There he stood, a woman in the arms with silky stockings, which seemed to be actually powerless, and all the others had evidently used the moment to leave the place of the happening. What should he do now? Who could already know how long such an impotence lasts. Somewhere he had to lie down, he thought. A look at the couch made him realize immediately, there was no room. So stayed only the bed. Carefully he pushed his charming load through the doors, always careful not to hurt her. He laid her down, dared to take a last look at the thrown thighs before he chastised her dress.
The part was done. But how should he go on? Should he awaken her? The wake-up methods, such as to throw them into the mouth, or to pour a bucket of water over his head, seemed to him very little. He was not even sure if it would be good at all to wake her up or not to wait until she awoke from the impotence. It would not be serious. Or is it? Would it be necessary to call for salvation? He decided to get a beer. So it was better. Carefully, he tapped the empty apartment. He was a man, and men have solutions. The eggs are not around, but do. Something. So what’s done. Shortly afterwards he was standing next to the bed again. The beer had not helped either. You could not rely on anything. So he put the bottle down and sat next to it because it was anyway anyway. And while he was so pondering, he felt a hand stroking his arm. If he did not imagine it, it had to be real. And if it was real, she could not be fainted. And when she was no longer powerless, she had to be cheerful.
“What happened?” He heard her voice.
“You’ve fainted,” he told her tightly.
“And you brought me to bed?” She asked, and he saw that she smiled.
“I did not know where else,” he said, “does that happen to you more often?” He pushed quickly to get on safer ground.
“Actually it has not happened to me for a long time,” she replied scarcely. “But I’ve probably exaggerated a bit lately, slept too little, worked too much, you know.” He nodded as he held her hand who still stroked his arm. That irritated him. A little. Then she pulled him to him and kissed him. Just because. That irritated him. A little more. At last she turned him so that he came to lie on his back and swung himself to him as she wrapped his wrists and pressed on the bed. That irritated him. Now completely. Of course it would have been easy for him to get rid of her grip. He had to admit that she was stronger than he had imagined, for a woman with her stature. Perhaps the wrong word was strong. It was rather determination. He did not dare to resist. Then she let go of his wrists, pulled the T-shirt over his head, and stroked his chest with her hands as she had done with his arm. So there really was nothing more. Resistance began to stir him, but she brushed the dress over her head and stifled even this first flicker with a new kiss, so that her upper body came to lie on his. Warm, soft skin on his, so that nothing else remained for him but to embrace her. A little he could still let her go, before he changed the situation so that she was right for him again. After all, he was a gentleman who came as far as possible to the lady he had in bed, especially when she had just passed out. For your sake, just a little. But how much was a little?