I, of course, could not resist Moscow, and as soon as I saw Zay in Odnoklassniki online, I entered into a conversation. And besides the obvious questions about health, the search for work and an apartment, I wondered why suddenly their well-established family life went downhill, and whether there were chances for reconciliation. Zaykin's responses were typically feminine, controversial.

- I don't need anyone. I still love him.
- Want to see you. Come quickly.
- Called somehow. Well, nothing. How did you get how did you get. About the child, no, did not ask.
- And today the baby began to push for the first time. I even cried. No, from happiness. I'm not alone. Ultrasound did not, but one hundred percent sure that the boy.
“I’m dying, I want a pomegranate,” and in response to my reply I would tell my aunt, in whose family she lived, about the fact that she wouldn’t refuse a pregnant niece so little, oh, no, shame. I already cause them so much inconvenience.

Here I was forced to read the notation that the whims of pregnant women are not just a whim, that the body thus signals the need for some microelement, and today you will save a hundred rubles from false modesty, and tomorrow, God forbid, there will be health problems child, hundreds of thousands will not get off. It seems I understood, imbued, promised to inform my close ones about my immediate needs. A few days later, almost word for word:
- I die, I want smoked fish!

It was a long, short, but April came, the trip took place, the business part was over, and the day came for meeting with Zaia in cold spring, not believing Moscow in tears.

I have never seen Zayu in warm, winter clothes. While we were hot, she was always in a light dress, in October she could throw a thin jacket on top. And now - a hat, a scarf, a down jacket, boots - it is not surprising that in the lobby of a subway station, where we agreed to see each other, at first glance I perceived her pregnancy not only three months, but six months, if not more. Even embraced with caution. I even wanted to ask, you can have sex, are you sure? Then he figured out that the real time was a little, and if I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t meet, I wouldn’t tell my Moscow number.

Well, okay ... We had lunch, went down again to the subway, went to the "numbering". We stood on the platform and in the subway car in an embrace, kissed lightly, like young students ... romantics, damn it ... which way I was deprived during my youth. Again the conversation concerns the unborn child, something like how Zaya would call him. Dag-Mag wanted it so, at that time Zaya agreed with him, but now he thinks differently, if he retains his middle name, then his surname will necessarily give his father's name.

Hotel. Undress. Helping to remove Zae outerwear. Koshu is impatient when her own rounded tummy appears in sight. And a fig ... nothing resembling a woman's figure in a position and not close ... the spinal cord already feels something is wrong, but keeping a cheerful tone, I make a compliment, they say, that’s how you still look gracefully, Bunny, do not know - in life you will not guess.

Zaya stands for a few seconds in a stupor in the middle of the room. And suddenly, leaning on my chest, burst into tears:
- I lost a child ... Sorry ... I could not write to you about this ... I knew how you wanted and waited, did not dare to tell the truth. It hurts me a lot. Forgive me please! I feel bad, it's still bloody there. Do you have condoms? Without them, it will not work. Only you stayed with me, do not leave me!

Now I'm in a stupor. I pull Zai, shuddering with sobs, into my room, mechanically stroking her hair, inhaling the smell of her hair, her perfume, her body, resurrecting unforgettable memories, and a struggle of two principles occurs in me. Pity and sympathy for the poor girl, deceived in her best expectations, and having lost the child to top off all the ills, is, of course, on the one hand. On the other hand, a cold snake snake crawls into the soul of insult. Why not tell about the miscarriage right away? Why did she keep lying? After all, obviously, deception would sooner or later be revealed. It seemed to me, Zaya totally trusts me and is frank in everything. It turns out no! So, out of some obscure motives, he can be cunning and play up, trying to get something that is not clear? Annoyingly!

Well, okay ... I mumble something sympathetic and comforting, I assure you that everything will heal and pass away, that she will still meet a decent guy and give birth to many children from him. The crying becomes bitter and shrill, and until I turn into a tantrum, I change the subject to a household one. Once during a recent conversation, Zaya said that she was looking for a job and wanted to rent an apartment for a separate residence from relatives, and I expressed doubt that she would succeed - what kind of a businessman would be so naive as to accept a pregnant employee, and then pay her a vacation and maternity, - and advised to live with an aunt before the birth, since he categorically does not want to return to his father's house, and then it will be seen. The theme of future plans Zayu calms, she stops crying, wipes her handkerchief, responds in essence and starts to undress further in a businesslike manner.

A certain internal barrier prevents me from fully setting myself up for the upcoming sex, taking into account the sounds that have just been made "I still have blood on it." I am trying to carefully find out the mood of a girl, like, maybe not yet, if she will be hurt or unpleasant, or maybe somehow different? Zaya purses his lips and with all determination, as if stomping his foot or striking the table with his hand, says:
- It is necessary! - and in a second, having caught that in some situations the pressure is not the best tactic, it changes the intonation to pleading and crying, - well, please, I need it! I beg you!

To which only a man will not go, if only a woman in his presence does not cry. The sexual intercourse that we performed in a classic performance and in a missionary position, using a condom and with a minimum of foreplay, had nothing to do with beautiful erotica and depraved pornography, to get full enjoyment in the process and a stormy final at the end. It was, as I understand it, rather not a sexual act, but a psychological act with which Zaya wanted to prove to herself that she was still desired as a woman and life was not over, despite all the vicissitudes of a failed marriage and the loss of a child. And I hope, to the best of my ability, even though my condition was close to the well-known “fuck and cry”, I promoted this confidence. Zay had to fuck, I had to draw a symbolic line under the past to start living in the present, and I did it.

Well, and then, having run quickly into the shower, and having twisted my face when throwing a condom with an unpleasant color, from which a frost ran over the skin, I lay in an embrace with Zaia during the remaining time of solitude. He brought out a squall of emotions that could not be conveyed by correspondence, when the newlywed's delight was too quickly replaced by the disappointment of his hateful wife. He listened to the offenses of almost the whole world, from parents and sisters, to her aunt and Moscow relatives, from close attention to his person in the Dag-Magovskiy edges to the utter indifference of others in the capital. Gave her to cry out and talk out. And at the end of the meeting, surprisingly, or, on the contrary, quite logical way, Zai's mood improved, jokes and jokes started, questions about new mistresses rained down, if there were no certain physiological reasons, they would probably have muddied something from our usual repertoire, and most importantly, she turned her thoughts from the past to the future, and began to somehow plan her future life.

As it turned out, she also had relatives in Moscow (besides the aunt with whom she lived at that time), trying to trade almost from the Soviet years, with the employment of a cashier-salesman-consultant, there were no problems, it was necessary to approach carefully and thoughtfully, to the search for women compatriots with whom she could rent an apartment in a clubhouse. Only firmly standing up and making good money, so as not to depend on any relatives and have the right not to listen to them ...

notation, she may come to visit her native land, that's exactly what to visit, because she decided to live in Moscow, Zaya announced her not so distant plans. On my advice to restore the questionnaire on Mamba or in some other way to get acquainted with a guy, not a nun to live in the end, she first frowned and denied, said she did not want anyone, that she had enough of me, in spite of everything on the water with the pitchfork the written regularity of my trips to Moscow and its intended visits to my native lands, but then, having figured that it was not about two or three months, and possibly long years, I got into it and reluctantly, as if making a concession, agreed.

On this note, we parted. I returned home a day later, after some time she got a job, having found the same queen capitals from her native places, went to live with them in an apartment. The intensity of our communication has decreased, even if physically not very hard, but the exhausting work of a cashier with the most bizarre combinations of shifts did not allow her to go to the Internet often, and if there were online matches, it happened that there was nothing to talk about.

And when in a few months (I think, in the fall of 2012) it was time for my next trip to Moscow, I was not even sure that Zaea and I would meet. So she was taken to “cheers” with the information that I would soon be in “non-rubber”. It struck one for Wirth and several memories of our past meetings during the time of her stay as an “alien bride”. But there was some sort of hitch with phones. For some reason, Zaya often changed numbers, then moving from one operator to another, then in order to participate in some actions and within the operator. One number was already irrelevant, in the second one (according to Zai) she mixed up the numbers, naturally, I did not get through. In short, I was already in Moscow, but her exact number was not yet known to me, and I even thought it was a sinful matter, she purposely so confused, so as not to directly offend by refusal, and at the same time observe the loyalty to the guy, and she began to meet with him. But literally at the last moment her replica made its way, so they say, my exact number, I’m really looking forward to you, I really want to, the day after tomorrow is free all day, from morning till evening, no other friends plan for this day, this day is mine and no objections not accepted.

I had no objections. I immediately called her back, confirmed that the day after tomorrow the meeting would take place, clarified the place and time of the meeting, and about tomorrow (although Zaya worked, but demanded a report on what I would do the day before), I explained that I would be busy in the afternoon and in the evening I plan meet with a friend, drink a couple of glasses of tea, no girlfriends, no reason for baseless jealousy, if you please, don't mess with it.

And so, “tomorrow” in the evening I am sitting with a friend - Gil, well known to you - in a tavern. We drink vodka, snack, talk about that, about this, about football and politics, about Mendoza and mendozyanka, about storki and their heroines, so we sit well, mentally, we finish the second bottle, and here, ding, my mobile phone rings. Who is calling? Well, of course, Zaya! Hello-hello, hello - big hello, what are you doing - as I said, I sit with a friend in a pub, relax culturally, drink vodka, but do not disgrace ugliness.

“And I suppose you will go over the girls soon,” Zaya begins to exaggerate an attempt to get to the bottom of an empty place, “otherwise I don't know you. Now add and go search for an adventure in one place.

Oh, someone who, and Zaika has never positioned herself with a jealous woman, and even the most rarely presented book, she hasn’t finished reading the book. It makes me very merry, and the boldness added to the chest also adds, I wink at Gilles and fully within the framework of the script, I try to justify myself in the same exaggerated way:

- Well, what are you saying, dear? What girls, what adventures? We are sitting here with a solid man, discussing important issues, how embarrassing we are, even in thoughts we don’t keep.

Gilles's eyes light up, he pulls his hand to the pipe, and on his face is a pleading expression: well, let me talk to her.
- On, - I say Zae, - so that I do not doubt, talk to my friend. He will confirm to you that we have a friendly meeting and no girls.

- Hello! - says velvet in a velvet voice. - Good evening, dear! You can find out your name? Zay, very nice! What a beautiful name! And I am Gilles. Thank! Your spouse and I ... - after seeing my brutal face, getting better, - your friend and I are old acquaintances, and I want to assure you that I know him as an exceptionally decent, intelligent, intelligent person who will not offend even a fly - such a charming madam. No, let me say it, so I know, you are certainly charming and charming. All right, I give him the phone, but now this Othello will strangle me in a fit of jealousy.
“Othello” is stifling not jealousy, but laughter, somehow overcoming itself, pick up the phone:
- Well, Zai, everything is fine? Did you just call or would you like to clarify something tomorrow? Yes, yes, as agreed. No, I will not drink much. Yes, let's go home soon. Come on, kiss, bye!

Gilles pours, raises extra-toast "for you", drink, exhale, bite, smoke.
“Eh,” he says in a dreamy tone, “what voice, eh?” How old is she? Hmmm, not a girl, but a sweetie! Well, you are a rogue, snapped off yourself!

And the “day after tomorrow” meeting itself was above all praise. Hand in hand, we wandered through autumn Moscow, ate ice cream, drank coffee, kissed the archway from the street into the courtyards by the way, and played with an empty and deserted underpass in a fit of mischief. They waited for the hour for which the hotel was booked. We went in, embraced, merged into ecstasy. Once again. And after the siesta again. And everything was like a year ago, in the hot summer and not less hot in the fall of 2011. In the same way, having been filled with kisses, pushed Zaya down my head, and I licked her with all the passion, trying to give her as much pleasure as possible in the months of forced chastity. Likewise, I fucked Zayu in the missionary and with cancer, again wondering how my rod doesn’t pierce through her slender body, and she screams not from pain, but from buzz. In the same way, feeling that her orgasm was close, I dived between her legs, and dug into the center of female nature, lured with tongue, lips, hands that sweet shaking and sweet limpness, for which I received a well-deserved prize - a vague smile of a girlfriend who flew away to the seventh sky . In the same way, exhausted in impatience, I put my head on a pillow with a domineering hand and fucked in my mouth until the semen burning inside me with white lava, filling my mouth and flowing out, flowing down my chin and neck, down to a tiny swelling of breasts.

I would be happy if I could put an end here. If I could, without being distrustful, add the sacramental "and we never met again." Alas! This was the peak of our meetings with Zaia. For which, three times, alas, there was a recession. And not just a recession, but you can say fall into the abyss. Therefore, further, forgive, concisely and schematically, for it is unpleasant to recall.

Something wrong and in the wrong steppe went with Zai. Got to a bad company or bad advice, I didn’t say. Began a series of work shifts and apartments. The trips from Moscow to Emskaya oblast and back began. Attempts to dissolve me for money began (I suspect that it was not just me). Yes, I gave her gifts for the DR and the wedding, yes, I helped her to the best of her financial means when she was in a difficult situation in Moscow. Yes, I did not refuse to put one hundred rubles on her phone, then for another loan I would make another installment. But everything has its own measure, and pretty soon I made her understand that I was a papa, and she would not be my kept woman.

From extortion to theft is not too far. On some day, Zaya asked not two and not three, but twenty thousand. Allegedly borrowed. Yeah, loan. What happened? I was visiting someone, the owner, after her departure, discovered the loss of money, said to the police, they caught her and took a written undertaking not to leave. Then they tried and imprisoned. She received a very short time (it is clear that the relatives repaid the damage and did everything possible to minimize the punishment), less than six months, and served not in the real zone, but in a penal colony, from where they were allowed to go home for the weekend.

I sat down, left. But on the path of correction, as they say in official documents, I suspect that I did not get up. Mota on the route Moscow-Emsk, allegedly shuttle with female acquaintances. The latter has always emphasized, and never tired of repeating that she never had any men except for me and her ex-husband. And in the colony, although they were persuaded, they were not forced, and she did not become a lesbian, there they had it strictly at will and for mutual pleasure.

Until 2016, I met her twice more, and then the informational communication stalled. Yet I was attracted to her, I was attracted by the memory of my body, nostalgia ached, trying to replace the harsh present with memories of the past. I could not overcome myself, when suddenly, during rare conversations at Odnoklassniki, it became clear that on such and such day of my stay in Emsk, Zaya would be there. It seemed that the old days and old relationships would suddenly be resurrected. The enthusiasm and ardor, bliss and passion. No, not resurrected. Both times she dissuaded the critical days, sex was without removing the panties, and in fact - a fuck in the mouth, in her favorite position - her head on the pillow, so as to strain less. About communication and say nothing. Sad but true. And I became a "foreign bride" and "foreign wife" Zaya completely Alien.

PS This sad ending would be worth giving a paraphrase-interpretation of the famous maxim of Hegel about how many times and in what forms history repeats itself. Georg Wilhelm Friedrich claimed that twice - as a tragedy and as a farce. I began to bend my fingers, counting a great many favorable cases as opposed to a single tragifarce, but after mature reflection I decided to agree with the philosopher. At least in conceptual aspect. After all, there are two formal outcomes ... will she find her female happiness or not? The rest is silence.