No mom

Blushing, the pretty Ukrainian says, "You see, my mama isn't in country right now."

Pulling over, you brake, then put the car in park before counting to ten silently.

Calmly, you ask, "Well, then, where is she?""

"On Wednesday, we received notification that Papa was wounded in Kursk Oblast. She flew to Poland last night." The cheerleader tells you.

"Then who was I confirming our tutoring session with today?" You ask, certain that it was Jennifer.

Kat smiles sheepishly, saying to you, "Mama is not very... tech savvy. She has me handle internet things for her."

You stare into Kat's deep blue eyes, trying to see if she was being on the level with you. Given that she was a bestie of Jennifer's, you could never be certain.

Choosing to take her explanation at face value. It's not as if she's thrown herself at you. Although you do remember that according to Consuela, she called you the teacher with the big dick, so Jennifer has told her something.

"Thank you for telling me the truth, Kat," you manage to say evenly.

You put the car back into drive. You reenter traffic, finishing up the 20-minute drive to the apartment Kat and her mother share. You follow the teen to the cozy 2-bedroom upstairs apartment. Unlocking the door, Katenya ushers you inside. Gingerly, you enter the apartment, halfway expecting to see Jennifer.

The living room was cozy with an island separating it from the kitchen. Hanging from the wall next to the dining table were a dozen framed photos.

One of the photos stood out, as it screamed "family photo." In it, you could see Kat, her mother, and what looked to be her father and brother.

Seeing where you were looking, she tells you softly, "That was taken 6 months before the invasion. We fled when sirens first started, but Papa and Pyotr were mobilized at the border."

"I'm sorry it happened to you." You tell her, not knowing what else to say.

"Thank you," she almost whispers. "Papa drove tanks for Soviets, so he commands tanks, and Pyotr is drone operator."

"Do you know how bad?" You ask gently.

"According to embassy, Papa will be in the hospital for a couple of months but should fully recover." She says. Sniffing, she turns, heading into the kitchen. "But you are not here to hear Ruchenko family history. Mama would be scandalized if I didn't feed you, so dinner, then tutoring, yes."

Sitting on a barstool next to the island, you say, "Sounds good to me."

Over the next hour, you chatted with the cheerleader while she prepared chicken Kyiv with a salad and, after apologizing, instant potatoes.

You learned several things from her while she was preparing dinner. First, her brother had married another drone operator, and they were expecting a little girl. Second, her home in Kharkiv had been destroyed by a missile. Thirdly, despite finding it crazy that some Americans thought Putin was a friend, she had grown to love the country.

After eating an excellent dinner, you moved to the living room to see what she knew. Her knowledge of US history, while lacking compared to someone born here, wasn't hopeless. She knew nothing of prerevolutionary America. But after 1776, she generally names what something was, but not how or why.

It was around 8pm. when you finished helping her with what she would need to know, at least for the next couple of weeks.

Stretching, you ask, "Well, Katenya, that should be good for tonight. Do you have any questions?"

The air hung thick between you as the teenager hesitantly asked, "Mr. Clarkson, how does one become a citizen?"

"Well, while not technically US history, that's easy enough," you muse. "First, you need to apply to be a permanent resident, commonly known as a green card. You also need to learn civics and US history and learn English."

Nodding along, she says, "That sounds like long time, yes."

"It can take a while, but you have been here for longer than a year, and you're over 18, so you could start the process now." You assure her."

Up until now, Katenya had been calm, but you see her start fidgeting as she asks you, "There is fear that if Donald Trump is elected, he might cut aid; he might expel us." She pauses. "Mama, she wants to go back after the war. My friends are scattered or dead. My hometown is rubble. I want to stay here," she finishes in tears.

Reaching out, you hug the teen. "You've been keeping this bottled up."

She nods against your chest, sobbing, "I have no wish to be Russian."

You rock back and forth, letting her take comfort in your embrace. While trying to ignore the feel of her breasts squashed up against your chest. After a few minutes, she looks up at you, gorgeous despite the streaks of her tears, saying, "Thank you."

You were becoming very aware of just how good this teenager felt in your arms.

"Mr. Clarkson, what is an anchor baby?" Katenya asked, stunning you.

"Where did you hear that?" you ask, flabbergasted.

"Jennifer told me that it harder to make mother of citizen leave and could give me more time." She said hopefully.

In defiance of your will, you could feel your dick start to perk up at the thought of you driving a baby into this blonde goddess.

"That would be a terrible reason…" You start, and her request floors you.

"I know you sleep with Jennifer and Becky. Please stay and give me a baby."