— Yes, in ten days, probably.

— Maybe?

— Okay, don't make a scene. Better give me a massage.

He came as a client, paid for himself and I silently did everything like a professional. No intimate hints, complete medical relaxation.

— Well, are you offended?

— No, everything is okay. — we girls sometimes speak in such a way as not to offend our opponent, but we ourselves cannot feel comfortable, because we really were offended.

— OK. As soon as I arrive, I will inform you about my decision, whether and when I will return. Fine?

He kissed me and left.

What was all this? How is this possible? Why the hell did I get caught?

I wanted to scream, get angry, rage, hate him, but I couldn’t. There was too good a man in my life to just give up.

On this, my dears, I will interrupt my romance. Let's take a break. Drink tea, eat something delicious.

In the meantime, I'll ask a few questions:

— Are you happy?

— Have you found yourself yet? What is your core that will keep you going in a difficult situation regardless of others?

— What is your goal/dream?

I will refrain from judging. You know everything yourself. There is only one solution, make the answers to the questions positive. Just don’t do it headlong, otherwise coaches and motivational trainers will get rich very quickly. The task: to find yourself, not them.

I smile from ear to ear. Do you know how much money I gave to all sorts of guys to pump up their fighting spirit?

A couple of million rubles, for sure. Fortunately, ninety percent of them turned out to be the right decision. But at ten I was ambushed.

Therefore, first find your guru, test it, then trust.

Well, let's move on.

A day later, when I was approaching work (as I remember now, it was a sunny, frosty morning), I was filled with resentment from within. “Well, call, write, let me know about your decision.”

"Hello. How are you. I will return to Petrozavodsk."

"Oh, thank God." This SMS then made me the happiest in the world. “He will come back and we can become a couple. A real serious relationship."

It’s so exciting, everything is for the first time, everything is new, fresh and at your fingertips. Remember your first real feeling that ended well. What kind of emotions were these?

Why don't you ask about panties? Forgot the first chapters? Okay, okay, I forgive you. It was I who led you into romance.

Yes, I don't remember anything like that. Not because this didn’t happen, but because then we had a platonic relationship. Sheer romance. Not the naive one, like Romeo and Juliet, but an adult, stern, but romantic. We were drawn to each other with thoughts, ideas, hearts, and not genitals.

Later, this criterion of falling in love was also added. At least, later I realized it and remembered it. And in the first couple of weeks there were only love letters, calls, everything was very decorous and well-mannered. He was thirty-four, I was twenty-three. Love began twelve years apart.

I thought about my man constantly: at breakfast, in conversations with friends, at work with colleagues, with classmates, with my sister and mother, with myself.

It was an obsession.

But I still checked something in myself. Doubting whether I could be a good match for Vladislav, I agreed to a date with a handsome young guy from a social network in a black jeep.

We went to a cafe, tried to find common topics, kissed goodbye, and I finally realized that this was not my thing. I can’t think about anyone else except my Krasnodar boyfriend. I don't need anyone else. That's when I stopped searching. Nine years have passed since then, and this was really the last kiss with another man besides Vladislav.

Each of you who has been married and faithful for a long time can remember such a moment. Interesting, isn't it? Unless, of course, your husband is not the first man in your life.

I don't want to kiss any of my exes again. Moreover, I hate to even imagine it. Remember “legs…, ugh!” from What Men Talk About?

It's about the same. We women are very picky for the most part.

There are exceptions, but they are fewer.

My classmate Rimma confidently stated that she likes the smell of male sweat, so strong that.

Or, now I’ll tell you an unpleasant thing, my friend liked the smell of men’s pussy, you know, that tart, bitter hormonal scent. I understand that some people gag. Be patient.

I had a friend, married, she liked (Lord, how can I say this, okay, I’ll say it straight) to swallow. Well, she loved her husband for the taste. I told her: “Hold your horses, you might end up with protein poisoning,” and at least give her a damn.

No one has yet clearly defined the term “perversion.” For some, the frames are as narrow as the eye of a needle, but for others, an entire display case is not enough to fit it into the frame.

"First fart."

Well, how can I avoid this topic when each of us has gone through it. We are not fairies and have no different intestines from men.

Although I didn’t think so before and was very worried. One day, after a hearty dinner at my ex-boyfriend’s place, I asked to go home while watching a movie. I was worried that as soon as the session ended, there would be silence and my musical stomach would play Mozart.

— Stay, it will be fun. I also have a good French comedy.

“There will be a good comedy when my butt puts on a concert,” I quipped in my mind.

— I can’t, I’m sorry, my cat… was poisoned by something and has