House of Culture
As you know, in every city there is a House of Culture for Railway Workers. There is also one in V. The establishment was in a semi-death state and on weekends - perhaps for an additional fee - a cultural fair-flea market was held on its territory. There you could buy books (oh, where are you, my Homer and Pliny the Younger?), they sold some incense, cats, religious things, and also CDs. Naturally, pirated ones. “Cultural” discs were sold inside, and uncultured ones outside.
Here we will talk about uncultured ones. The main two categories of railroad pornography are photographs and films. I was an active consumer of both, but it all started with photographs.
Some men and, it seems, fat women, laid out all sorts of little things on cardboard - badges, emblems, old cameras and records, as well as a box with ordinary-looking white discs. On the disc itself, something like “50+” or “Young” was written in marker. The price for everything was the same (100 rubles, I think). Typically, the sellers did not pay any attention to you. They chatted enthusiastically among themselves and, as if reluctantly, paused briefly to take the bill from you and put the requested disk in your hands, after which they plunged into conversation again.
I tried to buy from the fat woman in glasses, because, although she puffed like a locomotive, she was not talkative and did not express open disdain for you. She sat motionless, gazing into infinity, patiently waiting for a buyer.
I had a tiny Chinese video player at home with a built-in small screen. Insert the disk, place the device on your stomach - enjoy. Each disk contained exactly a thousand photographs, and I was always amazed at the amazing accuracy of the sellers. Leafing through the photos many times (in search of my favorite ones), I gradually learned the approximate content of each - since there could be a whole photoset for an individual girl, you didn’t have a thousand photos of a thousand girls, but a thousand photos of 10-15 girls.
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Once, the Chinese device seemed to choke on the inserted disk, then it managed, swallowed and... showed new photographs that I had not seen there before. It turned out that it was not the sellers who recorded a thousand photos on the disk, but my playback showed only the first thousand. So, my moments of leisure were now spent trying to repeat that magical moment when suddenly something was read wrong, after which new, never-before-seen pictures appeared.
Fortunately, with video There were no such problems and the House of Cultural Railway Workers regularly supplied me with video productions. I liked the photographs more because they had more variety, but I also watched the video.
I didn’t remember anything in particular, except for one moment. It was some kind of series of videos in which the same guy fucked women over forty in the same room. Each scene began and ended the same way.
First, the aunt sits dressed on the sofa and briefly talks about herself - who she is, what her name is, who she works for, what she likes about sex, etc. Next came the sex itself, after which there was another interview. Naked, sweaty, with dripping mascara - but happy - the aunt tells how great it was for her.
And then some elderly gray-haired lady came, who said that she was from Russia and works translator The lady looked stern, but tired. Then there was a blow job, the lady was already naked, vaginal sex began and suddenly the lady got the taste. She twitched more and more convulsively, then stretched out her hand to the clitoris, then immediately pulled it away, and then the lady was suddenly attacked by tetanus. She literally had a spasm of orgasm and it was clear that the hero-lover was naturally frightened. The lady twitched as if she was being electrocuted, and then, hard as a wooden stick, she fell on her side, emitting a half-roar, half-howl with her jaws clenched to a crunch.
After a while, the lady caught her breath and tried to mount her lover again, she was soon twisted again, and the scene ended. There wasn’t even a traditional post-coital interview. Maybe she even died in paroxysms of pleasure - I don’t know. There were no comments about this on the disc.
Pissing Girl
One winter weekend, I decided to visit the railway workers again and hit the road. On the street it turned out that there was a fairly strong snowstorm, transport was not running, and the streets were covered with snow. After walking and freezing, I went home (naturally, no one was selling any discs in such weather).
And so, already approaching the house, I went down into the underground passage. There was no one there; freshly made snowdrifts lay on the stairs. I walked along the passage, came around the corner and turned right to start climbing the stairs and froze.
Around the corner, caught by bad weather and need, a girl half-squatted down to pee, and I scared her greatly , suddenly appearing around the corner.
It was an ordinary home student or high school girl. The face was hidden by a hanging hood. She jumped to her feet and began to pull up her thick gray gaiters, while continuing to write - apparently unable to stop.
The wind was blowing overhead, snow dust flew like a whirlwind into our nook, from -under the raised hem of the girl’s down jacket, a tight stream was beating—right inside her pants. “Well, fucked up,” the girl said in a choked voice from under her pulled up hood, without stopping the fountain.
I paused from the surprise of the opening scene, and then silently (so as not to embarrass me even more) walked past and went up into the violence of the elements. What worried me most was how she would now walk in bad weather in wet pants - she wouldn’t catch a cold.
(to be continued)
