New Year's Eve Introduction

We met on New Year's. Or rather, on the first day, in the evening, when the party was still going and the crowd had gradually changed. She was celebrating with her sister, and she joined us towards evening... To be honest, I didn't remember her well then. I remembered eyes of an indefinite color, a blonde head, a cute face. For some damn reason, I remembered a huge pendant made of green stone. Well, I remembered a lot, considering I was completely plastered at the time (my task was to outdrink the apartment owner's father so he'd go to sleep and not punch anyone). I even remembered her name was Nastya, that she graduated from university last year and now works at

a bank, and that she hasn't had a boyfriend for a year and a half.

Standard post-New Year's program: yesterday's snacks, a sea of alcohol, dancing, sitting around the kitchen with the especially resilient ones.

Around 3 a.m., I started to pass out. Maybe 4, maybe 2... I wasn't looking at the clock. I lay down right in my clothes on the unfolded sofa, next to a pile of jackets. After an indefinite period of time, Stas (the host) handed out bedding and forced everyone to get under the blankets—everyone was settling down to sleep. She crawls out from under the pile of jackets I was sleeping next to... calmly goes to the next room to change (takes everything off except her underwear and puts on a long T-shirt) and comes back. Whether I became shy in my sleepy state, or my conscience just kicked in... anyway, I wasn't in a hurry to crawl under her blanket. Nastya herself pulled the piece of blanket I was lying on out from under me and covered me with it. After that, we both passed out successfully.

Through my sleep, I remember another guy joining us—Romka. Nastya was sleeping by the wall, in the middle—me, on the edge—Romka... he even tried to persuade Nastya to switch places with me so he wouldn't feel so left out, but she was permanently indifferent to that—she was sleeping.

We woke up to the alarm on her phone. It was very early, I can't say exactly when, but everyone was sleeping very soundly. She was lying pressed against me, only for some reason she was holding her hands in front of her, as if covering her chest. At that moment, I was hugging her with my left arm, and my right arm was under her head.

— Why are you looking at me?

— Admiring you,—for some reason, I couldn't find other words,—Can I kiss you?

— No...

— You're funny! Hugging is okay, but kissing—isn't?—My hand was on her butt at the time.

In response, she kissed me herself, laid me on my back, and ended up on top. My hands under the blanket began to explore her body in earnest. When I reached her panties, a categorical "no" sounded. Literally a moment later, Nastya almost cried on my shoulder: "If my mom saw me, lying half-naked under one blanket with two guys...".

Maybe out of pity, maybe out of respect, I stopped my advances. Just held her close and started to calm her down as best I could. With words. She kept trying to run home, I kept holding her back. Once she even ran to the next room, and I carried her back in my arms and made her lie down until dawn. At 9, we finally got up. The day-before-yesterday's snacks became today's breakfast. During breakfast, I was talking nonsense, and Nastya was silent. We had breakfast, and I walked her home (fortunately, it wasn't far to the apartment she was renting with a friend). When saying goodbye, I was too shy to kiss her, like an 18-year-old. She turned around and fluttered into the entrance.

Anyway, on the first night, I didn't make advances (although she later said she had to fend off a sleepy me at night, but I don't remember that). In the morning, I didn't dare to insist.

I got home, ate again, sat down at the computer. Odnoklassniki.ru, Friends, let's go... Masha, friends of friends... oops, here SHE is! 22 years old, but looks 18... right, she graduated from university with Masha.

"Nastenka, please forgive me if I offended you with a word or action. I couldn't help myself, a drunken fool, I liked you so much."

Fifteen minutes later, she answered. We talked. Found her number in my phone... I have about a dozen Nastyas in my phone, probably: "Nastya (Dima)", "Nastya (park)", "Nastya (Miracle)"... etc. Just "Nastya" is one. I ask: your number? Yes. It turned out she was looking for her phone at night and asked me to call her. After all, I'm not such an idiot when drunk—I saved it, even half-asleep, even forgot about it completely.

The next evening, Masha (the mutual friend who dragged her to us) invites me to the slides. She calls from Nastya's number, says she'll be there too. Masha had a fight with her boyfriend, so we were going to go as a threesome. When Masha gave the phone to Nastya, I, like a complete idiot, stuck my tongue up my ass and again didn't know what to talk about... said goodbye until tomorrow.

The next day, it's -30°C frost, a good breeze. I'm not really cold—a good ski suit, insulated by folk methods. The girls are in their repertoire: they don't care that it's cold, as long as it looks good. We walked to the slides, found out everything was closed, damn it, went back home. On the way, we picked up some beer, decided to go to the movies in the evening. Masha had already made up with Dima at home, who, upon seeing a mountain of dumplings and glassware in our bags, forgot they had fought yesterday. Genka also materialized from somewhere (he also had his eye on Nastya on New Year's, but tactfully gave me way, seeing he wasn't getting anywhere with her).

We didn't make it to the movies—tickets on holidays need to be booked at least a day in advance, and we, so proud, came... half an hour before the show. Settled at another apartment with the same crew: Nastya, Masha with Dimka, Genka, and your humble servant. Stopped at a supermarket on the way, got beer, snacks, the girls set the table. Guitar, songs... got drunk on old yeast, in short. During a slow dance, Nastenka pressed against me so hard. I'd never had that before: you could see she wanted to almost rape me right in the middle of the room, but at the same time, she was afraid to cross a boundary known only to her. Six months later, she admitted to me that she was afraid then that I'd take her for a slut, especially considering the circumstances of our meeting. She managed something incredible: like she wants to press close, but can't... by the end of the dance, we were just standing, pressed against each other, I was hugging her very carefully, afraid to move or scare her with an insistent movement of my hands, and she put her head on my chest and closed her eyes. I don't remember how long we stood like that. At the table, I warmed her frozen toes with my feet, which refused to warm up after wandering around the city all day.

Then she decided to go home and called a taxi. No persuasion could stop her—work early tomorrow. I got in the taxi with her. On the way home, she very, very carefully pressed against me and kissed me for the second time since we'd met. Again, I didn't dare to be first: I saw I'd scare her, she gave off such a proper impression. We kissed the whole way. Long, passionately. The only kiss that lasted about 20 minutes.

I returned to Dimka's place in the same car. I couldn't stay at Nastya's: a one-room apartment she shared with a friend... She understood we wouldn't stop at a kiss, and there was nowhere to continue. Switched to vodka. Got drunk to the point of snot. Sang songs until morning. Woke up with a headache, but happy, as if I'd fallen in love for the first time.

In the evenings, we texted on Odnoklassniki (cheaper than SMS, and she didn't have ICQ then. She didn't want to talk to some random guy in front of her friend... that kind of friend, apparently).

Our conversation wasn't clicking—we had no common topics, couldn't find them. My eloquence, which I have everywhere—had disappeared somewhere. I never had problems with a lack of topics... I can easily chat with any girl on the street, invite her to the nearest diner for coffee and get her phone number or even invite her home... but with her, I was lost—couldn't string two words together. She had the same story... we sat and spoke in monosyllabic sentences.

— How's work?

— Exhausted, tired. Aren't you cold?

— Yeah, the weather—so-so, cold.

Damn, a social dialogue from an English textbook!

The tickets were for the last row, which didn't surprise her, rather pleased her. This time, I wasn't particularly shy. She allowed much more than I expected... literally allowed everything. We kissed throughout the whole movie, my hands were everywhere they could reach without causing a stir in the packed cinema. Butt, breasts, legs—everything was subject to exploration. Here, I wasn't particularly brazen, seeing she was mine. We kept within the bounds of decency—no blowjobs in the cinema, like in porn, but we got immense pleasure. The main thing I understood—she trusts me with her body.

A couple of days later, she invited me to "see what's wrong with her laptop." We know this pretext, I gathered some utility software, took antiviruses (both NOD32 and Context). On the way, I asked: what will we drink? Tea, with candies clients gave her. She categorically refused alcohol. I didn't bring anything either—enough, I hadn't been sober for a week anyway. Couldn't buy flowers on the way—closed, strangely enough. Anyway, I showed up at her place like a spherical IT guy in a vacuum: no chocolates, champagne, flowers, but with a bunch of discs and a full flash drive. The computer was fine, as expected: updated the antivirus, installed ICQ on her phone. We turned on some movie from the laptop... I don't even remember roughly what it was about.

We're sitting hugging on the sofa. I'm wearing a hoodie, a T-shirt, ski suit pants. She's in jeans and a cheerful striped T-shirt. Kisses again, already confident, without fear. Like a lot of time had passed and we weren't 16, as it seemed at the beginning, but 22 and 24, which corresponds to reality. Only now she allows much less than in the cinema! Says her friend (her damn roommate) should come soon... fuck! My place is full, go to Dima's? We'll consider that option, of course... okay, "let's finish the movie," and then we'll see.

Gradually, slowly, very carefully, I lay her on her back, kiss her lips. She's completely relaxed, hugging me with her arms and legs, arches her whole body towards me. I slip my hand under her T-shirt—a noisy sigh when my hand reaches her breast in her bra. With my other hand, I try to remove the annoying T-shirt... she gets some tension, stiffness in her movements. My hoodie comes off. That's it! Couldn't remove anything else. Like an invisible wall: do whatever you want over the clothes: touch, stroke, squeeze, bite, but remove—no way. Okay, we're in no hurry... if not today, then tomorrow, we'll take it by siege—we've seen worse. Not going to rape you, especially since your friend might show up.

The next time, again to her place, I showed up with flowers (she refused to drink again). Brought a new movie. About 5 hours until her friend gets home from work. Didn't expect much, although the condoms in my pants pocket were still languishing. Just have a nice time... well, if it happens, good. If not—even better.

It didn't happen—we got to removed T-shirts. The bra refused to come off point-blank. At the same time, it's surprising that through her jeans I was groping her all over. Wouldn't be surprised if she even managed to come quietly, she was shaking so well from it.

As soon as my hands reached for the jeans button, she said: "don't, please." I muffled her with a kiss and whispered very quietly and gently in her ear: "don't or don't want to?" — "don't"... damn, what are you going to do? You're ready for anything right now! What's stopping you, huh? What else do you need from me? To say I love you? You won't believe it, we already talked about this the other day, remotely, though. Out loud, of course, I didn't say that, I said I wouldn't do anything until she asked herself. That seemed to relax her. We even switched places—she was rubbing her crotch against my erect dick (I was still in my pants too). We tumbled around like that until her friend arrived. We dressed in a panic—fortunately, putting on a T-shirt is much easier than getting fully dressed. That friend—a separate damn story, I must say... ugly as Perl source code! Again, I hobbled home happy. Just needed to remove jeans, bra, and panties... three days with such progress.

The next day, she went to work. At the end of the workday, she calls:

— I have problems, can we meet?

— Yes, of course, what's wrong?

— I quit!

— About time, with a job like that. Don't be upset, I'll come now.

— That's not all,—almost crying.

— What else?

— Later.

— Shall we go to Dimka and Masha's? You'll tell everything as it is, we'll drink, you'll relax, unwind. Maybe I can help with something?

— Let's go.

I call Masha:

— Can Nastya and I come over?

— Should we say hello?

— We already said hello, I think? Hi.

— What, you idiot, asking such questions? Of course, come over.

— Did Nastya have any other problems besides work? She quit, but says that's not all.

— She said she'd quit if her mom got worse, she's sick all the time anyway.

— Damn. We'll be at your place in about an hour and a half, OK? Warn Dimka we'll need to drink.

On the way, I calmed her down about work, told her how I quit twice myself. How we'd relax and that her work wouldn't interfere with us meeting. Didn't touch on the parents topic, like I didn't know: if she wants, she'll tell herself. Went to the same supermarket, got some booze, a bit of snacks. Masha was already bustling in the kitchen, cooking something. They made me peel potatoes... I always end up peeling potatoes, apparently I'm good at it. Dimka was already slightly tipsy and burned the chicken he took on cooking. Bush legs mutated into Obama hams. We drank well, devoured the hams, everyone already didn't care what they were chewing.

Went with Nastya to smoke in the kitchen (I don't smoke myself, but she can now, didn't stop her). She told me everything. Not a single tear at the words "My mom is dying." No trembling in her voice, nothing. Only sadness of epic proportions. The angry comment "just don't pity me" just killed me. I said I already knew everything, don't know how to comfort, tried to sympathize.

— I'll have to leave. For a long time. Will you wait?

— Yes

— Why do you need this?

— I decided so

— A girl didn't wait for you from the army, you want to test yourself? Nothing connects us yet.

—I'm not her. There were girls who waited. And not a year, like me, but two