第十七章(1/4)

可是，洪歌没有。她这回表现的让我奇怪。
                                                                                                                                                                以前要是出现这种三级工程“性”错误，她会拿支小蜡烛在我的肚皮上滴三十六颗小蜡油。洪歌稍微有点sm倾向，不过不太严重。
                                                                                                                                                                但是这回，她不但强忍住自己小馒头传来的剧痛，反而关注地探视公机“加油管”的伤情。“老胡，疼不疼！”她关切地问我。
                                                                                                                                                                我有点受宠若惊，“不，不疼！”的确不是很疼。多年的“铁枪功”不是白练的，要不那次的“血肿”也不会那么快就恢复。
                                                                                                                                                                单比那个地方的抗击打能力，我至少相当于“八级”街头打手，不知道这个能不能相当于高级职称。洪歌安慰过我之后，还挣扎起来要去给我煮碗汤醒醒酒，“这肯定是喝酒喝多了。”我连忙拦住她，扶她在床上躺好，又弄来热毛巾敷在她的小馒头上，可能创可贴的大小更合适些。
                                                                                                                                                                总之，希望没有淤血才好。洪歌好像很感动，紧握着我的手，“老胡，你，你对我太好了！以前，我太不是人了，我是妓女，我是畜生，我瞎了狗眼！我是日本鬼子，我——”
                                                                                                                                                                我连忙拿起电话拨120，看来她还把脑袋磕伤了。难道我的“铁枪功”又升级了？
                                                                                                                                                                
                                                                                                                                                                洪歌按住电话，温柔地像泡了四十九分钟的方便面，“洪歌，我是你的初恋是吧？你不管怎么样都爱我是吧！”我心里有点发毛，“你，你咋了？得艾滋病了？”“放你娘的狗臭屁！”洪歌突然怒吼一声，吓得我好悬一屁股坐地上。“我才不会的那种病呢！”洪歌意识到自己失态了，可也不好意思硬充温柔了。
                                                                                                                

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