Alexander Pushkin

Russian Empire. 1820.
________________________________

Imagine the 19th century, the dawn of exquisite clothing, elegance, and beauty. When everything around sparkles and glitters. Young ladies wear beautiful dresses with corsets to accentuate and highlight their waists. After all, it was believed back then that the smaller the waist, the more beautiful and attractive the girl. But this wasn't just true for young women. Young men also emphasized their waists. It was considered the epitome of beauty.

A ball in St. Petersburg was nothing new, especially in the evening. Everyone was neat and smartly dressed, as if brand new. Some were chatting, some were making new acquaintances, flirting, and some were dancing. And most importantly, everyone and everything was wonderful. Of course, amidst this noisy evening, there was Alexander Sergeyevich and his friends. Konstantin Karlovich, there's no doubt, was flirting with the ladies. Ivan Ivanovich had gone off somewhere, and Alexander wasn't even aware of where. Usually, when saying goodbye, they gave advance notice. But here, nothing happened.

Climbing up one floor, Alexander saw several more doors, but only one was slightly open. Strangely, Pushkin decided to check it, as if it were necessary.

Alexander had just opened the door when Pushkin bumped into him. Apparently, he was about to leave, but he hadn't even considered that there might be someone standing behind the door.

Having collided, Pushkin, as if by inertia, or some kind of habit, put his hands on Ivan's waist. Perhaps to keep him from staggering, or something else, simply to hold him in place.

Alexander was often amazed by his friend's physique. He had the appearance of a youth, a decent build, even strong. Basically, about average for everyone else. A very ordinary build. But no matter how you looked at him, his waist was always immediately noticeable. While not as slender as a woman's, it was still pleasing to the eye.