That day, I woke up to the sound of birdsong, joyfully announcing to the world that a new, sunny day had begun. Getting up, I stretched and, in a good mood, went to the bathroom. Thirty minutes later, I was refreshed.
I emerged from the bathroom, spotless and shaved. I went to the kitchen to prepare something to eat. Something edible. My ambitions were discouraged by the lack of resources to prepare this dish. So, I went to the store.
It was beautiful outside, the warm rays of the sun beating down on my skin. I bought what I needed and returned home. Since I'm not a particularly accomplished cook, I settled for a modest portion of sandwiches, with jam.
I decided to eat breakfast in my room. I turned on my computer and logged into the system.
My first action was to find new information from the world of politics, media, and sports news.
After reading the gloomy news, I remembered that I'm a pessimist and that life has no meaning. I turned on Gadu-Gadu, more instinctively than out of necessity. However, a message immediately popped up. From Monika – "Listen. I'll be in Warsaw this evening. Maybe we could spend some time together. I have some business to take care of, so I'll be in the capital until Sunday evening. Reply, kisses."
Ugh, I couldn't believe it. What had been a surreal dream of mine could now come true. No, it was probably a joke, but I replied – okay, tell me what time you'll be there and where?
I left the house; the morning gym is good for my fitness. I got there much faster than you could imagine; I simply got lost in time, thinking passionately about her.
As usual, I did the exercises freestyle, meaning I did what I felt like doing, not according to some schedule. After about two hours, my body decided I was definitely overdoing it and sent me to the shower by force of will. In a moment, I was on my way home, and when I got there, I sat down at the computer to check if Monika's message had arrived. And it was. "Today at 7 p.m. at the central station." Cool, then. I replied that I would be there, and for now, I would be her guide and companion.
I left the computer and headed for my bed, where I could get comfortable and read a book. Yes, I'm addicted to it. Delving into the secrets of a spy's life, I didn't even notice how quickly the time had flown. It was already 2 p.m. So, I ran out of the house as if scalded by boiling water. Well, I had a soccer game scheduled for that hour. Considering my house is about 2 kilometers from the sports hall, and I ran the distance in about five minutes, I sincerely hope this will be recorded in the annals of phenomena.
However, such a run was exhausting for my body, as I began to feel delirious. As if delirious. Once there, I felt the sporting atmosphere in the arena. A quick, unraveling of who was playing whom. However, after a moment, after a series of fouls on my legs, I left the field, not wanting to risk losing my mental capacity. I'd long since lost that mental capacity after that run. However, sporting anger and ambition compelled me to return to the field. So I returned, only to find myself back on the bench a moment later. The reason? Physical exhaustion. God, when will I ever get smarter? I've been asking for this for a good few years now, and I still act like an infantile boy who hasn't even seen the ball. I know, I'll give more on Sunday.
I returned home, or at least I pretended to, because it's hard to consider limping and a series of various grimaces as signs of a healthy walk. At times, I felt like a soldier in the trenches, seeing fascists on the front lines. Yes, I definitely need to rest before Monika arrives.
And at home, I grabbed a book and started to imagine myself as a spy who has to save the world. Especially since terrorists are in possession of a nuclear suitcase! Hearing this, I broke out in a sweat, and it took me a few moments to realize it was a book. I decided I could use some sleep.
Waking up at 5:00 PM, I decided I was sane and no nuclear suitcase was a threat. I dressed tastefully, meaning in something clean and neat, something that made me feel comfortable and confident. Beige corduroys and a white sweatshirt. I guess I like to stand out.
Just half a bottle of cologne and I'm off to the city. I'm surprised people's eyes widen when they look at me. White is cool, isn't it?! Ugh, ignorant people. Jealous people! People who see a lunatic!
The bus arrived perfectly four minutes late. He'd have tried to be two minutes late, and I'd have been emailing the ZTM website for the rest of my life.
What particularly delighted me was the opportunity and undoubted pleasure of having my own seat.
Ironically, at the next stop, an elderly woman who seemed to have no other purpose in life than to deprive young people of their seats had to get on. She glared at me, as if I had no right to sit, or even look, or think.
Trying to avoid her bloodthirsty gaze, I delved into the text on the single-trip ticket. Perhaps there would be some mention of, for example, the fact that when you see an elderly woman, you politely offer your seat, saying, "It's still warm." With or without ketchup?
Okay, maybe that's the moral code. And in reality, I would have given in, if it weren't for her fierce hypnosis of me with her eyes, which were probably four times larger than the bases of her glasses. Before I completely lost myself in this absurd situation, I arrived at my destination.
I got off and headed towards the train station. From what I could see, Monika's train was due in about six minutes on the timetable.
I wondered if it was worth risking my life by eating at a stall with temptingly low prices. But no, I didn't need salmonella until this weekend. Suddenly, the train arrived, and my pupils dilated as if I'd taken ephedrine. I felt strange. I was an agent again, looking for Monika. And I spotted her; I watched her silently for a moment. She walked by, looking around for me, so I emerged from hiding. I smiled sweetly, and the words came out of my mouth spontaneously.
"Hi
!" A
silence of about a minute, during which, among other things, someone shouted in the distance, a fly flew twelve centimeters from my head before veering off course, someone scratched their arm, and we stood somewhat paralyzed by this unusual encounter. I managed to open my mouth and asked a question that was incredibly intriguing and required extraordinary intelligence.
"How was the trip?"
It's a shame I hadn't already asked if she'd like to buy a vowel. Or what category of questions she chose: countries for 100, unusual phenomena for 200, stupidity and its symptoms for 500.
" "You know, I'm not complaining. I was curious what you looked like in real life,
not just in photos." A swarm of ants swarmed over my body, and I felt visually surveilled by Monika. Did she work in intelligence
?! I quickly dismissed the absurd thought and returned to earth. "Aa ... A few more such brilliant dialogues, comparable to Polish lessons in the first grades of primary school, reinforced our belief that it was worth soaring a little higher than: How's it going? How was the ride? It's great that you're standing here. It's great that it's fun. Look... a mosquito... When we reached the second level of exchanging views, and when emotions had subsided a bit, I decided to honor it somehow. But what would...? We're going to a taxi, what else? We'll have a wild time. I asked her if she fancied a delicious dinner. Of course, not my kind, as jam sandwiches don't exactly qualify for this kind of occasion. She responded with a nod, adding: "But at your house?" A question that sounded like an order. An order that sounded like a question? A request? I frantically searched for that allusion, that hidden thesis, until I decided there was nothing strange in those words. Although? No...
A man's moral code dictates:
1) A woman is always right. Agree with what she says, act as expected, and in her eyes you will grow into a hero, the one who survived the extinction of the dinosaurs and the one who remains uncontaminated by ecological disasters.
"But of course, at my place."
On the way, we stopped at a store near my house. The taxi driver, having received a tip, drove off with a screech of tires. Monika, delighted with my philanthropic attitude, looked at me as if she wanted to X-ray my body. And I glanced at the departing taxi. My fifty złoty...
In the store, I tried to forget about this loss, but every thing reminded me. Peanuts – two eighty. Soda – five. Cash register – a few thousand.
We bought the essentials and left. A bench to sit on – forty złoty. A jar lid – twenty groszy. An imagined bill for psychiatric treatment – ugh. The amount I saw so horrified me that I recovered instantly. I'm healthy, look! I waved my hands left and right, trying to convey my well-being, but her eyes and the terror radiating from them were like a fatal shot.
We decided it was just a momentary incident, not even worth mentioning. However, the walk to the apartment was eerily quiet and simultaneously embarrassing.
Seeing the building from two meters away, I felt unconcealed relief. Saved, from the hellish abyss of idiocy! Liberated. It's a good thing those words were only in my imagination. Uh… yes, she couldn't have heard them. I hope so. She was interested in the carpet-beater in the yard, so she wouldn't have even noticed. Every explanation was good and effective. I greeted the sight of the door almost like the coming of the Lord. Hallelujah!
Entering the apartment, Monika smiled faintly, clearly letting me know that this was just another episode of the evening, and that the previous one was irrelevant. Walking through the door was cathartic.
I thought to myself that her enigmatic persona intrigued me deeply. I involuntarily glanced at the small of her back as she sensually glanced back, perhaps wanting to meet my gaze, and in the meantime, she noticed what was catching my eye. She was surprised, perhaps even embarrassed, by my behavior. She might well have liked it. Nevertheless, I was close to death. The sudden shock had stopped all blood flow, oxygen was depleted, as if it were nonexistent, as if the world had ceased to function at that very moment. I had palpitations, I was a saliva factory, and the bones that comprised me suddenly felt like matchsticks. This process of hyperbole and agony lasted about a second and a half, and then I immediately returned to normal.
My introverted dismay took hold again. When, in the next second, a flood of thoughts flooded my worldview, reflections on life came to me, and I wanted to finally find out who built the pyramids and whether it was worth buying that sweatshirt at half price. I finally pulled myself together and chased away everything that was disturbing my inner peace.
I was back in the apartment, and I noticed her looking at me, but her ocean-blue eyes betrayed no surprise or embarrassment, only a feline gaze, full of coquetry and a somewhat feigned shyness. I was captivated, taking in the beauty of her mirrors of the soul. They soothed, delighted, intrigued, astonished, fueled, and incited my temper. Of the adjectives I could use to describe them, I could easily feed an entire family.
The whole thing oscillated on the verge of growing erotic euphoria, centered around a magical dose of romance and an incomprehensible longing for intimacy, subtle yet passionate. The entropy was incomprehensibly vast, taking on ever new traits of the desires we fed our starving imaginations.
The sight of the refrigerator, the infrasound from outer space, and the whining kettle erased the urge for erotic play, hinting that dinner was supposed to be served.
Strange. We'd bought so many things at the store, and yet there was nothing. Money, even less so. With the things I found in the bags, I could have cooked, at most, a deadly stew in its own juices with basil and other spices.
So what am I going to do now, I thought. I looked into the refrigerator, and it was even more empty than usual when I'm home alone, and the store can be a destination as distant as the North Pole. In such a situation, I had to salvage my honor somehow, paradoxically denying the truth.
"Listen, today is a day of no food!"
And as she approached me, hoping she hadn't heard, I too was surprised by the meaning, or rather the absurdity, of my statement. Still, I waited patiently, hoping she'd believe me. She didn't. I saw her go to the grocery bag and pull out a red wine, which cost the most and, as it would probably turn out, would taste like three-day-old hydrogen ammonia soaked in mercury.
Suddenly, the perfect solution to the problem occurred to me. I frantically opened the cabinets; I was an agent again! And I found it. A flyer, nothing beats pizza. Delicious, and you could even say romantic. Plus, it was a promotion: two for the price of one, but if you paid an extra ten złoty, it really was two for the price of one. I picked up the phone, dialed the number, exchanged a few words with the person I was talking to, hung up, looked out the window, and decided I didn't know what to do next. There was a strange emptiness.
"Want to tour the apartment?
" "Lead..."
"So, here you see the refrigerator, there's a window – you could wave from it – oh yes!
" "Fantastic, really...
" "Here's the dishwasher, here's the television, and a vase with tiny red roses soaking in them, full of sharp thorns, and even further away stands a stool.
" "Wow."
We left the kitchen, passing through the hall, and I showed her the mirror. She fixed her hair, completely oblivious to the fascination of this symmetry resulting from the reflection of the image. When I tried to open the shoe cabinet, she stopped me.
"Robert. Please! What do I care about your stools or your shoe cabinets?"
She seemed right, but it hurt me. She hadn't seen my room yet, so, a little offended, I refrained from making a snide comment, and to my delight, she smiled, completely erasing my thoughts.
The room. The walls were white, the ceiling too. The carpet was clean, the cabinets were a perfect color for the rest of the space. White intertwined with black, and a noticeable, though perhaps not the most important, magical hue of blue frustration combined with a green shade of peace. With the predominance of the two colors, this ambivalence only subtly emerges and somehow enlivens the whole. It's cozy, as my companion also confirmed. However, staying in such conditions can contribute to the progression of mental illness.
On the walls are two paintings: one depicting a horse running along the beach at sunset. Free, happy, whose substantive message is to show the beauty of freedom and the resulting feeling of happiness.
The other is a landscape. Monika listened with interest, and I felt incredibly validated. I continued. Computer, TV, a number of books, and the remote control on the desk. Flip-flops under the desk, a pen on the counter, and a fan in the corner, right by the bed.
"Comfortable?
" "Aside from back problems and chronic back pain, it's incredibly comfortable.
" "Does your back hurt? Would you like me to take care of it?"
I didn't have time to say anything as her hands gently squeezed and massaged my shoulders. In an instant, I had shed the burden of hypochondriac rheumatism and felt wonderful. Her hands, clearly fascinated by the muscles I was trying to flex, circled my entire back. From my shoulders almost to my buttocks. I stood with my back to her, looking out the window, inhaling her scent, which was so incredibly arousing and fueled my desire. I heard a soft whisper in my ear.
"Relax. Look at the greenery outside the window. At the blue sky."
Her hands were still moving, time had long since stood still. Her words had a soothing effect. Everything fell silent; it was just the two of us. And the bell rang.
It was around then that I felt the first urge in my life to do something unpredictable to someone. Something terrible, terribly painful. I got my emotions under control, and the pizza guy calmed down too. He was right to be upset, after all, because it wasn't often he brought food like the Messiah to the starving, only to be met with a torrent of vulgar words in return. Why did the pizza have to arrive at that exact moment? Why?!
The guy, despite receiving a five-zloty tip, didn't look pleased. As he left, I knew that thanks to me, the psychiatric facility would gain a new patient for its "You, Too, Can Cure Depression" program. Thank you, thank you.
We ate in silence. I couldn't even taste it; I'd say I was stuffing myself with it rather than eating it. Monica clearly enjoyed it, because she had a cheerful expression on her face and was biting into tiny pieces with such enthusiasm that I found it endearing.
After the third glass, I was stuffed, poured some more Coke, and my temper, desire, and urge to cuddle fled along with my hunger. With a full belly, I sat there, angry with myself. I opened the wine. Semi-sweet, red. The aroma of the wine being poured into the glasses delicately lingered in the air; I even felt it combined with the scent of roses, and this synergy sent me into a state of sensual frenzy again.
The second and third glasses only emboldened the conversation. The uncertainty vanished, as did the indecision. There was a hint of prudery, which seemed particularly attractive at that moment. The wine was starting to go to my head. We were practically drifting in an ocean of conversation, and there was no chance of an awkward silence. Nonsense, wisdom, confessions, both sad and general, even intimate and tempting confessions hidden beneath a cloak of understatement.
Fire burned in her eyes. It was desire. My pupils vanished, blinded by the light I'd gazed upon after so long, gazing into the blue of her irises. I glanced at her lips, full and coated with a glistening sheen, which further captivated my attention. I don't know if she did it on purpose, but as I watched, I saw her tongue delicately glide along her lips, disappearing as quickly as it had emerged. Her eyes betrayed nothing. I knew I wanted her. I knew my temper was reaching its peak and my head was about to explode.
There was silence. Only her breathing, barely quickened, yet slowly becoming more sensual. With each passing minute, with each breath,
I took her in and focused on every inch of her body. Incredibly blue eyes you could drown in, sensual lips as if made for kissing, a tiny, slightly upturned nose, as if emphasizing her subtle princess features, which, depending on the situation, could be considered flaws or strengths.
A tiny flush, caused by the heat in the kitchen, appeared timidly on her smooth, yet slightly plump, cheeks. Her blond hair, emitting a beautiful scent I could intoxicate myself with forever, and harboring gallons of pheromones, gently fell to her shoulders, hidden beneath a top that, in return, revealed a flat, firm belly, brown and so eye-catching that I noticed a piercing in her navel. Sexy.
Her hands were perfect. Delicate, long fingers, each with beautifully polished nails. The white tip of each nail made me think she had a French manicure. Her hands, which contained not a single ounce of fat, acted like an aphrodisiac on me.
Her breasts weren't large, though they might have appeared so through the push-up bra. They were firm, delicate, and I knew they were incredibly erogenous.
I took her in, hungrily. I have no idea how long we stared at each other in silence, but it didn't matter. I touched her hand…
She instinctively pulled away, as if frightened, but after a moment she allowed me to touch it. I was now not so much in a state of embarrassment as a slight daze. The wine had not only increased the temperature, but my senses had become sharper or more overshadowed, depending on the situation.
My hand firmly encircled her tiny fist, and we looked directly into each other's eyes. I gently stroked the smooth skin of her hand with my fingers. We rose from the table…
We moved to the room, once again in silence, yet with an incredible feeling of desire. When she sat down on the bed, she smiled sadly and said…
"It's so sensual. Wonderful.
" "It's not over yet.
" "You're sweet.
" "You have no idea how much."
My narcissistic retort only intensified her desire. I sat down next to her, looked straight into her eyes again, to make sure I saw the sparks there. There were thousands of them, floating on the raging sea. My hand slowly brushed hers, and I rubbed her arm so gently that after a moment, pleasant shivers erupted. Her skin tingled with my touch. I touched her cheek with my finger…
When I did, she flinched. I looked at her uncertainly, afraid she had been hurt. She was sad again. When I asked her why she was so sad, she didn't answer. I felt depressed and resentful of myself for expecting too much. She moved closer to me, gently embraced me, and rested her head on my chest. Unexpected, yet charming. I felt her trying to melt into my body, as if terrified. Was it fear?
I began to stroke her hair, the wafting scent lingering in my nostrils. The room was dark, just like the outside. I asked if I should turn on the light, and she said no.
"It's nice. And romantic.
" "So romanticism means being invisible, aha... I'll try to remember. So, does pleasure mean losing your hearing?"
She laughed softly, and the longer her giggle lasted, the more special this moment felt. I stroked her hair, imagining I was a hairdresser and, snap, snap... No hair. I smiled at the thought, as if a little dismayed by my ignorance of what was happening, and by the stupid thoughts that made me realize that my sanity would one day end.
"Do you have candles?
" "Sure, all the candles. Two in the fridge and eight in the washing machine."
She laughed. I liked the way she lifted her head slightly under the influence of this unbridled fit of laughter. Now I could see her whole body. Beneath her jeans were beautiful, shapely legs. I realized how tiny she was. She was one hundred and sixty centimeters tall and weighed about fifty kilograms, which, taken together, gave the impression of a tiny, yet incredibly beautiful and vulnerable girl.
We talked again. When it grew even darker, I asked if she had night vision because I couldn't see anything.
She only said sensually,
"Bring me some candles."
And she touched my lips lightly. If it was a kiss, it was quite tentative. It was a different story when she wanted to say something and suddenly I entered her mouth. However, a moment later, her lips gently brushed mine again, and she immediately pulled away. How was I supposed to understand that? I decided to go get some candles. And now I knew what her sadness stemmed from. I knew how to get rid of it.
When one candle lit, the glow covered two walls. Another increased visibility by a full four inches. With the third, and then the fourth, I decided I'd never experienced such a romantic atmosphere. Roses from the kitchen also appeared. Just to intensify my aromatic desires. A bottle of wine also appeared, which this time we drank to the very end.
Our conversations were accompanied by frequent bursts of laughter. We completely lost our uncertainty and shyness, our fears became manageable, and the moment was like something out of a fairy tale.
As time passed, our huddled bodies drew closer and closer. We lay on the floor, on a warm blanket, surrounded by candles. The effect was divine. I lay stretched out, and she held her head opposite mine so she could see my eyes. She leaned in a little, and I felt her lips touch my eager lips. I kissed her back. But also shyly. As if for the first time, as if frightened by the pleasant touch of those full, sensual lips. I pulled away and noticed she had closed her eyes. When she opened them, she looked gorgeous. I told her so, but the answer was a kiss. More daring, more passionate. With tongue.
She moved closer so we could kiss, our bodies touching. As our tongues swirled like crazy, my hands caressed her hair in a frenzied dance, and I repeatedly touched her cheek. I held it, still engrossed in the kiss. She placed her hand on my shoulder. After a moment, she wrapped her arms around me, making it easier for me to shift my position slightly. I gently tilted her, and when she was already lying on her back, absorbed in the passionate battle of our tongues, I began to move my hands lower. Her shoulders were eager for my touch. As I traced my finger across her back, she would pause briefly, saying that shivers ran through her. And then she would return to kissing. It was getting hotter and hotter, my senses on fire. The heat of our lips and passionate kisses was indescribable. So was the pleasure when she took my hand and allowed me to place it on her breast. She squeezed both my hand and my breast. She did it again, and again. She broke the kiss and looked at me with the biggest eyes I'd ever seen. She looked at me provocatively, her gaze tempting me. I moved closer to her neck and dug in with my teeth. Gently, but she felt it. And my tongue subtly tickled her, bringing her great pleasure. She took my hand again and placed it in the same spot. She squeezed and massaged, simultaneously allowing me to experience the pleasure of that touch. Breathing in the scent of her neck, I grew increasingly aroused. Our lips met again. She embraced me, and her breast was constantly caressed. This time, only by me.
Her claws explored my body, especially my shoulders and back. The more I kissed my neck, the harder she dug them in. I repeatedly bit her earlobes, whispering how much I liked her, how much she affected me, how much she drove me crazy. Her
breathing quickened. As I whispered these tender words to her, she touched and kissed me. Her head was next to mine a moment later, and, staring directly at me, she confessed,
"I want you. I'm only yours."
I removed her top, which was now just getting in the way. She helped me with my bra; otherwise, we wouldn't have gotten anywhere. And after a short while, she lay before me, almost undressed, and I knew she was dreaming of me. I began to greedily caress her breasts; she was aroused by the touch. Her hands stroked my stubble. She liked it. She said it was irritating and I looked wonderful. She fueled my vanity with compliments, which spurred me on to increasingly bolder kisses. I began kissing her breasts. I heard her rapid breathing slowly become more and more arousing. Her eyes were closed, letting me do everything. My lips roamed from her neck, over her breasts, to her belly. It was so flat and tempting. I stroked it, gazing at her body. She lay still, though a little surprised that both the caresses and kisses had stopped. Only the caresses of one finger around her navel. She kept her eyes closed and said nothing. Even when a moment without kisses or tender touches seemed to turn into an eternity.
The longer the moment lasted, the greater the appetite grew. I devoured her with my eyes; she knew I was doing it. She touched my cheek, cupped it, and we whispered compliments again. My hands, overcome by the overwhelming ecstasy, wanted to be everywhere, constantly massaging something. She purred as I began to caress her buttocks.
"Finally."
She said it sarcastically, yet it had so much charm. We laughed, our bodies growing more and more eager for each other with each passing moment. They were also hot. After a moment, I was shirtless. And the way she massaged my chest made me purr. She leaned closer to my ear and whispered,
"Robert... do I turn you on?
" "Absolutely.
" "Mmm... help me take off my pants."
The words surprised me, but also awakened the demon within me. When I found the buttons on her pants and timidly unbuttoned them, she smiled, watching my reaction. She was so innocent and charming, yet she could immediately be as tempting as I had ever imagined. She provoked my contact with her mound, hidden beneath her pants, yet equally affecting my senses. My hands grew bolder, squeezing her buttocks, and when she gently lifted herself, I removed the excess clothing. And then she lay before me in just her panties, so defenseless, yearning for tenderness and closeness, simultaneously ashamed of her nakedness, yet knowing the effect it had on me.
Our lips kissed again, our tongues inventing new games, just to be together. She leaned closer to my ear again and whispered tenderly,
"Touch my leg..."
I did it without thinking. A moment later, I was caressing her calves and seeing how much she enjoyed it. Even greater ecstasy came as my fingers began to circle her inner thigh. I moved my fingers very high, almost touching her panties, and then moved down to the bend of my knee. When she brought her mouth closer again and nibbled my earlobes, she said, "Do you know what I want? Mmmm, please... do it..."
My hand automatically touched her belly, and I traced it down her body. She purred. When I touched the fabric of her white panties, she grabbed me and guided me. Gently but firmly, she led me into a world of magic. I reached ecstasy. It was the height of my excitement.
At first, she let me enjoy her thin, narrow strip of hair, as soft as down. As I stroked and massaged it, marveling at how delicate and receptive she was there, she let out moans of pleasure.
When she decided she wanted more, she grabbed my hand again and whispered, "Be good to her..." Mmmmm.
We moved lower, her hand guiding mine and timidly pushing into the juicy, warm core. A sound of desire escaped her, she said she wanted this, that she'd dreamed of it. Then she added sensually, "Hmmmm, come on, knight..." But it was impossible to hear these words, for they were spoken so quietly that it seemed she was whispering to herself.
She was incredibly wet, her warmth intensifying the sensations, and her juices made it slippery. Grinding at my entrance, I entered her, first with one finger. Then with another. Deeply. Both she and I were in heaven.
As her body shuddered and she reached orgasm, triggered by the intense stimulation of her clitoris, she purred softly. I looked at her. She was so beautiful. I leaned in closer, and our lips lost themselves in time again, kissing passionately. She touched me all over. My pants were soon far from us. I was surprised when, without any inhibitions, she stroked the fabric of my boxers. After a brief moment and a smile on my face, she moved in with her hand, and for the second time that day, we were in heaven.
It was extraordinary; she asked me every now and then if I was doing it right, she tried, and she was incredibly successful. I whispered to her every now and then to speed up or slow down. She was so good now.
The incredible feeling that shot through my entire body, creating a million shivers, causing muscle spasms and ejaculation, lasted a few seconds as she watched my face intently. It excited me.
It was beautiful.
We agreed that we had experienced the most beautiful experience possible that night. We fell asleep happily, holding each other. We knew that each night would be more and more special.
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