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Man and woman can not be close without sex. Sex is the logical outcome of their convergence.
- What about friendship? Between man and woman? Here's how we, for example?
- I'm talking about her and talking. Without sex, such a friendship is just ... well, people have invented restrictions on themselves and stewed in them, depriving themselves of the main thing. The man is alone on this clay ball, Misha. He wants to somehow warm, so that there is no void around. He clung to another - it is already easier. People need warmth and intimacy. And a man and a woman are made for this ...
- Wait. And unless ... here we are with you. Do we have no friendship, no intimacy? Are you lonely with me? - Misha asked, barely holding back, so as not to cry.
- Well ... Anyway, you don’t want me like this. Nobody wants me anymore. So I can only reason ...
- Well, what are you saying? - Misha groaned, knocking her over. - Well, what are you, what are you ... Jeanne ... - he muttered, kissing her in the beautiful half of her face.
Five minutes later, he looked with horror at the abundant flesh flung open before him.
How this happened, he did not understand, and now he knew only that he wanted her deadly, and that this desire was not sweet, as with Slava, but bitterly. Itching, burning Zhannina bitter bitter heat twice as strong as Slavochkina sweetness.
"That's how it happens when they change," he thought, swimming in a hairy, like a beast, gap, and soon he was pounding in it, throwing out his shame in a convulsive rhythm. He never wanted anyone like that, as Jeanne was forbidden before the ice in his heart, and there were two reasons for that - he was mortally sorry for her, and it was impossible. The black, bottomless "can not" bursting with Misha, and he shouted, clinging to the plump body that pressed against him, trying to grab his piece of heat ...
***
When Slava came back, the vengeful Misha was with her so rude that it was cold under his ribs because of his habit. "Ah yes, the day of jam looms," he thought wistfully.
“Nothing,” Slava touched his hand. “Tomorrow we will forget for you such a gift that all the depression will pass at once.”
- Present? - shouted Misha. “I know what a gift you made to me.”
- Do you know? How do you know?
- "How, how ..." You think I'm such a sucker, right? I saw you. With Ganopol! ..
- Saw?
- Saw!
- And ... what, and the gift saw?
“I saw it,” said Misha in a tone lower.
- How do you like it?
- What how"? - he asked.
For a while they silently looked at each other.
Then Slava said:
- Wait. I do not understand - you found it, yes? I kind of hid it well ...
- Yeah. You think I'm such a sucker, huh? - Misha replied uncertainly.
- So I found it. Oh, and I wanted a surprise ... Well, anyway - a day earlier, a day later. How do you like it?
- What?
- Well, what? Is this your ... paterik, or how is it there?
Misha looked at her, mouth open.
Unable to sustain a pause, Slavochka went into the next room, then returned with an ancient folio in her hands.
- Heavy, contagion ... Happy birthday, Mishustik! I wanted a surprise, but ... it is clear that something didn’t grow together.
Misha looked from the folio to her and back, gasping for breath, like a fish.
Then he asked:
- Is that ... he gave you something?
- Well ... let's say: sold in exchange for one service.
- On what? - delighted shouted Misha. The situation has regained competition. - What kind of service, eh? What have you done to him that he so easily gave you the most valuable copy of his collection? BUT?
Slava looked straight ahead. Then she sighed wearily.
- Some kind of you are nervous today ... Sit down.
- What?!
- Sit down. Just sit down.
Misha, not taking his eyes off her, sat down. Slavochka sighed again, took herself by the hair - and pulled them off her head like a kerchief.
Under them was bald head, brilliant, like a billiard ball.
Misha coughed.
“He’s some kind of pervert,” Slava said hoarsely. - It has long been rolled up to me to shave. He is in a rush ... I made this wig out of my hair ... I thought - I will hide from you until I grow back, and then I say that I cut my hair ... Now I'm ugly, right?
Bald Slavochka looked plaintively at Misha. She looked like a baby, an innocent pink baby with plump lips ...
Misha was silent, his eyes bulging.
Then he got up, walked over to the door and, with all the dope, cracked his head.
***
When the scraps of darkness spread, he heard:
- Nothing will live. A slight concussion. But the door, I see, you have to repair ...
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Very unusual and very mixed feelings. I did not have enough disclosure of the plot. There are a lot of understatement and a lot of questions. In my opinion you have a splash of some feelings. Something boiled and poured into the story. But this is my feeling.
Perhaps you are planning a sequel, where everything will fall into place. For now - thoughts, digestion, questions, no answers and some confusion ...
I did not give a rating, because she herself had not yet understood the sensations from the story.
But, your readers are always with you !!!))
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10+++
Sumptuously! But as always. Poetry of the soul and heart. True, the ending had to be re-read. Immediately did not understand))))
I do not think that we need to continue. The story is over. But who knows what it is still up in the head man?
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Pervert and this shaved)))) How can a woman without hair be more beautiful, the one with them? Here this garbage I never understand.
As for you, no more than 8. Presnovato and already by the name I realized what a gift and knowing the author’s perverts a little, obviously what it will pay off)))
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You see, the story is a little about it.
Even as for me :)
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Not well, of course, about the bright, good, eternal)))
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In fact, exactly the opposite :) On the dark, evil and transient.
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I'm afraid, I'm afraid)))
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Man, you probably have the Gifts of the Magi in your favorites?
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Strong! Taking off my hat.
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I put ten. And just say what you like.
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Oh, man! You are our dear! How much on three pages you can say!
There is no friendship between a man and a woman) If there are no certain circumstances of a restraining order ... But if people look inside themselves and listen carefully to their feelings, they will understand what they really feel about “friend”. Usually we prefer to close our eyes.
Finally, I realized what the beauty of a bald woman was))))) I used to be even offended by you before (I was offended exactly as the owner of luxurious braids). But it turns out - “She was like a young woman, a nevinnous rosy young child with a puffy sponge”. That's it! Maybe it’s really worth shaving)))))
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Nene, you, as the owner of luxurious braids, definitely not worth it!
Well, except for me;)
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superski, savory description of love, frayed chuystv and nervyaki. neither give nor take, all volume completed in three pages. ten
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The author, you are a sexist.
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When a poet, describing a lady,
Begins: “I was walking down the street. The corset dug into its sides,
Here, "I" do not understand, of course, directly -
What, they say, under the lady hides a poet.
I will open the truth to you in a friendly way:
The poet is a man. Even with a beard.
(One sexist)
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I smiled a moment with the door. A great way to extinguish all the feelings nafig!))))
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It feels like the story was written in 10 minutes, sitting on a push. Usually, Man is pleased with his creativity. I do not even know how to evaluate.
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Well, why do not you know. The rating fell by almost half a point - so they put a unit :)
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I’m reading you for the first time and I like it ... But about Jeanne’s Teria, that women need / can be trusted when she’s lying ... you need to check ☺
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It is very good and right that you write “the theory of Zhanna”, and not the theory of Man ”:)
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There were precedents? :-)
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Pretty often. No wonder I quoted Cherny above.
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