thunder shook the city with an artillery cannonade, and from above a stormy, furious, fierce summer rain lashed in endless streams from above. Within minutes, the water flooded the pavement and dispersed the traveling passers-by from the sidewalks around the shops; the storm sewage system choked, the water level kept rising and rising, the rain threatened to turn into a flood; it was not pouring down and not in trickles, the windshield seemed to be hosed and the wipers could not cope.

And then my car died down. Well, I was driving in the extreme right lane, and seeing that the dashboard went out (the noise of the engine was still not heard due to the thunder and howls of the wind), I didn’t think to press the brake, but to roll to the sidewalk by inertia. Trying to start one, another, third ... useless. It makes no sense to open the hood and go poking around under it: firstly, I’m getting wet faster than a drunk Hippolytus in a coat under the shower; secondly, I understand, because of what stalled - most likely, the water flooded the distributor, and until it dries out, no need to fuss in vain. It's easy to say, but what emotions have a man of southeastern explosive temperament seized when a new woman sits next to you and you go to the apartment to fuck her for the first time, maybe even give you an ass, and suck it out for sure and suddenly this fucking rain flooded the fucking distributor, and you sit quietly, aha, that’s straightforwardly impassive, stsuko, and you don’t make any attempt to rescue the princess from the dragon's clutches, but she will be indignant now, slam the door and remember her name.

- Do not worry! - said Ruslana, putting her warm palm on my hand. “The rain will end soon and we will go,” she reassured me and at the same time saved the battery with candles from the effects of fruitless attempts to start and instinctive gas presses. Low bow from my carriage!

And indeed, in 5-7 minutes the distributor dried up, the engine started working and we drove off. In the meantime, we arrived, and the rain, not only had stopped, but after splashing out the primal rage, it fell silent and quiet, degenerated from pouring into drizzling. And we even got wet a little while we ran from the end of the house to the porch, it was impossible to get closer by car.

... After the second glass, driven by the altruism of Dr. J. (no matter how Ruslan got cold in a wet blouse) and Mr. X.'s egoism (trying to talk about this, drinking wine, this is, of course, good, especially Ruslan was very interesting companion, but in the end, I got the bed to be removed and hung to dry, and Ruslana remained naked above the belt, not counting the black bra hugging her big boobed bust (more than three points, definitely, or maybe four, that looked very impressive for a woman of low p left and not very dense physique). After the third glass, I spotted a dry spot on the skirt, the latter went to the same rope to dry, and my underwear contrasting on a white body, my guest lost on the couch, in the process of kisses, hugs and other mutual caress, constituting a prelude to proper sex .

Both in correspondence and in person, Ruslana left an impression of a calm, balanced person. Wardrobe and jewelry are also quite consistent with age and status, but occasionally slipping sexual notes (arising, of course, from my supply, but gracefully repulsed by it) for some reason inspired me with the idea that "in quiet waters lead," and excited, she will show "the sky in diamonds."

The thought was wrong. In no case could sex between us be called violent, violent, or overly passionate.Our coitus was more like the closeness of spouses with experience, who have long known each other’s habits and preferences, understand and react to facial expressions and gestures without long words, rather than eagerly learning a new partner, along with delight in alternating poses and types. But let the words above not seem to anyone a conviction! I slowly fucked Ruslan in a classic missionary, feeling her rhythmic giving, I kissed her on the lips, getting high on the answer, I caressed her breasts and body, where I could reach, and felt her warm little hands on my shaggy torso. It was pleasant and cozy for me, ready to bet on the fact that Ruslana was more than good: her radiant look and gentle whisper were incompatible with pretense.

Feeling that she was taking her (and I didn’t want to finish yet), I took out my dick, lay down on the side and with quick movements on my clit helped her to finish. Ruslana's orgasm also didn’t look enchanting: a bit more frequent moans, two or three flinches with her whole body, a long and happy exhalation, a blissful smile, and she throws one leg at me in a wrinkle, lays her head on her chest, whispers “Thank you” and after a while she realizes:
- And you?
“I’ll make it,” I say lightly. - There is a lot of time.

Ruslana was amazingly interesting companion. I don’t know that it was a guarantee - whether our education coincides in one of the areas (the friend-journalist mentioned in several of my stories is Ruslana, she got a second diploma as a psychologist); whether the presence of two sons, slightly older than mine, but an understanding of the problems of the generation was appropriate; whether respectfulness with which she spoke of her two former husbands and lovers of different years; whether the ability to decompose any question, even from life, even from literature, even from politics into some component parts and attempts to find an answer, that your acquaintance / author or legislator / official wanted to say. Plus, not at the first meeting, of course, but over time she became aware of my other friends, and Ruslana was very loyal to this, sometimes, though, describing one or another apt word, not without it, but, in general, Generally respecting their right to privacy, including the commission of reckless acts.

In general, if we slightly exaggerate, the member had to drag the host away from the fascinating conversation, command him to put the girlfriend in the knee-elbow position, and beat the one to complete the too-long "muzhikalnuyu" pause. Sensing that I was accelerating before the finish, Ruslana whispered:

- You can in me! - but I'm on the safe side of the fire (God protects you), pulled out the penis, and watered her large, lush, white half-copia with abundant jets, rubbed the sperm and put a little on the dark star anus. And I was surprised myself - so much so that the conversation with Ruslana captured me, that in three hours I did not bother to conduct an intelligence investigation to find out its relation to blowjob and anal sex. For reconnaissance in force, it was too late, and the convention was contradictory.

When I pushed my hand between her widely spaced legs, I felt the vulva and fumbled the clitoris, having in my mind to bring her to the peak of pleasure, Ruslana gently pulled back:
“No, I don't want to anymore,” and later she confirmed that it was enough for her to finish once, trying to bring more either indifferent or directly unpleasant, but she knows how to hold out for a long time and balance on the edge of an inviting orgasm abyss, effect when it collapses there.

It was the beginning of the eighth evening, when we left the apartment and headed for the car to take Ruslan home. The sun was already declining towards sunset, but, not burning, it still fully warmed the Earth and earthlings with its bright rays. The summer rain washed the sky to crystal blue, and made the air so clear and transparent that you could imagine, having closed your eyes, supposedly you were in the forest more often or in the mountain heights. Only quickly drying puddles reminded what kind of orgy the element had arranged here a few hours ago.

And from that day, every time the heavenly abyss is opened, lightning flashes and thunder rumbles, the wind roars and hurls rain, I remember my faithful friend Ruslana, our first meeting framed by many others, stormy summer rain and a decayed car, her warm palm on my hand and her calm confidence: "The rain will end soon, and we will go."

(to be continued)