Reception on "Burning the Ships"

 — Well, well! Vadik, in the flesh! — a round-faced, fair-haired woman in her forties, with a bronze tan and appetizing dimples on her cheeks, exclaimed, throwing up her hands. Her younger companions involuntarily let go of their friend, and she rushed toward the three men walking along the path in the sanatorium park. Hanging on the neck of one of them, the blonde continued to chatter:

 — How many years, how many winters?!… Darling!..

 — Ahem! — the object of the woman's kisses hesitated awkwardly, betraying himself by blushing.

 — No less than twenty. That was… Yes, exactly, back then only one 'jackdaw' was cawing on your cadet sleeve, — the teaser laughed.

Rutochka, as the blonde was called, immediately introduced her friends. The men politely bowed. Rutochka was so excited and overjoyed that she didn't even notice how she and Vadik ended up in her room.

 — Shall we have a little one? — she flicked her finger against the bottle of cognac. Vadik silently nodded. She bustled about, setting the table, while he, assessing her slender figure with an appraising gaze, tried painfully to remember who she was, where and when their paths had crossed. But the image of this fussy woman stubbornly refused to surface in his memory.

 — To our meeting! — she perched on his knee, and the shot glasses clinked delicately.

The cognac rolled down his throat in a soft lump and warmed his stomach gently. Vadik speared a slice of lemon with a fork and politely brought it to her lips. She licked the lemon and gave him a juicy smack on the cheek.

 — Do you remember how we danced back then? — she ran her fingers through his lush hair and pulled his head even closer to her, pressing her lips to the man's dry ones in a long, painfully passionate kiss.

 — Of course I remember, — he barely exhaled, pulling away from her.

 — You used to love pinching back then…

 — Did I? Ahhh, that's right. That was when I found the elastic of your tempting panties, — he lied at random.

 — Yes, you were quite skilled at quickly removing them, — she laughed and lifted her skirt, exposing a slender leg sheathed in Golden Lady stockings. He slid his hand between her delicate legs, confidently moving toward the coveted spot. In such cases, his 'Fighter' would begin to awaken and prepare for 'battle'.

"Not bad, quite a spicy lady, and clearly without hang-ups," he thought, tormented by the idea that he couldn't recall the details of their long-ago acquaintance. After all, back when he was still a cadet, so many women's panties had ripped in his hands. How could he possibly remember this, not particularly standout by those cadet standards, girl from Petersburg. And she, as if egging him on, pulled her skirt even higher, revealing the barely visible white strip of her panties. He scooped her up in his arms, stepped toward the daybed, and gently laid the woman down on it.

… He kissed her legs, slowly moving toward her crotch. Burying his nose in her panties, he caught the subtle scent of expensive perfume and the spicy heat of her loins. The panties were instantly on the floor. He sharply turned her toward him, lifted her hips with a practiced motion, spread her legs, and pressed his mouth to the black triangle.

"A clean woman. Seems she prepared in advance," he thought, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of her desired body. And then a burning passion overwhelmed him, fogging his brain, as if he had drained a glass of young, tart wine.

"God! What a soft, pliant body! And this, painfully familiar, velvety skin. Where and when did I caress you?" he thought, helping her shed her clothes. Left in only her stockings, she pulled his eager head even closer to the 'Gates of Heaven'.

 — You haven't forgotten how you did it back then? — she whispered.

 — That's not something one forgets, — he dodged diplomatically, understanding that her next question would surely expose him. Therefore, not wasting any time, he immediately leaned over her, quickly plunging his mighty 'Spear' into her trembling body. At first, he worked unhurriedly, deliberately prolonging the pleasure. She lay still, studying what slowly visited and then immediately left her body. Sometimes It would pause right at the edge, as if searching for something, gently kissing the trembling, love-thirsty female organ with its tip. In these moments, she would sink into some intoxicating abyss and whisper with trembling lips:

 — More, darling, more…

And, responding to this passionate call, the kisses and embraces, he began to work faster, until he shifted into a desperate gallop. Things were clearly moving toward the finish, but he didn't want to end the process so prosaically; he wanted a twist, something original to surprise the passionate woman moaning beneath him. He suddenly stopped, withdrew the 'bolt from the barrel channel,' and began to turn her onto her stomach.

 — Let's flip over, — he whispered.

 — And lose? — she smiled ironically.

He played his member between her buttocks and then thrust it between them as if sinking a ball into a pocket.

 — O-o-oh! Just like back then, — she moaned.

He was about to finish when she suddenly twisted out from under him, pressed her mouth to his 'cue,' played with her lips and tongue so skillfully that his 'boy' immediately wept. She passionately swallowed these 'tears' until both, exhausted and spent, collapsed onto the bed of love.

 — Thank you, — she leaned over and kissed him on the lips. He felt a salty droplet roll onto his lip.

… Vadik walked to his building and thought: "But still. When and where did we meet before? In my long list of conquered 'fortresses,' exactly this one, it seems, isn't listed. Wait! Could it be?!" And then he remembered that he had seen this birthmark, the size of a two-kopeck coin, on her right buttock before. Exactly like the one on that blonde he had taken down in her Petersburg apartment when her parents were at the dacha. "Yes. She's right. Back then, only one 'jackdaw' was cawing on my cadet sleeve." Now he clearly remembered the events of that night. They had tormented themselves with love to the plaintive creak of the springs of an old sofa. How many vows of eternal love had been uttered in those moments of mutual passion, and on a gloomy Petersburg morning he had gotten up and casually told her he had no feelings for her. It was a tried-and-true tactic for 'burning the ships.'

She had sobbed, and he had hurriedly dressed, firmly resolved never to appear in that apartment again. Even back then, he had valued his freedom very highly and had no intention of losing it so cheaply. And now he was thinking the same thing. And she, at that moment, was quietly crying in her sanatorium room. Crying because she still loved him, remembering how he had so treacherously abandoned her then, cowardly run away, leaving her alone to raise his fair-haired son, so much like him, whose existence he didn't even suspect.

Eduard Zaitsev