Stories in with a friend
7 stories · Page 1My friend Dima and I have been friends for years, and it was his birthday—he was 22. So, naturally, I came. Of course, how could he not? He was renting an apartment with his girlfriend, Lera. She's so beautiful, slim, with a round butt, neat B-cup breasts, dark shoulder-length hair, and brown eyes. Basically, even the first time I saw her, I thought Dima was lucky. So, when I showed up, almost all the guests had already left, leaving just me, Dima, and Lera. His roommate, Artyom, was there, too, but he'd left somewhere earlier, so it was just the three of us. We were sitting in the kitchen, drinking beer, laughing at all sorts of bullshit, reminiscing about school and partying. Lera had already had a fair amount to drink, her face flushed, her eyes shining, and she kept looking at me strangely. At first, I didn't pay attention—well, who knows, she'd been drinking. But then she started clinging to me when we went into the room, like they wanted to continue. Dima seeme
I owed Slava forty thousand since last winter. Back then, I thought I'd borrow it and pay it back quickly, but things weren't working out with my job, then I got fired, then I found a new one, but it paid less. Anyway, by autumn, I realized the amount had grown: Slava calculated the interest, reminded me every month, but didn't push me. He was generally a calm person, the kind of guy who knows how to wait. Vera and I had been living together for three years. She worked in a salon, and I hung out wherever I could. The sex was casual: two or three times a week, longer on weekends, nothing fancy. I was happy with it. I think she was too, although a couple of times she mentioned wanting to try something new. I laughed it off because I didn't understand what she was missing. In November, Slava came to our house. He said he needed money by the end of the month, otherwise he'd go to my parents—they'd definitely help, but I didn't want that. Vera sat next to him,
Anna sat at a table in a cozy restaurant, where live music boomed—some slow jazz with a saxophone that sent shivers down her spine. Today was her and Sergey's anniversary—ten years of marriage. The table was set for six: they, her husband's best friend, Alexey, and a couple of mutual friends. The wine flowed freely. Dry red, already on their third bottle. Sergey, as always, was in good spirits—joking, putting his arm around her waist, but his hand was already shaking slightly from the alcohol. But Alexey... Alexey looked at her completely differently. She felt it all evening. His gaze slid over her tight black dress, which so beautifully accentuated her breasts and barely covered her hips. Her high heels made her legs seem endless. Every time she stood up to dance with her husband, Alexey's eyes followed her, and there was something hungry in them. And when Sergey went to the bar for another bottle, Alexey leaned closer: "You're absolutely stunning today, Anya. S
Ira fundamentally disliked visiting the Mukhins. More than that—every such trip evoked a dull, gnawing irritation in the pit of her stomach, which, as a well-bred woman, she had spent years learning to disguise behind a polite smile. The source of this irritation had a specific name: Vadim. Her husband's old college friend, and also the main witness at their wedding, was the man who had once committed an unforgivable act against Ira, which she preferred not to mention to anyone, not even Oleg. She simply shoved the incident into the back of her mind, sprinkled it with everyday life, and pretended it never happened. It worked poorly, however—whenever they were in the same company again, everything would come back to her in detail: the scent of his cologne, his sticky gaze, and her own humiliating numbness. But Oleg adored these forays of the "old guard"; for him, they were a breath of fresh air amidst his dreary accounting, and refusing him meant causing a scandal with un
Lyokha and I have been friends our whole lives. We shared desks, girls, then the army, and then problems. He married Svetka before me. She's a real beauty. I even had a crush on her at one point, but Lyokha got his bearings quicker. I'm not offended; my life has worked out just fine: Lyokha, two kids close in age, a mortgage. Lyokha is a classic proprietor. While he himself occasionally had affairs, he kept a tight rein on Svetka. She works as a nurse at a clinic, with a schedule of 24 hours on and 34 hours off. Lyokha has been traveling frequently for work in the past year—he's been working on construction projects in the region. So we're sitting in his garage one day, drinking beer, ogling his new car. Lyokha hesitated, then blurted out: "Listen... You're on good terms with Svetka. You could stop by and help out with some small things. What I'm getting at is... I've got an idea. Check it out." I almost dropped the bottle. - What? "Well, try
My husband, as always, was late at work, and I didn’t even know what to do with myself. Housework had long been done, dinner was cooling on the stove, and the feeling of incredible loneliness was only growing with every minute. I was waiting for my betrothed in a brand new set of underwear - a thin burgundy bra that perfectly emphasized my large natural breasts and a transparent thong. Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and I immediately rushed to open it, wanting to immediately see my beloved’s reaction to my perfect appearance. However, to my deepest regret and shock, my husband’s best friend was standing on the threshold. He was taken aback by my nakedness and immediately turned away so as not to embarrass me. A blush instantly appeared on the cheeks, and thoughts began to flash through my head about how ridiculous everything had turned out. I quickly grabbed the coat hanging right at the entrance and invited the young man to go into the living room. My husband was due back a
And there is a hole in the old woman. I've never been lucky with young girls. They didn't have success. Why dont know. In short, at the age of nineteen, I realized that it is much better to have a non-committal relationship with a woman over forty than to experience novels with peers with violent showdowns, jealousy, betrayals, lies. Of course, it was very difficult to get acquainted with adult ladies and divorce them for sex, but it was possible. So he lived until the age of 23. Until I graduated from college and got a job. This is where I got into a story. By that time I had a car, not the worst, but not the most interesting job either. I made a lot of money at the time. He lived with his parents, but did not want to work for their small business. He helped, of course, as far as possible. No more. So. Once I drove by this same car to a friend who lives near the Universitet metro station. And, leaving his entrance, I noticed a completely gorgeous chick. That is, the first thing I