James Bond

This story is from the series "You reap what you sow." It might seem quite incredible. But it turned out that I myself acted as the locomotive that directed the train to the station where it arrived.

I'll start with the backstory.

I ended up in this city when I started my army service. I ended up in a motor transport unit, as I already had experience driving a truck. Quite often, I had to drive my ZIL to various offices and enterprises. In one of the motor vehicle columns, I caught the eye of the head of the transport shop; he sort of jokingly built bridges, asking who I was, where from, what prospects after service, and in general, he practically persuaded me to stay

and work here. There was nothing to do in the village anyway, my parents were gone, and working in the fields didn't appeal much. In short, nothing held me at home. And here they painted prospects, growth, a career. They only set one condition: no drinking. But that was precisely the stone because of which I wasn't attracted to life in the village. I knew that one could easily become an alcoholic there, and that's exactly what I didn't want.

My driver's license gave me the opportunity to get to know the city, and I fell in love with it. Especially since my aunt lived here, who dearly loved me, her only nephew.

After demobilization, I got a job at the motor vehicle column and started living with my aunt. Everything seemed fine, but Aunt Manya fell seriously ill, she was admitted to the city hospital, which I started visiting often. That's where I met my future wife, who had recently arrived to work as a nurse after graduating from the Kineshma medical school. Olya took a liking to me too. It was impossible to hide this from my aunt, so after whispering with Olga, she bluntly suggested to me:

"Get married, my dear, while I'm alive. You won't find a better one."

I didn't argue with her and proposed. A month later, I became a family man, and another month later, my aunt was gone. And I became the full owner of my aunt's little apartment, which she left to me in her will. I dashed to the village, sold my parents' house, and exchanged the apartment with an extra payment for a luxurious mansion in the city center, not far from the hospital where my wife worked.

And just in time, a year later, there was an addition to our family, a little fair-haired miracle—our daughter Annushka. In this, the daughter took after her mother—a blue-eyed blonde.

I was very proud of my wife; when we walked with the stroller, I often noticed that Olga attracted the glances of men we passed. No wonder, childbirth hadn't spoiled her figure at all. At 19, she looked magnificent. Tall, slender, I'd like to say by world standards, but the lower "60" wasn't quite 60. She hadn't widened in the hips, her butt remained just like a teenager's, as I had met her in my aunt's ward. Her bust had developed, but you couldn't say her breasts had become large. They became high and firm, which looked quite impressive in tight clothing.

Olya suggested that we let our little daughter grow up a bit, and we'd hold off on continuing for now. So we decided to use protection. Since then, sex and a condom became one and the same for us; we followed this rule unwaveringly.

And then, five years after our daughter's birth, the story itself happened.

After the May holidays, a woman was admitted to my wife's department. Interesting, stately. When my daughter and I came to visit my wife, I noticed that her husband visited her with children—two fair-haired boys close in age and a dark-skinned mulatto daughter, about the same age as our Anyutka.

My wife told me that rumors were going around that Ekaterina, the girl's mother, had been on a business trip where she had an affair with a black man, and the child was the fruit of that love. But the husband accepted the daughter, as did the sons.

Anechka, when she saw the dark little girl, was surprised at first, kept asking me why it was like that. I had to wriggle out of it, explaining that the girl was tanned, that it could be that the mom and dad are white, but the child took after the great-grandmother or great-grandfather, who also had such blood. That seemed to work; the child stopped focusing on it, and soon they met and became friends.

I also got acquainted with her father. He turned out to be a great guy; we had many common interests, especially drawing. Ignat invited us to his place; he was bored without his wife, and I hadn't made any decent friends anyway, so my daughter and I didn't refuse and dropped by, especially since they lived nearby.

While the children played in their room, the host and I drank fragrant coffee, brewed according to Ignat's special recipe, and tried to critique drawings, both Ignat's and mine, a folder of which I had brought with me.

The evening flew by unnoticed. Anya had so much fun that she didn't want to leave, and she chattered all the way home that Karinka was her best friend. I didn't object—let them be friends.

Soon Katya was discharged from the hospital. We started meeting as families, visiting each other, and Ignat and Katya started taking us to their dacha.

Olya and Katya also found common ground, became friends; you could often see that, leaving us, they would talk about something intimate, sometimes whispering, then suddenly laughing cheerfully.

Once, when we stayed overnight at the dacha, Ignat couldn't hold back and called me for a frank conversation. They heated the bathhouse, first washed the kids, then our women steamed, and then we went. We steamed for a long time, and then Ignat suggested having a drink after this holy deed. We sat in the dressing room. I wasn't into it, just sipping the alcohol, but Ignat seemed to want to get drunk. Which soon happened.

We, in our underwear, since it was already dark, went out to the river, lit up, looking at the serene water, and Ignat burst out.

"Listen, Nikita. As long as I've known you, I like you. You're a real man," he threw away the extinguished cigarette and lit a new one, "And they all keep prying, prying into my soul. And you don't pry. And I love her!"

I was silent, not knowing what to say, but at the same time not interrupting him.

He looked me in the face and continued:

"You know, I'm so tired of everyone being interested in why my daughter is like that. But she's mine! Mine, understand, and I love her too!"

Ignat got up, went to the dressing room, and returned holding a bottle with two shot glasses and a plate of snacks, which he placed on the grass nearby.

He poured, drank his immediately, not even touching the snacks.

"Are you interested in why Karisha is like that?" he looked at me carefully again.

It seemed to me there wasn't a hint of drunkenness in Ignat's eyes, as if he hadn't been drinking.

"Not really," I answered and also tossed back a shot, chasing it with a thin slice of lard.

"See! Not really! I told you—a real man," he struck a match and lit the next cigarette, "But I'll tell you."

I also lit up.

"There was no business trip. He lives nearby, over there," Ignat waved towards the district center, which was an hour's drive from our city, "He works at a joint venture. Ours with the French. He's known Katya since college. They had an affair. It was me who hurt Katya, I left her for another. And she... She couldn't resist. He helped her..." Ignat coughed, "And that too... So Karinka appeared."

Ignat turned towards the house, looked at the windows, and continued again:

"It's not her fault, that's how it was supposed to be. It's fate! And I couldn't, I left that fool who didn't need me, but a position in my department. I couldn't! I came back!"

He poured shots again and, waiting for me to raise mine, looked me in the eyes again with absolutely sober eyes. The alcohol didn't affect him. We drank, he the whole shot, and I again just sipped—the vodka wasn't going down.

"I'd give a lot. Let it be the same, but with me, with me present, just so I wouldn't leave," he took out another cigarette.

"And he calls, he constantly calls her. When I pick up, he's silent, hangs up, but I know—it's him. I'm afraid she'll leave. Understand? And don't blame her, she's kind... and honest. And thank you. You have a good daughter. Kind. They don't befriend Karina, but she really wants it."

I nodded my head, finishing the rest.

"Alright, enough, let it go. Thanks for listening. Now you know, and I, well, feel lighter, a weight off my shoulders. Had no one to cry to. Shall we go?" he threw the butt under his feet, crushing it with his slipper.

Then he got up, took the bottle and plate, I picked up the shot glasses, and we went to get dressed and close the bathhouse.

At night, while Olga snored beside me, I lay there thinking about the vicissitudes of fate. And the more I thought, the more my respect for this man grew within me, and I didn't try to blame Katya one bit. Well, an unfortunate accident at work, it happens to anyone.

In the morning, we drove home; we were silent, although I wanted to tell Olga what I'd heard, and judging by her look, she also had something to share. Anyutka just chattered in the back seat.

We returned to the conversation only in the evening. After putting Annushka to bed, we lay down in bed.

Olya started the conversation:

"You know, Katya opened up to me."

"I know, Ignat told me," I interrupted her.

"He bothers her, constantly calls. She's afraid... And with Ignat present, a conversation won't happen. They'll fight."

"Should I go, or can you back her up?"

"I think it's easier for me; you're also a man, and what kind of conversation is it with a man present?"

"Well, then it's more logical for you to go," I concluded.

This turn seemed to suit Olga; it was part of her and Katya's plans. She immediately grabbed the phone:

"Yes, decided, of course. Good. Until tomorrow."

"We'll go tomorrow; Katya will pick me up."

In the evening, our friends indeed came over. The children immediately rushed to Anechka's room, and we went to the kitchen, where a conversation started. Olya went to change. Then she came out to us to show herself. She twirled in the doorway for us to appreciate her outfit. There was plenty to admire. A white turtleneck was brightly set off by a short black skirt, her slender legs were also in black stockings, which I loved. And elegant high-heeled shoes. Instead of the usual braid, her head was crowned with the magnificence of a careful hairstyle.

"Out of this world!" was all Ignat could say.

Katya and Olya went down to the car, and we set up the chessboard on the table and began the battle.

About three hours later, Ignat left with the children, I put my daughter to sleep and also went to bed.

In the morning, I took Anechka to kindergarten, and when I returned home, Olya was already there. She seemed tired; apparently, Katya's conversation with that guy was difficult. I fed my wife, and she went to sleep, collapsing right in her clothes. On her stockings, I noticed a run.

"Oh, the stockings are ruined, need to bring new ones."

Soon I also had to get ready; the departure was scheduled for noon, so I packed up and went to the base to prepare the truck.

I returned two days later. Olya met me looking refreshed, cheerful, and content. She was very happy that I brought her a pair of the sheerest black stockings to replace the ruined ones. My wife jumped up and kissed me sweetly.

And a couple of days later, in the evening, the phone rang again. I picked up. It was Katya.

"Is Olya home?" I called my wife.

Olga took the phone.

"I don't know, need to ask," and she looked at me.

"What's needed?"

My wife covered the receiver with her hand.

"Katya needs to see James again."

Turns out, that SP-specialist is called James.

"When?"

"The sooner, the better."

"If it's needed, then it's needed."

Lacy open panties, a matching bra with half-cups and thin straps, a red blouse, a black pleated skirt, and... flesh-colored tights? No, that won't do!

"The new stockings will suit better. Why aren't you wearing them, I brought them for you," I offered advice as an experienced aesthete.

Olya turned around, shot me a glance, and, taking out the package, tore it open.

When the stockings hugged her legs, she looked at me again.

"Oh, good! Now the red shoes."

And the red shoes completed the outfit.

Olya carefully did her hair. When everything was ready, I stood up, hugged my dear one, took her face in my hands, and kissed her very, very tenderly.

"Good luck, my dear. Break a leg! I love you."

She, beaming, waved her hand and fluttered out the door.

The next day, I again took my daughter to kindergarten. By the time I left for work, my wife hadn't returned yet, so I wrote her a note to pick up Anyutka before her night shift, and left.

In the morning, Olya returned from work looking terrible. I had to fuss before I undressed her and put her to bed.

To my question: "How's Bond, James Bond?" she just waved her hand, sinking into a saving sleep.

At the kindergarten, they had already gotten used to the father bringing the child. What to do, if mom works sometimes day, sometimes night shifts, you can't abandon the sick.

This continued for another three weeks. Another call, and my wife hurries to help her friend, so it's not so scary for her to go at night to a strange city. I stopped even picking up the phone, knowing it was Katya. I got used to the fact that two or three times a week, after a short conversation, Olenka would look at me, pressing the phone receiver to herself, and after my nod, throw out "I'm going!" and the fashion show of the new season's outfits would begin.

Towards the end of the month, I was offered a profitable run. I agreed with my partner that he would prepare the vehicle, so I wasn't in a hurry. My wife was home, my daughter in kindergarten, so I wanted intimacy. I led Olenka to bed and began to caress her. Then I took a new pack of Indian "gas masks" from the nightstand and opened it. Putting on the protective gear, I