STORIES OF 9 WOMEN
Stories are always alike. Fetishes and fantasies intertwine slowly but surely, just like epidemics. Only someone who can read between the lines can see them. The author wants to pierce the reader with the depth that each of the 9 women possess. These women are beautiful, but not in the public eye. Frankly, they shun society by creating their own worlds in tiny cradles. Frankly speaking, they shun society by creating their own worlds in tiny cradles. These cradles are filled with passion…
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© ANASTASIYA LISITSA, 2020
ISBN 978-5-4498-7411-5
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Stories are always alike. Fetishes and fantasies intertwine slowly but surely, just like epidemics. Only someone who can read between the lines can see them. The author wants to pierce the reader with the depth that each of the 9 women possess. These women are beautiful, but not in the public eye. Frankly, they shun society by creating their own worlds in tiny cradles. Frankly speaking, they shun society by creating their own worlds in tiny cradles. These cradles are filled with passion, love and gentle erotica. Each page smells like desire and sex. Enjoy the moment…
ESTA
ESTA
The celestial Buick Apollo 1908, the irrefutably gorgeous MAN, and she with her black glasses slipped down the puny-tiny streets of the past. She proceeded to this place feeling pride and exciting memories, she was the very one Esta who had conquered the heart of the inconspicuous Rabbi. Everything – sounds and rituals – were in their places, as they were before, sounds and rituals. The same benches, whispers, and tight groups of females with baby buggies and strollers. While their adult sons and beloved husbands were hard at work. Mentality transmitted its psychological pains to children from generation to generation. The generation resisted, broke and denied, but it was only a small percentage. All the rest, organically fed on cozy bacteria of the masses and turned into a space reflecting the history, which every mortal would have to learn by heart later.
She did not know what remains to be seen, she did not know whether she would catch him or find out about death, whether she would hear sad notes and feel disapproving gazes of avoidant guardians of «holy thoughts». These neural connections caused insults in her body, but at the same time they allowed her to look down on the facts that she had passed a long time ago, and which she certainly never dares to return to.
She opened the door, forgetting to cover her head. Very fortunate for her, the hall was completely empty.
Esta went deeper into the hall and listened to the bewitching silence. The silence of the virgin hall, the aura of which no one had ever spoiled or subjugated. At the same time, fragrances of memories came into her head, his features came back to in her memory, crazy charisma and hidden sexuality wrapped in the darkest black, secret robe.
This ambiguity excited her, just as before, and it happened here, right in the middle of a great community.
She sat down on a bench, took off her purple headscarf and spread her knees a little. Her light skirt opened naughtily, her legs freed from all the rules. Esta returned to the world of vicious childhood. Then everything was different, there were no contracts, conditions and masks. All this rainbow of thoughts was caught by a light breeze that invaded without permission through the open doors that the girl forgot to close. She wanted to surrender to the stream, to the prayerful aura and its spirit, which was absorbed into these walls, so frankly.
«Today is Tuesday, and I don’t know anything about his schedule,» Esta whispered, her shiny eyelids were half-closed.
She looked so bizarre among everything that surrounded her.
This eclecticism, in her presence, had a smack of a light psychological archaist, written by someone on the brink of a psychotic meltdown.
«Esta, are you crazy?»
«What are you doing in the city after the scandal?»
He bawled his eyes out. Mr. X. Anyway, I will continue my story in order not to shake the feelings of those who dare to recognize themselves in this story.
«X», sweetheart», Esta tried to get closer, but he backed away.
«I asked you never to return to the city. I gave you everything for this.»
«You gave me a one-way ticket and a shelter. I do not regret anything. It’s been 15 years, believe me, I should have seen you.»
«Esta, I’m diseased. My life is sliding down the slope that has bent completely in the wrong direction, and now it is confidently falling down. To be honest with you, I do not remember what happened once. This is a taboo.»
The sun was shining so brightly that t «X» closed his eyes, his hat was slipping from his sweaty hair, and the smell of sweat literally pierced young Esta. Ovulation, young firm breasts and slender legs, unconsciously discouraged the elderly Rabbi. They were so different, they stood against each other, and wished each other, more than ever. They belonged to different social strata, their professions did not intersect, even in their dreams, which sometimes arose among those who lived under a thick layer of lies.
Nevertheless, these two mixed up together with the sacred scents of almost died out candles, their desires, their memories and the very memory of bodies erasing of which is beyond time’s power were also mixed up. And to the hell with your rung on a social ladder.
«X, I came for you. I want to be with you. Now I have ample opportunity and money. You have no idea how many opportunities creates porn— business…»
