"Have you ever danced for anyone?" I ask, unable to hold back my curiosity. Her past, her experience… I can't help but feel that her stories, her emotions, are the keys that unlock a deeper understanding of her.
She answers calmly, but there's a strange note of detachment in her voice, as if she doesn't want to fully open up, doesn't want to give me everything.
"I dance with guys on the dance floor. But with you, it's incomparable. You're very passionate and sensitive in dance; that I can't take away from you. No one dances with me like you do."
"And how do they dance with you?"
"With lust," her eyes darken, as if hiding some long-buried pain, something she doesn't want to show but can't conceal. "You also want me, but your desire isn't as cruel as theirs. They don't care who, when, as long as there's a girl. They touch me everywhere… But you move your hands on my body as if you're studying it."
I feel her body tense, the words casting a shadow over everything that has happened before. Everything between us becomes much more conscious, deeper, than just desire. I realize that her words hide more than just a description of her past. This is her wound, her experience, and perhaps I am the first one who can understand it.
"Why do you dance with them?" I can't help but ask, feeling that everything she says touches not only her body but also her feelings, her pain. And that can't leave me indifferent.
She sighs, her face becomes serious, and her gaze drops down, as if she's trying to hide something too heavy for full disclosure.
"I don't really dance. I leave as soon as the other men start touching me. I don't trust them, you know that."
"And do you trust me?" I don't know what I'm expecting from her answer, but at that moment, the only thing that matters to me is understanding how she perceives me, how she sees our moment, our connection.
Katrin lifts her gaze, her eyes meet mine, and in them is a firmness that also holds vulnerability.
"Yes. I trust you completely. I know you won't hurt me."
These words consume me, dissolving in the air between us, creating an invisible connection that I feel in every inch of my body. I realize that for her, trust isn't just words. It's a gift she's giving me, and I have no right to break it.
"Why? I mean, I'm a guy too, after all."
There's so much openness and purity in her answers that I feel the need to understand why she trusts me the way she hasn't trusted anyone else. In some aspects, we're alike, because I trust only her.
"For the same reason you trust me. I feel it. Like how you run your hands over my body. You don't want to force me into your hands; you want me to respond to you myself, and that's what I do."
Her words make me freeze. I can feel her truth in every sound, every pause. It's as if we both catch the faintest nuances of each other, something deeper than words and actions. It's an invisible connection that can't be explained. And it becomes clear to me that our feelings aren't a coincidence, or a game. They're real.
"You're right about everything," it seems like she's reading me like an open book, understanding what I want before I even realize it myself. "Have you ever danced for anyone?"
"I always dance only for myself. So this is my first time."
"Do you ever deal with a pole and dance on it?" I continue, unable to shake my desire to know more.
"I once watch a movie, and a girl dances so beautifully on a pole that last year I sign up for pole dance lessons. But after a month and a half, I get bored and quit. So I know the basics and roughly how to do certain things to achieve a particular result."
"I'm glad I don't put you in a bad position with my request," I place my hand on her neck, pull her close, and kiss her. The kiss isn't deep, but in its lightness lies all its strength—emotional, sensual, like a silent confession that we are finding something much more in each other than just physical attraction. "What do you think when I make my request?"
"I'm in a bad mood because you are sad at the club and don't get the fun I promise. I even think about suggesting we go to another regular club. But then you burst in with your request, and the situation shifts drastically, one hundred and eighty degrees. I'm shocked by your boldness because I don't think your request will be so direct."
"Don't you like it? If you want, I…" I don't finish, as she places a finger on my lips, cutting off my words. Her gesture is gentle, but there's a confidence in it that makes me fall silent.
"You misunderstand me. I actually like your request, but I'm surprised that you ask me. You're so shy, at least you are last Monday."
I feel her words fill me with a new sensation. How quickly everything changes. I'm amazed at how she notices my changes, how quickly she understands me. Her responses are light, as if she accepts me as I am, with all my worries and unspoken thoughts.
"After close contact with you, how can I stay shy? That's just impossible," I say with a light laugh, and we both laugh.
"That's true. You've changed so much in the last five days. Does it seem like something bad or good to you?" Her question is quiet, but there's so much underlying meaning, as if she's trying to understand how I perceive these changes myself.
"For me, it changes my life radically. I open up in ways I think I never can," I don't even understand how it happens, but I feel like I become a different person. "Would I ever hit someone? Never. But it turns out I can. But for that, I need to be really drunk and have a good reason."
"Sorry. I don't…" I press my finger to her lips, just like she does before.
But Katrin, as always, surprises me. She simply takes my finger and bites it. It's unexpected, but not painful. I let out a quiet gasp, surprised by her decisiveness and playfulness.
"Stop, you're not to blame for anything," I stroke her cheek, feeling her warmth fill me with calmness. I understand that her actions are her way of staying herself, staying in the moment. And I'm ready to accept her like this. "I also don't think I'm capable of such dances and kisses. But here, too, I'm surprised. You're amazing, and you make me marvel."
It's a confession of how she changes me, how she flips my perception.
"Then expect even more surprises from me, because now I'm going to dance."
Rebel Girl stands up, and her confident movements immediately catch attention. She begins searching for something on her phone, and as soon as she finds it, she plays the music, placing the phone on the table. A familiar and exciting atmosphere fills the room as the first sounds spread through the space. She takes off her coat and blouse, leaving on a black bra that accentuates her figure. Her fingers freeze as she approaches the pole.
Katrin walks around it, as if studying it, adjusting herself, then takes hold of it with one hand, spinning smoothly on it without moving from the spot. I'm stunned by her skill. Her movements are decisive, yet so effortless that it seems as if she's floating. She slides down the pole gracefully, her body flexible and confident, moving in time with the music. Her fingers and toes grip the pole, but not with effort—each hold is executed with grace and delicacy. She approaches the pole again, circles it, then wraps her right leg around it, bending her left leg on top, creating a moment that instantly captivates all my attention. Her body arches, and she stretches her back towards me. I hold my breath, unable to believe what I'm seeing.
When she rises again, her legs slowly begin to trace circles around the pole, as if she's part of the metal structure. Her body arches into a curve, each bend precise and expressive. She smiles, but her gaze remains focused, full of confidence, as if she knows every movement of hers is captivating everything around her.
With incredible grace, she jumps back onto the pole, spinning around it as if an invisible force keeps her suspended in the air. At that moment, time slows down. Each of her movements—from the slight tilt of her head to the way her body slides down—is perfect, and I can't take my eyes off her dance, into which she pours not only her body but her soul.
Her dance doesn't just excite me; it stirs me, lifting me to a height where I can't tell what's more mesmerizing: her incredible grace or the way she's absorbed in the moment, dancing only for me, filled with passion and power that I can hardly breathe. It isn't just a dance; it's pure art, one in which she reveals herself only to me, and I feel that this moment belongs to me alone.
I stand up and walk towards her, watching as she hesitates slightly and then sits down on the floor, spreading her legs, creating an impression of vulnerability and alluring strength at the same time. With each step, my heart beats faster, and her gaze, full of anticipation, grows more alive. When I'm close, she stands by the pole, her eyes full of confusion and questions, as if she can't understand what's happening. I don't say a word. I approach, place my hand on her warm, slightly trembling skin, feeling her body respond to the touch. I pull her towards me, and my lips find hers, as if we've been searching for each other for a long time, as if it's inevitable. The kiss is quick, passionate, as if two worlds collide in a single moment. I feel her breath, her heartbeat matching mine, and something inside me tightens at that contact.
The girl doesn't pull away; instead, with a sudden movement, she lets go of the pole and hugs me, pressing herself against me, as if she doesn't want to let go. I feel her fingers digging into my back and her body merging with mine. In her kiss, shyness and desire, tenderness and fury mix together—undisturbed even by our bodies.
The heart pounds in rhythm with my breath. I gently lay her down on the bed, feeling how her body relaxes under my hand. In response, she wraps her legs around me, holding me so tightly that it takes my breath away. Slowly, feeling every one of her sighs, I begin to move closer, savoring the proximity. Her hot breath scorches my neck, and the touch of her trembling hands makes the blood race through my veins. Unable to hold back, I begin to rub against her, feeling the tension rise.
My hands move to her chest, gripping it with clear greed. I feel her freeze for a moment, then surrender to the moment. The skin under my palms is hot and soft, like silk, which only heightens my shiver.
My movements are hindered by the bra straps, but it's just a temporary obstacle. I carefully push the bra aside, as if unwrapping a precious gift. Before me is her large breast—perfect, breathtaking, as if created by nature itself to drive me out of my mind. For a moment, I hold my breath, stunned by the sight, then continue my kisses, slowly descending lower.
I continue to kiss her, feeling her body tremble beneath me with every touch. I try to be skillful, almost reverent, exploring every inch of her body. Her quiet sighs, interrupted by moans of pleasure, ignite a fire within me, making me forget everything but her.
When I reach her chest, my lips find her tender, rosy peaks, hardened by excitement, as if they are made for this moment. I feel them tense under my touch, as if responding to my desire. Without hesitation, I take one into my mouth, savoring its warmth and firmness. My movements are gentle but greedy, as if I want to absorb every emotion, every shiver of hers. I caress her, sucking and lightly biting, feeling her body respond to my touch with every passing second. Her breathing grows deeper, and her eyes reflect a mix of pleasure and anticipation. It is a dance in which we both lose ourselves, diving into an ocean of sensations where every moment is filled with passion and tenderness.
Her reaction is immediate: she arches her back, letting out a loud moan full of desire and ecstasy. Her hands, strong yet tender, pull me closer, as if afraid to let go. I feel her fingers dig into my back, craving more.
Every moan, every sigh only spurs me on. I continue, savoring her taste, reveling in her warmth and the way her body responds to my touch. She completely surrenders to the moment, and that feeling of complete intimacy makes everything unbearably beautiful.
"You're mine, Rebel Girl! I won't let anyone take you. You belong to me. I..."—my words are filled with passion and dominance, but suddenly everything comes to a halt.
Katrin pushes me away with unexpected force, and I, losing my balance, fall onto the cold floor. The impact is sudden, but her actions hurt far more. Shock courses through me, and for a few seconds, I just lie there, staring at her in disbelief, as if trying to find an explanation in her tense demeanor.
Her chest heaves with heavy, ragged breaths. Her cheeks are flushed, a mix of anger and embarrassment. Rebel Girl turns away, her body trembling as if a wave of cold has washed over her. Her hands fumble desperately, trying to cover her vulnerability, but her movements are awkward, almost frantic. Her slender fingers struggle to fasten her bra, each attempt a challenge to herself—determined yet futile.
Her gaze… Oh God, her gaze tears me apart. In those deep eyes flicker pain, anger, and something else—elusive, like smoke—fear of me or a battle within herself. She has built a wall around herself, one that even I can't breach.
I slowly get up, feeling the blood pounding in my temples. Every movement is deliberate, as I fear disturbing the fragile peace she is guarding. My heart races wildly, as if trying to break free. My head spins with a flood of questions: Why does she do that? What did I say? What went wrong? What is that? Everything was so perfect... Why does she ruin it? I try to make sense of it, though inside, everything screams that it is impossible. I might think she simply doesn't want me, but that isn't it. Her desire, her touches, her passion... They are real, just like mine. We are in sync, in the same rhythm. And then this…
My gaze involuntarily meets hers, and I see her eyes fill with tears. At that moment, something inside me breaks. She is crying. Katrin is crying. My Rebel Girl is crying. But why? What have I done? Have I hurt her? With these thoughts swirling in my mind, I finally get up from the floor, feeling a heavy weight in my chest.
I cautiously step toward her, not wanting to scare her, but she stretches out her hand as if placing an invisible barrier between us.
"Please... don't," her voice trembles, and I can hear the desperation in it. She is begging me to stop.
Her eyes, filled with fear, lock onto mine, and her lips quiver. I stop, not moving any closer. Her fear is so palpable that it hurts me.
Is she afraid of me? Me? I can't believe it. Just a moment ago, her arms were wrapped around me, her body drawn to mine. I had felt her closeness, her desire. And now everything has changed. She is crying. Her tears burn through me, making my heart clench with guilt, with the feeling that I have lost her trust.
What has happened? Why? I don't understand. And that lack of understanding is tearing me apart.
I take a step back, clutching her blouse in my hands. The fabric feels weightless, yet somehow it weighs heavily on my heart. Taking a deep breath, I approach her again, trying to be careful, as if any sudden movement might hurt her. Katrin sits silently, her shoulders hunched, looking anywhere but at me. Gently, I help her put on her blouse and then sit down beside her. The tension between us feels like a taut string, ready to snap. I lift her chin, trying to catch her gaze, but instead of the warmth I am used to, her eyes are empty and cold.
"Explain," I ask, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "What happened? Why the sudden change?"
She doesn't answer, only tries to turn away, as if afraid my words will wound her. I let go of her chin and don't try to meet her eyes again. The heavy silence between us is worse than any scream.
"If I hurt you, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to," I add softly, almost in a whisper.
Katrin flinches, as if my words snap her out of something. She looks at me, and there are no tears left in her eyes—they have dried up, leaving only cold sadness.
"Am I just a toy to you?"
"No, of course not. How could you think that?"
"I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust," her words hit me like a slap across the face, across my soul.
"What did I do wrong?" I can't understand what I missed, what moment I didn't notice, where I went wrong.
"You promised you wouldn't cross the line. You promised we'd be friends who have fun together and maybe kiss at most."
"I remember, but you responded to me too, and I thought..." I stumble, realizing how weak my excuses sound, how they lose meaning with every passing second.
"You thought I was easy, and now you could do whatever you wanted with me?"
"What are you saying? I never thought that, and you know it," I try to explain, but my words feel hollow because I don't know how to fix this.
"I trusted you, and you..." she doesn't finish, but her gaze says more than words ever could. In her eyes is an abyss, a pain so deep that I don't know how to climb out of it.
I realize I have crossed a line, but now it's too late to understand where exactly. I try to rewind, to find the point where everything went wrong, but no answers come. Everything feels too tangled, and I don't know how to go back. How can I regain her trust when it's already shattered, when every step I take only drives the knife deeper into what we have built?