"In the beginning was the Word."
(The Gospel of John, John 1: 1)

The words were on Mamba, there were many words, words were woven into lace and ornaments, the words soared birds up and dived into the depths of the waters of the fish, the words shone with the brightness of a star named the Sun and were shaded by the pallor of a planetary satellite named Luna.

I was preparing the Moscow trip (or rather, its sexual part) in the early spring of 2011. And despite the month of March, winter was still strong: cold, windy, gloomy and somehow hopeless.

Finally, there was a gap in business, finally the words were heard not by keyboard typing on the monitor screen, but by acoustic waves in the speakers of cell phones, and finally on a late blizzard evening I set off on a local journey: the train to the region, the minibus to the farthest quarter and another fifteen minutes on foot - along snow-covered deserted streets under the dim light of repeatedly decimated lanterns.

But it is warm and even hot in the apartment of a woman who invited me to visit. A two-bedroom detachable Khrushchov, where the master's things are dumped in one room and locked, and in the second - simple household goods temporarily ... and this "temporarily" all lasts and lasts.

- Listen, take off your jacket, it's hot. Or not warmed yet from the street? - even before the glasses were filled with wine.
- Tie does not interfere? Take off, do not be shy, not at a diplomatic reception - after the second toast. Itself in a dressing gown, ready to bet on a naked body, but the cut of the neckline is minimal, and the hem at the knee level does not allow to verify this reliably.
- Oh, how you smell good! Than? Not what, but by whom. Man, I don’t remember after what, but attracted by my hand on my shoulder, unbutton my shirt, ruffle my fur, press my face into it, greedily inhale the smell and kiss my chest, neck, shoulder, cheek, but carefully avoiding kissing my lips, and skipping my arm under the hem for familiarity with the hips, but so far not higher. - Do not rush. You are welcome.

A request with such a devotedly touching intonation and a submissively tender look of black eyes with an almond-shaped incision cannot be denied. Sin. Within any religion.

She seems to be in a hurry to speak out, fearing that I will forget my promise not to rush, and yet at an accelerated pace I will drag her to a large closet covered with mattress and laid with snow-white linen that plays the role of a bed in this brief / long-term housing. A member really can not wait, the more the interlocutor in time with the story then shakes him through the fabric of trousers, then taps her fingers, then holds up and down with teasing touches. But I am fascinated by the story of her personal life, which began even when a single red flag with a hammer and sickle fluttered over the country, passionately, with love, but, alas, not for long, and has continued with varying success for 20 years with broken symbols: turned into a two-headed eagle with a hammer and a crescent sickle.

Early marriage, the birth of two children before the age of 20, nevertheless not abandoned, but a completed institute and a stubborn desire to work in the specialty (bacteriologist), even with pennies, while the black-hearted husband tried to establish a business with boundless Russia, with no less mysterious China. The first betrayal: not so much from hunger (her husband’s many-month absence was regular), but from her inability to refuse to her persistent colleague. Forced job change (but not a profile, even at the cost of losing a couple of hours on the road), when the ability to say “no” turned persistence into anger and talkativeness. At last, the business of the husband, which coincided with its cooling to the spouse, was finally established at the turn of the century. Not until a divorce, no. She is still formally a husband's wife. But the availability of free cash allowed him almost without hiding, get mistresses, and maybe the second and third wives.Unexpected, like snow on the head, pregnancy (this is necessary, suddenly my husband decided to fuck her vaginally, whereas only the anal has been practiced for years) and the birth of a third, relatively late (when in Europe only think about the first) child. Her joy and happiness. Who now lives with her sister, and for the sake of which she has been working in the Moscow region for several years, enduring side glances and outright rudeness, limiting herself in everything, just to be able to make monthly remittances and hoping for a bonus to leave to once a year see your little bloke.

- For years only anal? - I startled. - Does your husband have such preferences? Or are you a lover herself there?
- I remember my Muslim women? She grinned. - I do remember. We have this is the most common type of family sex. Not even discussed in principle. Any girl knows that at first her husband will have sex with her in the usual way, she will give birth to several children, and then, no matter what the mullahs shouted about the will of Allah or state officials about increasing the demography, what would be the propaganda of contraception using rubber bands, spirals or pills , the main type of family sex becomes anal. There is, of course, some kind of educated population or mixed marriages, practicing blowjob or interrupted act or medical methods of protection, but an absolute majority of the population of our republic and all its neighbors perceive anal sex as the only possible alternative to unwanted pregnancy. I know women there, and among friends, and one girlfriend is close, so conservatively disposed that in principle they don’t take it by mouth. But so that someone who is not married to a religious fanatic, who wants to breed around the world, would refuse to give her husband in the ass - she just paused, apparently trying to remember if she had such people - no, I don’t remember. Like - do not like, be patient, my beauty! - quoted with a wry smile.

The sexual theme of the conversation had a beneficial effect on the transfer of relations to the bed plane, and after visiting the bathroom I appeared before her clear eyes, lying without a robe with a carelessly thrown sheet, in all male beauty (or deformity): bald, paunchy, lasciviously smiling at her nudity , shaggy-petulled with all his body, and with the stem proudly sticking forward, seeking to know the body of a new woman, after the master's brain began to know her soul. We kissed on the lips, I eagerly squeezed and sucked her breasts, quite good ones (2–2.5 sizes) for her modest build of a small and incomplete woman, made a small blowjob for the seed as clear evidence of her belonging to educated circles of the population, and then I laid down on her in a classic pose.

- Without gum, huh? - it’s not condemning, it’s not ascertaining the fact, she whispered, driving my penis to her labia, expanding with each movement and penetrating the alluring depths. - Don't just finish me, okay?
“I know,” I replied. - Until the end, oh, how far ...

There is something cozy and homely in a banal missionary, whatever you say. If mad male passion and desire to seize more is embodied in the posture of "cancer", if the woman's insatiableness and desire to steer are better realized in the "Amazon", then face-to-face gives partners to experience the full range of tenderness and heart-felt, leisurely sex. Then you and the kisses thrashing and vchmok, here you and caressing the body, then a fleeting touch, then with a delicious grip, then you and the opportunity to change the pace of fucking, listening to the response of her body and spurs heels on your buttocks. The body gets a cool buzz from a pleasant sex, and the male "ego" - from her sweet moans, a vague smile on sugar lips and a glimpse of pleasure in her eyes. Fucking would be so fucking for ages ...

How cute and on time! I'm not young anymore and not an athlete.
- I want top! Can?
- Come on! - I hastily respond and try to flip us 180 degrees with a somersault in order to continue sex without removing a member from her cozy hole. But she has other plans ....