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Uncle is a man
墨書 Inktalez
Spring, flourishing, gathering momentum, spring breeze, spring rain, spring flowers.
At this moment, I have already anticipated the elegance of his long hair entwined around his neck - my simple and realistic encounter with Qiao Yue, our spring beginning with a meal.
He is a man, but also a woman, my brief lover, my temporary lover, presumptuous, a middle-aged man, I love him desperately, pursue him. In a restaurant called "Xingying," he ordered a caviar salad. Qiao Yue's rosy tongue swept over the black caviar, like a flexible snake, easily crushing them bit by bit, the rich taste bursting on the tongue, I silently stared at Qiao Yue's hand. He picked up a croissant, long and slender, with distinct joints. I took a bite of the beef, feeling a bit parched, and this hand passed me a glass of clear lemon water. Clear, just like his eyes, swaying with my infatuation.
"I am Qiao Yue."
At this moment, he led me, grasping my wrist, and we walked side by side on Wutong Street. In the obscure night, something gradually became clear—Qiao Yue ah. Qiao Yue uncle, we are wrong. He is truly beautiful, a "middle-aged man" so beautiful, that is my desire, my ups and downs, my muse, my master.
For the sake of beauty, I recklessly disregarded everything, embracing fervent hopes, falling in love deeply and passionately - as if in a dream, with a "middle-aged man" who is so beautiful, he is my ardent and forever loyal lover.
He is so beautiful, flawless from tongue to fingertips.
Because he is so beautiful, he is too beautiful - it makes people unable to help themselves, without reservation, I have to love him.
I started living at Qiao Yue's house when I was fourteen, and now I am eighteen, while Qiao Yue is twenty-eight.
I like Uncle, just like him, but Uncle loves me.
I used to rarely call Qiao Yue "Uncle." I called him by his name "Qiao Yue" like everyone else. Every time I called him, he would correct me seriously - "Uncle." Qiao Yue is ten years older than me, exactly one cycle, but we have no generation gap. Except for the damn love that makes him deeply painful, in life, in work, Uncle is a calm and self-contained winner. Elegant and calm, he is someone people rely on. Before I was sixteen, Qiao Yue seemed to have never lost so badly. He only cared that he didn't get the most favorite offer, but it was also passable.
I should start with that red silk underskirt.
At that moment, he questioned me: Why take this skirt from the wardrobe? Qiao Yue was shocked, and there was a visible hint of panic that she was eager to conceal.
His gaze slid down my calf to my rosy nails, and at that moment, I ignored his prohibition, standing barefoot on the snowy white carpet, reveling in its soft, furry texture. "Qiao Yue," I wiggled my toes, showing off the vibrant color I had just painted on my nails. Qiao Yue's silk dress was a bit large, with two thin straps hanging on my shoulders, smooth as long hair. The soft cut of the silk was truly enchanting, irresistible. He indeed avoided looking, bending down to pick up the slippers I had dropped at the end of the coffee table. Even as I fidgeted, Qiao Yue had to bow his head to help me put them on. He easily caught my ankle, and as I tried to evade him, I accidentally stepped on Uncle's palm.
This time, Qiao Yue didn't sigh, but instead took a deep breath, visibly annoyed.
And I ran barefoot up the stairs, happily diving onto the bed on the second floor.
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