some people intuitive communication lasts for years. Trying to erase it from your life, chop off the invisible, such an elastic thread. Unsuccessfully ... (Especially for eroticspace.info — sexitails.org) It was this kind of thread that brought me to the place where I was once loved and painfully happy. For more than ten years, I deliberately avoided this place, and this is only fifteen kilometers from my hometown. I do not remember where to go, where to look for the house I need.

The road like a puzzle folds in front of his eyes. Memories swept over me. At the level of feelings and sensations. The lightest touch and breath. The coolness of the stalks of roses, the mirror-like smoothness of the wooden surfaces of his car, the interlocking crowns of trees, the bites of snowflakes, sharp as the finest needles and me, descended from a photograph a decade ago in the side mirror. I recognize every turn - it seems to me that I am going in the winter, although in the winter I was only once, even at the construction site, when I climbed the shaky stairs to the very ceiling to look at the future winter garden. I can not remember how he looked then, if he was.

Going slowly, so not familiar to me. Turning the wheel - and a new memory almost knocks the wheel out of hand. The past and the present have gone astray in an instant. But not the future. He is not and will not be ... with him. It feels like I'm invading a territory that was very, very reserved for me. I did not touch her, went around and suddenly ... I entered, without warning.

Long and unsuccessfully trying to find the house I need. One is almost like, it is like a rough copy of my memories. I hope for my memory. I have it amazing - I do not remember the phone numbers, names. But I recognize people even years later. Sometimes it gets scary for me, and I stop trusting her. In vain ... In the gap between the houses I see red tile and a small turret, food. I am ashamed. I feel like a thief. For the first time in my life, I decided not to admire from afar, but to get close to my memories.

The windows are not lit. I dialed the number stored in the phone's memory. Can. I understand that late ... Night ... And we have not seen so long ago.

- Hello! It's me.

- Do you understand? ... It's already night.

- Understand. I really need to hear you now. Now. At another time I would never disturb you. But...

- Where are you?

- Near your home. I'll be here twenty minutes. Understand if you decide to stay home. Just leaving ...

Hang up. Turned off the engine, leaned back in the seat, closed her eyes. What am I doing? What for? Past not return. But today I need to have the only one around that I once needed. Do I need?

I can wait, I can leave quietly, without a tear, no one will know that at that instant my heart is breaking from pain and choking with bloody tears. I can even smile at this moment. I can wear masks, I do it with skill, but no one knows who I really am. I learned to slip away before I get bored. I forgot what I am, but at every moment I am sincere, no, it does not mean that I will turn inside out in my frankness, but I am honest in my choice. Even in the fact that now I lie.

A quiet creak of the gate cuts the silence of the night. I take a short glance - seventeen minutes. Thank.

- Sorry. I would never come here. I need you. Today. Don't ask, please. Just a few minutes, maybe hours. I won't bother you anymore. Never. I promise.

I steal it and carry it without remembering the road. Please help, prompt. We drive through the night, the stars, turn off on a narrow path. Darkness and wood surround on both sides. I have not traveled on such abandoned forest paths for a long time. We leave on a glade. My sentimentality. We often had sex in nature, sometimes on this very spot. Turn off the engine, look at it. Ten years have passed, and he remained the most dear to me man. Although something has changed in him. He became older, but his eyes were the same, and also his hands, once opening my most sensitive places. I hug him and cuddle. Strong and tight to tears.The closest people do not get further, despite the distances, other people's families and years lived apart. They remain the closest and dearest. Native people live apart, strangers - together. And you can't figure it out, not accept it, you can only live with it. I still sit tightly against him, and tears roll from my eyes. He does not let go of me, put his chin on my head and stroked my back with firm, confident fingers. At this moment I do not need the game of a slave and the Queen. This is the man with whom all games disappear. At this moment I am a slave, but only for him, alone. And the Queen is uncrowned too.

He strokes my head, so only my dad stroked me, and also - he goes through my hair, I take my hand under his shirt, I want to feel him closer, dissolve my skin in his skin, become one piece. Inhaling the smell, which is more dear than almost nothing, it seems that my fingers remember his hair to the touch. Pulls me away from my chest, digs a kiss. Our tongues are crossed. With unruly, trembling fingers, I unbutton the buttons on my shirt, pull it off my shoulders, slide my tongue along the clavicle to the nipple. He pushes and pushes the seat down, I move to him and sit down on top. I never put on my underwear. I do not like when passion interferes with something. He wraps me around my hips. I begin to move in our rhythm, as if it had not passed so many years lived apart.

Gradually dawns. What was at night, is deprived of intoxicating romance. I feel good, but there is no feeling of the connection between the times, slipping between them, when the past and the present clashed in one moment. The past, having burst in for a moment in the present, did not become them. The mockery of time, having bent, having touched, having clashed two left people, continued on its way.

I drove him to his house. Kissed at the end. And his hand. When did I learn to kiss the hands of my men?

- Thank you ... For being there, when I was needed most ... For what has always been in my life, my Teacher. I will not disturb you. I promise. And ... forgive me.

He hugs me long and hard. I understand that this is all. It turns out, carefully closing the door. I look after, close my eyes, squeeze the tears that have run over, start the engine and quietly leave. Returning to a completely different number. I wonder how this could ever happen to me. Collect things. Raise the collar. Leave the hotel? For ridicule? Not for me.

A few days later ... Collar. Black with silver. The opportunity to return. Not for me. Not my man, not my partner. I take it in hand ... for the last time. I open the furnace flap and hurl it next to the newly abandoned log. It snaps, shoots with dancing sparks. I am fascinated by the collar. He bends, doing in the last dance of death. Bends out like a snake, and freezes in silent tension, until its edges begin to char. Alive. Dying. Fighting with death. Surrendering to a stronger opponent - fire. The paint bubbles and turns into black caked lumps. I can't look at it anymore, I go to the steam room. Returning a few minutes later. I open the stove - a curved, charred skeleton, already dead, ending its dance of death. Opportunity to return and my next victory. Is it a victory? Victory can turn into defeat, and freedom - the most severe affection. It's not always the same...