My wife died 5 years ago, it was certainly a hard blow for me, but still the love raging in us during our youth had already subsided, besides, I was already mentally prepared for this, she had throat cancer and she was slowly dying already within a year, so that death was her deliverance from suffering.
The two months that have passed since her death, I practically don’t remember, I remember - I drank a lot, often didn’t spend the night at home, staying drunk at night with friends. There were no women, or maybe I just didn’t remember them in a drunken stupor, which means we can assume that they weren’t there. And it is unlikely that anything could happen at the physical level for a man who has experienced stress and consumes liters of alcohol per day.
However, the money ran out, my friends had their worries, and my drunken brains were still enough not to sell things from the house.
And one day (sounds corny) I woke up with the firm intention not to drink anymore. The withdrawal was severe, my hands shook for more than a week, my heart and liver ached for several days, but by that time my brain had finally returned to normal. I had to get to work. By the way, I did not tell, at that time I was 27 years old and I was a novice programmer, then still called an electronic engineer, and worked in a technical office with a long name. He loved his work, was in good standing there, and after a two-month spree, I was hired again. In which I went headlong, no personal life distracted from it, there was a rapid development of computer systems, in general, I became a not very bad programmer, and in the evenings I also hacked. I no longer worked in that collapsed office, but at once in several newly formed firms with good earnings. My life has also changed - a three-room apartment for one, not in the center, but not Khrushchev, Opel Vectra, etc., and only there was still no personal life. Several times during this time, various girls and women tried to have an affair with me, but having not achieved any reaction, they fell behind.
Two months ago, I "took" a European company, its protection was at a very good level, I was preparing for the hack for six months and failed several times. I took 500,000 dollars from them, which was exactly the amount that was allocated for the reconstruction of the company's building, and this money went to me. I transferred them first to Helsinki, to an international bank on a dummy account, and then to Paris, so that the dream of my youth would come true - to visit this magnificent city. Moreover - during the preparation of the hacking of the company, I actively consulted on program issues with one friend, let's call him Peter, and he probably guessed what I was preparing for ... I gave him 100 thousand for silence. But apparently immediately after the hack, Peter blurted out with joy about a tidy sum to one of the friends, but what two people know, the pig also knows, as Muller used to say, although maybe I'm wrong.
Paris met warmly in every sense of the word, after a dank October in St. Petersburg, +20 in Paris seemed like fresh milk. The Eiffel Tower, the Glass Pyramid of the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, the Champs-Elysées, during the week I was away I greedily absorbed the spirit of Paris, the smell of Paris, the taste of Paris. Somewhere I read that Paris is not a city of lovers, as is commonly believed, but a city of lonely people, which was partly true. In small drinking establishments on the Champs-Elysées, which do not close until the morning, I saw quite a lot of both men and women sitting alone at the counter and as if unable to turn to their neighbor and talk to him.
One evening, in one of these taverns, where I had dinner before going to bed, I noticed a girl sitting at a mahogany counter. He looks 20-25 years old, long dark straight hair reaching to the shoulder blades, a white turtleneck with sleeves pulled up to the elbow, jeans, a small bag near the legs, white, classic sandals. I did not immediately pay attention to her, and therefore I admired her figure for a long time, sitting at a table by the window, and was afraid of disappointment when I saw her face. After all, it happens so often in life, you walk down the street after a girl, admire her figure, and you overtake and think - it would be better if you didn’t overtake, your mood would remain good ...
I sat and just admired, the imagination itself painted her face.
The girl just sat, occasionally bringing to her lips a glass with a turquoise cocktail, which seems to be called "turquoise" - a moderately sweet, tart mixture of "Beefighter" and several flavors. At this time, one of the visitors to the bar, sitting at the next table, apparently having already drunk quite a lot of strong drinks, unsuccessfully, with a loud knock, put his glass on the ashtray, and the girl turned around. Slightly almond-shaped eyes, slightly snub-nosed nose, slightly offended facial expression, all this - "slightly" - formed a face of amazing beauty. She paid no attention to me, turning back to the rows of bottles behind the bartender, and I sat as if paralyzed, as if struck by lightning, as ... she turned out to be even more beautiful than the image I had imagined. Minutes flowed, the flickering light of neon advertisements flying through the window into the room, the music of Joe Dassin from the speakers of the tape recorder, and the image that flashed only for a second - all this looked like a dream, a vision, a hallucination. But the girl got up and went to the exit, I got up and followed. She walked slowly, thinking about something of her own, and soon we caught up.
- Excuse me, can I help you? I said in my technical English, honestly not hoping that she would understand me.
- What? She stopped and looked down at me.
- Can I help you? I repeated.
- What's the matter? - the girl asked more boldly, apparently deciding that I was not a bandit and there was nothing to be afraid of me.
- You are very sad, something happened to you, maybe I can help you with something?
This time, interest appeared in the girl's eyes, instantly replaced by sad thoughtfulness.
- No, hardly.
- Or maybe it will work out, - I felt that the girl hesitated, her sad thoughts were looking for a way out, and at the same time I was a stranger and even a foreigner. Apparently, this played a decisive role in thinking, besides, psychologists are widespread in the West, who from time to time cry in the vest. At the moment, I became a vest.
- I was suspended from work, - the girl said and again slowly walked along the sidewalk, I settled down next to her.
- And what's your job?
- A fashion model ... or rather, not me, but my hands, you know, all sorts of advertisements there from soap to wedding rings, where in the frame there is only a hand or a person’s hands and goods.
Why aren't you being photographed all over? - I blurted out immediately stopped, realizing that I asked this in vain, the stranger stopped and turned away to the shop windows, her shoulders trembled.
- For God's sake, I didn't mean to, please forgive me. I gently hugged her, she didn't pull away.
- You are so beautiful that you should be on the cover of the most fashionable magazine.
“Uh-huh, Playboy,” she joked sadly, but it was clear that she liked the compliment.
We started down the street again, and she told her story more calmly.
The girl's name was Michelle, she worked as a fashion model, this morning, spinning a leaking tap, she broke her nail, because of this her hands became not presentable, and in addition, an expensive commercial was to be filmed, of course, the shooting failed. An angry director of the company yelled at her and threatened to fire her.
- Why is he so angry then? - again without thinking I asked.
“When I got a job, he offered to sleep with him,” Michelle admitted with a slight hesitation, “I refused, because of this he refused to take pictures of me all or my face, but only allowed my hands, and he can’t kick me out at all because that he has one of the best photographers - my brother.
We slowly moved along the street and talked about everything, I talked about Russia, Peter, whom Michelle saw only in photographs, compared architecture, argued on the basis of patriotism, whose city is more beautiful. Michelle turned out to be a very well-read and highly educated girl. Unnoticed in the darkness over the city, clouds crept up and it began to rain, autumn is still autumn in Paris.
- I live nearby, they ran, - Michelle threw, and we galloped forward through the puddles that appeared.
- Here is my house, we stood near a five-story building.
- Well, thanks for the evening, I was about to go to the roadway and stop a taxi, but what should I do not impose myself on a visit to a girl who has known you for a little more than an hour, or maybe her husband, parents or brother-photographer are waiting for her at home.
- Alexander, where are you going now? You will get sick. I don’t want you to get sick in my city, come to me, dry up without waiting for an answer, she turned and entered the entrance. I had no choice but to follow.
Michelle lived on the third floor. The apartment was with one room, but in terms of size it could be divided into two rooms, which are also not small, everything was cleanly tidied up.
A couple of paintings on the walls, an ottoman, a double sofa in front of the TV, not fancy music center. The apartment also had a kitchen and a bathroom with a shower. I looked at all this while Michelle was in the kitchen making coffee. I went to the kitchen. Michelle had already changed her clothes, she was wearing a short dressing gown with bright colors and slippers. The robe left open slightly tanned legs, they were beautiful. I stopped at the door admiring her figure again, as in a bar. Apparently sensing my gaze, Michelle turned around.
- Have you undressed yet? You'll definitely catch a cold, march to the bathroom.
From such pressure, I was taken aback.
- Should I… go naked?
- In the bath, you will see your brother's dressing gown, he wears it when he comes to visit, he will not be offended.
Finally, we ended up in a room on a sofa, coffee in front of us, the TV showed some kind of nonsense in French, which I had practically forgotten from school. Again there was a conversation about everything.
- Where did you get an apartment in the center, because it's expensive?
- Parents bought.
- In Russia, parents do not buy apartments for many people, and they live together in two or three families.
- And here in France, as soon as a child has grown up, parents buy or rent an apartment for him and then live alone, experiencing a second youth, and in addition, my parents are not poor either.
As she spoke, my arm snaked silently around her waist and warmed up on her.
- Why do you work with such parents? - saying this, I moved closer to her, almost clinging. Michelle pretended not to notice.
- I like the work of the model, and I did not say that my parents are rich, I said not poor. In general, I dream of opening my own agency someday, my brother would be a photographer there, and many girls would gladly leave their owners for us.
- So what's the deal?
We need money, a lot of money.
Is $500,000 enough?
Michelle looked into my eyes, then turned her gaze to the TV.
- Of course enough, but where to get them?
I tactfully kept silent and leaned towards her gently kissed her behind the ear, breathing in the smell of rain and wet hair. We both froze for a few seconds, then she turned to me and wrapped her arms around my head and pressed her lips against mine. Her tongue penetrated my mouth and darted around like an imp touching the tip of my tongue. When we broke away from each other, everything swayed in my eyes, and my legs became like cotton wool, but I had the strength to lift her in my arms and carry her to the ottoman, on which both fell. We practically ripped off each other's clothes, tearing off a few buttons on our robes. When I touched her bud located between the legs with my tongue, I felt a brackish, viscous moisture, Michelle was already ready. Licking the tubercle of the tensed clitoris, I straightened up and slowly but persistently entered her. Having already forgotten in five years the feeling of an act of love, I was struck by the hot softness inside her. When I fully entered her, feeling the barrier with the head of my penis, Michelle's body arched as if from an electric shock, and a quiet moan flew from her lips. That night we loved each other for a long time, sometimes slowly and sensually, sometimes vigorously and passionately.
When I woke up, the sun was shining through the blinds into my eyes. I stretched, remembering the past evening and night. Michelle was lying next to her on her stomach, the crumpled sheet covering only her calves. She was so gorgeous that I couldn't help but run my index finger along the spine from the neck, through the entire back, to the wonderful cut of her ass up to the relaxed ring of the anus, which immediately shrunk. The girl groaned and said something through her sleep in French, opened her eyes.
- I need to take a shower. - Remembering, she said in English.
- Me too, my love, let's go?
Michelle smiled and nodded as she got out of bed. Not at all embarrassed, teasing with the swaying of her hips, she went to the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. Then, returning to the room, she picked up her dressing gown from the floor, then, standing in an inviting pose, bending at the waist, she licked her finger and ran it along her leg from the bottom up, while smiling promisingly. Unable to withstand such torture, I rushed to her with a growl, squealing Michelle ran into the shower. While she turned on the water, I covered her body with kisses. Entering the booth, we hugged each other and when she lifted her leg, I entered her.
We loved each other standing up, I stroked her back, through her hair, kissed her closed eyes. From above, jets of water ran down our bodies, reminiscent of yesterday's rain. I got out of it, Michelle turned her back, put her hands on the wall and arched her back. I knelt down and kissed her pussy, which looked out between her thighs, with red, swollen lips after last night. After two more kisses, I got up and entered her again. My cock slipped into the vagina squeezed by the thighs and we began to move. At some point, I touched the tap and the water became cold, Michelle screamed, her tight vagina tightened even more and at that moment we both ended violently, almost falling on the tiled floor. My weakened brother fell out of his hiding place, our juices flowed down Michelle's inner thighs, mixing with jets of water.
The doorbell rang. Clicking the lock, I opened the door. Chekan and his two bodyguards were standing there.
- You know why we came did not ask, but he said in the affirmative, - where is the money?
I took a step back and decided - they will not know anything about our money or about my Michelle ...