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Imi was born and raised in Europe, Hungary. After finishing his school years, he moved to Canada to search for a better life. He lived in Toronto for 13 years and currently resides in Vancouver. He is a romantic at heart with a strong desire to always do the right thing. He would like to give hope to the Chinese and Asian ladies with his story and send a message that love eventually finds everybody.
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The Immigrant (part 6) The Storm    

By Imi
2739 Views | 16 Comments | 11/13/2015 12:50:59 PM

There was a short interval of nervous silence after Kristy had sat down. Neither of us knew what to say or how to start. It was as if we were back in kindergarten where if a boy liked a girl, instead of saying something nice to her–even a simple “hi” would've done the job at that age–he just pulled her pigtails and ran away with a nervous laugh. Well, Kristy didn't have pigtails to pull, so I didn't run away; I just smiled at her nervously and asked, “Do you remember me?”



“Yes, you are Imi. You work with my mother in the restaurant. We met last weekend in the kitchen,” she said with a perplexed look.



“Yes, but we had met before, I mean we saw each other on a bus, four, perhaps five months ago.”



The bewildered expression seemed to take a hold of her face longer than I expected it would, and honestly, it made me slightly disappointed. I remembered her, but she didn't remember me. It was only me who felt thrilled by her beauty and couldn't forget her for months. Apparently, I hadn't made any impression on her. I was just another guy who she saw every day on the streets, buses, and in offices.



It was while some confidence started to fill up my downcast eyes again that her face had lightened up with a smile, and she said: “Of course, I remember you. How could I forget that day? It was a very sad day with that terrible accident that happened in the subway, and then, there you were. You are the gawking guy from the bus,” she said, and the smile got even broader. “You were cute but shy. You turned your head quickly away when you realized I stared back at you. I even recognized you when my mother showed me some pictures of you. Although there were not many clothes on you,” she added with a coy smile. “You know, the before and after photos. I even said to my mother I saw you before.”



“Really? She didn't mention that,” I said happily with my regained confidence and the growing urge to leave the bar (the band had resumed playing), and saunter the quiet streets in the neighborhood and just talk the night away. On the spur of the moment, I asked her, “Would you like to go for a walk? It's getting too loud in here.”



“Yes, why not. Let me just tell my mother we're leaving,” she said without hesitation.



“Do you want me to get something from the bar before we leave?”



“We can't drink alcohol on the streets, so it would be only an orange juice. Thanks!” she said and walked over to her mother's table.



We stepped outside after I had gotten her juice and a bottle of water for me. The weather was changing. The wind picked up and brought the smell of rain from far away into the burned city. We strolled the streets quietly. It was late. There was no one outside but us and an occasional lone cab or car that passed us. I asked her about that non-drinking policy on the streets, and she explained it to me.



In Canada, everything was so different from what I had experienced in my country. Back home, there was no, non-drinking policy or smoking policy. People drank and smoked where and when they wanted. I recalled, when I was a child, how many times I saw drunk men on the streets, staggering from one side of the road to the other. In Canada, I couldn't see one drunk man on the streets. If the police saw one, they put him in a detoxification center until he sobered up, and then released him. I liked these policies. Toronto was a clean city.



However, after a while, it was difficult for me to concentrate on what Kristy was saying. My mind kept shifting toward a particular thing–I wanted to hold her hand. The problem was, we barely knew each other. We had just started talking a few minutes ago. There wasn't any real reason to touch her hand other than the night was refreshingly beautiful and romantic with the wind blowing into our faces and playing with her hair, making her even more irresistible. While I was trying to come up with a solution to my craving problem, the night sky had lit up with a blueish light for a short second, exposing several ominous clouds above our heads. We both looked at each other with a puzzled “what the heck” expression on our faces. Two seconds later, the earsplitting sound of a crash of thunder wiped the mystified look off our faces and filled up our eyes with fright. It shook the ground under our feet just a bit, making Kristy jump into my arms, which I didn't mind at all, and rolled away with an angry rumble that might have torn the seams of the clouds above us because a small Niagara Falls opened over the city.



The streets were covered with water in a matter of seconds, and it started running around our feet. Kristy was still in my arms. Our clothes and hair were completely soaked. At that point, we were closer to my room than to the bar. I grabbed her hand and asked her, “We're very close to my room, would you like to go there?”



“Okay,” she said and started shivering as the cloudburst came down like there was no tomorrow.



She took off her high heels, and we started running. My hand was holding hers as we moved through the mist that the scorched urban jungle emitted because of the sudden torrential rain. It was scary. It was like we were in a horror movie, running almost blind through swirling fog and rain, in narrow alleyways. There was no complaint from Kristy; she kept the pace with me. The only noise that I heard was what her bare feet made on the steaming asphalt as she ran and the splashing sound when she stepped into a puddle.



By the time we reached the house where my room was, the rain had calmed down a bit, but the wind had picked up. Everybody was asleep. The windows were dark. We crept inside, hardly making any noise. I only heard Kristy's teeth chattering, following me all the way to my door. As soon as we were inside, I wrapped her in a big towel and held her tight.



These barely-nothing feminine clothes, dresses, and small tops gave no protection against anything Mother Nature could deliver as an unpleasant surprise. They were more like accessories of the female body, jewels of the imagination, a pure visual feast to the hungry eyes.



It was obvious to me, even though my mind was in a haze, fogged by the closeness of her shivering body, that she needed to take a hot shower and dry her clothes up.



“Kristy!” I said, immediately regretting that I had even opened my mouth to say anything because when she heard her name, she moved closer, snuggling her head into my chest even more with a cozy “hm-hmm.”



I didn't really want her to take a shower. I wished for her stand there in my arms, using my chest as a pillow while wrapped in a big towel until she got dry. I closed my eyes and said nothing. I rested my chin on her head, breathing the scent of her matted hair in and exhaling my loneliness. I only wanted to hold her hand, but I got almost everything. There was not much left between our bodies but some unshed, wet clothes and our restrained hunger.



As hard as it was to move away from her, I had to do it. She kept trembling in my arms.



“You should really take a shower now. I don't want you to get sick. Your mother would get mad at me.”



“Yeah. I guess you're right.”



“I could put your clothes in the dryer while you're taking a shower,” I suggested to her. “I'll turn around. Just leave them on the bed after you've taken them off.”



“Okay, but don't peek!”



“Don't worry, I won't.”



I spun around, but my head was full of graphic images of her taking her clothes off. Outside, the wind shook my small window for a second and then, left it rattled as it moved on. Inside, I was shaken as well. She oozed sensuality even though she didn't mean too. Or it might have been my insatiable appetite at that young age that set a small fire in my stomach every time I was around her.



I heard the door closing behind her when she left the room. I turned around and using my rough hands, clumsily collected her small, delicate things from the bed.



What am I doing?



I felt very hungry.


Copyright owned jointly by Author and CyberCupid Co., Ltd. Breach of copyright will be prosecuted.
Comments
(Showing 1 to 10 of 16) 1 2 More...
#2015-11-13 12:51:34 by JohnAbbot @JohnAbbot

Imi, you really have my attention now, and it isn't just the beautiful, naked girl in your bathroom, although that didn't hurt.

But what has my attention is that I am seeing things in your writing that I didn't see before. You've always been good at expressing emotions, and making the picture very clear as to what was happening, but now I am seeing certain turns of phrase that are really clever, and add to the prose. Here are a couple that really got my eye:

"I rested my chin on her head, breathing the scent of her matted hair in and exhaling my loneliness." - exhaling my loneliness is a very deft touch.

"There was not much left between our bodies but some unshed, wet clothes and our restrained hunger." - likewise nothing left between your bodies but your unrestrained hunger is very graphic without being graphic.

You've conveyed a strong sexuality in a way that leaves us feeling it under our skin, but does so in a way that comes across as art, not porn. This is not an easy thing to do, and there are famous polished and published authors who can't pull it off.

As for the story itself, the only thing that prevents it from really drawing us completely into serious tension as to what will happen - has Imi met his true love - is that we already know that you do not end up til death do you part with Kristy. Not because the story gives it away, but because we have already read versions of your later life.

However, there is still the tension of hoping that Imi will at least get lucky with Kristy and not go without as he did with Lily for so long. My strong hunch is that a younger, not yet so noble Imi, will in fact get some action this time. I am pulling for you my friend.

Salut! (beer)

#2015-11-14 00:12:45 by Imi5922 @Imi5922

@JohnAbbot

Thank you, John, for your comment!

Your words are overpraising, because believe it or not, it had taken me three months to come up with those two short sentences that you've mentioned above. I'm just messing with you. Everything's all good.:)

About this story: I began to write it after I had visited my girlfriend in China in May this year. And the reason for that was, she, uncannily, resembled Kristy in person, which I didn't see in her photos or when we chatted on cam. I truly, believe, there is one or more person in the world who we don't know about at all, but yet the exact images of us.
So, after 16 years, I've found a Chinese Kristy. Had I sat the two women next to each other, they would look like sisters if not twin sisters. Both women grew up in different countries, in different cultures, one is from the west the other one is from China, but the resemblance as I mentioned above is uncanny.
I would look at this story as a long introduction, which, hopefully, would be followed by another story, and is titled Autumn in Guilin, wherein I write about spending Mid-Autumn festival in Guilin with my current girlfriend.

Thanks again for your laudative words!

#2015-11-14 19:23:48 by Barry1 @Barry1

@imi5922

"I felt very hungry."

I agree with John your descriptions are very poetic and well written, Imi.

Although perhaps you're still a little too timid in some of your writing? For example, you're weaving within the reader's mind a heavy, almost brooding atmosphere of sensuality and desire. So at the very end, rather than simply saying

"I felt very hungry", perhaps what I would've said would've been,

"I felt very hungry. My pulsating manhood was by now truly alive, yearning to be unleashed, its engorged, rabid desires becoming almost uncontrollable. The thought of Kristy's svelte naked body in the adjoining room, so close to me, was almost too much to bear. I tip toed over to the door and silently opened it, my jaw then dropped at what I saw.... "

At this point, I'd finish the article, allowing the reader to wonder what on Earth had happened next. So when you write the next part, after word had got around of the intriguing, somewhat salacious story - your readership would've doubled!

If you'd like me to "ghost write" your next chapter, injecting a bit more overt imagery and hard core albeit tasteful material into it - using your name of course - please let me know! (devil)

#2015-11-15 09:26:00 by Macchap @Macchap

@Imi
It feels like I'm reading a page from a well-written novel. You have a fine way of writing, visuals of the "scene" appeared in my head. Well done, Sir.

#2015-11-15 18:45:21 by anonymous14189 @anonymous14189

Well done Imi. Your poetic command of English is probably the best there is on CLM, despite the fact that English is not your first language. With a sympathetic and corrective editor, you have the capacity to become a published writer.

#2015-11-16 00:03:08 by Imi5922 @Imi5922

@Barry1

Thank you for your comment, and also thanks for your offer to write the next part of this simple-minded story. Unfortunately, I have to say, thanks but no thanks.
There are some reasons for rejecting your well-intended offer that I'd like to point out to you.

1. We have different styles. If you wrote the next part, even if it were under my name, everybody would know the author wasn't me. You are more intelligent than me, and you use sophisticated words in your articles that an average Joe (No, it's not the right word. The word immigrant is more suitable here). So an immigrant Joe like me, and the majority of CLM members have to use a dictionary to understand them, and it disturbs the flow of your articles. It's like someone with a hiccup tries to spoon a hot soup into his mouth after he has cooled it down by blowing on it; there comes the hiccup. Instead of supping it into his mouth, the hiccup drags it into his throat, and he starts coughing. Although I can learn a lot of new words from your article, which isn't bad, but I won't use them in my daily life.

2. I'm afraid, you would weave your favorite theme into my story, which is squat toilets or even worse, scooping your breakfast in a brownish form out of a toilet, and by that, I would lose that small group of people that still reads my stories.

3. It seems that you can give (at least you think) valuable advice to fellow bloggers how to finish their articles, but when it comes to your writings, you prefer writing, parts after parts, about those stuff that I've just mentioned above. I feel that it is you that are kind of timid about expressing your feelings in your writings. You see, you had written a whole part about throwing feces out of the third or fourth-floor window of Tina's apartment, which, if I remember well, at the beginning of your series, was located on the ground floor with bars on the window. But this is not my point. My point is if you put your best effort and had this undeniable enjoyment writing about a smelly, and in my opinion, totally useless part, how come you had barely, if not at all, written about how you felt when you met Tina or when you looked in her eyes. I recall, and please forgive me if I can't quote it by heart, there was a scene when Tina asked if you wanted to make love and you answered with a yes and after that you had brought up the Pope as a metaphor. That was a good opportunity to talk about your feelings for this woman, and you talked about the Pope? I could relate anything to sex as a metaphor but the Pope.

So, with all due respect, if you'd like to teach me how not to be timid in my writings to express my feelings in a better way or how to finish a part, please, practice it first, and I might respect what you have to say. Until then, I just enjoy your endless, philosophical runs in your blogs, which are very well written.

@Macchap

If I painted a picture in your head with my words, I reached my goal. Thank you for your feedback!

#2015-11-16 22:51:51 by Imi5922 @Imi5922

@anonymous14189

Thank you for your kind words!

I have to tell you, secretly, that's what I'm trying to do, to publish one English book before I die. I guess I still have 25-30 years to accomplish that. I'm planning to write a number of short stories and publish the best 10-15 of them in one book. If I could accomplish that before I die, I would die happy. Now these stories, which I've finished three of them already, are different from what you can read on CLM. CLM, kindly, let me post some of my "lighter" stories even though the language is not perfect, and it gives me the opportunity to get some valuable feedback from the readers and if it's necessary to adjust something in my writing. What I don't like, if someone (Barry1) makes a suggestion about writing the upcoming part of my story. To me, that is just disrespectful. But what can I do? This is Barry; he likes to ruffle everybody's feathers instead of giving some constructive criticisms.

Thank you again for your comment!

#2015-11-17 12:44:28 by melcyan @melcyan

Imi, you have something in common with Barry. You both see yourselves as writers, but unfortunately, the vast majority of people who see themselves as writers will never get published. Your strength is that you have a great capacity to make yourself vulnerable and observe life in poetic detail straight from your heart. If you wholeheartedly follow your passion without ego, you may well achieve your goal despite the odds being against you.

Ignore Barry's words to you but still take careful note of Barry's other words on CLM. Observe where he succeeds and fails with his writing efforts and occasionally there will be a useful lesson for you. His past experience as a newsletter editor and his fear of being boring sometimes channel his writing in the wrong direction. There are times when Barry hits the mark with his writing and there are times when he misses by a long way. If you have your own ego fully under control, no person will be able to annoy you with their comments or suggestions for your writing. Other people, just like you, have a right to make mistakes. I wish you the best of luck with your writing goals.

#2015-11-17 14:02:01 by Barry1 @Barry1

@Imi5922

"What I don't like, if someone (Barry1) makes a suggestion about writing the upcoming part of my story. To me, that is just disrespectful. But what can I do? This is Barry; he likes to ruffle everybody's feathers instead of giving some constructive criticisms."

Thanks for your comments Imi. It seems my sledgehammer humour has been taken too literally by yourself. I remember the last time this occurred, when I advised you to please give Lily up, this irriated you and you went to the gym and did a workout, punching the weights, etc imagining it was me that you were punching into! Yet the ironic thing is that at the end of your series, you exactly followed my advice, given weeks earlier!

It seems I have an uncanny knack for irritating you with my beguiling flippancy, that you tend to take to heart. This is no bad thing however, I value and appreciate your earnest responses.

You said also,

"You are more intelligent than me".

Au contraire, I believe YOU are more intelligent than me, Imi. You possess a beautiful poetry in segments of your writing, made more impressive that English is your second language. I believe this is an awesone accomplishment and one that I could never emulate.

"So an immigrant Joe like me, and the majority of CLM members have to use a dictionary to understand them, and it disturbs the flow of your articles."

But why do you think the majority of CLM members can't understand all my words? We're talking about a pretty intelligent group of people here. Does anyone else share Imi's opinion that my prose is sometimes too sophisticated, my vocabulary too complex?

"I'm afraid, you would weave your favorite theme into my story, which is squat toilets or even worse, scooping your breakfast in a brownish form out of a toilet, and by that, I would lose that small group of people that still reads my stories."

Once again, I beg to differ, Imi. My firm belief is that if you gave us all a couple of thousand words about toilets and problems you'd intermittently encountered in your life re bouts of gastric diarrhoea and so forth, your audience would INCREASE, not decrease! These are down to earth, real life situations that afflict everyone from time to time, after all. We'd all be interested in your views and relevant experiences here. People get bored with too much romantic stuff, in my view. Angels swarming and swooning around endlessly with honeyed harps playing and cupid's frivolous fairies dancing delightedly at the bottom of the garden.

"I feel that it is you that are kind of timid about expressing your feelings in your writings."

I had to laugh when I read this, Imi. You think I may be a little timid in my writing? No doubt John Abbot would disaggree with this - it was he that CENSORED one of my articles when I described in detail a beautiful love making session with Tina. But John considered it was too hot to handle! Hence my laughter when you imagined I was "timid".

So when you say,

"with all due respect, if you'd like to teach me how not to be timid in my writings to express my feelings in a better way or how to finish a part, please, practice it first, and I might respect what you have to say."

I hope that given what I've said above, you can see now that indeed, I have practiced what I preach.

Let me end this by saying that I enjoy the poetry in your words, Imi. You're like a fine wine, getting better as time unfolds. As a writing afficianado, I very much appreciate your descriptive, colourful and enlivening imagery.

#2015-11-17 23:14:06 by QinQL @QinQL

@Imi5922


Sorry lmi, I heard of your secret words with other. As the same I have thought that you must have had your writing goals after i finished reading this blog article. There is a Chinese Idiom “语不惊人死不休”, just like what you said exactly in English “If I could accomplish that(a book) before I die, I would die happy.” I am just one of your fans here. So this secret is not a secret at all for all our readers here. You are able to speak it out proudly and loudly already. But could remind someone like Barry “secretly” or ignore them simply that you are not interested in 8)8). You can exchange your minds with others equally and being polite, also sometimes you are able to raise yourself up higher when you need to take views from all kinds of voices. It would make you look more handsome and attracted from others, especially women, Chinese women. But i knew you men enjoy “ fighting “ to have fun too :D

Dear lmi, after reading this blog article, especially your comment here with John, I feel i do like the way you share your personal love stories with us. Thank you! And there are some words came to my mind as well. Did you remember John have suggested your western guys traveling to china to meet several women in person? At first i heard of it, there was some hard for me to agree with him. We might take too seriously on our goals i realize now. Just take it easy at the very beginning, my friend. Being a wife/ husband or a girlfriend/boyfriend, there is only one for each other. But being friends we can have more as we can. This point is reasonable and acceptable in any cultures. For you. Just hold you back a little when you contact with them. And it would not ruin your imaginations about your future life and romantic minds with them. All of them could be one of possibilities, might be non possibilities but you just try to make more chances for yourself, also for her who will be your right one that she can find the best(you) by herself after also contacting others.

Just my opinion..... I always hope you well. And looking forward to reading your next blog articles. I do hope you will find her(most might the one from Guilin as you mentioned) soon instead of disappointments after flying to china again and again (hug)

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