y head iween my eyes. He said all these in perfectly crisp Ameri English.
I knew I could not battle the Russian immigration folks to get Christov out. So I applied for a US passport for Christov ― I called him Brandon Christov aook my surname; he was a son I fathered and now I was there to make amends for my “sin” ― and staked out while the paperwork was done. I reed it was easier to get my home ageo cur with me than a fn place to do so.
The short of the long story. Our liaisons caught the eye of one of Boris’ ehey knew Boris was emotionally promised and thus weak. One day while we were out, we were ambushed. Boris took a bullet for me. In his dying breath, he told me to take his son, Christov, with me and look after him like a son.
Sex with Boris was good. He was a rough Russian bear. I’d think if I were to find a modern version of Boris, it’ll have to be the boxing Klitchko brothers. But I wouldn’t have known if they were as good as Boris in bed.
Damn! I was caught. Boris and I grew on each other and it wasn’t very long when during each meeting, we both talked a lot. We met every day for the three months I was there and in a week, we were dating. In a fht, we were having sex. And thereafter, we hardly went out, except for supplies.
Finally, as we took off on a British Airways flight off to London and then on another US Airways flight bay home in the US, I was able to breathe normally.
Boris was 38 and I was 20. He had a three-month-old son. He was estranged from his wife after she found out he was gay after the baby was born. He fought her and got custody of the boy after she drank herself wasted in that short two months after the child was born.
I booked the flight out of Russia slated for the busiest time period of the day. This way, the sheer crowds might steer some attention away from us.
Brandon had been a joy since a kid and he has blossomed. I hope Boris will be happy with my work. Brando a 4.0 average