almost real story from the common life of the late 80s

It was a long time ago, when the summer was warmer, the water was wetter, and you could live a day on the ruble, without particularly restricting yourself. Or maybe it was just when we were younger and sharper. Yes, a lot of years have passed, barely walking then babies already falling in love with might and main, life changed in such a way that the real stories of those years seem like former jerks to anecdotes or horror stories ...

In general, I was young, I lived in a hostel, it was summer and I had nothing to do — some sort of study fragments sometimes, repair work (so as not to go to the fields of the Non-Black Earth Region in the fall), a lot of music and nightly talk about life — and girls The same students living in the same hostel, and on the occasion of the heat walking in completely symbolic dressing gowns. I'll tell you about one of them.

So (as the nobleheart Alexander Sergeich used to say) she was called ... I will not tell you how she was called, she has been married for a long time, and the FIG knows, with what feelings she remembers (and does she remember). She also had a nickname, and the nickname is quite unique. They are usually called her, and for the eyes and in the eyes. She was thin, even strangely thin (something classics are climbing today, this is already Count Lev), very light (I knew that very well - it happened many times to raise my hands - and as a joke (in which, as usual, the joke share) and transferring it through a ditch or, for example, pulling into a boat (and when the other is together with each other, each for one hand, it took off at all)), but not at all skinny. How she did it - a dark matter, rather, still in her youth and in the constant “turbo mode” of the organism - she was (and maybe even now she had not seen for a long time, very long ago) restless and zinger.

Well, enough old memories to indulge, let's get to the point. To the story that happened to me, or did not happen to me ... Or did it happen - what difference, in fact, “who, where, whom”? In general, the disposition is as follows:

Summer afternoon, the sunny side of the building roasted to the languor, a small room with a large three-leaved window. The guy and the girl are sitting in the room, and they pretend that they are solving some kind of CGR. Actually, they are not particularly interested in the work, the guy has been deciding such a bunch (a small business “for smart”), the girl could also, but why, if there is someone who is easy, and therefore happy to do it, they are completely interested the other is, but they diligently do not serve the sight, although both know that the other knows ... But the simple idea is not to be bullshit, but to do what you want, they only visit them in principle. Let me remind you - the years are quite old, and the guys are quite young, virgins, modest people and so on ... Despite very significant theoretical experience, the hostel is not only a dwelling place, it is also an information environment, something similar to the one that only emerges in not too few years in computer networks.

And here they are sitting, squinting at each other, sometimes "casually" touching for some part of the body - the benefit of the body is very close and too much of it, frankly, a little - the heat ... The girl has a bathrobe from which she has grown a little, a guy in a crooked crooked under jeans shorts - the ideology of punk is spreading triumphantly around the country. The conversation seems to be about nothing - from common gossip, imperceptibly moving on to the problems of the universe, the situation on personal fronts, music (the technique and politics are not interesting to the girl). They are considered friends - and they really have a lot in common - music, a way of life ... But everything has not been discussed once, and they are not sitting here for that, only to move to more decisive actions - they cannot get together.

From the window you can hear the usual noise - trolls are rolling with a roar, someone is in a hurry somewhere, rattling around with dishes. Soon the evening, the sun is still burning with might and main, but the air is different, and the sounds are different, and the smells. Although the main smell stubbornly climbs into the window the smell of hot asphalt - on the street repair.

- Well, how much can you smoke! indignant girl coming up to the window. Her light colored, slightly curled hair is scattered over her shoulders, thin, but decorated legs and arms covered with even tan (from the faded dressing-gown) stick out (obtained here near the window and on the roof, where half the population periodically sunbathe).

- Yes, not really, and they smoke. Even nice.

- But it is harmful. And, by the way, especially for men.

- Why?

- Well, they say so.

- Oh, about this ... I do not know, I'm somehow not afraid. I would even be happy to lower it a bit.

- Why?

- And so as not to strain ... Once more.

- Why extra?

“Well, I’m sitting here, I’m not bothering anyone, I’m repairing the primus — by the way, yours — and here you go, and you interfere with your primus.

- What do you like more, Primus repair or distractions?

- How to tell you ... What do you think?

The girl turns from the window. Now they are separated by a table and it leans forward slightly. Symbolic robe does not hide anything already, and the guy can not take his eyes off the small hard breasts, behind which you can see the belly.

- If so - then distracted - he says, without moving his eyes.

- Oh! - the girl straightens up - and you're glad to pry!

- I do not pry, but just look

- And how beautiful?

- Still would!

- Lying and does not blush (the girl has a small complex about the size of the breast. The girl eats cabbage almost every day and goes to the gym to do a bench press).

- And where else to blush, and so red. And by the way, I'm not lying. And you walk beautifully - the guy adds, remembering dark legs from under the faded dressing gown.

- Like this? - the girl says, again moving away to the window, now deliberately stomping, slowing down movements and shaking her hips.

- So - too.

- And the first time how?

- And the first is not as a model, but as a living and real one.

At this time, outside the window, something rumbles, the smell of asphalt becomes stronger. The girl looks out the window like a regular dump truck - something new and interesting. The robe creeps even higher, opening its legs in all their glory. The guy is also interested in a dump truck, fits and looks out. Only one flap is open, and the opening is narrow, they inevitably collide with shoulders, flanks, hips ...

Workers are busy at the bottom, throwing asphalt past the bucket of the handler, but young people are no longer up to them. Frozen in the window, afraid to frighten the moment, they listen to the sensations. It would seem that something unusual - just touch. And not for the first time, and nothing special ... Only a special feeling. The feeling of intimacy.

The guy understands that now this moment will end, the girl will get tired of portraying interest in the processes of asphalt paving, and everything will come off again. And he finally decided. His hand rests on her waist. The girl pretends that nothing happened, but pressed closer. The guy opens his hand wider, trying to absorb, embrace, feel as much as possible the area of ​​soft girl's side. The side moves. The girl breathes.

Her breathing becomes deeper and more frequent. The guy connects the second arm, for which he has to move a little back, touching the thigh sticking out from under the torn jeans of the shorts, which has opened under the edge of the girl’s robe that thaws. The girl rises, starting from the window and at the same time, without any ulterior motive, resting on the guy with barely covered buttocks. For him, it is a sign of fate - and a reason to move his hands, from the waist to the hips and below - and then higher, slightly dying of impudence, but higher and higher.

Legs, hips, narrow strip, in fact one gum, and again waist - but without a robe. He again feels with his hands how she breathes, feels ...