Metamorphosis-1. Sensation of the Woman

Stockings. I was right.

Where stockings ended, a world opened without curtains and burqa, without Puritan kilometers of fabric and without the false bashfulness of a beautiful white swan. The White Kingdom of Beauty…

White…

They say that white is a cold color, the color of snow and ice. Frost and numbness. But at that moment – the white color became for me a spotlight of purity and nudity. The opening secret and the inflamed fire. The elements of black and white witchcraft, feminine nature and masculine, something animal… raged

The white strip of the female body… Gently and as gently as possible – I turned my palm around so that the lower part of her foot was right in my palm. But – without breaking contact, with a gentle stroking and touch…

And – she was forced to raise her knee a little more. A light push ran from the very tips of her fingers – there, in the heights – to white…

Again, I decided to look into her eyes. Am I breaking a so carefully constructed overture in our play? Do instincts and ecstasy prevail from a moment of revelation? From the tenderness of touch. Does the game go on? Or is the body already surrendered to the power of feelings and hormones? Femininity – or calculation? Sincerity – or plot?

Not. Her eyes answered me with gratitude…

You are tenderness itself. I am waiting…

The left hand clung to the bar, and the right hand still held a glass with a stick sticking out of it. Only…

The tube is frozen in its motion. Compressed in lips, teeth…

Having jumped out of the glass – spraying drops of liquid on clothes, on hands and on…

To the stocking…

If we were not in the middle of the restaurant, sitting on tiny banquets at the bar. If it weren’t – the cycle of color and light extravaganza. A flicker of bodies, sounds, and all that is impossible at all.

It might have seemed that a woman had slipped a shoe off her leg and a gracious man gallantly tried to hoist an accidental loss into its rightful place.

Only…

All this happens – with a slowdown a hundred times.

Around – a continuous bustle, and these two – froze in their leisurely dialogue. There is no change of position. She – looks at him, he – holds her leg with his right hand. Leaning a little. Her right hand with a glass – stopped in a slightly unnatural position.

Nobody feels the growing tension, exponentially growing charges of energy. The energy confrontation and saturation to sparking the atmosphere are around the two of us.

It was like a cocoon or an energy field of incredible strength pushed us to each other. Compressing with each of our breaths, compressing, and so on, to a critical mass, the «pumped up» and warmed up is the core. Nuclear explosion – let’s not miss. Scaling up – all appliances.

The fire brigade and the rescue team – to take to the starting position. There will be thousands of victims and a huge site of defeat. Destruction and global cataclysm.

…

For me… Time flashed with crazy speed. I – did not have time to come to my senses from one shock, as – a new one collapsed. Just now – I was blinded by the opened narrow strip of the white part of the body – there… Almost at the horizon, behind the magistracy and guidance of the black stocking.

And now…

I see that she, too, has begun her Path.

And our Ways – must cross somewhere, meet. No more strength to withstand this passions. Blown – one by one, all fuses. Light bulbs began to burst and wine glasses exploded.

Necessary.

It’s time.

Good. I will take the next step.

The woman is waiting. The woman is calling. Woman – gives me…

I bring my left hand to her leg and try to brush away those accidental drops of liquid that could defile and ruin the perfection of this sight.

And I touch – the inside of the knee, the hollow – under the knee, so – a little on the side, and – a little lower… Or – higher?…

But now – I already support this wonderful leg with both hands…

Reflex movement… Another push of the whole nature. Cramp or cramp. Or – just the response of the body to the touch of another body. Something animal and magnetic…

And I have to get up from my seat so as not to get out of my hands…

But. Necessary.

It is impossible.

I do not understand.

She drops her glass. From her lips – a sigh is heard. Hot, passionate.

The bartender is shouting something.

I kneel down and stand right in the glass fragments and in the puddle. The main thing is not to get out of hand…

She – straightens the wide open slit on her skirt and looks at me.

What to do?

How to be

I feel something next to my knee – on the floor…

This is a shoe! My salvation and mine are a miracle. Ours is salvation. ……

Forcedly I let go of my load with my right hand, and I am fishing out of the darkness of the outskirts – into the light to show her our salvation.

She looks at her shoe and nods back to me. Yes is the right decision.

She will be able to stand on both legs, and go…

Her gaze tells me – lead me…

It’s your turn.

As I – led you, so you – now take the reins of government into your own hands.

Lead me…

Chapter 5. ESTROGEN

– Brakes.

– Well…

«Stop it…»

We are sitting with my grandfather in my room, grandfather is on his favorite «stool», and I am at my workplace. I am getting ready to do my homework – so I was forced to use both the recorder of my emotions and the designer of thought forms. And it was necessary to manage this ancient bio-memory by hand.

As Goetano told me, this is my friend – we are studying with him in the same group, historians do not specifically change the management system of ancient bio-memories in order to maximize the sense of those eras. You have to wave your hands in the air to change focus or rotate the angle. Lighting is also sometimes unusable.

Image quality and resolution is…

What does not feel the effect of presence. As if you were stuck in some kind of scenery. Even somehow at ease. I understand that I stayed in my room and only a fully spatial image filled my senses. But the brain refuses to believe. I’m used to the modern quality of broadcasting. Moreover – there is no emotional background at all. What, then, they still did not know how to supplement their emotional background with the content?

Can there really be such smells? This seems to be called – cigarette smoke? Somewhere I already heard about it. Pregenereal era. When people still used artificial stimulants.

Horror.

What about the lighting in the restaurant? No selectivity or filtering. Well, at least the words, these old ones, I know almost everything…

«Trunk», «nuclear explosion».

As soon as historians understand this in everything?

But with the shoe, with this one – I don’t understand anything. Why is he so drawn? Of course – in his vision everything looks pretty sexy and beautiful. But somehow I don’t feel anything. And than…

I can’t understand in any way – is it my mamin’s or sexin’s there with him?

Grandfather will now begin to call me stupid and brainless. And how do I figure it all out? He feels good – he remembers all this himself. His father interrupted his physiology in the middle of the second genereal, grandfather – then he was already an adult. Previously, it was not fashionable for them to delay the birth of children until the second genereal.

And my dad – at the end of his first general, he took care of the offspring and…

By the way – you need to ask my grandfather what kind of story happened with my father’s sexin, after which – he also decided to end his physiological life.

What did he think up there again?

«Brakes.» Where does he only take such words? It’s good that I’m already used to it and I know almost all of its antediluvian vocabulary. No, I would say – pause. So no – slow down.

«Well again, grandfather?»

– If you think that I have already begun to understand something, then you are mistaken.

Something he somehow bent. Maybe – again, deviations from functionality have begun? So instantaneous (medical drone) would have rushed. And would render him full physiological help.

Well, where do I have his bio-indicators?

Hormone release? And which ones? From the estrogen group?

– Grandfather…

– Yes, you have sexual arousal! In your age!

– Call your sexin’s? Or – start a psychocorrection?

– Yes, shut up you, «granddaughter»!

«Can you be silent for at least five minutes?!»

– Let me catch my breath.

Chapter 6. CURL

She stood right under the air fan grill. Not really – in the aisle, but not at the very door of the car.

The subway car swayed up and down, and sideways, it was thrown on turns. The bursting air also changed its intensity, due to pressure surges in the subway tunnel. Therefore – it seemed that some magical gin from a bottle was sitting behind a fan grill and having folded his lips «into a tube» – he was trying to ruffle his hair. Her hairdo. That – blows harder, then weaken the pressure…

I saw some kind of brilliance. Something flashed in the gray mass of fellow travelers around me. It could be a «bunny» from the searchlight in the tunnel, or a reflection from the glass on the clock of someone who suddenly decided to move his hand «in the clock».

Why did I decide to turn my head in the direction of this brilliant flash? What pushed me?

But I couldn’t take my eyes off. And even when at the bus stop – the car was emptied and re-filled, even this hustle, bumps and «rubbing» with my whole body, loud exclamations and a mishmash of gray shades of clothes on people – all this could not tear my gaze…

On the contrary – I was a couple of meters closer…

He glowed and winked at me, swaying to the beat of the carriage.

Stop again. Again – loading and unloading. And I’m even closer to her…

Something just pulls me toward her and him.

To this light and tender, as if a leaf of maple fluttering in the wind, or a white sakura flower.

To curls and spring elongation – a slightly reddish and white curl.

Blond curl.

So, it seems poets say…

I can take another step into the vacant space – and be very close to it. Forward – my Rocinante. We are waiting for accomplishment and glory…

The fact is that I was wearing dark glasses. Yesterday’s celebration of Petrovich’s birthday ended in full accordance with Russian traditions – a drunken scuffle. No – I have nothing against it. We parted in a friendly manner, but I decided to hide my swimming eye for the time being from prying eyes. A foreigner with a swimming eye – may cause extra attention. This is completely useless to me.

I’ve rarely been to Russia, but if I’m arriving, then with my friends, we «come off to the fullest.» So it seems to be said here.

A curl draw attention…

We were butchered by some 2—3 decimeters. I could already smell her perfume.

What was it? I don’t know for sure, but the aroma of jasmine and something else was clearly felt…

I could not clearly see her face, only the outline was clearly visible. This is the nose, and this is the lips, and the line of the chin smoothly turning into the line of the neck…

Standing a little behind her and grabbing my hand on the same bar that she was holding on to, I could see some other gleam on her arm. Felts rings – felts ring. It does not matter.

She, apparently having felt my close attention or gaze, turned to me, studied me with a study and said:

«Is it not dark for you with these glasses?»

Of course, I understood the question, no matter how bad my Russian language would be, but I didn’t catch the intonation for some reason. Was it – a proactive question to prevent possible attempts to make contact, or – she was really interested in the strangeness of the passenger in the dark subway car – in sunglasses. Unclear.

And only now I saw that in her other hand was a book that she had been reading all this time. That is why she did not move from her place and did not turn her head around.

But what to answer? How to behave?

Not waiting for an answer – she turned back to her book. Unhooking the hand for a moment from the handrail above the head – easily, correcting it, made a gesture to push the curl out of the hairstyle – back into the hairstyle. Or – under a hat? I could not make out.

But nothing came of her. Curl – stubbornly returned to his place, teasing my attention and playing with me – only he knows the game.

«My eye is broken.» I am ashamed. I hid it.

The only thing that I could answer. Since the conversation should continue. I was given a clear signal – the woman emphasized with her correction that she was a woman. And it was a reaction to my appearance. Consequently – the book interests her already much less than someone’s attention.

Aboard!

She certainly heard my terrible accent. My stretch rr. And even if she does not understand the shades of the sound of the French language when pronouncing Russian words, then my answer – in any case, should encourage her to continue the dialogue.

– Frenchman with a broken eye! What – a jealous husband, I decided to spoil your vision so that you never again saw his wife?

She slammed the book and turned to me with the whole body, obviously – with a wide smile on her face, she said.

I could not help but answer.

«What are you reading?»

Having reached out and turning her palm with the book towards him, I decided not to joke with a joke, but to try to further reduce the distance between us.

Jasmine – of course jasmine was in the perfume. But here…

Some extremely delicate aroma, still mixed with the smell of jasmine. What is this?

Lipstick?

No – I caught this taste of a rose right away. Only lipstick can smell like that, and it’s fresh, apparently applied to the lips just before entering the subway.

Who are you?

Student reading a textbook?

Young wife – whiled away minutes between a house and a store reading a female romance?

Both – could have smeared their lips before joining the «society» of fellow travelers from the subway. But why jasmine?

She allowed to draw her hand with the book almost to my glasses, but I still did not see anything.

Shaking my head in the negative, I said:

«Can you read me this author?»

– Hm.

I heard a sound, a smile hidden from my sight.

– Francoise de Sagan.

She read, as if for an examiner.

Yeah! Caught a witch.

You are not a student or a spouse rushing for family care. You – read French female prose and speak with a Frenchman in dark glasses and a hidden smashed eye…

I realized that this shade of smell mixed with jasmine and rose.

This is fleur de oranges, shampoo or body milk.

Yes. We are admirers of all French…

I won’t be surprised if she had in her head is not a hat but a gavrosh.

And if someone says that fate does not exist, then I can ask – by what miracle did we meet here?

– I’m out.

Suddenly I heard. Where am I going out? Why – go out?

A…

This is her stop.

Fate is a villain trying to wrest her from me. Will not work. No, she’ll come out. But it doesn’t work out – it’s so easy to separate us.

And I jump onto the platform after her.

It is much lighter than it was in the car, so I can see her gavrosh and a skirt with a beveled hem and a short, brown leather jacket, and even a scarf.

Oh Gods!

Frenchwoman – in the Moscow metro (subway). What a meeting!

I take her hand. She does not move away and looks at me smiling. Now I can finally take off those stupid glasses…

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