and you disappear behind the door. I also live a good-thinking house, bring everything in order (after all, the apartment is alien) and look out into the corridor. You rustle with something in another room, and I decide to put on a little dress - after all, it’s still naughty to run naked. I put the cassette that I brought with me, I make the sound barely audible and I sit, waiting for you.

I am sitting on the couch, gradually calming down. Several times I catch a smile wider on my physiognomy than that of the Cheshire Cat, but I chase her away - some kind of inappropriate. Although I want to smile, in general, the state of an unshadowed buzz ... and anticipation of a buzz of a new ...

You try to appear imperceptibly, I do not see the door, but the movement of the air you-gives. With a wide stride, you step out into the middle. You are wearing a short dressing gown of shiny, iridescent material, while walking the floors whirl up, revealing long slender legs. Although I seem to have seen you all, now I look like for the first time - these lines, these colors ... but the artist in me is just a glitch, from contemplating lines, shapes and colors I instantly switch to contemplating you - a young beautiful woman, a robe he doesn’t even try to hide the figure, the luxurious slightly wavy hair freely flies behind you, and the legs ... and the hands ... My eyes finally run up, you take a few more steps and switch the cassette with a few movements of your fingers. Something heavy is launched, with a short non-equal rhythm, and under this rhythm you slowly turn around, stretching your arms, waving your hair, dragging yourself, bending under the robe. I rush to jump, but I sit, understand, that it will turn out wrong, not so ... I have never seen such a dance, and will I ever see ...

Also, without interrupting your movements, you accidentally touch the belt of your robe, and it opens up, for a moment I have time to see your body intercepted by a dark stripe, but you turn your back, raise your hands, so that under the edge of your robe legs are visible in full length ... I still get up, but I remain still in place. You turn around, still not giving up, now I can see you all, face, neck, chest under the circle of unusual blue color, even stomach, blue panties, legs slightly apart ... you, too, stretch your arms, take a step, I rush forward to reach your waist with your palms, pull me close, kissing several times quickly. But we both want not ferocious passion - we have already received passion, now we want a more relaxed harmony with each other to taste and experience all the subtleties and goodies. Therefore, I once again let you go, in passing helping to reset the robe, and we sort of dance at a distance, only touching each other with our palms ...

When half-hugging, stroking hands and quick kisses get bored, you sit down on the sofa. At first I settle down beside me, but ... you warmed up, reddened, your chest rises ... I want to see this not out of the corner of my eye, but it’s uncomfortable to sit curled on one side, and therefore I move to the carpet, fold my legs with a half-honeycomb, and my hands. .. hands are already stroking your knees, then rising higher, then going down to the ankles. Your hands, too, come into motion, meet with mine, run over the shoulders to the neck. I reach out to meet them, and your knees are very close, I feel their smell, warmth, touch their lips. You exhale the air, I feel your fingers making their way through the hair on my nape, as the breathing rhythm changes from fast, caused by dancing, to a more measured and exciting-deep one. You close your eyes, open your lips, and I _hear_ your breath, again losing my head from it. "Sweet," I whisper, and again put my nose in your lap. They are loosely diverging to the sides, and I kiss the velvety-tender skin of the inside of the böder. Your breathing becomes louder, I feel with my lips, as you tremble slightly from the touch.My palms are moved to the waist, then even higher, caressing the chest, and the chest does not rise by itself, from breathing, you strive to meet my palms, your hemispheres are pressed against them. I clearly feel how cramped it is even under a weightless cloth, and I also want to touch you, your skin, and not some rags, even beautiful ones. We "ripen" at the same time, our hands simultaneously stretch to the interfering tissue, and interfering with each other, freeing your chest from the unnecessary barrier ...

My palms are drawn to your breasts, covering them from below, as if supporting them. They, in general, do not need support, and without that, pink nipples are provocatively uplifting, but it is so pleasant to feel them in the palms - heavy, warm, soft and elastic ... I cover them more tightly, lift them up a little, with my thumbs stroking it hollow nipples, gently squeezing. Your breath is interrupted, I feel as if in the depths, beneath a soft, feminine, on-the-neck muscles. You shake your head, open your mouth and with a low chest is not a moan, not a scream rush forward, moving my arms apart. I lean back, I cannot hold my balance and roll further, onto my back, and you fall on me. I exhale loudly, somehow enthusiastically, feeling you all, entirely in my hands. You fully lower yourself, flatten yourself on me, your breasts are so soft and so sweet pressed against my face that I just drown in them, I don’t understand how we lie, where are my hands and feet, my head is spinning in in the most direct sense - this is something that never happened. Right next to the ear, I hear your heart, hear the breath not outside, but inside you, I feel warmth and something else besides heat. Your right nipple is near my lips, and I kiss him, hugging my tongue, feeling the slightest unevenness. You are moaning again, in the same deep voice, from which a hot wave arises somewhere in your chest and you want to grab you and take it, take it, take it time after time, unpretentiously and violently. But your waist, so thin after the chest, dimple over the lowered elastic of the panties, your chest under my lips - requires a completely different treatment, and the rage in some strange way turns into tenderness, spilling over the edge, without reason and boundaries, and I kissing your chest and neck, stroking my hands, pressing me even closer than pressing the weight of your body, which turned out to be unexpectedly light ...

Makc K-113, 1998

p. s. The story was written in collaboration with a certain lady (in the form of separate letters “in the pre-meeting”) in September 1998. The meeting took place at the beginning of October, but the coincidence with the story ends completely on the episode of the meeting itself - meeting (exactly as described, or rather, having actually played the story script in real life), they just went for a walk around the city. The rest was another time, but the story has not yet been written about it.