John hadn’t caught her age as things had just moved too fast. She was no teenager, but she couldn’t be more than twenty-five he figured? My god what a body, what a flat stomach and look at her firm tight ass. As her plump raspberry tinged lips enveloped John’s hard cock he groaned again and she giggled at his reaction. She looked more vulnerable and sexy than John thought a woman could be capable of looking. Their wild bedroom antics had tousled her hair and her make-up was streaked and smudged by their endless grasping, kissing, sucking and touching. John was at the edge and wondered if he could hold on? The intensity of her warm soft mouth, her flicking tongue circling his cockhead with deliberate and measured swirls, it was almost too much for him to bear. John let his eyes wander over her flawless form; he was astounded as his gaze took in her body reveling in its perfect lines and sculpted contours. Her tits were the most perfect firm delicious orbs he had ever seen in his life. Her long golden blond hair was so lustrous it almost glowed in the faint light as her head bobbed up and down on his huge thick rod. John became more and more delirious as her sucking increased in speed and intensity. How had he met her? How had this vision of beauty ended up enchanting him and more? How had he lured her to his bed? How had this amazing coupling of horny needy bodies happened? John groaned again with wild guttural animal growls as the young vixen sucked even harder. John was so close to coming the intensity bordered on pain. The young woman lifted her big blue eyes looking up at John. Just at that moment she pulled her sweet lips off his cock with a popping sound like a sixteen-year-old quickly yanking a big round cherry lollypop out of her tightly puckered lips. A smirk crossed her lips and John was dumbfounded as he desperately hoped she’d continue. “Please don’t stop!” John prayed. She was so beautiful and vivacious and clearly she was a young vixen voracious for sex. John realized finally he would be happy with the girl of his dreams. “Beep! Beep! Beep!” John was disoriented as he opened his tired dry eyes. “Where the fuck am I?” John wondered to him self. John looked around expectantly looking for the blond girl. What met his eyes instead was just another drab and rather carpet-worn hotel room with dreary sun-bleached drapes in need of replacement. The “beeping” sound that had so rudely interrupted his sex-dream fantasy wouldn’t stop buzzing. John sighed and reached out to swipe his iPhone to stop the alarm function. He tried to focus his eyes and looked at the time displayed on his phone. Five in the fucking morning? Fuck, so goddamn early? John groaned a rather disappointed groan realizing the gorgeous blond “girl” had merely been a figment of his over active sex-starved imagination. Merely another perfectly formed “fantasy girl” popping up in his dreams to tantalize and tease him with images of unattainable happiness and sexual bliss. As John oriented himself his wits returned and John realized his flight was an early one. John needed to get out of bed, have a quick shower and get on his way to the airport or he’d miss his flight. John took one last look around his Spartan room in the Crowne Plaza in Helsinki. Fuck Finland was one damn cold place in December. No wonder these people consumed so much Vodka and Aquavit since it probably helped to keep their blood flowing; it was human anti-freeze. John grabbed his LV garment bag, slung it over his shoulder and rushed to catch his car to the airport. If he missed his flight to Murmansk he’d be truly fucked. The Aeroflot flight only went once a week so John figured he’d better to be at the airport early to be safe instead of sorry. John departed yet another dreary hotel hoping things could get better; at least he was on holiday that was something, right? John had decided some time ago that when “the date” came if he needed to “go out” he was going to go out somewhere special, somewhere unique. Anatoly’s idea of “on the top of the world” had struck the perfect note in John’s otherwise discordant mind. No, not metaphorically “on top of the world” as in the song by the Carpenter’s. John was going literally to the top of the world: John was headed to join the famous Russian nuclear icebreaker the “Yamal” to take a “doomsday cruise” to the North Pole. John’s good friend Anatoly who lived in Khabarovsk in the Far East of Russia (close to the border with China) had introduced him to this crazy idea. Anatoly ran a large tourism company and traveled constantly looking for new travel destinations he could direct chartered planeloads of inebriated Russians to. Anatoly had been to some pretty insane places in the world and so had John so they made good companions for each other. Anatoly and John had met in the club lounge of a five-star hotel in Bali. The two travellers had become drinking buddies discussing global affairs and sampling various fine single-malt Scotch whiskies. No one who was not Russian could even attempt to keep up with Anatoly in terms of “drinking”, but at least John could hold his own in discussing global affairs. When Anatoly found out John had actually been to Timbuktu, the Russian’s respect for this crazy globetrotting Canadian had increased a hundred fold. Anatoly had never met anyone who had been to Timbuktu. In a typical Anatoly gesture he had exclaimed immediately, “Let’s drink to Timbuktu!” One evening the two companions had enjoyed just a little bit too much fine Scotch and John let loose with his disenchantment with life. The discussion segued into deep metaphysics and morose matters of the heart and the two men started disclosing secret thoughts to each other. “Anatoly, I just fly too fucking much. I really fly too much! I have no roots. No fucking life.” John’s new Russian friend commiserated with him and made suitable drunkenly slurred quotes from the works of Tolstoy and Chekov in an attempt to mollify John’s melancholy mood. When John had finally confided in Anatoly that he needed somewhere “very special” to spend December twenty-first Anatoly hadn’t even hesitated: “the Pole” he had declared with an emphatic Russian accented slamming of the fist on the table, drinks flying hither and tither, the world’s finest Scotch dribbling into the gutter. John had been slightly shocked, but was immediately taken by the insane edginess of Anatoly’s wild idea. From that evening of alcohol-lubricated male bonding a plan had been hatched. The plan of the “doomsday cruise” was that the Yamal, a 23,000 ton Russian ship with two nuclear reactor engines driving steam turbines with an output of 75,000 horsepower, would position itself at exactly ninety-degrees, on the very top of the world, on the North Pole, at precisely 12 midnight on December 20th, based on the time in Chichen Itza. This would mean that if the Mayan’s were correct in their astrological predictions of “Armageddon” then John and the ship would be “on top of the world” when everything ended at the stroke of midnight as the twenty-first of December dawned over the lands of the ancient Mayan empire. Most cultures have some mythology about the end of the world. Christians have myths about the “final battle” and the finality of all things prior to “the second coming”. For Hindus it is Shiva in the form of Nataraja, the cosmic lord of dance, who will, one day, stop dancing and put his foot forward and all time will stop; or perhaps when Kalki, the incarnation of Vishnu, rides down upon a white stallion and brings an end to all things. For Buddhism they believe the treasured teachings will be lost, the world descending into barbarism and then the dharma will be re-discovered just before seven suns rise and consume the world. So for Mayan’s to have predicted the end of the world would occur on December twenty-first in the year 2012 was not particularly strange as far as civilizations go. John had long been fascinated by Mayan culture. This was the only pre-Columbian culture in the Americas to have a fully developed written language. The Mayans also had highly developed knowledge in art, architecture, and mathematical skills. Last but not least the Mayan’s were highly accomplished astrologers. It was perhaps the Mayan skill in astronomy that was most worrying for people of the “modern” world in 2012. While most people knew little of the other great Mayan achievements they did know one simple thing: the date December twenty-first in 2012. This is the winter solstice and the last day of the 13th baktun of the Mayan calendar. This was the date the Mayan’s had predicted the world would end. This date is regarded as the end-date of the 5125-year-long cycle of the Mayan calendar. The Mayan calendar begins in 3,114 BC and the “doomsday” prediction is linked to the date that ends the important five-millennia cycle that the Mayans had divided into 13 baktuns. On this date many believe cataclysmic or transformative events will occur to usher in the next “solar Maximum”; in other words a new era would begin. While not too many people worried unduly about Vishnu or the seven-suns of Buddhism, for some inexplicable reason this Mayan prediction of a date had grasped the imagination of millions around the world who waited expectantly for “something” to happen. Established as a pre-Classic şişli escort society in 2000 BC many Mayan cities reached their cultural peak in the period AD 250 to 900 and continued to be vibrant until the arrival of the Spanish. Mayan society contained many great achievements, but it also contained a dark side. That dark side included human sacrifice rituals and a belief in the cataclysmic end of the world. Ultimately modern science would completely agree with the Mayans regarding the end of the world, except perhaps for the date. Science now well understands that the universe began with a huge explosion and will, at some point, collapse again into an infinitely tiny ball of dense matter before exploding once again to renew the process; as Elton John sings most aptly “the circle of life” repeats itself. Would this “collapse” of the universe into a tiny dense ball of matter occur on December twenty-first of 2012? John seriously doubted it, but his life felt like such a pile of shit, he concluded the world might as well collapse. Scholars, “Mayanists”, archaeologists, astronomers, mystics and new-age phoneys all had their own reasons for propagating an interest in the Mayan prediction. Like each of these John also had his own reasons to seek a personal change in his life on this date. Having kept a large home in Honduras for a quite a few years John was well aware that the Mayan language and traditions continue even today. Over six million people in Central America speak various dialects of Mayan. John’s gardener Jose had spoken Ch’orti’, a dialect from the extreme west of Honduras. This dialect is almost extinct, but Jose had retained it in his family and he retained many of the rituals and traditions of the ancient Mayan culture. John had spent more than one evening sipping tequila under a large silver equatorial moon being regaled by Jose and his wife with tales of the ancient Mayan civilizations including its doomsday tales of the end of the world. Were these sonorous tales told late at night under a silver moon enough to scare him? No, not really, but John had other reasons to seek renewal and re-birth. John was in the doldrums; he felt at the lowest point in his life and he needed something, anything, to grasp onto. John needed something, anything, to put some wind into his sails, a life preserver to keep him afloat. The idea that December twenty-first might offer some kind of turning point for his pathetic existence was at least a sliver of hope. At some time in early 2012, John couldn’t recall exactly when, he decided he needed to be somewhere special on December twenty-first. John’s life had gone from one low to another low even lower than the previous one. Just when John felt his life and his emotions had plumbed the deepest depths, life found a way of sending him a “zinger” and showing him “Nope buddy, things CAN get worse.” These morose feelings made John start to obsess irrationally about the Mayan prediction of the end of the world. John almost hoped it would come true, even though the “scientific” and “rational” side of his brain told him this just wasn’t going to happen. In any event, John decided if the world were to end he needed to be somewhere “special”. For some completely irrational reason John began to believe that if his life were going to “change” and turn around it had to start on December twenty-first. When Anatoly (or “the mad Russian” as John affectionately called him) in the midst of their drinking session had suggested the cruise to the “top of the world” John couldn’t imagine a place more appropriate to spend his last minutes on earth and to begin his personal renewal. If you’re fed up with living in the gloom and apathetic inertia of a personal malaise is there a better place to head than the top of the world? John couldn’t think of one. Besides with Anatoly’s tourist industry connections he had managed to secure John a prime first class outside suite with a small verandah deck for half the normal rate. The fact that the ship was fitted out beautifully and would have a Michelin star chef on board from Le Sud restaurant in Genève also played a small part in John’s considerations. At least his last meal would be fantastic he chuckled to himself. As John’s Aeroflot Sukhoi Superjet 100 set its wheels down in Murmansk with squeals of burning rubber he looked out the plane’s window at the fine white snow carpeting the frozen port city. The most northern of all Russian cities the population of almost five hundred thousand encircles the port of Kola Bay, their main access to the outside world. It is so cold in Murmansk that most inhabitants don’t so much live through winter as they “hibernate” and huddle in their houses waiting for things to warm enough to dare going outside again. Temperatures reach lows that most humans would consider completely ridiculous. John didn’t expect much from Russian hotels, but the Park Inn Poliarnie Zori Hotel (what was with the incredibly long Russian names for things?) caused John to smile as he made his way to his room. The multicolored wall panels, black, green, yellow and red played counterpoint to the parallel lines of multi-colored carpeting like a giant colored SKU code laid lengthways down the hall. In Russia you generally got a 5-Star price for a 2-Star room and this hotel was no exception. Oh well, only one night he thought to him self. The next morning John was up early and had a simple breakfast with coffee, toast and a poached egg. John slowly nursed a second cup of very strong and bitter Russian coffee before retreating to his room to pack up and head for the port to board the Yamal. A number of the people on the “doomsday cruise” had been put up at the same hotel so a small bus had been organized to transport them to the pier. John was soon in the lobby waiting to board the bus along with the others. There were a few other couples that mainly appeared to be older and of Russian or Eastern European or perhaps Ukrainian origin based on their dress and their conversation. A number of people were smoking the disgustingly strong Russian cigarettes and a haze of blue smoke hung in the air. John saw the couple near him was smoking Belomorkanal cigarettes in their light blue pack, one of the cheapest and most hideous smelling cigarettes in the world. Other than noting the irritating bluish smoke John was too tired and too infected by a bad case of ennui to really pay much attention to the motley collection of older worn-at-the-edges companions. What motivation these fellow travellers might have to spend their final days before the arrival of the Mayan cataclysm on the top of the world John had no idea. As John sat there dejectedly in the shabby hotel lobby he realized his whole idea of the cruise verged on looking like a bizarre Monty Python skit? What had he been thinking? There would be no revelations or life changing moments shared with this strange group of people he had nothing in common with. They were old, fat and smoked disgusting cigarettes. This whole idea of the cruise had obviously been a huge mistake. John wondered if he’d be better off to just skip out? Just as their bus pulled in front of the hotel another couple arrived in the hotel lobby. A tall husky older man with thinning-greying hair accompanied by an overweight wheezing wife with a head piled high with poorly dyed hair that was blacker than black. Trailing the couple was simply the most gorgeous creature John had seen in some time. Wearing black stretch pants that seemed painted to her toned body paired with a tight black stretch-Lycra top that showed every incredible curve of her firm female form this young woman was a completely unexpected and incongruous arrival. John couldn’t help looking the gorgeous young blond up and down from the top of her gorgeous head down to her cute sheepskin UGG boots. The gorgeous young blond joined an otherwise dilapidated and fading group of women clearly decades her senior. The women of the group were paired with past-their-prime men with potbellies and thinning hair. Whatever beauty the rest of the women in the group may have possessed in the distant past was certainly well on the way to complete decline. As counterpoint, this young winsome lass was just approaching her pinnacle of physical perfection and she possessed an aura of energy so vivacious John could swear she glowed. The gorgeous young blond woman was most probably the couple’s daughter John surmised. She looked to be about five-foot seven and in her early twenties. She had lush lustrous golden locks of shimmering hair plaited into a thick braid down the center of her back that fell like a golden rope that ended when it reached the top of her firm curved ass. A large knot and a green velvet bow decorated the end of the golden braid. The girl’s athletic and toned body oozed gorgeous curves that were perfectly placed and proportioned. Her feminine “baby-maker” hips, her firm young rounded breasts, her straight-backed posture like that of a poised ballerina, her blisteringly ice-blue eyes and her long elegant piano-player fingers; her every perfect feature was more than enough to grasp John’s now rapt attention. The appearance of this vision comprising equal portions of unabashed sexuality and playful innocence was enough to escort şişli drag John out of his doldrums and cause him to wonder if she would be coming on the cruise. The bus honked and everyone made his or her way towards the hotel door and the waiting bus. Disgusting cigarettes were stubbed out in brown plastic ashtrays. John paused wanting to see what this vision of loveliness was going to do? Would she be boarding the bus with her parents? Was that his heart thumping madly? John chuckled at how his mood had turned although he knew his chance of even meeting this girl was remote. It was highly unlikely she even spoke English. John’s heart rate perked up considerably when the young woman followed her parents, her tight black stretch pants painted to her toned body and headed onto the waiting bus. As she neared the door and the frigid outdoor air the girl pulled on a white puffy parka jacket with a fake fur trimmed hood. My god Russia may be a dreary place John thought, but it certainly made up for all of its shortcomings by producing some of the most gorgeous female creatures the earth has ever seen. John’s eyes remained lustfully on the beautiful girl’s firm young ass until she turned to the left and disappeared onto the bus. Finally, John made his own way onto the bus and found a seat next to a very fat perspiring man who apparently, from his smell, did not approve of bathing very often. Well John thought, if we are all going to disappear from the face of the earth in a few days at least I will be able to be consoled by a vision of beauty before I go. John knew this amazing young creature would fuel his masturbation fantasies for more than a few evenings during the cruise. As the bus pulled up to the pier every passenger was eagerly peering out the windows of the bus. The dramatic red superstructure of the Yamal towered above them contrasting its bright red steel decks against the slate-blue-grey crisp morning arctic sky. The large imposing ship was facing forward. Its hull was painted black and a rather kitschy shark’s mouth with ferocious white teeth had been painted on the icebreaker’s bow. The glaring shark’s teeth were grinning at them all in a smirk-like greeting. John gathered the message was that the forty-eight millimeter thick rivet-strengthened hull ate up Arctic Ocean ice like a voracious shark. Personally in terms of his own aesthetics John would “lose” the glaring white teeth, but he realized it must appeal to the hoi polloi of the “Nouveaux Riche” tourists and over-the-top newly minted oil barons from Russia and Kazakhstan. John gazed up like the others and could see the various Zodiac boats and the single small helicopter mounted on the top deck. John had to admit it was quite an impressive ship to journey to the North Pole. Considering the Yamal was equipped with various deck-top hot tubs, a heated indoor swimming pool and luxury lounges, a gym, a sauna and even a volleyball court it wasn’t like you were following in the footsteps of explorers like Roald Amundsen, Frederick Cook or Robert Peary. Taking their time as they craned their necks up at the huge ship the group from the bus slowly meandered their way up the steep gangway. John followed the line of travellers luging his garment bag and slowly made his way to the top outside deck where his first class suite was located. John soon found his suite and he was just opening the heavy steel door when the gorgeous young blond he had seen in the hotel lobby made her way down the same narrow hallway, her parents in tow. “Вот она отцу. Here it is Papa.” She called out enthusiastically her voice ringing with a sweet musical cadence, the soft feminine cadence of youth and optimism. Her voice rang clear and excited, the voice of someone who is not jaded or damaged John thought wistfully thinking of his more youthful self. The young beauty squeezed her taut firm body past John in the narrow passage and flashed him the most engaging and sparkling pearly-white smile as she moved to the door next to John’s suite. “Отец ваш номер следующей. Father your room is the next one down.” The blond vision of beauty pointed her father and mother to the room even further down the hall as she pushed open her own door. John paused not wanting to miss any chance to watch this incredible beauty realizing now that she was in the room next to his. Feeling an intense attraction John had some semblance of how a moth must feel when if flew near a glowing flame, or a bee within inches of a pile of pollen. “Serendipity” John almost silently whispered to himself, his head spinning with this development, thinking how this vision of beauty would be sleeping, possibly naked, only a few feet from his very own bed. As she crossed the threshold of her doorway the young woman turned and realizing John was staring at her she looked straight back confidently meeting his eyes. John was embarrassed to be caught looking and was momentarily mesmerized by her piercing ice-blue eyes. John’s cheeks flushed pink with heat and he wanted to turn away but he couldn’t, he was frozen in place by her beauty. John’s staring clearly did not nonplus her; this sexy young woman was obviously used to men devouring her with their eyes. The young woman’s return gaze seemed to penetrate John to the core holding him in thrall. She let lose another of her wildly beautiful smiles, releasing it effortlessly like a magician releases his white doves and with an equally magical effect. Her graceful charm and bewitching smile seemed to slow time as John tried to untangle himself from the web cast by her youth and irrational beauty that held him frozen in place. John must have had a pathetic “deer in the headlights” stunned look on his face. Comprehending John’s very male predicament she burst into youthful giggles as she ducked her head down and disappeared into her room. “Poof” and just like that she was gone. John was left looking stunned and disoriented staring into the empty space of the hallway where seconds before his vision had been standing. There were many women in the world who were “good looking”, who were “sexy”, who were “funny” and who were more than anything else “attractive” to the male creature. But how many women truly possessed that special female mystique that can drive men mad with desire? When the young blond had disappeared from view John felt an emptiness that was unusual, a feeling of illogical loss? This woman John realized had that rare and illusive quality, that aura of mystery and power to compel, that intangible quality that invests a woman with overpowering powers of romance and causes a man to experience pervasive desire; in short a man would do anything for this kind of woman. The exact quality was inexplicable, it was unquantifiable, it was intangible, it was magical, it was spellbinding and for this reason the Roman’s called it “mysticus”; a mystery. John took his time settling into his room and soon he heard the ship’s horn reverberating loudly and a message came over the intercom advising all travelers that the cruise was about to commence. John could feel the large ship shudder and shake as the huge steam turbine engines bust into action and the ship pulled away from the pier. John rushed out to go on deck to watch the ship’s departure from frozen Murmansk. John didn’t see the blond again that evening although he kept his eyes peeled as he walked about exploring the ship. He looked expectantly in the direction of her door every time he went in and out of his room hoping to see her again. That night he went out onto his tiny balcony to watch the ocean in the night. John watched the wake of the ship disappearing behind them, a thin stream of white bubbles floating eerily on the obsidian black of the terrifyingly cold Arctic Ocean. The ship’s lights highlighted the white bubbles for a few seconds leaving a thin trail of bright white froth behind the ship visible until the ship’s lights faded into a deep black void. They had not hit the pack ice yet, but the air outside was still so cold John could only last a couple of minutes and he gasped to hold in the freezing air so cold it hurt his lungs to breath. John ducked inside rubbing his frozen hands together to warm them. With nothing else to occupy his time John got ready for bed. While the outside was freezing, John’s room was as warm as toast, receiving as much heat as anyone could ask for from the nuclear reactors powering the steam turbines. John tossed and turned in bed unable to sleep. The blond vision would not leave his mind and his cock remained stubbornly hard refusing to let him find sleep. The contagion of her mystery had infected John and the fever of desire had him running a lusty temperature—to put it more directly John was horny and couldn’t get to sleep. John tossed and turned and then tossed and turned again. He changed his pillow turning it over several times, puffing it and then puffing it again. John moved to the left and then to the right. John’s frustration grew as he wrestled with her image and the inexplicable sense of lost purpose she had left in his mind. Finally John gave in and grabbed a small towel. Somewhat disgusted with himself John wrapped his big hard engorged cock in the soft cotton and began letting his fantasy of the blond next door take mecidiyeköy flight. John imagined her tight young body, her long golden hair draping down and tickling the skin of his chest; her firm rounded breasts supple beneath his kneading exploring hands, her rubbery pink nipples turning to hard points beneath his touch. In John’s mind he imagined she was straddling his body with her toned legs and he rubbed faster. As John’s fantasy grew he imagined her thrusting her hips rapidly and driving them down onto his huge cock impaling herself on his rigid length. John imagined her athletic curved body consumed by a female frenzy and as he pictured her more vividly his excitement rose. John imagined her body quivering with female needs and desires as she began writhing on top of him, her cries of passion getting louder. Then the fantasy culminating she finally arched her back in the throes of uncontrollable ecstasy as she became consumed by her own massive orgasm. John could almost feel her pussy muscles spasmodically contracting and grasping at his manhood in female release as his hand gripped the cotton towel more firmly. John whimpered lightly as his body shook and thick gobs of white cream shot out into the cotton towel. Finally he sighed in weary resignation and his mind slumbered off into the welcome oblivion of sleep. Even though the ship was not that big John did not see the young blond woman the next day either. He did see her father at dinner, but not the gorgeous young blond or her mother? John realized he was acting like a pathetic teenager trying to follow her around and grab glimpses of her beauty to fuel his masturbation fantasies. “I need to get a grip on myself.” John admonished himself as he resolved to forget about the girl and enjoy the cruise. That evening the ship started to hit the pack ice and the thudding-crushing sound as the Yamal began grinding through the thick arctic pack ice was amazing. That evening after dinner John had a few drinks in the lounge hoping the alcohol would dull his brain and put him to sleep without the demonic visions of the sexy young blond being able to torment him. John’s life was pathetic enough he thought to himself, do I really need to be teased and tempted by a woman I don’t even know? John was sitting reading a paperback edition of “The Seven Pillars of Wisdom” and nursing his final whisky when the young woman’s father came and sat in a nearby chair next to him. John did not want to seem unfriendly so he smiled and said “hello” in English. John didn’t really expect the man to speak English so he was surprised when he responded back in very good English. Soon the two men were discussing many topics and John learned his name was Kirill. John poured his new friend a drink and they began to get to know each other. It turns out that Kirill had recently retired from the Ministry of Energy in Russia and now worked as a consultant part time for oil industry clients. John was able to regale Kirill with silly tales of negotiating contracts for Russian heavy oil in Shandong Province and the two were soon laughing easily about an industry they both knew so well. John eventually enquired about the man’s wife and daughter. “Ah yes John, they have been sea-sick these past two days. I am hopeful they will feel better tomorrow.” When Kirill found out that John lived most of his time in Asia he perked up and his face took on a look of genuine parental pride. “John you must really meet my daughter Aleksandra. She did her Masters Degree at the Institute of Asian Studies at Lomonosov. I’m sure she’d love to discuss Asia with you.” John’s face registered his surprise and pleasure at the father’s offer. “Well you certainly must be a proud father. Moscow State University is perhaps the finest in your country. So your daughter also speaks English.” Kirill’s face beamed with a mixture of pride and surprise that John knew the reputation of Lomonosov Moscow State University. “Oh yes John, Aleksandra’s English is much better than mine. I have such a heavy accent. I sometimes fear you will laugh at me.” John assured Kirill that he’d love to meet his wife and daughter and perhaps they could try to get together the next day if Kirill thought they would be feeling better. Kirill seemed to be thinking about John’s suggestion. “I’ve heard the chef is planning a dinner of New Zealand wild boar tomorrow with New Brunswick mashed potatoes and Alba white truffles. Perhaps we could dine together?” John tried to subdue his boundless glee at actually being offered a chance to meet and dine with the vision of beauty he had thus far only gazed at from a distance. Without a further thought John jumped on the opportunity. “I have a bottle of ’83 Chateau Palmer that I brought along. Do you and your wife and daughter enjoy wine?” With that the dinner plans were set in place. Assuming the ladies felt well enough John would be dining with the Botkina family the next evening. John could hardly contain his excitement as he bid his new friend Kirill goodnight. They agreed to meet in the lounge before dinner the following evening. John returned to his suite in a completely new state of mind. John was stunned and his mind and senses were dazed by this sudden turn of events. “Serendipity” he mumbled to himself as he looked anxiously towards the door of Aleksandra’s suite wondering what she was doing inside. Like a much younger sixteen-year-old John had done all those years ago with his first “crush” Patty, John began rolling her name around in his mouth “Aleksandra Botkina”. John began playing with her name, rubbing it in his mind like a sacred mandala, the sound of it somehow offering him a sense of spiritual completeness. Like all Russians John knew she must have a nickname and he wondered what it was? To possess her nickname would be so intimate and wonderful it teased his mind. John eased into his suite and looked for his bag. Without him realizing it John’s mood had completely shifted. He had boarded the ship without hope or optimism and now a cheerful little green shoot had poked its head through the black ice of pessimism and spring had broken out in his mind with shafts of sunlight piercing the black clouds. Under the influence of this new “spring” the little green shoot in John’s mind suddenly recited, “And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose….” What the fuck? John looked at himself in the mirror realizing how long it had been since poetry had unconsciously sprung loose in his mind. John rummaged inside his bag and pulled out the bottle of 1990 Krug Champagne. That was for the actual arrival at the Pole so he set it to the side. Unwrapping another bottle rolled inside a pair of protective jeans John pulled out the ’83 Palmer. John used his fingernails and pulled off the Saran wrap protecting the wine’s label and cleaned the bottle by rubbing it with a towel. John admired the classic proportions of the wine’s label design. John hoped the Botkina’s would appreciate the wine’s classic rich structure and perfect harmonious balance. The ’83 was one of the three greatest Palmer’s ever produced with perfect September and early October weather delivering some of the most concentrated grapes ever. John had been saving this compelling wine for a “special occasion”. Letting his mind picture the intoxicatingly beautiful young Aleksandra John couldn’t imagine a more “special” occasion than the up-coming dinner with the young beauty. The next evening John met the father and mother, but his recollection of the evening is clouded by the arrival of the stunning Aleksandra. The poor chef probably had no idea that his entire dinner (as fabulous as it no doubt was) to John was a blur. With Aleksandra sitting across from him the delicacy of the white Alba truffles shaved on top of the Canadian mashed potatoes disappeared. As Aleksandra besots John with her long batting eyelashes, her engaging perfect smiles and dazzlingly lively eyes he awareness of food is nil. If flirting were ballet then Aleksandra was a prima ballerina performing a perfect solo en pointe. John was intoxicated, but not by his wine. Aleksandra had arrived in tight Hollister jeans form-fitted to her ass and on top she was wearing a thin charcoal grey cashmere sweater that clung to her body. Her breasts had a nice soft rounded curve under the soft thin sweater. She was wearing high brown boots almost to her knees that made her look even taller than her five-foot-seven. Aleksandra’s hair was hanging loose and straight and glowed golden in the candlelight of the ships formal dining room. The sight of this amazing young woman took John’s breath away. Aleksandra may have been unaware of her effect, but she played with John none-the-less. The dinner was wonderful and the discussion was free and easy. Kirill and his wife seemed content to let their daughter do most of the talking. Soon John and Aleksandra got into discussing Asia and while Aleksandra seemed to be fascinated by John’s tales of China, he was equally taken with her stories of spending ten-months learning Putonghua in Beijing. Then Aleksandra’s father interjected speaking to his daughter with obvious admiration and love. “Саша вы можете залить Папа еще немного вкусного вина Джона? Sasha can you pour Papa some more of John’s delicious wine?” “Да папа. Yes Papa.” Aleksandra reached for the bottle of wine, but John sensed what Kirill wanted and grabbed the bottle and poured more wine for his new friend. “Kirill you like the wine?” Kirill had that ruddy red glow in his cheeks of Russians as they begin to enjoy alcohol just a bit too much.