Some reflections on a creaky bed and a dark hallway

"Aphrodite is the goddess of beauty and love. Both people and gods were subject to her power of love. She was merciless to those who rejected love. She emerged naked from an airy sea shell and reached the shore on that shell. The Horae (goddesses of the seasons) in golden diadems crowned her with a golden wreath, adorned her with a necklace and earrings, and gods and people marveled at her charm and desired her." From the guide's explanation at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens.

To desire and to want—these are not just any words. They have many meanings. For some, they reflect only material values, or getting a tidy sum

in dollars for free. But for me, such words first and foremost mean sexual desire, and I don't give a damn about money and other junk, for the most part. These words are, first and foremost, a call to action for me. To what action? Well, I have an obsession. For some time now, fucking has become the meaning of my depraved life. And if I suddenly say that I want or desire something, it has absolutely nothing to do with something expensive from a fancy shelf in a jewelry store or from the window of a trendy car dealership.

And that means I desperately want love. And the more depraved and vulgar it is, the better. I guess I'm a slut. And to be honest, I love women. Because I'm a lesbian. There aren't actually that many like me. I'm insatiable, but money is the very last thing I need. Well, what's first? The very, very first thing, day and night, morning and evening, at any time of year... Anyway, I've already said it. Let the oligarchs stuffed with bucks and all those other officials-businessmen envy me. Or despise me. I want to fuck, I fuck, and I will keep doing it even in the afterlife.

…

— Oh, what time is it now?

— What difference does it make to you.

— What's going on at all, are you going somewhere?

— I'm leaving. Why? You should know.

— I don't know yet. Damn, I just can't remember.

— Then stay in the dark, it'll be better for both of us. Do you really not remember anything?

— No.

— Then you're worthless. If you don't remember, then we have nothing more to talk about. After everything that happened, I now regret getting involved with you. And I'm disgusted. I'm leaving.

— Wait, Katya, don't go. Don't leave me like this.

— At least you remembered the name.

— I don't need to remember. I feel like I've known you forever.

— Then you'll remember the rest too. Just without me. And don't call me anymore. Is that clear?

I stayed silent. It's useless to persuade. There's a chasm between us now. And I'm to blame for it. I knew that, but I just couldn't remember what exactly I had done. Something very bad. And now she's leaving and I don't know how to keep her. The girl finished applying her makeup and brought her fashionable boots.

— You still haven't screwed in the light bulb in the hallway. You can't see a damn thing there. You're constantly bumping into something. Aren't you ashamed? But I don't care anymore. And there's a mess on the chair again. I'm so tired of cleaning up everything here. You were a slob and you'll remain one. Maybe over time I could have trained you to be tidy, but now let someone else deal with it. I'm leaving.

— Please don't go, forgive me.

— How can you so simply ask for forgiveness for something you yourself don't remember. How easily you do it. Like smoking a cigarette.

The girl sat down on the bed and the metal mesh creaked. That creak used to excite her, I knew that, but now she paid no attention to it. Katya pulled the boots onto her feet. After zipping up one boot, she started zipping the second. It got stuck. These zippers, how are they made? They constantly break, it's a real problem with them.

— Let me at least help you for the last time.

— Leave me alone, it'll do.

— What, you'll go like that?

— What's it to you? — she furiously yanked the zipper, which was stuck, as luck would have it, at the wrong time.

Katya, Katya. Ekaterina. You're not the kind of person to walk around in front of everyone with a broken zipper on a tight-fitting fashionable boot. It would detract from the beauty of your legs. Even if no one notices, or there's no one around on the way to the parking lot. You'll still later perceive it as a personal tragedy. Because everything about you must be flawless and emphasize your perfection.

— Okay, fine, help me, I guess. Just don't breathe your hangover breath on me — she finally gives in and I move closer.

I kneel down on one knee before her and carefully take her foot in the boot with the broken zipper. I place it, sole and sharp heel, on my bare thigh and try to zip it up. Useless, it's stuck fast. Before my face are her knee and the lower part of her thigh in black tights. Very, very close. The rest is hidden by the hem of her not-too-short skirt. I glance up and see a stern face above me. Right now, it shows contempt. Katerina is silent and watches my actions. This is how she controls me. And if I do something wrong, or allow myself something extra, she will hurt me. Slap me, or even whip me. She sometimes does that when something doesn't suit her. But only during sex.

In everyday life, she is kind and sociable. She takes meticulous care of herself. Especially her legs. They are always beautiful. She doesn't wear things like ballet flats or platforms. She has that principle. The heel shouldn't be too long, that's just uncomfortable and bad for the legs, but not too short either, because that's ugly and also uncomfortable. But despite everything, my lips themselves reach for her leg, and I lose control over myself once again. I cover everything higher with kisses and Katerina is silent. This means consent. My hand is already somewhere in the area of her shaved pubis, on the thin strip of her thong, and Katya finally runs her fingers through my hair. I take this as encouragement and continue to shower kisses, now somewhere on her very crotch, through the tights, which are clearly in my way. They are in my lover's way too.

And she impatiently pulls them down to her thighs and shifts the strip of her panties. Now her passion-gaping crotch is before me, her labia part slightly and my little tongue penetrates inside. It moves along the hollows and grooves, and Katya no longer holds back. She arches forward and the first passionate moan escapes her lips. My hand spreads her slit wider with my fingers, and my tongue now moves freely along her clitoris. It instantly hardens and rubs against the bead of the piercing on my tongue. Katya knows about this and moans even more intensely. After all, she did the piercing herself. On my tongue and between my legs right behind the labia. Also near my navel. It always gave her extra pleasure. Suddenly a spasm runs through her body, and she comes violently.

She pours a viscous mass onto my face in this final farewell sex, and I accept it as a reward. I don't want to wash it off. At least, not now. Because I know, this was the last time. Then she adjusts her clothes, puts on her jacket, and without saying goodbye, leaves in the unzipped boot. She leaves into nowhere. Tap, tap, tap. The heels tap rhythmically and fade away somewhere beyond the door. That's it, she won't come back, I know it. I lie breathless on the floor, and tears of despair roll down my face.

…

— Taxi, taxi — a woman waved her hand, and I stopped.

— I need to go to the city.

— Get in. Where to?

— To Pos...naya.

— It's nearby. Three blocks.

— Oh, I don't know the city.

— I don't mind. It's just that walking would be faster. You don't have any luggage, after all. We'll be stuck in traffic here for about twenty minutes at this time.

— I agree. Everything is unfamiliar to me here, it's my first time here.

— From far away?

— Yes, two days by train.

— You could have flown.

— I'm afraid of flying. My friend died in a plane crash a year ago. I still can't get over it.

— I'm sorry. My condolences.

— It's okay. Everything's fine. And you work as a taxi driver?

— Yes, why?

— Oh, nothing. It's just strange. A girl, and suddenly a taxi driver.

— Really? I never thought it was strange. You can't surprise anyone with that these days.

— I read somewhere that if a woman wants a man's profession, then deep down she's a man.

— Possibly.

— And your legs are very beautiful.

— What? What did you say?

— It's just that a girl taxi driver has legs like that up to her shoulders. Aren't you afraid clients will hit on you?

— Actually, I always wear pants at work. Today I got them dirty with oil, had to take them off and put on a spare skirt. Strange that a woman noticed. Usually men stare.

— And what kind of car do you have?

— Mitsubishi Lancer.

— It's just kind of unusual. The steering wheel is on the right.

— Nothing special. There are lots of cars like that now. Well, here we are.

— Here you go. Keep the change.

— Thank you. Here, just in case.

— What is it?

— Our business card. It has our company's contact numbers. Call if you need anything. Taxi Mercury. It's written there.

— Thank you. All the best and have a good day.

She got out and headed towards the house. A perfectly slender figure. And legs. You could even argue whose are more beautiful. She walks like a ballerina. At the entrance to the building, the woman suddenly turned around and, bestowing a dazzling smile on me, waved her hand. I noted to myself that she knew I was watching her. Damn. I need to leave.

…

Rain. Slush. Mud everywhere. I hate this kind of weather. Have to wash the car again. And if I have to take someone out of town, or to a private area. Hell, you can't drive through this swamp. When will these rains end? How much gas I wasted today. Got stuck three times. And tires, by the way, cost money too. Almost crashed into a pole today. Some stupid stray dog jumped right under the wheel. Had to swerve sharply. Thank God, it was okay. And the dog survived. My brakes are awesome. Well, my car's brakes. It's my head that has no brakes. Finally, the shift is ending. I'm tired as a dog myself. Still have to wash the car. Screw it. I'll wash it tomorrow. Damn, my nerves have been completely shot lately. Probably from loneliness.

— Eighteen seven one. You have an order to Ra...pilevaya. Sorry it's at shift change, but they asked for you personally. The client named the make and number of your car. Said you serve better than all the others.

— Got it, on my way.

Damn. Hell knows where. Okay. I never argue about such things. Work is work. And it's good that there is work. It's bad when there isn't. And anyway, no one is waiting for me at home. It's fine, in two weeks I'm on vacation. Then I'll really let loose. Sleep to my heart's content. Go somewhere, have some fun.

— Hello.

— Hello. Where to?

— To the train station. Don't you remember me?

— Why, I remember. I have a professional memory for faces. I gave you a ride from the station three weeks ago.

— Exactly, exactly. Three weeks have passed. I visited and now I'm going home.

— I hope you had a pleasant time.

— You bet. Very much so. And your legs are very beautiful. But you're in pants today.

— What? What legs again.

— Your legs. Don't be so embarrassed. I am a woman, after all. And a woman can tell another woman about her merits right to her face. Right? Or am I wrong.

— I don't know. Possibly right.

— And I know something else about you.

— What exactly?

— I know you'll be offended, but I don't care.

— What?

— You like women.

— What? What did you say?

— Don't be offended, but it's written all over your face. Don't be offended. I know, I guessed right. I'll be getting out soon and we won't see each other again. That's why I want to tell you this. Because I'm right. Aren't I?

— Well, yes, that's how it is. But what's it to you.

— Nothing, I just wanted to tell you. That's all.

With these words, I felt the touch of soft fingers on my face. They went down my cheek, then returned up and adjusted my bangs.

— Don't you think you're going too far? I'm driving right now, but I could also hit you.

— Who knows. Maybe I am. And about hitting, that's right. I shouldn't have put my hands on your face. But aren't you tired of being alone all the time? It's enough to drive you crazy.

— How do you know, and what's it to you whether I'm alone or not.

— It's just that I'm alone now too, and it's not easy at all for a girl to find a girl partner.

Strange. How does she know I'm alone? Actually, I wear a ring on the thumb of my left hand. But that's when I'm off duty. All my colleagues know, and I do it on purpose so men don't hit on me. But right now, no rings, nothing that emphasizes my orientation.

— Your behavior gives you away completely. If you look closely. I only touched you, and you're already blushing. You liked it, I know.

— What do you want from me.

— The same thing you want from me. Invite me for coffee. I'm not in a hurry, and I'll be quiet. We still have half the way to go. You have time to think and make a decision. I'm not imposing. If you don't invite me, I'll leave. I already bought a ticket, business class by the way. Here it is. But if I stay with you, I'll have to sacrifice it. You always have to sacrifice something for another person. Sometimes much more.

With these words