From the author: The text below is the promised background to the “Adventure in Alavir”. There is absolutely no sex, as a process, but there is sex, as a state of mind and way of thinking. Over time, a sequel will be published, where the process itself will be much more.

Regards, Non-commentator))))

- Farit! Great! What's up? - chubby broad-shouldered physical education teacher in elementary grades Vitaly Anatolyevich Vasin, nicknamed Vasek with a wide smile and tremendous strength, shook my right hand.

He was a head taller than me, two times wider at the shoulders, blond, snub-nosed with rosy cheeks almost devoid of stubble, covered with numerous reddish pockmarks.

- Hi, Vasek. Everything is okay. How are you? - I smiled at him in response, not daring to take away the hand that had already begun to ache.

- Well! - he finally let go of my palm and let me go to my table. “You're up late today, as always?” He asked, flopping down on the chair that had plainly creaked beneath him, when I put my briefcase on the table and began to unload notebooks of eleventh grade, textbooks, reference books, pens, and gauges.

I nodded silently.

“It’s a pity,” he sighed, “it would be nice to meet somehow in an informal setting, sit, chat for life at a glass of beer ...”

“I don’t drink,” I smiled indulgently, taking a seat on my chair and turning my rosary in quick motions.

The habit of taking these wooden beads four times a day and sorting through them with an important look, muttering something under my breath, I worked out only a month ago, but I could not do without it. At home I did not leave the feeling that I had forgotten to do something very important, if I did not take rosaries in my hands. The brothers openly laughed at me at first, but then the twins had to develop a similar habit. Since then, they no longer have any jokes.

Vasek, in respectful silence, waited until the end of my prayer, without taking his eyes wide open from my hands, then looked up at my face:

“Sorry, I'm not used to it.” Those Muslims whom I met before were not so scrupulous about drinking.

“Say thanks to my father,” I nodded. - He brought me up in strictness and always demanded to strictly follow the laws of our faith.

“It's funny,” Vasek narrowed his eyes, “many of yours say that you can disobey your laws here, they say, Allah is not looking here.”

“Like your god, Allah is omnipresent and omniscient,” I said, putting on my glasses. - And those who claim that because they have moved to live in another place, the laws of Islam no longer apply to them, they are simply deceiving, and at the hour when they are brought before Allah their sins will not allow them to go to heavenly the gardens.

“And you, therefore, dream of eternal life in paradise,” Vasek smiled.

- Why not? - I shrugged. - If there is an opportunity to forever bask in the arms of the beautiful Gurias, having lived in humility for some eighty years, why not suffer?

- Do not you think that this is the psychology of a slave? - He said thoughtfully.

I shrugged again. And I do care? I say what I read in Islam about books. And in general, what is his business, what do I believe in and what psychology do I adhere to?

“It seems to me,” I said with a smile, to a person who does not want to start a meaningless argument, “that the bell will soon ring, and someone else needs to change into the lesson.”

Vasek sighed and nodded.

- Of course you are right...

He wanted to say something else - I saw it in his eyes - but at that moment the door of the staff room opened and on the threshold appeared Albina Petrovna, a tall, slender blonde, a teacher of Russian language and literature in high school.She smiled charmingly, winked at me and Vaska, and, shaking her long thick hair in large curls, sat down on the edge of her desk, stretching out her perfect legs.

“Good morning, colleagues,” she said, pulling a powder box from her purse.

Vasek nodded silently and swallowed a lump, and I squealed to myself.

It is cruel of him. Even I, knowing the truth, at times began to salivate, looking at this form of it. What to say about outsiders, such as Vasek.

Meanwhile, Albina finished correcting the makeup and gracefully took from the table a small black daddy with the training manuals and a textbook.

“Farit Timurovich,” she coaxed from the door, “do not run away after school today.” Sarah Ignatievna's birthday, she wanted to arrange a small sabantychik. Most likely, she still will go and invite you personally.

“Thank you, Albina Petrovna,” I smiled back at her. - I will definitely be.

The door behind Albina closed, and Vasek turned a dazed look at me:

“This is a woman,” he breathed after a couple of seconds. - I would not refuse to spend such an evening.

I grinned:

- I'm afraid this sweetie is too tough for you.

- You want to say that I do not have the slightest chance? What will she never be interested in like me?

I slowly shook my head. Let him think what he wants. Not to explain to him, in fact, that this seductive body, these slender legs, these playful eyes and everything else belongs to a three-meter monster with fangs sticking out in different directions, with claws capable of cutting steel battens and tearing hearts, and the character of a medieval inquisitor, for which the life of a man and a damn is not worth it. And this monster, among other things, is male.

Vasek sighed doom and rose from his chair, heading for the door, when Irina Feodorovna and Svetlana Pavlovna burst into the office laughing. They fell silent, noticing Vaska and me, looked at each other conspiratorially, while Svetlana Pavlovna blushed deeply and, with her head down, went to her place. And Irina Fedorovna measured Vaska with a contemptuous look, who immediately averted his eyes and quickly went out into the corridor.

The desk of Irina Fedorovna, a teacher of chemistry and biology, is next to mine, but closer to the window. This is a gorgeous woman. Of course, she is in no comparison with Albina with her refined manners and sophisticated methods of seduction, but her feminine nature and rushing out. She has an almost perfect body, dark blond silky hair to the shoulders, which she always puts on a parting and teasing naughty bangs with invisible women, pleasant facial features, discreet smile, similar to Mona Lisa smile, small palms with clingy fingers, thin wrists and ankles, small elastic chest and flexible waist, smoothly turning into narrow hips. She always wears dresses with deep cleavage and skirts with breathtaking cuts, high-heeled shoes and jewelery that emphasize the perfect curve of her neck and the pleasant roundness of her shoulders.

Svetlana Pavlovna is almost the complete opposite of Irina. Low-figure skater brunette with expressive greenish eyes, long wavy hair, small snub nose and silky puffy lips. She always ridiculously blushes in my presence, wears soft shapeless sweaters under the throat, which, however, do not hide the seductive roundness of her still very young body. She reads French, so she is always accompanied by the aura of French charm and the scent of "Chanel No. 5". She wears skirts just below the knee and high boots on a small wedge or heels.

Honestly, of my colleagues, I like her more than anyone else, perhaps because she is younger than others, maybe it’s all about my burden to naturalness, and maybe it’s just amusing me how she is embarrassed in my presence . It is a shame that since I settled here, I have never been able to be alone with her - Irina Fedorovna, then the Englishwoman Lyudmila Erastovna, is spinning along all the time.

I took the top notebook from the pile on the edge of the table and opened it, casting a quick glance at Svetlana. She sat sideways to me and straightened her hair, looking into the large mirror hanging in front of her desk by the door. Seeing my mind ...