Night Fairy

Prologue:

First, I'd like to warn you that this story of mine touches not so much on an erotic theme, but rather attempts to explore the theme of spiritual intimacy... why am I saying this? Because the male audience is unlikely to appreciate this story on the same level as, say, the fairer sex (experience points to this, nothing personal), and therefore, people pursuing, let's say, hasty or other goals of satisfaction, would be better off flipping past this story, although in any case, I dare not tell you what to do. And for those who remain "in the game," it's worth being patient.

So, let's begin.

I've always loved books. I think

that's precisely how they differ from television images—you can fantasize and paint in your mind your own personal, and to some extent, desired image for any character's portrait.

So, you can paint a picture of me (I love doing this myself, basing it on a character's personality, habits, and actions—you can endow him with the most precise, of course, in your view the most precise, external features), or you can read a bit about me so that this very image is a little more accurate.

And so, where to start? I think it would be correct to begin by stating that ethnically, my roots lead me to the East, to Transcaucasia, to be not entirely precise. But don't rush to paint me in dark and swarthy colors! Because, paradoxically, representatives of my people, since ancient times, were mostly fair-skinned, and sometimes even red-haired, so by fate's will, I managed to avoid assimilation.

What else can I say about myself? I am an altruist. And it damn well ruins my own life. Banally—that's the nature of existence for this foolish breed of people. Especially since I realize that the wretchedness of that very existence is expressed in the absence of the principle of justice. Simply put—the law of the boomerang is bullshit, or at any rate, it only works when you do something nasty, and when you carry it out, then yes, naturally, in the end, that nastiness miraculously and mystically turns into a triple curse; fate is damn meticulous in this regard. Therefore, I always wanted to say to you... to say... that... You bitch—fate. Not always, of course... again, you are, of course, quite a bitch, but once, nevertheless, you changed your ways in this regard—you allowed me to reap (in the sense of—as you sow, so shall you reap) my deserved fruit (I hope, damn it, this will finally become a trend soon, at any rate I believe in it (speaking of the wretchedness of altruists)). And it is precisely about this fruit that my story will be.

This happened a couple of years ago; in legal terms, I reached full legal capacity; in normal, human language—I turned 18...

(An important point for the formation of a person's subconscious and personality—I had already had sex before this, and more than once. And yes... I'd like to emphasize that, unfortunately, I had precisely sex. Why unfortunately? To give a clear answer to this question, we'll have to delve a bit into the very concept—"having sex." What is it and why do we do it? Well, besides the biological need to procreate? Correct—it brings pleasure. It boosts self-esteem. It increases self-confidence. It's euphoria. It's a surge of serotonin, if you will. Ultimately, it makes a person happy. In my understanding, precisely "having sex" does not unlock the potential of all this wonderful set I described above. Happiness, in my understanding, is making love, the fusion of coitus (look up this word in the dictionary). Yes-yes. For me, these are two big and fundamental differences—having sex and making love.)

... At that time, it was a hot summer. I finished school, took the stupid exams, and entered the institute where I study to this day.

My uncle—my life mentor, teaching me psychology and life skills—insisted that I come to him in Novosibirsk, where he himself was on a temporary work assignment.

And so, I packed a suitcase with winter clothes, preparing for severe frosts, watched a couple of Jackie Chan movies to be ready to fight brown bears at any moment, mentally began preparing myself for the fact that I'd probably have to live in a yurt... and... I think... I was fully armed.

What was my surprise when I landed at the local airport (the surprise wasn't about the airport's existence) and discovered that the weather there was even hotter than in my native backwoods! And I must admit, I experienced a ton of such pleasant shocks, especially when we reached our, mind you, apartment. Why did I use the word "apartment"? Because it was the most elite neighborhood in all of Siberia, calling itself the Emerald Town (my uncle was a very valuable employee, so this was a little bonus from his employers). Adaptation didn't happen too quickly, because I immediately encountered... well, just an incredibly vibrant life. It was radically different from the current gray and monotonous weekdays... there was, precisely, life. No-no, not like that. There was, damn it, REAL LIFE.

We were masters of our own will. Even work brought pleasure because it wasn't routine—my uncle took me with him to important negotiations, we calculated the profit and allocated funds for further development. Also, I was present at the closing of multi-million dollar deals, absorbing the methods, communication styles, manipulations he employed...

(Generally, Mother Nature shortchanged me in counting skills (I'm anti-technical), so I try to focus on improving conversational skills with people.)

... In relatively free time, he sent me to the warehouse to help loaders, packers, forklift drivers (the machine that lifts pallets), so that I could feel what work is like at every social level. I think it's unnecessary to emphasize how colossal an experience I gained there.

But you can't always work! And therefore, we had to rest like royalty too. So-so, to put it mildly, since we didn't feel any need for money, we also had no problems, in our case, with exquisite leisure. Money attracts luxury, and in our case, the corresponding company. Clubs, yachts, boats, beaches (yes, in Novosibirsk, or rather in Berdsk, there are beaches, and not snowy ones, but the most genuine ones), cafes, restaurants... in summary—it resembled paradise, or, I'll be very angry if when I get to paradise, there isn't all this that was in this wonderful place.

Also, it's worth noting an interesting coincidence—my uncle's anniversary fell precisely during my stay there. And it's not by chance that, a bit above, listing all our places of leisure, I remembered yachts. Because it turned out that this birthday was supposed to take place precisely there.

That night, a huge crowd gathered. From his childhood friends, to the worms who bite at anything shiny, and the usual mass of acquaintances and buddies in between. Fun flowed like a river, as did alcoholic beverages. This whole mixture greatly clouded the mind, opening the way for sensations and instincts. And among all the local constellation of girls, one little star was especially persistent, she zealously circled all night long, first at a small distance from me, then, discovering not too strong interest on my part (my interest is directly proportional to my taste, which in turn is quite specific. Simply put, if I had liked her, she wouldn't have had to make any efforts; I would have taken care of it personally) she went into a direct attack. Well, you know... there are kittens who try to imitate males, trying to get their way at any cost. She was one of those. (I'd be lying if I said she wasn't beautiful, because she was a bit more than beautiful). And I, in turn, wasn't opposed; it would have been foolish not to reciprocate. We danced, chatted, drank, drank to brotherhood, drank again, to brotherhood again, and so on until the night reached its brightest peak, where she took my hand and offered to follow her and "show me something."

I, naturally, knew what she wanted to show me. The stars in the sky were burning especially brightly... lighting our way to our cabin. Since she was damn good at playing the role of a predator, she directly took control of the situation (this was her first mistake, because I'm made of slightly different stuff, to allow someone, especially a representative of the weaker sex, to take the upper hand over me). She pushed me onto the bed. And again, I didn't want to completely ruin her self-confidence, observing her further actions. She used my own techniques against me. Started covering my body with kisses, and without kissing on the lips. Twisting in some incomprehensible way, she decided to incline me to caresses. This was her second mistake. Following the reverse path, I started moving upward. Where, reaching the neck and sensing her desperation (how could this be? she seemed to have everything under control!) I received a moderately unpleasant, passionately feigned slap, and was pushed onto my back again. She clearly overdid it with passion. This was already her third and fatal mistake. I could no longer restrain myself and remain indifferent to her "educational measures." The beast in me awoke, and we began some kind of predatory struggle. I can't say I liked what was happening, because when making love, I least want to feel like I'm in a sparring match on a tatami... I'm not a fan of such wild sex, I'm an opponent of such a manifestation of love. So, having overpowered her, which was a matter of time, I discovered that... this, by the way, is offensive to admit and write even under the veil of anonymity... that my reproductive organ was rather, well, without enthusiasm, without, rather, the proper enthusiasm for the task... I don't know why it happened, but in fact, I was the one who lost.

— Honey, what happened? — not understanding the details of the situation, she asked submissively.

— I don't like this, sorry. It's not about you, I just like someone else. — I lied and acted like a real scoundrel. I didn't give it to her, but damn me if I did it consciously, I just couldn't deceive my own body. No. Of course, I had her. But still, purely for my own inner belief in myself, and her, probably already shaky self-esteem, it would have been better if I had done it physiologically. Put on my jeans and left.

This is always very painful for a man. I can't imagine a case where a guy could easily forget about such a failure. And especially me—a guy of no small sensitivity, and especially at such a young age. This was an excellent reason for me to fall out of the loop again. I thought a lot about it, about the reasons for it. It seemed that the thought that saved me from complete despair was that I had never had problems with erection before, moreover, that very "rise" had been observed in me earlier, simply from kissing my beloved. From hugging her. From a simple look at her, and what's more, sometimes I even got hard just thinking about her ("her" being my school and long-time love). This thought was my saving grace. I understood the details of my organism, but nevertheless refused to accept them. It's just not fitting somehow.

I asked my uncle for a small timeout from work, citing the need to do something for my studies. Because, of course, the same request motivated by a desire to lie on the couch for deep self-analysis and realization of the futility of existence, and thoughts about the human burden, would not have been valid and would have been rejected. So I lay around for a couple of days. I couldn't hide my sad state, and my uncle wasn't the kind of person to hide things from or not share with, I knew and know that, the other thing is, I didn't know how to present it more tactfully.

— Bro, you're pissing me off. What happened to you? You're behaving like an amoeba. — without unnecessary ceremony and showiness, coming home from work, my uncle asked.

— Anyway, here's the thing—I couldn't get it up. — with the same sharpness and great bitterness, I answered.

— What... got up on the wrong foot, or something? — with a smirk and accompanying enthusiasm, he ironically asked back. Of course, he understood what we were talking about. Encountering my crooked and hate-filled gaze, he immediately continued, smoothing things over. — Yeah, I know, and I knew from that very day, your love, she's one of my friends, she told me and asked me to be gentler with you. — turns out this bitch, after all, figured out the situation. — So what the hell are you sniveling about now? This happens to everyone. And it's happened to me many times too. Maybe you didn't like her. Maybe you didn't like her approach. There can be many reasons. And it doesn't mean you should mope about it and act like a heifer. Pull yourself together, and stop this transformation from my brother into a sister.

Touching my pride, he again instilled spirit in me. These were precisely the words he needed to say, that had to be said. I believed in myself again and was ready for new challenges.

Speaking of challenges—the next one, fortunately, didn't take long to arrive. A couple of days later, after hard work, it was decided by a company of my uncle's friends (headed by him himself) to go and relax in a sauna. I don't particularly like saunas, but I had no choice not to go. Ignoring my displeasure, they shoved me into the car, and we went there.

— Will you drink beer with us? Or should I get you apple juice? — my uncle taunted me sarcastically when we had already arrived at the designated spot.

— Goood... I'm begging you... get by with this second-rate alcoholic drink yourselves. Get me whiskey, I prefer noble alcohol. — cunningly and ironically (ironically, because I'm not pretentious and was joking) as if maintaining the mark that I, after all, represent that big city from which I came to these local plebeians, and thereby pointing out their origin, I joked back. The joke landed with the company. After a prolonged series of banter and fun, then one of the local ringleaders made a proposal.

— Guys, I think it's time to call the chicks! — simultaneously taking his phone out of his pocket, he called and started arranging the number of "chicks" and the address for their pickup.

I felt a slight jitters. Of course, I had already recovered from that incident, but still, after his call, I felt some nervousness, but nevertheless, I didn't make my feelings public.

About half an hour passed, and our newly minted guests joined our company. There were 3 girls, and all three were good-looking. The first was a young blonde (a third-year student, as we established later), the second was a well-built girl, the third was an experienced woman. The one I categorized as an "experienced woman" was named Tatyana (she wasn't called Tanya, I've changed the name J), she appealed to me the most.

The guys from our gang invited them to the table. I felt a bit awkward about all this, but the guys just perfectly lightened the mood by amusing the girls with jokes and indulging them with their attention.

— Which one do you like more, choose. — my uncle asked me a bit later.

— They're all beautiful, but still, the older one... she hooked me with something. — I answered. I admit, I was a bit embarrassed. Somehow it's still careless to "choose" girls. No matter how you slice it, they are living beings, it's not some thing. But at that moment, I had to stay cool and not give in to sentimentality. Which I did.

— Taaanya, come

here, please. — he called her over. — Do you like her? — he asked me again in her presence.

— Yes, very much — I answered, smiling a bit.

— Not very?! — Tatyana asked back, mishearing me (I remember this like yesterday).

— My sunshine, you heard wrong. I said YES, VERY MUCH. — already clearly and distinctly, I repeated, calming her down a bit, and most importantly, myself.

— Well then, come with me! — winking, she led me away, to one of the local little rooms. And she said it so easily and naturally that it sparked in me some sharp and simultaneously impulsive interest, excitement, if you will. Perhaps that's the very spark.

Although the scenario had clear and common features with my previous unsuccessful experience, I didn't feel a hint of any trembling. The trembling was more from anticipation and impatience, a desire to start the process, and quickly. Perhaps it was her merit, expressed by that very experience. Perhaps my inner ego was trying to prove to me that what happened earlier was a simple misunderstanding, and that it was ready to rush into battle again. Perhaps the whiskey, which once taught me to dance, was pushing me forward and stripping away all doubts. I