At thirty-three, Vova Pichugin was the most miserable man in the world. Not only did the size of his “misfortune” look frightening (at least, it seemed to Vova himself), but he also had a shape that was clumsy like a gnarled stick. Approximately in the middle, he seemed to break, bending slightly to the right of the centerline. And in the place of bending, it had the greatest thickness, as if indeed, the knot or outgrowth disfigured a slender trunk.

As a teenager, Vova was proud of his size and at the same time he was a little shy of them. I wanted to be like everyone else. Well, or a little more than all. From the fascinating tales that his peers and older guys told him, he brought forth a simple truth for himself - the more “that thing”, the more pleasure girls get. In fact, everything was wrong. His first partner, with whom he proudly showed his economy, tried to limit herself to platonic communication for fear. And when Vova persuaded her and tried to give her pleasure, he ran into the bathroom with cries and tears and closed there. The next few girls, who dared to intimacy with extraordinary sizes, subsequently categorically refused to continue the relationship, saying they did not want to risk their lives.

In the army, Vova was once again convinced that his parameters could only bring him trouble. The wife of the major, having guessed what exactly the young soldier was wearing under his uniform, had dragged him into her bed by hook or by crook. Their third date was prevented by the unexpectedly appearing major. After a professionally delivered strike, the unfaithful wife flew off to the far corner of the bedroom, and the frightened lover, the major, promised to be transferred to such lands where the landfill on Novaya Zemlya would seem like the Canaries if he ever saw a soldier next to his wife. Vova did not want to compare the Canaries and the New Land and, therefore, to the end of the service, he honestly avoided all the women of the military town.

After the army, Pichugin entered the correspondence department at the institute, got a job as an auto mechanic in a Mercedes center, and tried to arrange his personal life. For some reason, it seemed to him that marriage is a more appropriate form of intimate life than casual relationships. But here, too, he was disappointed. The first wife, after a year of torment in bed, fled to hell, and he left himself from the second. In the invention of the reasons for the refusal of the fulfillment of marital debt, a woman has achieved such perfection that their intimate life has become more and more an illustration of the famous anecdote: "sex is better, but the New Year is more often." True, there was a mistress in his life, which Voviní’s size absolutely suited, and Pichugin with her simply bathed in happiness. But she was married and for the sake of Vova was not going to divorce, as he did not persuade her. And then she and with the whole family left for permanent residence somewhere in Europe. After such a betrayal Pichugin depressed even more.

Despite the fact that there were many options for using Vovin's natural data, by and large, they did not suit him. So, it would be possible to go to the porn industry, which would immediately solve all the issues with sex. But Vova, by his nature, was a modest man and did not like publicity. Moreover, from the point of view of the moral principles laid down in childhood, he regarded pornography as an interesting but indecent part of show business. After parting with his second wife, he placed his profile on the dating site with anguish, indicating in the comments that he was seeking a serious and lasting relationship. But how to laugh, those women whom Vovin size arranged, just did not seek a serious relationship. In most cases, these were married bored ladies, tired of the gray matrimonial everyday life.Concerned aunties did not hesitate to call him even in the middle of the night, once again killing the belief in modesty and decency of all women in Vova. Moreover, remembering his army adventures, Pichugin tried to avoid such acquaintances in order not to be once the victim of angry husbands. In the evenings, lying down in a cold bed, Vova, as a romantic young lady, dreamed of a cozy home, a caring wife and snotty children.

Until recently, the most unfortunate man lived, almost ceasing to hope to meet with the only one who would appreciate his immodest offer with his body and soul.

Occasion and luck, like two in one, came together on a Saturday morning in a suburban train, on which Vova occasionally visited the village to visit the house inherited from his grandfather. Among the other passengers of the carriage, his neighbor was an attractive woman of about Voviny age, who was holding a small wooden box on her lap, one with which artists travel to nature to paint landscapes. The name of the box, Vova did not know, but the visual arts loved and treated creative people with great respect. In addition, the artist was similar to his favorite actress Rebecca Ferguson with an abundance of freckles and unobtrusive modest charm.

For about half an hour, Pichugin furtively examined his fellow traveler, feeling displeasure at the growing interest in her pants, and then, finally overcoming his embarrassment, he decided to open his mouth. Vovin, a question unexpectedly, even for himself, sounded like a quotation from a joke: “girl, and you also ride this train?” It turned out that too, and even to the same station as Vova. For the next hour, Pichugin found out that in reality “Rebecca” was called Asya, that she was really an artist, and in Vovina village lives quite recently, after she had sued a small house after her divorce from her ex-husband. At these words, Vova started, but a sincere Asina smile convinced him that the ex-husband was to blame for everything himself. They parted on the platform because they lived in different parts of the village, but Asya explained how to find her and invited Pichugin to visit her for an evening tea party.

Until the evening Vova did not suffer. Having had a snack stewed in boiling water, he locked the door with a key and rolled out a heavy army army unit from the sarayka, inherited from the house by his grandfather. The motorcycle, in the distant 1944 abandoned by the retreating Wehrmacht and picked up by the grandfather in a roadside ditch, started up, as it should be with German vehicles, with a poltychka. After a few minutes of a brief search, Pichugin drove up to a small neat teremka from a rounded log and invited his new friend to ride. Asya readily picked up the hem of a colorful sundress, jumped on the seat, and the child of the engineering thought of the Third Reich, scaring chickens and evil of village dogs, rushed them towards the sun. For several hours they circled around the neighborhood. Asya, clinging to Vovina’s back, screamed with delight on the bumps, like a girl, squeezing even more tightly with a man’s belly, and Pichugin was afraid, but at the same time he wanted her fingers to slip a little lower - where the pants were already impatiently trembling his "measure". But he held on - he did not allow either emotions or physiology to crawl out and chase his tumbling trophy through dusty country roads. And when the ripe August sun wearily rolled over the horizon, they returned to the village.

However, the scheduled evening tea party did not take place. As soon as Pichugin crossed the threshold of the chapel, his mouth opened with delighted amazement. Log walls from top to bottom were hung with paintings. The number and variety is amazing. Large and small, landscapes and still lifes, graphics and oil, abstraction and academician - art was surrounded by a variety of styles on all sides - Vovin glanced between masterpieces like a frightened sparrow, until finally he caught the small waist portrait. On the canvas was depicted a young girl, as two sheets of photocopies similar to Asya.Long hair fell like a waterfall on bare, neat, girlish breasts, barely covering embarrassed pink nipples, and Asinov’s expression at that moment was just as embarrassed - scared as if someone had accidentally caught the girl in disguise. Painted by Asya, she looked scared at the enraptured Vova, but at the same time another, real Asya pressed herself behind him, hugging her stomach as if it were a day before, and pressed her warm cheek to Vovina’s back. And in addition, something suddenly scraped in his chest, and he turned around, raking up the female body with his palms.

Once in bed with Asya, Vova was nervous as the first time in his life. The fear of scaring a girlfriend with her size and spoiling her gently tied relations bound Pichugin with ice shell. Embarrassed by holding his dignity in his hands, he saw the woman's eyes widen and prepared to capitulate without starting a battle, but instead of refusing, Asya excitedly rushed into battle, with a tenacious grip of Vova shaking with excitement.

Half the night the cries of passion were hovering under the roof of the chapel, silencing all the living creatures in the area, and when the lovers finally calmed down, falling asleep in each other's arms, the crickets who had become silent in the bushes did not dare to continue their song.

Morning woke Vova with a warm sunbeam and delicious smells. Having quickly put himself in order, he sat down at the table, and smiling modestly in response to the feminine gaze, pulled up his appetizing fried eggs. Asya, having propped her head in her fists, tenderly looked at chewing Vova, and Pichugin violently scraped with a fork on a plate and wondered why scrambled eggs could be so tasty. And when the plate was empty, and Vova chewed the best breakfast in his life, Asya, quite childishly, looking at embarrassment through the freckles, lowered the thin straps of a sarafan from her shoulders. Having smiled at an ambiguous proposal, Pichugin with firm distinctness realized that they would hardly get out of bed before dinner.

© MMXVIII, Merzavets