Inside the crowded gallery, the girl from Vermont had her hand halfway down the pants pocket of the tall, older gentleman who was standing in front of her.  It annoyed her that the man seemed to be missing a wallet, and for that matter, a pulse and everything else.  While discreetly continuing to feel around, Eve began to glance at what he was looking at.  She saw the photograph of a braided girl, map in her hands, standing above snow covered rooftops.

Suddenly, she recognized the girl.  Indeed, it happened to be an old photograph of herself!

In fact, Eve still remembered the day and night she first visited Brooklyn quite clearly. She had traveled to Brooklyn by bus in search of her Russian roots.  That first night she had trudged through dirty slush and a howling wind to find the Brooklyn Banya.

The brass door opened as she approached.  A heavily tattooed matron, cigarette dangling from her wide mouth, naked to the waist, invited her in.  The cyka blyat took her by the hand and announced those memorable words, “You strip now.”  Eve knowingly recalled the intense scrutiny the Russian lady had given her.  The woman’s eyes had judged her.

“My little pizda,” she had said, ”follow me”.  She had led Eve down a dimly lit hall way, lined with richly colored portraits of busty women and murals of beautiful rustic landscapes.  Finally, they came to a room  with a glow from the bursting fire in the middle.  Many naked couples glistened with sweat as some threw buckets of water against the walls of red brick, causing clouds of steam to fill the room.  The intense heat that accompanied the steam made Eve drip.

In front of an empty bench, the blyad had told her to lay face down.  The bitch pinched her and told her,

“Now, my naughty brat, I am going to thrash you!”

Almost immediately, Eve had felt the feathery, burning blows of the platza, the branches of oak leaves used in the Russian tradition, rhythmically cutting into her. The old woman had been vigorous and ruthless.  She had drawn blood and licked the skin of her guest.

The bitch turned her face up and Eve had seen the devil in her.  The woman’s huge breasts hung heavy over her as their sweat mixed.  The heat of the fire and the warmth of the blows and the closeness of their bodies all combined to flush through Eve. 

The cyka bhyat, sensing the royal flush, at that moment in time, had dropped a branch and put her hand over Eve’s wet gap.  Those fabulous fingers in the folds of her labia!

The memory of just how hot and wet it had been inside and out transported her.  So as Eve continued to gaze at the photograph, waves of heat expanded through her in every direction.  Eve remembered how proud of her work the Russian had been.  She had tried to teach Eve a lesson!  All these years later, it still wasn’t clear what it was.

Back to an awareness of soaking underwear and expansion, back to the old woman’s hand up her cunt, Eve kept expanding almost to the point of explosion when she heard a snap at her wrist, which as it turns out was still in the gentleman’s   pocket. 

The gentleman had remained in front of her throughout her reverie but had now turned, and as she could see, he was facing her and holding the cuffs which bound her.

He looked intensely into her shocked visage and said venomously,“ You, mam, are now most certainly under arrest!”