4 comments/ 10432 views/ 1 favorites Kasia's Story By: soylentgreen23 June the 3rd was the warmest, sweetest day of the year so far and happened also to be a Saturday. The streets of Krakow teemed with life. It was far enough into the summer that the people of this fair town knew precisely what they wanted to do with the time the sun had given them. A few weeks earlier, and they would have been at a loss, too used to the cool or the rain to have had the confidence in nature to go out exploring their environment; a few weeks later, and the oppressive heat of the real summer would have settled over the people like a blanket, and there would have been nothing to do but sweat and survive. Many chose to spend this glorious day simply strolling, looking at all the other happy Krakovians on their day in the sun, perhaps lounging on one of the many benches that line the 'planty', the green area that encircles the old town centre, guarding it from encroaching modernity. Others chose to lie in the sun on the banks of the Vistula, the level of the water high, the surface pierced in places by boats and pontoons. There was even a water-skier showing off his talents. Kasia chose to go cycling. At first this might have seemed an odd choice. Given the rising temperatures and the glare of the sun, especially at midday, one would have thought cycling too energetic a preoccupation; but for Kasia it was perfect. The grass had grown tall along the little country paths that she knew existed even in this glistening metropolis, and when she built up a little speed on her bike she felt the cooling influence of the breeze blowing past her. By two o'clock, however, her exertions had exhausted her, and she returned, a line of sweat stretching from the nape of her neck to the join of her buttocks. Her muscles ached, but it was a golden kind of pain she felt, around her calves and her thighs, that told of a rewarding day. Immediately she reached her fourth-floor apartment she stripped out of her sports clothes and stepped straight into the shower. She kept the temperature low and the pressure high, the cold water massaging her tired shoulders, the tension in her body flowing out and down the drain with the water. She dried, and put on the radio, the volume turned down low. She pulled out her sofa-bed, and rearranged the cushions on it so she could lie in comfort and read for a while. She opened the window and breathed in the air. Her home was far enough out of town, and high enough away from the street, that the air was fresh and alive with the scents of the country. It was still only early in the afternoon, and Kasia felt that she could afford to spend some time on her own relaxing, before she was due to meet friends in the evening for a night of partying in town. She discarded her towel, letting it fall in a heap onto the floor. There would be time enough later to pick it up - now, the priority was finding something suitably light to wear in bed as she read. She looked through her wardrobe for the most appropriate underwear, but soon gave up her search and decided that she would take advantage of living alone and simply stay naked. She picked up her tattered copy of the Milan Kundera she was reading, and with a nice large glass of chilled mineral water, she retired to her bed. Within minutes the book was on the floor and Kasia was fast asleep, the day having overtaken her. The short hours of the weekend passed, one by one. Kasia slept, her dreams a secret kept from all the world; we can only guess what they might have involved. Outside, a small bird, caught in a sudden updraft, hovered for a moment, looking through the window at Kasia lying naked on her bed. Not knowing what it had found, and suddenly released from its cushion of air, the bird flapped its wings and was away; we, however, have the luxury of staying where we are, and for a few seconds we can take in the beauty lying before us. Kasia's breathing was gentle. Her small breasts, neat and firm, rose and fell langorously, her nipples erect, an effect the chill of the breeze had produced one can only assume for our benefit as her observers. She smiled suddenly, a cute little smile that seemed to suggest that, yes, she knew we were watching her sleep, and yes, she enjoyed being watched. As her eyelids are closed, we cannot tell the colour of her eyes, but we can say with certainty that they are beautiful, because a woman with a beautiful face always has beautiful eyes, and Kasia is without a doubt a beautiful woman. What we cannot tell, but can choose to imagine, is whether those eyes are illuminated by hope and optimism, or if they are coloured by a maudlin disposition. One hopes it is more the former than the latter. Her blond hair had drawn the attention of many a man - and woman - when she had been out cycling. Then, it seemed to attract the full glow of the summer sun; miraculously, one could say, it had lost none of its lustre, even though the sun was beginning now to head homewards, and would soon be gone from the sky; even in the evening, or the night, there would still be a glow to Kasia's hair that seemed to defy the laws of logic. Her breathing was regular and soft. Her mouth, with her thin, pale lips, was closed, yet her nostrils never flared. Here, then, is a woman who is always in her element, even if she thinks otherwise: even breathing when asleep is done with grace and modesty. Her skin appeared soft and supple in the afternoon light, and it is perfectly reasonable to assume that its touch would be heavenly. Sadly, the only presence in Kasia's company was the incorporeal air, and even the motes of dust it carried that landed on her were sad to think that they lacked fingertips that could run from her breasts to her navel and beyond. Beyond... beyond lay a small delta of blond hair, a few shades darker than that upon her crown; this delta of venus, this arrow pointing subtly down, gave onto her glorious womanhood, her special area, or as your gracious author prefers it, her pussy. Her pussy, which for so long had gone untouched by the hands of man; this, in and of itself, was a crime of the highest order. What world is this in which there is no man deserving of exploring Kasia's beautiful, graceful, serene pussy? No fingers here have graced the tuft of hair, worked their way down to her protruding clitoris, and run along the lips of that fair entrance to delight, her pussy. Oh to imagine the sensation one would have of even touching for an instant any little part of her there! Oh what glory there would be for the man whose body was granted that hallowed destiny, to touch Kasia and give her pleasure! Only grim history knew of the last man, his name long forgotten, who had placed the palm of his hand first on Kasia's delicate tummy, and had had the nerve to slowly reach down, through the bush of her pubic hair, past the clitoris, and into the wetness of her welcoming pussy. But enough of these wanderings. We have only time to observe the smoothness and perfection of Kasia's legs, her dimpled knees and her kissable feet, before we are interrupted, and like the bird before us, must fly away and content ourselves with observing this goddess from a distance. Now, as the sun sets a dying red on the horizon, Kasia's sleep is disturbed by the sound of what might be an alarm bell ringing. Suddenly she jumps up, disoriented, forgetting where she is and what she was doing, even what day it is. Frantically she searches for her bedside clock to kill whatever buzzing noise this must be. But it isn't morning, and Kasia realises, on pressing the snooze button repeatedly in vain, that it isn't her alarm clock making the noise. Rather, it is her mobile phone, ringing and vibrating away on her desk. Innocently and with the only knowledge of those recently awakened from a deep and rewarding sleep - namely, that they had just been woken - Kasia answered her phone. "Hello?" "Hello!" The enthusiasm and awakedness of the speaker annoyed Kasia briefly, until she was able to piece together who it was that was calling, and the remembrance of her engagement that evening crept back into her mind. "Oh!" "Oh indeed, Kasia!" the caller said. "Are you nearly ready? I'm downstairs waiting for you, and the tram's going to be here in twenty. Are you coming or not?" The worst thing imaginable had happened: Kasia had slept longer than was reasonable, and had not woken in time to prepare herself for the night's adventures. Ordinarily she would have claimed a headache and stayed at home, but something from her dream, revealed to her all of a sudden, suggested to her that she make an effort and go out regardless. Hurriedly she grabbed the first clothes that she could find that didn't need ironing. This happened to include a simple white skirt, about knee length and pleated delicately, and a black top of the greatest simplicity. A white bra and matching thong completed her outfit for the night, along with a pair of simple though pleasant black shoes that Kasia knew could be worn without socks. How odd it felt for her to have to rush like this to get ready - it was like an extension to the dreams she had been having just minutes ago, and she was sure that any moment she would wake up again and discover she had more time. Her hair she quickly brushed back and then let fall long and alluring over her shoulders; she decided against wearing make-up; her lip gloss would have to suffice, though with only a brief application her lips became irresistible. She knew she smelt good, thanks to her long, cold, shower, and needed only a quick squirt of a simple perfume to complete her toilet. She almost forgot to lock the door to her apartment as she left, and nearly fell down the stairs in her hurry to meet her friend. She explained herself immediately. "Do I look all right? I was asleep when you called, and I'd totally forgotten we were going out!" Her friend, a work colleague called Magda, looked at her with a faint glimmer of jealousy in her eyes. "You look fine," she said, though deep down she knew that was an understatement, and it hurt her to think that Kasia looked better now than she herself did after two hours preparing for the night. The two young women went to the tram stop and very soon found themselves rattling along towards town. The tram was packed with that strangely urban assortment of creatures, from the drunk detritus of society sleeping at the back, to the students heading out for a night of drinking and dancing, to the tired and hassled parents leading their children to classical music recitals that none of them wanted to endure. There were no free seats, so Kasia and Magda stood; one of the windows nearby was open, and a draft blew gently up Kasia's skirt, tickling her thighs and briefly kissing her cheeks. Magda was as dissimilar to Kasia as genre is to literature; the relationship was one purely built of convenience, since neither had been in Krakow long enough to have their own friends. Joining the company at the same time, they were quickly grafted onto the existing social network, and when the staff went out for drinks, they went with them. There was something vaguely desperate about the group's late night activities, and Kasia feared generally that one day she would become as desperate as the rest of them. Already she caught herself occasionally judging the men she met as prospectives mates, and this mercenary aspect appalled her. Kasia did not feel as though she was a special person, as any special person is wont to do. She did not even think herself as especially attractive, a consequence of some unfortunate choices made years and years before, before she had become the woman that the world now loved. One day, the world promised silently to the night, she would find the love she deserved, and on that day the sky would glow a shimmering pink, as if to announce to the people that dwelt upon the world that there could, indeed, be happiness here. However, we are concerned with the here and now, and less with the philosophy of love. That we shall leave to less jaded sensibilities, to those who can appreciate it. To love is to live, and this was precisely what Kasia intended to do that night. In her mind she swore to herself that she would have a good time, and not worry greatly if she was overlooked by men once again. If the start of the night had been inauspicious, with Kasia oversleeping and almost missing out on everything, then the next part was even less encouraging. The first bar they visited was crammed with smokers and the air was rank with the sweat of the summer. But Kasia had no choice but to follow Magda down the stairs leading to this basement pub, where they were to meet the rest of the party. Reluctant to stay for more than a few minutes, Kasia bought the smallest, cheapest drink she could, and sat slowly sipping it, trying valiantly though perhaps unsuccessfully to look as though she was happy there. The others in her circle were a motley crew, mostly women in their thirties and forties, the men all married and many of the women divorced. There was sadness here, as it was generally agreed that the world was not of their making, though what they wanted to do about it, nobody knew. The hopes and dreams of their lives had long been forgotten, and for most now the hopes and dreams lay with the concept of conception, the birth of new life and the opportunities for happiness that a baby could bring. But before there could be new life, there must be new lives, and therefore drinks on a Saturday night and then dancing, and the hope that a bump in the night would lead to a bump in the belly a few months later. Kasia knew all of this; the women there knew all of this; the men that courted their attention knew all of this. Kasia was desperate to escape this vicious cycle, and wanted to think she had the strength to do so alone; she knew not that she had this strength already; what she needed, and we know this because we are able to see more than most from our lofty vantage point, is that she needed to find somebody who could show her the strength she had inside her. To find the man for Kasia, Kasia knew she had to get out, but to go out alone, even in a modern city like Krakow, was still considered unseemly, and Kasia didn't for an instant want to be considered unseemly. Therefore, nights like these were her only chance. She hated to be considered the rose that grew in a pot of manure; the thought never crossed her mind. But the thought has crossed our mind on more than one occasion, and if we had but the power to do something about it... Kasia's attention was distracted away from the person droning on to her about glossy celebrities by a man who had risen from his chair at a table near to her own. As he rose, a calm seemed to fall over the whole room; the music quietened, the chatter around her ceased, the smoke dissipated and he was revealed to her. He was tall, though not noticeably, and looked strong, though he kept whatever muscles he possessed hidden under modest clothes. He wore black trousers and polished shoes, and a simple belt. His shirt was white and the top two buttons were undone, revealing a little chest hair and a beaded necklace that seemed right but could have been oh-so-wrong. He wore a black blazer jacket that came in above the waist, and perfectly complemented his figure. He was smiling at one of the people near him, and as Kasia turned her attention to the focus of his, she saw to her enormous dismay a beautiful young woman with full breasts and a brilliant white smile. Then Kasia was brought back into the conversation that had continued without her, and her attention was distracted away from her Adonis. She perceived, out of the corner of her eye, a number of people passing towards the exit, and when finally she felt able to turn back to the table on the other side of the room, she discovered that it was empty. ************** Part 2 ************** At this point of the story, which cleaves nicely in two, it is worth mentioning briefly that those critics who say that the writer is the most important element in the act of writing are, on some occasions, wrong. One such occasion is this one. So, what else could be the most critical factor that determines how a story is written? I suggest that that role is played by you, the reader. You see, it would be very easy, as the writer, for me to decide that I had had enough of Kasia, that I was bored with this story, and so send her home all alone, to a night of tears and lamentations, and perhaps follow her so far in the course of her life as to see her later life, as a spinster perhaps, and the sadness that the passing days told. I could do that as easily as if I wanted to suddenly introduce a superhero, or a spaceship, into the story. Whether the story would be any good if I did is open to debate, but the power apparently lies in the hands of the writer, since he is working as the creator. That changes when one knows one's audience. The writer has, frankly, been in a bad mood for the last couple of days. His personal life has impinged on his work, has entered it like an unwanted character breaking through the third wall. In his present frame of mind, this writer feels almost unable - at times - to write a romance, yet a romance he must write. Why? Because this writer knows his audience, and if he does not tend to that audience, the whole endeavour of writing is pointless: what good is a story with nobody to read it? Therefore, in the specific case of this short story, since the anticipated audience is known to the writer, he must fulfill his duty, and write as if he felt what he was writing to be true in his heart. And who knows? Perhaps, through the cathartic act of writing, he might find that the mask he wears now fits, and he becomes a happier person because of it. Then, not only will he have satisfied his audience, he will have found himself suddenly, and forever, in their debt. Kasia was sad to see the table now vacated. One might be tempted to say that she was suddenly miserable, but that would be to forget her generally positive, optimistic character. No, she was not miserable; nor was she upset with her friends for not noticing her change in demeanour. Such ignorance comes to be expected, especially in smokey bar rooms. Magda was already on to her second drink. Kasia was still sipping her first. The table in front of them was cluttered with empty glasses - shot glasses, wine glasses, pint and half-pint glasses. The bargirl made another pass through the small spaces between the massed tables, and again neglected to pick up anything as she went. Nobody complained, such was the length of her short skirt. The minutes passed like hours. Imagine how long an hour would have been! Fortunately Kasia didn't have to wait to find out; before she knew it, she was being swept out of the bar along with all of the others, the hive mind spontaneously deciding to find another place to go to drink. The streets of Krakow teemed with life now, and Kasia thought momentarily of all the places she had seen in her life. Could this city now really be her home? It was possible, though even now, whenever she caught a whisper in the wind of a foreign accent, her heart and her mind turned briefly to lands far away from Poland, to exotic, forever sunny shores, to the shock of the new and unexpected. Eventually, having chosen and rechosen, argued and settled, the group found themselves in a bar with what Kasia would later call the perfect atmosphere. For whatever reason - perhaps a nascent move towards cleaner living - the bar was almost devoid of cigarette smoke. The chill-out area, full of comfortable sofas and designer tables, was quiet, but one could still hear the calm and graceful grooves floating over from the dance floor on the other side of the room. It was ideal, and all the more so since her Adonis was sat over by the window. Kasia's Story Kasia was surprised to see him here, though of course she was delighted. She was more shocked by her own reaction at seeing him. She had always thought of herself as somebody perfectly - or at least nearly perfectly - in charge of her mind and body, yet now, on the unexpected sight of this charming man, she felt a weakness in her body, as if she might fall to the floor, and at the same time, a heat ran through her, shivers permeating out from her spine as the heat came into contact with her cooled skin. The palms of her hands felt clammy. She escaped with Magda to the bar to get a drink. "What's come over you?" Magda asked her whilst they waited for the barman to mix their Zubrovka and apple juice. Kasia was in two minds as to what to say. Finally, she decided to take Magda into her confidence: after all, she had to say something, to someone, and Magda was at least asking after her. "Do you see that guy over there?" she asked, pointing in Adonis's direction. "Yes, I see him. He's not bad looking," she replied, then, taking in Kasia's expression, added, "Actually, yes, he's very good looking. You should go and talk to him!" Maybe I will, Kasia thought to herself. Just then, however, the girl from the other bar, Adonis's bosom buddy, made her entrance, and came over and sat near to him. Kasia's heart missed a beat, and again that sadness passed over her like a shadow. Waving her hand to dismiss it, Kasia turned back to the bar and started on her drink. "Ah, I know that girl!" Magda said, having caught in Kasia's reaction the truth of the situation. "Don't worry about her, Kasia, I know her, and I know her boyfriend. They're getting married in a few months." "Really? You know those two?" "Oh, silly! That isn't her boyfriend! Maybe they're work colleagues, and they're just out for a drink. Watch his body language for a few seconds and you'll see too that he's not interested her in the least." Kasia was amazed at how perceptive Magda was. Now she paid more attention to her Adonis, and saw that her friend was right: the body language was all wrong, he cared not for his companion (well, surely he cared for her, just not in that way). His feet were together. He held his drink in two hands, close to his lap. His smile was genuine but not relaxed. There was a perceptible distance between the two, sitting as they did close but not too close to one another on the couch. When, as he told a joke, they both laughed, his companion did not take the opportunity to invade his personal space: she laughed but kept her hands to herself. It would have been very easy for her to reach out and touch his knee, say, with her hand, but she didn't, so the lack of true affection between these two was evidently mutual. Magda sat next to Kasia at a table nearby, the rest of their group forgotten. Magda was feeling rather pleased with herself, for having helped her friend. She had no idea about body language, but had heard it said to herself once by a close friend, when she too had spotted a guy that she liked keeping female company. What had reassured her then reassured Kasia, only in this instance, as opposed to the former, the guess was correct. After a while, though, Magda began to grow impatient. It seemed that her friend was content to observe her quarry from a distance, to wait until the end of time if that was what was required of her, before making her move. "You should go over to him, and say hello," she said. "No, I can't do that!" Kasia said, shocked at her friend's suggestion. "That's not what respectable women do," she said, and immediately regretted it: what if Magda made a habit of doing exactly that? Fortunately Magda hadn't taken the response as a criticism, and continued with her previous line of thought. "Well, if you don't, then I certainly will," she said. "Magda! Please don't," Kasia begged. When she heard herself, and the tone she had just adopted, she thought herself terribly unattractive. This whimpering, this pleading voice, this was not the true Kasia! The true Kasia was brave, an adventurer, a cunning twenty-first century woman; if anyone was going to go over there and talk to this man, it was going to be her! Quickly she devised a plan. She would pass circuitously around the room to end up near to this other table, near to her Adonis. By that time, of course, her own seats would have been taken up by somebody else, and so it would be a legitimate request to come and sit by him. She briefed Magda on her plan, reassured to hear her real voice this time, the voice of a grown woman who wants something and wants to at least try to get it. She was proud, and felt far more attractive: which is good, since Kasia is one of the most assuredly attractive women ever to walk this earth, and for her to feel otherwise is a tragedy on a par with the best (or worst) of Sophocles himself. She stood, and made a tour of the room. She pretended to show an interest in the photographs hanging on the walls, but not too much interest, since they were generally not very good photographs, and she didn't want him to see her thoroughly absorbed in something that warranted no such attention. Soon Kasia and Magda were near to them. She could smell his aftershave, which was a little musky but well judged. She was behind him now, and wanted to reach out and touch him, to run her fingertips through his hair; she resisted. Then she noticed that he wasn't speaking Polish. At first she hadn't even realised this - Kasia had spent so much time in the last few years of her life either in foreign countries, or around non-Polish speakers, that to hear English was nothing unusual; yet here he was, and he was speaking English! The thought thrilled her, and again she felt that heat run through her. Although it was terribly rude, she began to listen to the conversation he was having with his friend. "It's a terrific book, though," he said, conviction clear in his voice. "I'm sure, but I don't really like reading big books," his friend said. "They're too long, and I can't keep track of all the characters. Can't you recommend anything a little bit easier?" "It's hardly a difficult book," he said, the sound of disappointment there only for Kasia to hear. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help overhearing. Which book are you talking about?" It was some unknown voice that said this - I will leave it to the reader to conjecture whose it was - but evidently it must have sounded like a woman's voice, because it caused him to turn to Kasia to answer the question. Kasia was stunned. His eyes met hers, and he held her gaze. There was a life to his eyes that she had not observed in another's for many, many years: a life that spoke to her specifically, and only her. She wondered though why he was now looking at her - had she said something? She couldn't recall. If she had, how would she ever excuse her rudeness? Yet there was something else in his eyes now, and it spread too to his lips, where formed a smile; yes, he was glad of the interruption, and definitely glad that Kasia was its source. "Of Human Bondage." That was all he said. He didn't name the author, somehow challenging Kasia to provide it and earn his respect. "Maugham," Kasia replied after a few seconds. Her answer was clear and confident, and could have been spoken immediately; yet she held off responding so quickly; she had no choice; his eyes were so fierce and burned with a passion, and she knew that her own eyes were the same, since they had been touched to the quick by that same passion. He smiled, and held out his hand. "I'm amazed that you've heard of him. I don't know anyone else who has. My name is Robert, by the way," he said, allowing her to shake his hand. His grip was strong, as if he was in the act of shaking hands with a man; did this speak of a desire for equality in all relationships, Kasia wondered, or was it simply that he had drunk too much and didn't know his own strength? "Kasia," Kasia replied. Robert moved over a little on the couch, to make space for Kasia, and pulling in her skirt close around her legs, she sat next to him. The couch was now full with the three of them, and Kasia could feel the heat of Robert's body close against her own, and his right leg touched her left. Kasia, remembering at last her friend, quickly sought out Magda with her eyes, and discovered her over on the far side of the room, chatting eagerly with a young man who held a bottle of Millers close to his chest. "So, how have you come to be acquainted with Somerset Maugham?" Robert asked. He seemed almost to be using the most convoluted English possible: was he testing her, to see how good her language was? "I have a friend who made the introductions a few years ago." "Ah, a man of taste," Robert said. "Well, I wouldn't go that far," Kasia joked, a little smile on her face. Robert, too, smiled at this, though the joke was really a private one; his smile, however, was genuine. "Robert," the other girl, who Robert had forgotten, said to him now, tapping on his shoulder to get his attention. "Piotr just texted me. I'm going to go and meet him at Euphanasia." She smiled, looked at Kasia, and smiled again. "It was nice to meet you Kasia," she said, and then she was gone. With her departure a space opened up at the end of the sofa; Kasia noticed it; Robert surely noticed it too. Yet already, at this early stage of their meeting, both knew that it was okay for them to stay seated where they were, and let that space go unfilled. Kasia was happy to have her leg touching his; she only wished that she could go on touching him like this, and at the same time turn to look once again into those dark eyes. Only by searching them could she hope to find his secrets. They talked for a while. They discussed books first, each outdoing the other with their penetrating insights into the classics. Kasia didn't always agree with Robert's views, and told him so on those occasions; Robert returned the courtesy, and went further, telling her that he had never had such a challenging, enjoyable conversation with anybody before. "You mean with a girl," Kasia said. "No. I mean, I've never enjoyed talking to somebody - anybody - as much as I've enjoyed talking to you so far this evening." It was the 'so far' that did it. Kasia smiled at Robert, and again he smiled back, though this time they were only half-smiles, as though a weight had descended upon their spirits, and they were trying to discern what that weight was. "Let me go and get you another drink," he said, getting up. As he rose, he briefly laid his hand on her knee, and Kasia felt that she was in love. They talked for hours. The subject drifted like a breeze coming in through a library window, exploring the world of accumulated knowledge. Robert was an expert on European history. Kasia knew more than anyone she knew, and now anyone that Robert knew, on the subject of spirituality. Robert was impressed by her blend of admiration and cynicism of her topic. She brought the subject alive for him; for a few fleeting seconds they stood together on the banks of the River Ganges in Varanasi; then they were perched atop a wall of the Potala Palace in Lhasa. Soon Robert shifted in his seat so that he was facing Kasia; then he put his arm on the back of the sofa; after a while, his fingers started tracing little patterns on her upper arm. Kasia noticed all of this, and noticed none of this - it was all a beautiful dream. They were now holding hands, and still they were talking. The music became louder. They moved closer together, to hear each other. Their voices dropped to mere whispers, to encourage greater proximity. Kasia felt his body calling out to hers, and she responded. In her mind, everything felt settled, as if all the decisions that she was to make in the future of this one night had already been made, evaluated, compared and reviewed, and that everything she was going to do was the right thing to do. She placed a hand on his cheek, felt its smoothness, felt with her nails the roughness of his sideburn. She looked at him, at his eyes, then at his lips, and she couldn't believe that she was doing this. At the same time the same thoughts were running through Robert's head; everything he had decided for that night had been decided by Kasia already, and somehow these decisions and thoughts had been communicated through her to him, and he had understood it all, and now they were about to kiss. He leaned in closer, and their lips touched. It was their first kiss. The first was quickly followed by the second. Kasia wanted to taste Robert, to feel his tongue inside her mouth, so when he leaned in for another little kiss, her lips parted and she felt him run the tip of his tongue along the inside of her lips. She opened her mouth and brought it closer to his, until she was no longer sure where her mouth ended and his began. His lips were now open, and she pressed her tongue into his mouth. He tasted good; she was surprised. She had kissed men who had been drinking before, and had never really enjoyed it. Beer does terrible things to the mouth. But Robert had not been drinking heavily, and neither had she. He tasted good, like apples on a summer's day. She wondered if he liked how she tasted. "Wow," he said quietly when he leaned back away from her when their kiss ended. "That was really something." "Yeah, I know." Kasia became quiet, a wave of introspection sweeping over her. When she looked up she saw that Robert looked the same way. "Look," he said to her eventually. "I'm really glad we kissed. But I have to admit, I don't usually kiss a girl I've just met. I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me." "Oh, I don't!" Kasia protested. "I'm the same, entirely. I never kiss a guy just like that! I don't even guarantee a kiss on the first date!" Thinking this a little joke, the two laughed, and the tension flowed away from them. "Well," Robert said, "it's getting late. Maybe we should just call it a night. If you give me your phone number, I promise I'll be much more of a gentleman when I take you out to dinner." "That sounds great," Kasia said. She pulled her phone out of her bag, and they exchanged numbers. "I'll get you a taxi home," he said. "I just need to go to the bathroom before we leave." Kasia was charmed by the way he referred to the toilet as the bathroom. "Me too," she said, and she rose with him. They walked along, hand in hand, beating a path through the people on the dance floor. The corridor leading to the toilets was quiet, as if it belonged to a different place. As they were nearing the toilets, Kasia stopped walking, and so did Robert. They looked at each other, for a moment sheepishly, and then Robert moved so that he was holding Kasia close to him, and he started to kiss her again. They fell backwards against a wall, their bodies locked in a close embrace, their tongues searching for each other. Kasia kissed with more passion than she had mustered in years, and she became incredibly hot on the realisation that the same passion came from Robert. They pressed their bodies close together. Kasia felt her pussy becoming hotter and hotter; she knew, by now, that her panties must be soaked by her wetness. One would think she might have been concerned by this - after all, she was wearing a skirt, and the wetness could have spread - but in this situation she can be forgiven for not paying such close attention to the little details. Robert was aroused too. His cock had grown large in his trousers, and now, as he held Kasia close to him as they kissed, she could feel his cock rubbing against her. Something deep within Kasia called out for his cock - she wanted to see it, to hold it in her hands, to let it enter her, to feel it deep inside her. Her pussy, if we may be so bold to say, craved Robert's cock. He pulled Kasia closer into him, so that now she had one leg wrapped around his, and he had one hand on her back and one on her bum. It felt marvellous for Kasia to know that somebody wanted her so badly, and it was even more electrifying for her to think that she had met somebody she could give herself to like this. They broke off their kiss, but they were still touching, Robert's cock still grinding against her waist through his trousers. There was a questioning look in his eyes, and Kasia answered by slowly running her hand down his arm, to his belt, to the bulge in his trousers. Her hand lingered there; she looked back up at Robert, biting her lower lip teasingly, and then she nodded. They went into the women's bathroom, since it was likely to be more hygienic. The men's loos in bars and clubs are terrible places, places of sadness and sickness; though one has never really seen them, one can only assume that the women's equivalent are bathed in a white light and are generally so clean that one could confidently eat from the surfaces. Kasia and Robert found a free cubicle. They locked the door behind them. "You're sure about this?" Robert asked. "Totally," Kasia replied. "I don't have... anything," Robert said. "I didn't exactly leave home with the intention of having sex with somebody." "Don't worry," Kasia said. "I'm on the pill." "Okay." Robert seemed nervous. "It's been a little while for me." "Me too." Kasia unbuckled Robert's belt, and slowly, one by one, undid the buttons on his trousers. She pulled them down to his knees. She crouched in front of him, and tugged down his boxer shorts. His cock sprang forwards, free from its prison, and proud of its size. Kasia took it in her hand and slowly rubbed it forwards and back, kissing the tip. She took more and more of it in her mouth. She was surprised to find that the taste was so pleasant; though it didn't taste of apples, it certainly suited her palate. She felt Robert's hands on her head, easing her slowly away. "That was really good," he said. "Almost too good." "I'm glad you liked it," she said. She stood up to her full height, and moved to kiss Robert. She hoped that he wouldn't recoil in horror - she had met men who simply could not bring themselves to kiss a girl after she had had a cock in her mouth. Robert, however, moved to her, and kissed her with the passion that she had felt when they first kissed, and when they had kissed in the corridor. "I'd be glad to return the favour," Robert said afterwards. Kasia was pleased that he was keen to taste her pussy, but she wanted something else right now. "That's nice to know. I'll take you up on that some other time." Robert nodded. He put his arms around Kasia's waist; she put hers around his neck, and they kissed for a few seconds longer. Then, feeling that the time was right, Kasia raised her skirt and pulled her panties to one side. She took Robert's cock, and guided it towards her pussy. He supported her by holding on to her ass, lifting her slightly to allow his cock to enter more easily. Slowly he moved into her, further and further, lifting her up and down onto it as they kissed. When Robert was fully inside her, his whole shaft deep within her sopping pussy, Kasia ground forward to rub her clitoris against him. She was extremely sensitive, and amazingly she found herself building towards an orgasm. She hoped that he could hold on just for a few more seconds, a few more thrusts, and she would be there. The world around her disappeared, until there was only Robert and his kisses and his hands on her ass and his dick inside her... At this stage it seems only fair that we give these two lovers a moment's privacy. We are, afterall, in the priveleged position of being able to leave them in their cubicle, and perhaps see from a different perspective what it is that they're doing. So, we go now from within the cubicle to without. Kasia, it seems, is making far more noise than she realises, and now everybody in the bathroom knows what's going on. In the cubicle to the left, disgusted by what she's hearing, a girl quickly gets up and leaves the bathroom, swearing never to come back to this hedonistic hell-hole. Kasia's Story Three other girls, who are touching up their make-up, find this almost as amusing as the sounds that are coming from Kasia's cubicle. As the first girl leaves hurriedly, these three stand and giggle, before shrugging and turning back to their make-up cases. After all, it is one thing to decry a public performance, another to vicariously enjoy it, and quite another to want an experience of a similar nature for oneself; standing there giggling will not make that happen; making sure your lipstick is sufficiently red and then getting back on the dance floor is a far more likely agent. That leaves one more witness to Kasia and Robert's lovemaking. In the cubicle on the other side a young girl is sitting, and since she has just finished peeing, she is tempted to get up and go back out to her friends. However, she can hear clearly what Kasia and Robert are doing, and this has awakened in her some latent voyeuristic tendency. Since nobody will likely pay attention to what she is doing, she decides on the spur of the moment to really enjoy herself. With one hand she clutches at her breast, squeezing hard. She unbuttons her shirt and passes her hand inside so that she can play with her nipple. Her other hand moves quickly south, and she runs her finger around her clitoris in neat little circles, sometimes fast and light, sometimes slow and heavy. She slips a couple of her fingers into her pussy and finds that she has become very wet. Her movements accelerate, her moans become more pronounced, and within a few minutes she orgasms. She dries her hands and gets ready to leave, but first decides - wisely - that she needs a few minutes to come down. This switch of viewpoints disorients us; so too the change in tense. How, having leapt into the present, can we return to the past? Now we are back with Kasia and Robert. Robert moved one of his hands from Kasia's firm, peachy ass, and placed it against her abdomen. He stretched out his thumb, so it lay against her clitoris, stimulating it with every movement they made. Kasia's mind went blank as the tremor of an orgasm shot through her body. Her legs went weak, and began to buckle. At the same instant, Robert's pace increased, his drives into her became longer and deeper, and he too began to orgasm. His semen rushed out to fill her, and Kasia felt the warmth of it deep inside her. She was panting and overcome with pleasure, and sat down on the toilet for a second, breathing deeply. Then she leaned forwards and did something to Robert that nobody had ever done in his life: she licked the cum from his dick, which was still hard even after everything they had done. They cleaned themselves up with tissues and rearranged their clothes. Beads of sweat ran down Robert's forehead. They hugged once more, and kissed. In his arms, even here in a cubicle in the women's bathroom, Kasia felt safe, as if it was beyond the realms of possibility that Robert could ever, or would ever, betray her. She was happy, and he was too. They left the cubicle. Robert smiled sheepishly at the girls queued at the entrance, and Kasia led him away by the hand. Our friend from the neighbouring cubicle left at about the same time, the warm glow of romance in her heart.