We've prepared everything for the date.
The room is bathed in soft, warm light. Dozens of small candles flicker on the low table set right on the floor. Their gentle tremble casts whimsical shadows on the walls, creating a cozy, almost magical atmosphere. The air is filled with the sweet scent of wax and the faintest hint of wine—the very same one from the club where Katrin once… well, you know, with that blonde.
I barely remember her face, only the shade of her hair—light, like ripe wheat. Back then, we spun the bottle and tucked it away in a dark corner, hoping it wouldn't spoil. But just in case, I buy a new one—good, rich, with a deep velvety taste. Later, food arrives from the restaurant, and we begin our dinner.
The warm candlelight shivers in time with our uneven breaths, reflecting in the nearly empty wine glasses. The aroma of roasted salmon and garlic sauce lingers in the air, mixing with her perfume—sweet, like a ripe pear. We whisper, laugh, our fingers finding each other on the table again and again, tangling in fleeting but meaningful touches. It feels like a dance, and with every move, I sense an invisible bond growing between us.
Then we settle onto the soft cushions scattered around the table. I feel a slight nervousness—somewhere nearby lies that little box, mysterious and promising. Picking it up, I open the lid and slowly pull out two decks of cards.
"Are we… reading Tarot?" Katrin raises an eyebrow, her voice dripping with skepticism, but curiosity flickers in her eyes, as if she's suddenly wondering what I have in store. Her tone is mocking, but I notice the faintest hint of a smirk—she can't help being intrigued.
I shake my head, suppressing a smile, careful not to give away my delight at her reaction.
"No, these aren't playing cards," I say with a slight grin, savoring the moment.
Rebel Girl frowns, her eyes dimming for a second before she crosses her arms, looking as if she's bracing for something important—though still a little guarded.
"You promised me this date would be… of a sexual nature," she says with a faint challenge in her voice, as if certain I won't deliver.
There's a clear demand in her tone, and I can't help but laugh. There's something charmingly blunt about her persistence, but I sense that beneath her irritation lies a sliver of anticipation.
"No, I said it would be '18+,' not what you had in mind."
Her shoulders slump, lips puffing in theatrical disappointment. She looks as if she's let down by my expectations—or maybe by her own.
"Hmph… Guess the show's off. No fun tonight," she quips with light sarcasm, but beneath it, I catch a trace of sadness, as if her hopes for something more suddenly collapse.
A small sting of hurt pricks me—I can't ignore her disappointment—but I try to mask it with calm.
"Just a reminder: this is my wish and my date. So don't be so prejudiced again. Seems like you never like any of them," I say with a faint smile, feeling her reaction pulling me deeper into the moment.
She sighs, her gaze softening, and I see the tension between us slowly ebbing away.
"Sorry… I just don't get your motives," my girlfriend admits, and her words lift a heavy veil of misunderstanding from us both.
I smile, warmth flooding my chest. All the earlier tension dissolves, leaving only an easy lightness.
"My motive is to spend good time together, get to know each other better, and, of course, have fun," I say, genuinely hoping to show her it's not as complicated as she thinks.
A spark of interest lights up her eyes, and I feel her skepticism giving way to curiosity.
"Well, then I'm all for it! Shall we start?" Her voice carries unexpected optimism, and I know she's ready to engage.
I nod, feeling amusement take hold of us again—though still a little nervous about what's coming…
"Let's." I pick up the first deck, running my fingers over the smooth surface of the cards. "Look, I bought two decks of couple's question cards. One has just regular questions to get to know each other better. And the other…" I pause for dramatic effect. "All the questions are '18+.'"
Her eyes widen, a sly smirk playing on her lips.
"Now it's getting a little more interesting…"
"Rules are simple: each of us draws one card at a time and answers the question. If we already know the answer, we draw another," I say, trying to sound calm, though my fingers tap nervously on the cardboard boxes.
Inside, my heart skips—what if she doesn't like it? What if she starts grumbling again like usual? But Katrin just gives an impatient shrug, as if she's already eager to begin.
"Alright, fine. Let's just start already," her voice carries a hint of disdain, yet there's an undercurrent of anticipation—as if she's already accepted the rules but is still ready to surprise.
I place both decks in front of us and gesture broadly toward them—your move. Everything about her demeanor screams that she has no intention of playing by the book.
True to her rebellious nature, she doesn't keep me waiting. Shuffling the deck roughly, she plunges her hand not into the top, as one should, but somewhere into the middle, yanking out a card with the smug look of someone who's just pulled off a brilliant con. I watch her with an amused chuckle—of course she can't just take the top card without breaking the system. Classic Katrin.
"Can I pick from the middle? Or the bottom?" Her eyes sparkle mischievously, and I realize this isn't just a game to her anymore—it's an art form.
I sigh, but the corners of my lips twitch.
"Doesn't matter to me. Just one at a time, and answer honestly."
Katrin triumphantly lifts the card to her eyes like she's already won, then slowly reads the question aloud, dragging out each word:
"What was your first impression of me?"
She pauses for a second, and her face twists into a wicked grin. I know something entertaining is coming.
"Hmm. I thought you were obviously a nerd with zero sense of style," she says, her voice dripping with so much sarcasm I can't help but snort. "You did dress like a disaster," she adds, genuine disgust creeping in. "Those rags were a crime against humanity!"
I roll my eyes, but laughter bubbles up in my throat. There it is—her signature bluntness, the kind that used to infuriate me but also endlessly entertains me.
"Oh, and I also thought you were an idiot for deciding to snitch on me."
That does it.
A loud, unrestrained laugh bursts out of me, and I nearly knock over my wine glass as I tip backward. It's just so… us. So Katrin—ruthlessly honest, absurdly funny. She never hides anything—not her irony, not her admiration, not her mockery. It's… refreshing.
"Stop laughing!" she fake-protests, smacking my thigh. But that only makes it worse.
Gasping for air, I grab her wrist, trying to steady myself.
"Sorry, sorry—it's just… 'nerd'… 'dressed like a disaster'—" I wheeze. "God, I did look like a total dork back then!"
Katrin narrows her eyes, her lips trembling, and I can see her losing the battle against laughter. She fights to keep a straight face, but her smile breaks through anyway—and I know there is no saving her now.
Then, abruptly, she shifts gears.
"Quiet." Her finger presses against my lips, her eyes glinting with mischief. The air between us thickens instantly, charged with something heavier.
"Next question: What's your most sensitive spot that I might not know about?" She bites her lower lip thoughtfully, and I can't look away. The contrast—innocent yet intoxicating—sends a jolt through me.
"I don't even know the answer to that one myself," she murmurs, her voice dropping into something intimate. "Before last Monday, I had no idea kisses behind my ear did… that to me."
My thoughts scatter as her words curl around me.
"But I think we'll figure out all my… and your… sensitive spots soon enough," she continues, her lips curving into a playful smirk that sends shivers down my spine.
Her words electrify me. Struggling to regain composure, I flip over my own card.
"My turn. Question: What do you get from this relationship that you couldn't get alone?" I try to keep my voice steady, but everything inside me is burning. The space between us feels smaller, hotter.
"A lot of things… New emotions, new experiences… but mostly, this—this happiness." My voice is quiet, raw. "I'm glad I'm not alone anymore. That I can have fun and still just… be me."
She locks eyes with me, and for a second, the universe stills.
"Being accepted for who you are… that's everything. You give me so much in this relationship… and I'm grateful for that."
My words seem to fluster her. She lowers her gaze, and I notice the faint pink blooming across her cheeks, the slight tremble in her fingers where they rest in mine. I smile, but the moment suddenly feels heavier—more vulnerable—for both of us.
"Next question: What's the most unusual place you've ever had sex?" I snort, realizing she won't miss a chance to mess with me. "I'm skipping this one," I reply with a grin, trying to mask my embarrassment. Katrin's eyes sparkle with amusement, like she knows exactly how awkward this is for me.
The next card makes me roll my eyes so hard it hurts. The question is so blunt I don't even know how to respond.
"What's one sexual act you've tried that you'd never do again? Wow, what a fantastic day this is turning out to be!" I barely hold back laughter, crossing my arms in mock offense.
Katrin is clearly enjoying this, her hand covering her mouth, but her shaking shoulders betray her struggle not to laugh. I pretend to be wounded, which only makes her laugh harder—and something inside me aches to push her further, to drag even more of that bright, unfiltered joy out of her.
"What do you enjoy most during foreplay?" I read the next question, and her expression shifts instantly. Something darker, more intrigued flickers in her gaze, as if the mere thought awakens something deep inside her.
"The way you touch me," I begin, my voice dropping, rough with memory. "I love when you run your fingers through my hair, when you grip it just a little too tight… and then kiss me like you're starving."
The air between us thickens, charged with something electric, like every breath carries a promise. My pulse hammers, heat pooling low in my stomach as my fingers tighten around the next card.
"Name one small thing I could do every day to make you happy?" Her eyes gleam, and the tension eases—just a fraction.
"Maybe… just lying in bed together," she says, her voice unexpectedly soft, like she is cupping the words in her palms. I watch her pupils dilate, her lips part slightly. "I love waking up and feeling your arms around me."
It is a moment of quiet, profound intimacy—the kind that doesn't need words.
"How was your first sexual experience?"
I shake my head immediately, noticing how she stiffens.
"Skip," she says, her voice carefully neutral—but I catch the undercurrent of discomfort. "Guess neither of us is lucky today."
She laughs, but it is edged with nerves, like the question has pried open a door she'd rather keep locked. The mood shifts, but the next question pulls us back under, tension coiling between us all over again.