MY ENGLISH – 3. ENGLAND

At the airport, a driver met me with a sign. A black man again. Like in Moscow — Jean. Only this one was different, a stranger. Nothing had changed. The man silently took my suitcase and led me to the parking lot.

I looked at his broad back and thought about how quickly everything changes — and how everything stays the same. Moscow, London, Jean, this guy... black drivers were the only constant in my life. I smirked at my thoughts and got into the car.

We drove for about an hour and a half. Endless fields, neat hedgerows, tiny villages floated past the window. I watched the landscape and tried not to think about home.

The English countryside was beautiful — in its own way, prim, neat. Every bush was trimmed, every hedge straight, as if people didn’t live here, just scenery for a movie about old England. I pressed my forehead to the cool glass and closed my eyes. Moscow was left there, beyond the horizon. Along with Dad, with Alice, with Jean, with Daniil. And with what I had done.

When the car turned off the main road, I saw massive brick gates. The sign read: «Newbold College of Higher Education.» Beyond them, I could make out a park. The view, to be honest, stunned me. It wasn’t just a suburban campus — it resembled an aristocratic estate, almost a castle surrounded by forest. Beyond the gates stretched a vast park. We drove past carved oaks, past lawns manicured to perfection, with signs saying «Keep off the grass.» Somewhere in the depths of the park, I could make out a chapel. A gravel path.

I looked at all this and felt like a heroine from an old novel. Except instead of romance, I was being driven into exile. Dad had tried hard — he’d chosen a place where even the air breathed rules and propriety. No running around here, no mischief.

Then the car parked near a red‑brick building with narrow pointed windows. The building was old, but inside everything seemed modern and clean.

I got out of the car, and the silence hit my ears. Not Moscow silence — with the hum of cars and voices — but real English silence, with birds and the whisper of wind in the crowns. I breathed in the air — it smelled of grass and dampness. And longing.

A woman of about fifty met me — strict, in a long skirt and cardigan. She introduced herself and dryly said the orientation would be tomorrow. She led me to my room.

I followed her down the corridor and felt like a freshman in a horror movie. Long twilight, creaky floor, portraits on the walls. Only instead of ghosts — signs with residency rules.

The room turned out to be small, but not as Spartan as I’d feared. A single bed, but with a soft fluffy throw in a warm beige color over a gray wool blanket. On the pillow — a small embroidered napkin. On the floor — a small rug by the bed. Against the wall — a desk with a green‑shaded lamp, on the chair — a soft cushion. On the wall — a white notice board, but next to it — a tiny shelf with two paper books. On the bedside table — a small alarm clock and a lamp with a fabric shade. And, joy of joys — a door to a small bathroom. Inside, a shower stall, a toilet, and a sink. Everything gleamed with white tile, smelled of cleanliness, but it was MY bathroom, private. I even breathed a sigh of relief.

I closed the door and leaned my back against it. For the first time all day, I was alone. Without my father, without prying eyes, without rules hanging in the air. Just me and this small, but mine, room. I looked around — beige throw, green shade, white notice board. Everything unfamiliar, but clean. As if I’d been checked into a hotel for nice girls.

In the corner, I noticed a kettle, a small jar of instant coffee, a couple of tea bags, and a package of cookies. Even a small electric kettle stood on a tray.

«That’s nice,» I thought. «At least I can have tea when the melancholy hits.»

The window faced an inner courtyard — through it I saw the wall of the neighboring building and a rose bush that had already finished blooming. It was almost night, and only the soft glow of the lamp lit the room. I sat on the bed — the mattress creaked slightly, but the throw was so soft that I automatically stroked it. My phone had stayed in Moscow; I would get a new one tomorrow. Right now I had nothing: no connection, no familiar noise, no online friends. Only silence, the warm‑lit lamp, and this strange mix of asceticism with small cozy details. I clutched the edge of the throw in my hand.

«Well then, Newbold,» I whispered. «Let’s get acquainted.»

I woke to birds singing outside — not like in Moscow, but differently: more measured, calmer, without the distant hum of cars. The air smelled of grass and dampness, and there was something foreign about it, unfamiliar. I lay for a few minutes, studying the ceiling, then got up, threw on my robe, and went into my tiny bathroom. The shower was warm, the pressure good. I dried off with the towel left on the rack, and dressed in jeans and a plain T‑shirt. No makeup — fine for the first day.

I looked at myself in the small mirror above the sink. Pale, no makeup, hair damp. I looked sixteen at most. And that was even good — here, where everyone expected obedience from me, it was better to be unnoticed.

At exactly eight, there was a knock on the door. I opened it — the same stern woman who had met me yesterday stood on the threshold. Her name was Mrs. Harrison, and she was the residence administrator. With a short nod, she said:

«Follow me. Orientation is in the small drawing room.»

I followed her down the long, half‑empty corridor. Past identical doors, behind which other students lived. On the walls hung framed black‑and‑white photos of past graduations, signs with rules, and schedules of services. Mrs. Harrison’s footsteps echoed dully on the stone floor; she didn’t look back.

She talked about the daily schedule, the residency rules: silence after ten in the evening, separate male and female wings, a ban on visiting rooms of the opposite sex after ten. Then her voice grew stricter, almost solemn:

«Breakfast, lunch, and dinner — without special formalities, wear what’s comfortable. But on Thursday evenings — a formal dinner. It starts at seven, and formal dress is required: for girls — a dress or skirt below the knee, no jeans or cleavage. And please don’t be late. It’s not just food — it’s a general assembly of students and faculty, where all rules of etiquette are observed.»

She paused and looked us over. I listened with half an ear, noting only the most important things: it really was strict here. Dad had tried hard. And their «formal dinner» sounded like a social gala — maybe at least there it wouldn’t be boring.

After orientation, I headed to the dining hall. Breakfast was a buffet — long tables with cereals, yogurts, toast, jam, boiled eggs, tea, and coffee. There were very few students — about ten, no more. Classes wouldn’t start for another month, and for now only those who had arrived early, like me, were wandering around. I took a plate, put some oatmeal on it, poured orange juice, and sat at a table by the window. I ate without appetite, gazing at the inner courtyard. No one spoke to me at breakfast, and I wasn’t seeking conversation.

I looked at the other students: they sat alone or in pairs, spoke quietly, almost in whispers. No one laughed, no one shouted. Everyone seemed afraid to break the silence of this place. I felt like a stranger — and that was familiar.

An hour later, Mrs. Harrison handed me a small box.

«Your parcel,» she said.

I returned to my room and opened the box. A brand‑new iPhone, white, shiny. Along with it was a British SIM card and a brief instruction sheet. I inserted the SIM, turned on the phone. Entered the Wi‑Fi password — it was written on a sticker on the wall. The internet worked.

First thing, I went into settings and entered my Apple ID — thankfully, I remembered the password by heart. The phone synced with the cloud, and contacts poured onto the screen. But the most important thing — I opened the browser and logged into Facebook. Everything worked. Dad clearly hadn’t considered that I could use the web version and sync my old data.

I found Inga in the search. Her number was listed in contacts; she’d never hidden it. I copied it and opened WhatsApp.

«Ing, hi. It’s Victoria. Had a fight with Dad, he sent me to England, to a closed college with stupid rules. Tell Vladimir I miss him. Details later. Don’t lose me.»

I kept silent about Jean. And about what Dad had caught me doing. I didn’t want to drag Inga into that.

A minute later, my phone buzzed. Inga replied:

«Victoria! Fuck! I was worried. Vladimir will be upset, but I’ll tell him. Write how you’re settling in. Hang in there.»

I sighed, looked at the wall of the neighboring building and the scraggly rose bush outside the window. Melancholy crept up, but I quickly pushed it away. After all, I had Wi‑Fi, a laptop, and a month of freedom before classes. This wasn’t a prison — just a boring hotel with rules.

Then I opened my laptop. The Wi‑Fi was excellent — thank Dad’s money, even here in the middle of nowhere, the internet was as good as in Moscow. I went to the college website, scrolled through the pages. Nothing interesting: service schedules, residency rules, a list of forbidden entertainments. I got bored.

So I opened Facebook and started scrolling through my feed. Inga had a new post: a photo of her legs in jeans on some sofa, captioned «Getting ready for autumn.» Boring. I messaged her: «Did you tell Vladimir yet?» and added an emoji. She replied almost immediately: «Not yet. He’s busy today. I’ll see him in the evening.» I smirked. Vladimir was probably already looking for a replacement for me for the evening. Well, let him. I wasn’t his wife.

Then I went to a dating site. Just out of curiosity. I filled out a profile: Victoria, 19, student, living in England. Not a lie — I was studying, living here. I used an old photo from graduation, in a short dress. In the «looking for» field, I wrote: «Adventures. Adult adventures.» Ten minutes later, the first message arrived: from some guy from Manchester, 24, asking if I liked to travel. I replied: «I love it. Especially into other people’s bedrooms.» He sent an emoji. Flirting was fun.

A new message from the same Manchester guy: «Have you been to England before?» I wrote: «No, this is my first time. Except in pictures.» He replied: «Then I should show you the real England.» I almost laughed out loud. Classic. I shot back: «Only if the program includes champagne and your bed.»

«Careful, Victoria,» I whispered to myself, but I didn’t delete the message.

Outside, another bird flew past, landed on the windowsill, looked at me, and flew away. I stretched, stood up, and walked to the window. The view was dreary — a wall, a rose bush, an asphalt path. But at least I knew that behind some other window in this prison sat another bored student. Or maybe a teacher, secretly breaking the rules.

I took out my phone, photographed the view from the window, and sent it to Inga with the caption: «My new prison cell. But with Wi‑Fi.» Inga replied with a cat emoji and the question: «Got the key to the cell?» I wrote: «Got the key. But I haven’t found the key to the men’s showers yet.» She sent a crying‑laughing emoji.

Well, that was already more fun. I sat down to write my first Facebook post:

«Newbold College, day one. Lots of rules, boring. Replacing discos with online flirting. Who’s with me?»

And I added an emoji. Something pricked inside — Dad wouldn’t read this post, he didn’t care about my social media whining. But I felt better. At least someone would know I wasn’t here to become a saint. I snapped my laptop shut, leaned back on the pillow, and smiled at my thoughts. At least I had Wi‑Fi.

We met at breakfast. I was sitting at a table by the window, picking at my plate with a fork — scrambled eggs, bacon, toast — without much appetite. She sat down next to me without asking. Tall, slender, with long dark hair pulled into a careless ponytail from which unruly strands escaped. Eyes — green, with a hint of mischief. She wore a simple blue dress, hugging her narrow waist, rounded hips, and full breasts.

«You’re from Russia?» she asked in Russian, with a slight accent.

«Yes. And you?»

«Hungary. Kata.»

I switched to English to make it easier.

«Been here long?» I asked, pushing away my empty cup.

«Second year. But I came earlier than necessary. My parents got on my nerves. I annoy them. So they sent me here early.»

She smirked, and suddenly became like me — angry, cheerful, free.

«And I’m not going to mope around here. I want to have fun.»

I leaned back in my chair, studying her. Boredom, anger, a desire to break rules — and confidence. She already knew a way out.

«So how do you have fun here?» I asked, leaning closer.

She glanced over her shoulder: empty dining hall, a couple of figures by the far windows. She lowered her voice to a whisper:

«The usual ways — no way. It’s a monastery, not a college. But until everyone shows up, there’s nothing. Right now, though, I have an idea: tonight, the pool — at least some variety. I know a way: there’s a secret door, we can swim until morning. Just the two of us. Naked. No one will bother us.»

«Let’s go tonight,» I said.

She nodded.

«Ten o’clock at the main pool door. I’ll show you.»

I was silent, but suddenly an image flashed in my head — Inga, our naked bodies tangled on Vladimir’s bed. How we kissed, how her hands slid over my breasts, my stomach, lower. How I was both afraid and wanting. How it was before Vladimir came. How we caressed each other, and it felt as right as with a man.

Kata smiled, finished her juice, and stood up.

She left, leaving me with my plate, on which nothing remained but crumbs. I sat, staring out the window at the courtyard, and felt a strange, tickling anticipation kindle inside me. A mixture of what I already knew and what I hadn’t yet tried. Only now, another girl would be there. I felt curious. And a little chilly — from my own boldness.

We met at the pool door at exactly ten. The corridor was dark, only emergency lights glowed above the doors. Kata walked ahead, her footsteps echoing dully on the stone floor. I watched her back, the way her blue dress hugged her waist, the sway of her hips. Everything inside me tightened with a strange, tickling excitement.

«Here,» she said, stopping at a small wooden door. «Staff entrance.»

She pushed the door — it slowly, creakingly, opened. Unlocked. The smell of chlorine, damp concrete, and old water hit us. Inside was dark — only the security lights over the pool, two dim strips of light that barely pierced the twilight.

«We can’t turn on the lights,» Kata whispered, crossing the threshold. «But your eyes will adjust.»

I followed. I took off my sneakers, left them by the door. The floor was tiled, cool under bare feet. Kata was already by the bench, taking off her dress. I saw her silhouette in the dim light — thin, flexible, with long legs and firm hips.

She took off her dress, threw it on the bench. She was left in white lace underwear — tiny, almost transparent. I saw her breasts sway with each movement — large, full, heavy, yet surprisingly firm. Nipples showed through the lace — dark, hard. Her waist was narrow, almost wasp‑like, stomach flat, hips soft, rounded. She turned to me, and I saw her face in the twilight: eyes gleaming, lips slightly parted.

«What are you standing there for?» she asked. «Get undressed.»

I managed the zipper on my jeans, pulled them off. T‑shirt over my head. I was left in black lace underwear. She looked at me — at my breasts, stomach, hips. She didn’t hide that she was studying me. I didn’t look away. Her gaze slid over my collarbones, the neckline of my bra, the way the lace stretched over my hips. I felt her gaze on my skin — warm, unhurried, unashamed.

And suddenly she reached for the clasp of my bra — not hers, but mine. Her fingers touched my back, clicked, and the straps slipped off my shoulders. I automatically held the cups, but she gently moved my hand away.

«Don’t be shy,» she whispered. «We’re alone.»

The bra fell to the floor. My breasts were exposed. She looked, not looking away, and I didn’t cover myself. Her eyes lingered on my chest longer than on my face, and there was nothing vulgar in it — only curiosity, almost childlike.

She smirked, took off her own bra — in one motion, unhurriedly. Her breasts fell free from the lace — large, heavy, with dark, almost chocolate nipples. I watched them sway, and felt moisture gather between my legs. My vagina pulsed in time with my heart, and I was afraid she would notice, but I didn’t squeeze my thighs.

We were left only in our panties — she in white, me in black. Kata walked to the edge of the pool, dipped a foot in the water.

«Warm,» she said. «Come here.»

I walked to the edge, took off my panties. She did too. We were completely naked, two girls in the twilight of an old pool. I looked at her — at her large, full breasts, her smooth tanned skin, the curve of her back, the perfectly shaped buttocks. She was beautiful. And she seemed to be studying me too — my small breasts, narrow hips, shaved pubis. Her gaze wasn’t judging, more exploring, as if memorizing every centimeter.

«Well,» she said. «Jump?»

And without waiting for an answer, she slipped into the water. I stepped in after her. The water was indeed warm, dense — it enveloped my hips, stomach, chest. I surfaced, spluttered, brushed wet hair from my face. Several strands stuck to my cheeks, my neck, my shoulders.

Kata had already swum to the middle of the pool. She lay on her back, arms spread, her large breasts rising from the water, nipples erect — dark, hard from the cool air above the water. Water ran down her neck, her collarbones, gathered in the hollow between her breasts, then fell in drops, leaving shiny trails on her skin. Her eyes were closed, her face calm, relaxed. She looked like a mermaid from old legends — twilight, dim light, wet skin gleaming, long hair spread on the water.

I looked at her, and something inside me turned over. Not fear, not shame — a slow, dragging tension. Like before jumping into an abyss. I swam toward her, unhurriedly, working with my arms and legs. The water was pleasant, warm, it relaxed my muscles, calmed my breathing. But my heart still pounded — from her closeness, from the fact that we were naked, from the fact that it was dark and quiet around, and no one would ever know what happened here.

Kata opened her eyes, turned her head to me when I swam within arm’s reach.

«Can you swim?» she asked.

«As well as you.»

«Race?»

I smirked, and we shot toward the opposite edge. I swam fast, pumping my legs, feeling the water flow over my breasts, drops fly from my nipples. Kata was slightly faster — her long arms and strong legs gave her an advantage. She touched the edge first, turned to me, smiling. I swam up next to her, grabbing the edge beside her. We breathed heavily, looked at each other, and I saw devils dancing in her eyes. I smiled back.

She let go of the edge, swam away, made a circle. I watched her buttocks gleam in the security light, water run down her back, muscles tense with each movement. Inside, the familiar feeling kindled — the one I remembered from nights with Inga, but now sharper, brighter, without looking back. Only us, warm water, and this forbidden silence.

She rolled onto her stomach, looked at me, squinting slightly.

«What are you staring at?» she asked, but without malice, even with warmth.

«Admiring,» I answered honestly. My voice came out hoarse, unlike my own, and I was surprised by my own candor.

She smiled wider, swam closer. The distance between us shrank to a few centimeters. Her face was dangerously close to mine. I felt her breath — warm, smelling of mint gum mixed with chlorine. Her breasts almost touched mine in the water. I froze, not breathing.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t look away. Her eyes looked into mine, and there was something in them that sent goosebumps down my spine. Not a challenge. Not an invitation. Just — expectation.

Kata swam away. I watched her go, watched her buttocks gleam, water run down her back, watched her suddenly dive and surface at the far steps.

I swam after her. Slowly, unhurriedly. Feeling the water stroke my thighs, my palms slide over the surface. When I reached her, she was already standing on the steps. Water reached her waist. Her breasts were at eye level. I stopped a step below, looked up at her. She reached out, touched my cheek. Her fingers were warm, wet.

«You’re shivering,» she said. «From cold?»

«No,» I answered. «Not from cold.»

She didn’t take her hand away. Her thumb stroked my cheekbone.

«Me too,» she said quietly. «I’m shivering too.»

We stood like that for several seconds. Silence broken only by the hum of the ventilation and our breathing — fast, uneven. My nipples were hard as stones. I saw hers were too — swollen, firm. Her breasts trembled with each breath. I felt her fingers tremble slightly on my cheek.

She leaned toward me. Our lips met — softly, uncertainly, as if tasting. Her lips were warm, slightly salty from the water. I closed my eyes. Her tongue touched my lower lip, slid inside. I responded. We kissed slowly, unhurriedly, in the middle of warm water, holding onto the steps.

Her hand slid to my shoulder, then to my neck. I shivered but didn’t pull away. She stroked my collarbone, moved down to my breast. I froze when her fingers touched my nipple. It was hard, swollen, sensitive. She ran her thumb over it — lightly, in circles. I exhaled against her lips.

She pulled back for a second, looked into my eyes. In the twilight, her pupils were dilated, her lips swollen, wet.

Kata smiled and kissed me again — deeper, more confidently. Her tongue met mine. Her hand slid from my breast to my stomach, stroked, moved down to my pubis, paused at the water’s edge. I felt her fingers — hot, wet, trembling slightly. She didn’t rush. Just moved them up and down over my stomach, not going lower.

I threaded my fingers through her wet hair. Strands wrapped around my fingers. I pulled them back, exposing her neck. Kissed where her pulse beat. She exhaled — louder than before. Her breasts touched mine. Nipples met, hard, wet. I felt her heart pounding — as hard as mine.

We stood pressed together, not moving. Water splashed around us, softly, rhythmically. The ventilation hummed somewhere above. No other sound.

She pulled back, took my hand.

«Let’s go to the edge,» she whispered.

I nodded. We climbed out of the water. Drops ran down our legs, our backs, our stomachs, leaving wet footprints on the warm tile. My feet were cold, but my body burned. Kata pulled me by the hand toward the lounge chairs — they stood along the wall, wide, upholstered in soft white fabric. She lay down on the nearest one, not drying off, and pulled me down with her.

I lay beside her. The lounge chair was wider than an ordinary lounger, but still not meant for two. Our wet bodies slid on the fabric. I braced on my elbow to keep from sliding off, and at the same time pressed my thigh to hers. Skin to skin — wet, hot. Her breast touched mine. Nipples met again — hard, sensitive, I shuddered at the contact. She did too.

We started kissing again. Gently, first just lips, tasting the water on her lips. Then deeper — her tongue slid into my mouth, met mine, circled, teasing. I threaded my fingers through her wet hair — strands wound around, water running down my wrists. Her other hand went to my waist, slid lower, to my buttock, squeezed.

We rolled, switching places. The lounger creaked but held. I ended up on top, hovering over her. Her breasts flattened under me. I kissed her neck, lower, collarbone, the hollow between her breasts. She exhaled — loudly, with a rasp. Her hands stroked my back, moved to my waist, parted my buttocks.

«Uncomfortable,» she whispered, arching.

«Yes,» I breathed, not lifting my mouth from her breast.

She lay on her back, turning her head toward my feet. I understood. I lay on top of her, but in the opposite direction — so my face was at her hips, and hers at mine. Now we lay pressed together, heads at each other’s groins. The lounger dipped under our weight but held. My hair spilled over her stomach, hers spread on the lounger around her head. I felt her breath on my groin — hot, fast, uneven.

I spread my legs wider to make it easier for her. She did the same. I saw her groin up close — smooth, shaved, with neat folds, wet from water and arousal. Deep inside, it pulsed — I saw the muscles contract. The smell was sweetish, musky, with a light salty note. It smelled of us — sweat, arousal, water, something elusive that made my head spin.

I leaned down, ran my tongue over her labia — from bottom to clitoris. She shuddered, exhaled against my groin. I licked again, slower, feeling every millimeter. Her juice mixed with saliva, grew slick.

I found her clitoris with my fingers — parted the folds, exposed it. It was hard, small, pulsing under my fingertip. I licked it with the tip of my tongue. She arched, moaned. I circled her clitoris — slowly, with pressure, then faster, barely touching. She moved her hips toward me, her fingers digging into my buttocks. I took her clitoris in my mouth, sucking, feeling it pulse under my tongue.

At the same time, her tongue found my clitoris. She was doing the same — slowly, gently, tasting. I shuddered when her tongue touched me. It was a sharp, sweet sensation — like a small electric shock. I arched, moaning into her groin, and felt my muscles clench around her tongue. She moved her tongue faster, more rhythmically, and I responded in kind.

We licked each other — tongues entering, circling, pressing, taking in. I felt everything inside her pulse. Her moans vibrated against my clitoris. Mine against hers. Saliva mixed with juice, grew wet, and we could take deeper, almost penetrating with our tongues.

The orgasm hit simultaneously. I felt her body tense — stomach muscles contract, hips freeze. She paused for a second, then began to tremble — fine, frequent shudders. Her vagina pulsed under my tongue, and I kept licking, not stopping. She came for a long time, shuddering, with soft, broken moans. At the same moment, a hot wave swept over me — I arched, moaned loudly, gripping the lounger. My clitoris exploded with sweet, dragging pleasure, and I came, pulsing under her tongue, gripping it with my muscles. Our bodies convulsed in unison — I squeezed her hips, she squeezed mine.

Then everything quieted. I went limp, breathing heavily, my face buried in her stomach. Her breathing was just as ragged. She stroked my hair, saying nothing. Somewhere behind the wall, a clock struck eleven. But we didn’t want to leave.

I lifted my head, looked at her. Her face was relaxed, blissful, eyes closed. I ran my finger along her cheek.

«I know,» she whispered, not opening her eyes. «No need for words.»

I put my head back on her stomach. We lay in silence, listening to our breathing gradually calm. Her heart beat steadily, strongly. Mine too.

It grew chilly. I kissed her stomach, then stood up, draped a towel over my shoulders. She looked at me, smiled, and I drowned in that smile. We dressed silently, left the pool as quietly as we had entered.

In the corridor, she took my hand, squeezed my fingers.

«Repeat tomorrow?» she asked.

«Definitely,» I answered.

We went to our rooms. I closed the door, leaned my back against it, closed my eyes. My body remembered every touch, her taste lingered on my lips. I smiled in the darkness. This night was mine.

Kata and I arranged to meet at the pool again. After that night, after the lounge chairs and kisses, after I came from her tongue and she from mine, the silent «let’s do it again» hung in the air all day.

I couldn’t wait for evening. I sat in class, looked at the lecturer, but saw only her face in the twilight, her wet hair, her lips. Everything inside ached with anticipation.

We entered through the same unlocked door, undressed, left our things on the bench, and slipped into the warm water. We swam in silence, enjoying the quiet and the feeling of naked bodies touching.

«Tonight, no rush,» Kata whispered, swimming up to me. «I want to memorize your body with my fingers, not just my tongue.»

I smirked, reached for her breast, but suddenly froze.

Footsteps. Heavy, echoing. First far away, in the corridor, then closer.

«Shhh,» Kata pressed a finger to her lips.

We both dove, swam to the far edge, where the security lights barely reached. We hid in the shadow, only our heads above water.

The door creaked. Footsteps shuffled on the tile. Two. Male voices — low, laughing.

«No one there, I told you. Perfect night.»

«Turning on the light is too risky. Emergency lights are enough.»

Kata and I froze, pressed against the cool tile in the shadows. I heard my heart pounding — or was it hers? — and water lapping at the edges. The footsteps approached. Two men spoke in low voices, laughed, their steps echoing on the stone floor.

They reached the benches. We heard them undress — rustling fabric, a belt clinking, shoes thudding. Then bare feet slapping on wet tile. They walked to the edge, right under the dim light. Stopped.

I peered. At first I didn’t understand why I couldn’t see them clearly. Only silhouettes — tall, broad‑shouldered. Then one leaned down, and light fell on his shoulder. Black skin. They were black — their bodies dissolved in the darkness, blending with the shadows.

They stood at the edge, facing the pool. I saw their profiles, their backs, their buttocks. And when they turned slightly, I made out their cocks — dark silhouettes hanging between their legs. Large. I swallowed.

I whispered to Kata, barely moving my lips:

«Do you know them?»

She squinted, peering.

«Hard to tell in the dark,» Kata whispered. «But if they know about the pool, they’re not new. Probably upperclassmen. There are a lot of black guys here, especially in the upper years.»

They stepped into the water. Didn’t dive, didn’t jump — descended the stairs slowly. I heard the water receive their bodies, splash, part. One — tall — stepped in first, followed by the second, slightly shorter but broader in the shoulders. I mentally named them Big and Small, based on the height difference.

I studied them in the dim light falling from above, catching only the brightest details: gleam of wet skin, whites of eyes, water shining on their shoulders. They weren’t in a hurry. They stood waist‑deep in water, turned toward us. The water hid them below the waist, but I knew what was there — and tried not to think about it, but couldn’t.

We stood chest‑deep in water, pressed against the edge in the shadows. They came down the stairs, and at first didn’t notice us — only when they swam a few meters did Big pause and turn his head our way.

«Hey, someone’s here,» he said quietly.

Small stopped, looked in the same direction. For a few seconds, silence hung — only water splashing against the edges. Kata straightened, water running from her breasts. I did the same. We weren’t hiding anymore.

Big smiled and stepped closer.

«Didn’t expect to find anyone here,» he said. His voice was deep, with a slight accent.

«Neither did we,» Kata answered calmly, without challenge.

«Are you students?» Small asked. His voice held curiosity, but no pressure.

«Are you?» I deflected.

Big chuckled. We swam a bit, keeping our distance. I felt their gazes on me — warm, studying. When I surfaced, water ran down my nipples, and I didn’t cover up. Kata wasn’t shy either. We were naked, they could see, and everyone pretended that was normal.

We didn’t exchange names. Didn’t ask where they were from. Exchanged a few meaningless words: the water’s warm, yes, nothing. Silence broken only by the splash of water.

Then Kata climbed out of the pool. She didn’t look back, but I knew — they were watching. Her wet hair stuck to her back, water ran down her buttocks, her thighs, leaving shiny trails on her tanned skin. She moved slowly, unhurriedly, swaying her hips just a little more than necessary.

I climbed out after her. Water streamed heavily from my body, from my chest, stomach, thighs. I ran my palms through my hair, pushed it from my face, then deliberately slowly fixed it — let them watch. We walked to the showers. Our feet left wet footprints on the warm tile. I felt their gazes on my back — heavy, hungry. They slid over my shoulder blades, my lower back, my buttocks, which twitched with each step. Goosebumps ran down my skin, and between my legs grew wet — not from water, from their desire.

I glanced back over my shoulder. Big stood at the edge, leaning on his hands, his broad shoulders tense. Small froze beside him, not taking his eyes off us. The water hid them below the waist, but I saw how tense their thighs were, how they gripped the pool edge, how their breathing deepened. Big grinned — cocky, confident. Small just stared, unblinking, and in his eyes was something dark that made everything inside me flip.

I smiled at the corner of my mouth and slowly turned away, continuing to walk. Kata was already waiting by the shower door, leaning her shoulder against the frame. Her eyes sparkled.

«Well?» she asked quietly when I drew level with her.

I shrugged, but couldn’t suppress a smile.

«They seem ready,» I answered.

We exchanged glances. Kata winked. I laughed — softly, nervously, but inside everything trembled with anticipation. The night promised to be interesting. We pushed open the shower door and stepped into the twilight.

In the shower, we turned on the warm water. Streams hissed, hit the tile, steam rose, the mirror fogged, and our reflections disappeared. Kata stood under the water, pushed wet hair from her face, stretched, offering her breasts to the spray.

«How about…» she lowered her voice, though no one was around, «…we fuck them?»

I smirked, feeling everything inside tighten with anticipation. Between my legs grew wet — not from water, just from the thought.

Jean’s face flashed in my mind. His black body over me, his cock inside. And how I later lay on the carpet, covered in his sperm. I wanted more.

«Easy,» I answered.

«Then I’ll count to ten, and they’ll show up,» Kata said, closing her eyes under the spray.

«Ten…» she began.

I listened. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four…

She didn’t finish.

The door creaked. I turned — they stood in the doorway, two tall dark silhouettes. Big and Small. Naked, wet from the pool, their cocks already half‑erect, swaying with each movement, gleaming in the dim light. They said nothing. Didn’t ask. Just stepped under the spray.

Water washed over them, and they were in the stall with us. The shower was spacious, but with the four of us it became tight. The closeness was sweet, sticky, desired. The smell of water, soap, arousal.

Big — tall, nearly two meters — stood behind Kata. His hands went to her waist, pulled her against him. She exhaled.

Small — slightly shorter, but broader in the shoulders — stood before me. I felt the heat of his body before he touched me. It radiated from him in waves, hot, dense, stealing my breath. The smell of his skin — dark, masculine, with a hint of chlorine from the pool and something else — soap, gel, perhaps arousal itself. I breathed in, and my head spun.

In the twilight, I could barely see their black faces — only outlines, the gleam of wet skin on broad shoulders, on chests, drops of water caught in the hollows of muscles. His chest rose evenly, calmly, though mine pounded like a trapped bird.

He took my chin. His fingers were warm, slightly rough, with a light pressure that made my lips part. He lifted my face, so I had to rise on tiptoe, and leaned down.

He kissed me.

First just touched my lips with his — softly, almost weightlessly. I froze, not breathing. His lips were wet, warm, tasted of mint and something fresh. He didn’t rush, didn’t deepen the kiss, as if tasting me, studying, memorizing. My eyelids fell on their own. My arms hung limp at my sides, fingers trembling.

Then his tongue slid over my lower lip, and I exhaled, unable to suppress a soft moan. He went deeper, and I responded, first timidly, then bolder, threading my fingers through his short, coarse hair. His free hand found my waist, pulled me closer. Our bodies almost touched — only hot, damp air between us.

I forgot where we were. Forgot Kata was nearby, that Big was also there. Only his lips, his tongue, his scent. And that strange, sweet dizziness as the world narrowed to a single kiss.

Beside us, Kata was kissing Big — I heard her soft moans, the water mixing with their breathing.

Small pulled back, knelt on the wet tile. Water ran down his back, his shoulders, his nape. He spread my thighs, and I felt his breath on my groin. Hot, wet, uneven. His tongue touched my clitoris — carefully, tasting. I arched, gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He licked slowly, deeply, circling, taking into his mouth, sucking. Saliva mixed with my juice, growing slick. I moaned, throwing my head back, pressing his face to me.

Kata was now on her knees before Big. I saw from the corner of my eye her knees touch the wet tile, her lean forward, back arched. Her lips closed around his cock — thick, dark, gleaming with water. She took him deep, almost to the base, her cheeks hollowing, thin veins standing out on her neck. Big groaned — low, hoarse — and put his hand on her nape. He didn’t press, didn’t thrust, only stroked her hair, thumbs touching her temples. Water streamed over their bodies, over his chest, over her back, mixing with saliva and arousal. I heard wet, sucking sounds, and everything inside me tightened.

Small rose from his knees. He straightened to his full height, water running from his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. He took my chin, lifted my face slightly, and kissed me. His lips were hot, wet, with a salty taste. His tongue slid into my mouth, met mine, circled, teasing. I responded, threading my fingers through his short curly hair. His hands slid down my back, squeezed my buttocks, then turned me around.

He pushed me toward the wall. I braced my palms on the tile, spread my legs wider, bent my knees slightly, offering myself. He stood behind, his hips touching my buttocks. His hand went to my lower back, pressed slightly, forcing me to arch further. Then his fingers parted my buttocks, and I felt the head of his cock at my entrance — hard, hot, wet. It slid along my cleft, found the spot. I froze, not breathing.

He entered immediately, deep, to the hilt. Not slowly — in one smooth, strong motion. I arched, nails scraping the tile, and moaned — loudly, unashamed, because the water drowned everything. He was large — not as huge as Jean’s, but substantial. I felt him stretch me, his shaft part the wet folds, the head touch something deep inside. The fullness was complete, almost to the point of pain, but the pain was sweet, desired. I felt the walls of my vagina grip him, pulse, adjust.

He paused for a second. I heard his breath — fast, hot — behind me. His fingers tightened on my hips. I moved my pelvis slightly, testing — his cock twitched, and he exhaled through his teeth. He began to move. Slowly, smoothly, so I felt him withdraw almost to the tip, leaving emptiness, then plunge again, filling me to the limit. With each thrust, his cock slid easier — I was wet, hot, ready. Water poured over us, over my back, over his chest, over our thighs. His movements grew faster, more rhythmic. I clenched my muscles around him, feeling the pulse inside. Each thrust echoed in my spine, my skull, my fingertips. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, but a moan still escaped — deep, low.

Big silently positioned himself behind Kata, blocking the dim light. I caught the picture from the corner of my eye, but even my peripheral vision missed nothing: how her knuckles whitened as she gripped the slippery tile, and how water, breaking from the curve of her buttocks, shattered on the floor in ringing, measured drops. She froze in an arched pose, shoulder blades sharp under wet skin, her spine disappearing into deep shadow as it descended toward her wide‑spread thighs, leaving her wet flesh defenselessly open to the streams and the gaze.

Big put his hands on her hips — his palms huge, dark, contrasting with her white skin. Fingers dug into the soft flesh, parting her buttocks, exposing wet folds. I saw him press the head of his cock to her entrance — pinkish, gleaming with water, it pressed against her labia, parted them. Kata sighed — softly, but I heard it even through the water’s roar. Her breath caught, her chest rose higher, nipples hardened, touching the cold tile.

He entered slowly, smoothly, to the base. I saw her body receive him — vaginal muscles clenching, gripping, as she arched further, throwing her head back. Her mouth opened, and a moan escaped her throat — low, deep, mixing with the water’s noise and the pounding of my heart. I felt everything inside me clench in response, the wetness between my legs grow hotter, my fingers dig into Small’s shoulders, still inside me.

I watched Big begin to move — first slowly, almost lazily, withdrawing almost to the head and sinking again. Kata moaned in time, her head shaking side to side, hair stuck to her cheeks. He quickened. Wet slaps grew louder, more rhythmic. Water ran down their backs, over his chest, over her stomach. I looked at her profile — flushed, lips parted, tongue just visible, eyes half‑closed, lashes trembling. Every line on her face spoke of pleasure. She turned her head to me, and her smile was drunken, happy, free — one I hadn’t seen before.

I watched her orgasm build — in how her back arched more and more, to the limit, shoulder blades meeting, spine curving down. Her fingers scraped the tile, nails scratching the surface, leaving white marks. Moans grew higher, more broken, turning into short, ragged exhales.

Her face — I watched, not looking away — contorted in a grimace that held no pain, only tension turning into release. Lips parted, eyes rolled back, a drop of saliva escaped the corner of her mouth. She trembled — from toes to crown.

When she came, I heard her cry — muffled, desperate, full of what couldn’t be held back. Water still poured, steam fogged my eyes, but I saw her body convulse, freeze for a second, then go limp, breathing heavily.

Everything inside me tightened. I felt the pulse in my lower belly become unbearable, muscles clench around Small’s cock, air catch in my chest. And I came right after — not expecting, not planning, just letting go, watching her, feeling her tremors and mine, mixed in one hot, wet, endless moment.

Small pulled out of me. I felt his cock slide along the walls, leave my body. My muscles clenched, trying to hold him, but he was already outside. I sighed louder than intended.

Big pulled out of Kata and turned to me. I stood against the wall, wet, flushed, mouth open, breathing heavily. He stepped to me, and I felt his warmth before he touched me. Water ran down his chest, his stomach, over his hard, pulsing cock already aimed at me.

He turned me away from him, pressed me to the wall. I braced my palms on the tile, spread my legs wider. His hands went to my hips — heavy, hot, fingers digging into my skin, leaving marks. He pressed his cock to my entrance. I felt the head — hard, slick with gel and water.

He didn’t wait. Entered immediately, deep, to the hilt. I gasped, arched, nails scraping the wet tile. He was thicker than Small, and I felt it immediately — the fullness was denser, the pressure deeper, each movement echoing in my lower belly as a tight, sweet wave. Inside grew hot, tight, and I paused for a second, adjusting, clenching my muscles around him.

He paused, giving me time. I moved my hips — his cock twitched, and we both moaned. He began to move. Slowly, powerfully, rhythmically — his hips slapping against my buttocks with a wet, dull sound that mixed with the water’s roar and my moans. Each thrust forced me to arch more, seeking purchase with my palms on the slippery tile.

Beside us, Small lay on his back right on the tile, ignoring its hardness. Water streamed over his black body, pooled in the hollows of his muscles. Kata straddled him — kneeling on either side of his hips, hovering over him. She guided his cock to her entrance and lowered herself slowly. I saw the head part her folds, the cock disappear into her to the base. Kata arched, threw her head back, and her breasts bounced as she began to move — first smoothly, then faster, setting her own rhythm.

She rode him like an equestrienne, her wet hair whipping her back, her breasts swaying. Small gripped her hips, helping, but not controlling. She looked at me, and in her eyes was the same as in mine — heat, pain, pleasure. Her moans grew louder, and I felt mine too.

The orgasm built again inside me — not sharply, but slowly, like a wave that grows, pulls, doesn’t let go. I clenched my muscles around him, feeling his breath at my nape quicken, his fingers grip my hips almost painfully. And when I was swept away, I cried out — softly, but desperately, my face buried in my own hands on the tile, feeling him pulse inside, holding back, but still moving, stretching my pleasure.

Then they switched again.

I felt Big pull out of me — slowly, so I felt every millimeter of his shaft sliding along the walls. At the same moment, Small pulled out of Kata — I heard her soft, stifled exhale, almost plaintive.

They crossed paths without even glancing at each other.

Big stepped to Kata, took her hips, and stood her up, turning her back to him. She braced her palms on the wall, spread her legs wide, arched her back, offering herself. Her shoulder blades tensed, her spine forming a deep furrow downward. Big pressed his cock to her entrance — everything there was wet, ready — and he entered in one motion, smoothly, deeply, to the hilt. Kata arched further, moaned — softly, but I heard. Her breasts touched the cold tile, nipples hardening. She turned her head, looked at me over her shoulder, and in her eyes flickered something — challenge, relief, gratitude.

At the same moment, Small was behind me. I didn’t see him, but felt him — by his breath on my nape, his hands on my hips, already familiar, sure. He entered me without asking, without hesitation. Easily, because I was wet and waiting. Inside, it was tight again, hot, full. His cock was different — not thicker, not longer, just different, and that new feeling filled me, made me clench around him, take him deeper. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the rhythm, knowing we would switch again.

Now we both stood against the wall, backs to the guys, their cocks inside us, water pouring over our backs, mixing with sweat and gel. I heard Kata moan in time with Big’s thrusts, her palms scrape the tile, her breath falter. I felt Small grip my hips, his fingers dig into my skin, his cock pulse inside.

We didn’t look at each other — couldn’t turn our heads, couldn’t take our palms from the wall. But I knew she felt the same as I did: fullness, heat, loss of time. Our moans merged, our bodies moved in unison, and I suddenly realized we had become one whole — two girls, two guys, two pairs, woven into this wet, dark, hot rhythm.

I swam toward release, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. My muscles clenched around Small, drawing from him a deep, building rhythm, and he responded — quickening, deepening. Kata cried out first — guttural, sharp — and immediately Big growled in unison. I came a moment later — in waves, spasms, squeezing an answering tremor from him, but Small held back, stopping on the edge without crossing it.

Then the sounds faded. Only water streamed down our backs, only breath rustled in the silence. I opened my eyes, forehead against the wet tile, and smiled through the heaviness of my lids. The night was just beginning — long, wet, promising. But this orgasm, this surge, this moment belonged to the four of us and no one else.

We switched again and again. I felt Big’s cock fill me, and heard Small enter Kata, our moans mingling, echoing off the wet tile walls. My hands slid over Kata’s wet back, she touched my breasts in return. Our fingers intertwined on the tile.

Sometimes one of them would pause inside, hold for a few seconds, not moving, only pulsing. Then a brief silence would fall, broken only by the water. And in those moments, Kata and I would turn our heads to each other and kiss — over our shoulders, awkwardly, but greedily. Our tongues met, slid, mixing saliva with water and drops of sperm — whose, it no longer mattered. Her taste was salty, sweetish, with a hint of bitterness. I caught it, drew it in, didn’t want to let go.

Each time they withdrew, I felt emptiness and impatience. Each time they entered, I shuddered and arched. We switched so many times I lost count. My body lived on its own, responding to each thrust, each change. My nipples were hard as stones, my breasts tingling. Moisture ran down my thighs, mixing with the water.

At some point, I stopped distinguishing where I ended and Kata began. Orgasms rolled in waves, overlapping each other. I clenched someone’s cock with pulsing muscles, and felt her spasms beside me. Water washed away the cries, and only the vibration of bodies remained — four wet, hot, clinging forms.

Their cocks were inside us, pulsing, holding back, then coming. I no longer remembered who and where. Hot streams hit our skin. Mixed with water, ran down our legs, stomachs, chests.

Small pulled out of me. His cock slid along the walls, leaving behind a feeling of emptiness — not sharp, but dragging, as if something important had been taken from me. I sighed, not opening my eyes. Beside me, Kata exhaled the same way — Big had also pulled out of her.

I opened my eyes. The guys gently pressed on our shoulders, lowering us to our knees. The warm tile was hard, but I didn’t feel it — only waited. Kata and I sank down as if cut down, our faces at the level of their cocks.

Small stood before me, gripping his cock at the base, aiming the head at my face. The head gleamed, a clear drop beaded on it, ready to fall. He said nothing, only looked down, and in his gaze was nothing but expectation.

Beside him, Big did the same — stood before Kata, aimed his cock at her face. She knelt, like me, head tilted back, lips slightly parted.

I parted my lips, stuck out my tongue. The first thing that hit my tongue was warm, thick, slightly salty. I swallowed without thinking. The next hit my chin, warmer, ran down my neck, settled in the hollow between my collarbones. Another drop — on my cheek, my nose, my eyelid. I squeezed my eyes shut, and sperm seeped under my eyelid, stinging, but I didn’t wipe it. He moved his cock over my face, leaving sticky trails, sometimes touching my lips, and I would take the head into my mouth, lick it, feeling his pulse weaken with each time.

And then the water — shower streams washing everything away, white trails melting, running down my chest, stomach, legs, down the drain. I opened my eyes, blinked — lashes no longer stuck together. Only the taste remained in my mouth — salty, already familiar, almost my own.

Beside me, Kata received hers — I heard Big come, her sigh, sperm slapping her skin. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw white drops fall on her chest, neck, face. She didn’t flinch, only sometimes licked her lips.

Small finished. His cock softened, he stopped gripping it and just stood, breathing heavily. I opened my eyes — everything swam, lashes stuck. I ran my tongue over my lips — salty taste mixed with water.

Water poured, washing sperm from us. White trails melted under the streams, ran down my chest, stomach, legs. Kata’s too. Big knelt, put his head on her shoulder. She stroked his nape.

We were four under the hot streams, breathing heavily. Water washed everything — sweat, sperm, gel. Only we remained and this silence.

Water kept pouring. Steam rose to the ceiling, the fogged mirror hid our reflections. No one spoke. Silence broken only by dripping water and rare sighs. I looked at Kata, she at me — and we both smiled, without words. The night wasn’t over, but this dance — ended.

Big and Small stepped out from under the spray. Without a word. Just stepped from the shower into the darkness, and their silhouettes dissolved in the hall’s gloom. I heard wet feet slap on the tile, then a door creaked, then silence.

Kata and I were left alone.

Water kept pouring. I stood, back against the cool tile wall, feeling my heart slowly calm. Between my legs pulsed — not painfully, but dully, sweetly, like after a long run. My chest rose heavily, nipples still hard, sensitive to the air. A salty taste lingered on my lips — a mix of his sperm and her kiss.

Kata turned off the water. Steam slowly settled, the fogged mirror began to clear. Silence became deafening — only drops falling from our bodies onto the tile, rare, measured. We remained in the twilight, alone, naked, wet, breathing heavily.

«Come on,» she said, taking my hand.

We walked into the pool hall. The security lights barely illuminated the empty lanes, wet tile gleaming like a mirror. Big and Small were gone — only their bare footprints on the floor. The silence pressed, but didn’t frighten.

I stared into the darkness where their silhouettes had vanished, and felt only quiet satisfaction. No longing, no emptiness. Just — good.

We walked to the bench where our bags lay. I pulled out a soft terry towel — it smelled of fabric softener, freshness, the ordinary, which sharply contrasted with what had just happened. We dried off in silence, but not tensely — tiredly, calmly, almost lazily. I rubbed my skin, feeling warmth return, the trembling in my legs subside, muscles gradually relax. Kata dried her hair, dark strands flying everywhere, spraying fine drops on her wet shoulders.

«You know,» I said, draping the towel over my shoulders and sitting on the bench. My voice sounded hoarse. «Not long ago, I thought black guys... well, how to put it... weren’t my thing.»

Kata sat beside me, tucking her legs under her.

«You were shy?» she asked.

«Not shy exactly. Disgusted, probably.» I ran my finger along my wet shin, gathering drops. «It’s not accepted in Moscow. My own hang‑ups.»

«And now?» she turned to me, her eyes gleaming in the twilight.

«And now...» I paused, feeling something warm, almost funny rise inside me. «Now I don’t care. And it’s even pleasant.»

I remembered Daniil. Our conversation in the gazebo, when he said: «In England it’s normal. Tolerance.» I smirked then, thought: «With black men — like with monkeys.» And now he was in Moscow, and I stood on wet tile, tasting black sperm on my lips, and not ashamed at all.

«Tolerance, damn,» I said, staring at the ceiling. The word sounded foreign, even funny — too official for what we’d just done. «Dad would freak. And Alice. And Daniil... he’d say: ‘I told you so.’»

Kata burst out laughing. Loudly, with an echo, so her laughter filled the empty pool, bouncing off the ceiling and walls.

«We had a good fuck!» she said, tossing damp hair from her forehead. Her face was relaxed, almost childlike.

«Good,» I repeated, and suddenly I was hit by a wave of light, almost silly joy. We sat naked on the bench, wrapped in towels, two girls who had just broken every rule there was, and we didn’t care. We laughed a little more, then fell silent, listening to the quiet.

«Alright,» Kata said, standing up. «Time for bed.»

We pulled on our panties, bras, jeans, T‑shirts. I put on my black top, which now smelled not of my perfume, but of chlorine, sweat, and something else — elusive, foreign. Kata zipped her jeans, tucked her damp hair under an elastic band.

Kata took my hand, and we walked out into the corridor. The security lights burned dimly, a clock ticked somewhere. The college walls pressed less than in the morning. Maybe because inside I felt lighter? Or because I’d finally realized: these walls weren’t so solid, and the rules weren’t for everyone.

I closed my door, leaned my back against it. My body remembered every movement. In my head — not a single thought, only pulse. Tolerance, it turns out, is when you don’t just not care who, but when it’s fucking awesome. I translated the word for myself: «just fucking awesome.» And smirked in the darkness.

I lay in bed and smiled, remembering what had happened. Daniil would just say: «I told you so.» And Dad... Dad had no idea how fucking good it felt. And probably never would. It was only mine.

Jean came to mind. How I’d spied on him and Alice, how I’d felt sick at the thought of his black body. And then he entered me in double penetration, and I came, clenching his cock in my anus. And nothing. I didn’t die. I even got used to it. Then Alice milked his remains onto my face, and I didn’t turn away. And it was... just great.

The next morning, I went down to the dining hall later than usual. Kata was already sitting at the table by the window, drinking orange juice and scrolling through her phone. Seeing me, she put down the phone and smirked.

«How are you? Not broken?»

I sat across, poured myself some coffee.

«Fine. Even slept well.»

«And no regrets?» she lowered her voice, though no one was around. «About last night?»

I took a sip of coffee, not rushing my answer. Inside, a warm memory stirred: water, steam, their strong hands, wet skin, the taste of salty sperm on my lips.

«Not a drop,» I said honestly. «Quite the opposite. It was good... to air out.»

Kata laughed softly, covering her mouth with a napkin.

«I was afraid you’d start repenting. Making a drama. Some girls cry after that.»

«Me?» I raised an eyebrow. «You don’t know me well.»

«Now I do,» she winked. «You’re great.»

I shrugged, took a toast from the plate.

«And you? How are you?»

«I’m thrilled.» Kata leaned back in her chair, stretched. «Haven’t relaxed like that in a long time. And those two... I think they’ll come again.»

«I hope so,» I said, and we exchanged a knowing smile.

She finished her juice, pushed the glass aside, and grew more serious.

«Alright, enough about the fun stuff. You wanted to know about our college. Ask.»

«Tell me everything,» I bit into my toast.

Kata nodded, folded her hands on the table.

«There are about a thousand students here. Four departments — four wings, four dormitories. First — theology. For future priests and missionaries. Second — business and management. Marketing, accounting, all boring. Third — ours. Humanities. Literature, history, psychology, art. You can combine. Fourth — liberal arts. Something in between, for creative and undecided types.»

I listened, spreading jam.

«Each direction has its own dorm, its own dining hall. The food is good, parents pay — no complaints.» She smirked. «About two hundred and fifty people per wing. Once a week, a formal dinner in the main hall. With faculty. A ceremony over a hundred years old. Dress code: dresses and skirts below the knee for girls, suits for guys. Candles. Like a performance. For our department — on Thursdays.»

I smiled to myself. Good thing I’d brought a bunch of outfits from home — now I’d have somewhere to show off.

«Alright,» I said, finishing my coffee. «And tonight? The pool?»

Kata smirked.

«You’re relentless. Sure. At ten.»

We came to the pool at exactly ten. Same unlocked door, same twilight, same smell of wet tile. Undressed in the dark, left our things on the bench, slipped into the warm water. I waited.

No one.

We swam from edge to edge, whispered by the wall. Silence. Only water splashing.

«They’re not coming,» Kata said, exhaling.

«Looks like it.»

I didn’t want to show how disappointed I was. But inside, everything tightened. Last night had been so alive, so hot — and today, emptiness. I hadn’t even memorized their faces in the dark. Big, Small — just nicknames, shadows. They probably hadn’t gotten a good look at us either. Maybe from another department. Maybe they’d even left.

We pushed off and swam. Silently, in the dark, only the splash of water and our breathing. I felt tension leave my body with each stroke, replaced by a light fatigue. The water embraced, soothed, didn’t ask why they hadn’t come.

«At least we’ll swim,» I said to myself, rolling onto my back and gazing at the high glass ceiling, where security lights flickered dimly.

Kata swam beside me, her hand sometimes touching mine. We didn’t talk about the guys. Didn’t talk about wanting them again. Just swam. I counted strokes, then lost count. The water was warm, almost hot, and I felt my muscles relax. Somewhere overhead, the ventilation hummed, monotonous, lulling.

Then I stopped at the edge, turned onto my stomach. Kata swam up, stood beside me. Water reached our chests. I looked at her face in the twilight — wet hair stuck to her cheeks, eyes gleaming.

«Let’s go to the shower,» Kata said. «Need to warm up.»

We climbed out of the pool. Drops ran down our legs, backs, leaving dark footprints on the tile. Kata took my hand and led me into the shower. In the dark, I could barely make out her silhouette — flexible, slender, with rounded hips and long legs.

She turned on the water. Streams hissed, steam rose, the mirror fogged. Kata stood under the spray, pushed hair from her face, offered her breasts to the water. I stepped in after her.

«Come here,» she reached out and pulled me to her.

Our wet, slippery bodies met. I felt her breasts pressed to mine, her nipples — hard as grapes. She took my chin, kissed me. Her lips were hot, wet, tasting of water and something sweet. I responded, threading my fingers through her wet hair...