It was not a very cozy early April morning in the yard, and I was again in the departure lounge of Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport. Sleepingly absorbing breakfast from cream soup and freshly squeezed juice, I tried to estimate how many hours I had flown over the last couple of years that I study at a university in the States. The score went on many dozens, approaching a hundred - I felt uncomfortable with the impressive figures, I shook my head and decided that it would be more harmless and interesting to study people around.

People are extremely interesting objects for study, except that they do not fit under a microscope; and, frankly, it is much more pleasant from an aesthetic point of view to look at them from a distance. Here the couple flies to rest, apparently, recently together, the relationship has not yet had time to get bored, and they still cling to each other. I turned my eyes to another couple: these guys were experienced - in their behavior one could feel respectful and gentle attitude towards each other, without the passion that arises in the first couple of years, but gradually and inevitably dies away.

The hall was full of percents for 20 - early morning, not too many departures, not too many passengers. Someone flew on business, someone flew to rest, not caring that the holiday season had not yet arrived, someone flew home. I flew out of the house after a week off. Born and matured in Moscow, I decided that it would be nice to see the world and entered the university overseas. But at the same time, Moscow loved everyone very much and flew at any opportunity. Moscow had for me a certain aura of freedom and comfort. It was easier for me here, it was a home. Accordingly, it was here that I, for the most part, met girls. And although the relationship I was now to nothing, and I openly told my passions about it, this did not prevent me from wandering from one bed to another, as well as to subject my own bed to lengthy tests of strength.

It just so happened that the incredible mixture of different blood in my output produced a rather exotic and attractive shell, which I tried to keep in top-notch form. But, as is often the case, it came to me only in high school; before that, I was not too spoiled by the abundance of female (girlish, rather) attention. In the end, the class to the tenth constant sports and the end of puberty gave their fruits - no matter where, I began to be interested. And I became interested in being interested in me. How many stupid things and mistakes I have done! It happens to everyone. A few years and several deep painful episodes with relationships later, I mastered the techniques of seduction and intersexual relationships almost perfectly. And the problem of finding a girl for the night for me has disappeared. The result of all of the above is that I absolutely insolent and lifted the bar. It was time for quantity to shift into quality.

I was not enough just girls; Now I aimed higher - beautiful, smart, rich, married, successful. Models, business-woman, the wives of wealthy gentlemen, representatives of show business. Of course, it has become much more difficult to achieve them, but the sensations have become much better. But not only acquaintance and seduction gave me the greatest pleasure. I am one of these men, and probably few guys will understand me that sex of a girl is more important than pleasure - nothing raises self-esteem like a contented, satisfied, happy girl in your bed, especially considering that facial expression and faces, and the glowing faces of beautiful girls during orgasm is one of the most beautiful pictures I've ever seen.

So this past week in Moscow has passed quite rapidly for me, and as I flew away, I didn’t want to change the saturated schedule of my sex life at all.But you will not get to anywhere, the holidays are over, and it is time to fly away.

In the plane I had a place in the middle, neither by the window nor in the aisle - I was not too happy with this gift of fate. The good news was that I sat down one of the last, and the next two places remained unoccupied. Perhaps I can stretch out on three seats and take a good nap. This time I made the transfer in Amsterdam, and the flight was not too long, but since I hadn’t slept at all the previous night, I decided to sit down and give myself entirely to the power of the dream kingdom, without even waiting for the doors to close.

My dream was interrupted rather quickly and unceremoniously: my neighbors appeared. Barely opening my eyes, I got up, almost ignoring who my neighbors actually were, missed someone by the window, sat back and fell asleep.

Open eyes was perhaps one of the most difficult tasks in my life, but I managed. However, I was in for another trouble - apparently, something hit me in the throat, causing an attack of uncontrollable cough. Looking around, I realized that, first of all, my neighbor on the right was terribly hot - blonde, about 28-30 years old; tight jeans, high heeled boots, tight blouse and fur vest made her look even more desirable; secondly, she and the man sitting to my left were both asleep. Being a well-mannered person, I tried to cough “to myself” with all my might, but it turned out not to be very good, and I presented myself as a rather comical and pitiful sight.

The girl slept more sensitively. Either I really represented such a pitiful sight, or her maternal instincts had an effect, she condescended to give me advice.
- Drink some water, feel better, - she decided to help me.
- Thank you, dear, and I was only going to chew on a bun, - I thought, but only loudly continued to cough.

Having called the stewardess and somehow bringing the meaning of my request to her, I took a sip of water and it became easier for me. By this time, my neighbor and left neighbor opened his eyes.
“Good morning,” he decided to begin with courtesies.
“Good morning does not happen,” I replied to him with a phrase that archeologists had taught me at the excavations of Kherson many years ago. Every morning they had to get up at 5 am, they could be understood.

They broke breakfast, after which we had a conversation, during which it turned out that his name is Ruslan, the girl on my right is his wife named Anya, they have a child, and he is a businessman with her own company doing business in high technologies. As my specialty sounds like a software engineer in a rough translation into Russian, for some time we discussed with him the latest innovations and trends in the industry. All this time I was looking in the direction of Ani, who with all her appearance showed that she didn’t find anything interesting in it, read the magazine, crossing her slender legs, and didn’t say a single word during the whole conversation. In this place I have to add that I just really like girls in heels. I do not know why, but this, along with stockings, is one of those things that immediately turn me on. If, however, the bearer of these is a beautiful girl, then the question “Do I want?” Immediately disappears, and another, much more constructive “how?” Replaces it. So it happened now.

For quite a long time having talked with Ruslan, who, as it turned out, was about 38 years old, I decided that he was a glorious man, which, incidentally, did not prevent me from making plans to seduce his little wife (my conscience is a rather specific thing). And so, he got tired and decided to take a nap. For some reason, I completely got to sleep. Anya still flipped through the magazine with a bored look. I looked closer - a reversal was opened about the tourist places of Barcelona, ​​in which, ironically, I was 2 months before and explored it up and down.

“Barcelona is perhaps the most beautiful city I've ever been to,” I decided to share.
“But I want everything, but nothing at all,” Anya responded without much enthusiasm.
- Prefer Amsterdam?
- Yes. Every year Ruslan and I go there for 5 days, exactly for the Queen's birthday.
“Oh, the celebrations are probably going on rapidly ...” I recalled my last and only ...