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[原创作品] 小说连载:Blue Jacaranda - 蓝花楹 Chapter 4 [复制链接]

发表于 2021-8-15 13:38 |显示全部楼层
此文章由 洋八路 原创或转贴,不代表本站立场和观点,版权归 oursteps.com.au 和作者 洋八路 所有!转贴必须注明作者、出处和本声明,并保持内容完整
本帖最后由 洋八路 于 2021-9-4 18:05 编辑

Blue Jacaranda

作者:洋八路 (何木)



Chapter 1


He didn’t usually go to bars, especially one where the music rattled your ears non-stop. The bar owners though did have a motive to force customers to speak more and louder, to dry up their mouth and internal organs, to drink more and more and non-stop of their ridiculously pricey drinks.  

“What did you say?” asked once again Peter’s rather strained vocal cord. It was the sentence he uttered most this evening, thanks to the mosquito-like murmurs from Melody who sat opposite on the high stool across the small table.

Melody didn’t answer him but served herself another mouthful of Beijing Yan-Jing Beer, a rarity in Australia, which must have stirred much of her homesickness. This afternoon when they met on the campus of University of Sydney, it was her idea to come to this bar, claiming that it was the only place in the country where the Chinese had a chance of drinking the ‘famous’ Yan-Jing beer, as though all Chinese must have it simply because it was from the Capital.

Then just as Peter expected no more of her response, she let loose the much delayed reply, as if only enabled by her drink, “I said, I said," she paused, while Peter leaned forward with his ear nearly kissing her forehead, "I said, I really do not know what to do on weekends.”

“Oh, well, it is not the weekend yet,” he said joyfully, hunched back on the edge of the table, “plus, isn’t here your favourite going, with your closest Gui-mi friends, or of course your, your boyfriend?”

Earlier today, Melody had mentioned or rather, hinted to him that she had already split up with her boyfriend, but Peter, who was unfortunately also one of her exes, needed from her a firmer assurance.

Again, Melody didn’t reply him in the minute, or she not hearing him at all, in her state of ‘Beijing-beer’ intoxication. Crossing her arms upon the table, she set her head down, like a schoolgirl about to take a slumber during lunch breaks. With her eyes narrowing to a slit, her face coloured to crimson, Peter was really concerned she would soon vomit, or fall unconsious throughout the night.

But that was not what he had anticipated for the meeting, the first one in more than a year after their breakup. For even though he did not particularly enjoy drinking as much as Melody, he found this evening very agreeable, and had taken a little more than his usual limit. Right now he was at the height of drinking, half-drunk, half-not-drunk, when one feels very capable, unafraid of risks and dangers and common treacheries in one's life. Some people could change to a very different person when drunk, and he was one of them.

“Melody, Melody, are you okay?” he cooed closely at her ear, like a caring big brother, or a lover, or a seducer, sending his head across and low, shamelessly taking in the fragrance on her hair, “Melody, at least you have your boyfriend to hang out with, so it is not you but me who must complain about anything. Everyone must find things to do, to pass time and, if only we can get rid of all those damned assignments.”

Melody flickered her eyelids, once or twice, a sign that she was after all conscious of his breath brushing her face, and Peter grabbed the opportunity to keep her awake, “How about Violin? Can’t you play your violin to kill time?”

“Violin?” mouthed Melody suddenly, sitting up unexpectedly, like she was nettled by the mere mention of the instrument she used to love and play. Peter, taken aback, sobered up his position, and to watch Melody animate a dramatic shake of her head, her hair billowing around the neck and shoulder. Then, after taking another sip of the precious beer, her spirit seemed revived, and she declared in a piteous tone, “I already gave it up, I never have the willpower to persist in anything, see, I am getting fat, I am a useless nobody, oh, what the hell...”

Peter laughed out loud at her ‘getting fat’, and quickly went to comfort her with not a little amusement, “Were you fat, no one else is slim.” Beholding her, he increasingly found her rosy yet unhappy face, and the peculiar, languid feminine charm exceedingly attractive. Without hesitation he reached out his hand to cover hers, which was not unfamiliar to him. Many days ago he had often kissed her there and there, even once made love to her. They first met at a welcome party for newcomers of the University. She was from Beijing and he Chengdu. And via the mighty and capable WeChat, their spare time after study was thus occupied, and many of the ancient-looking buildings, and particularly the iconic jacaranda tree in the university, had witnessed their shadows, sunny smiles and intimate indulgence. Their romance, in this far-away, lonely ‘village’ country, was like an Australia bushfire started by a severe drought, flared up and burning beautifully, and then extinguished prematurely by an odd enough downpour.

Admittedly it was him who had grown more and more reluctant in dating her, after their once-off intimacy in bed. Her ‘vanity’, to which he had perhaps been attracted in the first place, had since become an obstacle to developing his chemicals with her. She meticulously tended her face, with her lips constantly red. And the flare-pants she liked to wear had also lost its initial lustre. In his eyes, she acted more and more like a kid whose only purpose was to imitate others, instead of being an independent, ladylike grown-up in her 20s. And of course, their once, not-so-successful love-making experience was the last straw on the camel. He did it too quickly, even before she seemed to have got ready for it. But this was not all his fault, as he had always protested in private whenever recalling the point of failure. Deep down, he had all the confidence of at least making a 'pass' love to any girl he liked, knowing already at high school that boys tended to have less control of it due to their innocence in this matter. And seriously, Melody was just … perhaps a little too dominating in this? Her ways of her being on his top, on their first time?

But how could he have explained to her all of these things, of such sensitivity, him being a ‘short’, ‘bashful’ boy as she had often chided him for?

Presently Peter dared his eyes to drink her face and below pervasively, in an effort to reconcile his old and new impressions of her. Strangely today Melody seemed to have done very little makeup to her features. Her lips shimmered with a natural, healthy colour, eyelashes no more artificially curved and long. Sure enough, no lipstick would stain him if he kissed her this minute, or tonight. And with her fine skin, and a thin little nose, she was not too distant from the look of some kind of internet idol. And the slender figure that she proudly owned, was only two centimetres shorter than his, that was, sadly, a primary reason she was not quite happy with him as an ideal boyfriend.

Was it just for today, that she did not take him seriously enough to do her usual makeup? Or had anything happened to her that might have atoned her values and manners?  

A fresh impulse spurred him to touch her again. And after a feigned resistance from her, he had succeeded. He ran his fingers through her hair, caressed her hands tamed by Beijing Beer, puffing more nonsense out of his shell, “So you don’t play Violin, but … where is your boyfriend?”

He felt her fingers suddenly twitched at his question, but he held fast.

“I already told you, didn’t I?” she snapped, in her typical sharp voice when in bad moods, which would have made him flinch in normal times. But this moment, with his wicked power obtained through alcohol, he simply tossed her a sly smile, pressing her baby-bamboo fingers ever more. What the magic fingers the human beings possess, he sighed, so sensitive and lovable, and loving, with nerves meshing the tiniest cells to send the most beautiful pleasures to their brains.

But her eyes kept glared at her, “Otherwise why did I ask you out today?”

Ah, she was not drunk; she still had the reason, like a man's. Peter, absorbed in the little pleasurable act of his, remained quiet, eyes twinkling, ears all on her rambling speech, a mere flirtation to him, “Oh, Peter…am I drunk? So sleepy, I know you don’t like me like this, I have been trying not to drink so much… you know, Peter, I used to drink a lot, back in Beijing, and even with you, with my .. ex, oh, but...it has been boring to death these days, now I fully understand why some people say Australian Chinese are living in a grave cultural desert.”

Interesting a topic as it was, Peter decided to join the conversation, “Yeah, there is no comparison to your Beijing, the cultural centre, and my big Chengdu, is great also for great fun, with hundreds of thousands of featured teahouses, Majiangs, and hot-pots, karaoke, and the most important is that, you have no difficulty in finding bars with pleasing airs and styles, not like this drab and noisy so-called hotel bar, funny, isn't it? The hotel with no bedrooms, haha, … but fairly enough, you also get drunk very easily back in China, which was no good, was it, Melody,” he babbled on, short of reminding her of her unbecoming tantrums when drunk. “Melody, if we had not run into each other today, we may never see each other again, imagine, Melody, we will just die separate, at who-knows-where in the big wide world, like two strangers who have never made love at all, ah, how dreadful,” He had to fetch his drink to accompany a sudden sadness elevated by his own wistful speech and, only seconds later, to squash a twinge of jealousy aroused by his sour memory of seeing her walking with another guy, much taller than him, who must be perfect for her in terms of body length. “Why didn’t you contact me? Have you forgotten me completely? You are so cruel, Melody...”

Abruptly and frighteningly Melody sat bolted up, shoved his hand away, with an incredible force, nearly toppled one of the glasses on the table, and shot him an eye of fire, “Peter, stop playing games! I am not a fool you can make, do you not understand?”

Her warning, like a wintry chill, at once set him off fumbling for his proper place. Her vivid temper buried in his memory came out alive. Embarrassedly speechless, Peter resorted to his drink. And Melody, with her rising indignation and her own set of bitterness about everything, did the same.  

A long silence ensued, while Peter took the time to smooth out the hype of awkwardness. He thought that she wouldn’t have minded much of what he had to say in a drinking campaign like this, even with his apparent hypocrisy. Her ferocious reaction had proved him wrong, and her temper was in no way improved, unlike her lips and eyelashes, and her pants. Women are not to belittle in any circumstances. The tigress can jump at you at the time when you think it least possible to attack.

“Have you ever loved anyone at all?” the tigress pressed on.

“Emm, well, Melody, it is a difficult question, the honest answer is that, I am not sure,” he worded meekly, unconvincingly, as he never liked this kind of topic. Why are girls so much into it, as if life is all about love and nothing else? To him, sex is more a tellable and actionable idea than the all so mystery of love.

Clearly she was not impressed by his reply, or she already knew his answer beforehand. For, seemingly having yielded to his idiocy she, like carefully moving a tumbler with a quarter of wine, shifted her body bit by bit away from the high stool. Then, finding her feet on the ground, she made up a remarkable display of her curves and shapes, of her hair tumbling, before pointing out a delicate finger, “Toilet, over there?” commanding an answer from him, a junior university student, who was made even shorter and smaller than her.  

“Yes, go down and turn left,’ he obeyed with his finger, which was upset by having lost the feel of hers. He knew she was just pretending she didn’t know where the toilet was. How many times has she come here with her ex boyfriends, him included? He grunted, making a ugly face of revenge at her back, looking after the sway of her not-so-wealthy hips, in her high-heeled march to her release.  


~To be continued~

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英文写作老师
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退役斑竹 2012年度奖章获得者 2009年度奖章获得者

发表于 2021-8-16 10:11 |显示全部楼层
此文章由 缓缓 原创或转贴,不代表本站立场和观点,版权归 oursteps.com.au 和作者 缓缓 所有!转贴必须注明作者、出处和本声明,并保持内容完整
本帖最后由 缓缓 于 2021-8-16 09:13 编辑

是本版第一篇英文原创小说吧。是足迹首发吗



发表于 2021-8-16 10:46 |显示全部楼层
此文章由 洋八路 原创或转贴,不代表本站立场和观点,版权归 oursteps.com.au 和作者 洋八路 所有!转贴必须注明作者、出处和本声明,并保持内容完整
缓缓 发表于 2021-8-16 10:11
是本版第一篇英文原创小说吧。是足迹首发吗

以前这里发过一篇原创。。

这一篇是在这里和公众号同时发。。谢谢。。
英文写作老师

发表于 2021-8-16 10:48 |显示全部楼层
此文章由 南边来的 原创或转贴,不代表本站立场和观点,版权归 oursteps.com.au 和作者 南边来的 所有!转贴必须注明作者、出处和本声明,并保持内容完整

2017年度勋章 2018年度勋章

发表于 2021-8-16 11:21 来自手机 |显示全部楼层
此文章由 虞宅与美丽 原创或转贴,不代表本站立场和观点,版权归 oursteps.com.au 和作者 虞宅与美丽 所有!转贴必须注明作者、出处和本声明,并保持内容完整
嗬,洋八路回来了!

发表于 2021-8-16 16:44 |显示全部楼层
此文章由 洋八路 原创或转贴,不代表本站立场和观点,版权归 oursteps.com.au 和作者 洋八路 所有!转贴必须注明作者、出处和本声明,并保持内容完整
虞宅与美丽 发表于 2021-8-16 11:21
嗬,洋八路回来了!

是啊,欢迎不?
看到你好高兴。。
英文写作老师
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2017年度勋章 2018年度勋章

发表于 2021-8-16 16:47 来自手机 |显示全部楼层
此文章由 虞宅与美丽 原创或转贴,不代表本站立场和观点,版权归 oursteps.com.au 和作者 虞宅与美丽 所有!转贴必须注明作者、出处和本声明,并保持内容完整
搬小板凳等看下文

2017年度勋章 2018年度勋章

发表于 2021-8-16 16:47 来自手机 |显示全部楼层
此文章由 虞宅与美丽 原创或转贴,不代表本站立场和观点,版权归 oursteps.com.au 和作者 虞宅与美丽 所有!转贴必须注明作者、出处和本声明,并保持内容完整
搬小板凳等看下文

发表于 2021-8-16 16:55 |显示全部楼层
此文章由 洋八路 原创或转贴,不代表本站立场和观点,版权归 oursteps.com.au 和作者 洋八路 所有!转贴必须注明作者、出处和本声明,并保持内容完整
虞宅与美丽 发表于 2021-8-16 16:47
搬小板凳等看下文

谢谢,希望可以看的下去,我估计一个星期才能‘挤出’一章。。。
英文写作老师

发表于 2021-8-22 13:01 |显示全部楼层
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Chapter 2


When Melody came back from the toilet, she looked at him with a long and inquisitive eye, as if he were a face in the mirror when she was doing her makeup. Goosebumps started to creep up his back.

She began, seriously, “I wanted to love you,” and after a pause, said again, “I always love you…”

He was confused, “Wanted? What do you mean? I thought you … ”

“You mean my ex?” She finished his sentence for him. “Well, it was only because he chased me that hard and I was kind of, kind of desperate… you...such a fool…”

“Oh...” he muttered, in total disbelief, searching for words but found them escaping. Her confession was unprecedented, going through him like wasabi, the sensation so strong and so brief. But Peter knew too well that the girl before him had a volatile temperament. So, even after he had survived the first thrilling impact, he decided not to make any flippant comments.

And much to his relief, Melody seemed to have lost momentum to hurl out more at him, love or hate. She cupped her face with her hands, her eyes on the table, for the moment was a docile creature vulnerable after giving out her secrets. Peter had the urge to express his sympathy or his ‘love’ to her, by touching her, but, her wild rejection a while ago still afresh in his mind, he remained unresponsive, like a piece of wood.

Melody was a student in Visual Arts who had the tendency of swinging moods and thoughts in a very short time. In contrast Peter, if his career followed his study, would be an accountant, who would only reveal things after he had computed the double entry of debits and credits. The thinking habit was in many years of making, and would not alter easily even if tonight, he was made a little loose by the drink.

Melody had once confided in him, in a kidding tone, that she very much liked the shape of his lips. They were chisel-cut, she said, very manly and determined, and extraordinarily sexy. But, she added further, that it was a pity that his single beauty was much wasted in his ‘childish' small face, and among his other ‘plain’ features, and not to mention his ‘mediocre’ 169cm body length. In technical terms, his physique had more debits than credits, far from ideal in her picky artistic eye. Peter, a young adult who had been overly self-conscious of his physical shortcomings, felt his pride wounded badly by her harsh comments, and concluded that Melody was a vain species without subtlety and due respect for others.   

Anyway, for the sake of reciprocity, this evening he should reveal his own secrets, more or less. At least he could say that he had renewed his sufficient ‘desire’ for her after seeing her today. But, wait a second, he argued against himself, doing so would definitely create a problematic ‘balance sheet’. If he told her of his new feelings, then how about his old feelings that had failed her in the first place?

Too much confession was apparently not for today, especially in such a noisy romance-killing bar.

“We go?” Melody rustled with a quick move, ready to put an end to his pathetic silence.

“Okay,” he obeyed, emptying his glass. Without a doubt, he had upset her, she was disappointed, so she wanted to end it and never wanted to see him again. Otherwise, having just done their October exams, plus tomorrow being Saturday, they could stay as late as they wanted. And the most important thing was that Peter had the least intention to disappoint her. Giving him a little more time for sorting out the rationality of the matter, and with a few more drinks, he might become as hilarious as she had been, baring his heart to her and making his accounting book clean and accurate.   

Melody was a girl of enormous pride. As the only sweetheart of her millionaire, even billionaire father back in Beijing, she had the impression of being superior to her peers. In the eyes of many, Peter had every reason to love her inside out, their previous breakup could only be that Melody had jilted him, like she had done with her other exs, not the other way around.  

Outside in the street, they walked in parallel, like two lone rails of a railway. Even the fiercely blowing wind at the time couldn’t reconcile the distance. The lure of her body clad in a flimsy blouse was poignant, the temperature wafting in her direction delicious. But they moved on, as if it were their last meeting, the end of their love story, clear cut and once for all.

Time would tell they would bury each other in their separate lives, in the vast universe. But time, occasionally forgiving, and on a whim, might also tell otherwise.

As soon as they boarded the train, in the  man-made cage confinement, they were able to brush each other, at thier arms, and the fringes of their thighs. And what was more, after a minute or two of them seated at one bench, she rested her head upon his shoulder, as though it were the most natural thing to do on a train for a couple.

And he rounded her shoulders with his arms, drew her down and close to him so that her head was well snuggled under his chin, so that she would no longer shiver in the chill of the unusually windy night. And before long, he found his body began to stir and grew restless, the knot of energy beginning to swell in spite of himself. The warmth of her body, of her breath, and her velvet locks, were teasing him mercilessly. Carefully, he looked around, and found the environment to be safe where the few passengers scattered about, heeding nobody but their own musing or mobile activities.

He stroked her hair, with the affection of a zealous pet lover stroking the fur of the pet. The rumble of the train helped settle their intimacy. At one point, Melody half opened her eyes, turned up to peep at him, with a measure of amusement to her heart’s content. At another, she lifted her hand to trace the edges of his lips, like she was hand-making a ceramic piece in her art workshop.

The train tumbled along. Out of the window, he couldn’t see the usual greens and flowers and pacific houses as in the daylight. Only the silhouettes of trees were bending low, their limbs frantically grabbing the darkness. And the train, clanking and screeching now and again, threatened to run off the tracks. Peter for a moment, thought of China’s high-speed bullet trains, and subways, fast and smooth and punctual, gone the typical rhythmic thumping caused by the rail gaps. Sydney's cityrail, in comparison, still kept the powerful ancient rhythms, giving him the opportunity everytime as he took it, to miss his old days travelling on the rusty old trains.

The girl on his chest stirred as if protesting against the minute of his distraction. Her lips, clear of lipsticks, looked as fresh as the budding leaves in the spring. He couldn’t help but allow the tip of his finger to do what Melody had often done similar to him.  

But his caress was met with a bite. The girl suddenly opened her mouth, catching a quarter of his finger between teeth. The pain was solid, and sweet, until she released her capture to have a whisper, “Will you love me, Peter, keep on loving me?”  

His heart skipped a beat and he answered her by scooping her face, which was now heated more by her passion than anything else. Then he bent low to administer many of his kisses, first on her cheeks, then her nose, then to the opening of the softness.   

Peter lived in a unit, shared by another roommate. He had never taken girls to his small one-single bedroom. But tonight Melody seemed willing to follow him wherever he went. Indeed it was very bad weather. Indeed she was in need of support one way or another. Since the last time he made love to Melody he had moved quite a few times, whenever a better budget could be achieved. His family was very ‘poor’ compared to Melody’s, with his father an associate professor in South-Western Jiao Tong University, and his mother an office clerk in a private company. Over the years, he had to keep a juggling balance between study and work, and whenever possible changed for higher-paid part-time jobs.

Entering the door, his roommate, as usual, was heard indulging in games, with the loud fighting noise from his closed room. Peter had little interest in computer games, to him it was a robot-like machinery hobby, getting one old and bald quicker, wasting too much of his time.

“Okay, Melody, how are you feeling?” said Peter, in his effort to extricate himself from her arms that seemed very reluctant to leave his neck. “Okay, Melody, lie down, now have a nice sleep, I go and get water for you.”

After dropping her off to his bed, Peter went out to the kitchen to fetch a kettle of water. The loud hissing of the kettle, turned on, was irritating, but it did give a sense of domestic life in the otherwise very dull little space.  

Peter sat down in his only chair, in front of his only desk in the room. The laptop, with its sleek and black surface, was the most precious item in the place. If there were a fire emergency, the only thing that needed rescue was it, being his closest companion in the classroom and at his Australian home.

“Peter,’ murmured Melody once, but when Peter turned to her he saw she was not awake. Then as if remembering something, he went over and managed to turn her and pulled the quilt up to cover her, before sitting on the edge of the metal-framed bed, clearing away a few strands that had veiled her face.   

Her cheeks were a gradual mix of pale and pink, as if she had been pinched, or chilled by the cold wind. But the most tantalising feature was still her characteristic thin nose, so defiant every time she was unhappy with him, but at the moment so invitingly serene and acquiescent.

He decided to kiss her carefully without waking her up. He intended to do this slowly and would like to take his time. Melody, when she was awake, always made her kisses with too much passion, like a wild little animal. Now she was in full or half sleep, he could have his way to handle the mysterious sensuality.

But his slow motion proved very difficult to maintain. Any touch, by this nature, would be a wildfire that can hardly be controlled. It will flame up, leaping towards its ultimate destiny. Besides, the hard and cold metal edge that spanned his bottom, as well as the weariness of his back, told him that his body was not at all as comfortable as his lips.

The sudden jarring of the kettle that signaled the readiness of hot water, set him flinching from her, as if he were caught off guard in performing a robbery.

“What am I doing?” he asked. “Melody had just broken off with her boyfriend, and she was really drunk. Do I really want to take advantage of her?’

With these sober thoughts, he left the previous bed and went to make a glass of warm water.   

When he returned, he noticed Melody had turned over, from the face-up position to laying on her side, facing the wall. The nice “hump” in the middle of her body, curved up by the thin quilt, was such a sight for appreciation that he had to take a hard breath, and as if petrified, stopped in one frame of a motion series.     

The undulation was like the smooth contour of rolling hills or Port Stevens’ sand dunes. The womanness, articulated by her heightened hips, was so marvelous that her body seemed everywhere ready for pregnancy.

He didn’t realise the power of lust had already possessed him until his manhood had taken its angry stance. Putting away the glass, he began to make painstaking efforts to lay himself into the one bed, pulling the small quilt for his own fair share, wriggling inch by inch away from the edge towards the amazing oasis.

Melody was not awake. And he didn’t think she was faking her sleep. But still, he had to insert an arm under her to hold her, feeling the quiver going through him as he inadvertently brushed her breasts. For a minute or two he remained wrapped with her, daring not to make more attempts. Then, after a lifetime’s patience, he whispered, in her ear, “Melody, Melody, are you okay?” which, was utterly nonsense, of course she was Not okay, with him groping about her without her consent.

Just as a little guilt began to affect him, thinking of the indecency of ‘harassing’ a sleeping girl in this manner, Melody, the motherly woman in bed, got up all of a sudden, in a drastic girly move that almost sent Peter off the bed.

“Oh my god,'' she said, wiping her eyes swiftly, totally bewildered, not showing a sign that she might recognise this poor bed where she was put in, “What is going on?”

Peter scrambled to draw up his composure, feeling somewhat relieved that he had not already taken off his pants, except that he still had to suppress the item jutting against his pants.

“Sorry, Melody,” Peter mumbled, flushed if not already, with the shame and regret evident in his pupils.

Melody, looking around, began to piece together a picture of the events that had since occurred. Slowly, her face softened to that of an amiable girl who, a while ago, had asked him to love her.  

“I am thirsty,” she said, and her words sprang Peter into action. With one hand holding the glass to her mouth, the other her back, he helped her finish the glass, the horse-like gurgling soothing his clumsiness. Melody had been right in saying that he was not as assertive and brave as the shape of his lips might have suggested.

Then just as he decided to go out of the place to cool himself, to allow Melody to have an undisturbed night of sleep, he heard her calling, “Peter, come over.”

“Peter, sorry,” her arms circled his waist, her eyes loving him, “I must have scared you ...”

He smiled, bashfully, “Yeah, sort of, but it was all my fault, sorry I didn’t mean to…”

Melody, a girl with little patience, cut his words by pulling him down, the bed at once began to complain by kicking and screeching.

“You fool,” she pinched his ear, ‘it was me who should be sorry, for scaring you shit like that, but… ah...” she pecked vigorously where she loved the most, “at that moment… I .. unaware of nothing, like, like a bad egg was touching me...”

“Am I a bad egg?”

“No really, but yes ... Oh, Peter, I really really love you,” she said, catching her breath, “Why were you so cold to me before, I know I might not be your ideal, we may be different in many ways …but.. ”

This time it was Peter who cut the speech, and he would not allow her to take more control, and she