Peter Oldman had no luck. Globally. Specifically. With a personal life. Her (personal life), Peter was not at all.

He had a huge amount of land, a farm, sheep, a house, a tractor, a lawn mower and a population of breeding retrievers. And the wife was not. And he does not have one. Almost the entire male population of an Australian town of eight thousand souls suffered from radical angst for female affection.

We had to do something about it. And urgently, for the milkman Mike has hinted a couple of times that women are a dead-end branch of evolution. And in Japan they even invented an artificial uterus. So this is what women are no longer needed.

A couple of trips to Sydney and Canberra did not save farmer Peter from being alone.

He felt funny in his best jeans, bought at a sale three years ago. The girls splashed into fists and constantly asked about the price quotes for sheep wool.

Peter was saved by his nephew Jake, whom his parents sent for re-education through labor. Jake worked out of his hands badly, but he showed Peter one interesting thing. Called the Internet and the international marriage agency.

“Uncle Peter,” said the teenager chatteringly, pressing the keys on the phone, “I advise you Russian.” We were in school: she would stop a horse at a gallop and enter a burning hut.

“That,” thought Peter, “and the old gelding Ace completely stopped listening to me”

“And also,” the boy lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “they cook borsch and bake cakes.”

And it seemed to the farmer tempting. He liked to eat, but most often he was content with convenience foods from a local shop.

While Peter, covering his eyes, dreamed of a happy family life, Jake was already quickly filling in a questionnaire with his details.

- Everything! Said the lad triumphantly. - It remains only to wait. I'll leave the phone to you, you'll check the mailbox.

Having shown the dense relative what buttons to reap, the nephew went home.

The first answer came in the evening. The girl's name was Anastasia. She was beautiful, like a morning rose; knew two languages; traveled on a horse and was seriously interested in the theory of consciousness of Madame Blavatsky.

Horses are good, Peter thought.

The farmer who was not spoiled by women's attention already wanted to confess his love to an unearthly creature, and he forced him to slow down the question of his financial condition. It is a state - Peter was not big, and not small. About half a million dollars, or a little more. He himself did not really know, having given the paper to the mercy of the Bronson and Sons law firm.

Congenital caution made answer:

- I lost almost everything during the last wool price drop.

The girl responded with sympathy and fell silent.

The next lady hit the eye with an abundance of forms. The chest did not fit in any shackles and demanded a paired parachute instead of the usual bra. The spectacle was fascinating. The owner of an outstanding bust had two higher educations, a driver's license for all types of transport and fought hard for world peace.

On the farmer's counter question about favorite dishes, she immediately answered about the pizza from the nearest pizzeria. Peter sighed sadly and shut himself up.

The third candidate mysteriously was silent for almost a day. And then issued:

“On that day when you had a dream, I thought of everything myself. Winter, winter, winter has quietly descended to Earth. ”

The lines were completely unfamiliar, but very beautiful. The farmer even got lost at first, but then said carefully:

“I have little, miss.”

- Ah, - the girl sighed, - is this happiness? A small house, a Russian stove, a wooden floor, a bench and a candle. Kitten-purr, a hard-working husband, here it is happiness - it is not sweeter.

Peter's heart skipped a beat and started working like a newly purchased tractor engine. Unhappy even frightened that the overseas beauty will hear this four-stroke knock and think for sure. Meanwhile, the young lady continued to send black hooks to the overseas gentleman:

- I do not regret, do not call, do not cry.Everything will pass, as with white apple smoke.

Peter understood: here it is. The long-awaited happiness of any man.

After a week of close communication, the farmer decided to force things. He directly offered to his beloved Angelina to come to him.

“I have little money,” explained the bridegroom, “but you see, happiness is not in them.”

The girl was silent and answered three hours later.

- My dear ... my dear. Our country is in the ring of enemies. We are lined with sanctions, travel abroad is almost prohibited. Huge bribes are needed, and I ... I lost my job.

Peter's heart went cold. A ghastly cold presented itself to his gaze loving eyes, in which unwelled bears and stray tigers roam. Ever drunk Russian “men” in sweaty quilted jackets and dirty earflaps try to rape his beauty. She is about to give up for a glass of milk for dinner. This farmer could not bear.

“I will give you money for the trip,” he desperately sent off a letter to her, “there’s enough for you.” Just come soon.

“Good,” whispered back. “And for that, I'll kiss you.” In the evening.

In the evening, the screen gave Farmer Paradise.

“I kiss you, Peter. Dissolving in a kiss, I melt like a snowflake. Your callused hands stroke my back. First gently, then stronger. And now you are pressing me to your wide strong chest. I hear your kind heart beating. And mine fights with him.

You take off my white silk blouse and white bra. Your weathered lips capture my tender nipple captive, and your tongue is played with it, like with a chupa chups. I am so pleased that I cannot restrain myself and make a moan in your thick dark hair. ”

Here, Peter had to take time out and go drink whiskey. For different reasons. The first of which was the cramped home jeans. The second is a slight bewilderment caused by the description of oneself. By the way, the farmer’s hands were not callous. And the chest is wide too. Yes, and in general, it did not differ in large dimensions. He was a little over forty, balding and with a small beer belly. But the accepted whiskey made his reflection in the mirror more beautiful. He pulled his belly; with several sharp movements, he ruffled off the remains of the once luxurious head of hair and tried to give the face a mysterious expression. In spite of everything, he did it all, and he hurried over to his miss. Farming farmer's consciousness has almost turned off, and the hand itself reached into the pants.

“And then ... then your lips go down my stomach lower and lower. Fingers pull gum panty, taste me. You massage my sensitive pea, it pours juice and hardens right under your hand. I have no strength left to endure this sweet torture, I shudder and scream. I shout loudly. And you smile, looking, what pleasure just gave me. I love you so much, Peter! ”

The hapless Russian bear gave a roar and was going to fly for his love like a bird. Overcoming the ocean, the ring of enemies, international sanctions and the dark energy of the Ruler of All Russia.

“But that's not all,” the message popped up. - Now it's my turn. I kneel before you. You want to see me on your lap? Undoing the jeans lock, pulling up my underpants and seeing you. You are so handsome. Large, gentle, brilliant with desire. "

Peter squeezed his vzdbyvshuysya fly. It was a big stretch to call it, but love works wonders. Apparently, the Russians are not like people, and the poor girl did not even see such eyes.

“I wrap my thirsty flesh and suck my lips like a lollipop. With a soft tongue I spend on the sensitive bridle; the tips of the teeth on the head; kisses to the very foundation; I pull the testicle into my mouth and anxiously roll it inside ”

The farmer almost screamed.

“I will blow on it to cool slightly. And then with the very tip of the tongue I touch the hole that has opened with a grease and I lick everything to the last drop. And then... ".

Then Peter saw nothing. The right hand, frantically working, was filled with sperm, and he leaned his head back in his chair.

The next day, a money transfer in the amount of ten thousand American dollars in the name of Angelina went to Russia.Because hungry neighbors stole a passport and a bank card from a girl.

A week later, the farmer was greatly puzzled that he had not received any news from his darling. She warned him that the connection between them was becoming extremely dangerous for her and her relatives. That the ubiquitous employees of the interior monitor every resident of the country. That even innocent flirtation can lead to prison. And even "... what was between us, can not be called flirting. After all, this is love, Peter. The most real.

A week later, he called Jake. Nephew listened to his uncle and promised to help.

***

Denis was washing back a long-standing card debt when the postman brought a notice of registered letter. The manager of the company specializing in the auction trade of used cars, was surprised, but decided to go to the post office.

But a surprise was waiting for him at the post office. In three kinds. One is demanding the payment of personal income tax of 13% from ten thousand dollars credited to the deposit account of Denis Andreyevich Stasov. The second is demanding payment of insurance premiums of 22% from the same amount converted at the rate on the last day of the month in which income was received. The third is from the Australian consulate with a similar requirement of $ 2,850.

Total out 6,350 full-dollar taxes.

Broke Jake realized how he framed his uncle. Not from evil, but simply did not think that a modern person can be so trusting. That is why he did not warn about the danger of marriage scammers.

There was almost no hope of a refund, for they were given away without coercion, of their own free will.

Without thinking twice, the boy rolled a letter to the email addresses of all parties in Russia asking him to check whether a certain Denis Stasov had paid taxes on the amount received.

Like, we ourselves are not local; We have no complaints; love-carrot is gone; shadowing, prison, sanctions ... We all understand, but you have to pay taxes.

In the light of the upcoming elections, a certain droning deputy from the Liberal Democratic Party decided to check the piquant information.

Denis bit his lips and looked at Angelina. She existed. In the form of his two-month-old daughter. And now she was happily staring in griefs in response to the gaze of the unlucky father.

“Blinnnn,” thought Denis, “I already renounced to sit down at the table. No, the devil has suffered again. And Vitka this ... with his stupid advice on how to get the money. Have to sell the car. And in the casino, no more foot.