“I have love, I did it” - it would seem that there is no point in listening to such ambiguously vulgar expressions, even if they are broadcast to the whole country by the very serious Mayak radio station. Although, if you think about it, then the share of truth, and a fair one, is still present in this phrase.

But first things first.

Love is a complex and multifaceted thing, like a four-dimensional cube, the internal volume of which is substantially larger than the external one. For example, I love my job.

“For what?” You ask.

And in fact, for what?

I'll try to explain. I have a good job. “University teacher”, as I say and think about myself (most often I think). The work itself is necessary and not particularly dusty, although not one of those about which they say “you want, you will not overwork”.

You ask: “What does love have to do with it?”, And you will be absolutely right. I engage in “love” (in a certain, even more than figurative, sense) when the decisive stage begins for students, commonly called SESSION in common people. This is the very moment of truth when reward for valor or punishment for wrongdoing occurs.

The exam is in many ways reminiscent of customs control, where a formal inspection procedure, if there are valid grounds, can turn into a search, smoothly turning into questioning with addiction.

In the course of the “preliminary screening”, it is necessary with a few confident, but at the same time, delicate movements to find out if the students have anything under their clothes, in the sense of whether she has at least something left in her head from what was occupations. As an experienced customs officer who knows smuggler catches, it is usually enough for me to put a hand on her waist and walk up to the armpits. Then slide your palms forward to feel the belly, go back to the waist and lower the palms down the outer surface of the hips.

Usually, at this point you can find out almost everything, and if she is really “pure in soul” (and knowledge), you can safely let go of her, with a sense of accomplishment of duty, by putting a mark “satisfied. “In the register. Nothing personal and nothing superfluous, however, there was no discontent yet.

However, if her behavior leads me to suspect that she hides something and she has something to lose, a more thorough “search” will be carried out, even to the extent of revealing the truth. So you can continue to move from the hips down, gently palpate the knees, calves, legs. Again hold your palms up along the back of the thighs. Slowly stroke the buttocks, then the hips, first along the front surface to the knees, and then slightly running the fingers between the hips to move up, up, up ... But then I usually stop half an inch from the upper edge of the lace stockings and not touching the skin.

In most cases, suspicions are dispelled, and no doubt remains. Even if something has gone unnoticed, it is such an insignificant trifle that it does not deserve undue attention. I just write in the book "good."

Some by this time are so inflamed that they are puzzled why I stopped, in my thoughts they have completely surrendered to my power and are waiting with anticipation that I will lay them on the table with their stomachs and ... They are ready to shout and wriggle right up to the very ...

But everything is already over, at such moments I am especially adamant. Because of this, some leave a little unsatisfied. I can only sympathize with them with sadness, they are really not capable of being in the neck. “Maybe another time?” I think, although I know for sure that there will be no other time.

And it is only in those rare, unforgettably bright moments when, during the course of a thorough “search”, I do not disbelieve, but instead strengthen my suspicions, true love begins, namely, inquest to the fullest extent.

The student understands that she is caught, and can no longer do anything.At this moment, our desires coincide, I catch her timid hope for continuation and at the same time the fear that everything has already ended, and not having time to begin. But I do not stop and again stroke the buttocks, caress the waist, shoulders, arms. I gradually approach her, embrace her. My hands are walking on her stomach, without climbing, however, far neither up nor down, pass under the breast itself, almost touching it. I'm starting to talk about something quietly. This continues until I realize that she is ready for anything and right now.

The left hand falls lower and lower to the groin, but does not go for the time being with an invisible trait. With my right hand, I gently caress her chest. Gradually, I once again transport caress to the stomach and waist. She is confused, her thoughts are confused, the words are vague and incoherent. Her body to the tips of her fingers is enveloped in a subtle, barely perceptible tremor. I do not deceive her hopes, now it would be cruel and dishonorable. Lips I touch her neck, tongue caress ears. I hug her more and more tightly until she feels my inflexible intellect. She is almost ready to break loose. With my left hand, I squeeze her breasts, and slowly bring her right to the cherished point. For a moment I stop, stopping caresses, and gently say: "Excellent." I cherish this cherished confession by a very delicate touch.

She doesn’t have the strength to moan, scream and even her trembling disappears, she falls into the tender abyss of exhausted ecstasy and hardly understands what happens to her. At that moment, when I hand her a passport with a well-deserved recognition for his servants, her eyes sparkle with tears of sincere gratitude.

“Thank you,” she says.

In response, I make a significant gesture like "I myself was pleasant but" or "Always happy to help."

In indecision, she leaves me, but she turns around at the door and says: "Goodbye."

“Good-bye” - I say, trying to withstand intonation, which means that nothing has ever ended forever, and at that time I myself already assess the chances of another candidate for inspection with varying degrees of thoroughness.