth.

"You may dress now," she said, turning her back and stripping off the glove. Still, I know she smiled to herself when she saw my cock, bouncing as it was with my pulse. As I pulled on my shorts, then shirt, she began to ask questions.

"You smoke?"

"No."

"Good-how much you drink?"

"I don't know...," this is a hard question to answer, "not that much."

"When was last time you drunk?"

"Oh...maybe six months."

"You drink last night?"

"Three drinks at a bar."

"Night before?"

"No, I was traveling."

"This is good," she said. "Russian men all smoke, all drink too much, then get sick, die young."

I didn't say anything.

"You have sex with other men?"

"No."

"What about prostitute?"

I wasn't about to tell her about last night. "No. I just came from the Persian Gulf...not much sex there."

"What about before?"

"No, not prostitutes."

She was silent as she looked over my papers for a few more moments. I was tying my shoes by now. "You in very good health...good 'shape' as you Americans say."

"Thank you."

"You ever hurt on the job?"

"Only once, a cut on my arm...needed a few stitches."

"Show me."

I held out my right arm where there was a scar on the top of my forearm, half way between the wrist and elbow. She inspected it.

"Doctor who sewed very good, little scaring."

"You must be careful here...oil fields very dangerous, can be long way from doctor."

She said all this while still looking at my charts. Then she looked up at me and smiled. "You staying at the hotel...food there is awful. Come to my house for dinner."

This was completely unexpected and I was set back for a moment. "Ahhh...yeah,...sure, thank you, I'd love to."

"Good, you have car?...Take the road east along river, six kilometer, my dacha is to right down hill on river. Sign...you read Russian?"

"Yes, a little."

"Sign read 'Solinski', (???????) with arrow."

"Thank you," I paused, feeling a little awkward. "Doctor...I'm sorry, I don't remember your first name."

She smiled, realizing that she had not told me, "Magda. You get to meet my two daughters too. You like to be call Leslie?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Isn't that girl name?"

"Guys have it too, just not common."

"Well, come to dinner Leslie."

"OK, great...what time."

"1800."

The river doesn't actually flow west out of Baykit, the town is on the outside of a north pointing meander, so technically it flows south out and north into Baykit. But, since the Stony Tunguska River generally flows from the east to the west in this part of Siberia, eventually to turn north to the Arctic Ocean, I knew what she meant and headed out of town, keeping the river to my right, going up stream. The road was actually pretty good, a raised gravel highway wide enough for large trucks to pass. A couple went by, carrying well casing and going too fast, showering my truck with little pebbles. It wasn't hard to figure out why all the cracks in the windshield.

When the Garman said I had gone 5 klicks I started watching and, sure enough, right at the 6 kilometer mark there was a hand painted sign on a tree pointing over the edge of the road. Someone had also tied a string of the small triangular advertising flags, the colored plastic ones you see at used car lots in the States, between two trees. The driveway disappeared into the woods, working its way between trees and generally down hill. After about 100 meters a good size A-frame house with a Range Rover parked next to it came into view. Lights were on, a warm yellow glow in the dimming light, and smoke rose from the chimney, the river was in the background-it looked more than a little like a Kinkade postcard. I had to laugh to myself when I stopped to admire the scene. In the spring and summer the place must be beautiful and, covered in snow in the bright sun it would put the 'Ice Palace' from "Doctor Zhivago" to the test. Through the windows I saw Magda get up and walk toward the door, I stepped out of the truck and felt a bight of cold on my face-snow was coming.

Inside it was warm and smelled great. "I hope you eat...reindeer," Magda said.

"I'll eat anything that smells this good," I said. She smiled at the complement. "Is it Rudolf?" I'm not sure she got the joke.

She called something in Russian, then, "Meet my daughters."

Two girls appeared at the railing of a balcony that overlooked half of the lower level. One of the girls squealed, then slid down a wooden ladder that stood in for a stairway, feet along the rails, facing out. She hit the floor with a bounce, then hopped over next to her mom. The other girl moved much more cautiously, climbing down the ladder backwards, taking her time.

"This is my little one, Vika."

She had longish blonde hair and brown eyes-looked to be eight or nine. Real sunny face, small nose and a wide mouth, freckles.

"Hello," she said.

"Hi."

"That about all the English she knows," her mother said with a smile. "That and 'coke', 'McDonald's', and 'OK.'"

The other girl walked up slowly-she was another long dark beauty, the image of her mother except that her eyes were sunken and small. She was older than Vika, maybe 11 or 12.

"This is Natasha."

She held out her hand, not really facing me. "Nice to meet you, Sir. We don't get many guests here." I took her hand and she turned toward me.

"Nice to meet you, Tasha." I said.

Magda looked a little uncomfortable-obviously wondering if I was uncomfortable.

"You have a beautiful home here," I said, more to Natasha than to her mother.

"Thank you." (she was working hard not to show her Russian accent) "But it's very quiet."

"Your English is excellent." I said. I let go of the girl's hand.

"Thank you," she again said, very formally.

"Go set the table with your sister," Magda said, then she repeated the instructions in Russian.

The younger girl ran back to the kitchen area, her sister followed more slowly, keeping her hands out in front of her.

"Natasha speaks very good English," I said.

"She works very hard at it. She wants to go to England or America when she's older-that's where she may be able to work." Her face changed from one of wistful fondness as she looked after the daughters to sadness bordering on despair. "There's nothing here for her."

We talked some about Baykit and working for Lukoil. Magda offered me a glass of wine (an Australian Zinfandel), then went into the kitchen to finish cooking. She looked very attractive and motherly in a white linen apron. Through some broken communications, Vika and I ended up playing a video game, I was soundly beaten, while Natasha listened to an iPod some, then helped her mother in the kitchen.

The meal was, truly, about the best I could remember-then again, I had been eating in company canteens or in cheap restaurants for years. Brazed reindeer steaks, sauteed potatoes and a mixture of various vegetables, along with more wine. Then, for desert, I was really surprised by a flourish of Baked Alaska (but they called it Omelette a la Norvegienne, Norwegian omelet).

Magda and I went back into the 'living room' (really part of a single large open room). I had noticed that Vika had disappeared through a doorway off the kitchen that must have led into an extension off the back of the house. "Ahh, where is your bathroom?" Magda pointed and I found my own way. I was relieved to find that there was an actual toilet, not a Roman toilet. The addition to the house was a short hallway; on one side was the bathroom, on the other a sauna. I opened the door and got a blast of cedar smelling heat. The hallway ended with a door into a closed porch, obviously serving as a 'mud room' like you find in the Northern Mid-west and Canada.

The girls were busy washing, Vika standing on a stool at the sink washing and Tasha drying. They were chattering and laughing in Russian. They both were polite and made room for me as I passed. Tasha asked me in English if I could lift a bowl to a high shelf. Vika pointed to where it belonged after talking with her sister in Russian.

Back in the living room, Magda told me how she had ended up in Baykit. Turns out the girls had different fathers. She had married Cornelius when she was doing her residency in Tula and was pregnant with Tasha when she started practice at a state hospital in Novogrod. Soon after Tasha was born she had learned the true nature of her husband when he came home drunk one night (as was normal) and got angry at the baby for crying. She had had hemorrhaging behind her eyes, the result of 'shaken baby' syndrome and Magda had left with her, moving to another job in Yekaterinburg. It was there that she had discovered her 'delightful little surprise'-Vika. She didn't so much as say it but I figured that she really didn't know who the father was.

Distraught with the lack of any services for children like Tasha, she had discovered quite by accident that the schools run by Lukoil in some of the remote parts of Siberia were small enough to provide the personal attention that a seven year old blind girl needed. After interviewing and talking with the local schoolmarm over the phone, she had come to Baykit and was very pleased with the help Tasha had gotten, being one of 20 students with three teachers in the company school.

During this conversation, I'm sure a story the girls had heard before, they finished up in the kitchen and came out. Natasha asked something in Russian, I really didn't catch it but Magda said something about being careful of the ice and the two went up the ladder. We continued to talk, now it was my turn to tell her about how I had ended up in this semi-artic outpost.

There was a thump as Vika hit the bottom of the ladder and I looked over and caught my breath. The nine year old came bouncing into the room, naked as the day she was born. Already, Tasha, also naked, was working her cautious way down the ladder. Vika was all little girl, totally flat chest, no flare to her hips, muscular thighs and small bare pussy. Tasha walked up, long and thin with small rises under her nipples, less hips as a small waist, but still no noticeable hairs on her full, long pussy slit. My cock swelled in my pants and I had a flash back to someone I had known in Texas before going to the Gulf. My heart sped up and there was a bit of a sickening tightness in my gut and throat.

A few words were exchanged between the girls and their mother, then Vika led Tasha in a trot through the kitchen and out the door.

"They swim in the river, then get in sauna," Magda said to me. For a moment there was a look of surprise on her face, then she smiled to herself and I could see that she made some decision. She carried on the conversation like nothing had happened but I knew that she had seen my reaction to the girls-and I'm sure now that she knew exactly what I was thinking.

About ten minutes later, Magda went out to get the girls from the river but came right back. "They in sauna. I worry that one might get caught in the ice in river. We keep a part in the...not deep...near shore, break the ice to take 'dip', then warm up in sauna. We had another glass of wine, Magda had put some music on, when there was the sound of water running somewhere in the back of the house. Then Vika came out, this time wrapped in a towel, and climbed the ladder. She was followed by Tasha, again with a towel, but she dropped hers, then threw it over her shoulder, before climbing the ladder. I tried not to watch but really couldn't resist as the gorgeous preteen disappeared up the ladder. They both reappeared in pajamas and it was time for me to leave.

Magda followed me out onto the front porch and it was a little awkward for a moment as we said goodbye. I had been told that the next day I was going out into the fields and would be gone for a few days. The awkwardness evaporated when Magda suddenly kissed me on the lips-just a peck-then said 'Goodbye' and went back into the house, leaving me a little dumbfounded and with a lot to think about on my drive home (and images to remember when I was in bed later). It had started snowing and, by the time I got back to my room, there was probably three centimeters on the ground.

Sure enough, I spent the next four days taking a tour of the local gas fields. It seemed to me that Siberia was an endless spruce and larch forest, frosted with snow. Where the gas wells had been drilled there was general devastation, the trees had all been cut to stumps, the ground torn up, a lot of trash lying around. But, once away from the wells you could get occasional glimpses of reindeer through the trees, hare, and, once, a mink. At night there were occasionally wolves making calls.

We arrived back in Baykit, weary and grubby. I was assigned a room two doors down from where I had been before (a mirror image of the last one). I took a shower then found food in the canteen, then really enjoyed the soft and warm bed. The next morning I went over to the offices where my boss outlined the maintenance routine he wanted me to follow.

It looked like I'd be working alone, driving out to the fields to do mostly preventative maintenance but, when something went down hard, I'd be going out to fix it. The network was set up using a series of satellite links but they had crews replacing these with fiber links, I'd be maintaining these. I poked around the shop until lunch time when I planned to go look up Magda. As it turned out, I did a lot more than look her up.

I went into the waiting room, I could hear her talking to someone in one of the examining rooms down the hall, so I sat down to wait. A few minutes later the voices became louder when a door opened and they came into the waiting room, still talking in Russian. When Magda saw me she smiled and gave a small wave of hello but finished her conversation with the patient (a middle aged woman I had not seen before). They were obviously chatting-girl talk-I could only catch a few words and phrases of the Russian. Finally the older woman left and Magda turned to me.

"Hello, Leslie, I'm glad you came by."

"Hi, got back into a town last night, I was wondering whether you'd like to get lunch."

She smiled, looking at me with a little bit of a calculating expression. "Yes....First, I'd like to discuss some of your lab reports."

"Oh?" I started to feel a little nervous wondering if she'd found something wrong.

"Come into the room." She stepped aside and indicated for me to go ahead of her.

I went into the examining room we had been in before, I walked to the table and turned around as she closed the door, then she locked it. She turned and took two quick steps across to me, pushing me in the chest with both hands. I fell back against the table and she pressed her face into mine, giving me a very hard kiss, working her lips against mine, then painfully biting my lower lip and pulling back. I had brought my hands up in defense to push her away, thinking she was attacking me (in an angry way) but this just put them in the perfect position to cup her small breasts and kneed them a little through her lab coat and blouse.

The next minute and a half was taken up with us madly ripping each others clothes off. She scratched my sides with her fingernails as she pulled at my shirt tail and again my belly as she worked at my belt. A couple of buttons hit the floor when I jerked at the front of her blouse, pulling it down her back, pinning her arms. I pulled the straps of her bra over her shoulders and then the whole thing down around her waist, releasing her small and soft tits that I immediately started to suck and pinch.

Very soon she was sitting on the table, both hands around my cock, our tongues dueling, and my hands pinching and twisting her nipples. I moved down, sucking her right tit while I massaged her left one with my hand, my other hand was in her crotch. She slid her ass off the table, standing again, leaning against it and I pushed my trigger and index finger up inside her while rubbing her clit with my thumb, pinching it between my thumb and my finger in her cunt. Then I dropped down further, onto my knees (she had had to let go of my cock) and moved my mouth down her stomach.

"Ohh...you do THAT," she half moaned as I craned my neck and tried to get my tongue into her slit. She lifted up back onto the table, spreading her legs wider while leaning back on her elbows, her feet in the air. She kept her pussy nicely trimmed, shaved down to a small patch of short black hair, nice bikini shave (I'm not sure how often people wear bikinis in Siberia). I licked and sucked her pussy as she at first watched, mouth agape, panting hard. Then, as she built, she began to lose focus, rocking her hips and breathing hard. Finally she threw her head back and grunted, shoving her snatch into my face, and her cunt broke out in a wet flow.

Her first orgasm passed, I stood up and jammed my cock inside her, pushing it in to the hilt in my first jab. I humped her hard, banging the examining table against the wall as she yelped with every thrust. It wasn't long before I went past and, jamming as deep inside her as I could, started to blow my cum. A white froth of pussy juices and cum collected around my cock as I slammed her several more times before calming down.

We were both sweating and panting, Magda laying back on the table, her ass on the edge, her legs spread, feet still dangling, not reaching the floor. I stood there and admired the site of my cock buried in her pussy, her rising and falling breasts, the sheen of sweat on her stomach.

"So..." I was still breathless, "was this the test?"

Her chest jerked some with a laugh. She looked at me. "Your test results were excellent," she said and we both laughed.

I stepped back, pulling my cock out of her, it was followed by a rush of goopy sperm. She rolled sideways off the table and stood up, then we hugged and kissed. She is almost as tall as me, I didn't have to lean down at all, her body was warm against me now that the sweat was beginning to evaporate in the already cool room.

"Lunch now?" she asked, picking up a pair of discarded pink satin panties.

As we dressed she looked at me while she was buttoning the side of her skirt. "Russian men don't do that..." she paused, trying to come up with the words. "Don't do oral sex on women."

"Oh, well,...they don't know what they're missing," I said.

"Do you Americans do that always?"

"Some do...I do..."

I could see her flush. "Oh,...that...remarkable..."

All I did was smile, then lift her chin and kiss her.

She needed to find safety pins to repair the damage to her blouse, then we ate lunch at the canteen where Magda introduced me to Shi, a Russian cabbage soup that we ate with a heavy rye bread. The soup was served with a side dish of 'smetana' which is like sour creme and is floated in the soup.

We walked across to the main building and stopped at the door. "You come for dinner again?"

"I'd love to, Magda," I said.

"I'd kiss you but...not professional," she said. "I stop for food and pick up girls on the way to house. Please arrive around...1730 OK?"

"I'm looking forward to meeting your daughters again."

"Only Natasha tonight, Vika stay in town with friend."

I started to say something about playing video games but stopped myself before making a foolish statement.

"Natasha will like if you read book for her. Not all available on MP3. We've been reading 'Harry Potter.'"

"I'd love to do that!" I said (and I really meant it).

"Good."

I followed her through the door but she went up the stairway while I went through to the electronics shop. A few minutes later, while cleaning some tools, I realized a problem...was the book in English?

"We have in English," Magda said over the phone when I called her office. "I use to teach Vika."