Erotic illusions
A Bit About Myself, or Don't Judge Too Harshly
How does one become an unfaithful wife? Where do these heartless young women with a cold gleam in their eyes come from, ready to do anything to enter into a legal marriage with a very well-off man? Who are they – these beauties without moral principles, pitilessly charging ahead?
Probably, dear readers, you have at least occasionally asked yourself such questions, if, of course, you are not such a heartless shark yourself. Well, sad as it may be, I, the author of these lines, have committed such transgressions in my life and enjoyed them. With time, I tried
to analyze everything that happened, but I could never come to a definitive conclusion – whether what I did was good or bad. That's probably only how it happens in novels; in life, the pros and cons are always intertwined. You be the judge, and I just want to share what is simply overflowing within me, and I can no longer keep it to myself.We are all, as they say, from childhood. Of course, my attitude towards life was largely shaped by the atmosphere that prevailed in our family. Mom was a beautiful woman; she loved expensive things and going out. Dad tried to please her in everything; he worked a lot, tried to advance in his career, earn more to make mom happy. From early childhood, mom instilled in me that a girl must take care of herself, always be fully prepared, know how to dress beautifully and make an impression.
When I became a young woman, there was a lot of talk about choosing a life partner, and, of course, one had to look for more than just a worthy one, read – a very well-off one. Mom even regretted that her youth fell in those years when everyone in our country was equally poor and there was no chance of marrying a millionaire. She even agreed to marry dad only because he pulled the wool over her eyes for a long time, taking her to restaurants and giving expensive gifts (spending all the money he had earned in the North on it).
My parents were not uneducated; both had higher education. Mom was an engineer, dad a lawyer. Culture was also given considerable importance. I finished school quite successfully and entered the Institute of Trade, which was considered very promising.
I was a beautiful girl, my parents always told me that, and I myself was pleased with my reflection in the mirror. A slender figure, beautiful legs, big blue eyes, and long blonde hair. People always paid attention to me. Plus, I was an activist, participated in KVN (Club of the Funny and Inventive), loved performing in front of an audience. I had no complexes whatsoever, and probably no one admired me as much as I admired myself.
Of course, time heals all wounds, and gradually I more or less came to my senses, returned to life. But one thing I knew for sure: I would never love anyone like that ever again.
I had to move on, and I threw myself headlong into my studies. In my final year of institute, I started seriously looking for a job; I wanted to earn decently, travel the world, see global landmarks, the fairy-tale beauties of warm countries. But these dreams were complete absurdity: the country was experiencing crisis after crisis, and professionals with experience were fighting for jobs, not someone like me. After running around to interviews, sending out a ton of resumes with no response, I reached complete despair and was ready to work for pennies.
My parents helped me. Thanks to their connections, I found a position as a secretary-referent with knowledge of accounting at a large trading firm. The salary was decent, but, of course, with such means, one shouldn't dream of any travels. And my boss had an unpredictably explosive temper, often yelled at me, and didn't even consider it a sin to hurl boxes of goods at offending subordinates in a rage.
However, there was one circumstance that reconciled me with this reality. Business people, well-dressed, confident, knowing their worth and deserving of it, constantly came to our office on business. I met visitors fully prepared – smiling dazzlingly, charming, and always looking impeccable. I tried to be friendly with everyone. Many liked me. I didn't refuse invitations to go to a restaurant or the theater, to concerts of capital celebrities. By that time, like Ostrovsky's "bezpridannitsa" (a girl without a dowry – I am an educated girl, after all), having not found love, I decided to seek gold, and I didn't want to think about how badly it all ended.
I was looking for a man who could provide me with everything I dreamed of, so that I wouldn't have to take public transport to work early in the morning and serve out this duty from bell to bell for laughable money anymore. And, as we know, he who seeks shall find.
It was Viktor, or rather Viktor Sergeyevich, a friend of my boss. He was the owner of a prosperous construction company, thirty years older than me (yes – yes, thirty), married, and had an adult daughter. He noticed me, but I had noticed him even earlier. Despite his age, he had an incredible amount of energy, he was smart, charming, with a sense of humor. He seemed to work around the clock, carving out minutes for rest. Always well-dressed, fit, with a sharp gaze from his brown eyes, he didn't allow himself to be rude or frivolous with me. At first, we only exchanged a couple of routine phrases during his rare appearances at our office. I cautiously inquired about him and, learning that he had always passionately wanted a son, decided to go on the offensive with all possible cunning.
We started communicating; he observed me for a long time, perhaps checking how well I could meet his needs, but I gathered all my willpower and brilliantly passed all his "tests." Soon I became his mistress.
He insisted I quit my job, settled me in a luxurious apartment, gave me a car, and traveled abroad with me on vacation – he had his own house in Spain. Gradually, he got used to me as an integral part of his existence.
His wife knew about me and, apparently, initially thought it was a fleeting fling. But alas, the story didn't end – and Adelada Kuzminichna began to lose her temper, turning her husband's life into hell. I, on the contrary, was the epitome of charm and radiance. One could say that the thought of divorce, which arose in Viktor's head, was skillfully prepared by me. Two years of an illicit relationship ended for me in a legal marriage. Mom was happy, but dad never really liked Viktor, believing I deserved better.
Two years later, our son Seryozha was born; we named him after Viktor's father. My husband couldn't believe his happiness; the dream he had cherished for decades had come true. I, having become a mother, was able to give my son all the love I had in my soul.
So we lived, wanting for nothing. But time passed, my husband worked a lot, he often had no time for me, our son was growing up and no longer required constant attention as before. I started thinking about my life and realized I missed work, studying (yes – yes!), my brain demanded to be occupied with something, and I found a way out – learning a language. At first, the thought was to improve my English. But that was somehow not romantic, there was no exciting mystery in it, something alluring, enchanting, which I was already preparing for but wasn't fully aware of yet.
And suddenly it dawned on me: French! That French music – Yves Montand, Serge Gainsbourg, love, eternal love… My heart tightened with a premonition. And I started studying with a teacher in a small group. My new acquaintances, to improve their language, corresponded with French people; they were all unmarried girls, though, dreaming of marrying foreigners. They advised me to try an international dating site.
With great difficulty, I scribbled my first letter, containing only routine polite phrases, and sent it to several addresses that seemed interesting to me. Among those who responded was Didier – a handsome brown-eyed man, an artist, photographer, preparing for a trip to our city soon.
November 15, 2009
Hello, Didier.
I've looked at your profile, and it sparked a genuine interest in me. I am studying French and am interested in communicating with someone who has lived in France since birth, knows the customs and culture of that country. Write.
Irina
That's how a ceremonious correspondence began between us, but I understood that mutual interest was hidden behind the restraint. So, out of boredom and idleness, languishing without my husband's attention, I decided on a romance with another, yes, I had already decided on infidelity then.
Irina is a modern young woman, yearning for true love. In search of a beloved, she takes up French and meets a successful French photographer who came to Yekaterinburg to study the life of her fellow countrymen, take new photos, and prepare an exhibition. Love flares up between them, but, unfortunately, Didier leaves Irina and goes abroad.
Afterwards, they are connected only by letters, essentially – real ones, giving them inspiration.