This story happened even at the time of stagnation, so there are no “Mercier”, “Ecstasy”, night clubs and everything that surrounds us now.

In the evening city, spraying puddles like the Titanic, the last trolley bus sailed. The usual thing, as always lately, I had a row with my wife and, as always, finally. He was going nowhere, gradually moving away from the next scandal. At the bus stop under a leaky roof, not even trying to stop the cars passing by indifferently, a girl stood in the rain.

All wet, long dark hair got off the water, a white blouse defiantly wrapped around her perfect breasts, in my opinion form.

I, like a true gentleman, offered her a place under an umbrella. After hesitating for a few moments, she decided, nevertheless, I offered her a hand and only then looked at her face. At first glance, nothing special, the usual face of a seventeen eighteen-year-old girl, but eyes: Similar to two mountain lakes, covered with mica, a blue film of innocence. I disappeared, immediately drowned in them.

She immediately began to tell me her simple story, how she went to her former classmate's birthday party, sat up late, the transport no longer runs, and there is no money for a taxi. I decided to stand a little longer until the rain subsides and slowly go home. I offered to conduct it. On the way, we chatted nicely and when we came to her house, she saw a light in the windows, screaming a tape recorder. “Again the mother brought the men,” she said bitterly in her voice. "I will not go home." Tears clouded her eyes, I was ready to go into battle with anyone for these tears. “Let's go to the station,” she suggested. "We'll sit, soon morning, and then I have to work." And what could I do:

In the waiting room it was hot, it smelled of stagnant smell of sweat mixed with fume of the working masses. With difficulty, we found a free bench. She lay her head in my lap, curled up, and quickly fell asleep. I dozed, then sat, not moving, afraid to disturb her sleep. The announcer all the time announced trains going to Paris, Berlin, Sofia. And I, sitting on a dilapidated bench of a crowded city, holding on my knees the dream of my whole stupid life, dreamed of living with it in these cities. To reality, my grandmother returned me with a dirty wet rag on a mop, which, swearing, drove us out of the waiting room to the street. It was already dawn, I thought that my wife had gone to work, and offered to go to me, have some tea, get warm. Came to me, warmed up with tea and sandwiches. And suddenly she clung to me and with a trembling voice said that she wanted to thank me for not having left her, and that no one in life had ever treated her that way. I looked into her eyes full of tears and realized that from that moment on my life would go a completely different way. Catching up on my hands, I carried her to the bathroom, where I slowly began to take off her skirt. She stood silently, faithfully looking into my eyes with her blue "lakes". Unbuttoning the buttons on the blouse, I unbuttoned my bra and, taking off everything from her, was simply stunned: It was the chest of a young girl, already filled with the juice of desire. Nipples stuck out like two dark brown buttons. I could not resist and licked one of them. The chest was covered with goosebumps.

Turning on the hot water, I put it in the bath. He picked up the soap and slowly began to soap her body. He stroked her long thin fingers, caressed his thin shoulders. She was standing in the bathtub, eyes closed, and only trembling from my careful touch. When I got to her tubercle, covered with a light downy hair, she arched under my tender fingers and, throwing back her head, groaned. I gently, going through each of her folds, caressed her small clitoris, not forgetting to stroke her second hand, slightly squeezing, her round and such elastic buttocks. Still not really seeing her ass, just to the touch, I realized that this is a true work of art.She, unable to stand, leaned her back on the wall, having arched her body with such soft and smooth skin to meet my hands. My fingers became wet with the juice of her desire. I wound up like crazy. Not controlling myself at all, I dug my greedy lips into her pink labia, not realizing what was happening. My tongue greedily plunged into a hot, moist bosom. I licked her lips, absorbed her nectar, feeling like a tired traveler in the desert, clinging to a source of moisture. She eagerly pressed her lap to my face, as if wanting to suck my lips into myself, I gasped, exhausted from desire, swallowing her juice, which I have never tasted better than in life, so sweet-tart-spicy-salty, not like no matter what. This could go on forever, but suddenly she pushed me away, completely woozy, and said: "Let's go to the bedroom." Jumping out of the bathroom, without wiping, we ran to the bedroom. I threw off the pitiful remnants of my clothes. And finally, we fell on the bed, immediately entwining our bodies, our lips, as after a long separation, they greedily stuck into each other. We were completely wet not so much from the water as from the desire.

And when, in our love struggle, I finally gained the upper hand, having pressed her body to the bed, for a second hung over her on outstretched arms, she was completely without a trace in me, our souls entwined, holding hands. I entered it easily, as if I had jumped from a high mountain, spreading my wings behind my back. She gave a short cry, biting her lip in pain, and our bodies huddled in the rhythm of love like wounded birds in a cage.

We flew together. Three years after this incident. They rented a small apartment in Paris. Sorting things out at the fireplace in the evening, I stumbled upon a bedspread from that bed with a blood stain in the middle. Then in a past life, I was still thinking about hiding the traces of losing the virginity of my only happiness in life.