Baby, it's just one night.

I was walking along the snowy streets of Kyiv, very tired, after a long rehearsal before tomorrow's performance. I was hungry, but not for food, but for sex. I wanted to relax, to let loose, but Zhenya said that if I drank even a drop of alcohol, he would hang me. So only sex remained, stupid, emotionless sex, and what else could it be with a girl you're seeing for the first and last time? I don't see anyone more than once, I get bored, it becomes dull. It started snowing, and I wrapped myself tighter in my thin jacket. "I should buy something warmer, it is winter after all," I thought distantly then.

I wanted

to smoke. I took out an unopened pack.

The sound, like cellophane tearing, cardboard, foil. The intoxicating smell of tobacco. How wonderful it is. Here it is, my "stick of happiness" in my hands. Between two fingers. Lighter. Fire. Inhale. The first drag. You slowly light the cigarette until the fire ignites all the tobacco. You take a drag. The smoke travels down the trachea, smoothly heading towards the bronchi, as if racing, who's faster. It pleasantly tickles the walls of the airways, like someone scratching a mosquito bite. Pleasure. Reaching the destination—the lungs—the smoke races to get out, to free them, so that a new portion of sweet, so pleasant poison can run its tentacles through the inner world. Smoking is an art. The art of beauty. When you smoke—you think. You think about many things, and, most often, it feels easy. It feels like the smoke took all the negativity from your body. Oh, that wonderful moment of the last drag. To enjoy the sweetness and at the same time the bitterness of the cigarette one last time. The butt falls to the ground. The last portion of smoke is exhaled. A pleasant aftertaste on the tongue. Thank you, darling, you've fulfilled your mission. (c)

— Give me a cigarette," I heard a voice.

I turned around. Next to me stood a girl in just a sweatshirt, the cold wind had tousled her hair and painted her cheeks and nose red.

— You're too young to smoke.

— I'm 18.

I look at her again without interest. I give her a cigarette.

— Thanks," a quiet reply.

— Don't mention it," I shake my head, "Aren't you cold?

— I am cold.

— Then why just a sweatshirt?" I don't understand why to continue this meaningless conversation, I should be going home already.

— What does it matter?" she snaps.

I smirk, it's all clear—the little one is clearly upset about something.

— So why did he dump you?

— What makes you think I was dumped?" she raises her gaze to me.

And she has beautiful eyes, and she's so cute because of her petite size. I love small ones—you can carry them in your arms and not be afraid of getting a hernia.

— So why then?

— I didn't give it to him.

Ahem, now that's interesting.

— Were you dating?

— What the hell does it matter to you... You seem to have finished your cigarette, so go where you were going, leave me alone.

Tears are streaming from her eyes, she starts wiping them and smears her already running mascara even more. I hate it when girls cry, it's hard for me to be around them.

— Don't cry," I throw out indifferently.

— Fuck off.

— Don't you want to yourself?" I lift her chin with interest and look into her eyes. Fear, disgust, and... Oh yes... Desire flashes in them. The desire to do what she wants out of spite, out of spite to that guy, out of spite to herself. I remember my hunger and smile slyly at her.

— What's your name?

— Dasha.

— I'm Tosha. Let's go, enough freezing," I grab her hand and pull her along.

— Where?" she resists.

— I'm not going anywhere with you, you're some kind of maniac!" she tries to break free.

— Yeah, a sexy one," I hold her hand firmly and lead her towards the multi-story building visible in the distance.

Dasha stops resisting, but doesn't show any desire to go either. I have to almost carry her. I repeat again, how I love short girls—they're so pleasant to carry and feel like a prince. Dasha is silent the whole time we walk and ride in the elevator, and even when I open the apartment.

— Kitchen's there," I nod towards the first open door.

She slowly takes off her sneakers and goes into the offered room. She sits on the sofa with her legs tucked under her and silently stares at the wall. I put the kettle on and get out mugs. I don't even know why I decide to give her tea. I pour the hot tea into mugs, handing one to her.

— Are we really going to drink tea?" she looks at me in surprise.

— Were you expecting something else?

— No," she takes a sip of tea and looks at me attentively. I have nothing to say to her. In silence, we drink tea for about 10 minutes.

— You can leave if you want," I nod towards the door.

— Can I take a shower at your place, I want to warm up?" she blurts out off-topic.

— Yes, over there and to the left. Clean towels are on the washing machine.

— Don't you have anything to wear?

— I can offer a T-shirt, it's here, in the closet.

Is she teasing me on purpose?

The towel rolls down to her feet, and I can behold her beautiful ass. How beautiful she is.

— Turn around.

She turns and looks at me with her deep, sea-like eyes. Choice is frozen in them, she's fighting the desire to spite everyone and shame.

I greedily examine her body.

— Come here.

She looks at me, not looking away, and slowly approaches the bed.

— Do you want this?" I ask.

She silently nods.

— Have you been with anyone before?" she shakes her head negatively.

— Get in with me.

She dives under the blanket, I gently run my hand through her hair, take one of the strands in my hand and inhale the scent of flowers.

— I want you," I whisper to her. And run my tongue behind her ear.

She closes her eyes. I run my tongue along her neck and finally kiss her lips, biting the lower one, trying not to cause pain, but to give pleasure. I kiss again, deeper and more passionately. She responds to the kiss, and now she's lying on top of me and trying to take control over me, and I roll over and end up on top. I smile narcissistically and quietly say: "Baby, this is just one night, nothing more."

She nods, but something seems to die in her eyes, could it have been hope for a continuation of something? Foolish on her part, however, she doesn't refuse, which means I can continue. I start caressing her breasts, playing with her nipples, she starts moaning excitedly. Oh, how I love the way you moan, baby. How I love to caress your virgin flesh, untouched by any male hand and especially, by a cock. Having played enough with your breasts, I slowly run my hand along your body and go down. You start moaning louder. Finally finding what I was looking for, I insert two fingers into you, trying to arouse you even more, you're already all wet and simply burning with desire. Without holding back for a second longer, I enter you, a cry escapes your lips, but I immediately cover your mouth with a kiss.

With rhythmic movements, I enter and exit you. () How tight and sweet you are. I haven't had one like this in a long time. You like it so much that my back is already burning from your nails, which you mercilessly scratch it with. I feel the orgasm approaching and start moving faster and faster, but no, I want you to come first and you give in, a wild cry and my name escape your lips.

I shudder from your: "Tosha-aa," and come inside you. Immediately slide off relieved, kiss you on the cheek and quietly whisper:

— Thank you, baby.

You smile for the first time since we met and trustingly bury your nose in my shoulder. I cover you with the blanket, and you, comfortably settled on me, fall asleep. I look at you for a few more minutes, my baby, whom I just made a woman, and close my eyes contentedly. In the morning, I wake up alone. I turn to the side where you were lying—the sheet still holds your warmth. You left very recently.

You're great, baby, you understood everything correctly.