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with you, fool ... "
But Galya is back.
- Well, why are you so nervous? She said to him, hanging around his neck. She was somehow not the same as always. - Right now, I'll tell you everything. Just ... I met one woman. She felt bad ... with a heart. She has no one, no relatives. I had to sit with her, call an ambulance, and then stay to look, make injections, and so on ... Well, that's how you looked after me recently. They didn’t take her to the hospital, right now, some kind of stupid law ... I’ll still go to her, take care, wear food ... Have you calmed down a little?
Dima did not know whether to believe her or not.
“We will go to her together,” he said.
“No, no, she will be shy of a peasant,” Galya waved her hands. “Right now.” Maybe later, when he came round ...
They didn’t talk about it anymore. Every day she went to her grandmother, returned to the evening, told all sorts of jokes about her, and Dima laughed with her, watching the expression on her face.
On the fifth day, he smacked Galya, leaving, closed the door behind her, waited for the elevator to squeak - and jumped out after him, pulling in a pre-prepared phantom mask that had been gathering dust from his “bag”.
Having jumped after Galya into the trolley bus, he drove with her half the town, moved to another route, went out into the summer cottage and followed, keeping a distance. Galya did not see him or pretend not to see him.
Turning into a wheeled alley, she entered the gate of the old courtyard, climbed onto the porch, and rang the doorbell.
She opened the full woman.
- Hi, ma! - Galya told her. The woman silently hugged her.
Hanging each other for a minute or more, they went into the house, leaving the door open.
The chilled Dima stood for some time at the gate, then, looking back, ran into the courtyard, stretched his neck, listening to voices from the house, and sneaked in on tiptoe.
Passing a tiny kitchen, he stopped at the door leading to the rooms.
- Lord! - tearfully pulled the voice outside the door. - I still do not believe that you are alive, Yulenka, my fish ...
- Maaaaa, - howl Galya-Yulenka-Rybochka. - I, as you saw, immediately remembered everything. All-all-all ...
“I didn't recognize you.” Wow, how are you, this is your ...
- Well, mom, about him is not necessary, okay?
- Bitch he! I picked you up to play ...
- Ma, well, do not say that, well, I asked. He know what? ... And he saved me, by the way ...
- Well, yes, saved. Maybe it was he who hit you in the head to ...
- Well, mom, what are you saying?
- Because I thought myself drowned! Cried a tearful voice. - Three weeks you mourned. And now you are with me for five minutes and you will try it - and to him, to him. And on mother not care already, yes?
- Mom, well, do not, well, do not start ...
- “Do not start!” I cried all the tears here, and he, scum, fucked you there ...
- Mom, well, shame on you. Let's better about ...
- In the university soon, such admission was scratched with such blood, and he, such a bitch, in general, this is you ...
- Ma, calm down, okay? In the university, I will not. I do not want law school. I'll translate.
- Where else?
- In artistic. On the design, and maybe ...
- Oh, laugh! Oh, I'm all laughing! With bare ass decided to live? Yes, you yourself could never civilize paint, nor the fact that ...
- Ma! By the way, I am without him ... I didn’t know who I was! I grew up here with you, as in a chicken coop of some kind, gray-haired scooped mouse, and he showed me what I can, you know? I just understood with him who I am ...
- "I understood, I understood ..." You forget that mother lived life! He's a bitch, nit, schmucker like that! Is he...
- What he"? - Dima shouted, kicking the door with his foot.
Both Galya and her mother froze, looking at him like a ghost.
- What he"? - repeated Dima. - Well, why so look? Damn! - he tore the mask and threw her nafig on the floor.
“First, hello,” said Galina's mother.
“Ma,” Galya shouted in protest, but Mama interrupted her - Quiet. Who are you to, young man?
- Hello, - Dima squeezed out of himself. “You ... you all misunderstood.”
- Oh, I do not understand? Do you even know what it is when children die, eh? Do you even raised someone in your life, huh? - began Galina mother, stepping on him.
- Ma! ...- Galya shouted, but she didn’t pay attention: - Why did you fuck my Julia, huh? So as not learned, eh? You to my Julia, like a cockroach to Milan, understood? You zadokhlik, damn, you and this river is not peretsysh, where Julia small saved! - she yelled to Dima in the face. He suddenly swayed:
- Do not cross? - and suddenly pulled away.
- Rudders, rudders cities ... Diiiiim! ... - rang at the same time. - Diiiim, wait! ... Well, wait, crazy! ... - Galya shouted to him.
Dima rushed to the river, hearing the tramp of Galina’s feet and her voice from behind.
His head was dark, as in a thundercloud. Cold lightning struck him right in the liver, and he could not do anything with them.
Right in clothes, as he was, he flew into the river. The coldness stunned him, and it was terrible, but the lightning prevented him from recovering himself, and he swam forward, into the blackness that sucked him, and no longer heard Galina’s voice, and felt nothing but the force pulling under the water, and the very water that was everywhere - and from below, and from above, and in the ears, and in the mouth, and in the nose, and there was already nothing to breathe, and colored circles danced in the eyes ...
He remembered how another force was added to the force pulling to the bottom, tearing heavy rags off him, he remembered fast, feverish hands that did something to him, and a snag that scratched his bare side, and slippery boulders that could not be climb, even feverish hands and pulled him up ...
***
- Eeeeeee! Are you alive? Someone asked him.
He wanted to say something, but instead he coughed brutally.
All the same hands sat him down, beat him on the back, and the wet bobbed head leaned toward him:
- Well? Feel better?
Colored strands sparkled in the hair at the head, like feathers of a tropical bird.
The blackness gradually began to depart, to fall away with wadded pieces, and he looked round.
There were pines, moss, sky and a wet naked girl around.
- Where I am?
- Where, where ... On the beard! Listen, have you always been such a psycho? Is it often with you? Yes, you need to treat!
“Treat? ...” he murmured. - Why am I naked? And you?..
- Ask better "why am I alive?" Because I really do not know what claws tore off your clothes in which you dug in the water, and ... And mine remained there, on the shore. I never had a swimsuit to change, you know?
He clapped his eyes, then grabbed the girl and poked her chest.
“Okay, okay, too ...” she stroked him. - Do you know that you have realized my dream? Without knowing it. I always dreamed of getting to this beach. I myself would never have dared. And I also dreamed of getting here absolutely, completely without everything, like we are now, and always with a loved one. Count up: the nearest bridge is six kilometers away, and here we are alone in the forest, naked, like Adam and Eve, and there is nothing to wear. Cool, yeah?
She stroked him, and he snuffled, feeling a pea of her nipple with his cheek, and painfully tried to remember who this naked girl with such kind hands was, and what was his name.
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As always, but this time is better than usual. All perverts would be so light as you would come paradise.
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Will not notice. All non-obvious allusions are distorted by the prism of personal perception. Even the obvious ones, you see, are perceived differently. For you, paradise is boring, but hell hurt me already. Freak out?
* mefistofelski grins *
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In addition to Pygmalion proper and Pisces Women, I saw here parallels with the plot of The Little Mermaids. Only here at the beginning not the girl saves the prince, but the young man the girl :)
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And summer? And Orpheus with Eurydice? And that Beach, on which live figs you will get? BUT...
* scared silent *
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For sure! :)))
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Man is beautiful :)
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Auuuuuuuut!
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Awww, and I nraaaaaaa ... Chilavekus, you nyashka!
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Meow!
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Fu ... y ... f, just said Eugene! Now calm down, give out something. No, well, so much dope right away - this is brute force. And what is only mixed up: and the legends, and the author's favorite chips, and favorite turnovers - just enough. Extravaganza of colors, a bouquet of emotions, a fountain of fantasies and dreams - all on our poor head! ... Only one scene of the hero's torments before the first copulation is worth it! And the “usual” introduction about an ordinary girl ?! Again, the ending is like a new beginning ... Everything is good, let others say it.
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Man! I was numb with delight :))) No, you can't write porn like that - this site is not worthy of your story :))))
You are cute :) I add to my favorites.
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Your favorite is warm, as in the Mittani gardens;)
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Man, are you not in love with you?) Great story, I will reread when it becomes sad ... really, after reading, the mood rises)
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In love with! For 13 years already.
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Great :)
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About the fact that "this site is unworthy" - bust. It’s not the site that paints copywriters, but the other way around)) And the authors who own the word are so many that it’s scary for the common man to stick with his “But I hope ...”)) It’s time to open the Writers ’Union (the criticism department is for sure). I know that I don’t express a common opinion, but this is exactly in the stories of Chelokus that IMHO is the weakest point - excessive “doing”, “literary”. And only to flaunt the myths and allusions in the comments = frankly slip into a literary game. It seems to be, and the knowledge of life, and fantasy, and syllable, all with all, but something is missing. I would not like to say "soul", but some kind of sincere experience or doubt. But instead, there is always a kind of Gogol smirk at the reader)) “Read? Well, well ”)) Here Nefertiti is right - spontaneity (or its imitation) is important for porno stories, but for literature - the soul, and combining all this in one bottle is not easy, and maybe not worth it. So there is something for Thought to think over, acre mythologist;)
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You see, what a thing: I do not think about it, but sublimate :)
Imagine: you lay down in a negligee on a cozy sofa, in your hand a Hennessey glass with ice (or whatever you drink), a soft light, soft pleasant music ... And then someone comes out and tells you that you are lying wrong, unoriginally, it was already laid a few times, and keep the glass without gloss, and chomp, and putting it on you is not the same, and you can see shame ... :)
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Finally, the critical department earned, finally the voice is heard, not of a loot, but of a husband. Immediately I remembered Vasily Makarovich with his “Cut”. And we, somehow out of habit: (as in mdm Cherkassy in whom) a bouquet in hand and to the pedestal - to sing hallelujah. So the author relaxed and gives us 1-2 stories per month from his writing conveyor (and he also grins foully), and we carry flowers in person ... I think the site is not exactly the same as you described. To a simple person, it can be scary to poke, and for those who daily snuff their “heads,” not at all. Take any day and recount how many there are. And the masters do not need to be counted, well, if two dozen is typed. Of course, they have drawbacks, we point to them as much as we can. However, you all quite sensibly described. I think the author will not delay with the answer. I was glad to talk.
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The author is not a dollar to please everyone;)
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Mutually. No, the Shukshin's tears have nothing to do with it - rather, it breaks at the afftor, in people's turnovers like “a cockroach from Milan”, and the river is Siberian, it seems)) I liked “Chance” more, there if there is “literary” , then in moderation, and read more fun, lyrical. By the way, about the tear - finally can not deliver, as the afftor sex describes. That's for sure with some strain. So I don’t know that he is “sublimating” here :-)
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You can sublimate only 3 things: libido, fear and the will to power. For simplicity, we assume that it sublimates both, and the other, and the third :)
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As everything is strict, uncomplicated and regrettable on the bed of the old man Freud, Corvalol, myths and a complex of vitamins from the king Oedipus :) There was an old man more cheerful, Einstein, he used to say: "Hide your sources - go beyond the original." No, well, really, don't you start this conversation about myths in your work ... then you look and I would write something about a lost paradise in paradise :-) Well, inspiration to you.
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Well, you need to make it easier for those who, according to my dissertation, will protect;)
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My spouse is a candidate of philological sciences. I will offer her a doctorate for you to defend)) (that's just how to properly teach her ... at least, the defense would be at least not boring) But seriously, I get aesthetic pleasure not only from the work, but also from correspondence with " fans. Spend more time and this part of your work ;-)
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I myself am a candidate, the current is not philology, but another logic. As a candidate, I wish the candidate a cheerful defense;)
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N-yes, I have two unloved authors here ... I look through for a general picture ...
One is “sugary to closeness,” the second is “whirling to wine.”
One another stand.
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Log in, Diana. Man and Mr. Pornograph can be called by name ...
“I have two unloved authors here” - that two authors for one person, when there is Oksana, which is one for many ...
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- The police called?
- caused! I have a bathhouse right in front of the windows. Naked women can be seen. What a shame! Ugh, look disgusting!
- Well, where can I see? I can not see anything...
- Yeah, and you climb on the roof!
* a small associative chain on the topic "I look for the big picture";)
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And why did he spoil her hair for a boy? Purely intuitively, this is useless, greatly interferes with empathy with the character. A piece from the haircut and before Galatea disappeared, frankly superfluous, it seems to me. And the rest is very good.
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And how is self-realization? Pygmalion must plane Galatea not only outside, but inside as well.
Hairstyle because such was the prototype that inspired the author to the story :)
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I agree with Nefertiti, however, it seems to me that without swears it would be much better.
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Did you notice that swears are only where the picture is seen with masculine eyes?
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“Without swears” - this would be a very poor, languid text :) And most importantly - this would not be the text of Man :)
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That's right, beautiful! With mats of paints it is more, more juicy. Man, do not try to remove the swine! Without them, your stories will fade)
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Hmm, since there have been such disputes ... I liked this story, of which the author is probably the best of the latter. There is a mood, and tempo, and emotions ... At the expense of comments, well, the author is not always able to comment on himself. I have my own opinion, to voice it means to make unreasonable conclusions addressed to the author.But the habit of "a few nicks" reduces the impression of some interlocutors. Something like this.
It turns out that the less the author writes comments, the better the opinion about him. Because it is easier to fend off critics than boasting.
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Somehow for the attack in the direction of the Grumpy did not say anything about the story. After a couple of short stories, the Man still pulled himself together and gave a good thing, though sadly, allusions on the subject of myths did not evoke a response from readers (charming Nefertiti does not count). The only thing that strained me was copying parts from previous plots. Man, do you keep sharing your fetishes with us ?: D
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I continue: D Beyond that and go here.
* Why would such tasty items be dusting in vain in a creative laboratory? Let them work for the good of the people!
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Man answered not all at once, but like: D Look, you will continue to practice wit with the readers, comments will risk becoming more interesting than the stories themselves.
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There is nothing to do - you have to spit on the writing pens, I mean the brains, and pull up stories;)
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The dream of any man: an orphan girl (the most ordinary, not noticeable), created by your hands with your interests and outlook on life ... And with a smart strong personality it is more difficult to rise to her level is troublesome, lazy and why, when there are such mice (at least in dreams) ...
A worthy story, in the style of Man, with his patterns and expressions that are already so dear to us! Bravo!!!
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That is. A strong and intelligent personality - this is a purely feminine traits, and a man can only rise to this level? And it is fine with the “mind”, but what to do with the “strong” personality of a woman. How to fuck something? Or do you think that rising to "her level" there and sex is sweeter and tastier borscht?
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A strong and intelligent personality does not have sex. Paul starts next :)
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No, well, it's generally super! You, friend, actually understand how you write? For me, your stories are the best here. Super, to the point! Burn more! And you do not have templates, but style.
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Inspired by "Pygmalion", I give to the author!
I read - some problems
Myths yes mythologemes!
Yes allusions solid,
Distorted such!
Brothers, myths have not met?
No, we did not fuck them.
And morality is not seen?
And such a creature - hardly.
Who is this really?
Dwarves, forest elves?
Well we are not bestiality, what would a forest creature to fuck,
We would be better - just fucking!
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Very suitable name)) Galatea turned out well))
Successes, the author!
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