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Every time he would make a cocktail specially for me. The sky-blue liquid glowed with a psychedelic color, which made me want to indulge myself in it and never wake up. In this way, I would not get tired of the real and illusory wine even if I drank it many times.
I asked him: "Does this wine have a name?"
He replied: "Yes, it's called 'forgetting'."
"Forgot?" I asked, lying on the bar with my chin in my hands.
"Yes, forget."
"Why is it called this name?"
He didn't answer my question directly. He just rubbed my hair gently with his hands and said with a smile: "You are drunk."
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A beautiful story about rebirth, about the uncle-nephew love affair at the end of the year.
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Mouxi's first erotic short story in her life, a little bloody and perverted, not a VIP article, welcome to join in
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