I'm hot, stuffy and thirsty. The sparkling wine has long ended in a glass, and the girlfriends are too busy with new gentlemen to replenish their stocks of alcohol. Silently, I rise from the couch and head to the bar. Halfway through, a stately brown-haired man blocks my way. He brazenly puts his hands in front of him, blocking the passage. I look up at the oval of the man's face and notice the wide smile meant for me.

– What are the problems? - The tongue is pretty stuttered. I'm swaying from side to side. I almost roll over to my side, but the man's hands tighten around my waist and I manage to avoid falling.

“Anton,” draws the guy.

- What's the matter, Anton? Hands off. - I am thrown back a little when the ring of hands is unclenched at the waist.

Is the baby in a hurry somewhere?

- The baby is culturally resting.

“Well, I can give you a tour of cultural recreation,” the brown-haired man grins impudently, throwing an eloquent look at my chest.

I roll my eyes up and wave my hand as if fighting off a pesky fly. Anton no longer gets in my way, but, silently, trudges behind. I find myself at the bar and ask the bartender to prepare a cocktail. I wait, nervously drumming my fingers on the table.

Do you want to have an unforgettable night? A male baritone whispers in my ear, and I jump right up in my chair.

- It seems, Anton? So, Antoshka. Tili tili trali wali, you didn’t go through it, you didn’t ask it. Param pum pum.

- There was something else about a spoon in the last verse. Yes exactly. Prepare a spoon for dinner, - says the brown-haired woman, and then abruptly twists me along with the chair and turns me to face him.

- I'm afraid that you won't need a spoon, Antoshka, but crutches are just right. So, prepare your knees, my dad will give you an unforgettable night.

Are you threatening me now?

“No.” I smile broadly, noticing the horizontal lines gathering on the boy's forehead. - I'm stating facts.

“Let’s say I’m not afraid of your dad, what are you going to do about it?” - Anton spreads his arms wide, resting his palms on the back of my chair.

I try to get as far away from the guy as possible, but he looms over me intimidatingly. My breath hitches, and then I stop breathing altogether when I catch a familiar silhouette in my peripheral vision.

“In vain, very in vain, that you are not afraid, young man,” Oleg’s calm and even tone plunges me into a state of trance. I watch the men from the side, completely detached from what is happening.

My thoughts turn into a real pun. I look at Oleg's strong shoulders, look down at his trained biceps, linger on the curls of dark hair that peek out from under the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. And then my brain "shizes" and I say in a strange hoarse voice:

- Hi, Olezhka.

“Hi, Tarnovskaya,” a man dressed in an expensive suit winks.

- Is that your dad? - Antoshka interrupts our dialogue, still being at a fairly close distance.

- Not. I am much worse. I don’t know if her dad would break your knees, as the girl promised, but I’ll definitely break it right now if you don’t fall off. I count to three. One. Two, - Oleg looks frighteningly at the brown-haired man, and I bite my lip so as not to laugh out loud.

- Antoshka, he's not joking. You'd better get off, - I wink at Oleg, enjoying the spectacle.

On the count of "three" Anton really leaves, throwing an ambiguous look in our direction. We are left alone with Oleg, except for the club and its visitors.

At first we just look at each other. Studying, as if for the first time, as on the day of acquaintance. His sharp gaze glides over my lips, down to my neck, collarbone, and then freezes on my chest. I see Oleg breathing heavily. His powerful chest rises high. He unbuttons another button on his shirt and it starts to ache somewhere inside me. I clench my knees, feeling a sudden heat in my stomach. I am again not childish when I dare to look at Oleg's lips. Their ideal form and fullness call only for the dirtiest thoughts. I want these lips to caress my tongue, take in the skin, somewhere in the neck area, and then slide over hard nipples and grab them until they hurt . I know he can. I could before. I never forgot that night at the hotel.

“I want to kiss you.” I don’t recognize my own voice. I do not understand my body and desires. Can't control.

- I want this too, - Oleg leans forward, and, bending down to the level of my face, bursts into my mouth with a hot tongue.

He eagerly examines every millimeter of my lips. He bites the skin, and then runs his tongue over it. Then again he bursts his tongue into the depths of his mouth and painfully sweetly torments with his intricate patterns. My hands get under his jacket. I fumble brazenly with my fingers, outlining every contour of strong muscles.

I want to be closer. I want to merge with him into one whole, love him and be loved, here, now, this second and to infinity. Men's fingers dig into my hair. Oleg pulls him close, holding his waist with one hand and the back of his head with the other. We're going crazy. Losing control next to each other. I want it. He wants me. Nothing will stop us now. We can't play anymore...