Silk pants

The sun was setting over the village. Its rays enveloped each individual cottage. It caressed the rough bark of the trees with a golden touch.

"Ass. Is there any bark other than rough bark? Soft as silk underwear, perhaps?" Hope Porąbaniec instinctively scratched her head. "It's imperfect, imperfect." Dusk was falling over the village

.

The golden rays of the sun had long since faded into the silvery lakes, caressing the bark as soft as silk underwear along the way.

"Fuck. I'm not doing it." Hope abruptly threw down the pen she had so lovingly chosen specifically for this task.

She pushed her chair away from the desk. Her legs were already numb, even though she had only been sitting at the desk long enough to write a touching passage about the sun setting over the village and the bark as soft as her outerwear. No wonder, the desk was a bit too small – Nadzieja had found it in a dumpster and, captivated by the simplicity of the old wood, had dragged it home.

She sighed, reread her scribbles, and giggled, imagining lumberjacks painstakingly scraping bark from trees to make underwear for their wives. Hell, maybe even an entire evening gown. But where would they wear it? To a lumberjacks' ball?

Scratching her worn-out slippers, she made her way to the kitchen. A small coffee consoled herself – so what if it was already the fourth one today? Perhaps another dose of caffeine would boost her literary powers?

The click of the kettle cheerfully announced the completion of the boiling process. The pleasant smell of coffee filled the air.

"Another cake," Nadzieja's stomach inhaled itself – reacting like a well-trained dog – as if to prove to its owner that those few folds were a mere optical illusion.

"You can never have too much of a sweet body," Hope reassured herself with a twinkle in her eye, pulling a generous portion of tiramisu from the fridge.

"Well, what? I need to cheer myself up somehow. I wanted to be a writer, but here's my ass," she said tenderly to the quivering piece of cake.

She went into the small living room and settled comfortably in the armchair. She sipped her coffee, looked around the pleasant interior of the lavender room with pleasure, and, as always when she felt herself sinking into an intellectual slump, reached for Russian literature. It seemed to her that after reading a few works by Eastern authors, she would be wiser.

She had just finished reading "Anna Karenina." She lazily turned the yellowing pages, absorbed the sweet calories, and subconsciously felt herself expanding. It didn't matter. She'd never have silk panties anyway, so she might as well have a big butt. She didn't care.

The phone rang.

"Hello?" – she said loudly, while carefully putting the book away from the reach of the dirty plate.

"Hope? This is Zbyszek." The vibrant baritone belonged to Hope's beloved, Zbyś Bibus, a doctoral candidate in Czech studies, currently on a scholarship in Prague.

"Hello, Zbyszek." Hope boasted of her exceptional knowledge of Czech. "Good accent?

" "Yeah, great. How are you?

" "Nothing special. Anna Karenina just threw herself in front of a train. Actually, that's good, I never liked her.

" "You know what? How can you say that?" Zbyszek sounded slightly confused. He didn't know his beloved was so insensitive to the tragic fate of her friends. "And her family?

" "She was going to divorce her husband anyway, she died long ago for her son, her daughter is too young to remember anything, in Wroński she'll cry, cry, and go piss off with the Turks.

" "With the Turks? But how can that be? Are we fighting some kind of war with Turkey?" We joined the European Union, so it can't be like that, can it? And what kind of friend was she anyway? Someone with a history? A suicide, to boot?

"Not us, but Russia. Over a century ago. She's not my friend. Anna Karenina. The one from Tolstoy.

" "Tolstoy?" "To make you feel very tired." He'd been driving for several hours, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information.

"He was such a Russian writer," Hope explained patiently.

"Aaaah!" "To make you feel relieved. Lately, he'd been drawn to writers like Haszek and Czapek. He'd forgotten about the famous Russian." "Is that the one who didn't like Poles?"

"No, I think it was Gogol. But I don't know exactly." Hope looked sadly at the remains of the Tiramisu and the cooling coffee. Love is love, but the smell of roasted beans is very tempting. "I don't mean to be rude, but you're not calling to talk about Russian literature,

are you?" "Exactly." I'm calling with a surprise.

"Did you build me a villa with a pool on Charles Bridge?" she wrapped the receiver cord around her wrist. "Really, you didn't have to. A cottage in Golden Lane or that famous castle on the Vltava River would have been enough.

" "That's not exactly such a surprise. I'm in Poland. I took a few days off and ran as fast as I could to see you, my one and only love." Zbysio's voice held a note of triumph. "I should be at your place in about an hour and a half. I'm calling early so you can chase away the herds of gay men who are now writhing naked at your feet.

" "Oh, that's nice of you. You were very thoughtful." Nadzieja was now shocked. She hadn't seen Zbysio in a month. She missed him terribly. And she grew taller," she thought, looking down at his hairy, pale legs.

"I have a black man waiting for me sprawled on the table"—this time she looked at the remains of the tiramisu—"and I have to consume it.

" "Well, you have an hour." You'd smile to yourself—he knew of her love of sweets. "I'll be in Kalisz in an hour. Ahoy!"

And he hung up the phone. Hope cast two quick glances. The first at the gilded mirror hanging above the antique dresser. The second glance fell on the saucer and cup. The first allowed her to realize that she needed to go to the bathroom immediately and just as quickly tidy up her neglected appearance. The second, that tiramisu and coffee were right on her way to the bathroom. It was perfect timing.

An hour later, she was finishing drying her long blond hair and beginning to shave the first leg. The depilatory cream, as if to spite her, was wedged in the tube. Probably from long disuse.

"Damn, candles," she remembered as the white cream splashed onto her equally white leg. She spread it hastily. "Now we have to wait for that stuff to get to our hair."

She rushed to the drawer and pulled out a stack of candles. Arranging them strategically around the apartment, she conjured up visions of an intoxicating night. It had to be romantic. Well, she hadn't had a boyfriend in a month. A pinching sensation on her leg politely informed her that it was time to wash off the cream. She returned to the bathroom, grabbing a dark green dress from the rack on the way. His favorite.

Fifteen minutes later, she was ready. Almost, because she kept feeling like she'd forgotten something.

"Oh, a detail for sure."

The intercom squealed. A moment later, Zbyszek appeared in the apartment, bringing the pleasant smell of Chinese food.

"What, did you buy dinner?" Hope asked, unable to tear herself away from her redhead's broad shoulders.

"Yes, and I have something else for you. I spent half my salary on them. Please try them on right away," he said with a twinkle in his eye, handing her the box.

When Hope untied the bow and lifted the lid, she burst into hearty laughter.

Inside were silk panties.

"What happened? Something wrong? I tried to get the size right, I didn't get a big one." Zbyszek didn't know how to react to this unexpected outburst of joy.

"No, no. Everything's fine," Hope was still giggling to herself. "You're a sweetheart.

" "Well, go put them on. Because I, on the other hand, would like to take them off you as soon as possible."

A moment later they were both in each other's arms. She was taking off her dress, he was taking off his shirt. He looked at her with admiration when she was left in only her panties.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, stroking her legs. Suddenly, his hand stopped abruptly.

"Hope? Did you only shave one leg?"

"Damn, I knew I'd forgotten something. Never mind. Kiss me."

Hope and Zby locked arms again, and outside the window another day was drawing to a close. The setting sun caressed the rough bark of the tree standing in front of Hope's tenement house with its golden touch, reflecting off the gilded mirror, brushing against her dark green silk panties, until it ended its journey in the blue eye of Hope, who tenderly whispered into her lover's ear:

"Ah, yay..."