Story 3: Yana and the Three Professors

Once upon a time, in the days of the now-dissolved Evil Empire, the Soviet Government told a very lovely and intelligent blonde high school valedictorian named Yana that she wanted to work in the nuclear industry. She wisely chose studying for seven years to become a nuclear scientist at the Josef Stalin Institute for Blowing Things Up in Tblisi, Georgia, over becoming a pick-and-shovel miner for uranium ore in the Novosibirskiye Islands north of the Arctic Circle where there is no uranium.

Despite an unfortunate setback while she was working on her neutron bomb graduation project, Yana graduated at the top of her class. She and her new boyfriend, Batschka, were told they had volunteered for transfer to Minsk and to the most glorious secret research facility in all of the Soviet Union. At the facility, code-named the Donald Duck Animation Rotoscoping Projects Activity (DDARPA) to fool the American CIA, she had another unfortunate accident in the weapons miniaturization program that caused her to shrink. Fortunately, the greatest physician in all of the Soviet Union was able to reverse her shrinkage.

A few months later, as Batschka was vigorously thrusting his manly process into her shaved babushka, she giggled and exclaimed, "Batschi! Am noticing my eyes are now even with yours again! Am thinking height has now returned to normal."

"Is likely so," grunted Batschka, peering into the depths of her ochi chornya, her dark eyes, as his invading Cossack reciprocated within her like a Lipetsk tractor's piston in its cylinder. "Am noticing glorious shaved babushka no longer squeezes as tightly as when you were smaller."

Yana's pretty face scrunched into a look of loving concern. "Oh, Batschi! Am so sorry. Will start Kegelski exercises immediately."

"Is not immediate problem, my little potato beetle. Is tight enough for now. Am about to detonate massive warhead in your glorious target. Unh. Unnnnh! Aaaaaa AAAAAA! Oh, Comrade Lenin!!!"

His release triggered her own intense, satisfying climax. Afterward he lay atop her, his Cossack invader occupying her conquered territory.

Yana crossed her alabaster legs over his back and wiped sweat from his handsome brow with her dainty fingers. She smiled to ease the question. "Batschi, am noticing distractions in your thoughts. Is being something wrong?"

He gave one of her shapely buttocks a gentle squeeze. "Nyet, my little dung beetle. Am just pondering imponderable question by Comrade Director Makoyev on how to increase range of glorious intercontinental missiles built only for defensive purposes against imperialist aggressors. Am unable to come up with solution, unless answer is to put Viagra in rocket fuel to keep missile up longer."

They laughed at the thought and then laughed again at the realization that Viagra had yet to be invented, causing her shaved babushka to squeeze his invading Cossack repeatedly in a stimulating and delightful manner. Then her face grew serious.

"Comrade Director has given me imponderable question, too, Batschi. Must be coming up with way to target weapons so they attack misguided enemies of glorious Soviet Union but not friends. Comrade Rubbinov suggests speaking to Comrade Professors Briss, Mogen, and Mohel at Hebrew University for Jews Who Have Voluntarily Defected to Communism Or Else in Omsk."

"Jews?" Concern creased his face. "My little wheat smut, you are knowing how Party feels about persons of Jewish faith. Is great danger to your career to be associating with them."

"Batschi! Is greater danger to career if I am not solving problems given me! Comrade Director Makoyev rightfully demands results. Is my patriotic responsibility to pursue all avenues available. Besides, Professors are Communist Jews. Have voluntarily defected to our side."

"Or else," Batschka muttered under his breath.

"Please to excuse me?"

"Nothing," said Batschka, suddenly aware that someone might be listening through the secret microphone hidden in the ceiling light where nobody could find it. "Was just clearing throat."

Comrade Director Makoyev rarely visited Batschka in his laboratory. Batschka fretted nervously from the time he was told the Director was enroute until the man strode in and gave him a hearty handshake. "Comrade Batschka!" the Director said in a booming voice while smiling broadly like a hungry crocodile. "Have been struck with excellent idea. Directorate wishes you to pursue possibility of mixing something called Viagra into rocket fuels to keep glorious intercontinental missiles built only for defensive purposes against imperialist aggressors up longer." The Director's smile slowly faded while he stared into Batschka's eyes and waited for a response.

Batschka finally blinked. Twice. "Uh, da! Da! Is good idea, Comrade Director. Will be putting team to work immediately. Um, are you having other excellent ideas today?"

The smile returned. "None for you, Comrade Batschka, but have glorious idea for lovely girlfriend. Am regretful to announce you will be sleeping alone for rest of week." He threw an arm across Batschka's shoulders and said in a low, conspiratorial voice, "Would suggest taking advantage of opportunity to sample other delights in Directorate, but you are already sampling best in whole damned organization, da? Am very sorry for your libido, but have already sent Comrade Yana on flight to Western Siberia, specifically to Hebrew University for Jews Who Have Voluntarily Defected to Communism Or Else in Omsk, to consult with three professors on problem of targeting misguided enemies of glorious Soviet Union but not friends."