You unzip from the porch on the wings of a good mood - a gentle sun shines in the sky, birds are chirping around, a wind is rustling in the crowns of trees at the porch, fragrant steam rises from the damp earth. You are smiling, squinting and winking at the sun and sky, birds and wind, grass and ground and trotting to a stop.
Someone is already bored there. And not someone - you know all of them, if not by name, then surely by sight. This is an aunt from a nearby porch that every morning carries her three-year-old brawler somewhere. But today she is somehow alone. Here is the uncle who lives on your riser on two floors below - smokes some rubbish in the stairwell, has a habit of swearing loudly, and in the mornings in the shuttle bus mercilessly farts, absolutely not caring about others. Here is a high school girl or a student from some of the neighboring houses - an excellent student, I guess. Always trimmed, combed, with bows and in white socks or stockings. Wow, would you be with her ... if she were a bit older, or are you a bit younger ... Eh, where are your seventeen? ... She rarely goes this route, but when she goes, it’s a holiday for you - for the pleasure of seeing her childishly rounded cheeks and feminine soft forms under clothes, are you even ready to suffer the ever-farting uncle and the ever-screaming toddler, who for some reason today is not ...
People are intensely peering into the distance, as if, if someone sees the first one, something will change. Their faces are focused, their cheeks play on their cheekbones, their hands are compressed in anticipation of the next storming of the Bastille ...
You do not lag behind others - your eyes also narrowed in hunting squint, your hands just as convulsively press a briefcase to your chest, your legs are also half-bent, and you are all as tight as a spring, ready to shoot with any second and sweep away everything and everyone your way.
And because of the turn it is shown. Lazily looks around the road, flashing white body and windshield, and slowly, sneaking, approaching the stop. Tension almost reached its peak. It seems that any sound can cause an explosion.
Finally, the white beast, growling with displeasure, freezes. Clicking as when pressing the trigger - and all the compressed springs are shot at once. The first, of course, is the uncle breaking through, actively wielding with empty hands, pushing those who are already sitting in the womb of the minibus, like a bear, which by all means seeks to reach the treasured root crop. Behind him, the mother of a noisy toddler comes sideways, then you gallantly skip the "schoolgirl" ahead and push her further with your strong press.
The door of the bus shut only the third time - no matter how thin you are, but it is your fifth point that prevents it from closing. With a desperate push, you throw your hips forward, squeezing into the "schoolgirl" in the back. The door closes, and the white beast, grumbling with displeasure, pulls away. The last effort is to reach the driver, who turns the steering wheel and the radio volume control knob with a phlegmatic look, and give him the damned pieces of paper that this passage is not worth.
But the ritual is complete, and you can relax and lean on the glass of the door (if it is, of course, not omitted).
You are in a much better position than those who are only half a step ahead. Than the same "schoolgirl", for example. You have a PLACE - you can turn around sideways, grasping the low rail near the door, lower your foot on the narrow bottom step and lean back on the rail in front of the first single seat. You can stand with your back to the window, putting your feet on the very edge of the upper step, and almost sit on the slope under the window. You can even squat if you wish.
But you do not do this, because if you deviate by at least a millimeter, and an elastic young ass under a pleated skirt made of fine wool will be an unattainable dream for you. And so you can legally bask in between her soft seductive halves, and dive even a little deeper in turns, than is permitted. And each time the poor thing turns red so that even you, standing behind her, see this.
True, for this pleasure you have to endure some inconvenience. You need to keep your head slightly tilted forward and to the left all the time. At first, this does not seem to be such a serious problem, but after only ten minutes of the trip, the neck begins to bleed, and now you are struggling with two temptations - to leave the warm seductive hollow between the buttocks of the pretty "schoolgirl" and give you the opportunity to relax your neck or stay where you are. there is, but then the rest of the day suffers from migraines and back pain.
Finally, you make a choice in favor of health and reluctantly recline on the window.
The girl timidly looks around, but you pretend that you have stood all the way and do not understand at all what she is accusing you of.
And suddenly a turn to the right, and the "schoolgirl" falls straight into your arms. Her ass is again in close proximity to your groin. You catch her, as befits a gallant gentleman, clasping her hands around her waist, and she blushes more than ever because, first, she could not resist, and secondly, the hem of her little skirt was a little bully, and you noticed Of course, she hopes that this is not so) the edge of her stockings and even a piece of lace panties, and, thirdly, having fallen on you, she immediately senses your mood. In addition, this whole situation, with a crush and your touches, is not a joke to stir it up.
You continue to hold her by the waist, although there is no need for this anymore - the minibus is carried in a straight line and, you know, its nearest stop is at the other end of the neighborhood. You just squeeze her tummy with your hand, grabbing your skirt and lifting the fabric. “What are you doing?” - the question is in her eyes, turned to you, wide open with surprise, horror and indignation. You grin at one side of your mouth.
Suddenly, the bus dramatically slows down. On demand, you grumble to yourself with displeasure and let go of a thin girl's waist.
The door swings open, you are literally squeezed onto the road, like a paste from a tube. The girl flies into your hands again - her cheeks are burning, her eyes are sparkling, the tail is neatly braided still at the bus stop, now almost dissolved, the bow has slid slightly to the side, the skirt is wrinkled. You smile at her. She responds with an even brighter blush.
An immense old woman comes down from the steps, crushing other passengers, with even more immense knapsacks. Saving the girl from the imminent push under the knee and the soul from selective battle and fume, you hold her to yourself. Her lips are at the level of your neck - you feel her quickened breathing and heart thrill. Grandmother has been busy on the threshold for a long time - she can’t go down in any way, and you pray to yourself to all the gods that you know that she’s still stretching right in the middle of the road, just to prolong this wonderful moment. But the gods remain deaf to your prayers - the grandmother happily gets out of the bus, and finally covers the driver, passengers and the government, and you help the embarrassed "schoolgirl" to get back into transport.
It became easier to stand. Whether the grandmother occupied so much space, or, on leaving, she so nicely rammed the passengers that now you don’t have to stand in a pose of a frightened ostrich, and the fragile "schoolgirl" managed to squeeze further through the cabin, and now you don’t even share two fragile aunties.
You exhale regretfully and stand by the side of the door, holding the rail on the rail near the door and leaning the rail on the rail in front of the front passenger seat.
And all the way to the very stop, you remember bitterly about what happened.
The girl does not go out near the school, but three stops further, where the institute is located. You barely restrain a sigh of relief - it means, after all, not a schoolgirl. When she comes out, as if by chance, she pushes you with your hip. It even seems to you that she winks at you and smiles invitingly and mysteriously.
You spend her frail figure with a long look, until it hides behind the bend of the track. And even when hiding, and the minibus starts to move, you continue to look where your morning fantasy disappeared.
And you know that you will never see her again, but anyway, every morning you look at the faces of people at the bus stop - what if it is today that she again decides to go by this bus, and not go to the one you never ride? ..
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I have never had a chance to ride a minibus, and here, as if, the trip took place))) 10+
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Among us are oligarchs))))
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In Russia, 1,100 settlements have city status. Minibuses ride in one hundred of them, and in a thousand cities, this type of transport was seen only on TV. Ancient PAZIKI with huge rusty holes on board, this is the public transport that creaks and crawls through most of our cities.
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Sorry, I thought immediately about the daughter of wealthy parents.
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Nothing))) It happens. Parents, like everyone else))) The best parents in the world)))
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And here PAZIKI is already a thing of the past - the Sprinter and Bogdana flooded the streets)))))
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Chinese still appeared, even to look at them is scary, not that the ride, as they are called, I do not even know
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We have Indians and Chinese (quite decent looking, by the way) plying on long-distance routes)))))
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Thank you for rating)))))
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High-quality sketch))
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Thank)))))
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Recall the golden childhood))) The highest quality, gentlemen, was a sandwich from female students. In the summer, at +30. One is lying on you and breathing in your ear, like a hunted beast, the other is straightening her skirt, lying in front of you))))
10 balls, both from nature.
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Thank)))))
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I especially love it when compressed into 1-2 pages, the author conveys everything that he wanted to say, convey the feelings, the mood of the heroes, describe the life situation. You did it. I even envied this man with a briefcase, and then I sympathized. Such episodes, with seemingly comic, and decorate our gray everyday life, awaken dreams and fantasies, make people lament their inappropriateness.
I propose two verses: a bit in the topic, a bit - no. One dreamy, the other sentimental.
DREAMS.
Dreams, dreams, what is your sweetness?
Where in life is boredom, joy in thoughts.
Let it not happen
On that thought, to dream.
Eyes close and fly,
Do not drown in the water, do not burn.
With any woman you are macho:
Put it like that, then differently.
Let the role in the life unattractive,
In dreams you are a prince or a king.
Who in life is cold, feigned,
Here is so trustingly submissive.
All impatiens are available here,
Although seemed incorruptible
And cold as white ice
Here are ready to give in advance.
And the mouth and ass are substituted,
Fit, wag their hips.
Say, perform and strip -
Ready for every whim.
* * *
MEMORY.
A tear stinging.
What is sad about what happened?
Life, as a moment, flashed,
But the memory is well preserved
Moments of joy and sadness
Falls, rises and insults.
Heartbreak and let go ...
Passed and no longer see.
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Zhenya, you spoil me! Immediately two verses and all to me alone))))
Thank you for the emotional comment, for the kind words and for the high appreciation of my wild fantasy))))
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I wanted to ride a minibus, which means the story is alive. I was a schoolgirl "she would have been a bit older" and uncle "or you are a bit younger." That seems to be about nothing, and not any passions splashing over the edge (to which I have a tendency), but the story touches and leaves a bright feeling. For all this, thanks.
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And I don’t really want to ride the minibuses, but I have to, because there is no other transport in our area))))) Well, at least the Sprinters were allowed, and not like before Gazelki> _
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I don’t even know what to say and how ... I even wanted to take a minibus, and not look at the world because of the windows of a car ... Like it used to be. To see a beautiful girl, and furtively look at her, eager to get acquainted, but hesitating to his desire.
And if you do not take a bus, then in the subway, train ...
Of course, the age of minibuses has already passed, and all the same ... as the hero of the story, to feel something. Back for a moment in that life when everything was different ...
Wonderful sketch. I suppose that everyone who reads it will evoke his own, own associations, feelings. But after all, it does not matter “what the author wanted to say in this work” (the phrase was remembered from the lessons of literature), it is important that he caused something in the minds of the readers.
Unconditional 10, and ... no comments)))))
And the author - applause.
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So I also never understood this phrase: “What did the author want to say?” You never know what he wanted to say, it’s important how he was understood)))) In general, with this story I wanted to complain about my difficult fate that every morning I have to cram into crowded taxis, go holding my head to the ceiling, and my teeth on the handrails, but it turned out that)))))))
Thank you for your appreciation ... no comment)))))))
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But how it happened.
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Is it really so good?)))))
Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed it;)
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Here I did not want to take a ride in a minibus)))) It was precisely because you described it too precisely. How did you say there? In a pose of a scared ostrich? No, no, no, thank you!)))
A fantasy class! She reminded me of one person) Even two.
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Sorry for the poor girl) Sea of emotions to GG)))
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Sorry for the bird (s)
And I feel sorry for my grandmother - she crammed into the end there with such difficulty, then with such difficulty she pushed herself out of there, probably also quarreled with the driver for a preferential place, and as a result the story was not about her, but about some kind of glasses school skirt)))))))
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Well this is great)))) Because I have no such acquaintances ... well, almost none)))))
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I forgot to say - the phrase about the ostrich is not mine, it was my friend who invented it when I started to go to work at rush hour))))))))
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+10
And I basically do not go by bus. More precisely on such small. I like spacious buses or trolley buses. Previously, yes, they went crowded. Now half empty. Many trolls have Wi-Fi and you can safely sit at any place.I prefer to the front, facing the entire cabin, to look at the lovely passengers and dream of adventures with them.
It became difficult to get acquainted with them, rather than as it was before. Now their lovely ears are plugged with headphones, and in their hands they hold huge smarts or tablets, fenced off from the whole world, something there frenziedly pushes or throughout the way they talk with their girlfriend: “I am such, and he is, I am he ... "... This is because reading this story, I mentally transferred to the atmosphere of the bus and clearly saw all the passengers ... and even clung a little to ... fortunately not schoolgirls, but students)))))
It is a pity that the story ended so quickly, but this is exactly where in several lines the whole world fits - the world of emotions and sensations.
BRAVO!!!
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I’ve been waiting for your comment since yesterday)))) And you decided to check in just now)))) But in any case, I’m glad you like it))))) And by the way, it is sometimes useful to change established habits;)
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I do not know why, but yesterday I did not see this story?
And today I looked new and here he drew)))
In small buses, if I go, it is very, very rare. I like the space, not the crush)))
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At rush hour, even big buses are clogged so that only priests stick out at the door))))) And the advantage of a small minibus is that how many people you don’t cram into it, and less and less than in a big bus it turns out - when people starts to go out, standing on the footboard is not so long to wait until everyone spits out)))))))
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I do not know this concept. In small minibuses (for some reason, many go there?) They are always full, and buses, and especially trolley buses, are often half-empty. At my bus stop, transport is 4 pieces at a time. And in most cases in my direction. From work, I always choose the long way to the trolley bus stop. I get home in 30-45 minutes from the time of release. To work in 20-30 (stop near the house) If the priests are stuck, I will not go there - I will go on foot)))
Some 5 km - with pleasure! In an hour I will be there, walking slowly, staring at the sides and at the same priests, but the owners of the fair sex)))
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Well, if 5 kilometers, then yes)))))
In my case, it is about 30 km, so it’s not particularly necessary to choose, and transport> _ <in my area is the biggest problem since its inception)))) But we don’t complain - rather we complain, but not like earlier))))))
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But during such a long trip, you can read stories on ST. In my case, while you turn on the tablet, while you set it up - it's time to leave)))
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Well, if it succeeds in getting it)))))) So I usually listen to music or just dream, looking out the window))))))) because it can be very problematic to move))))))
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This morning, just from two buses chose the least-filled one. Seats were not there, but I did not aspire. Sit according to one of my girlfriend only: "ladies and boors." I myself neither to those nor those not counted.
At the bus stop, the door opens, a pretty lady enters, in a black coat with large pugavits nicely fitting her pretty ass. almond-shaped eyes looked perfectly on her pretty face. She stood next to me. Suddenly I felt the smell of her perfume. I have a very impressionable nose. I do not like bright perfume. 0t from them at once the head starts to hurt. But not at this time! It was a pleasant smell. with the aroma of lemons and anything else I do not know. Leaning closer to its owner, I made a fiery speech:
- Sorry for the indiscreet question, could you tell me the name of your perfume? I liked them so much that I would like my girl to have that smell.
To which my dream did not answer, but shook its head, smiled gently, like I would not say - this is a secret. I realized that although she was not inclined to talk, she was not averse to chatting about trivia ...
At this moment, some non-Russian stood between us in a leather jacket smelled of shoe polish. "That's a bummer," I thought, and turned away to look around the window, running past the neighborhood ...
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And today I was literally in my arms and I was brought to the bus by an overly active lady))))) Of course, she managed to cheat the half-bus while pushing inside, but I am grateful to her - she pushed me to a very convenient corner between the last but one and the last row of seats, like once again where the “podium” begins in Ikarus, and nobody pushed me all the way)))))))
And now I don’t smell: (my nose is blocked ((((
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click-click, 9, not 10.
“And all the way to your very stop, you’ve sadly recalled what had almost happened.”
IMHO, not a place here for bitterness, all Nice, on the contrary my mood would be good, positive, easy smile, etc.
(just wanted to quibble and not put 10 ^ _ ^)
And so everything is super
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Mmm, what delicacies have come to us))))) Do not leave the bad bit of a miserable through a sick woman?)))))
And thanks for the rating - what's the difference 9 or 10? The main thing is that you decided to put it in general))))) And for the comment, so in general MANY THANKS)))))))
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No, I still have these units to put these claws on. ^ _ ^
p. s.
Do not aim for the contest the best story of the month?
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Where am I really?))))) I'd better fight for the audience award among arthropods ^ _ ^
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I look at the ba, all the familiar faces))) The crab came to visit me, said that the story was five points, and the readers rated it at 7, 5. It was a mistake by exactly 50%. This is called milk. Beats for sure, but past the goal. Therefore, to his 9, you can safely add 4, 5. I would call him not arthropod, but rather arthropod)))
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Well, why are you so? To offend delicacies No way, otherwise they run away))))) They should be carefully, quietly, lure, lure, and then - once - and hook))))))))
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I repent))) I spoiled your fishing trip))) I will not do it again. Chessno)))
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people are differently otsynyvayut, like arthropod ... heads: p
your story just did not catch me, (I even found my comment. I wrote 5-6)
("One request. Do not take it for work. Finished reading to the end? Evaluate!”, Write more clearly: put it like everyone else, and then I will find you and remember !: d for +/- 2 points)
pp p. Yes, I'm here under the crab for more than 3-4 years, I'm sitting like ..
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But it seemed to me that they crawled for the first time)))))
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So, well, do not offend the tiger shrimp. Take care of nature, your mother)))
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Before your mother should be a dash))))))
Or is this the introductory word?))))))))
Threat And this is not a shrimp, this is a crab - not like more and tastier, if, of course, we are talking about Kamchatka crabs: rolleyes:
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Hello Crab))) I did not specifically look for you. Not the commentator and I corresponded yesterday, fooling around like that))) Well, here you are ... You write in the comments what you want, well, and we write. You did not argue your point of view then, but I honestly indicated how much. Something like this)))
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You once again showed that you can do almost all prose genres. A wonderful essay, which does not pretend to anything, but creates and leaves its mood. I would compare it with a photograph - very clear.
I didn’t want to take a ride in a minibus - I travel too often in all minibuses of various kinds, and even in large buses :).But I completely agree with sensations and images :). The phrase about the pose of a frightened ostrich is worthy of becoming a idiom :).
But there is only one remark - purely stylistic ... But I will express it to you in a personal, can I? Especially since, as it seems to me, only I paid attention to him ... But it did not affect the assessment: a dozen left me. And last but not least - and I’m not tired of saying this to you - for professionalism and talent.
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To the most benevolent author as a prize of reader's sympathies. Let your "Minibus" beat the record for the number of my verses.
In life, often watch out for adventures,
Fate has different jokes:
"Whether a girl, and whether a vision"
I met in the early morning in the minibus.
Not a beauty, a simple girl,
Closely pressed in, inflamed my soul.
Not a barrier and matter thin,
I was blinded, a demon of temptation bitten.
What is with me, what is it?
Here, gone and, like a dream, dissolved ...
I'm looking for her, and I have no peace ...
Maybe all this I just had a dream?
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Thank you)))))) I love your poems - write more))))))
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