Working as a bus driver is not bad at all. Sergei was convinced of this more than once, especially returning to the garage after the evening shift. His “native” route 40 was the favorite means of transportation for podglyavshih citizens that returned from the city center home to sleeping areas. Sometimes, however, the cabin was somewhat more noisy than it should be, but the cabin doors reliably protected him from possible infringements from the side and he could steer the car without being distracted by small things. He liked to sail on the dark asphalt of deserted night streets, watching the lights go out in the windows and the city, tired of daytime worries, plunges into sleep. Only the flashing yellow eyes of traffic lights, and the poisonous light of rare neon advertisements enlivened the streets. The closer he got to the final stop, the fewer passengers remained in the cabin, and by the end of the route the bus was completely empty.

And today Sergey habitually went to the salon. More than once he had to find in it folders with documents, wallets, purses. True, a hundred times more often on the floor there were mountains of husk, and empty beer cans. This day is no exception. Spit-less floor was thickly covered with wrappers from chewing gum and other rubbish. To top it off, there was a pool of vomit in the aisle between the seats. Sergey mentally sympathized with the morning shift, on whose shoulders the cleaning of this pigsty on wheels would fall and was about to go outside, but then his attention was attracted by a small dark object lying on the seat. Sergey was an honest man, but such finds caused him the most pleasant feelings. Gratitude for the returned documents, often, was a significant addition to his rather modest salary. Therefore, he did not hesitate to shove his handbag, and it was she who attracted the attention of the driver, in his bosom, and went to the pre-service center to take the shift.

***

Finally, he was able to carefully examine the find. It was a small black leather handbag with worn-out straps. Not without some internal trepidation, Sergei unlocked the lock and twisted the contents onto a coffee table with a sharp movement. Comb, mirror, started packaging "Orbit". Each new subject plunged Sergey into despondency. No documents, keys, nothing that could bring him at least a small benefit. Internally swearing, he looked at a pile of rubbish on the table, wishing he had left his find on the checkpoint. Well, what the fuck does he need these “snickers-tampax”. He once again looked at his handbag and noticed a small side pocket that was undoubtedly full. After a minute, the driver laid out the finds: a brand new passport, keys, several small bills and a plump notebook. Sergey sat back in his chair. He finally got what he was looking for. “Taa-ak! Julia O. 1984 And quite the same pretty. ” From the photo Sergey looked at pretty girl. “Yes, I’m no use to you.” He understood perfectly well that he did not have to wait for money. However, he contented himself with the thought that perhaps he could get to know this girl better.

In his 30 years, Sergey managed to legally marry twice, but in both cases his family life ended in the first two years and now he spent his lonely evenings in his one-room apartment. He had no close friends, and he preferred to meet with his friends no more than once a month. The only way to spend time in your free time was the VCR. Women in the scale of values ​​of Sergey took the place between reading newspapers and walks in a suburban forest. The idea of ​​a serious relationship with a woman was even disgusting for Sergey. However, it cannot be said that he was completely indifferent to the feminine charms, for otherwise he would not have kept a dozen tapes of the most frank content that he viewed regularly.“Well, we need to relax,” he said, inserting the cassette into the tape recorder. The women who did the most incredible things on the screen were nicer to him than all the women with whom he had ever had a real relationship. Videoism did not pester him, but to get rid of them by simply pressing a button. The real is constantly asked for something. Money, love, time ... They asked first for themselves, then for children. And why asked? Are threats, tears and shouts compatible with such a quiet word as a request? They demanded ...

***

Other things cause all of us a certain interest. This is especially true of notebooks and everything that allows a person to touch the holy of holies, to wander in the darkness of an alien soul. Sergey was no exception and lying in bed, he looked through Julia’s book. Smooth carefully derived lines. Olya, Lisa, Katya ... and phone numbers. "Is she chtoli?" Not a single kid. Although not. The word "Igor" was bred even more diligently than other names. “In fucking! And what kind of ... "From the middle of a voluminous book, several photographs flew out and fell on a blanket.

It was really something to be surprised. The photos were taken in the summer and in all likelihood on the shores of a lake. Julia sat on the bridge dangling her legs and covering her chest with her hands. Sergey was almost certain that the top of the swimsuit was not on her. His assumptions were confirmed by the fact that the expression on the girl’s face was clearly visible that she was confused to the extreme. Despite the fact that Sergei was accustomed to photographs of another kind, however, he felt very excited. He tried to examine the smallest details of the photo. It already seemed to him that if he looked more closely at the photo, he would be able to see her chest. He put his hand under the blanket and after two or three movements with his hand, he threw out a thick stream of sperm.

Sergey slept disgustingly. As soon as he closed his eyes, the same picture appeared in front of him. Yulia got up on the bridge and lowered her panties to her knees meekly waited for Sergei to figure out what to do next. In a half-slumber, he felt her long brown hair streaming beneath his fingers, saw her body tremble under the fear of the unknown. Twice a night, Sergey woke up and tried to remove tension with a masturbation, but that did not help either. Needless to say, in the morning he felt completely overwhelmed. Nevertheless, he found the strength to call the help desk and find out the phone number of Julia.

The woman picked up the phone with a sharp, unpleasant voice.

- Julia? Why do you need Julia? - Sergey shuddered from the disgusting timbre of her voice.

I had to explain in the most cultural terms who he was and only after that Yulya herself was admitted to the phone.

- Did you find my documents? Oh, and I thought that they were completely gone. I did not even go to study. - Yulia's voice sounded delighted.

- Yes, you can pick them up. I do not work today, so come. -

Sergey dictated his address twice. Now he could only wait. Naturally, he put the notebook apart from the rest of the things for it was his main trump card in the upcoming game.

***

The bell at the door made Sergei rush off to the door, rushing to the door.

- Are you Sergey? - The girl timidly looked at Sergey.

- Yes, and you apparently Julia O.? - Sergey tried to be as polite as possible. - You pass, and while I make a tea. -

Yulia wanted to refuse, but Sergey’s soft voice had a hypnotic effect on her and she dropped her jacket and boots and went into the room.

Sergei was very pleasantly surprised to see that in the life of Julia was even more beautiful than he saw in the photo. She was quite tall, no less than a meter seventy-five, although she was somewhat stooped and therefore seemed to be below her height. A narrow knee-length skirt pleasing her smooth hips pleasantly, and narrow golf made it possible to admire her rather large chest. Sergei deliberately sat her down on a low chair and now she had to contend with a constantly uplifting skirt.

- With sugar? - Sergey tried to be a hospitable host.

- No, I ...