Two Perspectives on One Love
Dedicated to Valentine's Day
Dracula. Revelations
No, this story has nothing to do with vampires. Dracula is my online nickname. Well, it's not entirely ethical, but it's epic. Certainly no worse than some Axel. Under this nickname, I meet people, or rather, I hunt. Yes, I am a hunter. A hunter of lost souls, of naive girls looking for romance. In a way, I am still a vampire. I enjoy sucking the essence out of the simple-minded, ready-for-anything canaries. They are so sweet, affectionate, shy. And it's so amusing to lead them to wild passion, to feelings, to desires. And then... Then show the true face. Mine
or theirs.It turns out they don't know it themselves. They don't know their own face. One tries to solve her financial problems at my expense, another — her housing problems, a third — tries to dominate me by solving my problems. My dears! Who told you I would do all this?
The living ones are rare. More often, a semblance of life. Problems with her husband, left, don't know when I'll be back, take me in. I'm good for one night — I'm free, I don't trust you.
They are all sweet, but consumers. But it's so pleasant to lead them on. Used, dumped. Used, sent away. The latter is even more interesting. Hysterics, moans, pleas. Beautiful. To the woods... three times, and buckshot in the back!
No, I'm not a monster. Just self-sufficient, calm to an extent, if not provoked, a lonely guy around forty.
Once I met, found a living, real one. Not a canary, a woman. A bit older than me. And I think I fell in love. With her, I realized I'm still alive, that I want something, can do something. Her living perception put me back on my feet. Not for long. She's not to blame, it's me. I'm a dead man, I know, I realize. A bag of bones, attractive, but shot through. With problems, psychosomatics, and ailments, brought upon myself.
I don't sleep at night, I curse in my sleep, jump up, scatter furniture and dishes. If I were a woman, I'd say hysterical. No, I'm tormented by pain in my back, in my solar plexus, in my kidneys, liver, in my sternum. I lose my temper over anything. I am a dead man. A living, walking dead man. I have no business, job, occupation. Only problems. But canaries fall for me.
And she... She was magnificent. Saw everything at once. Said — I will never be with you, I can help, I'll do it, but no more. Flew in at the first call, didn't spare, clicked me into place, as she herself wanted.
We were together for a year, soul to soul. She looked at my girls and gave each one characteristics. Exclusively truthful and correct. Didn't get jealous, didn't throw hysterics. Pointed a finger, like that, unobtrusively, in passing. And I raged. What was missing?
I missed her dominance, which she undoubtedly has. Would have dominated me, I would have stayed. My girl, sweet one, strangle me with your own hands. I will submit! But you didn't need that. You don't want to be responsible for someone again and again. You don't want to carry another burden on your shoulders. I know, and I accept. I would like to let you go, but I can't without you. I whisper in my sleep — stay. I hate you because you managed to reach me, I love you because you managed to lift me up.
Six in the morning, the cat yowled. I jumped up, I was woken up again, I slept badly last night, I'll kill the beast. My little girl woke up with me, but didn't let on. When I returned, she buried her nose in the back of the sofa, diligently pretending to be asleep. Her shoulders were trembling, she was crying. My sweet girl, don't cry, darling.
I wrapped my arm around the trembling shoulders, pressed the soft, pliant body to me, her butt immediately settled between my legs. Why am I so calm with you? Because you're not a canary? Because I owe you nothing? What do you want, sweetheart, I'll do anything, my darling, no one but you has given me so much warmth, asking nothing in return, will you marry me? I whisper words unfamiliar to me, shuddering inside. She is silent, doesn't move a shoulder, but listens.
Diligently pretends to be asleep. I know how she breathes in her sleep, and how when awake. She is not asleep, but doesn't want to answer. Yes, that's right, exactly, don't, don't answer. But I still love you, sweetheart, darling. I say these words out loud, I want you to hear. Girl, no one has ever said to me the words you said. I melt in your feelings. Darling, marry me.
Her butt rises to meet me. And I hear a whisper inside — take me. Not a single word out loud. I enter, burst in, plunge into the soft slit, so narrow, like a girl's, between her legs. I feel pleasure and unbridled energy. I want to fuck you, but that's not about you. I want to possess you, become something more than just a man next to you in bed, I want... Yes! Like that, sweetheart, what are you doing? No, wait, let me catch my breath. Sex with you requires comprehension. Now, darling, now. I'll pull myself together... Stop, wait!
You increase the pace, you knock my thoughts out, you do everything for me yourself. Don't! I pull myself together and lay you down with your nose in the pillow. You accept this as a given, demanding nothing in return. Yes, sweetheart, yes, come on, now! What are you doing? What? You find your own pleasure, delivering the same to me. Squeezed everything out to the end. You suck deeply one last time and shudder under me yourself. Once, again. Quietly, quietly, darling. Yours, here I am, take me. You quiet down, blissfully stretch out.
I flopped down next to you. You curled up in a ball under my side. And I finally fell asleep. Calmly and serenely.
In the morning you stretched, felt whether I was asleep or not, and casually asked: "Last night you asked me to marry you again? Or did I dream it? Look, if you ask a third time, I'll agree, you know. Aren't you afraid?"
And I answered — yes, I did, but I'm afraid!
Leah. Perception
We met a year ago. Online, of course. .org Where else does everyone meet now? He was a bit younger, but that didn't bother him, and even less so me. In the first minute, I really didn't like his appearance, but I'm not in the habit of pushing men away just because they don't meet beauty standards. And I assess myself adequately — certainly not a beauty. In communication, he turned out to be interesting, original, extraordinary. I wanted to stay with him.
Our romance developed rapidly. In fact, already on the first evening after friendly get-togethers in a cafe with a bottle of good wine, we ended up alone in his bachelor's den. Usually such options end before they begin. But with us, contrary to tradition, everything was just beginning.
From Monday to Thursday I worked and lived at home, from Friday to Monday — I lived at his place. Slowly, very slowly, his house began to fill with my things. At first he protested. But he did give me a toothbrush! Although on the very first evening he himself gave me a personal tea mug, which I prudently left at his place.
Again, I can't go three days without slippers. Then a travel cosmetics bag appeared, face wash foam, hair conditioner. A house dress, because your Chinese silk robe is a bit too big for me, to put it mildly. Well, a woman can't do without this! My last victory was curlers. You don't have a hairdryer, dear, and I have to come to work in full dress. The arguments were ironclad, and gradually he got used to how methodically I was mastering his personal space.
Every meeting was a discovery of something new for me. How many movies, it turns out, I missed, how many books I haven't read yet, how many stories I didn't know before, how many musical compositions I hadn't heard at all. Every time he found something new for me, bringing me back to life after several years of stagnation. Not to mention the peace of mind that washed over me in his den. I immediately dubbed it a refuge. There I could be myself, problems would just leave, dissolve. The outside world seemed to cease to exist. I rested my soul.
We rarely went out into society. But sometimes his acquaintances, of whom there were many, dropped by. More often girls. I looked at them as objects of study, then expressed my opinion in private. He listened, I liked that about him. I was jealous of some, fiercely, furiously, but didn't show it. Only once, unable to hold back resentment and emotions, I demonstratively threw a tantrum. A quiet one, not malicious. Probably so he'd feel sorry for me. He didn't feel sorry, but understood more than I expected. It was because of her that he once pulled me out in the middle of the night and asked me to come over. Arguments were concrete — she had another fight with her husband, is sleeping on my couch, I have things to do in the morning, I trust you, but not her, so come now, and tomorrow you'll sort it out with her.
He introduced me to his friends. That's a true feat for him. And once, in a phone conversation with his mom, he mentioned that I was visiting him. I couldn't resist, asked: "Did I imagine it or did you tell your mom about me?" He answered reluctantly, but sincerely — yes.
Problems started during the New Year holidays. The decision to spend them together seemed mutual... or I forced that decision. I really wanted to. It didn't work out. Although we were still together. But not as I would have liked.
Your quirks knocked out your brain, mine, the whole world's. You sank into them more and more, distancing yourself from me. Your outbursts for no reason, you offended me a couple of times for nothing. Of course, called later, I forgave, as always.
That evening you asked me to marry you again. The first time I already said — no. And now you were again whispering tender words into my back, thinking I was asleep. I wasn't asleep, I was crying, burying my nose in the back of the sofa, and was very afraid to reveal myself, to scare away your so fragile and fickle feelings. I really wanted you to take me, enter, fuck me. Lifted my butt, settling somewhere low in my stomach, opened up as much as I could. You heard! Already inside. Yes!
You pushed my nose into the pillow, and I realized I was floating away. No, a man doesn't make a woman, a woman makes a man. I clasped your cock with all my muscles, tightly, securely. Yes, darling, yes, mine. Slightly lifting my rear, slightly moving, I sucked everything out of you. Yes, darling! Pressing the base, I went up, then returned to the base again. He moved according to my script. He reached to the hilt, and I pushed him out again. I owned him. I was getting pleasure. I set the pace. You were already hissing in my ear — yes, please, yes, come on. But I let go again and again. Swallowing again, not letting you relax. And only when I felt complete tension, I let it spill out. Yes! That was my victory.
I trembled all over under your weight. I was shaken a couple more times. I caught my high, which I don't catch often. Respect and props to you, you endured.
But I won't marry you! I don't need your outbursts. I want great sex with you, not sleepless nights. And tears for no reason. Even for the sake of great sex.
I am not yours, you are not mine. That says it all. Even, despite the fact that I love you!
I don't know what awaits us tomorrow. Perhaps I will come for the last time to collect my few belongings and return your book. Or perhaps, to stay forever.
Diana Tim Taris