This is a fictional story set up in San Francisco about 100 years ago. It's more erotica than porn, with the smut content not necessarily being the main course. But I hope you like it nevertheless.

Natalia's fingers danced across the typewriter. The wood-paneled room of "Smith and Partners" law firm was hushed, filled with the murmur of legal discourse. Her concentration broke when Mr. Henderson, her supervisor, approached with a contract she had typed that morning. He seemed displeased.

"Miss Ivanova, there seems to be a typographical aberration here," he noted.

"I apologize, Mr. Henderson. It was an oversight," she responded, her voice a mere whisper.

Mr. Henderson adjusted his glasses. "Ensure that it does not happen again," he said before retreating into the maze of desks.

Natalia sighed and began to retype the contract. After completing the task, she carefully reread it and threw the old, erroneous contract into the wastepaper basket. The rest of the day was filled with typing, sorting incoming correspondence, and gossiping with her colleagues, the other secretaries at "Smith and Partners," during the lunch break.

"How come you're not married?" ebullient Lily asked. She was not very tactful. Natalia shrugged. The conversation shifted from personal lives to politics and literature. They discussed a new novel about a mysterious millionaire that everyone was talking about, President Coolidge's economic plans, and a poor teacher who decided to teach evolution in one of America's backward states. They were all progressive girls, keen to stay on top of current affairs. Sometimes the conversation turned to Bolshevik Russia, and they looked at Natalia as if she had special insight. But she had to disappoint them.

"My family and I left for America many years ago," she said, "right after the revolution. I barely remember anything."

This was a lie. She remembered a lot. But they did not need to know. After the lunch break, she returned to her desk, dreading the pile of work awaiting her.

Mr. Henderson was already there. "Oh, what did I do now?" she thought.

"Miss Ivanova," Mr. Henderson began, "have you retyped our contract with Mr. Ford?"

"Yes, I did," she responded.

"And where did you put the old contract?" Mr. Henderson asked, looking like a predator waiting for his prey.

"I threw it away into the wastepaper basket," Natalia replied.

It was hard to read Mr. Henderson. His face showed a curious mix of indignation at her mistake and satisfaction that she had incriminated herself. The hunt was successful.

"How many times must I tell you," he said in a professorial tone, "that our contracts contain confidential information? You do not throw them into the trash. You destroy them in a pulverizer."

Of course! How could she forget?

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Henderson," she said, her eyes full of remorse.

Mr. Henderson did not respond, just sighed deeply and moved on to the next secretary. Natalia retrieved the piece of the old contract from the wastepaper basket and walked to the pulverizer in the corner of the room.

The pulverizer was an electric machine, just invented by the Germans. its steel frame glinting dully in the low light. Its mouth gaped wide, ready to swallow any paper fed into it. Inside, the blades waited, eager to tear and grind. She fed the piece of paper into its mouth and flipped the switch. With a menacing hum, the blades began to move, transforming the sheets of paper into unrecognizable fragments.

After completely destroying the document, Natalia returned to her desk. She could not wait for the day to end. After work, she hurried back to her apartment on Mission Street, paying almost no attention to the cable cars as she crossed the streets.

She wanted to revisit her treasure, something that brought joy to her monotonous, loveless existence, something that made her feel alive again, something real.

Natalia's apartment was small. The streetlights outside flickered, casting shadows across the walls. She approached a wooden box on the mantle. Inside were scenes of St. Petersburg: the majestic Winter Palace, the Church on Spilled Blood, the Neva River, and a dozen more little pieces of paper with pictures on one side and Konstantin's handwriting on the other.

These postcards held her life.

Many years ago, she was a first-year student at the Women's Higher Courses in Petrograd, which everyone still called St. Petersburg. She studied medicine and science. Konstantin, older than her, studied at the Imperial Military Medical Academy and wanted to be a surgeon.

They met at the academy's library. They were both studying for exams. Their hands met by chance, reaching for the same anatomy atlas. It was a moment of awkwardness, but she liked to replay it in her head. Konstantin was handsome, with green eyes and thick eyebrows. He generously allowed her to have the atlas.

This fleeting touch sparked their first conversation. As the days grew colder, their encounters became a series of deliberate meetings. They sat together in cozy cafés, sipping hot tea. Konstantin spoke passionately about surgery. They strolled the snowy streets of Petrograd, wrapped in thick coats. They talked about Chekhov and Pavlov, and sometimes just listened to their steps in the snow.

She then described all the walks in her private diary.

On snowy evenings, they retreated to Konstantin’s modest apartment. It was small, crowded with books, and had a faint smell of iodine. She remembered how he took her virginity there.

They had just finished classes and walked to his apartment. Her cheeks were red from the cold. She remembered how his fingers had grazed hers.

When they arrived, he let them in. He offered her a seat and made some tea. While sitting, Natalia's thoughts wandered to kissing him and feeling his hands on her.

Konstantin returned with tea, sat next to her, and they talked about class and the weather. Soon, he leaned in and kissed her softly. His tongue met hers.

Natalia gasped. His hands slid under her dress, touching her breasts.

"I want you," he whispered.

They went to his bedroom. She took off her clothes and got on the bed. Konstantin undressed, revealing himself to her for the first time.

He got on the bed and entered her gently. She felt a brief pain that faded quickly. He moved deeper inside her. She moaned, overwhelmed by new sensations. They started moved together, her hips meeting his.

She closed her eyes, letting pleasure take over. He lay next to her afterward, both happy and satisfied.

From then on, they were lovers.

The romance lasted barely a year. Then the Bolshevik Revolution happened. Her family decided to flee to America, but his family decided to stay. Their last meeting was tearful, and she did not like to remember it. Over the next several years, when Russia was engulfed in the Civil War, she received no news about him. She was afraid he had died. Her letters to him, sent to his old St. Petersburg address, remained unanswered. Or maybe they did not even reach him and were lost in the chaos of the war.

But then the postcards started to arrive. His writings were short, but they were enough for her. He wished her a happy birthday, a merry Christmas, or a wonderful May Day. He added something short and sweet about how he missed her or was still thinking about her. She responded with long letters in which she poured out her heart, but he only responded with postcards. Each postcard had an image of a place in St. Petersburg where they used to walk. Maybe he did not love her anymore. Maybe he had a gorgeous new girlfriend. But she did not care.

These postcards were her real life now.

She paused at a postcard of Smolny Cathedral under snow. Konstantin had written about that day, how the snowflakes looked like falling stars. She touched the faded ink.

She smiled and opened her old student diary, selecting a memory she wanted to relive today. She started with a postcard of the Summer Garden. As she touched it, she remembered Konstantin whispering about the statues. He had taken her hand as they walked. She placed the postcard on her desk.

Next, she placed a postcard of the Neva River. Standing on the embankment, they had watched ice float by. Konstantin pointed at the frozen ships. His arm had wrapped around her, warming her against the cold.

She added a postcard of the Palace Bridge. They had stopped there to watch the sunset. Konstantin talked about his dreams of traveling. He wanted to go to America. She had rested her head on his shoulder.

After Natalia traced their path through the city, she put all the postcards and her diary back in the box and went to sleep.

The next day was the same as the previous one. Dull work in the office, and evenings full of life and memories of St. Petersburg and of Konstantin.

And the next day.

And the next.

But then an unexpected thing happened. Natalia was sifting through her day’s mail in the dim light of her apartment when she found the telegram. The paper was thin and crisp. She gasped.

It was from Konstantin.

He was coming to San Francisco.

Her Konstantin was coming to San Francisco, to her city. He missed her, and he wanted to see her!

Her heart leapt as she read and reread the message. He wrote about the surgeon’s courses. He will come for the whole month! She sat down, the telegram still in her hand, and allowed herself a moment to imagine. Konstantin here, in this city, with her.

The thought brought a flush to her cheeks and a smile she couldn’t suppress.

She blushed as she remembered their first encounter. Maybe this time, she would lead him to her apartment and be braver and more assertive with him?

Her nipples grew stiff, and she felt a rush of excitement lower down. She slid her panties down and opened her legs She caressed her thighs and explored her moist folds. Her fingers slipped in easily. She moved her fingers in and out, teasing herself.

Then she shut her eyes and thought of Konstantin. Her fingers sped up. She imagined him above her, his green eyes looking down, his shoulders and chest muscles moving as he thrust.

Her fingers quickened their pace.

She felt an orgasm approaching, pressure building up inside her. Her back curved, and pleasure shook her body.

She fell asleep happy.

The next morning, she took her diary and the postcards to the office with her. On the way, she sent a telegram to Konstantin: "I'm married now. Please do not contact me anymore. Natalia" When she arrived at the office, she fed her diary and all the postcards to the pulverizer.