A very short letter

What came to my email is the absolute truth. Well, the rest is improvisation, so to speak, on the go. Maybe someone has encountered something similar...

"In the times of the USSR, across the vast expanse of the great power, the sexual education of the population was handled by the Communist Party and the Leninist Komsomol. Or rather, no one really handled it properly. At one of the last plenums of the CPSU Central Committee, the General Secretary said: 'Our party, our people, and all socialist countries (fucking sausages) must have a stable cell of society in accordance with the state plan.' The 'cell of society' referred to the standard Soviet family, and how to create this family was detailed in directives,

approved by the Kremlin elders of those times. This curious document, confirming the strategy for societal development, fell into my hands when I was rummaging through the archive of an abandoned Siberian town, which was once a major industrial center in Soviet times. That is, the creation of Soviet families was initially planned, and the laws of nature were not taken into account in this case. Who, and at what age, how many children, and when they needed to have them. At the time, I was working on a sociology dissertation, and I managed to gain access to some archival materials.

There was another interesting document. I stumbled upon it in the archive of an ordinary provincial university. The document consisted of fragments of a diary of a simple Soviet student. These were yellowed notebook pages, written in ordinary ink faded with time. Here is an excerpt. 'I'm standing in a pharmacy for headache pills, and in front of me is an ordinary woman about thirty. When her turn comes, she leans towards the window and asks in a quiet voice: "Do you have a vagina?" She blushes, and the pharmacist doesn't understand and asks again. She again asks to sell her a vagina. The pharmacist just doesn't get it and looks at the woman with bewilderment. Then she twirls her finger near her temple, like she's completely nuts. The woman finally realizes the absurdity of her situation and bolts out of the pharmacy like a bullet. Much later, I finally understood who she was and what she needed." Yes, Soviet citizens had no idea what a sex shop was. There was no internet, no mobile communication, and computers at the time were primitive. But lesbians and gays existed even in the USSR, because that woman desperately needed someone just like herself. That is, she desperately wanted to caress that very vagina. And in a fit of despair, she ran to the pharmacy. Because there was nowhere else to turn.'

From the diary of Ann-Marie Fisher.

Just think about it. I want cunnilingus. What, am I supposed to do this cunnilingus to someone? Or does the author of those two words want to do this cunnilingus to me? Funny or not, it suddenly turned me on out of nowhere! As if a devil possessed me. So much so that I'm even ashamed to write about it. Nevertheless, sitting in front of the monitor of my Apple wonder, I spread open the flaps of my home robe, and while reading that impossibly stupid message addressed personally to me until it was full of holes, I passionately, vividly, and deeply masturbated. And don't you dare laugh! I moaned like a sow in labor, and teased deep inside myself with well-groomed fingers. My hand immediately became familiarly damp, and by the degree of wetness on my fingers and palm, I determined that the orgasm would be just right. Am I a depraved and vulgar girl? You bet! Alternating fingers, I passionately caressed my clitoris, gently teasing it, and tracing circles and other intricate geometric shapes around it. I stroked my lips, periodically sucking on my fingers one by one, and imagined how a mysterious stranger was doing it to me with her lips and tongue.

And then, according to her words, I do this cunnilingus to her myself. Oh-oh, she can't even imagine how I could perform it. Like a virtuoso musician performing a complex score on a violin, that's roughly how I could perform such cunnilingus. Such that the princess who sent the letter would be hit by the fountains of paradise itself from the orgasm. I don't even know what this princess looks like. But if you look closely at the text of the login itself, written in English letters, it's the invention of our domestic, young, and very frivolous lady. However, just like myself. And what to do now? After all, the return address is hidden — I thought, having somewhat recovered from a truly stunning orgasm. How to let the mysterious stranger know that I already love her. Oh, what if an eighty-year-old old woman who's lost her marbles is writing to me in private, who last washed herself the summer before last. Ugh! B-a-a-a-h. Well no, I feel it in my gut and spinal cord. I simply see with a third eye that this was written by a young and passionate female creature craving passionate love. O-o-o-h, I just know in advance what her pussy smells like. That's it, I can't write anymore for now. My fingers haven't dried from the previous act of vulgar masturbation, and they treacherously slip off the keys, as if I have to do the same thing all over again. Okay, break time...

Phew, done, washed my hands, washed everything between my legs clean. Damn. Changed my panties, wiped the keyboard and sprayed it with a spray to muffle the smells of my own secretions. Well, so they wouldn't arouse and distract my thoughts. So, I want cunnilingus. (God, she's obsessed with her cunnilingus, horny cunt) Wanting isn't harmful. By the way, I want it too. But for this 'want' you need to take certain steps, not lie belly-up on the couch with a tabloid in your hands and satisfy yourself with your fingers. You silly, clueless fool. You need to shake your ass for this, not write from an anonymous address. Where am I supposed to find you now? Because of you, I had to jerk off. On you. It's all your fault. You pest. And then a completely crazy idea pops into my head. Let's see, where's that CD pen. Here it is, black. So, I want cunnilingus. Right, right. What does a Tajik usually sing in his song when riding a donkey? He sings what he sees around him. So I, what I see on the monitor, I write on my wrist. I write — I want cunnilingus! Neatly, brightly, and legibly. In large block letters. So it's visible even from afar. After that, I put on makeup. Vulgarly and brightly. I dress in everything short and provocative. I look in the mirror. It'll do. Well then, let's see what happens, and if nothing happens, at least I'll have some fun. It's time.

My experiment begins, and I leave the house to hunt. Clicking my heels and swaying my ass, I go where there are more people. Click, click, click. I hope everyone can see and hear? With a smooth gait, I leisurely walk to the bus stop. There are even more people here. Perfect. I stand and turn so the writing on my hand is visible from all angles. I can write beautifully. It turned out like a bright tattoo. Well, impossible not to notice. There are plenty of people around, and out of the corner of my eye I see guys and men throwing quite lustful glances at me. Aha, they've finally taken the bait. One already rather old guy came up and is standing nearby. Staring very frankly. Undressing me with his eyes. It even becomes somewhat awkward. It's okay, it's okay. There are plenty of people around, and if anything happens, I can always scream. And then he approaches and leans slightly towards my face. In a conspiratorial half-whisper, he whispers in my ear:

— Don't you want to give me a blowjob? With such a beautiful mouth, you should be giving blowjobs, not whatever the hell. You know how big mine is. You'll like it. You know how much sperm is in it? Sucking is good for you, you'll always stay young and pretty.

— Daddy, you should go somewhere and fatten up your own grandmother. She'll get younger in no time.

— What if I give you cunnilingus, but first you give me a blowjob. Is that okay?

— What? Did you find a complete fool? As if I'd believe you. First a blowjob, then another blowjob, and then a hole from a donut. And daddy, you should shave first.

— I'll shave, I'll shave quickly.

— When pigs fly. No daddy, you're not my type.

— You don't have to look at my face. You get to play with my little friend and suck him. He doesn't have a mustache or beard. He's smooth and hard. He'll ask to get into your mouth himself.

— Goat, move along. Can you read, what do I want? Get out of here. You're already annoying.

— Fool.

Why does everyone call me a fool? A fool wouldn't be running a quite prosperous advertising company at my age and wouldn't have a personal bank account. Jealous? Possibly. Well, okay, I keep standing. More and more people, and many are paying attention to my blatantly depraved outfit. But only men smirk after reading the writing on my hand. One four-eyes even twirled his finger near his temple. Jerk. Whoever has four eyes looks like a diver. And women look at me with open contempt. Two girls are standing a bit away and watching my depraved appearance with interest. They whisper about something, and then come closer. One says to the other:

— She's pretending.

— How so?

— Well, it's such an experiment for someone's order. She has a camera hidden in her purse, and the lens is sticking out. She's gathering material for some work. Observing how those around will behave when they read what's written on her hand. A usual integrity check. How many people will take the bait, and what their reaction will be. Well, and then an analysis of each behavior and statistical calculation. And voila, money in the pocket, and the surroundings on YouTube and made fools.

— Ah, then let's get out of here, or we'll end up in the frame.

— Let's go.

— Miss, can I have a minute? — a middle-aged woman approached me, quite slim and attractive. Somewhere just over forty. That is, about ten years older than me — let's step aside, or we'll get pushed here. Tell me, do you really want that, or is it a joke written on your hand, don't be offended if I asked the wrong way.

— Actually, it's a joke — I said.

— Ah, I thought, well, anyway, sorry — she said shyly in a half-whisper and stepped aside.

Well, there, the fish took the bait, which is what I was aiming for, and now into the bushes? But she is older. So what? She's not a granny with a cane, but a quite attractive young woman. Well, older. But not just some snotty wet-behind-the-ears girl, but experienced and life-wise. Definitely knows a thing or two about caresses.

— Hey, wait! — I said after her — and if it's not a joke, then what?

— Joke, not a joke, you decide. Otherwise, there are too many jokers around here.

— Okay, I'm not joking. It's true.

— And you're alone?

— Well yes, no one is with me.

— I live not far from here. I, well, I need, well this... In short, your vagina.

— Wha-at?

— Okay, sorry. Forget it.

— Wait. Tell me what you want.

— Well, what's written on your hand. We can go to my place. As you understand, I live alone. It's nearby. I'm probably too old for you, right?

— Well, not really. It's even interesting. Okay, let's go.

She smiled welcomingly and gently took me by the arm. Yes, the minibus dropped me off in the old Cheryomushki district, and shabby five-story buildings were crowded haphazardly everywhere. For about ten minutes we walked through the residential district between wretched Khrushchev-era buildings, and the woman brought me to a cramped one-room apartment.

— What, I live poorly, right?

— Poorly — I answered honestly.

The room was indeed cramped, furnished with cheap old furniture. But with love and taste. The woman managed to create coziness even in this squalor.

— Not many in life are lucky to live richly. I wasn't lucky. You undress and go over there, I'll be right there.

I sat down in an old rickety armchair, and five minutes later she entered. I was stunned. Already in just lacy panties, and nothing else on her.

A beautiful, toned body, no belly, slender legs, smooth velvety skin. The woman exuded a scent of some mysterious, tender, and arousing freshness. She silently approached me and just as silently knelt down in front of me.

— You relax. I'll be very gentle. I need this. I won't hurt you.

And the woman began covering my legs above the knees with kisses. She hugged my calves and, in her passionate kisses, slowly approached my crotch. And it got me! That same lust that itches in the lower abdomen during masturbation rose in me, only the sensation was much sharper. A passionate lover. I ran my hand through her lush hair and began stroking her head. I tickled her behind the ear and ran my fingers along her neck, and the woman licked my crotch through my panties and tights.

— Please stand up for a second, or it's uncomfortable for me — she whispered, and when I slightly raised myself, she deftly pulled down my underwear.

— Sit comfortably — she whispered just as passionately — you have all such expensive, delicate things on.

The woman pressed against my crotch again, and I felt a tender tongue flutter into my vagina. It moved methodically and penetrated deeper, and a serious passion ignited in me. I felt myself treacherously flowing like a bitch. She licked skillfully, and it was clear she was doing this far from the first time. I moaned and moved forward to meet the caresses, and the passionate desire to surrender to the will of a random lover captured me more and more strongly. I moaned and flowed, and the woman diligently licked everything. My clitoris hardened and pulsed, and the tender caresses of the tongue made my whole body tremble. Bliss flared up in me again and again, and I felt that an orgasm was about to happen. She didn't stop, and I pressed her head against me between my legs. Finally, a lightning bolt of ecstasy pierced my lower abdomen, and a sweet wave rolled through my body several times. Crying out loudly, I came, and the woman moaned with me. She got what she wanted and only now pulled away. She was kneeling and breathing heavily. Her whole face was smeared with my secretions, and she didn't wipe them off. Finally, she rose from her knees and stood up to her full height.

— Did you like it? You wanted cunnilingus. I gave it to you.

— Amazing. I've never had such a high.

— My name is Larisa.

— And I'm Lera. Don't call me 'you' (formal).

— Okay, as you say.

— What? What sites. I don't even have a computer.

— Okay, I'll go.

— Wait. Lera, are you just going to leave like that? You don't like me? I'm old, right?

— What are you, silly. I like you, I want to continue this connection.

— Me too.

— Well then, I'll pick you up tomorrow. We'll go somewhere and have fun together, and then we'll go to boutiques, get you some new clothes. Your body should wear decent clothes, and your feet should be in stylish shoes. Then we'll go to my place and fuck properly. I'll give you cunnilingus too. Hee-hee.

— Don't laugh. For me, it's