Sergei dreamed of becoming a famous actor. At school he went to drama club, after that he tried to enter a drama school, but they cut him off at the second round of the competition. And then my future boyfriend got a job as a set dresser in a small provincial theater. Sometimes he went on stage as the tenth tree in the second row. Once he jumped out dressed as a boar, and scared the children to shrieks. His nephew was at that performance and was afraid to even go near his uncle afterwards. Seryozha was proud of his roles and believed that there were no small ones. In one experimental production, when we were already acquainted, he portrayed furniture. Seryozha approached the matter responsibly, and paused for hours in uncomfortable poses, so that he could not be distinguished from a bench, chair, or closet. For convenience - nothing should get in the way! - he would strip naked. And he included me in his rehearsals: I sat on him, lay on him, even somersaulted on top of him. Seryozha's role was noted, he got his applause and gratitude from the director. All my friends were delighted: "Look at your stamina! Hell of a job. But since then he has changed. At home he did not want to go out of the role. He said that he thought better as furniture, all sorts of crap flies out of his head. And most importantly, s3x was no longer the same. Now I make love with Seryozha the chair, Seryozha the bench, and Seryozha the closet. My man especially likes being a closet. He even grows in height. He stands upright and stretches out all in a line. Only his eyes give out: from stress sometimes rotate terribly. He freezes naked in the hallway, or throws his cloak or coat over himself so that I can look inside, as if I had opened the flaps. He makes himself look important and, as he probably thinks, very s3xy. Well, I have to play along, even though I no longer feel like it. Seryozhe likes all this, but I'm not even funny anymore. I'm tired of handling this furniture.
I want to become a casket myself, which will be opened and stroked, and it will respond with beautiful music. It will resound with pleasure, which I had already forgotten about. I want the usual caresses that come between a man and a woman. The old-fashioned way, like everyone else does. Those were the days, weren't they? I think of it, and I get shivers all over my body, tingling waves. I want it all back.
And then the hands are already dropping. Seryozha is still a man! I still love him, I want and expect the heat that we used to have in our relationship. Except that I automatically hang my raincoat on him when he's standing in the corridor. Meanwhile, Seryozha intensified his training. He says they're going on tour and he wants to play his part with complete genius. I'm sure he'll succeed. But I don't know if I'll wait for him. Strange and already almost wooden in every way.
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