I suppose we shall now recount the story of the Czech teenager

Wednesday, 04 March, Year 12 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

Motto : "What are you doing, here by yourself, in the dark ?"
"I'm trying to remember the date of S. Tullius' third triumph over the Etruscans."

As we've got nothing better to do anyway, right ?

Right.

So, one merry early evening, walking happily about that city that still comes for you all (though on occasion spells it differently) our path was crossed by a local beauty. Tall and exceedingly well fleshed out in the family way, sandy blond hair separated by a Bohemian face (like you've no doubt seen in the members' area footage on whichever physical anthropology library you've subscribed with to just read the articles), ivory flesh translucent to the point of blood almost visible in its movement, red lips one slight subtle nook away from outright hemophilia, like the gingers sport. I sighed a "go talk to her" and off my escort went. Within the space of five minutes agreeably spent window shopping, the inter... ception ? Interpelation ? Whatever it was called -- it had succeeded, and off we went, young blood in tow, to have a bite (so to speak). Escorts are greati, by the way, ever wondered why no serious battleship's ever out without a thick screens of cruisers about ? Well... wonder no more.

There we found many things, presented in and then one by one extracted from a thick aspic of childish shy & wanton giggles naturaly secreted by the girl whom, first of all men and for the first time in her life I taught how to blink. Oh, you do know what I mean, I'm sure you do, when Nicoleta came back from the bathroom I said "now do it to her" and the new toy duly obeyed, batting her lengthy, fluttering eyelashes about her beautifully large blue eyes in the poor unexpecting bimbo's direction, cutting her breath and forcing out such "whoa" as only frontal impact with a large flying wall might've justified. We found, for instance, that in having just about finished ninth grade in the Euro system she's therefore yet fifteen years' dwelling on this Earth ; we found that she has no money for leisure, brought up as she was by the pompously pretentious "democratic" socialist class, nary a penny in her pocket, old worn cheap sports shoes on her feet, last year's single pair of pants and so on and so forth, you know I'm sure how the bourgeois "intellectuals" bring up their daughters.

Over Lebanese food she's never in her life afore had, about coffees and deserts in the town's celebrated cafe (where Vaclav Havel used to vaclav have), atop bills each exceeding by generous margins her yearly pocket money allowance the young Czech girl slowly discovered things so many of her mothers, grandmothers, great-grandmothers and so on by turns discovered in the turning of the worm of time : that the world is large, large indeed, and rather more varied than the economy flat she'd used for surogate, second womb lo these past decade-and-a-half.

We further found she's an accomplished athlete (which led to a challenge, to sprint, which she accepted, and then I lost -- imagine that, I can be outrun by a girl -- a challenge most delightful in preparation as in execution), and that she rides (horses) which she loves, and that, in her very words, offered at a moment of reeling disbelief clouding her pretty eyes, "had we met last year she'd never have opened her mouth or said anything", in part, you understand, because at the time she didn't yet speak any English, certainly not with any confidence (but over the previous vacation she had met a Bulgarian boy during some excursion, whom, while not actually capable of extracting anything of her, nevertheless provided the tools of self-exploitation, in the shape of teaching her English conversationally) and in part because, obviously (though I suspect not as readily obvious to her), she was not yet quite ready. And further we found that she never imagined anyone stopping you in the street "could be this kind" (though I suspect what she means by kindness and what you expect might well and widely diverge).

The next day we took her out to buy her a dress, and shoes, because she also dances (though the boys are scarce, she says, at the dance class, and clearly do not enjoy it, which she didn't so much like). We didn't take her to the sort of place she expected, but to the sort of place I buy clothes for the sluts ; and you should have seen the thoroughly delighted, through the very bone all the (long) way down to her toes and back to squeals so highly pitched as to be rendered inaudible delighted young woman, her ripe body perfectly worthy of a great golden dress she never dreamed existed as her exact, inverted pair, waiting for her to show up, patiently, among such wonders as there are. "No bra!" I called out in her giddy wake, mostly for the clerk's benefit, as she had no bra on in the first place ; she emerged abashed in the princess disguise, fully expecting the clock to strike and the miracle to end ; she briefly considered some less scandalously adequate options, more modest, slightly, "but... wouldn't this be less expensive ?" she inquired (in their native idiom she did not expect my ear could pierce) with the clerk, who, a different Czech woman of certainly more life experience smiled kindly and retorted "not by much". Indeed, how much cheaper can life be had ? It costs what it costs, and that is what you pay.

We got her a princessly diadem while at it, to go with the golden dress (bought from a girl who had a tail for some reason affixed to her skirt, and whom I asked whether it goes all the way in, and who inquired what I mean, upon which I had Hannah show her footlong white tail, producing the sort of gasp from the poor clerk as usually precedes complete, abject, begging submission, and a reddening of the princess-bedecked schoolgirl -- what, you thought I had her take her new toy off ?! but why, let her parade it through the mall, why not! -- that in all truth is most becoming at that age), and we spent a while trying to get her adequate shoes, but in the end, with night descending upon the skyline and her mother growing desperate across the netlink we took her home in my golden car (the helicopter being momentarily in the ship shop). She modestly proposed we drop her off at the bus station, which... well, what can I say, it reminds me of things like other things remind me of things (and, as the author says, I don't expect they're things you'll fully grasp ; though in all fairness I didn't think they'd still survive, or could still live to be found -- and yet, they do, and are) ; but we parked under the entrance to the correct hruscheba after some wrangling on the narrow streets and then, as she went out the door, I lowered my right back tinted window like the boss that I am, and called her. As she returned I gestured she approach, and as she obediently did I grabbed her scruff like my own thing, and held her face close, and said to her...

What did I say to her ?

As she stood there, her two feet upon the same old asphalt by her parents' house, her ass up in the air as required by her head and shoulders stuffed through the back window of a car... As her young frame held the old pose of the roadside whore, what did I say to her ?

What do you say to yours ?

I said, though you can't copy this, yet I have often said, "You do your best to fall in love with me ; and I will see you later."

This being what love is, not the cheap substitute of socialism, thin and ample, amply stretched, insubstantial aerogel painted in garish color "sa ajunga la toata lumea". This, the thing the woman does when ordered to, by such a source as may justify such orders issue (which no, can't truly be her parents in any sort of sense much distant from ye olde pater familias, two thousand years long in the tooth yet still the only alternative possibly capable of being naturally and properly loved so much, as love to kindle of his command).

The thing with the other world being just this : that it's another world.

Sotto : To truly understand the motto,
you must first understand that the rabbi
was actually there.

He just has a very poor memory,
but otherwise he was always there,
all along.

Since forever.

And he isn't even Jewish.

———
  1. Not because they always succeed, there's certainly plenty of mindblowingly hot first generation Somalian girlies simply too aplastadas, mentally speaking, to grab their only real chance in life.

    No, escorts are great because they do their job so well, so splendidly, elegantly well. Very far from mere means to an end, entirely opposite of justified by some goal, escorts are great because their deed has (and, I suspect, alone has) the actual power to justify the ends. You accept "your" children because your wife brings them home, first and foremost that qualification qualifies them, secondary that they're children, looking like children might but firstly and foremostly because your wife brings them home. The young hussies in a proper family are not in the slightest different. []

Category: Lifespiel
Comments feed : RSS 2.0. Leave your own comment below, or send a trackback.

3 Responses

  1. [...] confess to re-reading the "MP statutorily raped some poor girl and can't stop bragging about it" article four or five times since publishing it yesterday. It's a piece of fucking art, nothing less. [...]

  2. [...] could accuse them" of this approach not working, or being impertinent. Because nobody is actually me, and so... [↩]Check this wonder : the sin of superbia, superby is somehow magically "not [...]

  3. [...] empty except for one spoonfull left on the bottom -- at least, if you share quarters with a lot of youngiii women, that is. I dunno what your life's like, really, so I'm going by my own as best I can over [...]

Add your cents! »
    If this is your first comment, it will wait to be approved. This usually takes a few hours. Subsequent comments are not delayed.