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- Herausgeber: Berlinable GmbH
- Kategorie: Erotik
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
A dreary lockdown winter, nowhere to go, endless Zoom meetings. Art teacher Derek allows his mind to wander, to daydream about his beautiful neighbour Mary. Is it just his imagination, or is there some chemistry between them? They've had a few neighbourly conversations. Should he ask her out? He finally decides to make a move and gets far more than he bargained for. It turns out they should have spent the whole miserable quarantine year like this, rather than wandering about each other from the apartment next door.
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FEBRUARY SOMETHING, 2021
Jeremiah K. Black
Artcover: Ray Litsala
Copyright: BERLINABLE
Berlinable invites you to leave all your fears behind and dive into a world where sex is a tool for self-empowerment.
Our mission is to change the world - one soul at a time.
When people accept their own sexuality, they build a more tolerant society.
Words to inspire, to encourage, to transform.
Open your mind and free your deepest desires.
All rights reserved. It is not permitted to copy, distribute or otherwise publish the content of this eBook without the express permission of the publisher. Subject to changes, typographical errors and spelling errors. The plot and the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to dead or living people or public figures is not intended and are purely coincidental.
It was February something, 2021. When did all this horrible shit start? May? April? Jesus, had it really been that long already?
Derek sat at his monitor, his fingers resting on the keyboard. There was Kendrick and Sarah and Violeta and seven or eight more round little icons on the screen. One was a dog with big bulgy eyes. The other was an anime character with ridiculous long white hair. One was just a blue disk with a white letter J in the middle.
He looked at the chat on the right-hand side. He yawned. Fucking Google Meet. Again.
“Good Morning!” he had written. “Welcome to class today.” And then there were other things typed out, like him telling the class what they were going to do today. Things like: “In the Google Stream you’ll see a link to today’s lesson.” But he knew that only two, maybe three, would look at it, open it up, do any goddamn work at all.
Was today’s lesson Appropriation? Pop Art? Did he really have to talk about fucking Andy Warhol again?
He adjusted his headset.
How long since he showered? He looked at himself on the screen…at his little thumbnail video window in the upper left corner. He studied himself as he spoke. Being the only thing on the screen that ever changed, he looked at himself a lot. His short black hair was kinked, springing up at all angles. The hair under his beard line, on his neck, was scruffy, stubbled. Was that the same shirt he wore yesterday?
“Good morning,” he said into the little microphone that jutted out from his headset as he fingered it, moved it closer, then changed his mind, moved it farther away. “Thanks for showing up.” His eyes tracked up and down the chat. They were all muted.
He wasn’t thankful. Every day when he opened a new window, typed “goo” in the Google Chrome address bar, watched googleclassroom.com autofill, he wished that nobody would show up, that they all called in sick or skipped en-masse, that his computer would sizzle and die, that electricity would just magically, tragically fail, and he could lean back in his faux leather armchair and look forward to an entire day where he didn’t feel like a sad little add-on to his computer.
He typed in: “How is everybody today?” knowing full well he wouldn’t get a single response.
And it was snowing. The windows were wet with millions of little beads of water. The bare, dark trees were shaking in the wind and those old storm windows rattled, enough to remind Derek that they needed attention.
He looked over at the little round, digital thermostat and it read 68. It felt like 57. 68 outside feels like a vacation. Here, in his 1920s Milwaukee upper, 68 meant he had to microwave his coffee every 15 minutes.
