I don't like being rejected. It hurts. And sometimes guys manage to make it even worse.

A few months back, I met a Russian guy. He was a web designer and outrageously cute. This might sound stereotypical, but I’d always imagined Russian men as either hyper-masculine gigachads or overweight drunks. Kostia, though, was none of that. He was lean, a bit taller than me but not towering, soft-spoken, with rich black hair, impeccably groomed, and well-dressed.

We met at a networking event. He worked for a different agency here in Krakow. I started flirting. Soon enough, he casually mentioned he was gay and had a boyfriend.

"Ah, okay," I thought. "This makes sense."

How didn’t I notice? His well-groomed look, gentle manners, and taste in clothes were clear hints. So, I didn’t bother him further.

Later, I saw him at another event, this time I was with my friend Miriam.

“He’s your type,” she whispered, pointing at Kostia, “cute and a bit nerdy.”

“He’s gay,” I said.

“Gay?” Miriam looked surprised. “He was seeing Basia recently. He’s bi, not strictly gay.”

Basia was a friend of ours, and I didn’t expect this at all. I felt a mix of anger and embarrassment.

Had he lied to avoid rejecting me outright, thinking it would spare my feelings? It made things worse! I felt not only rejected but also stupid.

After that, I blocked him on all messaging apps and stopped talking to him altogether.

Then, we met again at Basia’s housewarming party. She’d bought a small apartment in Krakow and invited a few friends, including Kostia. Apparently, they weren’t dating anymore but had stayed friends. The party was too small to avoid him entirely, so I figured we should clear the air. We went out on the balcony to talk privately.

He asked if I was upset with him. I admitted I was angry because he’d lied to me about being gay. He apologized. He looked sincere, none of that fake “sorry if you were offended” nonsense. He really seemed like he wanted to make things right. Or maybe he was just a good actor. I wasn’t ready to forgive him entirely, but at least we was on speaking terms again.

As the evening went on, I sat on the couch to check my phone. He joined me, looking a bit upset.

“Look, I’m really sorry for treating you that way,” he said.

“It’s okay. You’ve already apologized.”

Did I forgive him? I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to change the topic.

On the other side of the room, people were talking about Trump. It was before the U.S. elections. A Polish party — politics always comes up after a few drinks.

“What do you think of Trump?” I asked. “Do you think he’s close with Putin?”

“I wouldn’t say they’re friends,” he replied. “But I’m worried.”

“Why?”

He told me he’d grown up in a Siberian town and was bullied in school for being “gay.” He wasn’t even sure of his attraction then, but because of his gentle mannerisms, boys had decided he was gay and bullied him relentlessly. It sounded relatable. I’d seen similar things growing up in Polish schools.

“When I look at Putin,” he said, “I know the type. He’s a bully. I mean it not as an insult, but analytical category. Westerners see a willingness to compromise as reasonable. Bullies see it as weakness. They push when they sense weakness, and they only look for compromise when they see strength. It’s totally the opposite of politics here.”

I didn’t know if that was entirely true, but he had my interest. He told me more about Siberia, being bi in Russia, and even how one of Russia’s most popular books was gay fan fiction about two boys falling in love at a Soviet summer camp.

As guests started to leave, Kostia took my hand and called our host.

“Basia," he said, "We might need some privacy. I want to show Ania some of my special skills…”

Basia grinned knowingly and directed us to one of the bedrooms. Kostia led me there, closed the door, and laid me on the bed. I was intrigued.

He slid my skirt up, revealing my panties. He leaned in and started kissing my inner thighs. His lips felt soft against my skin. His warm breath tickled me. He kissed slowly, moving closer to my panties. His hands caressed my legs.

I felt warmth in my lower body. My pussy began to leak.

Kostia's fingers hooked under my panty elastic and pulled them down slowly. The panties slid down past my knees. He lifted my feet one by one to take them off completely.

Then he looked into my eyes and grinned.

""Well, aren’t we eager?" he said.

Then he firmly settled his left hand on my my belly. He used his right hand to delicately spread the folds of my pussy.

I felt his fingertips touching my clit. A surge of excitement coursed through me.

He started by running his tongue softly all over, warming me up. I naturally began to move my hips with his slow licks. Then, he focused on my clit, flicking it lightly.

I grabbed the sheets.

Kostia then switched to kissing my clit gently while lightly sucking on it, pulling it a bit and making the pleasure go deeper. He kept alternating between sucking and kissing. He changed how hard he pushed his tongue against me. Sometimes he was pressing deep for more feeling, and then lightly for a teasing touch.

His speed was changing too.

His slow and deliberate licks built up the pleasure. But then he followed with a barrage of quick licks. And then he would switch to the slow movements again.

I was gasping.

My body was tightening.

I was eager for each next touch.

Then he slid a finger inside me. It was a swift and firm movement. He curved it upwards and pressed against my pussy wall. I squirmed.

He was pressing his finger rhythmically, synchonising it with a non-stop tongue action on my clit.

I was close.

When I came, it was with loud, shaking gasps. I shook all over, overwhelmed by deep, throbbing pleasure, trying to catch my breath as the feeling slowly faded. Lying there, catching my breath and feeling satisfied, I felt all my tension go away as I relaxed fully.

Kostia looked into my eyes again.

"Did you like it?" he asked.

I just smiled back widely and nodded. I could not speak yet.

At that moment, I've finally forgiven him.