Prose - My love.

    Here is a pink one for your perusal
romantic and erotic dream of a young girl....

                     MY LOVE


     For the first time I probably saw him in a dream.
Apparently, a very long time ago: maybe even in childhood? Not
I know a case when he actually appeared with us,
I wasn't surprised at all.  It's somehow natural
it was clear that he would finally appear.
     His voice immediately filled the hallway, rang,
flying between the glass balls of the chandelier, and splashed out
to the kitchen. A dark, thin hand with long fingers and
narrow wrist, entwined with the blue shadows of the door handle,
switches and wardrobe hangers.  He was thin,
Only the long nose and bottomless windows stood out on his face
eyes hidden by the glare of glasses. Loose Sweater
hid the outlines of the body, also thin and wiry.
And, apparently, this embarrassed him a little - stupid men
for some reason they are so worried about their muscles, not
realizing that this is not very important.
    Of course, it depends on everyone, but in our family it’s always
preferred aesthetics and grace to muscular strength -
and although I am a small connoisseur of the beauty of men's legs, but
these... How impatiently and easily they moved, in them
one could feel the fineness of the bone and the hidden strength,
unexpected and precise movement even allowed
in a hurry to step at ease, and this, really, is difficult
express in words.  They seem to liveyours,
a separate life, and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t
make them do something bad or
ugly...
     I don't know exactly what the heroes of legends look like,
princes, prehistoric puss in boots - maybe
right?  He said hello and walked further through the kitchen.
(came to us on some business). But I still don’t
Raising her eyes from the floor, she went out into the rooms, thinking about
that he hardly heard my quiet answer. On that
evening I sat silently in front of the TV for a long time,
completely understanding what was happening there and absentmindedly
looking back at the questions at home.
    I think they decided then that I was just
got sick.  Without knowing it, they were right. And this one
the disease had a name.
     Almost a year has passed since that day. He often
happens with us. At first his look and voice were a little
didn’t drive me crazy, but the touches of the sinewy and
heavy (but with such gentle fingers!) hands just
made me shiver.   And he just doesn't seem to
took me seriously. On Sundays I've been
in the morning I waited for him to burst into our huge sleepy
apartment and, having greeted everyone, hugged me and
will lift you off the floor, spinning around the room.  Joyfully
will say: “Hello, my sweet girl!”  - and,
pressing his face to the back of my head, he whispers:
“My darling!”... Then, having discussed our
business while they clear the table and wash the dishes,sometimes he can come into my room, where I am alone (doors
they're closing here) and sit down with a cup of coffee in your hands
on the sofa next to me.  Gentle and easy is not it
stroking, or just touching my neck (this is
it comes out so simply and naturally that it’s impossible
there are also shadows of indecency from violations
conventions) and looking me simply in the eyes with your
warm greenish eyes, he could, smiling slightly,
It’s easy to ask: “How are you, pussy?” And I'm in awe
I was waiting for his touch, I was ready for anything
you want to give it to him, but... But he said something else,
finished his coffee and left.
   The coffee aroma reminded me of him, I even began to
drink coffee, although I used to hate this crap.
He left and came again, they talked about something,
They laughed and rustled paper.  Sometimes when I go to
kitchen, saw that he was drinking hot tea, and
shiny ashen hair and a blush that appeared
on his cheekbones, I understood that he was taking a bath.  I
imagined streams of water on his smooth bronze
skin, the curves of the body, soap suds crawling across the stomach and
leaving behind clean skin, his clothes on
semi.
    It terrified me, but it was sweet in my chest,
ached exhaustingly.  I was very afraid that they would notice
my embarrassment. Then I, carefully looking to the side,
stepping too correctly, she walked past the table, behind
where they sat, trying to thinkabout something
outsider.
     They often sat alone for a long time in silence.
room, occasionally in muffled and strange voices
saying something to each other. If I walked into the room
(how I was afraid of doing something wrong and disappointing
him!), he looked at me and smiled, and his heart
It didn’t jump out of my chest, it beat at my throat.
But I only felt a little happy
seconds - they were clearly waiting for me to leave so that
continue the conversation.
    Yes, it's a shame, of course, but when he left, I,
happened, clinging to his shirt, left in
bath, thinking about him.  And when he was here again,
I tried to pretend that I didn’t care about him, that
I just have fun with him.
     And I was waiting and waiting for something...
     Today I look at him again, unable to
utter those hot and tender words that
expand my chest and moisten my eyes. I dream about
his love, I'm ready to leave everything and follow him -
just let him call. And he...he sat down next to me again
on the sofa with a cup in hand, stroking my striped
back and scratches behind my ear when I curl up in a ball
at his knee.   I move a little, my breath
becomes hoarse and tender; finally I'll warm up and
I purr, closing my eyes.  From tenderness my paws will
tremble slightly, revealing sharp claws that
he likes it so much.  He says sweet things to me again
words and I don't knowexactly - am I dreaming or not? But that's it
anyway, I know something else: he goes to my so-called
"Mistress", the one who lives with me in this apartment.
He doesn't love me...