Alice clover is midnight in Paris. Alice Clover - Midnight Paris Time

Alice Clover

Closed book

How many people can you go to bed with?
There are so few people with whom you want to wake up...

Eduard Asadov

There is nothing to be done - either we indulge in love, or love betrays us.

Frederic Beigbeder

Infidelity is like death - it knows no nuances.

Delphine Girardin

* * *

I don't know anything, I don't know myself at all. Tonight showed that I have no idea what to expect from myself. It turns out that I am capable of a lot. This thought - strange, new - scares me and makes me happy at the same time. I am much worse than who I thought I was. I, who grew up in the shadow of my mother, a liar by profession and by nature, deeply condemned any lie, believed in the power of reason, and was not afraid of the unrequited feelings. I am capable of lies, betrayal, and spontaneous actions.

One-night stand. Liaison sans lendemain. One night stand.

I'm lying on a huge bed, from which unfamiliar smells of an expensive hotel, washing powder, and cologne emanate, which drives me crazy. And I smile.

I cheated on the man I've been with for almost two years and I don't care about it.

An evil conscience makes me feel like a prostitute who woke up early in the morning in the bed of a client who had forgotten himself after a stormy night. If I close my eyes, I can imagine that there are several bills waiting for me on the expensive bedside table. I wonder how much my long, awkward body, my tormented lips, my hugs, my availability might be worth? How do people measure this in euros? “You wouldn’t be able to withstand the competition,” my conscience laughs unpleasantly, but I’m not surprised. My self-esteem has never been high.

And yet, here I am. With the magnificent Andre, damn him.

He sleeps the sleep of the righteous, naked and shameless, a man who sees nothing strange in spending the night in the hotel room of a woman he barely knows. We saw each other... three times, four? Before Andre took me right into the huge chair, he knew almost nothing about me. He'll forget me in five minutes, but I don't care about that right now. The memory of what exactly he did to me on the chair, the edge of which I can see if I turn my head a little, makes me shiver, and the smile of a criminal who managed to get away with the money appears on his lips.

Seryozha wrote that he loves me. My boyfriend, whom I happily missed for almost two years, wrote to me. But I didn't answer. All I could think about was spreading my legs wider to allow Andre to impale me all over with his cock. I feel how new hot blood rushes to the bud between my legs, and my cheeks become crimson from shame or excitement, I can’t quite make out.

- Are you thinking about me? – Andre suddenly asks me, and I turn around and see his sleepy face. There is still a slight haze in his eyes, he is not fully awake, but he is looking at me, and his attention, this need to study every change in my emotions makes me strive to hide my feelings.

“I was thinking about how strange it is to wake up here with you, in some hotel room.”

- Strange? – Andre smiled. In bed, his smile became catlike, as if he was hiding something, being cunning. – Strange choice of the word “strange.” Why strange?

- I do not know you at all.

– Don’t know at all? – he smiled and narrowed his eyes slightly. – It’s a little late for such thoughts, don’t you think?

“I don’t think so,” I shake my head. Then Andre throws off the sheet, my only covering, and gently runs his hand along my bare thigh. I flinch, but not because I don't like his touch. On the contrary, I want more. The problem is that I shouldn't want it.

“Look at the beautiful curve of your hip,” he whispers, maintaining a ghostly distance between us. - Long legs. Slender. You know how powerful this weapon is. Is that why you wear jeans and flip-flops? Out of pity for men, right?

Andre knows nothing about Seryozha. He and I are two strangers, each with our own little secrets. Mine is in an unanswered text message. What is his secret? That's why I want him to take possession of me again. He's quite rough, no one has ever treated me like that sexually.

Now, when Andre lies next to me and looks at me, throwing one hand high behind his head, I’m not sure that I’ve ever had real sex before him. Can this be learned? Maybe there are courses in France? Then he teaches there.

“Move closer to me,” Andre whispered, and I noticed how the smile disappeared from his face. He gets serious. - Closer.

- So? “I waddle awkwardly, my body doesn’t listen to me.” Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that there is a small bruise on one of my wrists. I don't remember how I got it, but for some reason I like that it's there. He will remind me that all this was not a dream.

“Close,” his voice sounds businesslike. His elastic, strong body is so close that I involuntarily begin to breathe deeper, I like his smell so much. I feel his hand behind my back. He runs his fingers down my back, over each of my vertebrae - slowly, deliberately, hard enough to make me purr with pleasure. Then his hand grabs my butt and bam-bam! One sharp movement, and my crotch was pressed almost flush against his. The last thing stopping us from bringing our bodies closer together is his erect penis. My breathing stops and I'm shaking again. Andre, what's wrong with me? Where did you come on my head? How can you stay so calm when I see how excited you are?

- Can I…

- What, my bird? – he laughs. – Do you want to touch it? You know, women usually don't ask permission for this.

- Usually? - I repeat, like an echo, and the world returns to its place again. Usually women don't go crazy over simple sex, usually...

“Spread your knees,” he commands. I'm still offended, but I'll never show it to Andre. I want him to leave, but I spread my knees with the obedience of a wound up doll. He laughs, slides his hand between my legs, sticks a finger inside, making me gasp, and then suddenly his dick is between my legs.

“What... what are you...” I blink my eyes stupidly, and Andre grabs my buttocks with his palm and begins to move his whole body - still remaining outside. His eyes constantly follow mine, catching my surprise, confusion, even indignation. Between my legs it’s wet from his movements, and the fact that his dick hasn’t entered my body makes me feel even more like a doll. He uses me as he pleases and is not even going to think about me.

How many people can you go to bed with?
There are so few people with whom you want to wake up...
Eduard Asadov

There is nothing to be done - either we indulge in love, or love betrays us.

Frederic Beigbeder

Infidelity is like death - it knows no nuances.

Delphine Girardin

* * *

One-night stand. Liaison sans lendemain. One night stand.

I'm lying on a huge bed, from which unfamiliar smells of an expensive hotel, washing powder, and cologne emanate, which drives me crazy. And I smile.

I cheated on the man I've been with for almost two years and I don't care about it.

And yet, here I am. With the magnificent Andre, damn him.

“I was thinking about how strange it is to wake up here with you, in some hotel room.”

- Strange? – Andre smiled. In bed, his smile became catlike, as if he was hiding something, being cunning. – Strange choice of the word “strange.” Why strange?

- I do not know you at all.

– Don’t know at all? – he smiled and narrowed his eyes slightly. – It’s a little late for such thoughts, don’t you think?

“Move closer to me,” Andre whispered, and I noticed how the smile disappeared from his face. He gets serious. - Closer.

- Can I…

- What, my bird? – he laughs. – Do you want to touch it? You know, women usually don't ask permission for this.

- Usually? - I repeat, like an echo, and the world returns to its place again. Usually women don't go crazy over simple sex, usually...

Isn’t this the same thing that we usually did with Seryozha - for the last two years? No, I answer to myself. No, Seryozha left me, empty and cold, because he didn’t know and couldn’t imagine that I could behave like that. Andre looks at me and enjoys my dissatisfaction. He turns slightly, freeing his other hand, touches my breast, squeezes my nipple - quite hard, so much so that I scream.

- Everything is fine? he asks.

- Wonderful! - I mutter, as if my future depends on the fact that I confess my desires to him. He smiles and brings his hand to my hair, runs his fingers through it and tangles it so that now the position of my head is also completely in his power.

“Do you know that I can even cum like this?” – he asks curiously. “Your skin is so soft, so elastic.” You are good, and the best thing about you, bird, is that you don't even realize how good you are. You just fly with your wings outstretched. Your breasts give you away, you are excited. When you're angry, you try to squeeze my dick harder, you want to hurt me more, right?

- Yes! – I almost scream.

“I like it this way,” he smiles. - And you?

- Everything is alright! – I answer indignantly. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

“And then you’ll go to the bath and finish it yourself?” – he suddenly asked, and I turned white with rage. Mostly because what he said was true. This is exactly what I did with now unpleasant regularity after sex with Seryozha.

- Why? – I shouted angrily. “I’ll find someone else to finish your work.” I saw there is a handsome bartender here!

Andre did not answer, but the cheerful smile immediately disappeared, his face changed beyond recognition, and it seems that this was the first time I had encountered such an expression on his face. He was excited and wound up, like a bomb whose clockwork was already ticking - I could see it in his eyes. And also passion. He pulled away from me, looking at me as if he was figuring out how to take stronger revenge on me, and the understanding of this direct threat almost drove me crazy. Some kind of defense mechanism worked, I pushed Andre away, broke free from his arms and tried to get off the bed.

Andre didn’t let me do this; he grabbed my hand and pulled me back sharply, roughly. He didn't let me go. If he had let me go, I would have been disappointed.

“Just don’t try to shout, otherwise I’ll shut your mouth,” he muttered, licking his lips. I gasped and tried to break free, then he grabbed me by both wrists and threw me under him in one sharp movement.

- What will you use to shut my mouth? – I asked, squinting down to where the dark line of hair on his stomach ended. I received a hard, promising smile in response. I was unfamiliar with the blissful feeling of nakedness and defenselessness, which relieved me of all responsibility for what was happening. He pressed me by the hands to the bed, and his concentrated gaze controlled my every breath.

-What do you want, Seagull? – Andre asked. - For me to let you go or for me to finish with you?

-What do you want, dark prince? For me to beg? – I asked in response.

- Dark Prince? – he laughed. – Is it really so difficult to answer a simple question?

“You are the first,” I shook my head. Oh, if he would let me out, I would beg, there was no doubt about it. My body wanted completion, wanted to belong to Andre with such an invincible animal force that I had no chance of resistance.

“You’re an impossible girl,” Andre whispered and released me—only for a moment—to turn me face down on the bed. No attention to my screams, he spreads my legs and willfully runs his hand over my crotch. I try to turn around to see his face, but he presses his whole body onto me, his face next to mine, his cheek on my cheek. It becomes difficult for me to breathe, my body resisting the weight of his body, but he is much, much heavier and stronger than me. Andre kisses my neck and runs his lips over my shoulder. His palms cover my wrists, and it is at this moment that his penis pierces me sharply, without pity, without trying to please me. My cry is drowned in the kiss, his lips are sweet, bright red. His eyes are closed. I lift my buttocks, trying to give my wild rider full access. He is in me, and my body sings - through the slight pain, through the delightful pulsation.

– You like it, right? – Andre asks, and there is a little uncertainty in his voice, just a little. He wants to know. Should I tell him that I am melting with delight and all my thoughts are there, between my legs, and nowhere else? And the delightful heaviness of his body speaks to me in some primitive language that I did not speak before.

“I’m not enough,” I whisper and hear a chuckle in response.

- You are impossible, bird! - he is indignant. His palms release my already submissive hands, like clipped wings. He lifts me slightly by my hips, and I feel Andre's fingers groping my clitoris.

- No! - I whisper. - I do not want right now. Give me just a little...

“Now you’re begging,” he grinned with satisfaction, playing with me, running his finger along the folds of my labia. – You will always want more.

And, the merciless, cruel invader, he suddenly stood up, forced me to kneel and lean forward. He gave me only a few blows, each of which was accompanied by a light touch of the pads of his fingers to my overstrained core. Just a few seconds, and I scream with pleasure and overwhelming emotions. My arms are still spread wide, I'm buried in the pillow and I think I'm crying. I feel like my man’s body has gone limp, his penis is contracting inside me, and if he himself hadn’t thought about a condom in advance, I would probably already be pregnant, which is the least of my worries at this moment. My body sings and I listen and don't want to miss a single note. A powerful chord coming from the very center of my feminine essence. Slight trembling of all muscles. Vagina contracting in ecstasy. Sharp impulses in my chest make my nipples swell so much that it almost hurts.

I am wasted and lost, I am not there, my body has defeated my spirit, and my consciousness is moving aside. I want to sleep. Andre kisses me and says something in French, but I don’t even have the strength to respond to his kiss. I hear him laugh. I feel him help me get comfortable in his arms. I fall asleep, wishing that this sweet feeling would never leave me.

* * *

Getting ready for work in the morning feels like a hangover, even though neither of us had drunk anything the night before. We hardly talk about anything except some meaningless phrases. “Do you know where my shirt is?” “Would you like to order some coffee to go?” “How long did we sleep? Half an hour?"

“I don’t know what to do with myself after you leave”... This last one is heard only in my head.

“Dasha, I really have to go,” says Andre, and I hear an apology in his voice. What is written on my tired face that Andre feels the need to apologize for? I knew what I was doing, what I was getting into. Did you know? Either way, I don't want him to think that I expect anything from him. Sequels? Continuations of what?

“I need to make a couple of calls,” I say as neutrally as possible, because I feel that speaking dryly and indifferently is almost the same as crying, begging him to stay. Two sides of the same despair. - Will you find a way out?

- Exit? – he asks again in confusion. Perhaps the phrase still sounded harsher than I wanted. You could just as easily have said straight out: get out of here. Andre silently put on his shirt - over the top, buttoned up as if it were a sweater. He was in a hurry as if he was in a hurry to hide behind his shirt - from me.

I wonder how I will find a way out now?

-Are you going to the clinic? – I ask simply because this is a neutral question. Every word we say now has a second bottom, like a magician's box. I ask - will you go to the clinic? He hears - will you forgive me?

“I haven’t decided yet,” he answers dryly, and I look away. A minute ago I felt like a completely different being, a higher being traveling through worlds and stars, and now I’m an inept liar who doesn’t know how to properly break up with a French lover for one night. Which was also good and to which I have no complaints. At least there shouldn't be any complaints.

A wonderful episode for a holiday in Paris.

Although I'm not on vacation in Paris at all. I am here at the behest of my mother, an actress who believes that for good money you can regain your youth, even if only for a moment, and in the dim light of candles, and in a crooked mirror. All people are afraid of death, my mother is afraid of oblivion. Everyone believes in miracles. Only she calls them plastic surgery. And my Andre is her personal magician.

My Andre.

He will never be yours. Yours is Seryozha. Yours is everything that comes with it: calmness and boredom, reliability, enclosed under a vacuum lid in a glass jar. Breathe more carefully so as not to exhale happiness ahead of time. Go and write a text message to Seryozha. Write to him that you miss him too or something unbearably banal that he will definitely believe. He doesn't need to know what you really are.

- Is there something wrong? – The question takes me by surprise. It's not like that with me. I want him. My lips hurt and the feeling is amazing. Where are you, my almighty conscience, why don’t you want to save me, keep me on the edge of the abyss.

- Everything is fine! – I smile with all my might. “But this shirt doesn’t suit you.”

- Do you think so? – he grins. I close my eyes, remembering how I kissed his bare chest.

- Isn't it time for you?

“You can’t wait to get rid of me?” - he asks again, and I notice - with malicious joy - the resentment in his voice. May be…

– I remember how one day my mother took me to St. Petersburg. It was the idea of Vitya, her then husband...

– The closest thing you had to a father figure? – Andre repeated my words almost verbatim. Good memory? Or is he interested in me enough to listen to all my stupid stories about my banal childhood? More likely the former than the latter.

“He drove a car, a black Honda, and I sat in the back seat, looking at the road that trailed behind us. A highway with potholes after our endless winter. Then we stayed in a small two-room apartment right on Nevsky, there was a concierge there, she fed me scrambled eggs and two sausages every morning. Mom only drank juice. Vitya ate her scrambled eggs along with his own.

– You remembered everything in such detail, how old were you?

– Probably about ten years.

- Good trip? – Andre looked confused, not understanding what I was leading to.

- Don't know. They argued all the time, my mother had some kind of negotiations in one of the theaters. Vitya didn’t want her to agree, he didn’t like Peter. But for me it was an amazing trip. We covered all of St. Petersburg and went on a boat ride. I ate so much ice cream that I got a sore throat. St. Petersburg has a completely different ice cream. Vitya held my hand as we crossed the road. When I went somewhere with my mother, she always ran ahead, confident that somehow I wouldn’t get lost. One day I actually got lost. But that’s not the point, that’s not the point. “I started to get confused, I’m not much of a storyteller.” And this whole story is stupid, isn’t it.

- What's the matter?

- And the fact is that no matter how many times I went to St. Petersburg - with my mother, with my school class and then, when I was already grown up, for work - I was never so happy there. I couldn’t survive anything like what I experienced on that trip. Because this doesn't happen again. This is simply impossible.

– You can’t step into the same river twice? – he asked sadly. Yes, so many words that he summed it all up in one banal saying.

- Something like that. But I want to. And you will always want it. Even though it's impossible.

“I can easily enter you twice.” And even twenty times. And every time it will be something new,” Andre noted and looked at me with tense anticipation. These words almost made me rewind everything, but Andre didn’t give me a chance. He turned around and walked towards the door.

– You would like me to remember you and suffer, right? – I ask rather angrily.

“And you, of course, plan to forget me and enjoy oblivion, right?” – he clarified, taking hold of the door handle.

“If I can,” I echo. There must be something in my voice that gives me away. Andre stops - already at the door - and turns to me. He looks at me for a long time, a handsome man, for some reason offended by me. This is the last time I see him, at least in private, and I want us to break up like this? Andre is so vulnerable now that you would never believe that it was his gentle hands that left the bruises on my wrists.

-Can you act like an adult? – he asks, clearly “turned on” to the limit by my behavior. – Can you explain what fly bit you?

A fly named Seryozha? All my life?

“I’ll walk you with you,” I say and reach out to take my cardigan with me. I'm cold, although it's hot outside. I'm shaking. Maybe I have a cold?

- It's fine, Thak you. You can start to forget me. – Andre regains his usual self-confidence. I flinch when I hear the door slam.

He disappears faster than I can recover. There’s a pounding in my head – it’s all over, it’s all over, it’s all over. But can something end that never began? It’s funny: one night, but I’ll probably remember it all my life. Like that trip to St. Petersburg.

Bloomed.

- Your coffee, madam. – The waitress looks at me with disapproval because I’m not eating anything, but I’m already drinking my second cup of coffee. I have a hard time recognizing where I am—in a bar, in a hotel lobby. My coffee is bitter and strong – just the way I like it. How wonderful it is to be lost in another country, on a soft sofa, with a small cup of coffee in your hand.

“Thank you,” I answer, getting a peculiar pleasure from speaking French. Perhaps I miss this in Russia. Maybe I should sometimes agree to travel, because they offer me from time to time. To Belgium, for example, and to Amsterdam. And to Normandy. Maybe I could come periodically...

You will never see him. This needs to end here and now. A wonderful memory.

I want to throw a cup of coffee at someone, but instead I knock the cup over on the table - splashes fly in all directions. I get up, look around furtively, throw bills on the table and fly out of the cafe as if a fire had started there. At the crossing, while everyone is waiting for the traffic light, I close my eyes, and I am immediately overcome by the blind rapture that I experienced when Andre controlled my body. Every single cell is in blind rapture from him. Suddenly I realize that everyone around me knows what I’m thinking about. They shout something at me in French, they push me in the back. I'm disturbing the harmony of the city flow, stupid chicken.

– Is something wrong, Dasha? - Mom asks me, although I spent the whole morning trying to completely, completely get myself in order. I flinch because her words repeat a question I’ve already heard today. Mom walks slowly through the hospital garden and looks at me with suspicion. -Aren't you sick?

-Are you sick? No. Why? – I’m surprised.

- You're wearing a turtleneck in this heat. – Mom shrugs. Yes, I'm hot, but what would she say if she saw my wrists? I cover my shame behind the long sleeves of a thin cotton turtleneck.

- What do the doctor's say? – I answer carefully. – When will the operation be?

- Doctors? - Mom snorts. - What can they do except suck money out of me and do hundreds of tests. Every time more and more analyzes are invented. It was easier before. You just came, showed what you needed to cut or sew, and they did it.

- Mother! You can’t do that, it’s your health. And then – age.

“Dasha, be careful,” she warns. Her age is a secret behind seven seals, and I am a troll who keeps the seals. Sixty. Mom will be sixty. She plans to celebrate her fortieth birthday - that's the maximum.

28
Apr
2016

Midnight Paris time-01. Amazon (Alice Clover)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 64kbps
Alice Clover
Year of manufacture: 2016
Genre: Contemporary romance novels
Performer: Elena Kalabina
Duration: 02:17:31
Description: Instead of vacationing with her lover, Dasha Sinitsa is forced to go to Paris - her mother, the famous actress Olga Sinitsa, requires another plastic surgery. Dasha, who speaks excellent French, should help in this delicate matter. Surgeon Andre Robin strikes the imagination of a withdrawn and insecure girl. This is “a real Rolls-Royce of men.” To Dasha's surprise, Andre invites her to dinner. Communicating with Andre, the girl understands: what she previously considered passion cannot be compared with what she feels for this man. They are attracted to each other like a magnet. Their bodies are struck by lightning, and their sparks can set the Champs Elysees on fire.
Add. information: ATTENTION! Age restrictions 18+

30
Apr
2015

It's almost midnight-01. Africa of dreams and reality (Vasily Zvyagintsev)

Author: Vasily Zvyagintsev
Cycle: Odysseus leaves Ithaca
Year of manufacture: 2015
Genre fiction
Publisher: Can't buy it anywhere
Performer: Elizaveta Krupina
Processed by: shniferson
Duration: 16:44:17
Description: Wherever they appear in the hope of a quiet refuge, after a while war comes there, and it doesn’t matter in which reality Novikov, Levashov, Shulgin and their comrades in the “St. Andrew’s Brotherhood” find themselves this time. Is this a terrible pattern, a cruel fate, or the hypothetical Holders of the World again and again deciding to test their strength and...

28
Jul
2012

Exactly at midnight according to a cardboard clock (Tamara Kryukova)

Format: audio play, MP3, 160kbps
Author: Tamara Kryukova
Year of manufacture: 2011
Genre: children's literature
Publisher: Children's Radio
Performer: theater artists
Duration: 03:09:33
Description: There are days in the year when a miracle can happen to anyone. So Varka and Nikita were lucky enough to get into a real Children's World, where fairy tales come to life, animals can talk and incredible adventures happen. During this journey, brother and sister learn a simple truth: if you live together, the road becomes shorter and the dangers recede.
Add. information: Radio processing by Koss

13
May
2013

Wheel of Time 01. Eye of the World (Jordan Robert)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 96 kbps
Author: Jordan Robert
Year of manufacture: 2013
Genre fiction
Publisher: Can't buy it anywhere
Performer: Erisanova Irina
Duration: 39:24:20
Description: The release of this novel put Robert Jordan on the same level as such “world creators” as John R.R. Tolkien, Frank Herbert and Roger Zelazny. The novel "The Eye of the World", which created the Universe of the "Wheel of Time", has become, perhaps, the most popular among science fiction lovers in many countries. The scale of the plan, the amazingly detailed elaboration of the surroundings, the psychological authenticity of the characters and the fast-paced, unpredictable plot...

29
Jul
2013

Amazon (Kurchatkin Anatoly)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 96kbps
Author: Kurchatkin Anatoly
Year of manufacture: 2012
Genre: Romance
Publisher: Can't buy it anywhere
Performer: Lyudmila Larionova
Duration: 08:52:04
Description: The novel by a famous Moscow writer, a brilliant stylist and master of plot-psychological writing, is the story of a young woman of an adventurous nature. Her fate is intertwined with the events of August 1991 and the time of post-communist restructuring
Russia: the heroine is engaged in business, turns out to be a bargaining chip in the machinations of her partners, works in the presidential administration, is a girl...

24
Dec
2013

What time is it now? The simplest ways to determine time by the sun, moon and stars using homemade instruments (Vsevolod Vasilyevich Sharonov)

Format: FB2, OCR without errors
Author: Dafydd ab Hugh, Brad Linaweaver
Year of manufacture: 1997
Genre: Action fantasy
Publisher: AST
Russian language
Number of pages: 448
Description: When people first landed on Phobos, these gates were already there... Heavy and unyielding, they looked completely alien to people from Earth, for twenty years they remained only a silent and gloomy monument that reliably kept the secrets of its unknown creators. However, the day comes and the gate comes to life. Marine Flynn Taggart, 888239912, is one of the finest fighters of the twentieth century. WITH...

01
Oct
2018

The Tavistock Family 01. In Their Footsteps (Tess Gerritsen)

Author: Tess Gerritsen
Year of release: 2018
Genre: Sergey Kirsanov
Publisher: Detective
Artist: You can’t buy it anywhere
Duration: 07:51:46
Description: The father and mother of Jordan and Beryl Tavistock, British Secret Service agents, were murdered in Paris under mysterious circumstances. The orphaned children were raised by their uncle Hugh, also a former intelligence officer. At a party at their uncle's house, the brother and sister learn from tipsy guests that twenty years ago the police and intelligence services came to the conclusion that the traitor Bernard Tavistock killed his wife and then committed suicide. Beryl and George...

31
Aug
2016

Time Station: Time Rippers (Book 3 of 4) (Robert Lynn Asprin, Linda Evans)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 96kbps

Year of manufacture: 2016
Genre fiction
Publisher: Can't buy it anywhere
Performer: Andrey Vasenev
Duration: 16:55:24
Description: This is the World of Shangri-La Time Station. A world in which foolish tourists wander from era to era, striving to violate the “butterfly principle.” A world in which professional guides - “time scouts” - damn their vile work, because at least try to keep track of a gaping gourmet who is capable of falling, along with a pseudo-Roman sausage tray, to the bottom of a suddenly appeared...

30
Aug
2016

Time Station: Time Fraud (Book 2 of 4) (Robert Lynn Asprin, Linda Evans)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 96kbps
Author: Robert Lynn Asprin, Linda Evans
Year of manufacture: 2016
Genre fiction
Publisher: Can't buy it anywhere
Performer: Andrey Vasenev
Duration: 16:52:51
Description: Skeeter Jackson was a scoundrel. Hardened, seasoned, the most disgusting scoundrel of scoundrels. So that there is nowhere to place the sample. And at the same time - a true, almost disinterested artist of his difficult thieves' business. Not easy - because no, just imagine what it’s like to do shady scam deals in the area of Shangri-La Time Station, where the gates are known to be unstable, sausage...

05
Aug
2017

Midnight (Alexander Vargo)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 128kbps
Author: Alexander Vargo
Year of release: 2017
Genre: mystery
Publisher: TG "SamIzdat"
Artist: Elderly Xenomorph
Duration: 08:54:08
Description: The dead do not leave us forever - they can be revived. True, you need to know how, and this secret knowledge is hidden behind many seals. But there are people who, by hook or by crook, obtain information about long-forgotten rituals. And if magic is associated with human sacrifice, they do not hesitate to bring bloody tribute to the altar of ancient witchcraft... A group of young Russian tourists travel to the archipelago near Ta...

19
Dec
2009

Midnight (Dean Koontz)

If passion is a fantasy, you haven't experienced it.

If you know everything about her, it wasn't her.

If you have forgotten how to breathe, you are learning the language of love.

The body is the least that a woman can give a man.

Romain Rolland

I’m running parallel to the highway, where dusty cars are parked in a dense traffic jam, and if it weren’t for sportswear and headphones, one might think that I’m running away from someone. To some extent, this is true - I’m running away from myself, but I’m catching up again, getting closer to myself with every new second. I run quickly, almost without looking around - this is my way of forgetting. One two three four. One, two...

My gaze slides over the asphalt cut by lines, over roadside stones, I take another breath and suddenly my gaze stumbles upon the window of a bus stop. Worn-out sneakers cling to the asphalt, I try to hold on, but the rhythm is off, my eyes are riveted on the beautiful face of a woman of about forty, with cat-like green eyes and a proud turn of her shoulders. She is in the center of the poster, the Russian Vivien Leigh, the actress not blown away by the wind - now in a new film. In all cinemas in the country. She is a hundred times more beautiful than me, even my eyes are not hers, I take after my father.

My mother.

I'm flying onto the asphalt, tearing my knee. Damn it, what the hell! Have you forgotten that these stupid posters are hung all over the city? My knee hurts, I’m out of breath and have difficulty getting up, moving my legs. Blood pulsates at the temple. Usually running brings relief, but not today. My forty-year-old mother in the picture is actually almost sixty, and there is so little in common between her screen image and the real living woman. Unacceptably low. She told me yesterday that this is a gift - our trip to Paris. Not for me, of course. Kuzma.

What should I do?

The drivers whose cars I hobble past look at me with bewilderment. They can be understood. Who runs around Bibirevo, especially in such heat? It's still very early, but it's not cold. Now I am a pitiful sight - sweat is pouring down my face, my hair gathered in a ponytail is soaked through with it. I put on the first thing that came to hand, most of all afraid of waking up Seryozha, and flew out of the house as if there was a fire there.

I don’t even understand why he always stays overnight!

The sleeves of my windbreaker are tied around my waist, my white T-shirt with some stupid face on the chest is also soaked with sweat, and I don’t look at all like the beautiful girls on the Internet who advertise a healthy lifestyle. You cannot lead a healthy lifestyle in Bibirevo. This is simply not the place. But I live right here, so what can I do? And I don’t care who thinks about it or what.

Stupid character. That's what mom says. And Seryozha: “If you don’t want to go to Paris, don’t go, stay in Moscow.” Yesterday he almost shouted this to my face, but have I ever listened to anyone?

Isn’t the result logical - I fall like a knockout at the sight of a photograph of my own mother, and now it hurts to walk, blood is oozing from my knee. And even more – it’s a shame. What and to whom were you trying to prove? Me too, an unfinished marathon runner. You just ran away so as not to have to explain yourself to Seryozha, didn’t you? But you still have to explain.

- What's happened? - Seryozha is sitting on the bed, he is offended, and I know that he is offended, but I pretend that I don’t notice anything. Stupid character.

“Nothing happened,” I answer. But the fact that I have a serious limp speaks for itself.

“Naturally,” he nods, carefully restraining the emotions that are still beating in waves. He has a hard time with me. I have a Nordic character, everything like my father. My father lived all his life in the Far North.

-Have you woken up long ago? – I ask as if nothing had happened, and Seryozha turns to the window. I take off my sneakers and tights, climb into the chair with my legs and begin to disinfect the wound. What an idiot, she broke her knee.

- It’s been a long time since you left! - he mutters, but I prefer not to hear the subtext. Subtext be damned. For two years Seryozha has been trying to accustom me to him, but he is no more successful than I am in training my cat. I just don't understand why you need to sleep together. It’s uncomfortable, it’s hot, there’s not enough blanket for two, and if I’m reading, the light bothers Seryozha. What's the point?

-What's wrong with your leg? – he finally asks.

“Nothing,” I shrug. Seryozha snorts.

- Of course, what else will you hear from you? Always one continuous “nothing.” If you crawl back covered in blood, you will say that everything is “ok.” What's happened?

“The enemies have attacked,” I smile. - I need to take a shower.

– Why are you talking to me in that tone?! – he suddenly explodes. But why is it unexpected? He probably sat in my bed for an hour wondering where I had gone. And he was angry.

“I don’t speak to you in any SUCH tone,” I mutter in exactly “that” tone, but I don’t care. I defiantly go to the bathroom, behind me Seryozha is quietly cursing. Nothing can be done about me.

We were supposed to go on vacation in two days - to Finland, to catch some huge fish that Seryozha was going crazy about. Every year, he and his father and some other friends go somewhere, into wild forests with mosquitoes and bears, in the hope of catching an even larger monster on a hook. I can’t stand the very idea of such a vacation; I would have become a vegetarian long ago if the idea of vegetarianism were not so “politicized.” I hate being adamantly “against.” But dragging a living creature out of the water by a hook...

“Why didn’t you just say no? You never had a problem with this!”

Legitimate question. It’s just that we’re talking about my mother, and it’s much more difficult to say “no” to her. And then, Seryozha didn’t ask me, he informed me that this time, he thinks I should go with him. Like, how long can you leave him alone on all holidays and vacations?

After all, as his woman, I have to...

And what will people think...

And it will be just great, he bought a new tent...

And then he ordered tickets, agreed on the terms and dates at his work. And I found myself in a difficult situation, because I didn’t want to go to Finland at all, but swearing again was not a good prospect. Providence intervened in the person of my mother. And Kuzma, my mother’s “new” singer, as it were - but who has heard his songs? Tall, slender, like a palm tree, tanned man with several perfect, carefully rehearsed smiles - he looked so strange, so ridiculous next to my mother. It didn’t suit her at all, like an ill-chosen accessory, but she liked it. She was crazy about him.

I found Ken, my Vivien.

In the end, my mother did exactly the same thing as Seryozha - she decided everything for me and booked tickets to Paris. Vacation, she said. And I repeated this to Seryozha. I will spend my holiday with my mother in Paris. I am very sorry that any fish will survive because I did not get to them.

I sit at the bottom of the bathtub with my arms wrapped around my knees as hot water pours over my head and back. My knee hurts, but that's okay. I can’t be alone, I hear the door opening, and my body, warmed by hot water, feels a cold stream of air. Seryozha opens the curtain and sits on the side of the bathtub.

Alice Clover

Pages: 80

Estimated reading time: 1 hour

Year of publication: 2016

Russian language

Started reading: 535

Description:

"I lost myself. I don’t understand anything at all about reality... As it turns out, I don’t know myself at all. Sometimes I am not me at all. And tonight revealed to me a new, innermost, mysterious side of me... And now I understand that I cannot even predict my actions. It turns out that you can expect a lot from me... It is possible that my thought is very strange and leads to indignation, but I am glad about it. I'm glad I outdid myself. I won’t hide it, it scares me... But it also brings me true pleasure, which not many can experience in life... I don’t hide the fact that I turned out to be much worse, even bad... I’m not at all the same, I’m not like the way my close people and even myself see me. In my soul there is a lot of room for lies, pain, betrayal. I didn’t expect from myself that I could change my mind so quickly... Apparently spontaneity is my spark...”