I am the one who chooses Katrin's outfit, despite her protests and a rebellious spark in her eyes. It is a familiar part of our ritual, and I know that beneath her displeasure lies a flicker of curiosity. Her eyes, usually bold and confident, now express a restrained interest, though she tries hard to conceal it.
She wears a simple beige dress that accentuates her graceful figure, yet it remains modest and elegant. It is not her usual style, but that is precisely why I insisted on it. I want to show that her beauty is multifaceted and not limited to the image she is accustomed to. The only things I allowed her to keep — her black pumps and a matching belt — add to her characteristic boldness. They are her little rebellion, her way of saying: "I am still the same Katrin."
I forbade her from wearing makeup, permitting only red lipstick and slightly pink eyeshadow. She resisted for a long time, grumbling that she looks "too plain," but when she saw herself in the mirror, her protests faded. She stands before the mirror, tilting her head slightly, and I notice her gaze soften. The silence speaks for itself.
Katrin looks magical. This look is perfect. It does not emphasize her usual sensuality, as she would have liked, but the softness suits her just as well. Her eyes, usually full of fire and defiance, now glow with something new — calmer, yet just as mysterious. I love both of her sides — when she is on the "dark side" — bold, confident, and a little dangerous, and when she is on the "light side" — soft, vulnerable, open — and I do not want to give up either one of them. A dark and a light Rebel Girl — in any of her manifestations, she is magnificent.
We approach the theater, and I feel her hand gently squeeze mine — a small gesture that speaks of more than all her words. She is nervous — even though she tries to hide it, as always — but I know that beneath her outer toughness lies something more.
We pass through the grand doors of the theater, and Katrin cannot help but notice how majestic and solemn everything is here. High ceilings, luxurious chandeliers, and a shiny marble floor — all this creates an atmosphere of something incredibly important and celebratory. She glances around, and I see her eyes widen with surprise. This place seems to envelop her — she tries to maintain her composure, but her eyes sparkle with wonder. This is the moment I realize: she is intrigued, even if she will not admit it. This theater for her is not just a place, but a piece of a new world that we are sharing.
As for me, I am in my old style today, but I have bought a new suit that fits me perfectly. It is dark blue, with a barely noticeable pinstripe, and it makes me look a little more mature and serious. I kept the hairstyle that my baby made for me on that very first evening before we went to the club. Since then, I have gotten used to doing it myself and continue to do so even now. It is my way of preserving the connection to that evening, to the moment when everything was just beginning.
At the moment when we take our seats and the darkness of the hall envelops us, I feel how her energy, her presence beside me, fills me with warmth. But there is nothing on her face that I expected to see — her gaze remains impenetrable, and a light smirk says more about her inner protest than about admiration. Katrin is definitely experiencing every moment, even if she does not show it. We read the booklet in advance and already know roughly the plot and what the characters do on stage, but that does not make what is happening any less exciting. I feel her shoulder lightly touch mine, and this small touch fills me with warmth.
Forty minutes later, the intermission arrives, and we step out onto the balcony. I drape my jacket over her shoulders, and this feeling is special. My care for her is such a simple gesture, but for me, it means much more. I understand that everything I do for her is aimed not at changing her, but at showing how much the girl means to me in every manifestation of hers. Her hands clutch the jacket, and she looks at me with a light smile. Gratitude can be read in her eyes, although she does not utter a word. We stand side by side, and I feel how our silence speaks more than any words. I know she feels it. And, perhaps, we both feel how this evening, this experience, just like all the moments we spend together, becomes something more than just insignificant events in our lives. These are steps toward something important — not just for us, but for our path that we continue to walk together.
"Thank you," she thanks me with a smile.
I still cannot understand how she really feels about this evening. Is she truly pleased or just trying not to upset me? Her emotions are always a mystery to me, and it is both fascinating and frightening.
"How do you like it?" I try to catch her mood.
Rebel Girl had been watching the stage impassively until now, but from time to time, a flicker of interest would flash in her eyes.
It seems to me that she is deliberately hiding her opinion. Maybe she just does not want to show that she really likes it?
"I thought it would be worse," she remarks after a pause. There is a light note of surprise in her voice. "But I think I know how to make it more interesting."
Her sly smile makes me wary. What has Katrin planned? What is she about to do? Her smile, so carefree and at the same time cunning, makes me nervous.
"What do you mean?" I feel my anxiety rising.
My girlfriend only smiles mysteriously.
"You'll find out later."
Her smile becomes even wider, and in her eyes appears that same spark I know so well. The spark that always means she is up to something. This is her way of adding a little chaos to any, even the calmest, evening. Her tone is too confident for me to just brush it off. I know well enough: if she has planned something, it definitely won't be boring. What if she decides to make a scene? Or maybe she has planned something even more unexpected?
"Don't you dare ruin the performance," I threatened her, but Katrin only smiled meaningfully.
"You will never forget it," she promises me with confidence.
I know her too well to just brush off her words. Rebel Girl is always capable of unexpected actions, and now I feel that she is plotting something. But what exactly?
I am about to respond to this outrageous statement, but at that moment, the bell rings, signaling the end of the intermission and calling the audience back into the hall. I look at Katrin, but her face is impenetrable. She only smiles at me with her sly smile and heads toward the door leading back to the hall. Her walk is light and confident, as if she already knows what will happen next. I sigh, realizing that I have no choice — all that remains is to wait.
We return to our seats. I try to focus on the play, but all my attention is fixed on her. She sits beside me, calm, but her fingers are tapping almost imperceptibly on the fabric of her dress. This gives away her inner excitement.
The performance continues, but I can no longer focus on what is happening on stage. My thoughts are completely occupied by her. What has she planned? What is she going to do? I look at her, but the girl is watching the stage with the same impassive expression, as if nothing had happened. However, I know that this is only the beginning. And I am ready for anything that might happen. After all, with her, it is never boring.
Katrin has always known how to surprise, and perhaps that is what makes her so special to me. She is like a storm — unpredictable, strong, but at the same time, incredibly beautiful. Whatever she has planned, this evening will indeed become unforgettable.
My Rebel Girl. She is always unpredictable, and tonight is no exception.
Suddenly, I feel the light touch of her hand on my leg. At first — light, as if by accident, but then her fingers begin to slowly slide across my skin. My heart beats faster, and a thought flashes through my mind: has she decided to play with me right here? I know her character — she loves such games, but at the same time, I am afraid that her stunt might escalate into something more. The main thing is that she doesn't cause a scandal in the theater and interrupt the performance. This is exactly what I feared most when she hinted that she had planned something. But, of course, I am not against her mischief. In the depths of my soul, I even like how Katrin knows how to ignite a fire within me.
Her hand moves bolder. It slowly moves higher, and every touch of hers causes a storm of emotions in me — from light excitement to growing desire. I try with all my might to maintain composure, looking ahead, but inside I can barely restrain the tension. When her fingers reach a dangerous line, I quietly catch my breath. This is too much.
Of course, her flirtations are pleasant to me, but she clearly does not understand on what limit I have been lately. Our living together, her constant hints and games have brought me to a state where even erotic dreams have become obsessive. Katrin is the main heroine of these dreams, and if she does not stop now, then today's evening might end not at all the way she planned.
I place my hand on hers, gently but firmly stopping her movements. Moving closer to her ear, I whisper:
"You are playing with fire. I want you, and you know it. But if you do not stop, then I will take you in the theater restroom without any tenderness, instead of us making love at your house when you are ready to give yourself to me. Is that what you want?"
My words sound sharp, even rude, but I cannot do otherwise. I am on the edge, and her game is squeezing out the last drops of my self-control. Rebel Girl silently removes her hand and sits in her chair until the end of the performance, not uttering a word. She does not even turn her head in my direction, as if trying to avoid my gaze.
Yes, I was sharp, but I could not have acted otherwise. I am truly ready for everything, because my dreams are becoming increasingly vivid, and the erection I tried to get rid of in the shower takes more and more time. I am on edge, but at the same time, I understand that I do not want to cause her pain. I do not want to take her by force, even if my body is screaming otherwise. Of course, I understand that she just wanted to have fun, as often happened with her. Rebel Girl was always like that — brave, bold, playful. A week ago, I might have reacted more calmly, but now I am like a loaded cannon, ready to fire at any moment. Her actions ignite a fire in me that I can barely contain. And although I know that she did not want anything bad, I also understand that if she does not stop, I might lose control.
The rest of the evening, I feel the tension between us. She sits in silence, and I try to focus on the stage, but my thoughts still return to her. I catch myself looking at her profile, at her lips, at her hands, which only recently caused a storm of emotions in me. When the performance ends, we leave the hall, and a heavy silence hangs between us. I want to say something, to apologize, to explain, but the words get stuck in my throat. The girl is walking nearby, but seems so distant, as if an invisible wall has grown between us. I understand that today's evening left a mark on our relationship, and I have to deal with it. But at the same time, I know that I cannot afford to lose her. Rebel Girl is not just a girl to me, and I do not want to let her go.