Author: Sima
Description of sex story: Romantic Love Stories and Beautiful Sex
I stand in a smoking room, make a relaxed look and try to talk with work colleagues. The hands of the inner tension tremble. I quickly drag on and hide the traitor hand behind my back. As always, one person holds the initiative in the conversation. He, with charmingly smiling, gives us detailed information on the topic under discussion. Standing slightly and leaning toward the wall, which makes it seem slightly lower than tall. And still, if you are next to him, you have to slightly throw your head to look into his eyes.
Lately I have been looking into his eyes too often.
With soft movements, he changes his pose, continuing to captivate us with a pure timbre of voice, well -posed speech and convincing argumentation.
– —
And in my soul lurks a nightmare. It is enough to lose control by half a second and becomes painful, unbearably painful! Half seconds are separated from the abyss and madness. One of his word, look, knock the soil and throw it to the bottom of hell. And he eagerly swallows me and begins to grind me, crunching with nerves, chewing the heart, digging with poisonous fangs into the soul. Resentment, despair, jealousy…, some other feelings for which they did not come up with names. You need to quickly think about something outsid … About work, right – about work: does not help. I need to hurt yourself, I put my nail into my palm, I can give it with all my might: UV, I emerge into reality, I hear what it seems to have been talking about, and no one noticed my state. The nightmare did not recede for a long time, but continues to grind inside, recalling that all the time nearby.
– —
None of the colleagues realizes that the ordinary smokers are stained with a secret, and all movements, quick glances have a special meaning for me and this beautiful man.
For a couple of months I have been working in a new place when an employee from another department moved to us. "If you need to help with a computer with something, please contact" – Smiling, he said. Since there were no smokers besides us, we were together in the smoking room, we often chatted on different topics, penetrating more and more sympathy for each other. And one day, after the weekend, when I hastily went and quit "Hello", He answered gently "Hi, I missed". For a moment dumbfounded and not yet realizing how to react, I said a little audibly "Me too". Later we were surprised how we could not be afraid of each other and not close to soulless decency. Once he came to work without a wedding ring, and again I have never seen this piece of his other life. He became an ideal for me in everything. I reviewed my views to perceive life as he. I changed my goals to be closer to him. How naively I gave myself the whole chosen one, expecting a response and tenderness. Trying to guess his desires, give pleasure, I made a lot of stupid things madly. Friends, succumbing to my delight, did not stop my recklessness. And even if they told me "Think why you need it" I wouldn’t hear.
This continues for almost a year: the time, inexorably changing everything, has freely froze, unable to bring us closer or move away from each other. So I want to properly kick the presumptuous time: "My attitude towards you will never change", He spoke almost a year ago. Yesterday he repeated it again. There is only one state for a person when nothing happens. Life, continuing its run, changes everything, and only the dead, remain insensitive to these changes. The corpse is not aware that someone misses him, wants to see him, suffers without him. The corpse will not excite if a loving person decides to forget him. He will not persuade, give flowers and ask to return. He agrees in advance with the fact that he will decide alive.
– —
My nightmare is gaining full strength when I stay alone. When no one sees when there was no strength left for self -control. A few days without sleep. Soundless so that the neighbors do not hear, choke on tears. All thoughts crushed by the day, feelings, cover at once, and I drown in despair, remembering how he did not look, did not give his hands, did not answer the question or laughed merrily when I was bad. I want to get out of this horror. I no longer believe that this is love. After all, love should be beautiful and tender, when two smiles, two joys gently strive to meet each other, when warmth spilles in the chest and I want to touch and say with my eyes, I see you and I love you. I am happy that you are and love me. After all, there is this day, and there is the sun and there are many different things and our love is also. You can feel it, then it is. Love cannot be fraud.
Once again, returning home, I force myself to soberly evaluate all its shortcomings and even record them, trying to concentrate only on this. Having calmed down a little and feeling some inner confidence, I try to fall asleep in the dream of a normal person, without internal torment and mental conversations with him. I need a respite so, I want to relax: but in this way it was not possible to slip away from the groaning me. I don’t want to write about it, but you can’t throw words from the song. Alcohol, real 96 % I always have. It is already the truth for more than a year. I take out my tourist stagnant, breed water and start drinking. I drink with breaks so as not to miss the moment when you can stop and go to bed. Naturally missing. I suffer from the consequences of poisoning midnight, and yet I fall asleep. Lord, how good it is that I feel bad. You can just lie and feel bad, and there is no inner pain, and there is only a tormenting body.
And then I had a friend by correspondence.
He: Helloj
Me: Hi, who are you?
He: I am a psychotherapist
Me: Here you need you!
And the days of answers began. He asked, told something about himself. I answered and it was still very painful for me. And at times, I almost could not hold back tears. I had to go out to the toilet and bring myself in the appropriate look, returning to explain that my head was ill.
My psychotherapist wrote: Try to talk to him. I tried. I thought for a week, then at night on the phone, stuttering and losing thought, I said that I wanted something ours, my and mine. To do something together, to be somewhere. I knew that I would hear in response. And of course I heard. Very polite, as usual, he said that "is our" Or it grows in the process of communication or not, and nothing can be done with this:
I wonder how others motivate themselves when you need to take actions against which everything in you protests? My method can be called "a corral in a corner". Extremely heavy, but most likely in such circumstances it simply does not exist. The main thing, as always, is to make a decision. And then, methodically, you begin to destroy all the possibilities of a wound to the side.
I did not notice when I could understand the main thing myself. And the main thing is that he does not need me. But I’m proud. How can I love a person who needs me only as a toy? This is impossible. By the way, I recalled a children’s poem. "Proud is easier, the proud do not cry either from wounds or mental pain. On other people’s roads, they do not loom and love, like beggars, do not ask". This poem turned around for days in my mind, scoring everything else. It seems that it is difficult to find a large nonsense, but after a while I could already live normally, feel normally.
He is still there. Every day we meet, talk and even joke. Still love to go together together. But the world around me appeared, other people, other interests. I feel normally, I sleep at night. And only sometimes in the middle of the night I jump up like from a push and remember that I just saw his face. The idea comes that he had something happened. But this does not concern me, and I fall asleep again. Maybe it’s love? I don’t think so.
As it turned out later, all knowledge of the psychology of my new virtual friend ends in courses. But once he survived this himself and therefore was able to understand my pain and convey something very correct to me. It would seem that there is an end to the end: I am looking for another job so as not to see it in order to deprive myself of the last opportunity to return to the experienced horror. I am engaged in my business, I almost don’t think about him.
Afterword.
We go to the elevator, we are fooling around. What happened, I can’t say. Waving my arms, I told something funny. My hands, which I always trusted and thought that I could control their movement, do not go down from a wide gesture, as I wanted, but suddenly hug him by the neck. I find my body clinging and trembling with excitement in his arms. He, like a madman, is pressed against me too and endlessly kisses me. He also pounds him. It seems that he did not expect such. A few seconds of madness. All. The elevator arrived. Out. Everything is very calm. Nothing happened. And again it is incomprehensible…
Maybe there is love after all?
I don’t know if there is love. I don’t understand, honestly.
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