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Finding Repose

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There are some things one can't write into a book about adventure. I tell you this because you may think, Alex leaves much out of his tale! But I do not -- my tale is complete but for things you do not want to read about, I guarantee you 100%. No one wants to know, when they come for knowledge, of shitting and pissing and being carnal.

This is untrue, I know it. Everyone wants to know about carnal relations. So I tell you about it in this post script.

The first night Grandfather and Sammy Davis Jr. Jr. and I were with Jonathan, I tell him to lock his door, because there are those unscrupulous persons who would have designs upon him with regard to kidnappings. And then he does it, believing me! This is funny.

I lay in my bed for a while, staring at designs of cracks on the ceiling, listening to Grandfather snore. Sammy Davis Jr. Jr. sits outside Jonathan's door. She likes him, I can tell, but this is because she is a contrary bitch and loves those who hate her. Father says, this is the problem with women, they are contrary.

I don't notice this with women. All women love me for my dancing skills, like Michael Jackson.

Finally I get up and go into the hallway. Sammy is wagging her tail crazy, like a bitch in heat. I know what I am thinking about, but I am not going to tell her. I jiggle the handle of the door, and it opens. Soviet crap!

Jonathan is staring up at the ceiling too, not making repose the way he should be. The way I should be.

"Is something wrong? Alex?" He squints at me. His glasses are large and stupid looking. He looks like bug, like spider, like something to squash. I pivot and turn, a dance move, keep my butt in and my back curved, and he smiles at me.

"I think we need something to help make sleep more restful, yes?"

"Oh, I don't drink," says Jonathan.

"I don't have vodka," I say to him, and show my empty hands.

"Then what --"

He is full of the surprise when I kiss him. I feel it on his mouth. It is soft, very American, full of money and funny tastes.

"You do not… eat meat?" I say to him, and grin, but he does not understand.

"No, I'm a vegetarian," he says. This is funny!

I put his hand on my cock, and say again, "You do not eat meat?" That is when he starts to laugh.

"Yeah, okay, I eat meat," he says, and bends over. But I put my hands on his shoulders and pull him back up. I cannot let him do this when he looks as a bug. I pull off his glasses and set them aside, and then push him back down.

He is good at this, at the licking, better than a girl. The men always are. The girls, they are pretty and smell good, but they are useless! Useless. They only want a rich man, to take them to Kiev or America or England. They save their virginity and sell it to the highest bidder, they are boring. Or sometimes they fuck everyone, like Sammy Davis Jr. Jr. when she is in heat.

Jonathan has hair slick, hard, pushed down, so I put my hands on the bed and lean back, repose.

When he is done, he sits up and pulls a plastic bag off the table, and spits into it. He takes back his glasses -- he is back to being as a bug. Then he seals the bag, and writes my name and the date on a label.

"Now I am collected!" I say. "Now I will collect you."

"No -- no, I don't --" He shakes his head, but I am most insistent, and I push him down to the pillows. The door opens and I look over -- it is just Sammy Davis Jr. Jr.

She sits on the floor and wags her tail and watches the way I collect Jonathan, and I think if bitches suck cock. It is a most spectacular thought, and Jonathan has a most spectacular cock, and I collect all of it, and swallow. This is how I was taught. No spitting.

"There," I say to him. He is panting -- just like Sammy! -- and his face is red. His glasses are crooked. They are very American, but I don't like them. I pat his leg. "Now we are both collected."

He smiles at me, and I am pleased.

"Lock the door when I leave," I instruct him again. "There are those unscrupulous persons who would love to be kidnapping an American!"

"Uh-huh," he says. "All right, Alex."

He is quiet now.

When I stand up, Sammy jumps on the bed. I ruffle her fur and she yelps, then settles down next to Jonathan.

I stand at his closed door until I hear the lock turn. No good, the lock -- Soviet crap! -- but he believed me. When I am finding the repose later, it is with a smile on my face, even though Grandfather is still snoring.