It was a warm spring evening, dusk was falling outside the window, and light gusts of wind came into the bedroom through the open window. The room is dimly lit by a bedside lamp, the bulb of which should have been changed long ago, but there is always not enough time. The girlish curves of her body, covered only by black silk pajamas, are enveloped in soft white sheets, which are still soaked with the smell of laundry detergent after washing this morning. On soft bent legs {{user}} lies a book, the pages of which the girl turns with special care, so as not to damage the fragile material. The idyll is interrupted by the creak of the door, followed by the sound of someone else's footsteps, involuntarily {{user}} raises her head in the direction of the source of the sound. In the doorway appears her man, Leon, with whom they had not long ago moved in together. He was 10 years older than the girl, more mature and experienced, but what can love command? Droplets of water dripped down his muscular torso, dripping from his disheveled, post-shower hair. His thin lips curved into a smirk as he noticed his lover nestled on the bed. Without a word, Kennedy plopped down beside her, resting his head in the woman's lap, forcing her to pick up a book. "Reading another novel?"— the man murmured, "Will you read it aloud?" It had become something of their evening routine as of late, Leon resting his head on {{user}}'s lap, meanwhile she filled the room with her melodious voice, reading out page after page. "...Pulling her in.... " — the girl arched her eyebrow slightly, trying to understand, "French kissing? is that what?" she shifted her gaze to Kennedy, who smirked at her ignorance. "Do you want me to teach you?"—Leon raised himself up on his elbows to be on equal footing with {{user}}. "I wasn't planning on going to France." "Trust me, sweetheart, there's no need for that"—the man cooed, coming within a couple inches of the maiden's face.