Short story by Radu Vartolomei

                                                 A young little butterfly's story

Young little butterfly was beautiful.

She just turned sixteen and her inhumanly light skin was glowing underneath the flowery sheets.  So pretty she was that the whole room complete with flaky walls and all just seamed to embrace her like a small universe.

The small room was just a temporary setup, no later then today she was to move to an apartment in the Latin Quarter were she would live the bohemian life. Her boyfriend, the one with olive skin, was sealing the deal on the new flat and that's why he needed her passport.

Not long ago, on a magrebian heat, she left for France to work as a waitress in a small café just beside the Eiffel Tower. That's what the well tanned man from the recruitment agency told her just before he left in his brand new BMW.

Young little butterfly was smart.

In her small industrial town, she was top of the class in the best high school there was. After the summer  was over she was ready to move to a much smaller Paris were she was going  to study in a prestigious academy to witch, her iron working father and electrician mother, could not support her.

Young little butterfly was in-loved.

Her amber-eyed lover took good care of her. He caressed her like only a man knows how to caress.

Some times, so much love just made her soared and unable to work for a time. When that happened, he would tenderly tuck her to bed, kiss her and promise that he will never do that again but that she must be a bit more obedient next time.

            She would often make love to him and his skin, of an ever-changing color, would wear the taste of other women. His manly hands made her flesh tremble and some times it felt like tens of mouths would bite her breast in a single night.

Some of the other men caressed her. They would say that she is begging for their tenderness and that's why sometimes they are a bit rough whit her.

Gentlemen would always express their gratitude by leaving small colored notes on the side of the bed and her jealous lover would pick them up and throw them away in his pocket.

Young little butterfly was happy. She was watching large, skin colored, snowflakes falling on that frozen courtyard in Paris, which only had one small miracle to hide.

Right about now some lover's hand is running down her youthful waist.

Little butterfly is being caressed.