The elevator closed and darkness reigned.

“Yo,” Gladkov burst out (although in general he was a reserved man).

As you can see, the gopniks knocked out the last lightbulb in the elevator. Such darkness was unnerving, although it was not so much to go.

Gladkov took out a mobile phone. She flashed a farewell light and went out: he forgot to charge it.

- E-my! He said with feeling. - Eat you, son of a bitch!

The elevator, apparently, took this curse on its own account and froze.

- Eeee, - called Gladkov.

Silence.

- Eeeeeee! He shouted, knocking on the door several times.

- Stuck? - asked a voice from the darkness.

He was timid and feminine, that voice.

- Is there anyone here? - asked Gladkov, after a pause.

- Actually, yes.

Gladkov tried to comprehend it.

- I did not see you. It was dark, he said. - So you too are stuck?

“No, I just walked through the wall here so that you wouldn't be bored ...”

- Hmm. Hee-hee, - Gladkov giggled falsely. - And ... do you have a mobile phone?

- There is. But it is not charged.

- What about? Ahahaha! - he laughed, this time from the heart.

- This is so funny?

- Well ... just funny: in the dark, in captivity, without contact with the world ...

- You are not a writer, an hour?

- Uh ... why?

- So beautifully expressed. Strong. There should be a button.

- Where? Which one?

- Where all the buttons are. Call button.

A minute or two Gladkov intently poked at all the buttons that he could find.

“No current,” he finally realized. - All buttons are extinguished. Ay! ..

- Excuse me. Yes, I'm here, right next to you, carefully ... Did you hurt you?

- No ... but, you know ... In the dark, suddenly someone touches you ...

- Not someone, but me. Yes, you are right - gone out ... My name is Christina.

- And me Vladislav. You can "Vlad."

- Very nice. And I can "Christy."

- Are you here?

- In terms of?..

- Well ... next to me?

“Almost,” the voice came out twice as close. - But I will not touch you, do not be afraid.

- And what are you, Christie?

- That is - "what"?

- Well ... So interesting, intriguing - one on one with a girl, in total darkness ... Are you a blonde?

- Oooh ...

- What?

- And try to guess? What i am

- Nuuu ... - Gladkov hesitated. - What, like this ... by voice?

- Yeah.

- Well ... I do not know ... I think you are blonde. You have a soft voice like that. I guess?

- I do not know. It's dark here.

- Ha ha ha ... Do you have blue eyes?

- Guess.

- Probably blue ... or gray. Or green. And it seems to me that you are curly.

- Because I speak curly?

- I do not know. It just seems that way. I guess?

- Nuuuu ...

- Can I touch it? Check?

- Whom? Me?

- Your hair. At least something significant ...

- Well ... uh ...

Chilly, Gladkov stretched out his arms towards his voice. Hands rested in the soft and alive.

- Ahhh!

- Sorry ... I seem to have missed ...

- Actually, my hair doesn’t grow there. Basically higher.

“Sorry,” muttered Gladkov.

The sensation of a soft and alive burned nerves. Terribly, to tick like to repeat. “Does she have a naked chest?” - it seemed suddenly, and it became even more terrible.

- Sorry. The second attempt will be?

- Can i?

- If careful.

Gladkov again stretched his arms, this time above, at the level of his head - and they plunged into a fluffy shock.

- - Jess! I guessed! You are so curly! ..

His hands felt down, tickling palms, and from there goosebumps flowed into the body, just as tickling as if Gladkov had completely got into Christie's hair.

- You want to comb me, I see. Are you a hairdresser?

- No, I am a writer ... I have never seen such curls!

“You still don't see them.”

- Yes...But it seems to me, I feel how golden they are. They warm my hands ...

Gladkov really felt it. His hands traveled around Christie's hair and frankly stroked her, as could be done only with a very close person. Christie fell silent.

- You like?..

“If I say yes, you want something else,” she said. “If I say no, you just stop.” So I just keep silent ...

- And you do not want me to stop?

“I don't ... want ...” Christie said hoarsely.

Gladkov caressed her head through the curls, blending from the currents of an unfamiliar body, and in response, he heard an emotional sniff. It would be possible to say “his head has darkened”, if it were not so dark.

- So you said "yes" ...

- Mmmmm ...

“And you yourself said that if“ yes ”means ... it means something else is possible.

- I did not say that!..

- And what else"? What did you mean? - smoothly whispered Gladkov (or, more precisely, someone in it), moving from curls to the neck.

- Oooh! Have you decided to tickle me? - Christine asked plaintively, not noticing his “you”. Judging by her voice, the touches of Gladkov were a resounding success.

"How sensual you are," he thought, going insane.

“You meant ... maybe a face?” Can I touch your face?

- You will erase all my makeup ...

“I am neatly ... below ...” muttered Gladkov, tickling her chin and slightly lifting him up. This tried and tested method acted as if Gladkov had pressed the “excitement” button: Christine began to cry, stirred, and he heard a rustle of clothes.

“He bends,” he thought.

- Wow! You have such plump lips! Well, just ... just wow, what!

His finger traveled over her lips, pressing her slightly to prevent her from speaking. The pillow slid along the wet - Christie slightly opened her lips and lightly caught her finger. It was getting wetter and wetter under him, and something quite wet and soft burned him and disappeared ... did the tongue?

At some point, the tension became unbearable. Gladkov took a breath, not knowing what he would say ... but Christy beat him ahead:

“And now,” she said, biting his finger with his lips, “and now I will touch you.” Do you think only you can? Where are you?

“Here I am,” Gladkov replied, closing his eyes.

Hot, like small stoves, hands stuck into his neck, felt his chin, lips ...

- Oh, what a prickly! My fingers in the holes will be! We're leaving here, ”laughed Christie, but her fingers felt Gladkov gently, hotly, and he melted away from their current. - Soooo ... The nose is long, such a snobel ... You are the Oorfene Jus, yes? And what's that? Traces of the ages? How old are you? - she sang, groping wrinkles. Her sliding touch dragged Gladkov nerves.

“Forty ... three ...” he said hoarsely.

- Wow! And pawed me like you were fifteen.

- How old are you?

- And I ... forty yet. Guess - she stopped to feel him.

“Ufff ... Well, not exactly fifteen,” said Gladkov. - Judging by the voice ... and lips ...

- How much? Thirty six?

- Too little data. It is necessary ... - he touched, without breathing, to where her torso was supposed to be, - it is necessary to gather information ...

And shrank, waiting for a reaction. But Christina silently puffed, and he moved on.

Under his fingers was bare, hot, soft, and it was already quite a long time ... "Chest!" Quite naked? ... "But no: the edge of the fabric, the hollow ...

- Wow! You have a neckline ...

- Why? I do not like?

- And the chest ... so big ... The third size?

- Fourth.

He went down below, on the waist, bending under his arms, and came back higher.

- Did you check - maybe I'm a fat cow?

- Well, what are you ...

- And How? Can I deal with me?

“You're awesome, Christie,” Gladkov whispered hotly, correcting unintentional crap. - I almost see you. Do writers know what imagination! You are a gentle curly blonde with plump lips designed for love ... You have milky-white skin, blue or gray eyes, big ones ... and you blush hard. And in general, you are pink ... our, Slavic, Russian breed! ... What is it?

Christie giggled.

- And how old are I? She asked.

- Well ....