Dima and Svetka had no children. They moved to Holland in 2011, I found myself there two years earlier. We lived in the same area, often overlapping on weekends. Sveta loved my company. Somehow I immediately caught her perky laughter, which he himself provoked. I can’t help myself when a girl laughs with my jokes. It's like a drug - I want to abuse it again and again. Dima, too, was laughing, but not so long and not so convincingly. Sveta gave herself the whole laugh, you can say she lived with such moments, looking for them. That's why we had so much fun together. The reasons for the jokes were above the roof. Holland - a country of curiosities, if you look closely. I told funny stories about myself accumulated over a couple of years, explaining the origin of Dutch traditions - Sveta easily swallowed any nonsense, bursting with cheerful laughter on the street, in a tram, in a cafeteria.

I think the turning point for our relationship was a joint trip to the spa. With us were two more couples with children, but we - childless - kept aloof. Moreover, there were so many reasons for joking and laughing.

Svetka was nervous only at the beginning. When it came time to completely undress, she tried to quietly jump into the steam room and hide behind Dima. I entered, and she still could not resist and shot a glance at my personal belongings. I walked past them and politely sat down on the side. Sveta shrank all over, covering her breasts with her hands, sliding her knees.

- I feel so ashamed! - I started a feigned agitated voice. - I was born in the Soviet Union. We did not have joint baths. And here they force to undress. Check at the entrance if I undressed well.

Svetka was already giggling, she, like a motor, started up slowly.

- You also checked? - I naively asked.

- No, - said Dima, blurring in a smile. - What have you checked?

- Strange, maybe she liked me. I stopped in the corridor, told me to raise my hands and spread my legs to the width of my shoulders, and without blinking, I continued.

Sveta pulled her hand away from the mounds of her breasts for a second and squealed in her fist, glancing at me through tears.

“I circled around, looked in all the places,” I pushed through the topic. - But by the way, and she.

A young, slender Dutch girl in pants, T-shirt and shales entered the steam room. In her hands she held a bucket, a scoop and a towel. Having filled the stones with needles, she took to waving a towel, but, noticing me, was indignant:

- Manir (my lord good), you can not sit without a towel!

It means booty on the bench. In addition, the towel should be under your feet so that your sweat does not spread throughout the steam room.

I nodded, pulled up my legs and hovered so waiting. I had to push my knees so that the eggs collapsed on a full review of the spa worker.

“You have to sit on a towel,” the beauty with the figure of a swimming instructor did not calm down.

“Okay, okay,” I got up and hovered on my arms — only sweaty eggs swayed over the bench.

Zarzhali all. And the girl-instructor, and a couple of Dutch, who were sitting in the distance, and especially Svetka with Dima. But I did not try the patience of the Dutch beauty, went down to the floor and stood by the wall.

- Can I even stand? I asked in Dutch.

“You can stand,” the sauna worker calmed down and went out, grinning.

I stood at full height two steps from Svetka and Dima. My softened personal belongings hung half a kilometer directly opposite Svetka's face.

They made me! I turned on the offended client. Sveta screamed, but her curious glances could not escape me.

Sveta has an elegant appearance of Cinderella from an old Soviet cartoon: she is as thin and fragile as a swan's neck, her arms are thin, stretched to the same slim legs. The ass, which I then enjoyed, is so tucked up that a triangle of lumen forms between the legs. Sveta's face is porcelain - skin glows with transparent whiteness.Sponges, nose small, and the eyes are large, dramatic. Sveta is a brunette, but she was painted in a golden blonde, and her hair was elegantly folded into a pretzel on the back of her head. She weighed a kilo of forty-five, and with my weave I stood a giant in front of them, folding my arms over my chest, spreading my legs to shoulder width so that the eggs continued to flap like a breeding stallion.

I continued to joke, as if the intimate details of our circumstances did not bother me. Sveta more and more resigned herself to the thought that she could not get away from my genitals in her field of vision. At some point, she relaxed and began to calmly meet with my eyes. In a new, kind-hearted way to glance over my body. We returned to the atmosphere that reigned between us when we were in clothes, constraint faded into the background.

Sveta removed her hands and, relaxing, did not notice how she spread her legs. Her depilated pussy was sticking out with a baby fold. Internal sponges came out a little, forming a bud of a tulip, which was about to blossom. A thin Christmas tree of smoothed hair decorated a smooth pubis, smoothly turning into a tummy. Svetka had almost no breasts, only puffy nipples, strawberries trembled on the ribbed surface when she laughed.

So we got closer. And then Sveta became pregnant.

Dima was an interesting shot, among programmers such are not uncommon. In the dining room, he could, for example, stop eating, spit out everything in his mouth in a napkin, and leave the lunch half eaten. Another time we returned late in a taxi, a little drunk, we drove about ten minutes, drove up to our destination, his house is already visible, and he, so silent all this time, unexpectedly politely asks the female driver in English, insistently:

- Could you open the window? Very stuffy. Thank.

We almost arrived! Twenty seconds remained until he got out of the car, and he suddenly became stuffy! And in his voice I heard notes of anxiety, fear, perhaps. Carefully concealed notes of panic. I suddenly felt uneasy. He would never have confessed that he was scared, but I remembered the case for a long time and then surfaced when the time came as a link in one series of events.

The rest of Dima was a very friendly and sociable comrade. On your mind, really. But the majority of us worked. Programmers transfer the complexity of computer systems to life and try to solve unsolvable problems with the same algorithms. This is their trouble. They feel the divine power in themselves, controlling computers, and, returning to reality, they forget that life is not a game that can be repaired.

Dima had a sore subject - nostalgia for his homeland.

- Are you a patriot? - he asked me, having become sweetened after three glasses of beer.

“Of course,” I replied. - If a war or revolution begins in Belarus, I will immediately go there, to the barricades.

- Aaaa! Everyone says so, he smiled. The gaze of his black, glossy eyes became immobile, went into himself, losing the reflection of the surrounding world.

I think he was very upset about the move. Svetka was in the seventh heaven with happiness, she bathed in Dutch realities, quickly learned the language, found friends. Dima looked lonely against her background.

When Svetka's belly began to grow, something changed in their relationship. I was often present at their sweet quarrels. There was a bitterness in these skirmishes, an attempt to draw me in as a judge. I tried to make a joke, and it worked out in part. The next time they talked to me separately, without noticing each other.

So we lived up to the seventh month. Autumn came, October. A sad time when the post-apocalyptic landscape kills any desire to live under a gray, drizzling sky. A rainy season in the Netherlands is a time of cold and terrible winds. This is a test of endurance and vitality.

- Would you return to Belarus if you were offered the same salary as here? - Dima asked more and more similar questions during our Friday ...