Tears of a stranger. Part 1
I hung over her body. Her head, a halo of chic brown hair, lay on my pillow. She turned her round face to the side and closed her eyes. A tear came out through tightly closed eyelids. Some women always cry during sex, even when they come. It was still unclear to me the reason that now caused her these tears. But I’m sure this is definitely not the hot head of my penis, which clearly rubbed against her tender and sensual pussy lips.
• • •
It was Friday evening. I stayed up late at work and went straight from the office to the station to take the last train to my dacha. However, there were many clever people like me. There was a whole crowd of them on the platform. And when an electric train approached, she picked me up and carried me through the opened automatic doors. The people were packed even in the vestibule, but I was lucky enough to be almost in the middle of the carriage.
Sweaty compatriots pushed me here, hurrying home after the end of the working week. They were so eager to get on the train and leave this stuffy city as soon as possible that they did not notice how they literally imprinted me with their front into a young chubby girl. She, like me, could not even move her hand right now. Obeying the situation, we stood tightly pressed to each other.
The girl was much shorter than me in height, and now she almost buried her nose in my chest. Her soft breasts flattened against my stomach at the level of my solar plexus. I examined the top of her head and the edge of her sweating high forehead. The captivating smell of her beautiful hair, mixed with pheromones that exuded a young body, did not allow me to think about anything else except this girl.
After a couple of stops, the carriage became a little freer. But she did not move away from me, we still stood side by side, holding on to the handrail. A few minutes later there was a large station, and most of the passengers got off there. There are even free seats. She sat by the window, and I got a seat opposite her.
She hardly looked in my direction. Her detached gaze was fixed through the glass, where in the thickening twilight dull suburban landscapes flashed. I wanted to talk to her, but I just couldn’t think of even the first phrase. Probably, something happened in her life, and she was clearly sad about something now. One wrong word could rob me once and for all of my chance to make contact.
Out of nowhere, a pink-cheeked kid with a refrigerator bag over his shoulder ran into the car. He willingly sold ice cream from it to fellow citizens thawed by the heat. I also bought a glass of ice cream from him, opened the package and happily took a bite off a huge piece. At that moment, I caught her sliding gaze, in which I caught a shadow of slight envy.
“Lord! She’s hungry, but she probably don’t have any money … That’s why I didn’t buy it myself … ”- flashed through my head,“ The girl wants to eat, but I’m sitting here and eating my ice cream in front of her! Pancake! I had to buy a second glass and offer her … At least give your bitten one back! ” – I thought to myself, embarrassed to even chew.
Well, yes … but she would have taken it and refused. Out of modesty, out of politeness, out of harm, out of caution, or for some other reason … Go and understand these women! In a word, I would have found a reason not to accept ice cream from a stranger. And I would sit like a fool with a second, melting in my hands, a glass of some “Creme brulee” …
I justified my hesitation by looking at her sadly looking out the train window, folding her arms on her chest and propping her chinned chin with her fist. Soon a stout lady appeared from a nearby carriage. She carried a huge box of hot homemade cakes. “Here it is – a second chance!” – I decided and bought two pies from her: one with cabbage, the other with potatoes. The pies turned out to match the hostess – huge, each the size of a bast shoe!
While I was paying, trying not to drop these hot and therefore extremely quirky flour products, the sad girl never looked at me. But I noticed how she twice swallowed saliva from the smell of fresh baked goods filling the whole car.
- With cabbage or with potatoes? – As if nothing had happened, I asked and handed the girl both pies.
- With cabbage … – she perked up, looking in bewilderment first at me, then at such a desired pie for her.
I handed her a treat and shared napkins, which were also given to me by that kind woman.
- Enjoy your meal! – I wished my companion, who at that moment was already eagerly gnawing into a crispy, thin golden crust, fragrant toasted dough.
- Thanks! – She was embarrassed, and, barely turning her tongue, added: – And you too!
- My name is Alexander.
- Alice … – she responded after a short pause.