The girl from the poster

1

I definitely can't say that I needed something that day at that market. Just, on my way back from work, I was walking by and decided to buy something for dinner. Living alone at 33, let me tell you, isn't always convenient.

It just turned out that way.

I had a girl, but she ran off with some guy, either a Bulgarian or a Turk. Who the hell knows. So I've been alone ever since. On one hand, there's freedom, no one nags you—like, oh, socks all over the apartment or a sink full of dirty dishes.

Well, so what? It sits there in the sink for three days, let it sit, what's going to happen to it. Saturday comes,

I'll wash it all at once. Or, if I stayed over at Natakha's, for example.

So what!? Pfft, big deal. Her husband's been away on a business trip for two weeks anyway, so why should she just sit idle. Especially since Natakha is a good-looking, eager woman; if not me, then Kolka would dive in. He's also a perpetual "hungry one," despite his "strict" marriage and two kids. No, well, Tolik—Natakha's husband—is a "moose," of course, thanks to Natakha's efforts...

Alright, why am I talking about her again!? I'm telling you what happened next:

So, I bought a stick of boiled sausage, a loaf of bread, about three hundred grams of butter, and while the saleswoman was putting it all into bags for me (everything at markets is sold by weight), I suddenly felt someone's gaze on the back of my head. I literally felt someone drilling into me with their eyes. I turn around.

Standing behind me, a little ways off, is a guy about twenty years old, and he's not taking his eyes off me. I looked around again, the guy isn't familiar, who knows. Maybe he mistook me for someone else, or something else.

Well, about the "something else," I, of course, didn't want to think, who knows what's on his mind.

In these times, you can run into anyone. What if he's... you know... what are they called? Their color! Uh, okay, what if he liked me.

Brrr, just thinking about it gives me the creeps. No, I, of course, have nothing aggressive against those... what are they called, those... but for some reason, I prefer it when someone from the female sex stares at me like that.

But they, for some reason, don't look. Only Natakha, practically, pays any attention to me, and even she... only when her dear husband is away. Well, alright, why am I talking about her again. What's the point? Or else I'll write something here about our bedroom affairs, and my friend will have problems...

Or maybe not, anything can happen..., but if he does find out, he'll clean my clock! That guy is huge...

So, I looked around, no, the guy is definitely looking at me, I even nodded my head at him: "Like, what are you looking at?" And he suddenly detached himself from the wall he was leaning his "mighty" shoulder against and slowly starts shuffling over. Well, I think, something's off with this guy, he's kind of suspicious. And he comes right up to me and asks in a half-whisper:

— Hey man, want to buy a poster? — Only then did I notice that the guy had some paper rolled into a tube under his arm. I sighed with relief, so there wouldn't be a fight, (who knows, maybe Natakha has someone else, maybe she's into younger guys) I even relaxed a little.

— What kind of poster? — A bit surprised by such an unusual sales method these days, I ask. It's not like it's Soviet times, no one's been jailed for speculation for many years, and they don't even prosecute for it, I think.

No, well, of course, people sell stuff on the street, but what? Some sell shirva, various pills—drugs, or those friends from friendly Central Asia, hashish. But this guy seemed like a decent kid, not a drunk, not a "junkie," and he doesn't look like a bum. And he doesn't smell of anything, except cologne. The kid raised his hand and unrolled the poster. No, the picture is of course high quality, and the girl is cute, slightly tanned "brunette," I like those. And the paper is thick, and the lamination is good quality, not peeling or bubbling. I remember such posters appeared back in the late 80s, at the height of perestroika, and then they all seemed to disappear, I, at least, only saw one once, in Svetka's room.

What, you ask about Svetka? Well, she's, um... that... you know. She also, like me—likes girls. Well, imagine! She herself is a girl, (and not a girl anymore, she's the same age as me), and she herself looks at girls! And she's beautiful... m-m-m, terribly so..., a sight for sore eyes. A woman, let's say straight out: top shelf, I myself have "hit on" her more than once, well, I thought, lucky me. What a chick, and free, and unmarried, and grown-up, wow! But, that wasn't the case. Yeah. So, all that's left is to throw up my hands. Irony. She's "pink"! What a problem. And such a woman m-m-m...!

And I look, all her girlfriends, some have already managed to get divorced, some have had two or three kids, they all have husbands and lovers, some even have two! Everything is as it should be, in general, for those who already have grandchildren on the horizon, but she's still alone. No, I'm lying, not alone. She had some girlfriend, they lived together, in Svetka's apartment, and they seemed to live well. Well, fine, let them live. Wishing them, as they say, advice and love!

Do they live, or did they live? I don't know!

What kind of men are around these days? I'm actually ashamed for some men. Well, I got distracted again...

— And how much do you want for it? — I ask the kid.

— How much aren't you sorry to give for her?

— ...??? — As they say.

I estimated—no, the picture itself is okay, big, thick, and the girl's figure is super, and the size is just right to cover a stain on the wallpaper until next summer. (Well, actually, I plan to put up new wallpaper every year, it's been three years already.) There, opposite my bed, there's an ugly stain: last year the neighbor upstairs flooded me, while drunk.

So my hands never reached it (the stain, that is), and here it just presents itself. And the picture is big, and the girl is okay, most importantly her hips are nice. Very. Good hips like that. Smooth.

Well, not three hundred rubles!!! Especially since I don't even have that much left, only two hundred thirty, and that's in small change. I told him so.

— So what, no more? — He asks distrustfully.

— Nope. — I answer, and turn to leave.

— Hey, wait. — He stops me, — alright, take it for two hundred.

He shoved the picture into my hands, I gave him crumpled two hundred in different bills, and we went our separate ways. I'm standing at the counter where I bought the sausage, and the saleswoman looks at me slyly, as if thinking: "what a simpleton, they palmed off some paper on him"—but she's silent. I glanced at the 30 rubles I had left, and handed them to the saleswoman with the words:

— Give me a beer.

With a mocking smirk, the woman handed me a bottle of beer, a five-ruble coin in change, and said:

— What, going to celebrate now? — She indicated with her eyes the rolled-up poster.

— Yeah. — I replied, taking the bag in one hand, the poster in the other, and directed my steps home...

2

At home, after eating cheap sausage, washing it down with cheap beer while watching a cheap TV series on the "box," I, nevertheless, decided to attach the picture to the wall. After fiddling for about five minutes, spending most of that time looking for four small nails and a hammer, I stepped back and looked at the creation of my hands and was satisfied. The picture looked good against the beige wallpaper. Not matching, of course, but much better than the dark damp stain. However, the beer made me sleepy and, after quickly rinsing off in the shower, I assumed a horizontal position with the firm intention of sleeping until morning and, rested and fresh, heading off again to my beloved—to tears—job. But, exactly at half past three, the alarm went off.

No, wait. Not the one on the nightstand by the bed, no, that one's set for 6:30, the other one, the one people call Kashpirovsky's alarm clock, (maybe someone remembers, there was such a psychotherapist who treated children for enuresis)

So, obeying precisely HIS call, I walked around the apartment, and after about three minutes, I return to my bedroom. So I enter the bedroom and just freeze in the doorway. Right on my bed, with one leg crossed over the other and leaning back on her elbows, half-sitting half-lying, is SHE.

Uh-huh, her. The very one from the picture.

The room is in deep gloom, the light from the street lamp through the thick curtains barely illuminates my modest cell, but even this faint light is quite enough for me to see the seated figure clearly. An awkward pause formed between us. Of course, anyone in my place would be a bit "freaked out." — I was completely alone in the apartment, wasn't expecting guests, and then suddenly, such a beauty appears on my bed, and I'm in my underwear! Of course, I wasn't expecting guests, if I had been, I would have at least put on new trunks, but like this, ugh, it's even awkward to say: my underwear wasn't the most glamorous, family-style, not the first year they've been with me.

— Who are you!? — I finally uttered in amazement.

— Don't you recognize me? — She asks. And her voice is so sexy, you know, like those who... well, those ones on the phone.

— No. — I reply stupidly.

She nodded her head towards the wall where the picture had hung. The picture was gone. In its place now was a white rectangle.

— But you're not... — I started.

The girl leaned back and beckoned me with her finger.

— Are you just going to stand there? — She asked.

— What should I do? — I asked, and a second later realized what nonsense I had blurted out. The girl smiled crookedly and, bending her knees, began to spread her legs apart.

— And you, don't know? — She said with a passionate breathiness. No, well, it's not that I didn't know. I knew, of course, I'm not a boy anymore, I just got flustered, it was all so unexpected somehow...

She suddenly grinned mischievously, and I followed the direction of her gaze. Of course: Natashka's husband hasn't been on business trips for a long time, and besides this Natashka, I haven't had anyone. And it became noticeable now, very noticeable, let's say, I was in my family-style underwear. The girl beckoned me with her finger and ran the tip of her tongue over her full lips. Like a rabbit mesmerized by a boa constrictor, I sank down beside her. My hand rested on her flat stomach. She shuddered slightly and took a deep breath. Her body was warm and completely "real." My hand began to move higher. Her ample breasts, packaged in a white bra, beckoned me. I cautiously touched it and looked into her eyes.

With a slight half-smile, she winked at me and arched her back, thereby making it easier for me to access the clasp. I managed the bra fairly quickly, despite my limited experience with women's clothing.

And, my gaze was presented with her large, firm breasts, crowned with dark, swollen nipples. The barely perceptible scent of her clean, warm, healthy body acted on me stronger than any aphrodisiac. I, completely losing my head: leaned over her and pressed my lips to hers.

Her hot, moist lips responded to me, and her fingers slid over my back. I don't remember how, we ended up completely naked, the little clothing that was on us instantly disappeared somewhere. My hand slid over her stomach slowly but surely, approaching her most intimate place.

And this, her "most intimate" place, was completely smooth. Absolutely devoid of even a hint of hair, and my fingers felt hot moisture. She closed her eyes and moaned softly as I, by touch, explored the entrance to her treasure trove. I caressed her body with my lips for a long time, tormented her breasts, slid my lips over her stomach and thighs, her legs clasped my torso, and then my head in passionate embraces and I, completely losing my mind, pressed my lips to her most intimate places, feeling her taste, wanting to absorb her body into myself, to drink everything from this vessel! Everything to the very bottom, in that moment I wished that she would become my air, my flesh, my blood, I wanted her body to merge with mine, or, for me to dissolve in her. I was simply going crazy! THIS had never happened to me before; in that second I understood: I love her to the point of losing my memory!

And then, there was her womb, narrow and hot, it squeezed me in its embrace and I plunged into her deeper and deeper, until I reached the very bottom. Her tanned body, glistening with sweat in the dim light, suddenly seemed like a living statue of Aphrodite, and now it was no less beautiful. Like a goddess of the ancient Greeks, beautiful, innocent and depraved at the same time, she, with her black eyes, like a fakir with a flute, deprived me of my reason, leaving in me only instincts. Mad, animal, wild instincts, those that slumber in us, suppressed by consciousness and reason. And I, submitting to her will, forgot about everything. I had never experienced anything like it before. The hurried "quickie" with Natashka was nothing compared to this wild passion. To the magic of this night. I lost track of time, forgot about everything, it seemed to me I even forgot to breathe at times. The mysterious stranger—the girl from the picture—was simply a sorceress, none of my acquaintances had ever given me such pleasure.

At the very end, I was ready to scream, but I no longer had the strength to scream, I had no strength left for anything at all. She drank me to the dregs, sucked everything out without a trace. O-o-o... those lips of hers.... Emptied me.

We lay naked on my bed, I was breathing heavily, coming to my senses.

The stranger put her hand on my chest and said:

— I was very good with you, really, but, this is our only night, in the morning, I will become a picture again and you will have to sell me.

— But I don't want to, what if I don't do it? — Still breathing heavily, I said.

— No, you must, those are the rules, I'm sorry, believe me, for the first time I'm truly sorry to leave my owner, but I cannot stay with you.

I sat up on the bed, and she lay stretched out on the bed and calmly looked into my eyes. I was confused, everything happened so fast that I didn't have time to really understand anything. The magic happened and passed, the night was coming to an end, I didn't want to lose her and I squeezed her in my arms.

— I don't want to, I don't want to lose you. — I whispered, burying my face in her hair.

—