Life is too short for boring stories

At the next green stage, Sebastian actually managed to set his car on time. Oddly enough, he had to admit to himself and he was nervous. And in his age. Nothing special happened. It was a normal date with Sandy. Although, was it actually normal to call? Three weeks had passed since she had entered his life so unexpectedly. Of course, he’d been at the game on Saturday, and he had to admit she had developed great. He proudly added that the foundation for the technical skills had also been laid with his training. At least a bit. From then on, they had met more and more often, informal and harmless. For common running training, for walking or just for gossiping. After a short time, he realized that he got used to these meetings and did not want to miss them anymore.

“Do you know why I am so good at handball?” She had asked him one day, in her inimitable direct nature.
“Because you train a lot and are talented?”, he replied then her question with a counter question.
“Of course, but most of all, because I knew that you would eventually see it and then you would be proud of me,” she admitted frankly. And this answer came with such a matter of course, as if nothing else was possible. Refreshing was her ease and her will to expect the best of life because she could. It did him good, for she dragged him along with her, her reality, in which there seemed to be no evil. At the same time, it scared him. How easily could she be hurt. So much openness and, no better word for it, carelessness, that was almost masochistic. Life had treated her well so far, had kept her well protected. He knew better, but he did not penetrate her. Maybe he did not try it long enough, because he did not want to destroy her illusions because she was infecting him, and from time to time he found himself wondering why it should not be.

But this meeting, which he set off now, was a very special one. It was her first official rendezvous. He had probably experienced enough of this in his life, on the one hand, and on the other, they had often met before. Still, there was something else, and that something made him nervous. Her smile was enough to wipe out all his anxiety and nervousness. What remained was the pleasant feeling of having her with him.

Almost classically this evening could be called, with restaurant and cinema visit, a trip to a bar, and then land in his apartment. And when he took her in her arms – or she, he did not know that – kiss her, she was just a woman he craved, who wanted him. Experienced so many times, and yet again, for the first time, with all the tingling and the magic, the very first painting was or should be inherent. More and more it had been lost, over time. Maybe it was her youthfulness, her freshness, and that unconditional trust in him that gripped him too. What was she doing with him? Did he want to know it?

Her warm, soft body against his, her legs wrapped around him, sank in tenderness, and when he began to conquer her, to unite with her, entering her through her door, he felt absorbed and welcome. He heard how she groaned, felt how she readily accepted him, indeed demanded it. He wanted to take his time, though. Carefully and slowly, he made his way, but still could not prevent her from screaming. He glared at her, watching her eyes twist and her senses fade. At the same time, he felt her warm blood running over his skin. Was it? Could it be? Why had not she said anything? Carefully, he withdrew from her. If only he had known it. She seemed to him like a little bird that had come into his hand, completely, and he had crushed her. He lay down next to her and tenderly stroked her cheek as if seeking forgiveness. How would she react when she woke up?


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