I don't know what compelled me to enter this pub. I was out shopping to kill time and maybe buy something nice, and on the way, I saw a narrow entrance—as narrow as any other—one would be. I decided a glass of martini would do me good. I went in and didn't regret it. I sat at the bar and ordered my favorite drink. The place was pleasant, spacious, and I liked it. I looked around and immediately spotted a table in the opposite corner, where she was sitting. She was wearing a dark ankle-length skirt, a beige blouse that barely covered her bust and barely covered her stomach, and a black leather summer jacket with beige inserts. Her black hair was tied with a red ribbon. She looked to be in her twenties, but she could have been older.
We exchanged a toast, and I calmly approached her, glad that I had the irresistible temptation to be sexy today.
- Do we know each other by any chance? - I asked trivially.
"I guess it's just a dream," she replied calmly, but with obvious tension.
"Maybe you're right." "I already knew tonight would be a beautiful evening.
" "You have beautiful eyes." I heard her soft whisper.
"Thank you, but I could do without one if I were to receive something much more necessary in return, like the closeness and warmth of another person." I replied, and she openly said, without any hints or pretenses,
"To this day, I can't forget the sight of you under these sheets." With these words, she made it clear she wanted to leave. I sipped my martini, remembering how after her kiss in the dream, my whole body felt hot, especially in one place, and how I resisted the then-irrational urge to passionately caress her body.
"Let's go to my place, I live alone, and my apartment seems empty. Fill it for me, at least for a little while, and for a longer time, with your memories." "I said, leaning into her ear, and she laughed softly and replied,
"If it weren't for the bartender, instead of the words, 'Let's go,' you'd be getting a lovely, tender kiss right now."
We left the bar and slowly strolled back to my place. We both wanted our excitement to grow. We wanted to savor every feeling, every shiver, every smell, and every sensation. We wanted to remember every moment of that day: my trembling hands, her hot skin, our gazes. Holding hands provocatively, we squeezed them much tighter than necessary. Neither of us wanted to run away, yet we were irrationally afraid the other would change her mind.
As we rode the elevator, we were so eager to be together that we couldn't help but giggle to mask our impatience. We managed to disgust my neighbor on the third floor. When he got out, she was at my side in the blink of an eye, kissing me while I was still stifling a laugh. We kissed with a fire that could burn down the building. Her hands were everywhere, and mine weren't passive either, and for added flavor, I hooked my leg behind her knee. This entire act was the wildest, most passionate thing I'd ever experienced. I wished no one would ever stop that elevator again, but when it stopped on my tenth floor, I didn't regret it. With the last of my willpower, we entered my apartment, slamming the door behind me as if it were punishment, because I had to tear my hand away from my partner for a moment. She sat me on the table in the living room, still kissing me. I leaned my hands on the table, and she unbuttoned my blouse. I thanked myself I wasn't wearing underwear. She caressed me so skillfully that I was glad I couldn't get any wetter. However, when she slowly slid her hand under my skirt, between my thighs, I learned that I could get wetter.
It was divine; we made love dozens of times, for dozens of hours. All over the house: on the table, in bed, in the shower, in the kitchen, on the balcony at sunrise, and in various ways: 69, she caressed me, I her, with her hands, lips, tongue, here and there. At different paces: subtly and tenderly, or passionately, almost aggressively, but always with the same tingling and sweet effect. Only in the morning, well after the early summer sun had risen, did we collapse, sweaty and naked, in each other's arms. Her head rested on my breasts, her hair spilling over them. I hugged her as tenderly as I could, and she held me with one arm and the index finger of her other hand inside me. If he had been there a few hours ago, I would have had another orgasm, but now I was too tired and fulfilled. And he was simply there, as if this were his permanent home, his natural habitat, and that was how it was meant to be. Without her inside me, I would have felt as if I had no tongue or feet. It's possible to live without it, but no sane person could imagine such a life. I hope this isn't a dream, and if it is, I hope I'm in a coma. I fell asleep the happiest person in the world.
Magda
. I woke up first. We both lay there as we had fallen asleep. I still held my finger where I'd placed it hours ago. Her face, framed by a mane of blond hair, was so radiant and peaceful, as if she'd just learned what sleep was. A moment later, she too opened her eyes and touched my lips with her hand. I wrapped my fingers around her index finger and caressed it as if it were the most sensitive spot on her body. When she pulled it out, I wanted to pull mine out, but I could see that it was hers, just as I felt bad about parting with a piece of flesh she treated almost like my own. To console her, I kissed her where I'd removed her finger: her stomach, breasts, lips, and forehead. I wanted to get up, but the pain was so intense, it would have taken me five minutes to do so. She noticed and stopped me by placing her hand on my shoulder. She told me to lie on my stomach, which I dutifully did. She stood up and began massaging me from my heels to the top of my head. She did it so skillfully and effectively that after a few minutes, the soreness had significantly diminished, but I did end up with several large, juicy hickeys on my buttocks. Finally, after another dozen or so minutes, I stood up and we sat down next to each other. I kissed her tenderly and said,
"I have to go now; I have my duties outside." I began gathering my scattered clothes. I already had a skirt, a blouse, a jacket, and one shoe; I was missing underwear and another shoe.
Will you leave this for me? We're the same size, right?" I turned to her, handed me a shoe, and in her other hand held my bra and a simple thong. She made a face as sweet and ingratiating as the little dot on her nightgown she'd just put on. I had to agree.
I felt strange without a bra, but when she kissed my cleavage, lips, and cheek while cupping my breasts, I decided she wanted everyone to see my swollen nipples. Oh well.
"Justyna, MA in Economics, 28 years old, pursuing a career in banking," I heard her say, and I laughed out loud, surprised and amused.
"I think we've got things a bit mixed up, huh?" In response, she smiled back, that half-innocent, half-erotic smile of hers. I leaned close to her ear, caressed it gently with my lips and a little less gently with my tongue, and then whispered,
"Magda, MA in Polish Studies, 30 years old, head of a small publishing house. I have a reputation among my employees as a mean bitch, and I'm devilishly demanding at work." Justyna smiled again and, as she left, gave me her phone number, adding,
"Maybe mean, but you're definitely a beautiful and sweet bitch."
From the author: I wish someone would finally appreciate this.
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