CHAPTER 6. SO MANY SINGLE MEN OUT THERE, YET I LOVE A MARRIED ONE

The next day was different: they gave him the tablet with his family a few minutes before, not after, and this time she began moving only after she'd milked him with her internal muscles during a long kiss. His soul was torn by how terrible and beautiful it was simultaneously. He felt like a butterfly pinned to cardboard, and more than anything, he didn't want his wife to be given such a tablet now—because this woman had begun to mean something to him too.

The next day brought a restaurant where, after dinner, she led him to the kitchen and then into a separate alcove, where she knocked him down again and turned him into dessert for herself, complete with cream and jam, promising that tomorrow she'd let him have a taste. It was quiet madness. His wife would never allow herself to sink to such depths. Neither would he. But she saw nothing shameful in treating herself to dessert after lunch. They say you need to eat a peck of salt together. Turns out you can share sweets too. This secret, wordless orgy triggered a sharp adrenaline rush. It felt like they'd gone on reconnaissance together. It was something more than quality footage you wouldn't be ashamed to show the bosses.

The next evening at home was sweet for both. His manhood was dipped in warmed chocolate, while the area below her belly was smeared with cream and jam. Then they both washed in the bathtub, and once again he found himself conquered right there on the floor. The tablet — with family surveillance — stopped showing up.

Only days later did they show him that cursed YouTube channel on the tablet, reporting that according to concerned citizens, he'd disappeared and most likely either met Khashoggi's fate—dismembered in the Israeli embassy — or was sitting somewhere under an unjust sentence handed down yesterday in Basmanny Court. The suggestion was to stop going to Israel, get plastic surgery, and remain in the space program as if nothing had happened. Later they'd plant someone's corpse and issue a death certificate for the widow. The alternative was being handed over to Basmanny justice with care packages every couple of months — all because they'd fallen for his eyes.

The surgery turned out to be a whole chain of operations, requiring a long hospital stay. The bed rest prescribed was so strict he had to use a device designed for what was previously handled with bedpans. This apparatus had several other functions, one of which he had to experience almost immediately.