Blow job

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The first night

My name is Anton, I’m 30 years old (with a tail), I live in Moscow. I am an artist. Besides that I write pictures, I have a small business, my own gallery. In the past year or two, I began to feel some fatigue, the pictures began to come out less and less from under my hand. After reflection, I came to the conclusion that the city was the fault. A huge metropolis, forcing people to accept its fuss and crazy pace. All the time, some business, some (often unnecessary) meetings. And I decided to find a place where I could hide from everyone, secluded and write, write… On the Internet, I quickly found a house in a village called Korovino, where there was a “pristine nature”, a forest, a river. The house was located in the Tver region, the hosts were in place. Without thinking long, I got into the car and drove off.

It was the middle of summer. Outside the window, magnificent landscapes of the so-called “middle strip” rushed past. I was tempted to stop and capture some particularly beautiful view. Moreover, I had an easel with me. But the meeting is a meeting and it was necessary to go. And the day inexorably sloped towards evening. When I arrived in the village, it was starting to get dark. The hosts welcomed me cordially. Irina Nikolaevna (that you, simply Ira) and her daughter Elena. Lena was pretty. I immediately wanted to write her portrait. Not even a portrait, but all of it. To the big green eyes and light “flaxen” hair, scattering on the shoulders, to add a tall thin neck, a beautiful chest and an ideal hip shape. Lena looked good in her slightly open shirt and tight jeans amid the yellow sunset, next to the wicket door of the house. Or maybe it was worth drawing it in a domestic situation, for example, in a village bath. In a linen white shirt and with a small towel. She wipes her hair and looks a little mockingly…

The hosts showed the house, the plot. I liked everything, agreed on the price.

“This business should be noted,” Irina said.

— I would be glad, but I can not, behind the wheel.

— What are you, Anton, for what drive? Where are you going, it’s dark after all. Spend the night, and in the morning, and move.

I agreed. To go at night, especially so far away, did not feel like it.

Soon arrived and dinner. The hostess poured into large piles of vodka. I took a little bitter liquid and drank it for snacks. Simple food seemed to me unusually tasty. Hot potatoes, mashed and mixed with stew. Pickled cucumbers, pickled mushrooms, smoked bacon, fresh herbs. Mother and daughter after the vodka were flushed. And I myself felt the cheeks burning. It’s from nature, fresh air, and from village food.

— Well, as you have with us? Ira asked.

— Yes OK. Nature, this is what I need right now.

— But you have not seen all the beauties. What a river we have! Far away there is a lake. And the forest? In September, we gather here so many mushrooms. And white, and boletus, and butter. Take a walk, Anton, look. Now this is all yours. Yes, tomorrow my husband comes with a son-in-law, they’ll bring the documents home. And the day after tomorrow you can go to the area and make out a purchase.

— Yes, perhaps, it would be the best way.

After supper we left the house to breathe air. We sat on a bench, looked at the starry sky and peeled sunflower seeds. Then I was shown a summer shower, where you can wash yourself. The landlady said: “Go and wash, Anton, I’ll bring you a towel now.” I was already washing myself, when a woman’s hand held out a towel. It seemed to me that Irina (and it was, probably, she) did not immediately release it from her fingers. Yes, of course, it seemed.


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