Coldly. Outside the window is the bright April sun, and all the puddles have long dried up, but I'm cold.
Beautiful girls walk outside the window, exposing their long slender legs for everyone to see. Even if in the summer on the beach these legs do not turn out to be so long and slender, now, after the cold slush and heaps of nostril sick snow, they still arouse admiration.
And I'm cold. Now I understand the unfortunate drunkards who unsuccessfully try to drive out this cold with the help of alcohol. It's useless. I don't drink, but I can tell you for sure that even if I'm drunk, I won't get warm.
It would be great if some pretty young lady suddenly came into my entrance, climbed the not very clean stairs and rang the bell at my door. I would ask who is there, and she would say that her name is ... well, let's say Lena is the most common name - and she really wants to get to know me.
But that won't happen.
It won't, because I'm not wanted by the pretty girls in miniskirts parading through the sun-drenched streets. They have seen enough advertisements and believe that they are worthy. They want tall, handsome, adventurous, self-confident guys, they want successful males who have their own black boomer, forty-five-centimeter biceps and a cock that their girlfriends will never see. Some of them are looking for a guy who would adore them and run after them. Someone believes that all guys are cattle who only need sex (and they are not very wrong about this), and therefore openly breed rich boys for gifts and dinners in restaurants. There are many beautiful girls, and each pursues its own goals. Some want to break out of our city and go to Moscow or St. Petersburg, or somewhere else where I have never been and, most likely, will not be.
But they don't need me. Maybe someone wants my face. My gait and heavy boots. My kindness and sentimentality, which I still have not had the opportunity to show. Or that small amount of muscle that I did build, despite my love of peace and serenity. But no one really needs me. A proud and self-confident beauty will choose what she wants, and at best she will endure the rest as an inevitable price for what she liked.
It is quite another matter for those girls who are not so lucky with their appearance, and who, by a happy coincidence, are still able to soberly assess their chances of picking up a successful and promising young man. But I don't need them. It’s not that I, as vigorous young people, chose strongly, it just so happens that they don’t make me particularly desire to start any kind of relationship with them. It is likely that somewhere my happiness takes off his glasses to wipe his swollen eyes from tears after a fashionable and energetic guy told her that he could score a dozen like her in any ingot. But that doesn't make it any easier for me.
I'm still cold.
And I always turn on the computer. So. Local Disk D. Entertainment. Porn. Stars & Names.
That's where the beautiful girls lie, who are always happy to see me, who don't get PMS, who are always beautiful like pictures, because they are pictures. I no longer remember the names of everyone, but each folder is signed, and I will name the most beloved ones, even if I wake up in the middle of the night.
When I tell someone that I have about fifty thousand pictures of varying degrees of frankness (and I know three or four thousand of them by name), then I know what the majority thinks. Fucking wanker! Can't take a girl off to put on her! Loser, in a word. I'm used to. I don't even specify that I don't jerk off to these pictures. If I tell the truth, it will be even worse. Sometimes I perceive them as living people. Involuntarily referring to the jpeg file "How are you, dear?", you understand that not everything is as good as it seems.
And here they are all, patiently waiting for me to pay attention to them. They do not want anything from me, they do not ask for anything, they are always glad to see me. I haven't watched them in a while.
Here is a funny Japanese girl Anri Hoshino, not a beauty even from my point of view, but quite nice.
Chloe Jones is a real pornstar who is sometimes nice to look at, but she is American beautiful, defiant, and quickly tires.
Gauge, whom I call like that, because it’s impossible to find out her real name: one and a half meters tall, about forty kilograms in weight, she plays depraved students who are hammered where possible and impossible. But I keep several dozens of photos with me, in which she is just not very dressed funny girl (however funny, I can’t find other words).
Maria Cheka, tanned, with traces of a swimsuit that shimmered pink compared to the milk chocolate of the rest of her skin.
Andrea Rieder, a German blonde with a dazzling smile and a flawless figure, is standing in the water, dressed in something thin and soaking wet, and seems to be laughing at the fact that she is, in fact, naked, does not try to cover herself, and you look at her and look.
And who is this? Jezabelle Bond painted jet black with pierced nipples and multiple tattoos.
Lissa Tombasova.
Haley Altman, taken from her back leaning against some kind of net, beautiful Californian skin tone and small snow-white panties.
Vivienne Heberlein in a silk corset and pink stockings, selflessly smelling a flower.
Barbie Griffin lying lazily in the pool with such a face as if she was tired of her silicone breasts (weakly believe in the naturalness of such sizes).
Debra Fondren in sandals combing her luxurious hair. Taken in September seventy-seven.
Carol Fikatier is a typical French beauty, not a girl, of course, but there is something memorable about her.
Katherine Burge, who left the top but removed the bottom of her bikini to show that she is a natural blonde.
Okay, it's time for the family. Aria. Without a surname, because there is no other Aria for me. I have about two hundred pictures, including very early ones, when a simple girl from San Diego wanted to earn extra money to pay for her college education. All of them are downloaded from free sites and are not of special quality, but it does not matter. When I saw her for the first time, I was blown away. I guess I even loved her for a while. But whatever it is, she's amazing. She's probably fat by someone's standards, but she can. Those who do not agree can go to the fan forum, where everything will be explained to them quickly. Despite the fact that she is most often categorized as "big tits", I really like her smile. She looks like a living person. She is glad to see me, and it doesn't matter if I brushed my teeth today and if I'm ready to say something nice to her. I'm getting warm.
I sit in front of the screen for a long time, forgetting to have breakfast, and torment the unfortunate ACD C.
I watch them all without any system: Erica Campbell and Monica Bellucci, Carrie Westcott and Ollie Badgett, Jenny McCarthy and Shae Marx, Veronika Zemanova and Nadia Thorne, about five hundred names, not counting a couple of hundred film actresses and photo models. When I finally get up, I feel like I've done my leg and my eyes are tired. It is foolish to believe that these half-naked women who shamelessly show themselves to everyone who wants you need you. In one interview, Aria said so: "You need to appreciate your fans already because if one of them considers you a bitch, then he will tell the others about it, and your business will collapse."
But sometimes I believe. Otherwise, I'll freeze to death.