How to Have Sex With an Angel
Copyright Notice: by Sergiu Somesan. All rights reserved.
The above information forms this copyright notice:
© 2025 by Sergiu Somesan.
All rights reserved.
ADULT CONTENT - 18+ READERS ONLY!
„This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review."
When I read the ad in the paper, I circled it with my pen, then, looking around carefully, I turned the paper face down as if I was afraid someone else would see it and beat me to it. The advertisement was blunt: 'Exotic animal keeper for exotic animal farm. Willing to work in remote locations required. Attractive salary and minimum one year'. Next to the advertisements column was a report on the bank robbery: "Yesterday afternoon there was an attempted armed robbery at the local bank. Only a few minutes before closing time, two individuals appeared at one of the bank's counters and, when it was their turn, pulled out pistols and demanded all the day's takings. While the teller was preparing the money for them, one of the bank guards, lying on the ground by the robbers, took advantage of the two men's inattention, pulled out a pistol and shot them dead. More details and an exclusive interview with the guard, who was seriously wounded in the shootout, in tomorrow's edition, if his health permits". Next to the article were photos of the two robbers and a little further down, my picture. In it I looked pale as if I had been badly wounded, and anyone who had seen the picture in the paper alone would have given me little chance of survival. I gulped down the cola that had warmed up and hurried to a telephone. True, the paper had appeared this morning, but remember who was hanging around my job? I smilingly slipped a coin into the phone: I already considered it my job, and I don't know why it all seemed to come naturally. Too easy and too natural.
"Hello!"
There were only flicks and pops in the receiver, as if the sound of my voice was seeking its way to its target.
Eventually, someone answered:
"Hello... yes, go ahead, please."
From the sound of his voice, it sounded like an older man, cultured and calm.
I composed a similar voice:
"My name is Jim Warren, and I'm calling about your ad.... keeper for the kennel..."
"Oh... of course, Mr. Warren..."
As my mind was mechanically recording the information on how I could get to the hatchery, something stirred. A restless little devil whispered to me that the one at the end of the line seemed to know my name very well and had stopped at the last moment. Impossible. Nobody knew anything, least of all the stranger on the phone. whom I had decided to contact only a few minutes before.
On the train on the way to my future job, leisurely shaking the old and almost empty carriage, I decided to keep my new job for as long as possible. Maybe in the meantime the accomplices of the two murdered robbers will forget about me. Who will surely want revenge. I was mulling over yesterday's events in my mind and still couldn't figure out how I got out of the hospital so easily. As night fell, I slipped under the nose of the policeman assigned to protect me. I didn't really trust the police and their ability to protect me for too long, so it was better to go it alone...
After hours of traveling by train through a monotonous plains landscape, suddenly, almost unexpectedly, everything around me began to change. The plains gave way to rocky hills, which, after only a few kilometers, had also turned into steep mountains, where here and there a few stubborn jnepenos tried to climb unsuccessfully. When, in another hour, we arrived at the terminus station, it seemed to me that we had arrived at the bottom of a huge stone cauldron from which only the railroad line was slipping out, as if by stealth, through a narrow gorge. Here all the passengers al alighted, and in a few moments were lost in a hurry on the road behind the station. On the platform there remained only a movement clerk and three mountain men with hard looks and hard faces, cut as if from the rock of the mountains that surrounded us. As their faces did little to incite me to conversation, I turned to the uniformed clerk, who looked at me anxiously as I approached him. He glanced furtively at the three mountaineers, and at one point it seemed to me that he wanted to enter the station building and slam the door behind him. I picked up my pace and asked him, pointing to the newspaper ad:
"Hello! How can I get to the Ronsson farm?"
I could see his face change and he looked again at the three, who had suddenly become attentive. Then he looked frightenedly at me with big, empty eyes, as if he hadn't seen me.
"Uh... Ronsson's farm... there's a road leading to it just behind the station. It's about three kilometers from here...," he said stumbling, a little late.
Three kilometers... There was no point in looking for any means of transportation, especially as I had no luggage with me except the little duffel bag, which was not only light, but half empty.
I gave a nod of my head and was on my way. Suddenly an idea occurred to me. What if I could find out a few minutes sooner what work awaited me?
"No offense... Perhaps you can tell me what kind of animals are raised on the farm? You know, I'm about to get a job there as a guard..."
This time the man's face changed completely. He looked at me for a long minute without saying anything, just opening and closing his mouth without a sound coming out.
"Animals?" He mumbled at a late moment.
"Yeah, what kind of animals?" I repeated urgently, and all sorts of diseases specific to the highlands, due to the lack of iodine in the drinking water, began to run through my mind.
From what I remembered, it seemed to produce entirely different ailments, and I was just about to repeat the question, when the man took three lightning-quick steps toward the station office door, slammed it behind him, and I distinctly heard the key twist twice in the lock. I turned back to the three Highlanders, but they were already striding away with long, measured strides, and, seeing their broad backs, I did not feel much like interrupting their walk. I approached the door closed so suddenly on my nose. A frightened voice could be heard from beyond it:
"I'm not lying, really! I heard a voice asking me about the Ronsson farm... And about what kind of animals they raise there..."
A woman's sultry voice answered:
"It's natural to hear voices in the evening asking you about the road to hell, if you start sucking juniper brandy as the sun gives the first moan. You'll end up like the man before you, talking to the railroad tracks alone... You'll lose your job, you bastard, and leave me and the children on the road..."
"I didn't have anything to drink today," he started to clear his guilt, but the sharp sound of a few slaps made me realize that he had a wife who was extremely easy to turn words into action.
I preferred to leave without insisting, although I wondered how much the clerk could have drunk to make her think she was seeing ghosts... Or that she could only hear my voice. I had once drunk juniper schnapps, and for three days I was sick. But I still didn't see any ghosts... Maybe I didn't drink enough. If the farm had it, I could try that. For a year, I could try a lot...
There were only two roads behind the station: one led to the little town only a stone's throw away, and the other, barely a little way up, lost itself in the mountains. I got a better grip on my pack and started to climb up the steep climb. To the left and to the right of the road, grayish cliffs rose up, broken here and there by red-hot rocky ridges. In the fading light, they looked like the blood trails of a giant slaughtered high in the brains of the mountains. The atmosphere had become downright oppressive, so I was glad when I spotted the house. It looked more like a slightly larger hut, which continued back with a few low buildings. "That's probably where they keep the animals," I said to myself and increased my steps. Somewhere in the back of my subconscious, I was left with the reaction of the station clerk and involuntarily thought of the most catastrophic scenarios. The truth is that there was only one I would not have been happy with: the one where snakes were growing on the farm. I can't stand snakes and have never been able to explain why. In fact, it's such a common phobia in most people that you don't really need to explain it, because everyone understands. With that in mind, I knocked on the door.
An older man opened the door, but he seemed burly and quite vigorous in the pale light of sunset.
