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It has been raining for two days. Forecasts say it will last the whole week. I look out the window, the droplets coming down slowly, after having wet the misted glass. With the fingers of one hand I rub the surface, and look out, to understand how much I will have to get wet today.
Then the cup with the coffee milk warms my fingers, while I lightly blow on the foam that surmounts the brownish liquid. I hear some noise coming from my room, and I imagine both Martina, who woke up, and ran to my Latvian.
Now I have to go out. I wear the yellow waxed cape, and put on the rubber boots. I peer into the room where she sneaks in and I see her fall asleep again, holding my pillow in her arms.
The scooter I drive runs fast in the rain, in the still sparse traffic of the morning. I avoid the deeper puddles, I drive delicately, careful not to slip on the shiny, treacherous and treacherous asphalt.
I have to make three more deliveries, and then the day will be over. I can not wait.
Despite the wax, the waterproof trousers, the boots and the gloves, after a few hours under this flood, the cold enters my bones, I can't wait to go home, drink a hot herbal tea, and then slip under the duvet.
Finally home in my Latvian.
Then when I hear the door open, and Martina coming in, I get dressed in my usual fleece jumpsuit, woolen socks, and prepare dinner.
You and I are roommates, we divide these two rooms, the bathroom and the kitchen. Except on weekends, when I go to visit my boyfriend who lives in a distant city.
Our sociability has been concentrated in these two or three evening hours, in which we have dinner, and then I go to bed, always early, while she turns over, and then after having made a couple of reeds, she goes to sleep.
Martina deals with botany, is a consultant for large companies in the sector, knows everything there is to know about plants, their origin, the life cycle.
We divided our tasks in this way. She hates cooking, while I can't stand washing dishes.
Martina and I are very different, not only in terms of work and schedules, but also in terms of character and aspirations and expectations from life.
It doesn't seem to me that she has anyone she attends, except an old teacher of hers, much older than her, with whom she sometimes goes out.
For some time I have noticed this strange habit of her, of going to my bed when I get up in the morning.
Even today it is raining.
This strange climate makes me nervous, it complicates my life. The sky is dark, lead gray, while some lighter clouds pass under the dark vault, discharging short and intense downpours.
I would like to stop, have a hot drink, but I have to make an urgent delivery, a guy at the airport is waiting for an envelope before his flight takes off.
I do the slalom between the pools and the cars standing still and lined up. I take advantage of the preferential lanes, a few times I even jump on the sidewalks.
In the end, as almost always I arrive on time, and I deliver the envelope to a hostess who signed the receipt, runs to the embarkations.
Now I have deserved a nice hot herbal tea.
I go to the bar, and while I sip slowly, warming my hands with the cup, I see Martina, sitting at a table, with a man much older than her, I would say an elderly man.
I think of his old teacher he told me about, the one he occasionally goes out with.
I see that they talk a little excitedly, and that she has bright eyes, of who has cried, or is about to do it shortly.
He seems calm, and after a little while, he gives her a light caress, gets up and walks away, towards the boarding area.
Martina remains seated at her table, staring into space, then after a few more minutes she gets up and goes towards the exit.
I wanted to stop her, ask her what was going on, but then I seemed to get involved in a matter that didn't concern me, and I let her go, thinking about the two hours of rain that I had to face.
In the meantime, the rain turned into a big storm, which then became a kind of small tornado.
The wind has blown down some large old trees, which line the path leading back to the center.
Traffic is blocked, fire trucks try to make their way through the chaos, flashing lights, emit bluish flashes in the increasingly dim light of dusk.
I found shelter in the entrance hall of a large building, and with the radio I warned that deliveries were finished for today.
They reassured me, telling me not to worry, that it was all blocked, the power had gone, and people had closed all the offices.
"If they put everything right, see you tomorrow."
I return home and the current has not yet returned.
I light some candles, and in their flickering half-light I strip and slip under the duvet.
Slowly my body warms up, I relax, and when I am about to fall asleep I hear the door closing
opens, and Martina who, entering, asks if I have already returned.
I tell her I'm in bed, and then she looks out the door, opening it slowly, and I see that she is completely wet, dripping water from her clothes, and has the expression of someone who has been crying for hours.
I tell her to run to the bathroom, which would flood the house, that I would bring her dry clothes, a bathrobe.
When I reach her, she undresses, her clothes are on the ground and she looks at me in a bewildered way, trembling, not knowing what to do.
I had never seen her naked, despite living together, we never became intimate, as is usually done among friends. I wrap it in a warm and dry bathrobe and start rubbing it, rubbing it with my hands, drying my hair that is dripping with water.
Martina is filiform, has two hard, pointed tits, and a tuft of black hair covers her pubis.
Seeing her naked, for the first time I seem to glimpse even those hidden sides, which so far she has kept within herself, that something of hers that has never let shine through, but that unconsciously troubled me, it is as if suddenly in spite of ourselves, we had become more close, almost friends.
I try to hug her while I caress her, and slowly I feel her closer, I send her some of my warmth. Now she's stopping shaking and she hugs me too and for a moment she hugs me hard, almost hurting me, and then she asks me if she can come to my bed, stay close to me for a while.
I nod, with the promise that she would tell me what happens to her, how she managed to shrink in that state.
The light of the lamp on the bedside table wakes me up. The current has returned, I look at the alarm clock, and I realize that it is late at night. Martina sleeps peacefully by my side, under the duvet, and I realize that we are both completely naked. Then I remember everything, and with a strange feeling of anxiety, and also of fear, I realize that we made love, that I fucked with a woman.
The scene comes back to me and the fresh memory unravels pleasant and disturbing in my mind.
Once in bed, the bathrobe came off, and she was naked. Then when we were both under the duvet, she hugged me, telling me the story of this teacher of hers, who was like a father to her, and who was gone today, perhaps to never return. His story then became hazy, confused between distant memories, parents never had, adolescence in institutions, difficult years overcome thanks to the help of this person. As his words followed each other, I felt that he was stroking me, his hands crept under my pajamas, a feeling of warmth and sweetness enveloped me, then his voice became a light whisper, and he began to confess that he fell in love of me, of being only attracted to women, of sneaking into my bed every morning to smell me, hugging my pillow thinking of tightening my warm body.
As if by some strange magic, my pajamas slipped out of my skin, like a suit of a snake, and I found myself naked, with the heat of Martina's skin. Her whispering more and more light, her mouth closer, until I touched myself, to feel the warm contact of her lips.
I felt her sweet, warm, smooth tongue in my mouth, glued to mine, looking for each other in a tumult of sensations, with my heart pounding, my breath panting, my head spinning faster and faster.
Then the heat of his contrasting sex on my thigh, and his soft flesh rubbing me, getting stronger and faster. Then a kind of oblivion takes over, in which she begins to kiss me all over her body, and I exchange it, until both mouths stick to our wet sexes. Martina licks me and kisses my pussy like no man has ever been able to do. I exchange it and I feel that she too enjoys it, her copious moods tell me, I wet my lips and chin, my nose and cheeks, I smell her, her thighs that tighten my face, the muscles of my 'abdomen that contract, his strangled scream that signals a sudden orgasm, followed shortly after my explosion, which leaves me breathless, without strength even to shout.
I turn off the light and the room becomes dark again, I feel her light breathing, like that of a sleeping baby. Outside it started to rain again, large gusts of wind made the shutters tremble, and the downpours of water drummed against the glass, washing the windows.
As if by a strange primordial instinct, I approach Martina and hug her close to me, to feel her warmth, to give and seek the security that threatening bad weather seems to jeopardize.
She wakes up and smiles at me, then squeezes me tightly and kisses me. I reciprocate his effusions and slowly we start making love again.
Then the cup with the coffee milk warms my fingers, while I lightly blow on the foam that surmounts the brownish liquid. I hear some noise coming from my room, and I imagine both Martina, who woke up, and ran to my Latvian.
Now I have to go out. I wear the yellow waxed cape, and put on the rubber boots. I peer into the room where she sneaks in and I see her fall asleep again, holding my pillow in her arms.
The scooter I drive runs fast in the rain, in the still sparse traffic of the morning. I avoid the deeper puddles, I drive delicately, careful not to slip on the shiny, treacherous and treacherous asphalt.
I have to make three more deliveries, and then the day will be over. I can not wait.
Despite the wax, the waterproof trousers, the boots and the gloves, after a few hours under this flood, the cold enters my bones, I can't wait to go home, drink a hot herbal tea, and then slip under the duvet.
Finally home in my Latvian.
Then when I hear the door open, and Martina coming in, I get dressed in my usual fleece jumpsuit, woolen socks, and prepare dinner.
You and I are roommates, we divide these two rooms, the bathroom and the kitchen. Except on weekends, when I go to visit my boyfriend who lives in a distant city.
Our sociability has been concentrated in these two or three evening hours, in which we have dinner, and then I go to bed, always early, while she turns over, and then after having made a couple of reeds, she goes to sleep.
Martina deals with botany, is a consultant for large companies in the sector, knows everything there is to know about plants, their origin, the life cycle.
We divided our tasks in this way. She hates cooking, while I can't stand washing dishes.
Martina and I are very different, not only in terms of work and schedules, but also in terms of character and aspirations and expectations from life.
It doesn't seem to me that she has anyone she attends, except an old teacher of hers, much older than her, with whom she sometimes goes out.
For some time I have noticed this strange habit of her, of going to my bed when I get up in the morning.
Even today it is raining.
This strange climate makes me nervous, it complicates my life. The sky is dark, lead gray, while some lighter clouds pass under the dark vault, discharging short and intense downpours.
I would like to stop, have a hot drink, but I have to make an urgent delivery, a guy at the airport is waiting for an envelope before his flight takes off.
I do the slalom between the pools and the cars standing still and lined up. I take advantage of the preferential lanes, a few times I even jump on the sidewalks.
In the end, as almost always I arrive on time, and I deliver the envelope to a hostess who signed the receipt, runs to the embarkations.
Now I have deserved a nice hot herbal tea.
I go to the bar, and while I sip slowly, warming my hands with the cup, I see Martina, sitting at a table, with a man much older than her, I would say an elderly man.
I think of his old teacher he told me about, the one he occasionally goes out with.
I see that they talk a little excitedly, and that she has bright eyes, of who has cried, or is about to do it shortly.
He seems calm, and after a little while, he gives her a light caress, gets up and walks away, towards the boarding area.
Martina remains seated at her table, staring into space, then after a few more minutes she gets up and goes towards the exit.
I wanted to stop her, ask her what was going on, but then I seemed to get involved in a matter that didn't concern me, and I let her go, thinking about the two hours of rain that I had to face.
In the meantime, the rain turned into a big storm, which then became a kind of small tornado.
The wind has blown down some large old trees, which line the path leading back to the center.
Traffic is blocked, fire trucks try to make their way through the chaos, flashing lights, emit bluish flashes in the increasingly dim light of dusk.
I found shelter in the entrance hall of a large building, and with the radio I warned that deliveries were finished for today.
They reassured me, telling me not to worry, that it was all blocked, the power had gone, and people had closed all the offices.
"If they put everything right, see you tomorrow."
I return home and the current has not yet returned.
I light some candles, and in their flickering half-light I strip and slip under the duvet.
Slowly my body warms up, I relax, and when I am about to fall asleep I hear the door closing
opens, and Martina who, entering, asks if I have already returned.
I tell her I'm in bed, and then she looks out the door, opening it slowly, and I see that she is completely wet, dripping water from her clothes, and has the expression of someone who has been crying for hours.
I tell her to run to the bathroom, which would flood the house, that I would bring her dry clothes, a bathrobe.
When I reach her, she undresses, her clothes are on the ground and she looks at me in a bewildered way, trembling, not knowing what to do.
I had never seen her naked, despite living together, we never became intimate, as is usually done among friends. I wrap it in a warm and dry bathrobe and start rubbing it, rubbing it with my hands, drying my hair that is dripping with water.
Martina is filiform, has two hard, pointed tits, and a tuft of black hair covers her pubis.
Seeing her naked, for the first time I seem to glimpse even those hidden sides, which so far she has kept within herself, that something of hers that has never let shine through, but that unconsciously troubled me, it is as if suddenly in spite of ourselves, we had become more close, almost friends.
I try to hug her while I caress her, and slowly I feel her closer, I send her some of my warmth. Now she's stopping shaking and she hugs me too and for a moment she hugs me hard, almost hurting me, and then she asks me if she can come to my bed, stay close to me for a while.
I nod, with the promise that she would tell me what happens to her, how she managed to shrink in that state.
The light of the lamp on the bedside table wakes me up. The current has returned, I look at the alarm clock, and I realize that it is late at night. Martina sleeps peacefully by my side, under the duvet, and I realize that we are both completely naked. Then I remember everything, and with a strange feeling of anxiety, and also of fear, I realize that we made love, that I fucked with a woman.
The scene comes back to me and the fresh memory unravels pleasant and disturbing in my mind.
Once in bed, the bathrobe came off, and she was naked. Then when we were both under the duvet, she hugged me, telling me the story of this teacher of hers, who was like a father to her, and who was gone today, perhaps to never return. His story then became hazy, confused between distant memories, parents never had, adolescence in institutions, difficult years overcome thanks to the help of this person. As his words followed each other, I felt that he was stroking me, his hands crept under my pajamas, a feeling of warmth and sweetness enveloped me, then his voice became a light whisper, and he began to confess that he fell in love of me, of being only attracted to women, of sneaking into my bed every morning to smell me, hugging my pillow thinking of tightening my warm body.
As if by some strange magic, my pajamas slipped out of my skin, like a suit of a snake, and I found myself naked, with the heat of Martina's skin. Her whispering more and more light, her mouth closer, until I touched myself, to feel the warm contact of her lips.
I felt her sweet, warm, smooth tongue in my mouth, glued to mine, looking for each other in a tumult of sensations, with my heart pounding, my breath panting, my head spinning faster and faster.
Then the heat of his contrasting sex on my thigh, and his soft flesh rubbing me, getting stronger and faster. Then a kind of oblivion takes over, in which she begins to kiss me all over her body, and I exchange it, until both mouths stick to our wet sexes. Martina licks me and kisses my pussy like no man has ever been able to do. I exchange it and I feel that she too enjoys it, her copious moods tell me, I wet my lips and chin, my nose and cheeks, I smell her, her thighs that tighten my face, the muscles of my 'abdomen that contract, his strangled scream that signals a sudden orgasm, followed shortly after my explosion, which leaves me breathless, without strength even to shout.
I turn off the light and the room becomes dark again, I feel her light breathing, like that of a sleeping baby. Outside it started to rain again, large gusts of wind made the shutters tremble, and the downpours of water drummed against the glass, washing the windows.
As if by a strange primordial instinct, I approach Martina and hug her close to me, to feel her warmth, to give and seek the security that threatening bad weather seems to jeopardize.
She wakes up and smiles at me, then squeezes me tightly and kisses me. I reciprocate his effusions and slowly we start making love again.
