Gianni Truvianni

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A satirical story of fiction concerning Poland’s ex first lady that perhaps contains some political reality though its purpose is basically to entertain adults with a very strong sexual encounter.

Dear, Hilary

The other day something happened that I simply have to tell you about and if there is one person I know who can keep a secret I know it is you. As you know I love doing charity work in other countries not that I could not be doing it in my own country but I get so much more world press and inter-national prestige when I do it in other countries, specially in what they call the dark continent.

It all started one day in late April when my husband and I decided to invite a group of starving teenage boys from Africa. I love to feed hungry African children, of course there are hungry children in Poland but the truth is I just couldn’t care less about them for many reasons first of all if I did take care of them then everybody in my country would know how many hungry children there really are in my country and then they would start asking all those silly questions tax payers ask like where is my tax money going and why are you spending it on other countries when we have poverty right here at home. My husband and I don’t think that telling them I want to use your tax money to improve my status in the world rather then help the poor in our own country would sit to well with the voters.

We had many countries in mind but eventually we settled on Nigeria, reason being that the black boys in those photos were simply what I would call angels so when we finally decided on which boys would be invited, after all we want nice good looking starving kids, I immediately rang up the Nigerian ambassador and told him what we intended to do. He not only agreed to our plans but he also agreed to arrange them for us at our own cost. My husband and accepted the high cost of doing such a good deed because at the end of the day what do we care, it is not our money. Everything had been taken care of, now all we had to do is sit back and wait.

Well needles to say, the day finally arrived (June 21) and we went to greet these little black angels at Warsaw International Airport. They arrived at noon on a Friday and of coarse there where the usual members of the press, taking photos, making videos and asking the same annoying question. There was this one boy in particular whom I was waiting for who’s photograph had caught my eye. I even managed to get his case history which included the usual detail you know how tall he was and how old he was and certain other details which I did not really care all that much about.

The plane finally touched down and the boys started getting of the plane one by one all dressed in nice grey suits which my government had so generously bought for them. They got off the plane single file. I could tell from the look in their eyes that they were both amazed and frightened about being here, I can guess that this must have been fairly new to them. I was waiting for my darling black angel whose name was Robert Johnson. My angel finally got of the plane and as he did my heart started racing as his warm eyes captivated me. I was waiting for them as they got of the plane and I received each and everyone of them with a kiss on the forehead and a word or 2 of welcome.

After having finished with the formalities, we pilled in to a long limo that was big enough to sit all 18 of us. I sat down my little black angel and put my arm around him as I did this I noticed a certain affection in his eyes as I saw him peer in to my smile. I don’t remember exactly what it was that I said but I told him to just relax and to think of me as a friend and that I would take care of him. “Thank you, madam” he said in a very shy tone of voice. I then took his thin long black hand in to my own two hands and thought to myself I hope you know that theory about the length of hands and feet being the indicator of the length of another organ in the body and I looked in to his now smiling eyes and said “don’t call me madam, call me Jola, all my friends do, now tell me what do your friends call you?”. “My friends call me “Magic Johnson” was the answer he gave me with some sort of hesitation almost as if he were afraid to tell me. I wanted to ask him, if the reason his friends called him magic Johnson was because of his basketball ability but l figured why ask what was clear, so the first thing I gave him was a sympathetic smile the kind my adoring public has come to love.

The rest of the day went by without anything to report. We took them to see all the sights that Warsaw has to Offer as well as to some of the shopping malls. After all this running around we finally took them back to the Presidential residence to get them ready to go to the opera. As soon as we got back I instructed my household staff to help get the boys ready to go to the opera, to show them where the showers were and to help them get dressed and to make sure they put on the clothes which I had chosen for them.

For my part I took this as an opportunity to get ready myself, this of coarse meant a shower and then the arduous task of having to decide what to wear ,as you now my dear Hilary I like you I also don’t trust my own taste and allow my fashion consultant to choose for me. He told me that given the occasion and the company I was going to be in I should wear something conservative, so what we did was we went over to my wardrobe and chose a blue knee length dress with shoes and pocketbook to match.

I as any woman reserve the right to choose what I am going to wear underneath, I opted for white stockings with no panties and no Brassier to slow down the events of the evening, if you know what I mean.

On that particular occasion we were going to see the opera “Aida” which my secretary told me is a story about a black woman from Ethiopia whose name is Aida, who happens to be a slave in Egypt in love with Ramades an Egyptian General who is also in love with Aida. I as anybody who knows me well find this sort outings to be such a bore that sometimes I think I could scream but what the hell it is good for my husbands public image and mine as well. We all gathered in front of the Presidential Palace and again got in to the limo, this time in order to go to the National Theatr, being that this was going to be a short ride I did not bother to get a seat next to George and I just sat in the first seat as I wanted to be the first one to get out of the limo in order to be the first one photographed, first by myself then I wanted to be photographed holding the hand of each and everyone one of my little angels getting out of the stretch limo. One can not buy that kind of publicity.

Once we got to our destination everybody got out of the limo and we went inside the building, I of course had stop to hand out the same old B.S, which I have been giving the press ever since my husband got elected back in 1995, you know about helping those less fortunate then ourselves. All the time while I was making my entrance in to the theatre and making my statement to the press I was thinking of George and if black boys are as big as they say, the thought of which was causing a certain part of my anatomy to become moist. I was afraid that my excitement would start to show through my dress if like you Americans say get my drift, but fortunately we all got in our seats just as the lights were going out and the opera was beginning.

It goes without saying that I was seated right next to my sweet black angel who was going to make my wings take flight on the strength of his long black magic wand and once the opera started I started right in on doing what Michael Jackson also does with the boys he wants to “help”. I gently put my hand on his lap next his source of my female pleasure and started to rub in small circles each time getting closer to the part of his body where I hoped his blood would be rushing to by now. I slowly started to massage the part of him that I was sure would give everything that I had ever hoped for. I was unable to see how big it really was but I could tell by the way it felt in my hand that this was what you Americans refer to as “a big deal”. The more I handled it the more and more it seemed to grow, I could not believe what I was feeling, I started asking myself could anything really be that large or was this just my imagination running away. I even started to get a little afraid of what my hand had realized. I became fearful of this monster that was taking life in this boy’s trousers, I was afraid that my grotto would not be big enough to house this sleeping bear which I had awoken.

Then I felt something that I had not expected George took my hand and opened his zipper and put my hand directly on his huge organ and with a smile on his face he turned to me and whispered in my ear “it yours, take it”. At first I was truly shocked by what he had done but after a few seconds the shock turned in to pleasure as he continued to give himself pleasure with my hand.

I was starting to feel moisture pouring out of me when I finally got a good look at the tool that was going to be attacking my womanhood as no tool ever had or has ever since then. The sight of it renewed my anxiety of whether I could handle something of that magnitude and by now I was becoming fearful that we might get caught after all we were still in the opera, a public place, all these emotions (fear of being caught plus the size of the boy’s pride) were only serving to increase my excitement to the point that all I wanted to do was take it like he had said in to my mouth and enjoy that black chocolate.

He probably read my mind when he looked me in the eye with his angel like face because much to my shock he took my hand and walked me over to the nearest toilet (after having closed his zipper) where he took full control of not only the situation but of me as well .He made me kneel in front of him as he took what seemed to be a big black wipe which he intended me to devour like a piece a black liquorish. It was so large that it almost opened my mouth by itself as it went in. I could not take it all the way in as it was so big that I could barely take in the whole head, I just limited my self to the head which did not seem to bother him as he held the back of my head as I licked and sucked his lollipop.

Two things were on my mind first what would happen if someone walked in, second what would happen if his candy squirted in my mouth. Regarding the first thought I decided to throw caution to the wind but regarding the second thought I simply stopped making him walk around me (I still being on my hands and knees) and bend me over as he pulled up my dress and entered my the paradise of my womanhood. I felt a sharp pain as he penetrated the gap in my body that was intended for such a purpose. His pipe was like a battering ram smashing against me and in me with all the force of a hurricane, this is what I had always wanted but never got. I could tell by the way his big hands stroked my breast and nipples and by the way he held on to my hips as he stabbed me repeatedly over and over that this was nothing new to him. I started to moan and scream. I felt for a moment that this was a rape only that it was me who was doing the raping. I felt as though his sword would cut my body in two but I loved every second of it and I felt my self have the strongest orgasm l had ever known or would know. The rest of it is like a dream where I remember changing positions several times but I don’t recall much after that expect that I must have had at least 4 orgasms as opposed to him who had 2 of his own, both of which felt like sprays of hot milk in the deepest part of my womanly soul.

We got back in time just to see the begging of the final act, which we spent just smiling at each other. Both of us were so exhausted that we knew that we would have to wait until we got back to the palace for round 2 of our encounter. Which was no less thrilling then round one.

The next day I took him and the rest of the boys to the airport and just before he said goodbye to me at the airport he smiled at me as he said to me in front of all my friends and the rest of the boys “now you know Mrs. Kwasznieska why they call me Magic Johnson”, to which I replied “I most certainly do know why and they are right you are magic in everyway, please send your friend Jola an email when you get back home” and with those words I left him and walked away to watch his airplane take off in to the blue.

Sincerely your friend,

Jola

P.S. the orgasm I had with you was the second most powerful in my life

Ludwig Van Beethoven, was undoubtedly one of the greatest composers of all time; along with other greats such as Mozart, Wagner, Bach, Verdi, Puccini and many others yet it was inspiration from an unexpected source that lead to one of his most famous pieces. It happened one day that the maestro was approached by a child named Elize; who with much enthusiasm said “I love your music her Beethoven, but sometimes it is too complicated for me”. It was upon hearing this young girl that the maestro smiled as he replied “I’m going to write a piece just for you”.

It being after this encounter that Beethoven decided to write what surely could be hailed as not only one of his most popular but simplest melodies entitled “Fur Elize”. This the piece he dedicated to that child who claimed she at times was unable to grasp the great maestro’s music.

It happened on a day which Mozart and his father went to hear a symphony written by another composer, Mozart for his part not being overly impressed with the piece while his father took such a liking to it that he requested that Mozart ask the composer for a copy of the sheet music. Naturally with copy rights in those days being what they were it was very unlikely that any composer would give anybody a copy of his music let alone another composer.

All of which prompting Wolfgang to refuse his father’s request; knowing all too well the composer in question would more then likely say “no” to giving away a copy of his music. Mozart’s father however insisted to the point of angering this son Wolfgang, to telling his father that if he wanted the music so badly he would write it down himself; from memory.

This being exactly what he did, as he put the sounds he had heard in to notes on a piece of paper in an act that showed his brilliance. This the case since he was able to both recall the symphony after only one hearing as well as write it; almost exactly as the composer had. Of course when analizing Mozart’s achievement we must also take in to account that the piece I refer to was a symphony, with several instruments along with melodies and harmonies; not just a pop song lasting 3 or 4 minutes with 4 or 5 chords and at most played by perhaps 2 guitars, a bass and a drum.

All of which making it clear; at least in my opinion and in that of many others why this man, even till this day is considered as a musical genious.

 This is an idea for a play that came to me after seeing how many people have relationships on the internet which are held almost entirely there, sometimes to the extreme that those involved carry out entire romances without not only ever meeting but even hearing each other’s voices. This being possible though the only knowledge they have of the other is their appearance from photos and words which came in the form of an email or other variety of net communication. It was with this in mind that I considered the concept of writing a play based around such a relationship; two people who meet on the net and are extremely shy till one of them gathers up the courage to send a letter of the following nature to the one he desires. It being sent with almost no hope of being taken with anything but mirth yet much to his shock the lady in question does accept; not the offer but to meet him in a hotel in New York City, where they spend an uncomfortable Christmas week, to say the least in what could be almost a comic setting given the artificial way they came to be together.

It made more odd by how this woman by the name of Karina Sue Johnson, a middle American W.A.S.P in fact at first lets her French internet friend Pierre; believe she has accepted his proposal in full, fearing the reality of claiming that she only wishes to meet him for adventure; in what she deems to be her dull life. All of which disappointing Pierre, who if anything had grown weary of brief affairs and in fact was looking forward to not engaging in another “quick thrill” but taking the one he considered to be his internet lady not only to wife but to motherhood.

It is this situation which is made more complicated; given how as can be expected neither tell the person they are married to the real reason they are going to New York, which prompts their spouses to in a strange coincidence try to surprise them, only to have this done on to them when they became aware how the person they are married to is not staying alone. Naturally nothing having occurred of any sexual nature but this is put in to doubt by his wife and her husband, as they are mystified to say the least at how this arrangement came to be that the ones they are married to are staying in the same hotel room, even if there are two beds in what in fact is a double room.

The situation becomes, even more complicated when the two new arrivals can not find a separate room in the hotel; where the foursome could be divided in to married couples and all must remain in the same room. This given how there are no other rooms in the hotel available, at that time of year which in fact is Christmas. All of which creating a comic situation made more so by suspicions of infidelity on the part of the new arrivals, as well as perhaps feelings of having been hit with the stroke of Cupid’s arrow themselves.

Regarding the idea for such a story; it came to me when I tested how someone might react to an offer of the sort (to be found below) which I sent out (without mentioning it was not in earnest) in order to catch a reaction which was what happened that let me see that this would be my first attempt at what I would refer to as an “internet romantic comedy”. 

Dearest Karina Sue,

I am all too aware that this letter may lead you to believe that I am either completely insane or just plain stupid but I would like to make you an offer which you are perfectly free to refuse. You also need not present any reason for refusing as I respect you as being an intelligent person, therefore if you have any reason what so ever for refusing it must be a good one and it is not for me to approve or disapprove of your reasons or even know them but to accept your decision with the knowledge that it can not be but a sound one. I would also like to say that the offer I am making is serious and I would like you to at least consider it and if “no” should be your response well so be it.

You are very attractive, one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, though I won’t say the most because there are many I consider to be equally so though none more. The reason I mention this about other women is to make it clear that looks alone would not be a reason for me to ask this of you as there have been other women in my past of equal good looks who have wanted to have children with me but I did not with them. I also admire your mind, class and elegance can be learnt if one is brought up with them but you are a person of deep thought even more so then you might believe yourself capable of apart from your emotions which are generous truly. The last part is often said of many but with you it is even clear to see by those like myself who can sense such matters. I know we could have a child who is both beautiful and intelligent as we both are if you were willing to give it a try.

I know you are 40 years old but I also know from a doctor that it is not impossible for you to have a child if you wanted to, women older then you have produced perfectly health children therefore I don’t think you would have problems doing this if you wanted to. Naturally if you do not want to or at least not with me all you need say is the word “no” and this will be concluded, even our friendship if such should also be your decision though I hope we might remain at least internet friends even if you should refuse my offer of having this child together. 

To be more sincere with you, when I asked you for the names of your children I really did so because I suspected you had no children for the reasons that I have mentioned before, that I think you are the kind of woman who would put up photos of her children every where and be proud to pose with them if indeed you had any children. I also given my deep feelings which make me the Psychiatrist I am suspected you were in a marriage of perhaps convenience or business even before you said so, not that I believe there can’t be also love or other emotions in your marriage but that perhaps these were not the most important elements or if they were they were not the only. Regarding my reasons for my suspicions of your marriage there was something about you which I can’t even explain that told me so.

I don’t want to insult when I say this so please do not take it as such but you seem like a person who is not entirely happy, as if you needed a child or perhaps a romance like your trappings are either boring you or are simply not a substitute for perhaps a good relationship or a child who would be your own. You seem to have a lot of friends but at the end of the day forgetting the nice phrases and the formalities how many in your heart can you call real friends who will always be there for better or for worse? Maybe you do have one or two but perhaps I could be one too. I told you once I have never had a real friend because when I think about it none really were or least not in the way I wanted them to be.

I am a person who gives himself totally to something, specially friendship to the point that I do it with all my heart and passion like my writing or not at all and I ask my friends be that way about a friendship with me because if they are not that way then they are not friends but perhaps business associates or something of the sort. Getting back to you I feel you are a very lonely person, it is funny there is a line from a song by the Rolling Stones (Before They Make Me Run) sung by Keith Richards which goes like this “Nothing makes you feel so alone like a crowd” and perhaps I am wrong when I say this but such is the impression I get of you.

I in many ways can sense what others cant and I do feel that you find me attractive and to be a man of intelligence, imagination and fantasy as you have told me you like my writing but I can also feel that these things alone would not be cause for you to accept my proposition. This being the case that I can very well imagine there are other men around you with similar qualities whom you could choose if you wanted something of the sort however I would like you to know that my offer even if perhaps insane is sincere and I do have strong feelings of affection for you even if I don’t know you.

Of course I also will not lie and say that everything about you is what I like for instance your religious views are far different from mine. So as you see there are differences between us but please tell me do you know somebody with whom you always see eye to eye and share the exact same tastes in everything? Perhaps you do but this would be extremely rare and perhaps even boring as it would not bring new ideas in to the relationship. 

I also know you are married and your husband might object to it or you might because you wish to spare his feelings or perhaps pride or for what ever reason, this again is not my place to approve with or disapprove of your decision but to accept it. I for my part am also married though my wife and I have not made love in over two years and don’t even share a bed together as we really stay together because we have no other choice given the little courage I have at present to change my life yet with you, inspiration would be there.

I would love to enter in to relationship with you but I don’t know if this would be possible for us; well to be together as a normal couple given your marriage and other things which I can imagine so I don’t ask this though I do want it.

If you refuse my offer, which to tell you the truth I see so little chance of it being accepted that I almost considered not sending this letter I will understand and I repeat I will not make it again or insist. I can also see why this offer might cause you to think that in polite terms there might be something seriously wrong with me that requires me to be sent to an insane asylum and if such would be your reaction I don’t blame you. I would also not blame you if you no longer wished to have any more contact with me of any kind. This including emails or letters or message of any kind on any network. Therefore I say now that if such should be your desire for this to be just say “good bye forever” and that is exactly what I will do as you will never hear from me in any way, shape or form again.

Please do excuse me but not for this offer for at end of it all, I make it with love for the person I know you to be but because I can imagine it could make things difficult for you with your husband and there might be emotional strings attached to it but please know that I will not be hurt in any way if you refuse me. I also think us having a baby would be great but I am not naïve enough to think that is what you have to think as well. Regarding your husband well this I can not say much about but please know I have nothing against him as I don’t even know the first thing about him apart from his name so it is not with thought of malice toward him that I make this offer as I hope he will have none toward me if he should find out about this offer. One more thing I meant what I said when I said I will leave you forever if such you should tell me to do.

Sincerely,

You long time internet friend,

Pierre

An article about a very boring final watched over a most interesting lunch at the house of the Italian director of culture in Warsaw.

It was the final of the 1990 world cup and like all others it came on a Sunday. This being a day on which my friends and I would be watching the game at Catalini’s apartment. Catalini, the director of the “Italian Institute of Culture” in Warsaw had invited us not only to watch the game but for lunch as well. First as is always done in this sort of circumstances would be lunch followed by the game and as I expected; a meal of the truest Italian nature. After all with Catalini being as overweight as he was, there must have been a great cook in him somewhere.

I remember on that day Danilo, one of my best friends stopping by my apartment, after which we set off to the place where all of us who so cruelly lost to Argentina would be watching that very team playing against Germany in the final we felt Italy should have been playing.

It was on our way however that I hit upon the idea of getting something for Catalini; a bottle of wine was out of the question given good wines were hard if impossible to find in the Poland at that time, so we went in to one of the few open places on a Sunday and bought a kilo of chocolate-vanilla ice cream. In all this it was my friend Danilo who was worried about being late to Catalini’s; him insisting that it was of more importance for us to be there on time to see Catalini cook, so he could boast about his culinary abilities then for us to bring something.  I however replied that it was what etiquette demanded of us yet in a strange way when we arrived at Catalini’s door step we were still arguing which one of us should hand Catalini our offering, which in truth Danilo paid for more then I did. This being my reason for wanting him to do the honors while he claimed it should be me; given the whole thing had been my idea. I however till this day believe it was shyness that was the real cause of Danilo’s refusal.

It must have resembled a comedy scene, us passing that ice cream back in forth when Catalini opened the door to catch me holding it; almost too embarrassed to hand it to him as he said “bon giorno”.  I will always remember that moment in which I handed him that ice cream; after replying in kind to his greeting and though I almost never feel coy, that was one time that for some reason I did. Catalini seemed surprised as he took our offering and looked at me standing outside his door and said “thank you but you really didn’t have to”. Danilo at that moment gave a way relief that it had not been him who had had to go through that moment. “I feel better not showing up empty handed” was my reply as he let me in.

Once inside we went about having a lunch which in all truth I remember nothing about other then it being of quality and the talk about the match to come. It was after the ice cream I bought which turned out to be the only desert on the menu that the game started. In fact it did surprise me that this man whose weight probably was mine by more then double did not get some other kind of desert, which made me glad I did.

As for the main even, it was set in the back ground; given how boring this final was. Argentina and Germany, both at least trying to attack yet it was this that caused play to become a deadlock in midfield. As for opportunities they were limited to Argentina almost scoring an own goal and Burruchaga being pulled down by Matthaus; in what could have been a penalty. 

Maradona was being used to mark Matthaus, making the game sloppy with bad passes and both teams trying mostly to block the others attempts at going forward. Germany perhaps making more effort to attack, while Maradona despite being overly marked did have a moment or two.

The second half was more of the same though it did have its points of interest. It being at the 84 minute mark that Voller fell in the box and a penalty was given; which was converted by Brehme. His shot barely beating Goycochea and ending up in the back of the net for what would turn out to be the game winner. Later it was said that Matthaus should have taken it but heisted given his lack of confidence in the new shoes he was wearing. It was also in the second half that Argentina had two players sent off. This the first time a player let alone two had been shown the red card in a final. 

If there is a moment that is often remembered in this most forgetful final apart from the controversial penalty; it is that yellow card Maradona got for protesting Dezotti’s sending off. The game would end 1-0; making it the most boring final played till this day.

Regarding factors which set this match apart from other finals, this was the first time the winning team only scored one goal while it was the first the loosing team got shut out. This final also was the first time a European team had beaten one from South America.

The game did not hold much interest for us since Italy was not playing apart from it not being much of a spectacle but it was worth watching simply because it was a final. As for me personally this final held no emotional interest not even given my relationship with Argentina, which nobody around me was even aware of. As for my Italian friends, they too seemed disappointed by the match but we did have a nice time during what was in fact a pleasant evening despite a miserable game.

A story told to me by my sister, who like me also spent a good deal of time in Santiago de Chile.

It was back in 1992 that my sister and her husband moved to Santiago, Chile for a 3 year stay, this due to my brother-in-law working for Columbia Pictures, which sent him to that part of the world. I in all my sister’s later descriptions could tell that she and her family enjoyed their lives in Santiago, as in fact her husband was given a very good job, as manager of film distribution.

It however was a particular story which my sister told me that still stands out in my mind. It being one which I doubt not of its authenticity; told to her by a secretary at Columbia Pictures who not only had been there for sometime but seemed to have that sincerity about her which would lead most to take her word on face value. This being what my sister claimed about this secretary who told her the following story.

This secretary, whose name my sister said was “Teresa” stated that after taking the office of President of Chile; Salvador Allende made it a habit of going to the offices of Columbia Pictures and ordering that films be played for his own benefit and that of his friends. Of course with Allende being a president who everyday took more and more power from the constitution; why should it strike anybody as odd that he would order a company to provide him with a service for free.

Allende however eventually become no longer satisfied with merely having films played for himself and his friends; therefore he opted for more. This coming in the form of going up to the president of Columbia Pictures in Chile and relieving him of his duties, naturally to substituted by one of his own friends. It being at this point that Columbia Pictures opted to close its operations in Chile or at least till a leader came who respected the rights of foreign companies such as was Augusto Pinochet.

Columbia Pictures would eventually re-open in Chile as Teresa was apparently rehired yet we might ask ourselves what other liberties Allende might have taken with other private companies. All of which to a certain extent making it clear why many believe it was Pinochet who saved Chile from the sort of communism Allende was trying to impose.

As for my personal relationship with Chile, I spent a good part of 92 in Santiago working as a photographer. It being in this particular city where not only did I meet some very nice people and get some very good shots which were published in a few local magazines but the place I encountered the world famous “Bolshoi Ballet”; whose members I got to meet in person.

An article about how I saw Argentina loose the title of World Champion to a high flying Brazilian team on a most inspired day.

It was the World Cup “Spain 82″ and did Brazil ever have a great team, some arguing that it was on a par with any other they had ever fielded if not better though for my part I would find it hard to compare two teams that played so many years apart yet this without a doubt was one of the most outstanding teams in Brazilian history. A team to rank with the won which had managed to win the world cup in both 58 and 62 as well as the one which won in 70 and were they ever playing like a team that almost had to be crowned world champion. Zico, Socrates, Falcao, Eder, Cerezo, Junior etc. yet it was not just a matter of having many stars but of playing magnificently. This being precisely what Brazil was doing, having won their first three encounters in Spain 82, starting with a 2-1 victory against a very solid Soviet team then 4-1 against Scotland and a 4-0 rout over already eliminated New Zealand. They were definitely not only a team capable of greatness but had arrived in the world cup at a time that caught them at their very best and did it ever show on the field of play.

Argentina on the other hand was in fact a team which in practice had already lost their title. This being the case despite them having only lost to Italy by 2-1 yet in a group were being first was everything, with 2^nd and 3^rd meaning nothing; it was clear that their chances for advance were extremely limited. This due to the fact that they would have to not only beat Brazil (for any other result meant automatic elimination) but hope Brazil would go on to beat Italy by a score that would eliminate both of them; leaving Argentina in first place. It was not that something of the sort was mathematically impossible but not very probable that such a scenario could come about, specially since Argentina in reality needed to beat Brazil by 2 goals, so they could have a 3-2 goal difference. Naturally if Argentina managed this it would not suffice; for in order to qualify to the semifinal they would then be in need of a Brazil win over Italy by 2-0. This leaving Argentina, Brazil and Italy with 2 points each while Argentina would qualify due to a better goal difference of 3-2 to Brazil’s 2-2 or Italy’s 2-3.

As one could see it was possible for this to occur yet odds were definitely against it. I must say for my part that I was hopeful for an Argentine victory or at least a draw; which would put Italy in a situation where a draw against Brazil was all they would need. Maradona would have to be at his best which is what those who came to my house to watch the game and I were hoping for. This the case though deep down, apart from their cheering they knew it was all over as this last game was more for the sake of pride, which would not allow them to yield their arch South American rivals; Brazil a victory of any kind, let alone an easy one.

I however still believed that Argentina could at least get a result which would make it possible for Italy to qualify on the strength of a draw against Brazil, as even a 1-0 win by Brazil would have made this possible.

The game started with my relatives cheering for Argentina and for the first time; me doing likewise but for Italy’s sake. Argentina started as they had done in their previous match with Maradona playing very well but all alone in a team that included not only those who were past their prime but with little in the way of motivation.

Brazil contrary to Italy and Belgium did not concentrate of stopping Maradona but on attacking; apparently knowing he would not get much support from his teammates. This being exactly what occurred as Brazil and above all Zico controlled the game. Maradona however did manage to get in the Brazilian penalty box, which forced Junior to pull him down from behind in what perhaps should have been a penalty; though the referee did not call it. This much to the protests of those around me; who like me felt Maradona had earned a spot kick.

Despair however started when Brazil scored at the 11 minute mark through Zico. In what really was a spectacular goal, first Eder took a free kick and as was his habit blasted the ball like he did on his goal against the Soviet Union only this time Fillol managed to get a hand on the ball. This just enough to make it go off the cross bar and hit a few centimeters in front of the goal line. In this play it being Zico along with Serginho who entered like a flash just before Fillol could get to the ball, with Zico being the one to tap in Brazil’s first goal; giving them a 1-0 lead.

Many around me blamed Fillol for this goal given his slightly late reaction after the ball bounced off the crossbar but if one looks at the replay carefully (perhaps on youtube), one will see Fillol did a great job just coming so close. First he despite loosing eye contact with the ball when it went past him and off the crossbar managed to find it fast. This made more difficult given the way he dove to get it, falling down from a flight of a meter on to the ground to get up suddenly but unfortunately not quickly enough for Argentina.

The game however continued 1-0 with Maradona’s frustration growing as the minutes went by for it was clear that a draw would automatically eliminate  Argentina. I however welcomed the score though those around me were anything but happy with it.      

During the first half break we knew that Argentina still had a chance of winning but in a sense it meant little to them if they could not win by two goals given what I have already explained. The title was slipping through their hands and those around me were ever aware of it as the second half got under way. The second half starting with Argentina neither defending nor attacking; this due to Bertoni and Kempes no longer having the efficiency they had in 78. Kempes being considerably slower without being much of a ball controller while Bertoni’s diagonal runs in to the box had become all to familiar and even easy for most defenses to read.

Defense wise their defenders Pasarella, Galvan and Tarantini went forward all the time, leaving holes for Brazilian forwards in the back. All of which proving Menotti was not seeing his players and what they were but had been four years prior. Brazil’s control would increase and it was 66″ in to the game that Zico filtered in to Argentina’s penalty box where he crossed the ball to Serginho, who had an easy header which he converted just before Fillol managed to cover. Fillol I had observed tended to go too far from the outside post on centers; putting himself out of place when the ball was crossed. This happening in the 78 final when Nanninga scored also due to his being out of place.

Brazil was up 2-0 which for all intensive purposes ended it for Argentina who would need to score 4 goals to have any chance of qualifying. For my own it was worry that Italy would have to win against Brazil yet for those around me; disappointment was everywhere specially because of the already lost “Malvinas” or “Falkland Islands” as the British called them.

A third goal was due to follow and did when Junior, 75 minutes in to the game broke through Argentina’s defense and scored to make it 3-0. Those around me at that moment knowing the numbers wanted to turn off the set; given it being all too obvious that Argentina was out.

It was at this stage of the game that Maradona in a loss of temper over a fellow player being fouled struck back, only to get a Argentina’s second red card in as many games. Gallego also being expelled against Italy. Many at the time saw Maradona’s actions as a disgrace yet it was to a large extent but a product of being fouled repeatedly through out the tournament, in ways that now a days would lead to the player committing the foul to be sent off.   

An Argentine goal however would come with one minute left in the game when Diaz got one back for Argentina but it was a perfect example of “too little, too late”. Argentina was out and how those around me cried, as the title had left them. As for myself, I can say I became anxious to see Italy take on this Brazilian team; sensing we could win if we held tight marking, specially in the midfield but was for another day.

This is a story about how only the guitar solo by Edward Van Halen was played on some radio stations from Michael Jackson’s song “Beat It” due to racial discrimination in America.

I for my part have never been much of a fan of what is commonly referred to as “pop music” or “rock music” but it was one day with time to spare that I bought a book about the hard rock group “Van Halen” that I read the following story. 

Michael Jackson recorded a song called “Beat It” which was quit a big hit back in the early 80s specially on MTV, which was relatively new at the time. It was this particular song which featured a guitar solo by Dutch born guitarist “Edward Van Halen”; who also lent his name to the band I was reading about at the time.

In the USA, rightly or wrongly; depending on one’s point of view which I will not comment on as this is not the reason I am writing this article but to mention a fact; there are radio stations which will not play any music by nonwhite artists or at least such was the case at the time of the release of the “Thrill” album. This the album on which the song “Beat It” first came out on.

Concerning the racial issue however it was not something I found out about in this “Van Halen” book; as this I knew before hand yet what I did find out was that many of these radio stations which would not play songs by black artist actually played the song “Beat It” . This in a strange fashion however; given they would limit themselves to only playing the guitar solo which is done by Edward Van Halen, a white guitar player.

It was also in this book that I read with regards to the “Beat It” solo; which many consider to be the best part of the song; that Edward Van Halen stated that he was never paid or received any royalties from it, though his efforts are mentioned in the album’s credits. Van Halen is also said to have been asked to be in the video which would be played almost nonstop on MTV yet refused to appear, claiming he did not feel the song would be a hit, which apparently it was.

A strange story about Adolf Hitler which though not confirmed provides perhaps a different angle to this man; so notorious in the annals of history.

It happened one day during the early stages of W.W. II, before Germany took the fatal decision to invade the Soviet Union yet after France had fallen to the onslaught of what was already known as the “Blitz Krieg”. It in fact took place during those days of the “Battle of Britain” that Hitler installed cameras in all places; which included the toilets used by both the ladies and gentlemen. The reason for Hitler’s decision regarding these cameras perhaps was to keep better track of how efficiently his people worked or if they had any plans of treason yet regardless of which it was in secret that they were placed.

Hitler for his part however received a huge surprise when one of his cameras caught; of all people, Rudolph Hess masturbating in the toilet. Naturally, at first the Fuehrer was furious at the sight of seeing one of his top people involved in such an act yet no man is without having good points and Hitler not being the exception decided to hear Hess out before reaching a verdict. This coming in contrast to Stalin, who would have executed him for less.

Hess in his defense made a statement along these lines “The reason I masturbate is because I don’t have time to find a woman, given that all I do is work for mine Fuehrer, many times 18 hours a day. Himmler, Goering, and Goebbels all have not only wives but mistresses, while I do not have time to find even a wife let alone a lover”.  

Hitler was said to have been impressed by Hess’s reply as how could he fault a man who did nothing but work for him, so it was that he forgave Hess and even gave him time off from work to find himself a wife. This even being an order, so Hess would no longer be reduced to having to take matters in to his own hands when it came to sexual relief.

A short story featuring the Siberian “holly man”, Rasputin based on a scene in a film in once saw.

It was so many year ago that he past through my village in Siberia, on his way to Moscow. His name I did not know at the time as he was referred to simply as a “holly man”. I do however recall him stopping by my house and curing my father of the problem his back had been giving him for so long that it would not allow him to work our field. How my father had suffered until that day was something I can barely imagine, some days not even being able to get out of bed with the pain.

This being before he came to our humble hut and using some method he called power from God was able to cure my father. It was as if by some magic, yet all he had to do was place his large hands on my father’s back while he said a few words of prayer and all was made well.

For my part I saw him but a short while on that evening which served as first encounter with him. It being for those few seconds that I went in my parent’s room to bring him the water to wash his hands that my mother made me get when I got a good look at him. He in a way frightened me, his being a large man yet it was his eyes that scared me the most. As I had never looked in to eyes like his, the kind that seemed as if they could see inside me, to the extent that lying would be of no use. For he gave the impression of being a possessor of divine vision to not only see all but know all.

As for the rest of him, it did not leave as much of an impact on me; though there was something alluring for myself a 14 year old girl in his black hair and beard along with his simple but honest face. It being like his black clothes which held no vanities or particular niceties yet had a certain power in their being so common, even to me one who by most in the city would be consider but a peasant girl.  

He however did manage to cure my father of his ills, who offered to pay a certain amount of money apart from feeding and allowing him to spend the night on our barn. My father woke the following morning and I will never forget how good he felt to be going back to work. My father in all his desire to be cured had offered this man more then he was able to pay; perhaps not really believing it would happen.

It perhaps was embarrassment at not having all of the promised amount which made my father give me all the money we had to go pay the holly man as my parents had come to think of him. It being early in the morning that I went to our barn, where he had spent the night to pay him along with apologize for the amount not being complete. I walked to the barn I remember with a certain amount of fear that he might be angry, for in all truth my father had sworn in the name of God that he would pay the whole sum.

As for myself at the time there was little I could say about the person I was other then my age and my being an unassuming peasant girl; whom many of the local boys had claimed as being attractive to their desires. I not really seeing myself as such though it was hard for me to judge my appearance, with more then a basic description.

Me being a perhaps plump girl with large breast, standing at 158 cm with long blonde which I was always being told to keep tied, for such in the eyes of my mother was the proper way for a lady to be.  I approached our barn where I knew he was and it in a strange way even seemed to me that I was about to enter his house instead of a place which belonged to my parents.

I however entered the barn without knocking to find him on his knees; praying. He seemed to be distant as he did not even notice me at first which let me relax as I went to where he was. I walked toward where I was standing in front of him and suddenly I felt the weight of his stare upon me.

I slowly started to speak with fear he could apparently detect, “My father asked me to give you this” were my words as I bent down to place the money on the ground in front of him. It was as I put down the money that his eyes caught mine as if locking on to them that he detected my insecurity.

I however quickly placed the money down almost not wanting him to see it as I was standing in font of him waiting for him to approve. This man much to my near shock as I stood in front of him not only did not pick up his pay but did not as much as look at it but all the time stared in to my eyes. As if seeing through me, which I could so strongly feel. It was then that he for the first time spoke to me, while on his knees and being not much short then me. “Your father promised me more money, did he not?”

At that moment his stare getting more intense on my eyes. It was as if his eyes were not even capable of blinking. “My father said to say he is sorry but this is all we have, please accept it” were my words, almost pleading to the one who looked on now with a different tone as he stood up and moved toward me, where he was but an arm’s length away from where I stood. It was then that I saw how tall he was, him standing almost directly above me.

A brief second was the time that his eyes seemed to look beyond mine, almost examining all of me, from my breast down to the rest of me. It was as if I could feel the touch of his gaze yet I knew not what do or say as I stood before him. “Take off your clothes!” he said in a soft voice with purpose in its sternness.  I at that moment was almost paralyzed with fear as the intensity of his eyes increased.

I in all honesty could not move as if frozen in a trance. Suddenly in one quick action he made it clear beyond doubt what I should do, when he smacked me in the face; after which he repeated his exact words. I then with no choice removed the brown frock I was wearing leaving my nude body exposed to him whose gaze seemed not altered by the sight of my nudity. I also in reaction more then anything let down my hair, perhaps wanting him to see its beauty when released; as many young men had told me I took on an angelic look when it flowed of my shoulders though I might have done it to use as a cover for my breast. This being possible given how far down my hair went, almost to my waist.

It was in fact the first time any had seen me exposed in this manner. Shyness was what went through me as I covered the source of my womanhood, already having its adult hair and breast as much as I could with my golden hair. His gaze also not changing as he instructed me further with the words “Undress me!”. I at that point was aware that stalling might just earn me another slap which made me obediently start to remove his garments.

He did assist by lifting a leg yet when his root was exposed I was stunned as to how big It was. Gigantic; to almost match the size of my arm as I could not help but gawk upon it while on my knees in front of it after having removed the last garment of his clothes. It was then that he took charge of our doings as he grabbed on to the back of my head, while my eyes could see his getting even bigger; as if a balloon that indicates the strength of the wind filling up.

I in reality was not in the least aware of what he wanted yet there was an excitement in me as he laid me down. All the while his eyes on mine as he took a position on top of me, his hands spreading my legs and alerting my breast which could feel his warmth as I felt that part of me new to the touch of man gain in moisture. I had felt something before in this part of my body but this time it was not my thoughts but the touch from his body.

Once he had me as he wished; it was then that I felt a quick and mighty trust by the large organ of his in this part of me which now had become wet. It was pain that I experienced at first as he rammed inside me; making me believe his root could break me in half or penetrate so deeply as to cause harm to those parts inside my body. It was however once fully within that pain left as pleasure took its place; this as he began to move his body in a fashion that conducted his root to both enter and leave.

I was doing what was new, for instinct was my guide; to indicate my legs to spread and wrap around him; to meet his incursions. This creating a sensation of beauty between us, while his eyes remained glued to mine with nothing but intense passion.

My ignorance at the time excluded this knowledge to call it ecstasy. All of which causing my body to tremble in orgasm, as a hot spray came from this now most welcome intruder of his. How I screamed as these two took place while both biting his shoulder and digging my nails in his back, I could see it even scared him or at least for that brief second which seemed to last so much longer.

We would continue what later I would learn to be called “lovemaking” till he simply departed, taking all his belongings. The holly man leaving the money despite everything he had given me or perhaps because of what I had given him. It was only several years later that I would discover this man’s name was Rasputin, when he became healer of Czar Nicolas’s son; all of which making me realize I had been paying Rasputin’s cure.