he doesn't give even a sidelong glance at the bunch of grass dangling in front of his nose. He pretends not seeing it even point-blank, and he trots after it just so, for the sake of warm-up, because he adores physical exercises and other agricultural works. Yet, to see what, actually, an ass is up to, you don't need to be as wise as Solomon himself…
Just for the record, there was an attempt at "with a girlfriend's girlfriend"… They came from Nezhyn to Bakhmuch, the ex-lover of Twoic and her girlfriend. Twoic and I met them and took to the village by bus. 2 mattresses were spread in advance over the dry hay in the loft over the summer kitchen. Out of delicacy, Twoic took his ex-lover to the nearby grove, leaving the whole loft for me to use it in undivided mode.
The chick was appetizing – slender and busty but she undressed only down to her pantyhose. No doubt, the modish black fishnet item made her legs look even prettier, but what the fuck I needed that mesh for? The same old acquaintance of a dirty trick – welcome on upper dangles, but no horsing about the chastity belt. I did not try at tearing the pantyhose to shreds, and all attempts at stirring up a reciprocal flame of passion in the teaser fell flat. The state of stalemate was sustained until Twoic brought back his ex-lover from the romantic walk to the grove…
Next morning, I got up first and went for a swim in the kopanka – a pond of about 20 by 20 meters dug in the field by a back-hoe. When I returned, Raissa Alexandrovna was sitting on the veranda porch.
"So how was the water?" she asked with the hint in her ironic black eyes.
"Cold," answered I in all the senses.
After breakfast, already without Raissa around, Twoic asked directly, "Well, how?"
"No hows. We're incompatible."
"How that?"
"She wanted being raped, I wanted to get a shared pleasure. The 2 things just do not click together."
Now, everything that keeps me on Twoic's leash boils down to the needs of my stomach, and that of the reproductive organ and… and is that all?. We need something else here, thinking in only 2 dimensions seems not enough for a Hegelian… Where is the third?! Spit it out!. A-aha! Here it is – the brain! The brain with its lofty aspirations and, first of all, the need to pour out the crap crammed into it, to ease the tension in the storage cells so as not to burst sending its gray matter in every thinkable direction. Ain’t it a torture – be full of pearls but having no one to spill the goods in front of?
(…who would decline the role of Mentor? Feeding the pearls of wisdom into the oral orifice of a naively gaping youth…)
Twoic presented me with that opportunity also, by his questions. How to choose the right route in the jungle of a research institute laboratory squabbles, where each spider for himself in the common jar, one for all? Who's more practical for your scientific career – a talented but alcoholic Micro-Chief, aka the manager of the laboratory, or the dull as 2 felt boots together Macro-Chief in charge of the institute department? Who of the two to choose for your Master?
Answering these and similar questions, I was amazed by the largeness of reprobate Machiavellianism stockpiled in me. I wouldn't ever dream of having so vast resources, communication with Twoic brought into the light the cached stash.
However, the essence of my maxims was so plain that Twoic sensed all of that himself and instinctively conformed to even before my broadcasting. It's only he couldn't put it to words that we get landed into this world where everything is occupied already—"the house's sold out!"—which situation calls for snatching a place under the sun for our dearest selves, and the end justifies the means, so… And Twoic was all too happy to agree. But what about me? Do I live by this sermon? Do I follow it, eat it out?
(…following your own theories is not the must though. Nietzsche, the inventor of superman in the form of a "blond beast", was himself a physically miserable nuisance.
"Snap a place under the sun for yourself," proclaimed I, that's true. However, as far as I’m concerned, I'd sooner drift away in search for the sun attainable in a more humane way, avoiding their scrimmage…)
Well, now, are you happy with your self-psychoanalyzing? Got all the nooks turned inside out? Don't be shy, we are alone – Twoic's too busy with dialing and checking his pocket notebook. So, is that it? The orgies for your stomach plus hopes for getting a second-hand whore, and tickling your vanity by spilling intellectual pearls? Is it the full list of reasons why I'm with him?
Well, that's why, definitely, yes… And also because of the feeling of freedom, when I break loose from the routine of my ordered, polished, clockwork way of life with the bath-going on Thursdays, washing on Mondays, ironing on Tuesdays, with the beach or reading room on weekends and the ever-present feeling of voided privation, and never ending vigilance…
Wow! As I see, you now flashed your love for freedom too, well done! And, hopefully, is that all?
Of course, yes, is not all of that enough for a sincere friendship?
Don't try to cheat the dialectics. You have omitted the opposite force – hatred.
And why should I hate him? He feeds me, provides drinking, presents an outlet to escape…
Seems like, in your enumeration, you bashfully omitted the opportunity to practice masochism, eh? What is a pleasure if not some sweet pain?
…had he slept with her or not?.. everything in me contracts into a tight tangle of scorching pain and slowly dissolves in mute shrieks: no, it cannot be.. but if?. and the pangs grip anew to be followed by numb warmth spilling over the innards: no, no, no…
At one of my first visits to the Twoic's village, we were