The knowledge of passion

Have you ever poured a bucket of cold water over yourself? How about three? If so, you understand me. Everything inside (and out) clenches for a second, then you want to frantically jump away from the scalding moisture… and, having regained the ability to breathe, you grab for the fluffy towel. And finally, after rubbing yourself dry with the towel, brisk as a thousand penguins, you open the door and feel with your whole skin the air, which just recently was stiflingly hot, but now seems pleasantly warming.

It's good that you don't have to get dressed—you're home alone. In a loose white blouse and a long, long brown skirt, you stir something in pots in the kitchen.

My girl… When I first saw you on the commuter train, I didn't yet understand—that you were my destiny. I'm generally slow in such matters. But the fact that such people are very rare—that got through to me immediately. And I also understood that I would wait for our next meeting. Perhaps because I feel so at ease with you, as I never have with anyone else?

I sneak up from behind and embrace your breasts with greedy hands. For a few seconds you don't react, then you turn around and our lips reach for each other… how will this end this time? I don't know, and this sweet unknown of the eternal game between a man and a woman heats my blood again. My hands have already habitually slipped under your blouse, your body responds trustingly and passionately, pressing against me… and suddenly you say… "Do you know how a guy shows everyone that this girl is HIS girl?" You turn me around and sweetly bite my shoulder right at the base of my neck. I don't know how it works on girls, but it sends a shiver down my entire spine. Growling inwardly, but not forgetting to return the "mark of ownership" to you, my lips cover your face and neck with kisses…

Have you ever thought about the expression "to cover with kisses"? It's so that not a single spot remains unloved by lips…. Remember, we once started with that? I kissed your still-awkward, virginal body a thousand times. And another thousand and another… all night long. Now my hands and lips know many paths of your pleasure. But that doesn't mean I know everything—love with you is each time a discovery to be made. It's a theorem to be proven, it's a prayer that no one has ever read even once…

You carefully gather your skirt, under which, as always, nothing is worn, and settle on top. Already by the second time, softly gasping, you let me inside you all the way and the rocking begins. Faster and faster… your body responds more and more, we fall into a single rhythm and hold it for a while… and then I break into a frenzied dance, carry you in my arms across the kitchen, lay you on the table, and the old walls again hear your cries and moans. How I love this music!

This continues for a long time…. Or an instant? Love is not a state for feeling time, you can't rush in it, and, sensing that this chord is finished, we separate our thin physical connection.

Languor intensifies desire. As if waking up and not noticing my aroused body, you sit on a chair by the table and pour yourself a glass of water with lemon. Right now you are Lolita, and it's no wonder that forty-year-old men throw themselves at the sparks in your eyes, whether you want it or not. A green-eyed girl in a white blouse drinks the water very, very slowly, then, smiling slightly, either at me or at her thoughts, puts the glass on the white table and takes my standing flesh into her lips.

I love watching this so much! But now the view is blocked by your thick, long hair, and I have to imagine it myself. I start to move in rhythm, but the hair gets in your way too, and you ask me to hold it. Not the first time—I hold its weight every day while you wash your face in the evening. It's a ritual—one of many in the sign-filled life of lovers.

Now I can watch without hindrance. A curious maximalist in everything, you, having learned that the most experienced of my past women could do this, tried from the very beginning to take me completely into your mouth, all the way. Now you do it easily and gracefully, leaning on the table with your left hand, and with the other, tenderly embracing my thigh. Now pushing me deep into your throat, now playing with my flesh with your tongue, you arouse me more and more. I watch as all my fifteen centimeters disappear between your lips, swollen with desire, and I remember…

Whether you want it or not, the light illuminating everything around you is the light of passion. You are passionate in everything you do—and when I got to know you better, I was very surprised that at nineteen you had preserved your virginity. But I soon learned the reason—your feminine essence was hidden behind barriers of pain and fear, maniacal glances and touches. To a simple squeeze of the wrist, you could collapse into a painful semi-conscious state for three hours; every step on the path of intimacy was accompanied by tears. You fought with yourself continuously, and I vowed that I would help you in this fight. I felt a great strength in you… and we managed to awaken it. Not completely yet, only a year has passed… what will happen next?

Remember how you were too shy to tell me and wrote in a note… "I want it deep. Hard. You." In big, big letters… I want it that way too.

I emerge from the tender captivity of your lips and, pulling you against the wall with a jerk, enter you. As a man into a woman, hard, deep, fiercely.

You are my woman. Now the real thing begins—not a game, not pleasure—we are completely open before each other. Nerve to nerve—and everything that is in us spills out in this wild dance. The most hidden and forbidden dreams, things it's even hard to admit to oneself, things that can't be said in words, we give to each other. And accept them. Love is multifaceted; now it's the turn of this facet. It seems that once upon a time this was called an orgy and was a ritual…

Now you will become a priestess of love. A vessel of a man's desires, a point and infinity of striving. To life, to death, to pleasure, to knowledge, to wisdom, to beauty—passion leads, and this passion is you. And now your body dissolves in my desire, you can no longer stand on your feet…

Away with all clothing! Truth comes naked. Away with all prohibitions. Only freedom!

I carry the all-accepting tenderness of your body to the big bed—now everything is ready.

Your flushed lips whisper softly and distinctly…

—Everything… take me only as you want, don't pay attention to my desires… I allow everything… and if I don't allow something—take it yourself!

I freeze for a second, enjoying the tender stillness of the curves of your young body. And then, reaching out, I squeeze the tender nipple of your large breast until my fingers ache. Your forest-nymph body jerks upward, a cry of either pain or passion fills the room. Nothing matters, what I want—you want too, we learned long ago to read each other's thoughts. Now kisses, or perhaps bites, torment you. Neck, shoulders, thighs… You writhe, tremble, and cry out from my touches, your head rolls helplessly on the pillow, you wait and beckon, but only after playing with the madness of your body do I proceed to the main act. I enter you—with a swing, confidently, all the way—and you accept me joyfully, as a scabbard accepts a blade. Now the beautiful butterfly is firmly pinned by the needle and trembles from the wind of my desire.

And you want it very much. When I, like a master, invade your flesh, the force of the impact passes as a spasm through your whole tender and strong body. It travels in a wave along your spine, from it your thighs shudder and open, your back arches to meet me, your eyes roll back, and your little mouth opens wider and wider, forming the letter "O". You stretch your neck, lick your lips, and as if caressing someone invisible… Without stopping the thrusts, I fill the emptiness with my fingers, and your lips greedily and passionately accept them, your tongue hurriedly caresses my fingers, pushing them further, into the depths of your throat…

—Yes, yes, yes… —you whisper and scream when I give you the chance, —I want men to come one after another, and take, take, take me… I want to be the source that quenches thirst… and for it to never, never, never end…

More, more, more… Finally, I can't hold back and withdraw. A few seconds of silence… You lie calmly, as if unconscious, only breathing heavily. But this calm is deceptive—a quick slap of the palm on your lower lips, and your body obediently arches to meet it, and from the sweet cry, it seems the walls might collapse. I wonder if the neighbors behind the wall hear this music of frenzied love? Another sharp slap, another—now on the inside of one thigh, the other, on your flushed cheeks, on the hard nipples of your breasts…

As on a musical instrument, I play on the body of my beloved, and it responds, obedient to my power, the greedy and tremulously resonant body of a girl… I squeeze your tender neck until it croaks, test the strength of my fingers on your perfectly shaped thighs, try to penetrate the softness of your breasts with the iron of my fingers… you accept everything. Not as a slave—as a queen, not as punishment—as an offering of gifts. Because everything I do—I do only out of love.

My hands are already tired, but you demand more and more. And who came up with the idea that intimacy lasts eleven minutes? Having rested in your lips, which have gotten down to real business, I quickly run for oil and we proceed to storm the next peak. One finger, another,… finally your bottom relaxes and lets me into the only unexplored depth today. I want all of you—and you are completely mine. Your body arches on top of mine, the fingers of one hand inside you feel through the thin partition the beating of passion between your buttocks, the fingers of the other caress your lips and tongue, I fill you as much as possible. But your tireless body knows no limits, and when, having poured out and happy, I freeze on the bed, you noticed…

—Strange female nature… right now I feel like everything is just beginning…

And I just smiled. Not because I'm tired—just as you don't get tired from real work, you can't get tired from real love. Yes, everything is just beginning!

The ritual was completed and we, fresh and renewed, went further through our world.

And then, a few days later, you said… "Of course, a third person with a camera would probably have gotten in the way then… but I so want what happened not to be lost, to be preserved for the world." And so I wrote this story. After reading it while I was at work (and this was the first reading of this kind in your life), you signed at the bottom…

— I really liked it, the main thing is it's realistic and not a bit of naturalism, though I saw it in a somewhat different light, not as a ritual, but simply dissolving in the Divine… Thank you

And if anyone understands love the same way we do—write. And let there be more beauty in the world. All you need is love!