The last days of spring were unusually rainy. The same wet and windy, like all this strange May.

Ksenia sat at the bar and poured herself into the fourth portion of alcohol. Her mood was extremely lousy, to match the weather. The feverish moisture enveloped her throat and at least somehow warmed it from the inside; if it were not for alcohol, she would have continued to beat the chills, the eternal companion of her tears.

Yesterday (or today?) Again (not again, but again!) She had a fight with him. With whom, only three years ago, she swore eternal love, care and loyalty.

Vadik was the husband of a dream - kind, caring. He supported her and, despite her shortcomings, loved her. She was grateful for his understanding and loved him even more for the ability to endure all her cockroaches. Nevertheless, over the past six months, she could remember a rare day when they did not swear. In their quarrels lately there were almost no forbidden tricks, they could make each other very painful. Words, no beats, of course. But the words were sometimes more painful. And most often in recent months, they swore because of sex.

Xenia felt in their family horny white crow. She wanted sex more often, much more often than Vadik. She was hurt and ashamed to be the initiator every time and not to meet the response of passion from her husband, in any case, with her bell tower, this was exactly the case.

She forgot what it is like when they want you. Every time, before sex, she had to straighten him. Long and monotonous, because he didn’t accept “deviations from the canon”, sex toys (all their conversations about it were going nowhere), his numerous peignoirs, costumes did not make the proper impression on him. He did not react to the unequivocal photos that she sent him. She tried to diversify sex and do it in another place besides the bedroom, for example, in a clean and spacious toilet in a disco-cafe where they recently celebrated the birthday of one of the friends, and everything went down to the banal “and you think what people will say when they see we go in there together / go out from there. ” Even when she was giving him a blowjob, as soon as she deviated from the “deep throat” and started to caress him with his tongue, play with the testicles or reach out to the “back” part of the body, he strained, expressed displeasure and asked to stop.

He did not like the belly dance she taught for him. No, of course he said he likes it. Could a loving husband say otherwise? But he never let go of his fucking tablet, and even managed to poke at him while she was flexing and shaking her hips. She was not stupid. She knew that simply dancing is not a means of excitement in itself. But she prepared thoroughly. A beautiful black suit accentuated her most appetizing pieces. The ringing of placers of gilded coins was accompanied by every movement of the thighs, breasts, hands, and feet. She learned to dance for a long time and quite successfully. She looked at her movements in the mirror for a long time, honing them. Before showing the dance to him, she danced for her friends. There was Olesya, a friend and like-minded person from the student's desk. He and Olesya had common slightly bisexual inclinations (as Olesya once said, “what woman has them?”). Of course, it didn’t go any further on kissing a podshofe, because Vadik would consider it a betrayal. He would have considered kisses as such if he had seen them then. And now Olesya was looking at her with the very expression on her face, with which only an excited person looks. Ksenia saw the desire in the eyes of her friend, saw her parted, reddened wet lips and hoped that if she managed to light Olesya with her dance, she would easily ignite her husband.

However, dancing for him she did not see anything in his eyes. His smile seemed strained, his cock clearly visible under his underpants, if he reacted. then quite a bit. Dancing the second part, with a dagger in her hands, she almost cried. Of course, without showing these emotions, trying to smile, look mischievously and passionately, but in response I saw only an improbable smile (which I myself called “show-approving”), sluggish hands clapping, and a hated tablet, in which there was something undoubtedly more important wives.

And kisses. He did not accept anything other than monotonous kisses with his lips alone. Her bird pecks not only didn’t excite her, they put the hell out of it. Her attempts to pinch his lips, caress his lips and the inside of his mouth with his tongue, a deep kiss or a French kiss were perceived with bayonets.

She stopped feeling welcome. Began complexes, tears. He did not go on contact. Everything slipped into finding out who is right, who is to blame. Every day she felt less desire for her husband, and more and more dissatisfaction.

Increasingly, she caressed herself. Her fingers did what his fingers, lips and penis did not want to do. Her imagination was drawn by passionate, sometimes rude hands caressing her breasts, twirling the clitoris, pressing her ass closer to the erogirovannoy member, pushing it on him. She imagined how hot lips caress her bottom, an insistent tongue plays with the labia, penetrates her, eagerly caresses the inside. She stopped to finish with her husband. She experienced an orgasm only in private with herself.

That evening they had a fight again. Four hours of continuous showdown, tears. She was hurt by the fact that her tears did not cause any other emotions in him except anger. He seemed to see the world in a different, in her view, distorted light. Her questions and flirting, he perceived as a desire to quarrel, her resentment, as a manipulation. As usual, they did not solve the problem by shouting, they only deepened it.

He fell asleep at about three in the morning. She opened her puffy eyes, quietly slipped out of bed. She tiptoed out of the bedroom, not turning on the light, fumbled a coat on a hanger. I threw it over my shoulders, wrote back to him detachedly that she needed to “air her head.” I went out into the darkness of the entrance, weakly realizing where she was going.

Now in a half-empty bar, alone with a glass and sad thoughts, she barely restrained herself not to burst into tears again. A long offense and dissatisfaction strangled her. It got even worse from understanding that they still love each other. Strong love. But why, why then he does not hear her? Where is the passion? Why does she feel not a twenty-five-year-old attractive brunette, who is, and an old and terrible old woman over seventy?

A distracted voice distracted her from these thoughts. Finding herself with difficulty when she thought about it and focused on reality, she realized that the bartender was talking to her. The bartender looked like he was about thirty, and she unwittingly rated him as a very attractive man with blond hair, dressed in one of those fashionable hairstyles, about which her spouse responded with such dislike.

- Girl, we are closing soon. Please pay the bill.

She blinked, barely delving into the meaning of the words. Score ... Damn!

Wide-eyed and smiling awkwardly to the bartender (Kirill, judging by his badge name is Cyril), she nervously fumbled through her pockets. Surely. She forgot the wallet. She did not even think about the wallet, leaving the house. And the phone, even he stayed in the hallway. What to do ... It was very awkward. She felt her cheeks blaze. The bartender tactfully went to the computer, giving the girl the opportunity to pay without fuss.

Chaos was going on in my head. What to do? Leave bail something? My God, after all at it there were no jewelry, no phone, no passport, nothing. The worst thing is that trying to find at least something in the inner pocket of her coat, she realized that there was nothing under it, a coma of frank red peignoir. Ksenia convulsively pulled her coat harder, praying to all the gods that no one would notice.

- Young man!

Ksenia started. It seemed to her that she was alone behind the desk, she could not hear the steps, so the voice right from behind her frightened her. She turned sharply and saw a man standing very close to her.

Green-eyed. That's what's in ...