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I remember there was such a rock'n'roll song "I`m not your steppin` stone", very popular in due time. When I was not very familiar with English and the meaning of many idioms was closed to me, I translated it roughly as "I'm not a stone that you can step on." Now, when it's clear what it really means, it looks funny, but then I translated everything literally. And so, translating this name in this way, I vividly imagined a man lying on the ground and a woman putting a foot on his head. And suddenly I felt an explosion of adrenaline and an extraordinary excitement, because this person was me. Why did this happen? I was always fascinated by the beauty of the female figure, and, like any normal boy, I always wanted to see this figure naked. I was 10 when it happened for the first time: casually (chesslovo!) At the dacha, I saw in the window how my cousin was dressing. Completely undressed, she looked in the mirror. For some reason, I paid special attention to her feet. She could rightly be proud of them - full thighs, full of youth and strength, kneecap, not sharp, like teenage girls, and not round, like those of adult aunts, beautiful shins that end in perfect feet - it all harmonized with each other and Did not go beyond what is called beauty. All right, no gram of excess fat; Of course, much more caught me a different kind, but that cursory glance and admiration for her legs, apparently, contributed to my further orientation. The grain was abandoned and sprouted several years later, when I incorrectly translated the name of the rock and roll song. Since then, I have often been visited by fantasies on foot fetish and more often I began to pay attention to women's legs, looking at them from a completely different position. You could say that I became a foot fetishist, although for the first time fantasies were realized only a few years later, when I was 18. This also happened due to the occasion: I lost a tape with the recording of Madness, a fairly rare thing in our region. But I knew who it is and, finding this person, asked to rewrite. Naturally, it was a girl, Marina, who studied on a parallel course. And of course, there were no tapes in her hands, she was walking around the tape recorders for a month already. And then, without thinking specifically about the consequences, I took it and blurted out:
The girl was waiting for him in the kitchen, where the delicious smells were coming from. He sat down at the table, drank a glass of vodka and silently watched her, hovering around the stove. She felt his eyes on her back.
-With great pleasure. Through how much to you to call. And yet, maybe we'll go with an overnight stay. What do you think?
"You, most likely, confuse the feeling with the desire to be with me, - her hands fell on my chest. I arched and thanked her for that gentle groan.
- Do not cry. Why are you crying?
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She nodded.
- No. It's a beautiful smell. Like the ground and fresh bread. I've never seen a woman near ... stuff ... Can I ..? Will you allow me?
"That's exactly what you need," she smiled, glancing at his tightly-clad figure with an appraising look. "Maybe an aperitif?"
This summer I went from school to rest in Odessa. The group consisted of 20 people. As in all camps, everywhere went the ranks. There were 6 boys for the whole detachment, who were 14 years old. But either they were deprived of their beauty by beauty, or Dad and Mom did not try. So the idea of kissing one of them was disgusting. And about sex and did not want to think. Recently I noticed that I started to like girls. I liked to look at their breasts, figure. In this camp I made friends with an attractive girl. Her name was Sveta. She was 16 years old. And after the camp we went to her village. This is the beginning of the whole intimate story. Since there were not enough beds in the house, we were laid on one sofa. The first night we talked all over. But in the 2 nd night, from conversations about boys and lesbians, I was so excited that I climbed to the Light and began to climb to her kissing. In the beginning she told me that we can kiss her fucked up, but without a tongue. When our lips touched, I gently penetrated my tongue into her mouth, with gentle movements I began to excite her. She stopped fighting, but only made sounds that sounded very much like a purr. These feelings for me though and were habitual, but also unusual. We kissed all night and were happy.
Sometimes Alice woke up late at night. Especially often it happened at night windy and rainy. An unclear dream outside the window interrupted her sensitive, alert sleep. She imagined someone's footsteps, sighs full of longing and desire, echoed an attentive look in the slits of the curtains. She felt as if she had been laid on the slide of a giant microscope, and now every tiny wrinkle on her beautiful face, every mole, known only to her, every mole, is scrutinized. "I'm beautiful, I'm beautiful!" She remarked inwardly to herself during those hours.
