Hot chocolate

On one quiet winter evening, Major Pavel Kuznetsov's group was celebrating Yurka Semin's promotion to "captain." Everyone was present, except for the ailing Vovka Likhachev. They drank, ate, and had a heartfelt conversation. And after midnight, they dispersed. Kuznetsov walked home, fortunately it wasn't far from the cafe where the revelry took place. His soul was filled with lightness, his stomach with a pleasant heaviness, and his fingers were warmed by a cigarette.

Passing by a bus stop, Pavel noticed a hunched female figure on a bench. Hands in pockets, head buried in her fur coat collar up to her nose, hat askew. The woman was asleep.

His conscience wouldn't let him walk past. There was a decent frost outside,

and the girl wouldn't have woken up in the morning – a fact. He had to make adjustments to his route.

He gently nudged her shoulder: wake up, miss!

No chance! The miss was "drunk as a skunk." Not a single sign of conscious existence.

To bring her to her senses, Kuznetsov tried a multitude of methods, starting from barking army commands delivered into her ear, and ending with ringing slaps across her frost-covered face. Nothing helped…

From the side, this action resembled the mating dance of two capercaillies at a lek. The female sat proudly to the side, while the male performed intricate pirouettes around her.

— What to do with her?" – Pavel was at a loss. – "Sobering-up stations are a thing of the past, hospitals won't take her – intoxication isn't a heart attack." And then the hat slid off the female specimen, releasing a luxurious mane of chestnut hair into freedom. She was young – about twenty-six and quite attractive.

– My God! It's Galka! – he suddenly froze, turning her face right and left. – Yes, exactly – Vovka Likhachev's wife!

It was easy to get confused about Likhach's wives – his classmate from military school. He was happily married for ten years, and that took him about five wives. Galka was the sixth. Or the seventh – Pavel had long lost count and didn't even try to establish the truth.

Smoking another cigarette out of fatigue, he made the heroic decision to drag the miss to his comrade's house, fortunately he lived just a block away.

He shook her one last time – silence. He stuffed the hat inside his coat, hung the lady's purse around his neck, hooked the girl by the arm and…

‒ Good Lord, how heavy you all are in winter! ‒ he grumbled. ‒ The fur coat slips, and it's not asphalt underfoot.

Imagining the path a block long, Pashka grew sad. However, remembering how fragile nurses dragged wounded Red Army soldiers from the battlefield during the war, he gathered his courage, strained. He adjusted the woman hanging on his back and set off…

In the middle of the block, they got caught in an icy trap and still fell. Pavel justified the mishap by the fact that he himself was decently drunk. First, he dusted himself off, then checked if the miss was alive.

Arms and legs intact, tits in place, no bumps on the head. He threw the burden on his back again and slid on. He reached the right house, somehow got up to the floor, leaned the body against the wall, and rang the doorbell.

Footsteps were heard in the hallway. The door opened.

– Pasha? – Likhach's wife appeared in the doorway.

To say Kuznetsov was stunned is an understatement. Standing before him was the same Galya whom he, it seemed, had been carrying on his back for a whole block. "Then who was I saving?!" – he wondered.

Following Galya, the previously ill Likhach shuffled to the door.

– Hey, commander!

– Hi.

– What's that? – his friend nodded at the half-dead girl.

– Well, I brought your drunk wife, – Kuznetsov shrugged uncertainly.

– Which wife?

– The one who was lying at the bus stop, that's the one I brought…

— I screwed up royally," – Kuznetsov was thinking meanwhile. – "A solid ten out of five!" It was clear from everything that his comrade appreciated Pavel's deed. After all, he sincerely believed he had found Galina at the bus stop and dragged her a good block on his back.

– Alright, come in and bring your woman, – Vovka invited, chuckling. – You'll explain what's what at the table…

Together, they pulled the suede boots off the unconscious friend, took off her fur coat, then placed her on the living room sofa, and went to the kitchen to explain and indulge. They laughed like horses until four in the morning. Only Pavel often thought to himself: "What to do now with the unidentified female body? And I had to get so drunk to mix them up!"

In the heat of a heated argument, the company shuffled into the hall to the sofa. They seated the real Galya next to the impostor and began looking for similarities.

Likhach categorically declared:

– There are common features, but overall, not a damn bit alike!

– Height, both have chestnut hair, similar face oval, nose and lip shape, skin color, – Pavel insisted.

‒ Chestnut hair, ‒ Galya mimicked. ‒ Mine is 'Caramel Chestnut,' and hers is 'Hot Chocolate!'

‒ Oh, excuse me, ‒ Kuznetsov said sarcastically.

Decently tipsy Galya wouldn't let up:

– Her appearance is debatable! Her face is over-smoked. And she's clearly fuller than the original. Here, compare…

With a zip of a zipper, she deftly pulled the skirt off the sleeping stranger, exposing thighs clad in black nylon. And immediately, lifting her own robe, she demonstrated her bare legs.

– Look carefully, men – don't you notice the difference?!

– Yes, you are slimmer, ‒ Pavel agreed.

‒ But her tits are bigger, – her husband reasonably noted, holding onto the doorframe.

– What?! – the hostess rushed to unbutton the drunk guest's blouse.

Soon, following the blouse, a black bra fell onto the sofa armrest.

The unknown girl's breasts were beautiful with dark nipples. Third size. Exactly what Pavel liked.

Unbuttoning the top buttons of her robe, Galya decisively threw it off, remaining only in thin white panties. Pashka was a frequent guest in their house; Vovka's wife considered him "one of the guys," sometimes meeting him in just shorts and a T-shirt. But today, she seemed to have gotten carried away and decided to go further.

‒ Well? Whose are bigger? ‒ she twirled in front of the men, supporting her breasts from below, a whole size larger than the "goods" of her rival.

Coughing awkwardly, Vovka admitted:

‒ Yes, yours are, perhaps, more substantial.

‒ Hers probably has an unshaven pubic area too, ‒ Galya declared, aiming for the sleeping girl's panties.

She terribly wanted to continue the competitive process, but Pavel didn't like it. And his comrade's nervousness was becoming more and more obvious.

– Alright, enough joking, ‒ he handed the tipsy Galina her robe. ‒ Let's decide what to do with her?

– Well, what?.. – she shrugged her shoulders. – Tomorrow she'll sober up and leave on her own two feet, wherever she needs to go.

– Stay with us, we'll see tomorrow, – Likhach suggested.

– That's easy. And where to lie down?

– On the sofa with her. Not on the floor!

– With her?! I don't sleep with strange women.

– Then introduce yourself, shake her hand – what's the problem? – Galina winked slyly. – If anything – condoms are on the windowsill.

– What the hell condoms?!

– Pasha, don't be a prude – you're a grown boy now. It's high time you knew that all women melt from sex just like men.

– I've heard that somewhere.

– Well, there you go… Now I'll lay out fresh linens. I'll take off her extra clothes, and you'll deal with the panties yourself.

– I won't even think about it.

– As you wish…

The men moved the drunk miss twice while Galina made the sofa with fresh bed linens. Then all three smoked by the open window in the hall, discussing the sleeping beauty.

She definitely didn't look like a chronic alcoholic. Healthy complexion, well-groomed hands; and a persistent aroma of expensive perfume, overpowering even the strong smell of alcohol. Mink fur coat, suede boots, and a gold chain around her neck. Fashionable stockings and expensive lingerie. Clearly not a homeless woman.

Saying goodbye to the hosts, Pavel took a shower, turned off the light in the hall, undressed, and lay down on the edge of the sofa. The girl was snoring next to him, watching her ninth dream…

* * *

Towards morning, he felt a light touch on his cheek. Opened his eyes. The awakened girl, covering her chest, was looking at him in amazement.

– Who are you?

– Pavel. And you?

– Galina.

‒ Galina?! ‒ he asked in surprise.

‒ Yes, ‒ she nodded. ‒ Where am I?

– In my comrade's apartment.

– I don't understand anything, – she scanned the surroundings with an indignant look. – How did I get here? And anyway… what's going on? Why are you sleeping next to me?!

– You, miss, got drunk as hell earlier and decided to take a nap at a bus stop in the terrible cold, – Kuznetsov stretched sweetly. – So say thank you for waking up in a warm bed, and not lying lifeless in a morgue.

Processing the information, she probably reconstructed part of yesterday's adventures and grew despondent. Clasping her hands, she nervously cracked her thin fingers. Pavel had to briefly explain that beautiful ladies in such expensive fur coats and suede high-heeled boots shouldn't knock back vodka until they squeal like pigs and pass out in areas unsuitable for sleep.

– And why am I wearing… ‒ she lowered her gaze in embarrassment, ‒ stockings and panties?

– I don't understand the question. Are you interested in why everything else was taken off or why what remained wasn't taken off?

– You jerk, – she hiccuped.

Pavel yawned boredly.

– Don't worry. We are decent people, and if we didn't take advantage of your inviting state at night, we certainly won't offend you now. The fur coat is hanging in the hallway, the boots – there too. The blouse and skirt were taken off by my comrade's wife so they wouldn't get wrinkled. She also freed you from the bra, saying it's harmful for a fragile female body to sleep in one. So rest further, and around ten o'clock we'll send you home safe and sound.

The answer calmed her, and she lay down next to him again. But a minute later she whispered plaintively:

– Pavel, my head is splitting, and I also want to pee. Like, really, really want to!

‒ Let's go, ‒ he got up.

Leading her into the corridor, he pointed to the bathroom door:

‒ Toilet and shower there. Then come to the kitchen…

She appeared in the kitchen a quarter of an hour later. Stepping carefully with bare feet on the floor, the girl, refreshed after a shower, carried the remaining clothes in her hands, a towel wrapped around her chest and hips. Galina looked more mysterious than the blackest cosmic hole and was devilishly seductive.

– Here, ‒ Pavel handed her a shot of cold vodka and a pickled milk mushroom speared on a fork.

While she took the hangover remedy, he involuntarily admired her. Medium height, slender; with regular facial features and smooth, glossy skin. Long, loose hair cascaded in waves over her shoulders; "Hot Chocolate," as Likhach's wife had put it yesterday. While she drank the vodka and had a bite, the towel slipped a little, exposing beautiful breasts with nipples swollen from the morning chill. And even the clouded gaze of her gray eyes from yesterday's alcohol libations didn't repel or spoil her appearance.

‒ Well, feeling better? ‒ asked Pavel.

Putting the empty shot glass on the table, she smiled:

‒ Yes. I'm very grateful to you. You're a real man.

– I had a feeling.

Returning to the hall, they lay down on the sofa again. Only now she pressed her naked body against him, hugged him. And, kissing his cheek, whispered:

– Do you have condoms?

– Should be on the windowsill, ‒ he recalled how the real Galya had winked slyly at him before bed.

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