White Nights in St. Petersburg

The human stream, weighed down by suitcases, strollers, trunks, bags, and thinly diluted by the large yellow carts of porters, swept over me, unmistakably signaling the arrival of another train. Slightly irritated by the large number of people milling about the platform rather aimlessly, I abandoned attempts to push through to the frozen iron snake of the train and merely weaved between clusters of joyfully shouting greeters and new arrivals who simply couldn't find any other place to express their feelings except the narrow platform of Moscow Station. Finally, the main crowd ebbed away, overflowing with impressions, and it became a bit freer. I quickened

my step, trying not to lose sight of the carriage numbers. Five, six... I hope they are actually in order, and not as usual...

I headed straight for her, not taking my eyes off her—and then she looked at me—slightly excited and interested, still afraid of making a mistake.

— Andrey," Yulia also smiled, rose slightly on her tiptoes, and pecked me on the cheek. "Hi.

— Well, let's go—your things?" I picked up the suitcases and strode towards the station exit. "How was the trip?

— Fine," Yulia walked beside me, and it was clear that although she tried to act casually, she was nervous and still a bit tense. No wonder—I felt the same myself, but I had no right to show it—as the host and, if it came to that, the representative of the stronger sex. So many months of correspondence, and quite frank—and now, at the personal meeting, there was some awkwardness—a fear of recognizing a living person in one's long-time virtual interlocutor. "The customs officers rummaged through all the things...

— Drugs, vodka, lard?" I smiled. "Didn't they find any?

— Left them at home—I'll bring them next time," Yulia retorted without batting an eye.

— Little scorpion," I noted affectionately.

We came out onto Ploshchad Vosstaniya, crossed two pedestrian crossings—over Ligovsky and Nevsky—Yulechka didn't miss the phallic "chisel" in the center of the square, and also with visible interest directed her gaze along Nevsky—towards the spire of the Admiralty rising at the end.

— Where are we going?

— To the bus," I explained. "We can't get to my place with the luggage by metro—and I think we should drop the things off at my place first—and then we'll figure it out...

— Who's at your place?

— No one—my mother went on vacation to a friend's dacha, and I sent my father off—also to the dacha—to my grandparents...

— Great...

— Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to look around," I reassured Yulia, noticing how she was turning her head hungrily from side to side. "We'll stop by my place and then go for a walk... Even until morning—if you're not too tired, of course...

— No, I'm very interested," Yulia replied.

— You're lucky," I confided. "We have white nights now... If you can—I'd like to take a walk with you along the Neva, it's very beautiful in early summer...

The bus arrived surprisingly quickly, and we, loaded with all our things onto the rear platform, rode to my place. Yulechka stood, holding onto the rear horizontal handrail—and watched through the large rear window as the buildings of Nevsky floated away backwards, and only squeezed her fingers tighter when the platform jolted from the movement of the quietly chugging bus...

We passed Liteyny Prospekt, then the Anichkov Bridge with its horses, Gostiny Dvor... I tried my best to briefly name the places we were passing... Yulechka obediently followed my instructions and raised her head to the spire of the House of Books, but the globe was covered in scaffolding—however, the domes of the Church of the Savior on Blood a little further away sparkled in the sun, and I myself admired the familiar landscape...

Past the "Barrikada" cinema, the bus turned onto Malaya Morskaya, leaving the noisy Nevsky. Yulia sighed with a barely noticeable regret, and I just smiled quietly—I knew that these weren't all the sights on our route. After two stops, we emerged between the Angleterre Hotel and St. Isaac's onto St. Isaac's Square, and Yulechka again pressed her nose to the glass, trying to take in the huge cathedral with her gaze...

— It's okay," I told her. "You need to look at St. Isaac's from a distance—we'll go for a walk—and we'll definitely see everything...

To confirm my words, I automatically put my hand on her shoulder—and tensed, feeling the warmth of her skin under the thin dress... She also smiled and pressed a little closer to me... Or maybe I imagined it.

We passed the Manege, drove along Konnogvardeysky Boulevard, and at Ploshchad Truda I couldn't resist and showed Yulia the building of my Institute—even if from the back. Driving along the Kryukov Canal, we took a small zigzag and ended up... Well, of course... On the Kissing Bridge. I immediately began breathlessly telling stories about this wonderful place, but of course, we passed it very quickly—but I still managed to quote with a smile the song about how "all the bridges are raised, but the Kissing, sorry, is not"...

But that wasn't the end either—without slowing down, the bus spectacularly brought us out onto Teatralnaya Square, turning so that right in front of us stood the Conservatory and the Mariinsky Theatre facing each other.

Two more stops, a turn onto Angliysky Prospekt, and I muttered:

— We're here.

For the ten minutes from the stop to my house, I didn't stop talking for a minute, describing my childhood impressions of my native district. Finally, we turned into the entrance and went up to the third floor...

Three shaggy monstrosities, left in my care, of course immediately rushed towards the sound of the opening door. While I was fussing with the luggage, Yulechka said "oh," crouched down—and for my cats, a sweet time of ear-scratching, behind the ears, and under the chin began...

Smiling at this feline idyll, I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

— Yul, are you hungry?

— Can you cook?" came a voice from the hallway.

— Uh..." I scratched the back of my head. "Well, of course I can, how else would I feed myself...

— Maybe you're on a diet," Yulia suggested, entering the kitchen. The cats, already in love with her, jostled, vying for the right to rub against her legs... Glancing at Yulechka's legs and her beautiful knees peeking out from under the not-very-long skirt, I sincerely wished I were a cat—for such a right, I would have fought with pleasure myself...

Yulia, obviously, appreciated my heroic efforts not to stare at her so openly, as evidenced by her pleasant smile.

— Well, what do we have here?" she asked, coming closer. "I don't want lunch.

— There's tea, I can make coffee, mint," demonstrating the truth of my words, I opened the cupboard door slightly. Yulechka came right up and, rising on her tiptoes, peeked inside. Unable to resist, I put my hands on her waist, helping her keep her balance.

— Tea," she pronounced the verdict, lowering herself back onto her heels and... nudging me slightly with her butt against my hips... I instantly broke into a sweat and blushed—not only from the pleasant sensations of her touch, but also because I was sure she felt my reaction—including the purely physical one... And such things terribly embarrassed me, as, in my opinion, any decent young man finding himself in the company of a pretty girl for the first time...

However, Yulechka either didn't feel anything or pretended not to notice anything.

— Sunshine—sit on the chair and rest, I'll prepare everything." As always, I took on the intonations of a caring uncle...

Yulechka, hesitating, finally sat on the chair and stretched out her legs... I ran my eyes over her again, caught myself doing it, and, forbidding myself to think about anything except the kettle for the next ten minutes, went to the bathroom to draw water.

And after tea, we went for a walk.

Our program was shortened—firstly, I remembered she was from the road and must be tired—and secondly—St. Petersburg is a big city, and it's easy to get so worn out that you miss a lot of interesting things, so it's better to stretch this pleasure over several days, which we had, especially.

On the first day, we limited ourselves to sitting in the garden opposite St. Isaac's, walking along the Neva, crossing to Vasilievsky Island, walking around there a bit, and then returning to the embankment. Time flew quickly, I told Yulia what I knew about the things surrounding me, and she listened and sometimes told me about her impressions...

— You know what..." I finally said.

— What?" Yulechka turned, looking up at me—and my breath caught... I suddenly caught myself looking at her slightly parted lips—and couldn't tear my eyes away from them, and I was drawn to them, drawn closer and closer...

— You know," I shook myself. "Let's walk to Finland Station.

— Where is that?" Yulechka put her hands behind her head, adjusting her hair, and I again admired her—her beautiful arms and soft movements.

— Further along the embankment... We haven't seen the Winter Palace, the Spit, the Peter and Paul Fortress yet... Of course, we'll postpone a detailed visit to these places for later—but now we can just take a walk and look at them... The classic St. Petersburg landscape...

— Well, let's go..." Yulechka smiled, taking my arm.

The sun was already setting, the sky was darkening, and we froze opposite the Hermitage. Below us, the water splashed quietly, behind our backs rose the Winter Palace, and right in front of us against the dark sky, the spire of the Peter and Paul Fortress shone dazzlingly gold. A little to the left, the Spit cut the Neva in a semicircle, and both Rostral Columns were visible.

Yulechka leaned forward slightly, leaning on the granite embankment, and I stood behind, putting my hands on her waist...

— How beautiful," Yulia said quietly after some silence.

— Beautiful," I agreed. My heart was pounding wildly, and my hands were trembling—but I hoped she didn't notice. Her scent, her exposed skin, and her hair in front of my face excited me... "And on holidays, lights burn on the Rostral Columns, and salutes are fired from the Peter and Paul Fortress...

I spoke quietly, very quietly, so that the last words were already whispered into her ear—and I couldn't tear myself away, lightly touching her hair with my lips... I held my breath, half-closed my eyes—and stood like that, lightly-very lightly touching her nape with my cheek—so that she might not even feel it...

But she felt it—and leaning back slightly, pressed against me. I put my hands on her shoulders, she covered my hands with hers, and we stood like that for a while longer, and I gently rubbed my cheek against her soft dark hair. Finally, she turned around. Her eyes were closed, and her head was slightly tilted back—she pressed against me again, I slid my lips over her forehead, nose, cheeks—and finally found her lips... Her mouth opened slightly, and I kissed her gently, enveloping her warm upper lip with mine and lightly squeezing... She responded, wrapped her arms around my neck, and I pressed her to me, no longer embarrassed by what had so embarrassed me then in the kitchen, pressed her and continued to kiss her, just as gently, but now a little more passionately and insistently.

Finally, she moved away slightly and opened her eyes. And I saw a smile on her face—and suddenly I felt so warm and good... I playfully pecked her on the tip of her nose, and we laughed together.

— Shall we go?" I took her warm palm, and we walked along the embankment.

Around us were pleasant twilight, rather light, as if it were day, but the sun just wasn't shining—and the quiet splash of dark water was the only surrounding sound... There were very few people on the embankment, cars weren't driving either, and we just walked and walked, already approaching the Summer Garden.

— What time is it?" Yulia asked.

— Ten to twelve," I replied.

— Oh... And where we're from, it's already dark at this time—night...

— These are the white nights," I smiled. "Let's go back a little and sit for a bit by the descent?

At the Winter Canal, we went down to the water itself and sat on the steps... For a while, we looked at the water, now so close, then Yulechka moved closer, pressing her shoulder against me, and we kissed for a long time again. I stroked her hair and shoulders, and I wanted to close my eyes, bury my face in her ear, and purr quietly.

Pecking her on the ear, I glanced at my watch on the sly.

— It's about to start," I informed her.

— What?" Yulechka was surprised.

— Just watch.

We were sitting between the Palace and Liteyny bridges, opposite the Peter and Paul Fortress and the Spit, and the lights illuminating the bridge spans and embankments were already on...

— Oh," Yulechka exclaimed, and I just smiled, watching as the leaves of the Palace Bridge trembled, at first imperceptibly, then the curvature, the unnaturalness of the arc line became obvious, the gap in the middle of the bridge began to widen—and the huge leaves of the central span, crowned with red signal lights, began their movement towards the sky...

— This is the bridge raising," I said quietly. "Strange—I've lived in St. Petersburg all my life, but I've only seen the raising a few times... It's considered a romantic pastime... You know, it's been about two years since I've seen the white nights on the Neva...

Yulia was silent. She knew what happened two years ago—and who was with me then. It was half a year before we started corresponding. I shook my head, hugged the girl by the shoulders, and kissed her firmly and passionately again, playing with her sweet lips and sometimes running my tongue over them...

— You'll get cold—let's walk some more," I gently pulled Yulia by the hand.

— It's warm," she replied, but got up, and we walked along the embankment again...

We walked for about an hour, side by side, mostly silent—only stopping at every corner and kissing for a long time. Finally, we wandered to the very far end of the embankment—already past Smolny, where there was absolutely no one—just the same embankment and the same quiet water of the Neva.

Yulechka again leaned her elbows on the granite, and I hugged her from behind, pressing her to me... We stood like that for a while, I closed my eyes, buried my face in her shoulder from behind, and my palms lay on her stomach... She gently stroked my fingers, and I pressed against her from behind with my hips... Moving them slightly, pressing harder, then lighter, but so that she could feel me, feel how tense I was... At first, I did it without thinking, rather involuntarily, but then I felt pleasure in it—and it became not just a movement