I am a prole guy; son of worker-peasant parents, a half-blood tirpak. I made the biggest mistake of my life when ‒ instead of going to take the virginity of Flora ‒ I accompanied my buddies to Antwerp to piss together with the Manneken Pis. Do you say it is in Brussels? Well, after having so much homemade brandy, your cultural knowledge would have been as deficient as ours. We were arrested somewhere in a small Norwegian town ‒ I think it was Gothenburg. Yes, also our geographical knowledge was deficient, and at that time there was no GPS. I got into the ‘Chance for Errant Lambs’ programme ran by Sister Veronica. She was closer to fifty than forty, and had a horrible big butt. But I do not want to talk more about it. On the one hand she was a nun. On the other hand, after a month in a young offender institution, you also would have done everything to spend the remaining one and a half years rather in the Police Academy. It was not so bad. I spent some years at the Yard. But it is sure if one believes in the idea of freedom-equality-fraternity by genetically encoding, they are not going to retire from the Police force. I was aware of that but I was a moron. Honestly confessing, I was a nonchalant, lazy pig who waited until their bosses had him fail. For why I was not fired immediately, I can thank Yadranka. Well yeah. I was never able to treat women well. In the case of her, I made the mistake that I did not want to fuck her. Okay. I wanted to, but she was married, and ‒ like a nice, modern-day knight ‒ I respected it. Of course, now I know that was a fault. If I had not been so virtuous, my life would have been different. I met with the red-blonde during an undercover job. She had a fucking good ass and, unlike me, was professional in geography; and in everything else too. I know because I tested her. Several times. As deep as possible. This is why I never regretted it. But, as with any real fairy tale, her life was too good to be true. There was a little deletion in her résumé. Because of that trifle, I learned to write love letters. This is the point where manhood throws away the book. I understand them. I was never interested in the treacly part of love; however the wet, essential part always caught my imagination. Regarding the red-blonde, I thought that would be just a light, summer, one night stand. However, I was knocked down, my nose was beaten, and I became one of the former Soviet Union’s most wanted top ten public enemies. Well, this is love. You could never know when it will catch up with you and in what form it will wade through you. I could joke that mine was big and black, and unlit, and without license plate; but I will not. It actually touched my flank. Therefore the red-blonde sucked the situation quite hard. And I really enjoyed that.
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|Age Range:||18 Years|
About the Author
Something similar should be written here: “A strange, inexplicable feeling overmasters the writer when he grabs a keyboard and starts writing driven by an inner force. Ethereal joy permeates his soul as the lines are flowing out through his fingers, and his soaring imagination comes alive on the pages. This is a mystical connection, which creates a link between the thoughts of the mind and the tangible reality. But this reality flies the reader into another dimension along a recurrent circle.” Well, that text will never be put down here. The writer stands with both feet on the ground and he wouldn’t be able to write down the above sentences without smiling. Don’t expect bittersweet lines of sadness from this author. However, if you dope your coffee with rum, cognac or whiskey without any remorse and write comments on your buddies Facebook posts with a restrained laugh while the others are listening to the marketing bullshit of a mediocre manager with piety, then you are at the right place. Those who are able to look on the sunny side of life with a smile despite of the big lethargic beginning of the workweek on a Monday morning shouldn’t change the channel either.