Clockwork doll

When Lena and I were alone in the bedroom, and the door was already closed, and the presence in the apartment of my childhood friend Misha confused me no more than the presence of his photo in my photo album, I took her by the arms, then hugged her, feeling unexpected and attractive trembling of her body. She radiated that heat, such a viscous and hot attraction, after which there can be only one thing that should happen between a man and a woman. In the attraction emanating from her, in that magnetizing languor, which invisible currents poured into me from her body, there was such a fateful predestination and inevitability of what should happen between us that neither a fire nor the explosions of shells outside the window could stop it nor a sudden doorbell. I did not seem to notice how her sweater was pulled up, most likely by me, but with her help bared her body. Her skin was so smooth, so silky - as if unreal: like air. I looked at her breasts, at these red pimples - the nipples on their most prominent part, at the dull pink smooth "rims" around them, and felt more than I realized: everything in her was aesthetically perfect. This bliss of contemplation and sensation of her flesh did not interrupt or embarrass the processes occurring in me: tides of separate, internal warmth to my stomach, to my legs, tension and autonomous swelling of that organ, which supposedly ceased to be me and became some kind a separate part, the place of which was in the cycle, the fireworks of feelings, in the nature of that exaltation that emanated from the female body. Her plaid pants had long been on the floor, and we still stood in the middle of the room like two naive students. But her body carried away, burned, pulled into the bed; my hands dissolved in him, as if from wax. We were so imperceptibly in the bed, as if we had been transported into it by a strong gust of burning and heady wind. Her one hand was in my palm, the second glided over my body. I wanted to enter it and dissolve in it completely. We were lying opposite each other, and it seemed that the air in the darkness was fluctuating from our breaths. White-blue neon light from the street with an unnatural death shadow pierced the curtains and pasted its page onto the wall over the wallpaper. She was whispering something, but the meaning of her words did not reach me. Her hands left a warm touch on my skin, our legs met with my knees, after which my knees entered inward, dividing her legs. “Poor legs,” I thought, not understanding how such nonsense gets into my head, “you parted with one another, separated by male legs.” The magnet of her bosom, her tender, cherished intimate place attracted me with such irresistible force that I, without hesitating for more than a second, entered it. Lena made no sound, but a convulsive tremor swept down her back. She somehow strangely arched - like a cat - and froze with her eyes half closed. I felt the touch of her breasts; she had indescribably silky skin!

But I felt it as if from a distance: my whole consciousness, my feelings were now in a soft and supple space, where now was the "key that fits many doors," as the poet once said. This space unexpectedly grew to the size of a room, my apartment, city, the whole world, and I was not the whole in it, with all my essence: I seemed to have turned into an ant and got the opportunity to suddenly crawl in ... If my head now asked a question, where are my eyes, I could not answer him, as if my eyes were not at all where they should be, but in another place. Everything between her legs — every dash — was perfect for her. I felt it, I triumphed this perfection. As from beneath the ground, as from another world, her unmeasured groans and unexpected cries came to me. Oddly enough, but all this time we were in the same position, and Lena made no attempt to change her. We reached the point where her lower abdomen began to shrink convulsively, and I, who had previously felt in her as in a dimensionless space, suddenly felt something wet and hot covering my flesh. Indescribable convulsions swept through these gentle clutches in hot waves, until the reflection of the same waves began to shudder through her entire silky beautiful body. Her lips merged with my lips, they were dry and hot, her moans filled the room with that music, in the selflessness of which you can drown as well as in the depths of the waters. Finally, my body shuddered at the powerful convulsive currents, and I felt something pushing into me from it, from which the ceiling and wallpaper circled over my head. She also felt it, and her legs squeezed my hips harder. She groaned with that last, uncontrolled moan, which can mean only one thing: this is it, that very last moment, after which again a return to the terrible reality of life. Waking up, seeing the world again as it is, was both torture and a reward for us. In her eyes I saw a reflection of my own thought: what if now, after this, the world has changed, and suddenly we are in a different time, in a different dimension? We were united by the fact that we were created by nature the least adapted to the environment: for all our differences. I well understood that she would remain who she is, and I will remain myself, which brings me new bitterness, new disappointments and unprecedented mental anguish, but at the same time we are extremely similar to her, and I have more such another woman in my life I can’t meet ... When the morning with its dim whitish light began to ooze out of the window, illuminating the floor of my bedroom, covered with a painted wooden stove, a desk and a writing desk with a typewriter, I lay there, feeling with my skin all perfection, all the incredible velvetiness of her body, eagerly absorbing her as if trying to remember for years ...

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