Template:Appendix 2

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Note, German CHRIS HELMBRECHT's account of moving to Russia, is right after September 11, 2001. In which he was in NEW YORK CITY when the World Trade Center fell. The original 2013 book is in German and is still available to purchase today on Amazon.com.

CHRIS HELMBRECHT, born in 1971, has been living in Moscow for ten years after working in New York and Tenerife. After a career as a [German] federal police officer and as one of the best extreme snowboarders in Germany, he now runs a creative agency and is one of the best-known party makers and DJs in the city. His blog on stern.de about the wild life in the Russian metropolis caused a sensation. He also writes for various magazines and is the initiator of the English language moscowblog.com. In 2012 he played the leading role in the Russian short film Ya Vernus (Eng. "I'll be back").

More about the author, the clubs and (night) life in Moscow:chrishelmbrecht.com moscow-blog.com

www.weparties.com

Chris Helmbrecht

Fucking Moscow!

Sex, Drugs & Vodka

WILHELM HEYNE VERLAG MUNICH

Preliminary remark

The following descriptions do not claim to be factual. They deal with typified people who could exist in one way or another. These archetypes become part of a work of art through the artistic design of the material and its classification and subordination in the overall organism and become so independent compared to the images described in the text that the individual, personal-intimate is objectified in favor of the general, symbolic of the figures. The text is recognizable for the reader, so the text is not exhausted in a reportage-like description of real people and events, but has a second level behind the realistic level, since the author plays with the entanglement of truth and fiction, which deliberately blurs borders .

Original edition 08/2013

© 2013 by Wilhelm Heyne Verlag, Munich, in the Random House GmbH publishing group Editor: Elly Bosl Cover design: Stefanie Freischem, yellowfarm gmbh using fotolia.com/tribalium81;istockphoto/fatmayilmaz; shutterstock/FashionB; shutterstock/Alex Moe

Set: Buch-Werkstatt GmbH, Bad Aibling

ISBN: 978-3-641-08381-6

www.heyne.de

Departure

Victor picks me up from the airport. It's gray and cloudy outside at minus 15 degrees. "Welcome to Moscow, the city of sin," he greets me.

Then we are chauffeured in his black Gelandewagen for two hours through the suburbs to the city center, past countless prefabricated buildings and tenements. The closer we get to downtown, the better the houses look. There is snow on the road, but the many dirty Ladas and Volgas drive as if it were summer and the roads were dry. In between there is always a luxury car, often with blue lights and security guards. There is jostling and printing, a miracle that there are no accidents. At some point we get stuck in traffic. The driver turns and looks at Victor without a word. He just nods. Then the chauffeur pulls the car to the right and drives onto the sidewalk. For the next few kilometers we roll past the traffic jam. Every now and then we have to stop at a traffic light, drive around a lamppost or pedestrians. Our driver honks and curses even as he shoos a woman with a stroller in front of him. I'm shocked. Victor just says, »Time is money. I have to get back to the office. If they catch us, we'll just pay a little bribe and then we'll be on our way."

Finally we arrive at Victor's house. He lives in one of the Seven Sisters, one of the Stalin skyscrapers from the 1950s. Victor shows me the apartment and immediately sets off again. "I'll pick you up after work," he says. "Make yourself at home."

When he's gone, I look out the window. The apartment is on the ninth floor and below me lies the city, shrouded in a gray veil of smog and cold. "What a shithole," I think. "This is by far the most terrifying city I've ever seen."

At the moment, however, I prefer this Odnis to Tenerife. Anything is better than the sunny pensioners' paradise where I was still working as Marketing Director a few weeks ago. Actually, everything was relaxed, but then one day one of my two bosses got in touch. "Would you come to my office, please?" he asked. I already suspected nothing good. A little later he actually said, 'I'm sorry, boy. You did a good job, but we didn't get the next round of funding. we have to let you go You are just too expensive. Please hand over your projects to the others. After that you can go.« Then I found out that I was getting paid for the next three months. I just nodded and walked out. Outside, on the office's huge terrace, it was sunny and beautiful. It was February, there was snow everywhere in Europe, but here the thermometer showed 20 degrees plus. I've been out here a lot lately, fleeing the cold and dark office for five minutes, soaking up the sun and looking out to sea. "What the hell," I just thought. It was actually clear that things would not go well with this company for much longer. Somehow I didn't want to give up hope: after almost six years of working in New York and a terrible end, 9/11, the job in Tenerife was a welcome change. BloB wasn't a job anymore. What to do? I still had enough savings to last a few months. And the three paid months, including car and apartment. So look for a job again and then see where to go My phone rang. On the display was a funny number "007... Ah, James Bond," I thought, trying to guess what country code that was.

'Hello Chris, how are you? This is Victor, remember?” Of course, I remembered! Victor is an investment banker originally from Lithuania and one of my New York friends. We met two years ago on a ski trip in Vermont. In New York, Victor, who likes Italian girls, liked to come to the pasta dinners of my Italian girlfriend at the time. I hadn't heard from him since then, other than a few irrelevant emails. "Well, just lost my job," was my slightly depressed reply. 'Come to Moscow,' Victor said spontaneously, 'here the Russian bar is dancing and the ruble is rolling. In earnest. The economy is booming, the party life is amazing and I'm sure you'll find a job here. Actually, I'm calling because I wanted to come visit you. But for now it's best if you come to me first."

That's probably the famous hint, I thought as I sat down at the computer and looked up flights ten minutes later. A week later I was on the plane. Tenerife - Berlin - Moscow. And now I'm here. The first time Victor is trying his best. He takes as much time as he can. While he's working, his driver drives me around town and I go sightseeing. Or I visit strangers with whom Victor made appointments for me. I should get to know the city and make as many contacts as possible. Some of the meetings are already real interviews. But in the end it's always the same:

"Do you speak Russian?"

"No, a week ago I didn't even know I was going to Russia."

"Pity. Your CV is very good, but we can't use you if you don't speak Russian."

I'm not so sure anymore if I want to move here at all. The people on the street scowl. You never smile. It's the same in the offices. Except that the managers still have a considerable portion of arrogance.

"And how was your day?" Victor asks thoughtfully in the evening.

"Not so good. I don't think the city is for me. Neither do the people. Somehow I don't get along with the Russians."

“Bullshit!” replies Victor. “You just have to see behind the hard shell. There is a soft core there. And the women! Yes, they are very special. Come on, let's go to a bar for dinner and then for a drink."

It's been like this every night since I've been in Moscow. Victor takes me to one of the best restaurants in town. We eat and talk. At some point he flirts with the ladies at the next table, and then we go to a bar with the girls. Strangely enough, there are always a lot of girls sitting in the restaurants, usually in pairs in front of a pot of tea. Victor is practiced. He gets the girls ready within a few minutes and brings them to our table. I'm speechless. feel naive I don't know what to do with my interlocutor, because most of them don't speak English, and Victor soon loses interest in translating. In between he says things like: "Man, they're both really hot for you. I told them that you are a DJ living in Spain. On an island.” In fact, that's true. Except I'm not a pro DJ but the former manager of an Internet booth, and that the island is not called "Ibiza" and is not exciting, but that it is a matter of the pensioners' paradise of Tenerife. But how is Victor supposed to know that?

"Which one do you want?"

That's Victor's standard question, and my answer is pretty much always the same: "None." I don't mean to be bitchy, but somehow the girls don't turn me on. I have a communication problem and I'm slowly getting enough of the city.

"OK, OK. Let's go to a club today." Finally, something different. Our driver takes us there. When we arrive there are already Bentleys, big dark SUVs and big Mercedes limousines on the sidewalk.

"What's going on here?" I ask, excited like a little kid in front of a toy store.

"This is Shambala, Moscow's best place, and there's a private party going on at the moment."

"Do we have an invitation?"

"We don't have to," Victor replies a little arrogantly. We pushed past the crowd towards Tur. Victor greets friendly. The guy at the door shakes his head and says something like "Sorry, we're having a private party today" in Russian. Victor reaches into his coat pocket and shakes the doorman's hand. He now nods in a friendly manner and pushes the grid away. Victor pulls me by my jacket into a dark, run-down courtyard. On the left is a door, and from there you can hear the pounding of the bass. Yes, that sounds like a good party. Inside we hand in our jackets. I'm surprised that neither the club nor the cloakroom cost anything.

"How did you get us in anyway?" I ask Victor. He grins and pulls a 1,000-ruble note out of his jacket pocket before handing it over.

'It was even cheaper than I thought. I was counting on 2,000 rubles.' That's about fifty euros. "But then he let us both go for a thousand."

That's how I know Victor, the little rascal.

We go down the stairs. The club is not big but there are two dance floors. One is directly above the other and has a glass bottom. It appears to be closed today. There are a lot of teenagers downstairs. In the whole club, it seems, no one is older than 19, apart from the waitresses and a couple of bodyguards. Otherwise, Victor and I are already the oldest here at over thirty.

"Rich kids," Victor says. “I have no idea what the reason for the celebration is. Maybe it's a birthday, maybe a student party.«

“And the luxury cars out there? Whose are they?”

'The kids, of course. Man, you're in Moscow. Come on, let's go get a drink. They're free today. The children of the rich pay too. Enjoy it.«

Victor pursues his favorite pastime and hits on women. Or should I rather say "little girls"? I'm a little bored, but only briefly, because then I notice that two girls are dancing on the glass dance floor above us. Both are stark naked. After a while you probably can't call it "dancing" anymore, because they play, caress and kiss each other. And again and again they do the splits and press their vagina against the glass. I must have been staring quite a bit, because after a while Victor comes up to me and asks, "Why are you looking so stupid? It's normal here. Come on, let's go over to the stairs, we can see the spectacle better from the side."

"Are the girls here all clean-shaven?" I ask as I watch them chupa chup each other.

"Yes, that's usual," replies Victor confidently. One of the dancers is flirting with me, but I'm not sure if she's serious or if it's part of her show.

When I turn around, Victor has already chatted up two women.

"Hey, this is Chris from the Canary Islands," he introduces me. "He's a pro surfer and DJ." Well, this time he almost got it right. After all, I used to be a professional snowboarder, so the sports equipment looks similar to a surfboard.

"This is Nastia and Sveta," he says. Both are barely older than 18, but look very elegant. They're not the typical suburban girls that Victor usually picks up. Lo and behold, both speak English. After a while I find out that Nastia's father is in the oil business and Sveta's father is a construction worker. I like the girls and I'm waiting for Victor's "Which one do you want?" question. But then someone pushes me from behind. I turn around, a girl is standing behind me. She is beautiful with blonde medium length hair and blue eyes. She must be in her early twenties. Somehow she doesn't fit into this society, her charisma is rather rural and naive. She has a cigarette in her hand and clearly asks for a light, although once again I don't understand anything.

"Sorry, I don't smoke," I reply, she turns away. Somehow the girl looks familiar to me. When I try to get a closer look, she grins at me and pops a chupa chups in her mouth. I have to laugh and go over to her. We try to exchange a few words, but she doesn't speak a word of English. We can't get any further with hands and feet either. I turn to Viktor, but he's gone.

"Sorry, I have to look for my friend," I say. She smiles shamefacedly. "Do not run away."

Victor is standing at the bar talking to another woman. "What about Nastia and Sveta?" I ask. “They both left pretty quickly when you went to see the blonde. They were only interested in you. But don't worry, I have a date for agreed on Sunday. Then it's R 'n' B Night at the Garage Club. It's a good club too. What was that blond angel?'

“That was one of the strippers. Come on! Come along. you have to translate We'll make it clear! And she also had a partner.«

"Hm, that costs money," says Victor.

"Really? Do you think? I have the feeling that this can also be done without.«

"Let's see," says Victor. But by the time we get to the corner where I left her, she's gone.

»Well!«, says Victor, »Someone else was probably faster. Come on, let's go home. I have to work tomorrow.' I'm disappointed, but raved about the 'chupa chups woman' on the way home. Today I liked Moscow for the first time.

Victor and Victoria

The next day Victor comes home earlier. We go to the supermarket around the corner to buy some food. The prices are steep, sometimes even higher than in the Big Apple.

"Moscow is one of the most expensive cities in the world," says Victor. He explains to me that Russia has a centralized structure and that Moscow is at the center. If you want to do business, you have to go to Moscow, whether you're selling timber from the tropical rainforest or diamonds from the Far East. So a lot of rich businessmen come to the city regularly. Many now even have their own apartments and offices here. Out in the open country there is nothing. If people find work there at all, they don't earn more than 200 euros a month, while here in the city they can get between 1000 and 3000 euros. And there is also the opportunity to make a career here. Young and pretty girls in particular are looking for a rich man who will marry them or keep them as mistresses and pay for them. You can shop cheaply in the markets and on the outskirts of the city, but the center is mostly populated by the rich and the middle class. Life here is correspondingly expensive.

Muscovites call everything up to the third ring road the center, although Europeans tend to think of the area inside the first ring, the so-called Garden Ring, as the center. In the largest country on earth, the dimensions are just different. Officially, Moscow now has around 11 million inhabitants, making it the largest city in Europe. However, Viktor tells me, there are still a few million illegal immigrants and Russians from other regions who mostly live in the suburbs and try their luck as taxi drivers, workers or even as criminals.

When we get home, Victor and I make tea. "Russians don't like coffee," says Victor in a slightly derogatory tone. That's actually always the case when he talks about Russians. Up until now, Victor has always been in my Russian drawer, because I met him through a group of Russians in New York. He is also fluent in Russian and looks typically Russian with his Slavic face and expensive designer clothes. If you ask him about it, Victor gets angry and quickly makes it clear: he is first and foremost a Jew, and Jews didn't have it easy under communism. After perestroika, the young among them could not wait to emigrate, and many took the opportunity to go to Israel. Victor originally comes from Lithuania, then moved to Israel and only studied there, then in the US. Today he has a Lithuanian and an Israeli passport. After his studies he was allowed to stay in the States and started his career as a banker. "Just as I was starting to make some money, the crisis started," he tells me. "That's why I quickly accepted an invitation from a Moscow investment bank." "And? Are you making good money now?' I ask. Victor doesn't like these direct questions. He looks embarrassed, but chance comes to his aid. The doorbell rings.

"Ah, these are the girls."

"What girls?" I ask.

'I forgot to tell you. My girlfriend is coming over and she's bringing a friend for you." "You have a girlfriend?"

I didn't expect that after Victor hasn't missed an opportunity to collect phone numbers from complete strangers over the past few days.

Victor doesn't answer and opens up to the women. The usual procedure takes place in the corridor: the girls take off their heavy fur coats and take off their scarves, hats and gloves. Then they both go to the bathroom to get ready. In the meantime, Victor comes back into the kitchen and is grinning from ear to ear.

"You were lucky. Her friend is better looking than her,' he says. I just nod. The way Victor talks about women always leaves me speechless. Actually, I am not a child of sadness and have already experienced a lot. But somehow I can't get going in Moscow. I don't know if it's the stranger, or the cheap come-on, or the fact that the girls get into it.

»Today it will be something. You lay them down!” orders Victor. "You've been here five days and you still haven't made any clear." Something is happening outside. The girls come out of the bathroom. Both wear fashionable clothes, as for the club or a fine restaurant, not for home. I can see part of the hallway from the kitchen. I'm surprised when I see the two of them opening their large handbags, pulling out a pair of heels each, and putting them on.

"The women here are always very fashionable," says Victor. They also have to look good at home, especially when it comes to a date with an investment banker and his boyfriend. After a style check in the mirror, the girls enter the kitchen and are introduced to me. I feel kind of sloppy and underdressed, because I'm sitting at the table in loose jeans and a casual t-shirt. Worst of all are Victor's Gaste slippers. My grandfather could have owned it too.

"This is Victoria, my friend," Victor says. "And this is her friend, Marina."

I quickly discover that Victoria does not speak English. Marina knows a few words and we can at least talk a little. Victoria, I learn, is in her mid-twenties and comes from a town 500 kilometers southeast of Moscow. She studied business administration and now works for an insurance company. There she earns around 1000 euros. That's not much if you're not from Moscow and have to pay the exorbitant rents. That's where an investment banker like Victor comes in handy. He gives lavish gifts, pays for going out and goes shopping with her. If she's lucky, he'll even invite her on vacation. All this is not uncommon in Moscow. It is part of Russian culture for men to give expensive gifts to women. The more expensive the gift, the greater the love and the greater the affection of the woman. Victoria has brown eyes and brown curly hair. She's actually pretty. Her dress is an expensive original or a good copy of Dolce & Gabbana with a plunging neckline. She has lovely long legs and is wearing stockings, the lace trimmed end of which flashes briefly as she crosses her legs. At the end of the endless legs are fashionable high heels with the longest heels I have ever seen.

Victoria catches me eyeing her and grins cheekily. The face is friendly, but also has something wicked. She wears a lot of makeup, but that's also normal in Russia. whose lace-trimmed end flashes briefly as she crosses her legs. At the end of the endless legs are fashionable high heels with the longest heels I have ever seen. Victoria catches me eyeing her and grins cheekily. The face is friendly, but also has something wicked. She wears a lot of makeup, but that's also normal in Russia. whose lace-trimmed end flashes briefly as she crosses her legs. At the end of the endless legs are fashionable high heels with the longest heels I have ever seen. Victoria catches me eyeing her and grins cheekily. The face is friendly, but also has something wicked. She wears a lot of makeup, but that's also normal in Russia.

"Oh man, those Russian women," I think. “These are particularly pretty creatures. Or maybe rather sexy? A little bit useful too. No, not the vulgar form. More like a first-class call girl.” Marina excuses herself and goes to the toilet for a moment. "Actually, I don't think they're that great," says Victor. "Who?" I ask.

"These," says Victor, nodding at Victoria with a false grin. 'But she's good in bed and I should have a girlfriend to help around the house and give me some stability. Otherwise I'd just be fucking around.” I'm shocked by Victor's openness to Victoria.

"Don't worry," he says. “She doesn't understand anything. She can't speak English."

I am silent and nod. "Maybe that's what you get from consuming one woman at a time," I think.

"Women are a dime a dozen here," says Victor. "It's crazy. As soon as you send one home, the next one is already in front of the door. There are always new ones coming. You're getting younger and younger. All are pretty and know what to do. They come from the suburbs or from the regions. There's a constant flow of supplies."

"Madness," I think. This is no longer real.

Marina is back. I haven't really warmed to her yet. She has long blonde hair and wears a dress in the same style as Victoria. I catch myself wondering if she's also wearing stockings. "So, we'll leave you alone now," says Victor and goes into the bedroom with his girlfriend. "Shall we go to the living room?" I ask Marina. 'It's more comfortable there. do you want a drink Anything other than tea?”

"No thanks, I don't drink," she replies.

I take her by the hand and lead her into the living room. There we sit on the couch and talk. Marina is 27 and works as a doctor in a women's clinic. As a gynecologist, she earns 200 euros a month there. A six-year-old son is waiting for her at home.

“How do you manage in Moscow with so little money? And where's the father?' I ask. “We have an apartment on the outskirts. My family owns it, so we don't have to pay rent. The father is long gone. He was a loser and I left him." "Will he pay for the little one?"

"No. I don't even know where he is. Haven't heard from him in years. I'm making just enough to keep us both going. I also do abortions at the clinic. This is often used here. Especially in the suburbs.'

Suddenly we hear loud moans coming from the bedroom next door. It's getting louder and louder. No, it's not Victoria moaning, it's Victor. I'm a little under pressure, put my hand on Marina's knee and caress it. I slowly run my hand up her leg. She looks at me waiting. The moaning in the next room gets even louder and you can now hear the bed banging against the wall. We look at each other and suddenly have to laugh. Somehow I like Marina, but there is no erotic tension between the two of us. I realize my hand is out of place on her thigh and this woman deserves more respect. A single mother, she makes ends meet with a lion's will to fight. I could probably even sleep with her but that just doesn't feel right. I slowly take my hand off her thigh. She thanks me with an open and nice smile. "Would you like some more tea?" I ask.

'No, I think I'm going home now. My little one is waiting for me. He is alone and it is getting late.”

Marina changes shoes and packs up for the winter. I'll take her down to the street, get her a cab and pay for the ride out to the suburbs. Before she gets in, she kisses me tenderly on the cheek.

"You're a good one. I'm not sure if this city is for you. farewell I hope we'll see each other again,' she whispers in my ear.

When I come back to the apartment, it's quiet. I drink a beer, look out the window and let my mind wander. Russia is a tough country. Not only because of the weather, but also because of the living conditions. no Moscow is not a city for me. Apart from the different culture and the shameless consumption, you have to earn a lot of money to be able to enjoy life here. I prefer to look for another city. Maybe I'll go back to New York... I look at the clock. It's time for bed, but first I'll make myself a cup of tea. As I wait for the water to boil, Victoria comes into the kitchen. She is in panties and has a t-shirt over it.

"Could you please make me one too?" she asks in English.

"What? Do you speak English?' I'm surprised.

'Oh, I guess I gave it away. Yes, I took several Business English courses during my undergraduate studies. But please don't tell Victor about it. He would probably be ashamed.' I don't think so, but it's probably better if I don't interfere in his affairs. "No fear. Where's Victor?” I ask. "He's all set and sleeping." Victoria grins contentedly. Then we sit together at the table and talk for a while. Your English is perfect.

At the garage club

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Two days later. We're meeting the two rich kids from Shambala for R 'n' B night at the Garage Club. Unusual cars are again in front of the door. This time they look like they came straight out of a Playstation game. Japanese and American street racers, pimped up to the point of no longer doing it. Almost all are painted in special colors, some decorated with elaborate airbrush motifs. It's cold outside and there's snow. Loud hip-hop blasts out of the cars, the doors are open and the owners of other cars and hot girls in clothes that are far too tight are standing around. It's still quiet in the club itself, apparently the warm-up is taking place outside. Victor's friend is a real estate agent and one of the owners of the club. We sit at the table with him and talk about the wild 90s in Moscow. Victor's friend distributed Red Bull in Russia until a few years ago. He says that one day he came home and the door to his apartment had been forced open. A couple of big boys were waiting in the apartment and they kindly asked him to hand over the distribution of the energy drink to them. "It was the mafia," he says. There was no point in resisting - he signed. Now he has a better "kryscha," says Victor's friend.

"Krysha?" I ask.

"It means 'roof,' and that means protection," Victor explains. “You can have two kinds of 'kryscha', the secret service, it used to be the KGB, now it's called the FSB. Or the mafia. It's best if you have contact with both of them. You need a "kryscha" if you want to do business."

"From what order of magnitude?" I ask.

“I think you get on their radar, usually by the IRS or your competition, if you're making more than $250,000 a year. Before that, you're too small for one number and they won't bother you unless you're disrupting one of their charges' business.'

"Interesting. How do I have to imagine that in concrete terms?”

“It's like a tax. You give away a certain percentage of your profit or sales. Sometimes it is the whole business if it disrupts their activities or is very profitable.”

Victor's friend adds: “An acquaintance of mine has invested in a computer tomography scanner in a town 300 kilometers outside of Moscow. That was the only device far and wide and became a gold mine. It didn't take long for word to get around and the mafia was at his door. They just took the thing from him. Thank God the device ran long enough to recoup the acquisition costs. So he didn't lose any money, but he didn't win any either."

Then our two girls finally come to our table. They move gracefully like models and I wonder how many hours they've practiced in front of the mirror. Victor's friend says goodbye. He has to go home to his wife, he says. Nastia and Sveta look even better than a few days ago. We'll order a few drinks and talk. Unfortunately, the conversation is superficial, arrogant and just too shallow for me. We only met briefly at Shambala, but the girls there were very different. It must have been the alcohol - either my level or hers. After a while I get bored with the chatter. I decide to go to the bar. First to get a drink, but maybe I can find better entertainment there. The club is slowly filling up but apparently it's still too early. Well, it's half past midnight on a Sunday night. What to expect Victor said the club fills up after one o'clock. Let's see.

"Barkeeper! Another Red Bull vodka, please.” Two women are sitting at the bar. A dark blonde with a good figure and a pageboy cut and a small brown-haired woman with slightly Asian eyes. Should I speak to her? No, there's bound to be something better. The bartender puts my drink at the bar for me and then talks to the girls. They seem to be friends. I decide to pretend to wait for my drink a little more. I just can't go back to our table. Suddenly Victor is standing in front of me.

"Man! These women are so stupid. That is not how it works."

I nod.

"What about these two?" he asks. I shrug disinterestedly, but Victor doesn't even wait for my answer before addressing the two of them. I can already imagine what nonsense he is talking about again. This is Chris, superstar, DJ, helicopter pilot and so on. After five minutes he turns to me: “These are two ballerinas from the Bolshoi Theater. Great, is not it? Which one do you want?”

"If I have to, I'll take the blonde," I answer sullenly. The constant teasing is getting on my nerves. The brown-haired girl, I learn, is called Lili and is the daughter of one of Russia's biggest mafia bosses. Lili isn't particularly tall, a bit more powerful, and you wouldn't think at first glance that she was dancing in the best ballet in the world. She has a Russian pop star as a boyfriend and is part of Moscow's better society.

Victor grabs my hand and pushes me to the blonde. »This is Julia, she is also a ballerina at the Bolshoi.«

He says it so proudly, as if he has known Julia since childhood. We introduce ourselves and shake hands.

“So, ballerina at the Bolshoi. Is that a big deal?” I ask. She immediately lectures me: "The Bolshoi is the best ballet in the world."

“These are stars!” adds Victor.

“Ah, sorry. I'm an art philistine.” She takes it easy. Then I casually add, "But I've had a ballerina girlfriend before. Back in New York. She was with Alvin Ailey, but that's more modern dance." Victor finds that the two rich goren have moved on.

"Shall we sit down at the table again?" he asks. The two girls are interested and come with me. Then we talk the rest of the night.

Julia is interesting and at first I didn't realize what a top physique she has. She is 24 years old and has been dancing at the Bolshoi since she was young. Her mother was a prima ballerina herself and now trains her. Her stepfather was the director of the Bolshoi, but is already retired.

Also, Julia had been dancing in Valencia for six years before coming back.

"What? Volunteering from Spain to Moscow?” I ask.

“Like I said, the Bolshoi is the best group in the world, and Moscow is my hometown. I wanted to go back, but today I sometimes regret the step. Maybe I'd be happier in Spain.'

As it turns out, Julia speaks very good English and fluent Spanish.

"The manager here is our friend," she explains. “We're here almost every Sunday because we have to dance over the weekend. Our day off is Monday.«

'Ah, that's good. I work tomorrow and Chris flies back on Wednesday. He could use an English-speaking guide,” says Victor.

Julia isn't too enthusiastic about the idea: »Let's see. Maybe,” she simply replies.

Around three o'clock in the morning it's time to go home. Lili has her own driver who is waiting for her outside in the black BMW 6 Series. Julia accepts Victor's offer to drive her home. He sits in the front with his driver while I talk to Julia in the back. "Can I see you again before I go?" I ask cautiously.

"Here's my number, call me tomorrow and we'll see." When we get there, I get out first and open the door for her. She likes that and gives me a kiss on the cheek to say goodbye. Then we drive to Victor's and I text her goodnight. She does not answer.

"So what do you think of them?" asks Victor.

'I wasn't interested at first. But when I spoke to her, I realized how beautiful and charming she is. And she's intelligent too. Great woman!"

"N / A? Someone has a crush on them, huh?” Victor replies.

"Crush? That would probably be an exaggeration. But she certainly impressed me and is the best girl I have met in Moscow so far«.

"Well, maybe there'll be something with that Moscow one-night stand after all..."

'Not so sure. She said she has a boyfriend."

"That doesn't mean much here," Victor replies.

The next day I call Julia, but she doesn't answer the phone. After three attempts I give up, I don't want to be pushy. In the evening Victor is more disappointed than I am. He really wants me to have sex before I fly back to Spain. Somehow I have a feeling he's looking for a boyfriend to go around town with and pick up women with. Therefore, if I had a reason to come back to Moscow, he would be quite pleased. However, I'm not sure if a one night stand would be reason enough to move to this horrid city. I used to compare New York to Sodom and Gomorrah, but Moscow seems a thousand times worse and far more decadent.

The next day I text Julia again. I would really like to see her before I fly back. During the day, however, there is radio silence, I am disappointed. Maybe Victor is even right about me having a bit of a crush. When Victor finally gets home from work, we go to a sushi restaurant. On the way he calls Lili and tries to invite both of them. When he hangs up, he grins: "They're just dancing, but we'll meet them after their performance and go for a drink."

I am content and thinking about how to behave. Around eleven we meet the girls in a bar. I flirt with Julia like a champion and I'm successful. First she takes my hand, then we get closer. When Lili wants to leave, Victor takes the initiative and invites them both over. Lili and Julia are coming with me. We'll keep drinking at home. Victor entertains Lili so that she doesn't leave too early. When Julia and I finally kiss, Lili goes home and Victor goes to bed. Finally we have time for ourselves. The night is spent! We're having sex and it's the best we've had in a long time. Then we lie in bed together and talk. When I hold Julia in my arms, I feel energy flowing between the two of us. It goes so far that we both start to tremble and then press each other even tighter. She has to leave at eight o'clock: "I have to be at training at ten and before that I have to go home and get ready."

"Will it work?" I ask with a bad conscience.

"It has to be, but it was worth it," Julia purrs contentedly, and we say goodbye with a long kiss. Then I pack my things. Meanwhile, Victor comes out of the bedroom.

"Well finally! Chris scored. But that was on the very last printer.«

"And not only that..." I add. “Now I actually have a bit of a crush. The woman is just great and in bed a bomb.«

"Well then I can send you home with peace of mind, right?"

An hour later we are already on our way to the airport. It's snowing badly. Again we drive on the six-lane outer ring road, the MKAD, past the prefabricated buildings of the suburbs. Our Gelandewagen lurches around trucks and slow-moving Ladas. From time to time it also goes over the hard shoulder if there is no other way to get past it. There are numerous stranded vehicles, but we always manage to just avoid them. Our heavy vehicle swerves several times, but the driver gets it under control every time.

Victor is silent. I look at the speedometer from behind and I'm worried. No, not about missing my flight. I have all the time in the world, there's no more job waiting for me, and another evening with Julia would suit me. No, I'm worried about my life, because our off-road vehicle is racing down the snow-covered slope at up to 150 km/h. There are unannounced lane changes across six lanes. Our driver does not know the word »minimum distance«. It seems as if he is trying to force the Lada in front of us off the road.

"Victor," I say softly. 'It's not so bad if I miss my flight. I'm about to pee my pants from fear. My life is more important to me.«

»Haha, you extreme snowboarders are scared? That's supposed to mean something. It's not really about you. I have to get back to the office because I have a meeting at eleven. Afraid you've got to go through that, boy."

After a horror drive we finally arrive at the airport. Victor says something in Russian to his driver and gives him an appreciative pat on the shoulder. I have weak knees.

“Now you have to go on alone, because I'm running out of time. Take care and let's talk on the phone at the weekend.« I thank Victor for his hospitality and caring. After that I run to the terminal. "Why is your face so pale?" asks the nice lady at check-in. I'm just in time. "Nothing," I reply. "Had a long night." "Well, I hope she was pretty and it was worth it." "Yes, she was," I say, grinning. “Then come back to Moscow soon and fly with our airline. Departure Zone A, Gate 10. Hurry up, passport control and security always take a while.” As we take off, I see the gray and desolate Moscow suburbs out the window. I'll review the last few days. No, Moscow is not for me, I'm looking forward to my warm Tenerife. But Julia was great. I grin to myself and feel a pleasant feeling in my stomach area. "They must be the famous butterflies in your stomach," I think when we fly out of the clouds and after ten days I finally see the sun again. Farewell to the island Six months later, in August, I drive to the south of Tenerife to pick up Julia from the airport. We've sent each other lots of emails and talked on the phone a lot over the last few months. How will the reunion be? I don't actually know her at all. She's quite brave to just fly into the unknown like that. When we meet again at the terminal, Julia hugs me and we kiss. There it is again, that feeling. All is well. My apartment in the north impresses her. The rooms all have a glass wall facing the sea. The beach is right in front of us and my terrace is three times the size of the apartment itself. "And this is the guest room," I say as I wheel Julia around. "Then I'll sleep here," Julia says, and I'm not sure if that's a question or a statement. "No," I say, "of course you'll sleep in my room." The week we spend together flies by. Julia shed a few tears when we say goodbye at the airport. "When will we meet again?" she asks. “I don't know, I can't say yet. I'm still a bit haphazard at the moment." Then Julia is already on her way. I stand with my car on Medano Beach and watch your plane take off. Then I drive back north. As I come over the hills, the sun is just setting in the west. Like almost every day, it falls into the Atlantic, followed by a red glow in the sky. "Should I go back to New York?" I think. Or maybe to Moscow? I can't decide and stay here for now. I still have enough money. My landlord calls at the end of September. "And?" he asks. "Are you going to renew the lease for another year?" I spontaneously say: "No, I'm moving to Moscow." After the interview, I phone Victor and ask him if I can live with him until I find a job and a place to live. "Of course!" he says. "That's great news. We shall have plenty of spades.' Then I book my flight. However, my things have to go to my mother in Bamberg first, because I'm traveling into the unknown. Who knows how long I will stay in Moscow? At the beginning of October I leave Tenerife with 180 kilos of luggage. Outside the sun is shining and it's still 30 degrees. The other tourists are amazed when I check in a snowboard in Tenerife, among other things. Julia Three months after moving to Moscow, I move in with Julia. We found a cheap apartment in the middle of the city. Now we live at the metro station Mayakovskaya. From there, Julia doesn't have to go far to the Bolshoi. I pay almost all the rent. Julia adds a symbolic amount, because as a ballerina she earns less than 1000 euros a month, and the apartment alone costs 800 euros to rent. The apartment has three rooms but is horribly furnished. Pink curtains with lace at the ends hang in the bedroom. The kitchen is spartan and the gas stove is from the 80s. I don't care about any of that. The main thing is that I'm with Julia. I think I found my dream woman. Julia is intelligent, looks good and anticipates my every wish. She goes to training in the morning It's May and not far away from Julia's birthday. We talk about their party that evening and I learn that in Russia you invite your friends to a restaurant. That costs around 1000 euros. In return, you get quite expensive gifts from them. Julia expects gifts worth two to three hundred euros from her friends. "Man oh man," I think. »How much do I have to invest then? I haven't had much work for the past few months and I'm running out of money.« That evening we have sex and then fall exhausted into the duvets and sleep. Before I can away, I think, "What a woman! direct hit. I want to marry her.« The next day, Julia gets up on the wrong foot because she provokes a fight in the morning, even though there is no reason for it. This is the beginning of the end. From that day on it just keeps getting worse. Julia seems dissatisfied with me, my income and my social status. On the other hand, she keeps telling me that she loves me. Two months later I'm still unemployed and I'm definitely running out of money. Julia has the summer off and wants to go on vacation. When I tell her that I can't afford it at the moment, she is disappointed. "In Russia, a man pays for his wife," she says, rubbing salt into my open wounds. I'm at the end. Now I'm in a totally foreign country, trying to find my way around and earn money, already feeling overwhelmed by the situation, and now my only reference person, my girlfriend, calls me a loser too. I want to cry. But that's no use. I've never been one to give up. After a short time I catch myself and hit back verbally. "Are you crazy? Do you even know why I'm here and why I'm in this bad situation? Because of you, Julia. Because of you. I came for you!” I yell at her. After that Julia is calm. A week later we book the holiday. I borrowed money from my mother and Julia is paying her own share. The FSB secret service After three months in our small apartment at the Mayakovskaya metro station, we move into an apartment owned by Julia's family. After communism, the families who lived in one of these apartments received it as a gift. Mind you, only the apartment, but not the plot of land on which the house stands, which often leads to problems today when the city sells the land to a construction tycoon who wants to build a modern block of flats instead of the old Stalin prefabricated building. It can happen that hit gangs show up and persuade the residents to sell, or the old owners are resettled in worthless new prefabricated buildings in the suburbs. As is so often the case in Russia, the whole thing is of course completely legitimate and even supported by the police. Julia's family owns several apartments. It's a nice 1960's house, relatively clean and quiet. Unfortunately it's not exactly in the centre, but it's also only twenty minutes away by car or metro, which is still considered central in Europe's largest city. The first few months pass quietly. I meet Kolya at a family dinner. Married to Julia's cousin, he is a senior executive at Yukos. He currently lives in Singapore and runs the Asian operations of Russia's largest oil company. Kolya first lived with his wife in our apartment and later bought his own nearby. His apartment has 160 square meters, a lot of rooms, its own sauna and jacuzzi. The kitchen is fantastically furnished. The audio system and home cinema with giant plasma screen are not bad either. Kolya's wife still lives with their son in the magnificent apartment. The boy should go to school in Russia and grow up there. Also, the rest of the family lives just a walk away. So do we. That evening we drink a lot of vodka with Julia's father and Kolya. It's the second binge with Julia's family, and I'm proving it stability. Julia's father adds: "I have no idea where that skinny boy puts all the vodka, but respect. He can drink like a Russian«. When he says that, I feel honored. Kolya winks at me and we down another vodka while the women at the table roll their eyes. Only a few weeks later, Kolja has long since returned to Singapore, the boss and owner of Yukos, Mikhail Khodorkovsky, is pulled out of his private jet at Novosibirsk airport and arrested. He must have made a few strategic mistakes and fallen out with Putin. He is now facing charges of tax evasion. The family is insecure. What will become of Kolya now? In our apartment there is still an award that he received from his boss for his services. Kolya decides to stay in Singapore. His wife and son fly to visit him regularly. Then the rumor goes around in the family that Kolya is also wanted. His former assistant was picked up by secret service people and disappeared for a week. Her husband had sounded the alarm. The family gets involved, let relationships play, and after a week the poor woman is released. She is driven directly from the FSB building to the airport and she takes the next flight to Singapore with her family. The move will be processed later. The FSB is the domestic secret service, you could say something like the Stasi in the former GDR. I ask my Russian friends whether the FSB is as well organized as the Stasi was back then, but they only laugh and say: »You Germans have always done everything to perfection. We Russians are not that good«. One has to imagine the FSB to be correspondingly chaotic. To this day I have not found out how deep the FSB's spying goes, although I have been in contact with the secret service. and she takes the next plane to Singapore with her family. The move will be processed later. The FSB is the domestic secret service, you could say something like the Stasi in the former GDR. I ask my Russian friends whether the FSB is as well organized as the Stasi was back then, but they only laugh and say: »You Germans have always done everything to perfection. We Russians are not that good«. One has to imagine the FSB to be correspondingly chaotic. To this day I have not found out how deep the FSB's spying goes, although I have been in contact with the secret service. and she takes the next plane to Singapore with her family. The move will be processed later. The FSB is the domestic secret service, you could say something like the Stasi in the former GDR. I ask my Russian friends whether the FSB is as well organized as the Stasi was back then, but they only laugh and say: »You Germans have always done everything to perfection. We Russians are not that good«. One has to imagine the FSB to be correspondingly chaotic. To this day I have not found out how deep the FSB's spying goes, although I have been in contact with the secret service. but they just laugh and say: »You Germans have always done everything to perfection. We Russians are not that good«. One has to imagine the FSB to be correspondingly chaotic. To this day I have not found out how deep the FSB's spying goes, although I have been in contact with the secret service. but they just laugh and say: »You Germans have always done everything to perfection. We Russians are not that good«. One has to imagine the FSB to be correspondingly chaotic. To this day I have not found out how deep the FSB's spying goes, although I have been in contact with the secret service. Half a year later. It's Monday morning, eight o'clock. Julia is free, lies in bed next to me and watches TV while I check my e-mails. Suddenly the doorbell rings. We generally don't answer the door if it's not a registered visitor. Because then it's peddlers or gypsies who want to beg. But the ringing doesn't stop, it gets stronger until the people outside finally ring the bell. I get enough in about fifteen minutes and storm the door in anger. When I open the door to the anteroom, I'm grabbed and pushed roughly against the wall. Two unassuming looking men are standing in front of me. They chatter to me in Russian and I try to teach them that I'm German and don't speak Russian. One of them holds out an ID card to me. The other a copied warrant, on which I recognize a picture of Kolya. Ah, the secret service. "Now what?" I think. Julia stays silent in the apartment. One of the guys is holding me against the wall, the other is about to go into the apartment when the neighbor shows up. Apparently they rang her bell too. The neighbor explains to the gentlemen that I'm German and that Kolja hasn't lived here for years. The neighbor gets louder, yells at both of them, finally I'm let go. I start ranting in German, threatening with a message and consequences. I'm sure they don't understand me, but that can't hurt at the moment. The two decide to retreat and leave the antechamber in silence. The neighbor then talks to Julia. She's still pretty shocked. "Now what?" I think. Julia stays silent in the apartment. One of the guys is holding me against the wall, the other is about to go into the apartment when the neighbor shows up. Apparently they rang her bell too. The neighbor explains to the gentlemen that I'm German and that Kolja hasn't lived here for years. The neighbor gets louder, yells at both of them, finally I'm let go. I start ranting in German, threatening with a message and consequences. I'm sure they don't understand me, but that can't hurt at the moment. The two decide to retreat and leave the antechamber in silence. The neighbor then talks to Julia. She's still pretty shocked. "Now what?" I think. Julia stays silent in the apartment. One of the guys is holding me against the wall, the other is about to go into the apartment when the neighbor shows up. Apparently they rang her bell too. The neighbor explains to the gentlemen that I'm German and that Kolja hasn't lived here for years. The neighbor gets louder, yells at both of them, finally I'm let go. I start ranting in German, threatening with a message and consequences. I'm sure they don't understand me, but that can't hurt at the moment. The two decide to retreat and leave the antechamber in silence. The neighbor then talks to Julia. She's still pretty shocked. the other is about to go into the apartment when the neighbor shows up. Apparently they rang her bell too. The neighbor explains to the gentlemen that I'm German and that Kolja hasn't lived here for years. The neighbor gets louder, yells at both of them, finally I'm let go. I start ranting in German, threatening with a message and consequences. I'm sure they don't understand me, but that can't hurt at the moment. The two decide to retreat and leave the antechamber in silence. The neighbor then talks to Julia. She's still pretty shocked. the other is about to go into the apartment when the neighbor shows up. Apparently they rang her bell too. The neighbor explains to the gentlemen that I'm German and that Kolja hasn't lived here for years. The neighbor gets louder, yells at both of them, finally I'm let go. I start ranting in German, threatening with a message and consequences. I'm sure they don't understand me, but that can't hurt at the moment. The two decide to retreat and leave the antechamber in silence. The neighbor then talks to Julia. She's still pretty shocked. The neighbor gets louder, yells at both of them, finally I'm let go. I start ranting in German, threatening with a message and consequences. I'm sure they don't understand me, but that can't hurt at the moment. The two decide to retreat and leave the antechamber in silence. The neighbor then talks to Julia. She's still pretty shocked. The neighbor gets louder, yells at both of them, finally I'm let go. I start ranting in German, threatening with a message and consequences. I'm sure they don't understand me, but that can't hurt at the moment. The two decide to retreat and leave the antechamber in silence. The neighbor then talks to Julia. She's still pretty shocked. »How did they even know that we were at home?« asks Julia. "Of course," I state, "they checked the phone and noticed that it was busy because I was on the internet." Then we call the rest of the family. At the same time, other family members were also visited and interrogated. Apparently, the FSB really didn't know that Kolya has been living in Singapore for a long time. But I'm also aware now that I've landed on the Secret Service's radar. What is this German doing in Kolja's apartment? What does he know? Does he have anything to do with Yukos? These are certainly the questions that the clerks at the secret service also ask themselves. Our phone often clicks quite strangely, sometimes there is no connection at all. I'm sure our landline and cell phones are bugged. Sometimes I call my mother and even joke about it. If the line clicks again, we'll send it a few nice greetings to the people on the other end. My mother worries a little, but gradually takes it easy and even laughs about it. It's also a good story for friends back home in Bamberg. It's not often that something like this is said. A few months later I get a call from Kolya. His wife and son have now also moved to Singapore because it is now clear that he is wanted in Russia and cannot come back. A week after his wife moved out, his luxurious apartment was broken into. And this despite the fact that you need one key to get into the fenced area of the house and another to get into the house itself. Then you have to go to a concierge. Upstairs you need a third key to get into the antechamber and two more to open the security door. The apartment is also secured with an alarm system. When the alarm goes off, a heavily armed police unit will be at the door within five minutes, checking on things. "The Secret Service?" I ask. "Whoever. You didn't steal anything. The police were there later too. Too late. They investigate against unknown. I wanted to ask you if you don't want to move in with Julia. I think it's safer then and they'll think twice before bothering the German." "Sure, we'll move in with you. That's a great apartment too." "You don't pay anything, of course, except for the running costs for electricity and heat, etc.," says Kolya generously. A week later we move in and I enjoy the luxury of his beautiful apartment, although I feel like I'm being watched at every turn. Here, too, the telephone clicks. In fact, I'm sure our internet traffic is logged and monitored. Sometimes I go looking for bugs. Who knows what they left here when they broke in. Lili, Julia's friend and mafia boss's daughter, brings in a specialist who searches everything with equipment, but can't find any cameras or bugs. Then, one afternoon, there are suddenly several armed police officers with Kalashnikovs and bulletproof vests in front of the door. I can see them standing in front of the door thanks to the video surveillance. Unfortunately, I'm home alone and the shock from the last FSB visit is still in my bones. I decide not to open the door and hide while I alert Julia on my cell phone. She calls the family and their lawyer. In the end it turns out that the alarm system triggered an alarm, although it was actually turned off. Kolja's mother lives nearby and comes by to deal with the police. I stay nervous in the back room for so long. Was it really a false alarm, or was it the Secret Service again, on their way to a small spot check? To finally find out who is this German who lives there in Kolya's apartment? You have to register in Russia at a place of residence. However, I'm registered elsewhere because it's easier that way. So the bureaucracy doesn't know where to put me. Proper vodka drinking "Are you coming to my family's for dinner?" Julia asks. "No, I don't want to," I reply. "It's just going to be another big spree anyway." "You don't have to drink so much," says Julia. "Oh yes? And if I don't, I'll be the foreign pussy afterwards." "What a crap. This isn't a drinking contest where you have to prove your masculinity, it's a family dinner.” "Does your father know that too? I can still remember the last time.« "The one where you almost didn't make it home?" Julia asks and grins. 'It's your own fault if you drink so much. We warned you." In Russia, drinking is part of everyday life. Men prefer to drink vodka, whiskey or cognac. The women stay with Krimsekt or sweet wine. I've been in Moscow for a few years now and I think I finally got the hang of it. Here are my tips for drinking vodka and how to avoid total failure and a nasty hangover: It doesn't matter whether I'm going to a business meeting or a private party: I eat something beforehand, even and especially when the meetings are in restaurants. Because the first two to three vodka are poured right at the beginning, before there is anything to eat. It has to be strong and as greasy as possible. Sausage or cheese with lots of bread. Adenauer advised his entourage on the way to Moscow to drink a lot of oil before meeting with the Soviets in order to prevent the vodka situation. If I can, I pour my own vodka. Then you can pour about 10% under the rim and thus have less in the glass, and small animals also suck, especially when you have to drink ten to fifteen vodka in the evening. The Russians always fill the glass to the brim, but foreigners are forgiven for a lot. Later you can pour less, or just drink half. In the heat of the moment, the others don't even notice that your glass is only half full. But that's only possible when the rest of the round is already well seated. As a welcome, there is the first vodka. Depending on the host's preference, there is the gentle variant in small shot glasses, or the flatter, the long 0.2l glass, half full. The Russians measure vodka in grams. A shot glass is 25 grams, the flattener is 100 grams. In any case, there is vodka without ice and you drink the glass in one gulp. You don't mix it, the good vodka, that would be a break in style. The Russian's heart breaks when he sees vodka being consumed in German nightclubs and restaurants. In the best case you have a glass of water or juice next to it and you are allowed to rewind. A toast is always included. There are many rules when it comes to drinking vodka. If you drink alone, you are an alcoholic. If you drink without a toast, i.e. without a reason, then too. The hosts speak first, after that there's one about every 15 minutes, and after each toast the vodka is geext. The order of who has to make the toast and when is determined by the ranking and importance of the guests present. At some point it's your turn, and you should think about what you're going to say beforehand. It should be profound. Personal and as warm as the heart after a downed vodka. It can't be cheesy and cheesy enough. I like to be inspired by 70s hits from Dieter Thomas Heck's hit parade. After the fifth or sixth vodka, reproachful looks hail from the women present. First they try it with their husbands, but they are used to it and ignore them. So the entire women's group turns to the foreign guest. It would be laughable if they didn't succeed in forcing at least this one to his knees and thus curbing the men's drinking. 'Do you really want to drink that much? You will feel bad tomorrow. You don't have to be there, you know?" It starts out friendly but gets more energetic from vodka to vodka. The women try to intimidate you, while the men make it clear through their looks and requests for a drink that you're a wimp if you don't continue. Eventually you feel all the alcohol. One gets slightly dizzy, and somehow the words don't want to come out of the mouth as clearly as one actually thinks them. Then it's time to go through the mental checklist. have i eaten enough It's best to push something greasy afterwards. And water? Did I drink enough water in between? It helps to dilute the vodka with plenty of water or juice (in the belly) during the 10-15 minute breaks. So pour another glass of water straight away. And then you slowly get better. You mumble less and your senses are ready for action again. The women now become even more energetic and do everything they can to eliminate you. The vodka glass can disappear there, or you can find it filled with water. In any case, you should grin when the host wants to refill. Oh, my glass was accidentally taken down, may I have a new one, please? The host grins back and the men have just scored a bonus point while the ladies roll their eyes in mild irritation. When it really gets too much, I only drink half a glass. As I said, the others often don't even notice, or they simply ignore it. In any case, you don't lose face that way. It gets really fun at the end. The women clear the table and retire to the kitchen to have a leisurely smoke and gossip about the stupid men. "Quick," says the host, "let's have another one without the bitching bitches." Immediately afterwards he goes to the cupboard and asks: "Tequila, cognac or whiskey?" Oh dear, now it's really getting started. The women know the game and ignore us and the other drinks as they come back to the table and serve dessert. After that, things will calm down for the men, too. "And? Let's have another one,' I ask cheekily. The women go through the roof while the men nod wearily. And of course we drink at least two or three vodka until finally the door closes behind me and we go down in the elevator. "Did that have to be?" asks Julia. “No, but I didn't really want to come either, because I find these family evenings boring. You wanted me to be there, and I was just following the custom.' 'What customs? Nobody made you drink that much, did they?' “Well, there was a bit of indirect coercion. If I hadn't been drinking with them, I wouldn't be a real man to them." "That's rubbish!" 'Those are men's things, you have no idea. It's not even Russian,' I slur and stagger home. The Russian women thing Paul is my first German contact in Moscow. My sister knows the mother of a Berlin friend of his. They often chat on the internet and found out that we both just moved to Moscow. I only meet Paul five months after arriving in Moscow. We instantly like each other and have a lot in common. While "Altmanner skateboarding" in a skate park in Moscow's suburbs, Paul sees my board. The luggage tape with the flight number of my entry to Russia is still stuck to the underside. "Aha, so you flew to Moschkau on October 16," says Paul in his best Swabian. "Yes, exactly. You too? That's crazy." Then it turns out that we were both on the same plane. Both on their way to live in Moscow. Two years later. "Dude, I got a new girlfriend last weekend," Paul says on the phone. “She's a bit young, but so cool and so sexy. She just wants to fuck all the time and anticipates my every wish.« "Sounds familiar," I reply and give Paul the short version of my theory that German men and Russian women don't mix well and that the relationship usually ends in drama. I'm not only referring to my own experiences. Over the years I've seen too many love affairs and even marriages break up, and the reasons for breakups were similar. Russian men grow up well protected by the women in their families. They don't have to worry about anything and are usually very dependent when it comes to housework, clothes or everyday life. Mom takes care of everything and makes the necessary decisions. Later one of the friends takes over. This usually happens in their mid-twenties. Single twenty-five-year-old women in Russia feel like thirty-five and are in a hurry to finally get under the hood. The newly married couple then either move in with one of the parents, or they are provided with an apartment by the family. The girlfriend then takes on the role of mother and is in charge. This may not coincide with the macho image that we Germans have of Russian men, Russian women acquire the necessary skills at an early age and do not see any other role models in their families. This is expressed in concrete terms in many areas of daily life. Russian women never carry their suitcases themselves. Not even when the man is already fully laden and time is running out. Not even two meters, because it's all about the principle. That's his problem and he has to take care of it. The men generally take out the garbage. And sometimes you stand in the doorway fully dressed, on your way to a business meeting or a family celebration. "You can't leave the house like that," she says, even though you're wearing the suit, which was OK last time. You made the mistake of not asking if you could wear that exact outfit. In this case, there is no chance even if we're already way too late because she was idling in front of the mirror all the time. It's the same when shopping in the supermarket. The man pushes the shopping cart and has to pay, but that also limits his rights. The selection of the products that end up in the shopping cart is made by the woman. This list of examples could go on for several pages, but I think you get the point. But that alone is not enough. There are other points of friction in a German-Russian relationship. Russians like it very emotional. An emancipated partnership based on partnership, as we know it in Germany, is too boring for the Russians. No, if you don't fight, you don't love each other. Thus, arguments are regularly conjured up out of nowhere just to get the other to prove their love. Not answering a Russian woman's argument, or even being defensive and trying to appease her, means you don't love your Russian woman. If you want to infuriate a Russian woman, all you have to do is try to placate her or let her go nowhere. It only causes the opposite, and the dream woman becomes a fury. it goes so far and I speak from my own experience that the Russian woman hits you angrily with her fists. After all, it's about love. Another point is the gift thing. The more you love your Russian wife, the bigger the gifts must be. You have to invest in your wife to avoid problems. The expenses depend on the woman's age, social status and previous experiences with other men. If you only invest minimally, you quickly run up. Incidentally, the amount of the expected sum is related to the man's income and should hurt him. Only then will the gift of love be accepted. This applies to Christmas and birthdays as well as to everyday life. There are no small gifts. Foreign men and Germans in general are often referred to as "stingy" by the women in Moscow's party scene. As a foreigner, you don't stand a chance with many women, because word has gotten around that that we never spend as much money as a Russian. It's also not uncommon in rich circles for a model to get a car the next day after a one-night stand. And we're not talking about a small car here, but a BMW 6 Series or something like that. Of course there are exceptions among women, but they are very rare and it is more likely to win the lottery than to find the right woman here. I've seen all of this over and over again over the past few years. In my own relationship, but also with friends and acquaintances. It's always the same: the Russian woman reads her husband's every wish from the eyes. Eventually, when she feels secure and superior in the relationship, the tide turns and she becomes a bitching bitch. With some you notice this after a short time, with others only afterwards months. The whole thing has nothing to do with women who are keen on a foreign passport. Or the so-called »gold diggers«, who only care about money. They abound in Moscow's "everyone consumes everyone" mood. "No. No,” Paul says, like everyone else, when I offer them my opinion on Russian-German relations. »Mine is completely different«. "Let's hope so," is my standard response. A few years later, his relationship is in bad shape. Paul doesn't want to put up with his “No. No« remember. A short time later he breaks up and soon after leaves for San Francisco. The Russia lover has become a realist. The oligarch Oligarch is a word that is used a lot in Russia. Millionaires are called oligarchs by the people, and as is well known, there are many of them in Moscow. The real oligarchs, however, are a dozen billionaires at the top of Russian society. Many of them made their money in the wild 90's. Most have gone to great lengths and appropriated some of the state-owned enterprises through fraud or blackmail. Some of today's oligarchs come from the environment of Boris Yeltsin, they are called "the family" because he gave them rich gifts during his tenure. Even Yeltsin's personal driver has become a millionaire thanks to him; he was given land and a magnificent city villa by the president. Some of the billionaires are on Putin's side. The others are now in jail or have fled to England or Israel. After Putin came to power, there was a deal between him and the oligarchs: "You can keep what you've misappropriated in recent years, but you can't get involved in politics." Initially, Putin did not have enough power to take up the fight with them. Later, one or the other danced out of line. So Khodorkovsky decided to go into politics and form an opposition against Putin, but Putin became powerful enough to send the formerly richest man in Russia to a labor camp in Siberia. what you have unlawfully appropriated in recent years, but you must not get involved in politics.' The oligarchs only cared about their business, and Putin initially did not have enough power to take up the fight with them. Later, one or the other danced out of line. So Khodorkovsky decided to go into politics and form an opposition against Putin, but Putin became powerful enough to send the formerly richest man in Russia to a labor camp in Siberia. what you have unlawfully appropriated in recent years, but you must not get involved in politics.' The oligarchs only cared about their business, and Putin initially did not have enough power to take up the fight with them. Later, one or the other danced out of line. So Khodorkovsky decided to go into politics and form an opposition against Putin, but Putin became powerful enough to send the formerly richest man in Russia to a labor camp in Siberia. Julia is on a four week tour with the Bolshoi in London. We talk on the phone almost every day. 'I have to go to some stupid event tonight. An oligarch, a sponsor of the Bolshoi, is throwing a private party tonight. For this he has chosen ten ballerinas who have to go there to entertain him and his guests.« "What do you mean? Entertain?” I ask. "No idea. We're supposed to go there and stand around. Don't know what to expect«. Somehow I don't have a good feeling about this. An oligarch is the sponsor of the Bolshoi and chooses ten girls for his private party? That sounds like forced prostitution. Yes, of course I'm exaggerating. Most of the girls probably voluntarily sleep with the oligarch or his wealthy friends, but my Julia is there. What will she do when she's expected to have sex with the oligarch? After all, the man is currently the third richest billionaire in Russia. "Don't go there," I say. "That will not do. We must. But do not worry. Nothing's going to happen, and no matter what, I'm going to say no." What she says sounds good, but it doesn't calm me down in the slightest. I toss and turn in bed all night worrying. The next day we call again. Julia talks about all sorts of irrelevant stuff and I have to ask her about the previous evening. Only then does she hesitantly tell me about the party. The girls got there and sat at a large table with the oligarch and his friends. One by one they hooked a girl, and a friend of the oligarch's in New York was interested in Julia. However, she put him in his place and didn't want to take part. "And?" I ask. "Nothing else. I sat around there for a while and then they drove me to the hotel.” "And you want me to believe that?" I ask angrily. "I guess you won't have any other choice," she replies. No, I have to trust her. I can't accuse her of anything, even if it's hard for me to believe this story. Why didn't Julia talk about it right away, but only after I asked her about it? There's something fishy about this. I know, but for now it's better to keep quiet. Julia is in London for a few more days. We don't talk on the phone that often anymore. She says she's busy and tired. I have no idea how to deal with this. Now she was involved with one of the guys there, wasn't she? This question worries me all the time and I can't really work anymore because it's hard for me to think about anything else. After a week Julia comes home. We act like nothing happened. But after a day the phone rings. Julia takes it and goes to the other room, although she speaks Russian and knows that I can't understand anything. "Who was that?" I ask. "Nothing. It was the theatre. They wanted something.« I don't believe her, but decide to leave it at that. Over the next few days the phone rings again and again, once even in the middle of the night. 'But that wasn't the theatre. At half past two in the morning. Or?” I ask angrily. "No, it wasn't," says Julia. "And? Who was it?" 'That was Oleg. He's in Ukraine, in a hotel. Drunk." "Oleg the oligarch?" I ask. 'Yes, the oligarch. But you gotta believe me I had nothing with him. Nothing happened that night in London. I'm home alone He got my phone number from the theater the next day. Since then he calls me and wants to meet me. Sometimes he just calls to tell me how cute he thinks I am and wants to talk. Most of the time he's drunk when he calls." I'm speechless. I sit on the edge of the bed, shaking my head. This is a huge problem. How did I get into this situation? The third richest man in Russia wants my girl. He can have any. But he just wants mine. What now? Pack up and give up? I don't stand a chance against this guy anyway. "And now?" I ask Julia. "No idea. I stall him. I don't want him, I just want you. It doesn't matter how much money he has. He'll give up at some point.« I'm stunned and touched at the same time. Over the next few weeks and months, Julia's phone rang regularly and she spoke to Oleg, sometimes for a long time, sometimes for a short time. Sometimes she is also late from work because Oleg ambushed her and she still had to talk to him. Once she even had to take a drink with him and came home two hours late. I ask my family how to deal with the situation but they just tell me to keep cool and wait. "Julia has to sort it out," my mother says, as do most of my friends. The subject also comes up at Julia's regular family gatherings. Julia's family is worried about me. The mother and stepfather would probably prefer to see Julia with the oligarch. The rest of the family, especially the father, are worried about me because I'm starting to get angry. Especially when I've downed a few vodka. I think a lot these days. Oleg is also just a man. OK, a powerful man, but he wants something that's mine, and I find it disrespectful that he's taking it so openly. In the end I decide to do something about it. It doesn't matter if I get beat up or end up dead in a dump. I would rather die with dignity than spend the rest of my life feeling like a wimp and a loser. "How far will he go?" I wonder. What am I getting myself into? Doesn't matter. I must go through it. First, I write down the whole story. I then send it to my best friends with instructions to go to the press if anything happens to me or I disappear. Then, on a Tuesday evening, Julia is in the shower and the phone rings again. I'll answer On the other side, someone whispers something in Russian that sounds something like "Well, my little one?" "This is Chris, Julia's boyfriend," I reply in English. 'Please don't call here again. I do not condone this.« "Sorry, I don't speak English," comes the broken voice from the other end. "Ah, that's it," I reply aggressively. "You're one of the richest men in Russia, with a villa in London, but you don't speak English, huh?" It clicks on the other side. Oleg hung up. I take the SIM card out of Julia's phone and roll it down the toilet. When Julia comes out of the shower, I tell her everything. She's mad at me because she's worried. When I tell her that I threw her SIM card in the toilet, she gets even more angry. "All my contacts!" she screams. "Sorry. There was no other way. We'll get you a new number tomorrow and don't give it to anyone in the theater,' I order. I expect the worst in the next few days. I don't dare go out on the street, just waiting for someone to pull me into a car or for a thug to show up and beat me up. But nothing happens. Nothing at all. A few weeks later, Oleg watches Julia after the performance. "So. So you have a boyfriend,' he says. “You'll regret that we didn't become friends and that you let me down like this. You'll need me sooner or later.«. Julia says goodbye politely and drives home to her middle-class German. At some point it's still over between Julia and me. The drama drags on for years until I finally find the strength to separate. She's a good girl and a great woman. We just don't fit together. In the end I'm almost glad and relieved that it's over. The relationship was all good and bad, there was nothing in between, and you never knew when trouble might come. Now I have more time and can enjoy Moscow's party life. It will be years before I hear from Oleg again. In the meantime, he's divorced, his empire has collapsed, and he's just one of many billionaires in the country. He also no longer sponsors the Bolshoi. But he's still interested in Julia. Although we haven't been together for years, she hasn't tried it with him yet. At least that's what she says. I don't care anymore. Joyce “Can I stay until Monday?” asks Joyce, a Brazilian DJ whom we fly to Moscow for a party. "Well, we have the hotel room for one night, but you can sleep in my guest room if you like." "Sure, that's how we do it," she texts back. Then I think. An exotic girl with us in the men flat share? There is no weekend without alcohol, drugs and women. Most of the time we meet up with our conquests in the kitchen for the after party somewhere between 6am and 12pm. One of our DJs plays there, we sit together and talk. It does happen that a girl strips for us. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if the invitation was a good idea. Oh well. We will see. My roommate Pascha and I talk about it briefly. We both think it's very brave of Joyce. We only know her via email and have only spoken to each other on the phone so far. Friday. I lug Joyce's heavy bags down our aisle. She is in her mid-twenties, exotic and good-looking. A little bundle of energy. After just a few sentences, she's talking about sex. "Great," I think, already imagining today's after party in the kitchen. Then we go to the club. Along the way, I'm beginning to realize that Joyce also likes women. Once in a while. Or maybe always? Around four o'clock, Joyce has finished her DJ set. "So what do we do now?" I ask her. "We're going home and fucking," she says, grinning at me. I'm speechless for a moment. "Barman, another drink, please." That was a bit too direct for me, and I don't know what she means either. Natascha, my VJane, is sitting across from me at the mixing desk. She looks at me and shakes her head because she also wanted to go to the cake after party today. Joyce and I are sipping cocktails and fooling around. Natascha gives up and packs her things. When I get home, I ask: »And? Are we still going to a club?" "No, I'm tired. Let's listen to some more music,' she says. We're sitting in the kitchen and Joyce is playing me her own songs. At some point Pasha will be in the door. He can just stand. "I don't like Joyce," he whispers in my ear. “It's okay, I'll take care of her. you can go to bed Don't have to stay here with us." An hour later I'm just too tired and decide to go to bed. Luca, our third roommate, is now also at home. Exceptionally solo and halfway sober. That's why he let it rip yesterday and got me out of bed at six on Friday morning. When I went to complain, I found him in the kitchen with two girls and champagne. I wake up two hours later. The bass is still humming in the kitchen. It must be around nine or ten in the morning. People in the kitchen yell at each other. There are now also a few female voices. I don't care. I turn from side to side. Then I bury my head under the pillow, but I just can't sleep anymore. I don't know if it's all the Red Bull vodka from the night before or the shouting and loud music from the kitchen. I go to the toilet for a moment, warn the people in the kitchen about the neighbors and the police. Natascha is sitting with Joyce and the boys. In the end she probably decided to come and see us after all. Luca is still standing. Hard to believe. He slept a maximum of two hours yesterday. Joyce is flirting with me, and I wonder if she'll stop by before she goes back to her room. She wants me to stay in the kitchen, but I head back to bed. I am woken up half an hour later. A girl lies on top of me and whispers in my ear. "Are you already sleeping?" "What are you thinking?" I reply, half dazed. "Oh I see. OK, then I'll go again,' she says. Typical Natasha. "No, stay there." She turns around, grins and wants to slip under my covers with her clothes on. "Well?" I ask skeptically, "first take off your clothes." She obeys and slips naked under my covers. It doesn't take long and we start kissing. Shortly afterwards we have our fun. "What do you mean?" Natascha says. "Shall we bring Joyce in?" "Why not," I reply. "Oh no," she says. "I was just kidding." "OK then not. But I'm happy to go back into the kitchen and get them if you want." "No, let's do it," says Natascha. I am exhausted. It's been a long evening. At some point we fall asleep. Then, a few hours later, I wake up. Joyce comes into the room briefly, but leaves immediately. In the kitchen, the bass hums loudly. It's midday. I am going to the kitchen. Pasha and Joyce are still listening to music. Luca has disappeared. Joyce hugs me. Pasha is quite ready. Next to the two is an empty fruit brandy bottle. Joyce hugs me and dances with me. I briefly consider whether I should still invite her to our place. But Natascha doesn't want to. Around four o'clock Natascha wakes up and says she has to go home. I actually still have a few things to do. "Hm," says Natasha. “Maybe we should have done that with Joyce after all?” "Well, it's a bit late now," I reply. Joyce sleeps in the room next door. "Wake her up," Natascha suggests. 'No, I'm tired now and Joyce just went to bed. Besides, I'm glad she's sleeping and it's finally quiet.« Natascha is disappointed. She gets dressed and leaves. Only a few hours later we are on our way again. Joyce plays her set at another club and after that we go to Solyanka. There I talk to some girls, past loves and strangers. Every time I'm standing next to a girl, Joyce jumps up and joins in the conversation, flirting badly with the girls. Man, she's got more balls than all of us here. Joyce can tell I'm getting skeptical because a lot of the girls are taking ReiBaus. "What is it?" she asks. “We've got to get going. You want a nice threesome too, don't you?” I grin. It's time to move on. We want to go to Paparazzi, one of the best after-hour clubs. There is a nice girl on the way out. Class figure. She's in her early twenties. Joyce approaches her and invites her to come along. Surprisingly, she agrees. The two kiss in the taxi. I sit in front and watch. In the paparazzi, they both disappear together to the toilet, and my man fantasies are slowly waking up to me. When they come back I'm standing at the bar. It feels good to be standing around with two women making out and involving me. After an hour we go home. Joyce and her girl are back in the cab and I see Joyce's hand running down her legs and under the girl's skirt. She has closed her eyes and is obviously enjoying it. Arrived home, Joyce pulls her lover into my room. The two kiss. I decide to leave her alone, but just want to go inside to get my smokes. As I stand by my shelf and pull out the small metal box, Joyce grabs my arm and steers me towards the door. Even as she closes the door, she says: "If we need a cock, we'll call you." That was still quite cheeky. I sit on the couch and roll a joint. As I smoke it, I hear the two of them moaning in the next room. Maybe I should ruber and just lie down? No, I don't need it that much either. I lie down and slowly fall asleep while the two of them enjoy themselves noisily in my room. The next day the girl sneaks out of the room. I hear it but pretend I'm still asleep. Later we're having brunch and I ask Joyce how it was. "Yes, the Russians, they're great!" Joyce enthuses. "I have to come back soon." 'Sure, I'll book you as soon as I have an opportunity. But then you get a hotel room.« When Joyce is gone, Pasha comes out of his room. He still looks worn out from the last few days' drinking. He stayed home after the cake session, but continued to drink anyway. "And? Is she gone?” he asks. "Yeah, I just put her in the cab." Then I tell Pasha about last night's lesbian act. "It's probably better that she drives again," says Pascha. “A bisexual Brazilian in Moscow, that doesn't quite fit. It was quite exhausting.« "Or so you say? I looked after her for two days and nights. What shall I say first?' "Come on. Let's have a smoke and hope Joyce catches her plane.” Pasha grins. The Vikings in Moscow "How is it looking? I once felt like visiting you in Moscow,« writes Thomas on Facebook. "Aren't you fed up with me and the trouble we both get?" I ask. "It's OK. That makes life worth living," Thomas replies. I know him from the old snowboard days. At that time I was a coach at snowboard camps in Norway for a few weeks. Even then Thomas was a party animal and we had a lot of fun together. We met in Stryn, the first camp I was invited to. Thomas had a car and took me to his family in Bergen for a weekend. We made the local clubs unsafe there. Later he drove me to the other camps. I was there when he dismantled his car on a small Norwegian pass road. We are lucky that nothing happened to us at the time. When Thomas visited me in New York a few years later, we got into serious trouble. 'Cause we got set up by a drug dealer we even ended up in jail and then before the coroner and there was a lot of trouble. That was almost twelve years ago now. "So?" I ask. “Are you sure you want to come to Moscow? I don't know what prison is like here. Does your mother even let you come see me again?” “Yes, of course I want to come. Moscow will definitely be an adventure, and I can really use that!” says Thomas. Before that he told me that he has now given up snowboarding and has become a marketing manager in a large sausage factory. He was also married with two children and recently divorced. "I've got some catching up to do and the New York story was tough but one of the best of my life." A few weeks later Thomas is in Moscow. The first thing he does is pull a bottle of Jameson out of his luggage and grin. "You can drink it alone," is my answer. That same evening we go to Soljanka. Coincidentally, the club is celebrating its birthday that evening. There is a long queue in front of the door, but only invited guests can get past the doorman. There's a lot of free drinks inside and the place is packed. Thomas immediately gets the right impression of Moscow. He's happy because there are plenty of pretty women and hard liquor. He's still alone today, but tomorrow Jan-Erik, a mutual friend from Oslo, will join us and then we'll step on the gas. It's a long weekend and we have a lot to do. I lost Thomas in the commotion a few hours later, but I'm sure he's having fun. The last time I saw him he was standing next to a tall blonde woman and it seemed like something was moving between the two. I dance in the smaller bar room. When I look at the clock, I realize that it's already six o'clock in the morning. Then suddenly a girl stands in front of me and grins. She's holding a wine glass, which is unusual for Soljanka. "You're cute," she says. I grin. "Let's go fuck" is the second sentence and she grabs my hand and pulls me out of the commotion. She's in a hurry and pulls me out into the street. It's bitterly cold there and it's snowing. I wonder what she's up to, but follow her. My brain isn't working anymore anyway, because I've been drinking well all evening. The girl pulls me into the neighboring yard and there behind a gate. Shortly thereafter, she pulls my pants down, an elastic over them, and we have sex. Not only is it very cold, but I'm ankle-deep in the mud, and it smells really weird. After a while it gets to be too much for me. "Come on, let's go to my house or yours, there's no point in this," I say. "OK, let's go to you," she says. After that we get dressed and I realize that my pants were lying in the stinking mud and I smell pretty nasty now. As we walk back down the street, I remember leaving Thomas at the club. That's bad, because they won't let me in so dirty and smelly anymore. Just at that moment I see Thomas walking past us in front of the street. I call him, he stops and laughs. "Oh, here you are. I was just about to go to the subway and see how I can get to your house." Shortly thereafter, the three of us are sitting in the taxi and I learn that the girl's name is Olga and that she is a journalist. She seems to be in good spirits, as she writes on economic issues for one of Russia's largest daily newspapers, Kommersant, and she has even interviewed Putin. Thomas and I have respect for that. But I also have that in front of her directness. I think that was the quickest pick-up I've ever seen. Sex after almost three sentences, that hasn't even happened to me yet. And he was "dirty" too, I think to myself, because just now a cloud of scent from the stinking mud is wafting up into my nose. When you get home, the taxi driver suddenly wants double the agreed price. Olga gets mad and argues with him in Russian. I don't want to get into trouble and I know the Moscow taxi drivers well enough now to know that this can quickly turn violent, so I want to give him the money, but Olga holds me back. The taxi driver then calls her a foreign whore, which pisses Olga off even more. We get out and the driver follows us because we still haven't paid him. Outside I want to give him the money again, but Olga is now on one hundred and eighty. The driver calls her a whore again, which Olga acknowledges with a hard kick on the fender of his Lada. Thomas stands there tiredly, watches and wonders about the Russian girls. After the kick, the driver goes back to the car and gets something from the door shelf. I know from experience that this is not good, and I approach the driver to calm him down and finally pay him. He has a steel pipe in his hand and is trying to attack me with it. I am now standing between Olga and the driver and am being attacked from both sides, because Olga sees the steel bar and wants to hit the driver with her bare fists. "Pretty brave for a woman," I think, holding the steel bar with one hand and trying to push Olga out of reach with the other. Bad memories wash over Thomas at this moment and he decides to intervene before we end up in jail somewhere again. I'm pretty calm and relaxed now. Now Thomas comes at me and tries pulling me out of the middle while the taxi driver is now hitting him with the steel bar. But Thomas takes it well, because he is only hit in the arm and shoulder. He pushes me backwards into a safe area, now Thomas stands between the taxi driver, Olga and me. I try to give Thomas the money to pay the driver but every time I approach him he pushes me back and tells me to stay there and calm down. I'm still completely calm. I just can't shake the feeling that I'm the only one who can relax the situation, so I try again and again. It goes on like this for a few minutes, and Thomas has to take it pretty well by now. The driver hits harder and hits more often now. Olga, on the other hand, kicks the car again and just destroys one of the headlights, which makes the taxi driver even more angry. I decide to give up and open the door to my house. Then I call Thomas and Olga. After a while they break away from the driver and sprint over to me. The taxi driver runs after them in a rage. When the two of them are through the door, I toss a 500-ruble note onto the street and pull the door shut just before the driver manages to get in. Olga scolds me because I also gave the taxi driver some money. Thomas is happy we're out of harm's way and I didn't get him in trouble again. I decide to give up and open the door to my house. Then I call Thomas and Olga. After a while they break away from the driver and sprint over to me. The taxi driver runs after them in a rage. When the two of them are through the door, I toss a 500-ruble note onto the street and pull the door shut just before the driver manages to get in. Olga scolds me because I also gave the taxi driver some money. Thomas is happy we're out of harm's way and I didn't get him in trouble again. I decide to give up and open the door to my house. Then I call Thomas and Olga. After a while they break away from the driver and sprint over to me. The taxi driver runs after them in a rage. When the two of them are through the door, I toss a 500-ruble note onto the street and pull the door shut just before the driver manages to get in. Olga scolds me because I also gave the taxi driver some money. Thomas is happy we're out of harm's way and I didn't get him in trouble again. before the driver manages to get inside. Olga scolds me because I also gave the taxi driver some money. Thomas is happy we're out of harm's way and I didn't get him in trouble again. before the driver manages to get inside. Olga scolds me because I also gave the taxi driver some money. Thomas is happy we're out of harm's way and I didn't get him in trouble again. "But you're already answering," I say to Olga. "That damn asshole called me a whore!" 'Yeah, OK, but kick the car in a couple of dents right away? I don't know if that's the right way to answer," I say, thinking, "Just for one Journalist who usually deals with oligarchs and politicians.« Olga slowly calms down. Then we'll sit in my living room and have another drink. I've thrown my stinky mud jeans in the washing machine and I'm just looking forward to bed and continuing the dirty sex with Olga. It goes wild and is quite unconventional. It must be ten in the morning when we finally fall asleep. Olga snuggles up to me and is suddenly very tame. Around noon Thomas stands in front of my bed. "Come on, wake up!" he orders. "I'm hungry and we have to start sightseeing." I'd thrown a pillow in every other guest's face and chased them out, but I still feel guilty about the jail thing to Thomas. So I get up without a word and get dressed. "We can take Olga with us and throw it somewhere on the way," I say, while she crawls under the covers and doesn't understand at all how one can even think about sightseeing on a gray winter day with sleet. An hour later we are sitting in a taxi and driving through the city center. Olga's home is on the way to our first stop. On the way she plays the tourist guide and tells Thomas all sorts of things that I didn't know either. After we dropped Olga off, Thomas immediately wants to go to the next bar. He needs a beer for breakfast. In the late afternoon Jan-Erik comes along, and that completes the Vikings. The last time I saw Thomas, he was still relatively slim. He's big anyway, a real giant, over five feet. But the beer belly he's got is beyond the imagination of a true Bavarian. Well, it's no wonder he looks like that, and even in Bavaria there are few people who can manage eight beers and two rum cokes on a Saturday afternoon after a long night of drinking. Thomas doesn't even seem drunk. Jan-Erik is doing well too. When we leave Pacha around midnight, there are endless empty beer bottles in our living room, with the almost empty Jameson bottle in between. But the boys are in good spirits and still not showing any sign of tiredness, At Pacha we find the typical commercial party and the accompanying middle-class Moscow crowd. The store is too boring for me personally, but for guests it's always a good starting point for the capital's nightlife. The Pacha is just getting full. We're early. Guests often come to the club, and because it's still too empty, they decide to move on. Moscow simply has too many good clubs. It doesn't bother them at all. You go straight to the bar and order a round of long drinks. And because these are too weak, another round of tequila is thrown afterwards. The Vikings are lucky. Although Moscow is considered one of the most expensive cities in the world, it is a lot cheaper to go out here than in Oslo. And the many young girls with the skimpy clothes and the long legs that end in high heels are definitely a bonus, although there are very pretty women in Norway too. Of course, the guys don't know that at this time there are invariably models in the club who get paid to stand around. The club owner is convinced that this encourages the male guests to drink. It definitely seems to work for the Norwegians. They stand at the bar drinking up courage while staring at the girls next door. I just stand there, bored, wondering if I should enlighten her. No, I let the boys have their fun. The Pacha is slowly getting fuller and the normal guests trundle in. The club owner is convinced that this encourages the male guests to drink. It definitely seems to work for the Norwegians. They stand at the bar drinking up courage while staring at the girls next door. I just stand there, bored, wondering if I should enlighten her. No, I let the boys have their fun. The Pacha is slowly getting fuller and the normal guests trundle in. The club owner is convinced that this encourages the male guests to drink. It definitely seems to work for the Norwegians. They stand at the bar drinking up courage while staring at the girls next door. I just stand there, bored, wondering if I should enlighten her. No, I let the boys have their fun. The Pacha is slowly getting fuller and the normal guests trundle in. An hour later we sit briefly at the owner's table and drink another round of tequila. The owner, an American from LA, is a nice guy, one of the better guys in Moscow nightlife. He started as a promoter years ago, after which he had his first own club, which in the mid-2000s was one of the best in the city. Unfortunately, he wasn't so lucky with Pacha, even though the club is in a premium location, Nikolskaya, one of the most expensive shopping streets in the city center. He met the Pacha people while partying in Ibiza. They then sold him a license for the club. But Pacha Moscow is not Pacha Ibiza. This is where the general party people from all over the world meet to party for a hefty entrance fee. In Moscow, the audience was a little high-profile at first, but Pacha has quickly lost its glamor and become the playground of the upper middle class and the wannabe rich. The club has been struggling with its image for years, but is still one of the top five clubs in Moscow. The rich and famous, however, go elsewhere. But the Pacha is just right for my two Vikings. They would only get bored in a top store because they simply wouldn't pay any attention there. The Russians are pretty good at that. It's difficult enough to get into one of these clubs as it is, but once you do, you're completely ignored. Even the bartenders don't take an interest in you and you wait forever to be served, knowing that the foreigner just wants a beer while the Russian next door orders bottles of champagne for himself and his girls. It's different in Pacha. You're on par with the young middle-class managers, and it's much easier to strike up a conversation - or hit on a woman. This even seems to work for beer-bellied Norwegians, because before long my two boys are standing next to two girls. I'm still bored. "The music at Pacha isn't good at all," I think, just as a horde of dressed-up transvestites pass me. And even they look better in Moscow than anywhere else in Europe. I use the time, walk through the club and talk to a few old acquaintances. We're doing a project for Pacha at the moment and I know a lot of people on the staff. Even the otherwise angry-looking security guards grin and greet me with a handshake. You're on par with the young middle-class managers, and it's much easier to strike up a conversation - or hit on a woman. This even seems to work for beer-bellied Norwegians, because before long my two boys are standing next to two girls. I'm still bored. "The music at Pacha isn't good at all," I think, just as a horde of dressed-up transvestites pass me. And even they look better in Moscow than anywhere else in Europe. I use the time, walk through the club and talk to a few old acquaintances. We're doing a project for Pacha at the moment and I know a lot of people on the staff. Even the otherwise angry-looking security guards grin and greet me with a handshake. You're on par with the young middle-class managers, and it's much easier to strike up a conversation - or hit on a woman. This even seems to work for beer-bellied Norwegians, because before long my two boys are standing next to two girls. I'm still bored. "The music at Pacha isn't good at all," I think, just as a horde of dressed-up transvestites pass me. And even they look better in Moscow than anywhere else in Europe. I use the time, walk through the club and talk to a few old acquaintances. We're doing a project for Pacha at the moment and I know a lot of people on the staff. Even the otherwise angry-looking security guards grin and greet me with a handshake. to start a conversation - or to hit on a woman. This even seems to work for beer-bellied Norwegians, because before long my two boys are standing next to two girls. I'm still bored. "The music at Pacha isn't good at all," I think, just as a horde of dressed-up transvestites pass me. And even they look better in Moscow than anywhere else in Europe. I use the time, walk through the club and talk to a few old acquaintances. We're doing a project for Pacha at the moment and I know a lot of people on the staff. Even the otherwise angry-looking security guards grin and greet me with a handshake. to start a conversation - or to hit on a woman. This even seems to work for beer-bellied Norwegians, because before long my two boys are standing next to two girls. I'm still bored. "The music at Pacha isn't good at all," I think, just as a horde of dressed-up transvestites pass me. And even they look better in Moscow than anywhere else in Europe. I use the time, walk through the club and talk to a few old acquaintances. We're doing a project for Pacha at the moment and I know a lot of people on the staff. Even the otherwise angry-looking security guards grin and greet me with a handshake. I'm still bored. "The music at Pacha isn't good at all," I think, just as a horde of dressed-up transvestites pass me. And even they look better in Moscow than anywhere else in Europe. I use the time, walk through the club and talk to a few old acquaintances. We're doing a project for Pacha at the moment and I know a lot of people on the staff. Even the otherwise angry-looking security guards grin and greet me with a handshake. I'm still bored. "The music at Pacha isn't good at all," I think, just as a horde of dressed-up transvestites pass me. And even they look better in Moscow than anywhere else in Europe. I use the time, walk through the club and talk to a few old acquaintances. We're doing a project for Pacha at the moment and I know a lot of people on the staff. Even the otherwise angry-looking security guards grin and greet me with a handshake. When I come back, Thomas has his girl firmly under control. It's a tall blonde. She has a good figure but could have had a prettier face. I can tell by the style right away that it's a girl from the suburbs. Jan-Erik is alone and is already waiting for me with the next round of drinks. After that we go down to the dance floor to check the situation. On the way there we have to work our way through the crowd. There are all sorts of people on the steps who want to see and be seen. I move as best I can. On the one hand I don't like the music at all, on the other hand I bump into the people around me with every movement. Just when I've had enough and want to go back upstairs, a girl stands in front of me and grins at me. She makes a little space and dances. I look her up and down. A woman in her mid-twenties, blonde, in a black dress and with the typical ultra-high heels. Of course I like them, but when I see these things I always ask myself how you can even move with them. Let alone dancing or stumbling around on icy winter sidewalks. I grin back and we dance for a while. "My name is Anastasia," she yells in my ear. "I am pleased to meet you. Shall we go to the bar for a drink?” I ask, taking the opportunity to finally get off the dance floor. Jan-Erik dances next to me and is a little disappointed at first. But then he realizes that Anastasia still has a girlfriend with her. That was clear to me from the start, because only hookers are alone in Moscow's nightlife. Otherwise, the women always come in pairs, which always becomes a problem at the end of the evening when you've finally gotten one of the girls ready and want to go home with her. Then it suddenly doesn't matter that you've invested 150 euros in drinks and haven't looked at any other rock all evening. Then they are siblings and have to take care of each other. So that the other person doesn't do anything stupid. That's why your girl suddenly pulls back. And you thought you had everything under control and the pig in the poke. "And? What are we going to do with your girlfriend?” you asked earlier. "No problem. I'll tell her I want to be alone with you,' she replies. Then comes the moment when she goes to her friend to tell her that she is going home with you now. She comes back and says, "Just a moment. My girlfriend wants to stay here and I can't leave her alone.« Or: »Let's have breakfast together«, which almost always ends with me paying for breakfast and then going home alone. Your girl is often already in the taxi, and then her friend jumps in with her. "We'll drive to you first," they say. "What? The three of you?” I ask. Most of the time they drop me off at my place and then decide to drive on to their house and of course as a gentleman I have to pay for it. But sometimes I'm lucky and they come up with me. Then I have a chance, because one of my roommates is often waiting there for me to bring a surprise guest. Then they get drunk together and maybe after a while I can get my girl into bed while my roommate entertains the other one. If my friends knew that I was living in a shared apartment, they would never come up with me. We stand at the bar and drink the umpteenth round. I'm starting to feel the alcohol. Jan-Erik is working on Anastasia's girlfriend. However, both of them do not speak English at all, so it is not easy to communicate. But the alcohol helps. I look around the club looking for Thomas but I can't find him anywhere so I text him. “I'm on my way to my blonde's apartment. Fuck!” he writes. I'll send him my address and wish him a lot of fun. Hopefully she doesn't live too far away, because Moscow is very spread out and out there it will later be difficult to find transport to the city center alone and without knowledge of Russian. But Thomas is a big boy and he'll make it. Maybe the blonde will be okay and she'll take care of him. Let him have some fun. So, one Viking is taken care of. The other one is working on it, so I can take care of Anastasia. She stands next to me and grins at me, which I immediately acknowledge with a kiss. Then we stand at the bar for a while and fondle each other. Yes, sounds stupid, but what else should you call it? otherwise it's me who gets upset about people groping each other in public. I hate it when they shove their tongues down each other's throats and barpet. However, it gets me every now and then, and what's the point of conversation if I can hardly speak Russian and she can hardly speak English? Around five it's time to go home. I already have my girl in the sack, only Jan-Erik doesn't quite manage to get his girlfriend. I'm worried. "Shall we go to my house and continue from there?" I ask. The two girls consult. "Let's go to Neo," they say. The Neo is a lower-class after-hours club. It is right in the middle between the center and the suburbs. I've never been there but have heard about it. I shrug. Jan-Erik nods. "OK, let's go to the Neo." On the way I kiss Anastasia. She's excited, I can feel it. In the club she immediately pulls me across the dance floor, then up the stairs and into a dark back room. This is something like a VIP lounge. There are more people in the room. Some talk, others make out. I sit down on a couch next to Anastasia and we kiss. She kneels on the floor and unbuttons my pants. Then she gets up and pulls her dress up. She wears black stockings. A few seconds later she is sitting on me and we are kissing while moving rhythmically. She's getting faster and faster. I can't really relax because there are a lot of people sitting around me and I can feel some watching us while Anastasia rides me. Apparently I'm not drunk enough after all. After a while we calm down and go back to the dance floor. We also meet Anastasia's girlfriend there, but there is no sign of Jan-Erik far and wide. "I'm sure he'll have fun," I think, although I'm a bit concerned and text afterwards. He does not answer. In the meantime, I'm trying to get Anastasia to go home with me. There we could continue in peace and finish what started so well in the VIP lounge. It's another half hour before I get her ready to come with me. Just as we're in the cab, hers comes but there is no trace of Jan-Erik far and wide. "I'm sure he'll have fun," I think, although I'm a bit concerned and text afterwards. He does not answer. In the meantime, I'm trying to get Anastasia to go home with me. There we could continue in peace and finish what started so well in the VIP lounge. It's another half hour before I get her ready to come with me. Just as we're in the cab, hers comes but there is no trace of Jan-Erik far and wide. "I'm sure he'll have fun," I think, although I'm a bit concerned and text afterwards. He does not answer. In the meantime, I'm trying to get Anastasia to go home with me. There we could continue in peace and finish what started so well in the VIP lounge. It's another half hour before I get her ready to come with me. Just as we're in the cab, hers comes until I get her ready to come with me. Just as we're in the cab, hers comes until I get her ready to come with me. Just as we're in the cab, hers comes girlfriend and opens the door again. She's not wearing her coat, though, so I don't expect her to come with me. Anastasia gets out and says she'll be back in five minutes. I should wait The taxi driver turns around and looks questioningly. I'll offer him double the fare if he waits here with me because I don't want to go back to the club. But as I wait for her, I realize it was stupid to let her go. Just as the driver turns around again and looks at me questioningly, because the five minutes are long gone, the door of the club opens and Anastasia runs towards our taxi, smiling. That was close. I was about to give the order to depart. She gets in our car and kisses me hard. Jan-Erik is still missing. I tried calling him several times while I was waiting, even though a voice call to a Norwegian number would cost me a fortune. He also gets the home address and instructions on how to get home safely. It is pleasantly quiet in the apartment. My two roommates are either not at home or they are already asleep. It's already eight o'clock in the morning. Anastasia is a classy woman. I don't understand much of what she's saying, but in bed she's the loneliest. Around ten o'clock the doorbell rings. When I open it, Jan-Erik is standing in front of me. He's pretty drunk and staggers into the guest room. I'm calmed down now and go back to Anastasia. Contrary to expectations, she is still not asleep, but lies grinning in bed in front of me. Let's go to the next round. Two hours later, Thomas is standing in front of my bed and demanding another round of sightseeing with Jan-Erik. Today I am more relaxed: "Go to the diner for breakfast," I snarl. "I'll come there at three and pick you up." Anastasia pulls the covers over her head and Thomas withdraws, disappointed. After that it's quiet again in our apartment. The boys have left and we're in peace, but Anastasia doesn't want to sleep anymore and has other plans. I'm slowly running out of breath. Two days with less than three hours of sleep, a lot of alcohol and partying, even the strongest man can't stand it. Just as we're about to start, Anastasia's phone rings. Her boyfriend seems to be on the other end. "Where are you?" he asks. “With Irina. We partied for a long time, and I slept with her,” Anastasia replies. I have to grin. Her boyfriend seems suspicious because he asks for the landline number and wants to call them to check. Anastasia tries to make excuses and now has a problem. The guy on the other end gets louder. Then she just hangs up and turns off her phone. "I'll take care of that later," she says. I'm surprised at her calmness. Quite exhausted. After that I make us some coffee and it's the first time we've talked a little. It's actually going quite well with my few words of Russian. She asks what I do in Russia and I tell her that I have my own company. After breakfast I put her in a taxi and go to the diner to pick up the Norwegians. There is a children's afternoon with a team of animators in costumes. The Norwegians are right in the middle and as happy as the little ones. "And? What did you do?” I ask. "Had breakfast. And had a few beers.” "How many?" "Around six." "Together!?" "No, everyone!" Thomas grins. "How was your blonde?" I want to know. “I took her to the other side of town. There, where all the prefabricated buildings are, and even further. She was nice. We keep in touch. She wants to come visit me in Oslo.” "And where were you last night? We lost each other somehow«, I ask Jan-Erik. 'I wanted to go back to Pacha, but by the time I got there it was closed. After that I walked around the area for a bit until I found a bar where something was still going on. I met a girl there. At sunrise we went to Red Square. That was really nice. Then she dragged me into a doorway and gave me a blow job. That was even better.« By the cold? I'm not sure if that's true. Well no matter. Is his thing. "And after that?" I ask. 'After that we had breakfast and then I went home. I was pretty floored. Can't remember her name or what she looks like." "Well, I hope it wasn't a man because there's a gay bar around the corner," I joke. After brunch we do the second tour of the city. It's like yesterday, only now I have to take care of two Vikings. I have since learned that they need alcohol at least once an hour to keep them happy. This goes on for two days. On Tuesday afternoon I finally put the Norwegians in a taxi to the airport, after which I fall into bed exhausted and sleep in. Before they leave, the Vikings threaten me: "That was great, we'll do it once a year now. We'll be back soon!« The friendly police "Let's go to the Real McCoy," says Michael, my German friend in Moscow. I know the place well because it's right under the Stalin Tower where I lived with Victor for the first few months. The Real McCoy is known for its boisterous weekend parties. Then the little bar is packed to the brim with nice suburban girls and the boys looking for an adventure for the night or more. Despite the quirky pop music, the mood is always boisterous. That may have something to do with the fact that they serve mojitos from 0.5 liter beer glasses here. The Long Island Ice Teas are just as big and pack a punch. The bar cannot be endured without alcohol either. Victor used to go downstairs while I stayed in the apartment and played Playstation. At that time I had Julia and no interest in other girls, although it was not uncommon for Victor to come home with two and want me to take care of the girlfriend. Today I know that it was pure self-interest. At the Real McCoy you will quickly make friends. It takes less than five minutes and you already have new friends. It often goes quite quickly with the girls. Two of the female guests are dancing on the bar. They're not my type, but they show all sorts of meat and let the crowd in front of the bar admire them. We joke with a few Russians, then meet a bunch of foreigners who are girl-hunting, and I talk to one or two old acquaintances. Then I go to the bar to get another drink. It's difficult to get through to the counter. A girl in a black dress is standing in front of me, and I am pressed firmly against her from behind. She turns her head to see who is behind her, pressing against her so insistently. I seem to please her 'cause she gives me a smile while I send a quick "Sorry" in her direction. Shortly thereafter, a seat opens up next to her and I finally get a chance to order my drink. The girl stands next to me and looks at me. She's pretty drunk already. "It's taking a while today," I think when she suddenly turns to me and tries to kiss me. I dodge it for a moment, but then go into it. It doesn't look that bad and we'll see what comes next. It's strange how quickly that sometimes happens in Moscow. When my drink comes, I make room for another and stand behind the little one again. We kiss again and she grabs my crotch, which of course excites me. Then she turns around. I'm pressed against her anyway by the crowd behind me and now I'm moving rhythmically to the music. She seems to like it because she leans forward to press her butt even tighter against me. I hug her from behind, continue dancing and slowly go up my legs from below. Her panties are already wet and I decide to go under and tease her even further. That's how it goes for a while. Suddenly she has her hand in my pants. None of the bystanders seem to notice anything. The store is just too crowded. "Why not more?" I think, unbuttoning my pants and pushing up her dress. Shortly thereafter I am in her. She seems to enjoy the adventure and is actively involved. Insanity! I fuck a girl at the bar. Right at the bar, in between all the people, and no one notices! It goes on for a while, but as always in situations like this, I worry about being discovered. So I pull her dress back down and zip up my pants. Then I take her by the hand and pull her through the crowd to the toilets. The good thing about the Real McCoy is that males and females use the same restrooms. Unfortunately, there is always a small line in front of it. As we stand there waiting for our chance, the girl's friend arrives. She tries to save her and drag her back to her clique. If she knew we'd already had sex at the bar, that would probably seem hopeless to her. Just then a door opens and I pull the girl inside. Her friend follows us and protests sharply, but my bar slut sends her out. It continues in the toilet, although someone knocks on the door every ten seconds. After the number, she is in a hurry to get back to her people. In such a hurry that she even forgets her black panties. "That's a nice trophy," I think, and put it in my pocket. rescue her and drag her back to her clique. If she knew we'd already had sex at the bar, that would probably seem hopeless to her. Just then a door opens and I pull the girl inside. Her friend follows us and protests sharply, but my bar slut sends her out. It continues in the toilet, although someone knocks on the door every ten seconds. After the number, she is in a hurry to get back to her people. In such a hurry that she even forgets her black panties. "That's a nice trophy," I think, and put it in my pocket. rescue her and drag her back to her clique. If she knew we'd already had sex at the bar, that would probably seem hopeless to her. Just then a door opens and I pull the girl inside. Her friend follows us and protests sharply, but my bar slut sends her out. It continues in the toilet, although someone knocks on the door every ten seconds. After the number, she is in a hurry to get back to her people. In such a hurry that she even forgets her black panties. "That's a nice trophy," I think, and put it in my pocket. Her friend follows us and protests sharply, but my bar slut sends her out. It continues in the toilet, although someone knocks on the door every ten seconds. After the number, she is in a hurry to get back to her people. In such a hurry that she even forgets her black panties. "That's a nice trophy," I think, and put it in my pocket. Her friend follows us and protests sharply, but my bar slut sends her out. It continues in the toilet, although someone knocks on the door every ten seconds. After the number, she is in a hurry to get back to her people. In such a hurry that she even forgets her black panties. "That's a nice trophy," I think, and put it in my pocket. “Where have you been so long?” asks Michael. "If you knew what just happened to me..." After that, the evening goes on like this. We drink and have fun with the other guys. When we stagger out of the Real McCoy at around five, Michael is driving home, but I still want to go to Mix, a hip after-hours club just around the corner. I dance there until the early hours of the morning. Again, it's easy to meet new people, and I'm drinking with Sasha, an oligarch's son. He pays for all my drinks, not just mine. I have a feeling he's paying for the whole club tonight. Nevertheless, Sascha is attached to me. He must be in his early twenties and has taken a liking to the crazy German. Maybe because I'm not only interested in the girls, I also talk to them. After all, I was already successful today, so I'm relatively calm, but at this time I'm pretty blue. At eight o'clock I decide to finally go home. Sascha comes out with us to say goodbye in peace. We're just exchanging numbers when two guys approach us and start talking. One of them pulls an ID card out of his pocket. They are police officers and they let us know that they would like to have a look in our pockets. A lot of drugs are used, especially in the after-hours clubs, but I'm there often and it's the first time in Russia that I've been caught in a civil patrol. Of course, neither of us have anything with us, but the policemen are happy anyway, because something is wrong with my papers. You have to register with the authorities in Russia within three days and I've been in the country for seven days since my last entry and had deliberately failed to "Then get in the car with us," says one of the police officers. Sascha protests violently. He wants to get a lawyer and take care of me because what's next looks like an arrest. "Don't worry. I've got it under control. I can handle it myself,' I reassure him. 'Go back to the club and have fun. I'll text you later so you don't have to worry." What follows is completely normal in Russia: you get in the car and negotiate how the problem can be solved. "That's a $200 fine if we take you to the station," says one. "Bullshit!" I slur back in a friendly way, because I'm not completely sober anymore either. 'I'm not a mere tourist. I know my way. The maximum fine is $100 and you can only detain me for three hours." "The laws have changed," says the policeman. "Well then, take me with you. Then you'll have a lot of trouble and paperwork, and you'll get nothing yourself.' The policemen are silent. “I'll give you thirty dollars. That's all I've got anyway." "That's not enough," says my negotiating partner. "That's all I have with me." 'There's an ATM over there. You can take off more there.« »Isn't. I've already drunk my budget for today and I'm broke. I won't get any more money until tomorrow,' I lie confidently. The police advise in Russian. "OK, give it to me," replies one. I'm about to pull the 1,000-ruble note out of my purse when I remember that I'll really be without any money. "Neh. Wait. I need two hundred rubles to get a taxi home.” "It's not our problem," says the policeman. 'Oh come on boys. You guys aren't leaving me out here in the cold.' 'Where do you live?' the police officers ask. »Sukharevskaya street. Not far from here, but too far to walk.” The two of them talk in Russian for a while, then the driver starts the car and we drive off. "Okay, we'll drive you home. Where are you going?” says the other. I give them my 1000 ruble note and I'm glad I got out of it so easily and on top of that I got a ride home. We make all sorts of jokes on the way, and the policemen tease me with anti-German jokes. The atmosphere is friendly. You could think they were my new best friends. When I get home, I get out of the police car. I'm still totally drunk. My neighbor is standing in front of the door with her dog. She already knows our wild flat share and is not surprised at my police escort home, but greets me in a friendly way. "Time for bed," I think. It's nine o'clock in the morning now and I've seen enough. The slave It's Saturday morning and already light when I get home. It was one of those boozy nights at Moscow's top clubs. After a few hours of sleep, I sit at the computer and do urgent emails. Then my Skype pops up. It's Florian, a friend. He asks me if I want a girl. "What do you mean?" I text back. "A girl, for fun." "A whore?" »No, not a whore, (my)a slave.« "Ah, slave. I don't know much about S&M..." "Then you'll learn..." "What does this cost?" "Nothing." "How long?" "All night. Until you send her home." An hour later, Florian and I pick up the girl from the subway. I have scruples, but I can't resist trying something completely new. I'm not expecting beauty and am totally surprised when a model lady in high heels and a fur coat gets into our car. Florian talks to her. I'm mute and a little unsure. In the elevator he unbuttons her coat. Underneath is only black, transparent underwear. She presents herself to me. I still have a very high residual alcohol level, which makes it all seem even more absurd to me than it already is. The spook will surely be over any moment. I'm probably still asleep and just dreaming about it all. The situation is so crazy, it just can't be reality. In the apartment, Florian explains the commands to me and warns me that I have to think along for the girl. 'She won't go to the toilet by herself, and she won't drink either. You have to tell her to. She doesn't talk at all unless you speak to her. You can let her do chores or just put her in the corner for a while.” That would actually be a good idea, he says, and implements it immediately with a verbal command. I've known Florian for years and have experienced and discussed all sorts of things with him, but I didn't expect anything like that. He just doesn't seem like an S&M guy. "So, now it's your turn," says Florian. I'm very insecure when I give my first orders. The girl has to suppress a smile and promptly gets her ass spanked by Florian, which she acknowledges with a »Thank you, Master!«. Then he admires the red imprint of his hand on her bottom and grins. A few hours later Florian leaves and leaves me alone with her. I still don't understand the whole thing. Regardless, it's kind of great. I have a beautiful girl with me all night. When she was handed over she got the order to spoil me - and she does that. All night. Over and over with a dedication that is second to none. In between she changes her underwear and presents herself in new outfits. Then she dances in front of me. pulls her skirt up a little, At some point I'll be in the game myself. That's how an actor has to feel in his role. The lines slowly blur and the role becomes reality. Every once in a while, reality catches up to me. Then I think, explore and try to understand what is happening here. Why is she doing this? does she play If so, then damn good, and she sees it through to the end. The girl is very sensitive. She explores me and adapts more and more. I'm surprised to see how quickly she learns. The best thing is that she takes an incredible amount of time. I don't feel any pressure, I can fully enjoy it. Not a minute goes by when the slave doesn't play around with me. It's getting to be too much for me, and I remember Florian's advice to put her in a corner every now and then. She's been standing there for about five minutes, looking down. I feel sorry for you and, to be honest, there's nothing wrong with sitting in front of the TV watching your favorite series while a girl is messing with you. So I let her come and demand a blowjob, which she gives me devotedly. The situation is just unreal. It's the moment when you ask yourself, "How did I get here? What am I doing here? Life is wonderful!" "How did I get here? What am I doing here? Life is wonderful!" "How did I get here? What am I doing here? Life is wonderful!" Then she sticks her ass out at me and politely asks if I'd like to fuck her. "No. Not now!' I reply harshly. Florian explained to me where the limits are and how far she can go. She gets sex when I want it, not when she wants it. The slave understands that she made a mistake and looks at me submissively. Actually, this dominant behavior is not my thing. I feel pretty stupid doing it. On the other side next to me is a very attractive woman who looks at me submissively and fulfills my every wish and every fantasy. No matter how crazy it may be. I wonder again if she's just pretending or if she's actually so submissive. Florian told me that she really is like that and lives it. She struggles because she always needs someone to call the shots. How about a girlfriend like that? Wouldn't that be great? when she has no opinion of her own and always does what I feel like doing? »Honey. I'm in the mood for a blow job now" or "I'm going to watch football with my boys now. You come with me, but sit quietly and don't make a peep. If I want a beer I'll give you a sign and you go get me one. My friends too.” Yes, that's it, right? No certainly not. I don't want a woman with no wills, nor do I want to take full responsibility for her life. But for one night it's an interesting experience. I wonder how does one get like that? Was she born like that or did she become like that later? She must have been abused as a child. How else can such an attractive woman be so wrecked in the head? No, I think wrong. She's a good girl and I should take her with me treat with respect. Let's try a little small talk. She speaks english. So that shouldn't be a problem. But which topic do you choose? How do you start a conversation with a girl who only wants to hear commands from you? Oh man, she looks so damn good. Maybe I should ask Florian if I can take it over. He doesn't have time for her anyway. "Are you playing me something, or are you living it?" I ask spontaneously and regret it at the same moment. How could I choose such a stupid topic? Come on Chris, you've got more brains. "I'm like this," she replies. 'Is something wrong, Sir Chris? Did I do something wrong?" "No. It's okay. You're sweet. Come here! I want to cuddle." Yeah, what an idiot, that Chris. Now he has the opportunity to do everything, to try everything, that he has always wanted to do. This really is an opportunity. Not everyone gets this chance. Life means well with you. And you? you want to cuddle She snuggles up to me like a cat and even purrs a little. I stroke her hair and then go down her beautiful body. "Shit!" I think. This is my chance. I'll do it and see it through to the end. "Come on! Lay down. I want to fuck!" Then I go through all the positions that I know. Even the somewhat complicated ones from the Kama Sutra. At some point, the slave looks at me a bit depressed. "What's going on?" I ask. She does not answer. I go through the checklist in my head. Meal? Check. Drink? Check! To pee? Hm, OK, she might need to go to the bathroom. "Do you have to pee?" I ask. she nods. "OK then go to the bathroom." She gets up and I drove her to the bathroom. And now? How far does it go with the commands? Do I have to stand by and tell her to pee? I decide not to take any chances: "OK, sit down and pee," I order. Shortly thereafter, it's already splashing. I squat down and slip my hand under her. My hands feel warm. So that's what it feels like. OK, checked. Then it continues on the couch. After a while I think to myself: "I've done anal before, but it still wouldn't be bad." Unfortunately I don't have any lube, but then it has to serve as it is. As I try to enter her, she twitches and makes a sound that lets me know she's in pain. So I let go of my plan. 'I'm sorry, Sir Chris. My anus is just too small for you,” she says slave. "It's OK. Let's move on to something else." We don't go to bed until two o'clock. "Shall I untie the leash from your collar?" I ask uncertainly. 'No sir. You don't have to. I sleep with the leash,” the slave replies. We lie naked in bed. I've had countless orgasms and I'm really at the end. Then I pull her to me, put her head on my shoulder, and we fall asleep. When I wake up in the night, she is lying next to me. She looks at me and asks if she can spoil me. It's getting to be too much for me, but whatever. Then we'll fuck again. After a while I fall back into the pillows. I'm tired and fall back asleep quickly. The next day my knees are shaking. I could keep her here all day. let them do the house cleaning. Play with her every now and then. But I'm just too done. In the early afternoon I take off her collar and leash and send her home. I think that was one of the best nights of my life. crazy! I still don't understand the whole thing and I have to think about it all the time. Many thoughts are buzzing through my head. Lots of questions and I'm trying to find an answer to them. Why did Florian bring her to me? And she just goes up to a complete stranger, lets himself be bossed around and has sex with him? She fulfills his every wish. Why is she doing that? Wouldn't that be the perfect partner for a marriage? Or not? It was all just a game anyway, wasn't it? Maybe not. I had the feeling that she really lives the Devote. And what comes now? What is to come after such a night? I thought for a long time whether I should write about it at all, because nobody believes me anyway. I wouldn't believe it either. No, I still can't believe it. "And? How was it?” asks Florian. "Class! I can't thank you enough for this experience,” I say. "Easy," says Florian. “I just spoke to her. “She likes you very much. You must have been very nice to her. She doesn't know that." Ah, I was nice. I really tried hard to be dominant. "Are you going to cede them to me?" I joke. "No. Certainly not. you are not strong enough You couldn't. She needs guidance. You still don't have enough experience for that,« Florian replies very seriously. "Want to learn more?" "No thanks. It was an interesting experience, but I don't want to delve deeper into this matter. That's not my thing. But I'd be happy if you park it with me every now and then,' I reply. “That probably won't happen again, because I don't have enough time to take care of her. That's why I'm giving it to another master. But I'll let you know if anything happens." Hm, I think. He gives them to another master. That sounds like she's a dog. This thought makes me kind of sad. That's why I should rather keep my hands off this scene. "So what now?" I think. I acted out my most secret and dirtiest fantasies last night and ticked off everything else I wanted to do in bed. How to proceed? No idea. We will see. Ballerina at the So-Ho Rooms Once a month I throw "A Small World" party at So-Ho Rooms, one of the best clubs in Moscow. Although it's always on Thursdays, the party is well attended by the members of this elite internet community, and we always get the club's terrace, a VIP area with a pool. She also uses the So-Ho for her own VIP guests, so there's a good mix of foreigners, rich Russians and pretty girls. As a rule, these "small world" meetings are quite boring. To be perfectly honest, the only time I can stand them now is when I've had a few drinks, because "small world" means small talk. Then I stand at the bar from nine in the evening until three or four in the morning and talk to one after the other. "Hi. How are you? Long time no see. How is the business going?" I'm in better spirits this time though because I was lucky at the last party. Just before we went home, a girl approached me and I took her with me. She was pretty and rich, but also pretty drunk. After sex she wanted to leave. I asked for her number but she made an excuse and left. Well, then it was just a one-night stand. I was surprised because the women at the So-Ho Rooms are out of my league. Only Moscow's elite cavort there. In the two years I've been throwing parties there, I've never taken a girl home from there. »But a blind hen can also find a grain of corn«, I think and grin as I stand at the bar that evening and order my second drink. It's three o'clock in the morning. I'm dead tired and just want to go to bed. We have just finished the billing, the turnover was modest. There's another Canadian I know standing at the bar. "Come have another drink with me," he slurs. "OK why not? One more nightcap before going home.” We talk a bit. Next to us are two high-class whores, whom the Canadian has an eye on. I check the dance floor because there's still something going on there. A couple of girls dance happily with two boys. One of them looks back and grins. She's wearing a red sundress that looks expensive. "Another rich kid," I think, turning my attention back to the Canadian. When I turn back to the dance floor after a few minutes, the girl is still grinning. She goes to her table, gets her drink and walks purposefully towards me. "Enchante," she says. "Nice to meet you too. What's your name?" "I'm Chloe and I'm from France," she replies. "Aha. What brings you to Moscow?” "I'm a ballerina!" she says proudly. »We were here last week for a guest performance at the Bolshoi and today is our last evening.« When I hear the keyword "ballerina" I'm immediately a bit disinterested, because I still associate Julia, pain and drama with this term. She notices that and flirts with me all the more. My drink is empty so I order another one to see where this goes because Chloe is actually quite nice. But she repeats the term ballerina several times and thinks that she can impress me with it. When it gets too much, I say, "OK, OK, I get it. I'm used to ballerinas, my ex is a ballerina at the Bolshoi, and I know half the company.« I realize that that was a bit rude and add another »But I still think you're cute!«. "Where do you live?" she asks. I don't know how many times I've heard this question, but it's a sure sign that the girl is considering coming home with me. "There's no such thing!" I think. Twice in a row I got lucky at the So-Ho Rooms. Crazy. “I live ten minutes from here. In the center,” I reply. This is followed by a few minutes of small talk and flirting. 'I have to be at the hotel for breakfast at eight thirty tomorrow morning and then we'll go to the airport around nine o'clock,' Chloe says eventually. I look at the clock and see that it's almost four. "Then what are we waiting for?" I ask her, looking deep into her eyes. "Are we going to your place or mine?" She's clearly shocked by my directness, but I'm tired and I'm tired of playing games. 'We can have a few more drinks and talk, of course, but it's all taking up our time to do better things. Let's not waste another minute. I want you!" she stares at me Then her features loosen and she grins. "You're right. Let's go to my hotel.' Then we kiss. The others in her group see this and are surprised. Two of them come over and talk to us. They grin and say: "What happens in Moscow stays in Moscow." I later learn that Chloe lives in Paris, is married and has a child. The others decide to share a taxi with us. "I've got another bottle of champagne," Chloe says. "Cool, we'll kill them!" the others reply. I just roll my eyes because my plan was different. Chloe has her own room, but there are four of us now. "Your girlfriend is very good looking, too," I think. "Who knows what they're up to." It's five o'clock when I go to the toilet. Just as I want to go back into the room, the door opens and Chloe is standing in front of me. She pushes me back into the bathroom and unbuttons my pants. After that she pulls me towards her and we have sex. »Oh dear. My condoms are in my jacket pocket,« I think briefly, but by then it's too late. She took the initiative. Heavy standing sex ensues, interrupted when one of the dancers storms into the bathroom, runs to the toilet bowl and starts throwing up. We straighten our clothes and go back into the room. "Sorry," says Chloe's girlfriend and grins. "We'll go straight to our rooms. As soon as that one in there is ready." Ten minutes later we finally have our peace. We'll have another glass of champagne and then it's on for the next three hours. I don't even think about the condoms anymore. I may be tired, but this woman is great. She has a great body, not an ounce of fat is too much and muscles as hard as stone. She fucks like hell. She has so much energy and totally challenges me. At some point she takes my best piece in her hand. Pulls it out and sticks it up her ass like it's the most natural thing in the world. "So it's true what they say about the French and anal sex," I'm thinking at that moment. At a quarter past eight we separate. I give Chloe one more long kiss. "That was great. I'm really glad I met you. Will we see each other again?” I ask. “I think we'll be back in Moscow in October. Or will you come visit me in Paris?" "And your husband?" "We'll find an opportunity, don't you think?" "Where there's a will, there's a way," I say, grinning. Then I accompany Chloe to the ground floor for breakfast. I give her the last long kiss in the elevator, because I don't want other colleagues to know that she took me to the hotel. It's Friday morning, just before nine. I'm sitting in a cab home with shaky knees and still pretty drunk. What a life! I love it. Chloe then texts me: 'Well, my little one. I'm already on the bus to the airport. It was wonderful with you. Don't forget me and let's keep in touch. Bisous, Chloe' Why did I only meet her last night? It would have been much nicer if we could have spent the week together. We'll be sending lots of messages back and forth over the next few days and weeks. Partly by phone, partly via Facebook. Chloe says she misses me. But sometimes she is more direct and writes that she just liked having sex with me. I think this woman is great, but I'm not going to get involved because she has family and no matter how bored or unsatisfied she seems, I will not interfere and cause problems. Then, a few days later, she suddenly deleted me from her friends list. So without any comment. She no longer responds to my phone messages. OK, so she broke up with me on Facebook without further ado. This is also a first time for me. I'm shocked, but after some thought I decide to just accept it. it's madness Six months later I'm sitting in bed Sunday night watching a movie when I get a text message. It's from Chloe and in a bit confused English: 'Are you okay? Also health? After our sex without a condom and condition.« What condition? was she ill Oh man! You have sex without a condom and then you hit the bull's eye. I'm an idiot! And then I also had anal sex with her! I'm panicking. “I'm fine, I think. am healthy How about you? Should I be worried?" It took twenty minutes for the answer to come: »Don't panic, I just wanted to ask. I'm healthy too," she writes. I'm a little reassured, but decide to do some tests first thing in the morning. A few days later I get the results, everything is fine. I'll be more careful going forward, I vow to myself. Chloe and I are still not Facebook friends again, but we do send each other a few nice texts every once in a while. Maybe I'll see her again sometime. In Moscow, in Paris or anywhere else in the world. Cold shower It's been twenty years since communism and the Soviets lost to capitalism. Since then, Russia has seen and suffered a lot. Of course, the country has evolved. It still takes for granted that it still claims superpower status in our modern world. Russia is the largest country on earth and possesses quite a few nuclear warheads. Oh yes, then there was oil and gas. The superpower Russia. A giant country with an area of around 17.1 million square kilometers, inhabited by just over 140 million people. downward trend. That's not even twice as many inhabitants as Germany has, and yet this country is so incredibly large. Recently I flew to Vladivostok and it took us eight and a half hours from Moscow. Thank goodness in business class. But Russia does not stop there near Korea. It extends much further east into the Kamchatka and Chukotka regions, which border Alaska. You can meet them all in Moscow. The Eskimos from Chukotka or the women with the bony faces from Kamchatka. Of course also the Asians from Central Asia. Russia is gigantic. But superpower? Whenever I listen to the Russians' patriotic self-adulation, and that often happens, I have to suppress a grin, because there is also a great deal of absurdity in the land of bears and vodka. The Eskimos from Chukotka or the women with the bony faces from Kamchatka. Of course also the Asians from Central Asia. Russia is gigantic. But superpower? Whenever I listen to the Russians' patriotic self-adulation, and that often happens, I have to suppress a grin, because there is also a great deal of absurdity in the land of bears and vodka. The Eskimos from Chukotka or the women with the bony faces from Kamchatka. Of course also the Asians from Central Asia. Russia is gigantic. But superpower? Whenever I listen to the Russians' patriotic self-adulation, and that often happens, I have to suppress a grin, because there is also a great deal of absurdity in the land of bears and vodka. Moscow is subject to the continental climate prevailing. Depending on which direction the wind is blowing from, it is damp and cold or dry and warm. But the Russians themselves found a way to control the weather. Much to the chagrin of people living in the Moscow suburbs. During important state visits or important holidays, silver iodide is sprayed into the clouds outside the city gates. According to Greenpeace, this is harmless to the environment, but very expensive. The chemical causes local clouds to rain down and binds moisture in the air, causing the clouds to dissipate. While we have bright blue skies in Moscow these days, there is constant rain in the suburbs. That alone is absurd enough, but a few years ago the mayor of Moscow came up with the idea of using this method, to protect the city from the annual snow chaos. He made a simple calculation: how much does it cost to spray silver iodide on the clouds? And how much does the winter service cost? He came to the conclusion that if there is no snow in Moscow in winter, the city will save enormously. The mayors of the suburbs weren't very happy about this method, of course, because they were going to get all the snow that way. No sooner said than done. The small propeller planes flew day and night and the winter service was sent home. The method worked wonderfully at first, but after four weeks of sunshine without precipitation, I asked myself how the poor vegetation in the city was doing. In addition, it was even dustier in the city than it already was. Then came the first winter storm, and one could no longer master the clouds. There just weren't enough planes. The city was covered in snow and the winter service was at home. After a few days the snow was two meters high in some places and we were to have problems all winter, although the planes stayed on the ground and winter service was called back. It's mid-April. The long winter is finally over and the sun is shining outside. The Moscow spring doesn't last long, and the difference between winter and summer couldn't be quicker or bigger. In early April it is usually still snowing. The skies are gray and temperatures are often below zero, so the snow stays put. Then the weather suddenly changes, from one day to the next the girls are suddenly in the street in ultra-short skirts, and you can go for a walk in a T-shirt late into the night. Suddenly Muscovites live outside. After work you sit in the park or at the subway station. You drink, talk and laugh. The people who were walking around with petrified mines last week suddenly grin at you. The wintry gray gives way to bright colors. But there is another reason why many people now prefer to be outdoors. Apartments and offices are heated with district heating. Most radiators do not have a thermostat or regulator. So you can't turn off the heating yourself. The district heating is traditionally switched off in the first weeks of May, no matter how warm it is in the weeks before. Even at twenty degrees, the radiators are still running at full speed and it gets unbearably hot in the apartments, while outside it is pleasantly fresh like early summer. The district heating is traditionally switched off in the first weeks of May, no matter how warm it is in the weeks before. Even at twenty degrees, the radiators are still running at full speed and it gets unbearably hot in the apartments, while outside it is pleasantly fresh like early summer. The district heating is traditionally switched off in the first weeks of May, no matter how warm it is in the weeks before. Even at twenty degrees, the radiators are still running at full speed and it gets unbearably hot in the apartments, while outside it is pleasantly fresh like early summer. It's eight o'clock in the morning and I'm still in bed when I hear Pascha scream. "Disc! They've turned off the hot water!' It's mid-May and we're suffering from a cold bad-weather front from the north. The heaters have now been turned off, and with temperatures of ten degrees it's getting pretty cool in our apartment too. The weather forecast doesn't look good. It should stay that way for at least a few more days. I hear Pasha taking a shower and pull the covers over my ears because later it will be my turn to take the cold shower. It will stay like this for two weeks from now, because we also depend on the district heating for the hot water, and that is switched off for two weeks once a year, sometime between May and September, to clean the pipes and check the system. Each borough comes at a different time so you can at least take a warm shower with your friends. Other Muscovites help themselves with instantaneous water heaters or boilers over the cold water period, although the electrical system in the apartment has to be able to cope with it. Last year we used a water heater and the light switch in the bathroom started smoldering. Since then there has only been one socket in the bathroom and we have a floor lamp for lighting. But it's not just about showering, but of course also about things like washing dishes in the kitchen. You only realize how important warm water is when you suddenly don't have it anymore. Pascha had a lot of bad luck today, because he was just in the shower when it was turned off. That's no fun, because the water not only suddenly gets cold, Time a dark brown sandy broth from the shower head. That too is Moscow. The lover The sun is shining outside and I should enjoy the day, but it's bitterly cold. So I'd rather stay at home. I pull the duvet up to my neck and rummage through my female Facebook contacts. I look at her photos. Ah, pretty legs. There a dress that was too tight and bulging breasts. One shows its sporty side. The other makes you look elegant. Then there are the sluts. But it's the inconspicuous, the inconspicuous, that surprise me again and again and with whom I experience particularly beautiful stories. There's the little Spaniard who actually looks quite decent. She wants to be a diplomat and I'm sure she comes from a good family. I met her at the club. She was there with a friend. After three minutes I knew she wanted me. She knows that I'm not the man for life, but a kid who doesn't want to grow up. I am not the boyfriend-to-be, the man who will take care of her and endure her regular bouts of female drama. No, it's clear that I'm just an adventure. We look into each other's eyes and immediately have a very different relationship. One that's a lot more honest, clear and simple, with no bullshit. No, she's not a bomb in bed. Most of these inconspicuous ones are not. They probably just don't have enough experience. Because they don't do it all the time and they may just have their second or third boyfriend. But they are gentle, empathetic and sensitive. It's not the quick fuck, it's the few hours of tenderness and cuddling. It's what you don't have when you're alone and living like that. I enjoy her closeness. Her soft skin and her smell. I can't help but pull her to me. I want to track her body. You carry. I smell her hair and can't get enough. Oh man! I love women. No, not this one woman, but women in the plural. Most of the time they have friends. Some even husbands. What to expect? The good ones are always taken. They are bored, go out and meet me. A lone wolf. A stray lion. An adventure. It is clear from the outset that they will not leave their boyfriend and will not give up the security of the relationship, coexistence and the feeling of knowing the other. You pulled yourself together and live the compromise. You need that security. The feeling of security. The protection. No, but they don't want quick and dirty sex either. You want feeling. Tenderness. You are looking for the sensual. They want a lover. Someone who does what their husbands did five years ago. One who loves them and shows them exactly that. One who looks deep into their eyes while they have sex with him. Someone who cares about her and who is not only concerned with having fun and coming sometime while he might still be thinking about his colleague, the one with the short skirt and high heels. You miss that feeling, the attention of the other. Where has it gone, the passion? At some point the butterflies decided to fly away and they took the passion with them. She got lost between the morning coffee together and the movie before bed. I don't think she's getting ready for the night thinking she's going to pick up a guy tonight. The friend is on the way. Finally she has time to go out alone. Let it rip today. Tomorrow she will be in bed late. Later she takes a bath and is lazy. It's Friday and she's standing at a bar. She's talking to strangers and suddenly she's standing in front of someone who looks different. His smile is special somehow. Then the thought occurs to her that she is actually alone today. But her friends are there. What should they think of her? she is in a relationship She's one of the good guys. No bitch. Better have another drink and let the thought go. To this day I still don't understand what happened next. I only know how it ends. You go to another club together, dance and lose each other. Hands slowly wander over each other's bodies, exploring them, and suddenly they're getting into a cab together. Often the question "Your place or mine?" She gives the driver her address before she slides exhausted onto the back seat and onto my shoulder. I pull her even closer to me. She looks me in the eyes and we kiss. The thought crosses my mind briefly that it belongs to someone else, but I don't feel like thinking about morals and decency right now. Yes, I know it's selfish. Where's the respect? Sorry, I just can't help it. She is so beautiful. Has such a sweet voice and smells so good. I'm curious how she is in bed. Today she is mine. Just for one night, then you can have her back. It's kind of your fault too. You neglected her. I'm just doing your job now. If you were more attentive and not so superficial, then that wouldn't happen in the first place. Yes, yes, I know that after so many years of living together, it's hard to keep going. The next day we wake up next to each other. First we had a passionate night, then we smoked another joint and talked. It's all said. The fronts are clear. We know where we stand. It's liberating. A special kind of honesty. Who knows if we'll ever see each other again. Maybe I'll become her lover. Maybe we'll avoid each other in the future. But we're honest with each other. We don't have to lie to each other just to keep the relationship alive. We don't have to take care of ourselves. It was only one night. We don't have to, but we want to. Precisely because this relationship is so honest and free. It's on my shoulder and I'm squeezing it tight. She likes this security. To be in the arms of a strong man. Exhausted from last night's music, dancing, drinking and sex. For a moment I think about what it would be like if we found each other. What if she left him now and came to me forever? I feel them. I like her. do i love her I could love her. I have this feeling in my heart, but I suppress it because it must not be. But how about it? An open relationship? She could also have a lover or two if she gave me the same freedom. Wouldn't it be nice to be honest with each other? Not just on this level. She's something special and I feel Maybe right now I'm holding the woman for life in my arms. Maybe I should fight for her. Taking them away from the other and making them stay with me. But I know that things aren't going that way right now. We end up catching each other in the web of the relationship. It's going to be exactly the same as always, and we're going to have problems with each other. Not the same as with the last partner. Other. Similar. Then we will find compromises. We lost our passion a long time ago anyway and didn't even notice it. No, I have to enjoy the moment. Here and now. Enjoy it to the full. The clock is ticking and at some point I have to go home. If I'm lucky, the next day. Sometimes not until Sunday evening or Monday. When things go badly, there is less time. "It was already with you," she says. "I missed that." "Yes," I reply. "I feel the same way." She wants to do it again. Clearly. It doesn't matter if it's a risk or not. I don't want to know what she's risking with that. "Of course we'll do it again," I say. "Call me when you're free." Then I reprint them firmly. Kiss her on the cheek. I pause for a moment and take another deep breath. My god, she smells so damn good. Out on the street I review it. The best moments and impressions. But it's just a movie. Still, I grin contentedly, and I'm sure people coming my way will think I've just smoked a joint. There were a lot of these girls. It was always the unexpected evenings. The ones that were supposed to be boring from the start and ended up being the best in life. It was often dangerous. There was a father who knew about our love affair and didn't approve of it. There was a husband who was a drug dealer. I've often wondered if I'll ever end up dead in a river. A Wall Street Bar bouncer recently said it's a miracle I haven't been shot in the head yet. He must know. He knows the guests and the women I go home with. It's dangerous at times, but they're worth it. Every minute and every second. Because these are the moments for me that make life worth living and that are responsible for the fact that I will eventually die with a grin on my face. Of course there are other moments. A sunrise or sunset on top of a mountain. A fresh breeze on your face, right by the sea, when you taste the salt in the air and feel the warmth of the sun on your skin. There are many more and not enough time and paper to write them all down. But women are my favorite. They are often so complicated, but I still love them. Olga's friend and Natasha's dismissal "This is Olga," my friend Masha says, and she has that special grin. Ever since I've been single, I've been introduced to girls all the time. Olga is slim, wears a fashionable dress and is actually quite pretty. I'm still a little shy. "Sorry, I'll be back later, it's my turn with my DJ set now," I say and walk over to the DJ booth. Olga and Masha look after me. An hour later the dance floor is full. Between the people I see Olga and Masha. Both dance deliberately cool. Olga flirts with her eyes, and Masha still grins so funny. My mix keeps me busy, and two Long Island Ice Teas on an empty stomach don't make it any easier. The dance floor is boiling, I'm in a good mood myself and dancing behind the turntables. After my set, I stand next to the DJ booth and talk to a few people. Then Masha and Olga come over. Masha's friend is also there. She says: "You know, Olga doesn't have a boyfriend." "Oh yes? Then we'll see how it goes." It's loud and Olga can't hear us. She dances next to us. Nevertheless, she turns to us at the right moment and grins. Shortly afterwards I talk to Masha's friend. "Do you like Olga?" he asks. "Yes, it's quite nice, the little one," I say. "But she has a boyfriend," he warns me. "Masha's ex," he then adds. "Aha," I say in surprise. I don't know if it's the two Long Islands that confuse me now, or the Masha-Freund-Olga trio. “I have to go to the Wall Street Bar. I've got a party there tonight, too. Are you coming with me?” I ask. "Of course," says Masha euphorically, and ten minutes later we're in the car, me with Olga in the back seat. "I was on vacation in Asia," she tells me. 'That wasn't so good. I had a really bad time with my boyfriend and we broke up.” Ah, OK, now I get it. Even before the Wall Street Bar, Masha and her boyfriend start an argument, and suddenly Olga and I are alone in front of the entrance. "Whatever, all the better," I think. We push past the doorman. It's boiling in the bar. Here is one of the best parties in Moscow at the moment. "Of course you think so," says one of my favorite guests. "It's your party too." I grin. "But you're right," he adds. I go to my DJs and check the situation. "Man, this is a good night," I say to Pasha. 'Yes, yes, I see that. You have a great wife with you too. he asks. I smile contentedly. Olga is standing next to the bar and is waiting for me. I dance to her and immediately she falls back and we cuddle a bit. "Great, that works," I think. After an hour I feel safe and think about retreating home. With Olga, of course. However, I still have to stay at the Wall Street Bar for a while to do the DJ billing with the manager. So I cuddle with Olga a little more. Maybe it's the two Red Bull vodkas, but I'm liking the woman better and better. Actually, I didn't want to be in a relationship with a Russian girl anymore, but I was able to make an exception for her. I hadn't thought this through to the end when a guy slapped me on the shoulder. He introduces himself politely. After a short pause he adds: "I'm Olga's friend, you know." "Ex-boyfriend," I correct him cheekily. "No, Masha's ex-boyfriend and Olga's boyfriend," he tells me. Now this is all very strange. I'm confused. did i drink too much Then why is she cuddling with me? Or does he not yet know that he is her ex-boyfriend? In any case, it means trouble and I decide to retire. Should the two clarify this between themselves. Olga now knows where to find me on Fridays. It's after five o'clock in the morning when I get into the taxi with my DJs and we drive to our regular hangout, the Soljanka. As always, we are greeted warmly by the bouncers. Natascha comes towards me in the hallway and grins. She works for us sometimes, and we've had one or two adventures. Class. That can comfort me for Olga's loss. An hour later Soljanka closes and we head to our favorite after-hours club, Paparazzi. There, too, we are greeted with hugs. You know each other in Moscow nightlife. The promoter is about to buy us a round of Red Bull vodka. We dance, have fun. Again and again nice girls come to me and flirt with me. I can already see them in bed with me, but Natasha drives them all away. Somehow I lose interest in Natascha, but she doesn't give up. After an hour my friends go home. "So," I mean, "let's go?" The brightest sunlight awaits us outside. I put on my sunglasses and get us a cab. The dry snow crunches under my feet. It was minus 20 degrees last night. Natascha is already in the taxi when she sees a friend and jumps out again. At first I think she wants to say goodbye, but then she calls out to me to drive alone. "What? As? First you're spoiling my tour, and now I'm supposed to drive alone?' I scold. She grins and slams the door without a word. "What now?" grumbles the taxi driver. I think for a moment. Should I go back to the paparazzi? There were still enough girls. Then I look at the clock and see that it's ten in the morning. Besides, I'm already quite irradiated. I drank too much. "OK, so let's go home." At home, the normal weekend afterparty takes place. One of my DJs is sleeping on the couch. The others drink and listen to nasty techno. "Where have you been?" one of my roommates asks. "Where's Natascha?" "Still at the club," I grumble. "The stupid cow first ruined my chances for a bed warmer and then dumped me." The others laugh and push me a joint ruber. I pull a few times, then I get dizzy. Too much alcohol and hash don't mix. I'm not in a good mood anyway, so off to bed. I stagger down the corridor to my room. There I fall into my bed tired and fall asleep immediately, despite all the Red Bull vodka. When I wake up, a girl is lying next to me in bed. She's slipping her hand under my shorts. At first I think I'm dreaming, but then clarity slowly comes to my head along with a terrible headache. "The Long Island Ice Teas," I think as Natascha's face appears from under the covers. What? As? Am I tripping? But she left me. I'm confused for a moment, but then the anger comes back. "Go," I command. 'Get dressed and go! I don't want you." She grumbles, but I just roll over and try to go back to sleep. In my head, the Einfallenden Neubauten are playing a concert with jackhammers and sledgehammers. It's around four when I wake up. my bed is empty Good. Maybe I just dreamed it all. I'm terribly thirsty and my head is still pounding. Every movement hurts. Why did I give myself like that again yesterday? I wanted to go home earlier. Oh yes, there was the story with Olga. And after that I was running hot and wanted to look for a replacement. Well, first a sip of water. I grope for my water bottle, but reach into nothing. Argggh. There was still my sparkling water yesterday. Damned! I curse and pull myself together. I meet my Italian roommate Luca in the kitchen, and that's where my bottle of water is. She is empty. The kitchen looks bad. "Tell me," I ask. "Was Natasha here earlier?" "Yes," says Luca. "She called me and then came over to our house for the after party." "When?" I ask. “It must have been twelve. Man, oh man, the twenty-year-old girls ... She's in your room," says Luca. 'But then she came back fifteen minutes later. She grinned and had a water bottle in her hand. Then she offered everyone water.” 'Yes, that was mine. She did that on purpose,' I say, making myself some tea. 'She knew I was waking up with a nasty hangover this afternoon and I needed water. She wanted to punish me because I kicked her out." Luca shakes his head. "Well, that's fine," I say. “I don't think I behaved correctly yesterday either. Maybe I deserve it.« Then I wonder what became of Olga and her boyfriend. Anyway, I need an aspirin first. bandits Russia currently offers many opportunities. The economy is growing and the middle class is developing rapidly. But opportunities only exist for people with the right education or connections to the cliques that run the country. As a simple girl, especially from the country, you often have no chance. Lena is 30 and Korean. She was born in communist North Korea, her parents emigrated to the Soviet Union shortly thereafter. Lena grew up in a small town in southern Russia by the sea. She loves the sea, she says and smiles. There were no jobs at home, so Lena, like so many, moved to Moscow to find work and prosperity. She first worked as a secretary, but life in Moscow is expensive. Her friends are »bandits«, as the prostitutes call themselves, and introduced her to the part-time job. Later, Lena lost her job and went full-on into prostitution. She hits the clubs every night looking for men who will pay for sex. In Moscow alone there are an estimated 150,000 prostitutes. The number of unreported cases is probably much higher. Life here is expensive, and even if the girls earn enough to keep themselves in the new middle-class jobs, access to the new luxury world of Moscow's nightclubs, restaurants, boutiques and high-end department stores is priceless for them. The average bandit makes between three and five hundred dollars per john. She has to give part of it to a network, a pimp or a club. Another part to the police to turn a blind eye because prostitution is illegal in Russia. A survey is shocking, according to which every eighth schoolgirl between the ages of ten and sixteen says »call girl« is their dream job. Not to earn food or the rent, but so that the Dolce & When the sun goes down, Lena goes to a club or sits in a cafe. She smiles at the men and hopes to strike up a conversation with them. The price is quickly negotiated and we take a taxi home to the client. I ask her whether she's not afraid or whether she's ever experienced something bad. Lena spits in the air three times, a sign of luck in Russia, and tells me that until now she has always been lucky and everything has gone smoothly. Of course there were a few drunks or even trouble, but mostly it was resolved peacefully. “I look at people carefully beforehand and choose who I go home with. Also, I have my girlfriends who check in on me regularly on the phone,” she says casually. Lena is an exception. She didn't become a »bandit« to be able to buy expensive clothes, but she uses the money to support her family and has already saved a lot. She is considering buying an apartment in Moscow as an investment, she says proudly, but the prices in Moscow are too high. She would rather invest in Europe. You can get a restaurant on the Spanish coast or a hotel in Croatia cheaply and she plans to buy one. Spain is her dream country, she adds. In general, Lena makes an intelligent impression. She speaks good German and seems to be familiar with costs and prices in the various real estate markets. She tells me about square meter prices in certain areas of Moscow and compares them to Spain and Croatia. "No, I would be stupid if I would buy something here. The real estate market in Moscow will collapse in two years anyway because it's grossly overvalued,” says Lena. "Do you enjoy your job?" I ask, adding "Yes, I know, that's a stupid question." “You know,” she says, “I meet a lot of people. I'm learning a lot for life and to be honest I enjoy sex too.« "Do you see anything wrong with that?" I ask. “Nowadays, 'bandits' are a part of life in Moscow. A Russian man has his wife at home at the stove and can take as many girls on the side as he can afford. Not to mention the foreigners. I like many of the men I choose. I might be going to bed with them anyway, but this is how I make money and can improve my life and situation. Sometimes I even think it's a shame that I never see many of these men again or just have a business relationship with them.« "Hm, isn't that a bit schizophrenic?" "Maybe, but I don't have a choice," Lena replies. "Are you still looking for a job as a secretary?" Lena laughs: »No, as a secretary I earn between three and four hundred dollars a month. As a "bandit" I can make $2,500 or more a month." I wish Lena good luck on parting. She can use that: HIV, hepatitis and other sexually transmitted diseases are on the rise in Russia. Many of the clients do not like to use condoms. This is how the part-time job becomes Russian roulette. But maybe also to leave Russia and start again somewhere else. Maybe she'll make it to Spain and leave her life in Russia behind. Maybe her new »job« will destroy her too. I hope she makes it. whorehouse visit We are sitting in the beer garden of Bavarius, a pseudo-Bavarian inn in Moscow. Next to me is an acquaintance from Munich. 'Natalia will be here soon. That's quite sweet. I think there's something going on." "Cool, I'm happy for you," I say, bored, and drink my wheat beer. Shortly thereafter, a good-looking girl walks up to our table and grins. She hugs my boyfriend, then he introduces her to me. For the next two hours we sit together, talk and drink a lot of beer. Natalia gets pretty drunk at some point. She flirts with both of us at the same time. "There's something going on," my friend repeats confidently. "I'm happy for you," I repeat, still bored. "No, I mean three." “Bullshit. That's not such a girl. I feel that.« "You'll see," he replies, smirking to himself. When Natalia comes back we decide to move to a bar and continue from there. It's Tuesday and there's not much going on in Moscow either. After a Red Bull vodka, Natalia has had enough. It's one o'clock in the morning and she has to go home. We'll pay and take you to the taxi. "I live just around the corner," my friend tries again. "Let's go to my place." "Another time. Not today, because I'm already too drunk,” says Natalia and gets into the taxi. We watch the Lada drive away into the night. My friend is visibly disappointed. And I'm obviously drunk. "Come on, let's go fuck," I say to cheer him up again. "I just made some money and invite you over." "I know a salon nearby," he says and is immediately in good spirits again. That's a good thing, because I don't know much about such things. It's rare that I pay for sex, and I never go to one of those whorehouses anyway, because the one-hour number isn't for me. I like to take my time. After a short walk through the Moscow night we stand in a backyard. We ring a doorbell and shortly thereafter we go up to the third floor. There is an open door there. As we enter, an older woman comes up to us and asks what we would like. "We do not know. Let's see." After that we are taken to a room. We'll wait there for a few minutes. Then the door opens and twelve barely dressed girls come in. They walk past us. Spin around so we can see everything too. Then they sit on the bed. We pick two. The others go. "Do you want sex right away or something to drink first?" asks one of the girls. Before I can answer, my friend exclaims, "Oh yes. Champagne!" "Are you crazy? Do you know how much this costs?' “I know. Feel like champagne now. What does that cost?" The elderly lady comes in. "Three hundred dollars for the Veuve," she says. "OK, give it to me." We're sitting in a living room drinking with the girls. There are also two new people sitting at our table. One of them is from Africa. We're having a good time, but I'm pretty drunk now and I'm wondering if I shouldn't go home after all. Just as I'm about to suggest I leave, my friend leans over and says, "I just nailed a deal. We can have the room with the jacuzzi, two of the girls, and we get a bottle of bubbly too. It's only eight hundred dollars." “Man, I was counting on five hundred dollars, that's really too expensive for me. Apart from the fact that after the champagne campaign I only have two hundred in my pocket.« I'm done and just want to go home. “Can I pay with my credit card?” he then asks the elderly lady. She nods. »Fuck it! You only live once. Let's do that. You pay for the bottle of bubbly and now I invite you.” "Man, you can't afford that," I admonish. But he is already being dragged into the whirlpool room by one of the women. I follow him and five minutes later the four of us are sitting in the pool sipping champagne. After that we have fun with the girls on the big bed. Then there's a knock on the door. My friend is going to check. "Our time is up," he calls to me. “OK, I'm too drunk anyway. Let's go." "No no. I'll take care of it,' he says, and disappears outside. Three minutes later he comes back 'And on we go. I've extended it again." "Are you insane?" I ask. "What did that cost?" "It doesn't matter, let's have fun." After another hour we stagger out of the apartment. It's already light outside. I say goodbye and get in a taxi to go home. At home I fall into bed and sleep. I have to work by noon at the latest, which won't be easy after so much beer and champagne, but I have to admit that there are worse things. Hot salsa in the metro Riding the Moscow subway can be a pain. Sometimes it's the heat. Sometimes the stench. Sometimes the journey becomes a torture for the senses, because the beautiful Russian women just tear you down. If you decide to drive, you may have peace and quiet, but you will be stuck in traffic jams for hours and the traffic is unpredictable day and night. The metro is more reliable, but hopelessly overcrowded during peak hours. Almost twelve million people want to go to work and back. I've already hardened from the New York subway, but Moscow beats everything. It's tight, you're being pushed, pushed, pushing each other on each other's skin. The neighbor stinks of vodka or garlic - or both. The old grannies are the worst. They like to elbow you in the ribs and squeeze harder than any sixteen-year-old. But it doesn't help - I have a meeting and I'm taking the subway. After that I jump down the stairs to the metro entrance in a good mood, but my good mood vanishes immediately on the platform. It's rush hour and there's a lot of people here. It's getting hard to get a seat on the nearest metro. The train stops and I happen to be right in front of a door. The crowd pushes me from behind into the already overcrowded carriage. It's way too narrow and too hot. I am pushed far into the car and just manage to turn back towards the door before it gets too narrow. A long-legged blonde is standing in front of me. I can't see her face, but she wears a secretary outfit that's just my style and has a killer figure. Long legs with black high-heeled boots, a short skirt, a tight white blouse and a tight, much too tight little jacket. Moscow subway rides often become visual torture for me because the girls here are really tantalizing. You'd think they'd spend twenty-four hours looking for their prince charming, their sugar daddy, or someone who'd marry them, court them, and pay everything for them. They play with their charms more than in any other culture that I have experienced so far. The crowd pushes more people into the wagon, and the girl in front of me is pressed tightly against me. Finally the doors close and the train starts moving. My nose is almost in the girl's neck. I wanted to turn away, but I don't have a chance because I'm wedged in from all sides. Her perfume smells damn good and her hair tickles my nose a bit. Then I feel her bottom. He's right in front of me. The old train rattles. It's loud in the car. With the beat of the rails and the constant back and forth, it's almost as if we were dancing. I'm starting to get aroused and try to control and calm myself, but with each push things get worse for me. It seems to me that she's moving to the rhythm, rubbing her bottom against me, up and down, left to right. I don't know if it's the train or if she's doing it on purpose. Actually, their movements are too slow and don't match the jerking of the train. I'm sure she can feel my breath on her neck. She tracks me behind her. It's almost like a hot salsa dance. I wanted to hold her in my arms. You stop and dance with her. They kiss. My breathing quickens... Hopefully the ride will be over soon. Or not, because I actually enjoy the situation, even though it's rather strange. The journey to the next station does not take long. Almost three minutes. Still, it seems like an eternity to me. My thoughts turn to her long legs. I feel her tight, hard buttocks where it shouldn't be. Between her and me is just a bit of sheer satin and my jeans. I love this material, satin. It feels so good. I would love to caress her with my hand, but whether I'm allowed to or not, my hands are wedged tightly between me and my neighbors anyway. The train is slowing down, I have to get off at the next station. When the doors open and the situation calms down, the girl turns around. She has a very pretty face. Our eyes meet for a brief moment. I catch my breath, then she smiles. It's not a cheeky, not a seductive smile, but a gentle, lovingly naive one. She exits the train and disappears into the crowd. I also have to keep fighting my way to the connecting train. A short time later I'm back in an overcrowded subway car and am almost crushed to death. It stinks and it's hot, but I still have a satisfied grin on my face. Wrong, drank a lot "I'm curious how things will turn out in Yekaterinburg," I say to Evgeni as we get on the plane. We're having a nightlife event at the best club in Russia's fourth largest city, and I'm supposed to give a speech and present the World's Finest Club award. Also included is Evgeni's crazy assistant. Two hours later we land in Yekaterinburg. Even in the airport there is a terrible smell of exhaust fumes. Our driver is waiting for us. "What stinks in here?" I ask him. 'The heavy industry. If the wind is unfavorable, the exhaust fumes go into the city.« "I didn't want to live here," I think, but keep quiet. Arriving at the hotel, I move into my room. I grab a beer from the minibar and watch TV. I've got two hours before we have to go to the club, and it's right next door. Later Evgeni picks me up for dinner. We sit in the hotel lobby and let ourselves be pampered. The guest DJ of the evening, a very nice Swede, is also there. We drink wine and eat a lot. Then it's time. The promoter picks us up and takes us to the club. "Where's our table?" Evgeni asks the promoter. “Yes,” he replies hesitantly, “there is a problem. We sold all the tables.« "What?" Evgeni gets angry. Part of our deal is that we get our own table for the whole evening. "I'll see what I can do," says the promoter and disappears. We stand next to the stage and examine the dance show of the go-gos. I slurp my first vodka Red Bull. Shortly thereafter, the promoter comes back. No, unfortunately there were no more free tables. "I don't care," I say to Evgeni, "as long as we get free drinks for us and our friends." "No," Evgeni says, "that's not possible. I don't stand around all night." The promoter makes a concerned face. Then the owner of the club comes with his wife and we are introduced. I smile kindly and shake her hands. After the greeting, Evgeni complains. "It's not a problem," says the owner. “You could sit at my table. It's right over here. It's okay if you invite girls over, too." Evgeni is halfway satisfied. We sit down. My speech is at two o'clock. I hand over the prize, then we sit down again at the table. The club cheers, and now everyone is celebrating. Our new Swedish DJ friend also puts on a very cool show. I'm sitting on the other end of the couch and I'm still bored. "I'm going to have a look around," I say to Evgeni. 'No, you can't. You have to represent,« he replies. "The owner expects that." "OK, OK, then I'll stay." I now have three Vodka Red Bull on my account. The proprietor orders a bottle of champagne, and he doesn't skimp because there's no Krimsekt or standard Moet. I am now sitting next to the owner's wife. She is a classy black-haired woman with a great figure and a pouty mouth. A friend is sitting next to her. We drink champagne and talk a little. Is she flirting with me? I ask myself at first. No this can not be. Her husband sits right across the street and can see everything. "You're a handsome man," she says suddenly. OK, she's flirting with me. Evgeni sees this too and warns me: "Be careful, her husband, the owner, is one of the mafia bosses here in Yekaterinburg." "That's what he looks like, too," I reply. Evgeni tells me about the mafia war in which most of the mobsters died and only a handful remained. My opponent is probably the alpha male among them. I want to be polite and turn back to the women. From now on I try to make small talk, but she wants more. She flirts really hard. I see her husband watching us out of the corner of my eye and get nervous. "So," she says, "I saw through you. Surely you only came to Yekaterinburg to have good sex, right?” She grins at me and it looks like she's about to eat me skin and hair. "Are they both swingers?" I think. 'Or why is she so obviously flirting with me in front of her husband? It does not matter. I have to get out of here or I might end up in a landfill.« "Excuse me please. I have to go to the bathroom,« I say and disappear. After a fifteen minute stroll around the club I decide to go back and not leave Evgeni alone. Arriving at the table, I sit down next to the mafia boss. "So," he says with a serious expression, "my wife likes you, huh?" He looks at me angrily, and I realize that the situation is serious. "Excuse me," and I consciously use his first-name form, although by now everyone has used the first name on me, "I know exactly who you are. Please believe me I never intended to flirt with your wife. I was just making small talk. I respect you and your position.” He looks at me, not quite sure how to react, but his expression is still serious. I feel that that's not enough, but I don't know what else to say either. 'You know,' I add after a while, 'it's not my fault if your wife hits on me. Just to get your attention.” The mafia boss is shocked by my direct manner. He mumbles something in Russian, but I can't understand it because of the loud music. "What can I do to fix the problem?" I ask submissively. "Let's drink vodka," is his reply. I nod, and a moment later the waitress comes over with a large bottle of Russkij Standard. Unfortunately, she also has the big glasses in her hands. "In our case it was Kolsch Glaser," I think as she fills it halfway. The mafia boss and I toast each other. He grins, then we smack the vodka down our throats. "It could still be something," I think and look over at Evgeni. A few vodkas later, the mafia boss and I are best friends. 'You've got to let me know when you're in Yekaterinburg again. Then we'll do it again.« "Sure, and you let me know when you're in Moscow," I reply, hoping he'll lose my number and never call back. When I wake up, someone taps me on the shoulder. "Sir!" says the young flight attendant. 'You must fasten your seat belt. We land in Moscow.« What? How did I get here? I'm sitting alone in my row, at the back of the plane. I'm only dressed with a t-shirt, my black pants and my shoes. These are a bit full of puke. My pockets are empty and there's nothing in the luggage compartment either. where is my passport How did I even get on board? As we touch down, it occurs to me that it's minus twenty degrees outside. I look for Evgeni and his assistant on the plane, but there is no trace of them either. It's only when the crew announces the local time that I know I'm on my planned flight. That's good because no matter what happens, I have a driver who will be waiting for me in the arrivals hall and will take me home. There I have to ring my flatmates out of their sleep. I hope they are home because they like to spend Saturday mornings in the after-hours club. As we disembark, I stagger out of the plane. My head is working fine again and I'm quite clear. Only the motor skills don't want to play along at all. I almost fall over my own feet. When I get to the baggage carousel, I have to sit down first. "Maybe my stuff will come out of here," I think, waiting for the tape to stop. It's probably better if I set off and look for my driver, because if I don't find him, I don't stand a chance. Without ID, money, phone and jacket, fifty kilometers outside of Moscow. When I look for my driver, I find Evgeni. He's totally drunk and slurs at me. Then his assistant comes, who seems to be quite sober. "Ah, there you are," he says. 'I found our driver. He's waiting outside. We have to go. Can you walk alone?' he asks me, taking Evgeni's arm over his shoulder to lead him out. "Where are my things?" I ask. “I have your passport and your wallet. The rest is still in Yekaterinburg, but will be on the next plane this evening,” he explains to me matter-of-factly. It's bitterly cold outside, and even the twenty meters from the hall to the taxi is torture for me. I literally fall into the car. Then he helps Evgeni from the other side and sits himself in the passenger seat. I'm waiting for an explanation, but he's silent and looks at the street. "What happened?" I finally ask. “You started drinking with the owner. Then Evgeni joined in too, and at some point you were all blown away. You and the owner had a lot of fun together. At some point you fell asleep. We let you sleep until it was time to go." "And then?" 'We just couldn't wake you up and we were running out of time. So club security put you in a car and drove you to the airport. Evgeni and I went to the hotel to get our bags, but we couldn't wait for them to gather and bring your things. At the airport you must have thrown up on the feet of the security people..." "Me too," I interrupt. »... and when you checked in they didn't want to accept you because you could barely stand. The security guys then made it clear who got you so drunk, after that they put you on the plane personally. All the way to the back so you can have your peace. Haha, they were glad to finally get rid of you." "So, apart from falling asleep, I haven't misbehaved?" I ask, incredulous. »No, everything was OK. We have no problem. And your things, as I said, will be on the next plane tonight.” After more hours of torment, I'm finally home. I fall into my bed exhausted. When I wake up in the evening I wonder if it was all just a bad dream? No, it was real: my shoes, which were puked on, are next to my bed. I get up and meet Pasha in the kitchen. When I tell him my story, he becomes thoughtful. "Boy!" he says. "You have been lucky. That could have ended up in a landfill. Don't do such a shit! Be a little more careful next time.” "Yes yes, it's OK. I'm still alive." Then I get ready and go to the club, because I have to hang up for five hours after midnight. Seven days, seven girls »I want to break the hundred mark!«, says Charlie Runkle in the TV series Californication. I've been through that for a long time. Eventually I even stopped paying. There are women I remember and there are adventures I'd rather forget. It's not like I'm going out and saying I'm taking a girl home today. Normally things are different. You go to the club, stand at the counter and talk to a nice woman. Sometimes it becomes something. Sometimes not. I don't believe in pick-ups who pick up a woman every time. These people probably have a problem with themselves and need to prove to themselves how great they are over and over again. That's not the case with me. I don't have a girlfriend and until the right one shows up I live my life trying to have fun. Maybe one day my dream woman will be there, and I'll change my lifestyle. After the slave everything has become relative anyway. I have lived out all fantasies with her. And? Am I feeling better now? No, on the contrary. Now there is emptiness. I'll take it easy for a while. After that, I decide to raise the bar a little bit more. I know what and how I like it. So it's about quantity, not so much quality I think. I am constantly meeting new women. It's always the same: most girls like me and see me as their next boyfriend. My answer is always the same: "I don't want a girlfriend, but we can have fun." You'd think most people would give up and try another man, but the opposite is true: they stay and try to get me around somehow. But it often goes wrong after just a few meetings. Some bitch immediately. Others only after the third date. Most of the time we don't get any further and the women look for someone else. Nevertheless, some remain and do not give up. My phone rings, it's Vera. "What are you doing this evening?" "It is Tuesday. What am I supposed to do? I'll stay home and chill,' I reply. "Can I come over?" she asks. On Wednesday it's the same with Nelly. So I always have enough to do. Sometimes it's even too much. I long for a quiet evening at home with my Playstation and a few beers. It doesn't matter when, I always have five girls on hold and I'm having trouble timing everything. When I'm traveling alone, I don't care about the breakdown. "I don't need another girl," I think. But the women notice that and jump at me even more. Thursday evening I'm at the propaganda. There's one dancing and grinning at me. She comes over and we talk, have a few drinks together, and in the morning it's over to my place. I'm DJing at a party on Friday night and it doesn't take long before I have a grinning little girl in vinyl leggings in front of the DJ booth. She turns her back on me and dances provocatively. Then she leans against the desk, pulls her head back and grins at me while I have a clear view of her breasts. After hanging up, I invite her for a drink, and shortly thereafter we end up in the taxi, then in bed. On Saturday we fuck all day, but in the evening I have to go out and DJ again. Today I'll take it easy, get the set ready, then go home and just sleep, I tell myself. Then Lola shows up. We only know each other from the internet. She has a good figure and a nice smile. "No, not again," says my friend Max, because he knows what I've been up to for the past few days. "No, not today," I reply. After the set I go to Lola's and we chat a little. She puts her hand on my leg. Then she slowly pushes her hand up. I want to remain adamant, but Lola is serious and goes a step further. She massages my cock through my jeans. Very openly and very unabashedly. "OK, let's fill up the five then," I think, pulling Lola over to kiss her. An hour later we are with me. She's good, a little bit different. I don't know what it is. She's only twenty-three but fucks with a lot of experience. It even scares me at some point, because I wonder how many men she must have had to be that good. Lola seems to see sex as a sport. She gives me orgasm after orgasm and it seems "Slow down," I say. "We don't have to set a world record here, do we?" "Why not?" asks Lola, grinning at me. After that she continues and tries to get me to have another orgasm. This goes on until dawn, and when I wake up around noon, Lola is trying to score again. My penis hurts and I'm totally screwed. When I'm finally rid of Lola and tiredly fall into my bed to enjoy the rest of the day alone, my phone rings. On the other end is Becky, an Englishwoman. We had a one night stand months ago. "What are you doing tonight?" she asks. "Chilling!" I answer firmly. "Can we chill together? I'm really tired. I've had a rough week,' she says. “No, really. I want to stay alone today.« "That's a shame," Becky says. "I've only got one more day in town and thought I'd drop by with a bottle of wine and spoil you." I remember Becky. She was particularly naughty last time. I liked that. Maybe it's a good thing if she comes over? "OK, come by later," I say, and then take a shower. Becky arrives in leather pants and heels and it's not long before we're in my bed having fun. But slowly it's starting to hurt, and I'm slowly getting tired of it. "What's happening? Why don't you come?” asks Becky. "I am tired. Had a lot of stress the last few days,« I reply, not mentioning that she's sixth and that I only had several orgasms last night. "It doesn't matter," I say, "as long as you're having fun. Don't worry about me." Thank God Becky has to be at the airport on time the next day and goes home that same night. I fall into my bed. Then it occurs to me that maybe I should change the sheets. I haven't gotten around to it for the past few days and now it's real enough. Monday. It's hard for me to work because I'm physically exhausted. Yes, it may sound great. Six days and six women, but it's really a marathon. Not just physically, because you have to offer and entertain women outside of the bedroom. Anyway, I'm surprised I haven't gotten their names mixed up in the last few days. In the evening I'm invited to Lisa's. She's bought lobster and caviar, she tells me on the phone, but I have to cancel. I know how the evening ends and I can't make it another night. "Sorry, I'm not feeling well," I fib over the phone. Lisa is disappointed, but is content that I will visit her in the next few days when I feel better. Seven days, seven women, that's crazy. Any man who brags about it is either a liar or Superman. It was just too much. In the future, I decide to take it slower. So it's not quantity either. The quality remains. The lawyer Thursday evening, we are bored at the bar of the So-Ho Room. Katsche, my new roommate, keeps me company. Today we are throwing our own party in the most exclusive club in Moscow. »You know me«, I say to him, »My heart is in the underground. I'm terribly bored with this posh attitude here at the So-Ho.” "Then why are you having a party here?" “Because of the coal. And it's also good for the image.« "You're right. It's boring and the music doesn't work at all. But at least the women are good here.” I shrug. "Yes and? The models don't look at you anyway. We don't have enough money and they know it." I just heard from the manager of the So-Ho that one of the women got a BMW 6 as a gift after a one-night stand with a fat rich Russian guy. No, we can't compete with that. “You know,” said the manager, “when one of your foreigners takes a table, he spends around three hundred euros. The Russian at the next table leaves a thousand euros and more.« "Just don't give up hope," replies Katsche. In front of us, six-foot-tall girls in high heels are dancing. My friend Maxim always calls them "basketball players." They are beautiful creatures: long legs, firm buttocks, clothes that are much too tight, always the perfect make-up and a hairstyle that looks as if it had just been created by a stylist. You can see that these girls are expensive. I always have visitors from Germany or other countries. The men are impressed by the women, but I have to keep telling them that Moscow is not Kyiv. Here you are worth nothing as a foreigner. At least not for that kind of woman. If you're lucky, you can buy her a drink, in return you can stand next to one of these goddesses for a short time. That's it. Nothing more will happen. At least most. There are a lot of people sitting at the tables today Russians. A Russian pop band from the 90s plays later, which always attracts a lot of guests. Two or three men sit at most tables and these long-legged models surround them. I look at the couch in front of me, there's a girl kneeling there in skin-tight vinyl pants. She's not wearing any underwear, you can see that. You can see every curve, that of the bottom, but also the Venus hill in between. The Luxembourg banker next to me is already drooling, but this girl belongs to one of the Russians. The bar is slowly getting fuller. Katsche talks to a few Italians while I move from guest to guest and make small talk. I have a lot of girls in my party community, but sadly most of them aren't model types, they're more middle class. Still, they don't look bad When the band plays, the party rages. everyone dance The drunk Russian men as well as the expats with their new girlfriends. It's almost two o'clock and most of them have already filled up. Katsche has tried his hand at a few girls, but now he's alone at the bar again. I think he's making the typical Moscow rookie mistake. You talk to a nice woman, flirt like crazy, but then someone else grins at you and actually looks a lot better. So you find the exit and move on. It goes on for a while until you get one that does the same thing and you're traded in for a better one. Then suddenly you're alone at the bar. It's late and you've already seen most of the women. Now they don't want to anymore and have meanwhile looked for someone else. We finally go home around three o'clock. Katsche has made a girl clear after all. It's a Russian who has lived in LA for a long time and is a lawyer. No, she's not pretty. But the worst thing about her is her mouth. She sits in the cab behind me and talks in a tour. Just stupid stuff at that. At home we sit in the living room and drink a glass of wine together. The lawyer still speaks without a period or a comma. "Please," I say to Katsche in German so that she can't understand me, "tell her to blow you. So that she finally shut up.« Katsche starts messing with her and she goes for it. Shortly thereafter, the two sit on the couch and kiss. I sit next to the table and watch. Actually, I was able to go to bed, but I have the feeling that more is happening here, because the lawyer also flirted heavily with me. After a while I take her leg and put it on my lap. Then I run my hand from her knee up and down her thigh, this time on the inside. The lawyer is visibly agitated. Her hand grabs Katsche between her legs and looks for the zipper. After a while I go to the end and feel through the panties that she is wet. Then I get up, sit next to her, and now she kisses me while she has Katsche tightly in her hand. That's how it goes for a while. Then I stand up and pull the lawyer to me. I push them into my room and slowly take off her dress there. Katsche stands behind her and strokes her. After that, I push her into bed and we have threesome sex. The lawyer is very excited. She is like in a trance and lives her personal porn. Katsche and I are a good team. We don't get in each other's way and the threesome works unusually well. After half an hour, the lawyer suddenly jumps up. She is now standing in bed in front of us and staring at us in panic. "No, that's not me! I didn't do that,” she says, and quickly begins to gather her clothes. She runs out of my room, and shortly afterwards I hear the apartment door slam shut. Katsche and I put on our shorts and sit back in the living room. We'll have another glass of wine and smoke a joint. "Strange woman," Katsche breaks the silence after a while. 'Yes, strange. It was almost as if she had been in a dream earlier and suddenly woken up.” "The poor. I hope it wasn't a nightmare,« says Katsche and laughs. "Well, that was good anyway, wasn't it?" "Absolutely." After that we go to bed. Before I fall asleep, I have to grin and, as so often, shake my head in disbelief. That was another one of those crazy Moscow stories. girlfriends Friday night. We're on our way to a new bar where I'm supposed to be DJing tonight. I was there last week and didn't like it at all. There's a strip club above the bar, so the crowd was mostly guys. "I don't really feel like going to the place at all," I say to Max. "Think this will be the first and last time that I DJ there." Actually, I'm playing house music at the moment. My tracks come directly from New York and are played there by the best DJs in the city on the super trendy roof terraces of design hotels. In Moscow, people don't understand my new style. They want pop hits, but I've had enough of them for a long time. Max brings me a beer and I put on the first tracks. Pop shit at its finest. I was also able to play the top 10 on the charts. It would be the same. Max stands at the bar, looks over at me and just shakes his head. »Hey, the audience likes it. I'm not in the mood for that shit either,' I say. I can't find my groove, I'm playing horribly, but the people at the tables are swaying to the beat, which is always a good sign. Well, that will take a maximum of two to three hours, then I can disappear. But contrary to expectations, more and more people come and the bar slowly fills up. Then suddenly a track hangs. I quickly slide in the next song and pull the CD out of the player to inspect it. OK, she's gauze. I throw them in my bag and later throw them away. Then I examine the other CDs and find that a good seventy percent of my pop discs have become unusable because they were lying around in the apartment or in my bag without a case. Thank God I quickly burned two CDs with the latest hits, and they run, but that's not nearly enough tracks to fill the evening. After another hour I slowly run out of songs. That's actually not so bad, because I didn't want to play here anymore anyway and wanted to keep the evening short. But it's getting fuller and the place rocks. Anyway, I'll just put my house on. The last time I tried this at one of those pop bars, the place was empty after three songs. The manager and bartenders just stood there shaking their heads. I can still find a halfway working CD with mixed versions of pop hits. So I put one of these in. Actually, this music fits better in a club than in a bar, but somehow it works today. A few of the guests even get up and dance at their table. However, the dance floor next to me is still empty. OK, now it's time for one of my New York tracks. The speed is right and I add a cool house track. people still dance there are now more between the tables. "OK, half won," I think, and again slide in a remix of a pop hit. So I slowly lead the guests over to my new style, and then the place rocks. The dance floor next to me is packed and people are grinning at me. Now I only play my new house. After a while the director approaches me. He grins and is euphoric. "Great Mukke," he says. "Keep it up!" I'm just wondering. It's almost two and actually I'm done. "Do you have another DJ?" I ask. "No, we didn't think it would be that good and we figured it would be over at two." "OK, I'll keep playing." Actually, I'm having fun myself now, but I've also been invited to the opening of a new big club today, and Leningrad, a famous Russian ska band, are playing there, which I've wanted to see live for a long time, especially since they don't actually play together anymore. I was invited by one of the owners of the club, DJ Bobo of Russia. It's going to be hard to get in, but I'm on the guest list and I can take friends. There's only one problem. Leningrad starts around two o'clock and I'm standing in a full bar with a roaring crowd. "And when are we leaving?" asks Max. He doesn't care about Leningrad, but he wants to see the new club and is excited to walk past a crowd of rich Russians who have to wait while we're on the VIP list. "They don't have a DJ," I reply, shrugging as I pull on the next track. Max laughs. "So are we staying here?" "I guess it looks like it." "Okay, then I'll go get you another Vodka Red Bull." Two Asian women are sitting at the table in front of me. I don't really care for this type of woman, but both of them are very pretty and have a great figure. One of them is Svetlana. I met her at a French friend's housewarming party last week. Great woman. She wears a tight black dress, has long brown hair and a very beautiful face. Max comes back and brings me my drink. He sees the two girls and how Svetlana adores me. "Maybe it won't be so bad if we stay here," he says. I grin. The party goes on and it's five in the morning when I finally finish. Six hours on the decks is enough. Svetlana is still there and I go to her table. “I'm still going to the opening of The Artist. Is a new club. We're on the guest list. are you still coming? Guess it's not that busy anymore, but let's stop by anyway. It's just around the corner." The girls drink up and we go. The doorman at Artist doesn't want to let me in because I'm wearing jeans and sneakers, which is an absolute no-go in Moscow's nightlife. 'Come on boy, first of all you know me, and secondly I'm on the guest list. Third, I come with two glamorous women. What more do you want?” I answer coolly and calmly. He grins and leafs through his list. Then he waves us in and wishes us a lot of fun. There really isn't much going on in the club anymore. It seems like most people had already moved on. The girls are a bit disappointed. "Can't do anything," I say when one of the owners comes up to me. We know each other well from nightlife, although we couldn't be more different when it comes to style. He produces and plays commercial music. The worst of the worst. The stuff you would expect at an Austrian apres-ski party, just in Russian. Still, he's a star, and the girls next to me can't get a word out. "What do you want to drink?" he asks. "Don't know?" "Whiskey for you and champagne for the girls." "Cool." He's off to organize the drinks. The girls still can't get a sound out. "Yes, I know. It is boring. We'll be right back. Got another party tonight and hope it's better,' I say to Svetlana. All she really wants to do is stay and hang out with the owner and his friends, but that's not going to happen because they're both mine tonight. It doesn't take long before the owner comes back and brings us the drinks. "And? How do you like the shop?” I think he's terrible, but I don't want to offend the owner. No, not because he's a big deal, but because I like him. "Great club," I say. "Sorry I'm late, but I had a good night at the Boom Boom Room myself and just had to hang up." He is happy about my answer and talks a bit more with Svetlana and her friend, which impresses the girls immensely. Then I drank my whiskey. 'Let's go, girls. We're going somewhere else. Sorry, we have to move on.« He grins because I have two models in tow to take care of. The girls are a bit disappointed, but they also understand that there is nothing going on here anymore. "And? Where are we going now? Maybe the So-Ho Rooms?” asks Svetlana. 'No, there's nothing going on there now. It's almost six in the morning. Let's move into my living room,' I reply cheekily. Svetlana is a little surprised by my directness. "Don't worry," I say. "I don't mean my real living room, but my favorite store, Soljanka." I know that nothing is going on with Svetlana today, after all her friend is there and takes care of her. I have to wait for a better opportunity or get her so drunk she doesn't care. “Solyanka?” asks Svetlana. "I don't even know the store." That doesn't surprise me, because these model types always go to the same clubs, the So-Ho Rooms or the Imperia Lounge. "Well then let yourself be surprised. It's a good shop and, as I said, my second living room.« Fifteen minutes later we're there. The bouncer greets me and waves us in. The girls are surprised again. In the club, however, it is already dead pants. Both rooms are almost empty. Anyway, I'll order a round of Red Bull vodka for me and the girls. "Great place," says Svetlana, but I can tell she's a bit disappointed. 'Well, I guess it's a bit too late. We'd better move to an after-hours club.« "What? Do you want to move on?' asks Svetlana's friend. I realize that the evening will soon be over and I will go away empty-handed. Then I can still persuade Svetlana to come with me, and we sit in a taxi to Glazur, one of the classier after-hour clubs. I probably should have suggested Kryscha Mira because it's super difficult to get in there too, but I'm not into techno, I want some more house. wrong decision! Svetlana's girlfriend gets her way and the two of them decide to go home when we arrive and I'm getting out of the taxi. "OK, no problem," I say, disappointed. 'See you next time then. I had fun with you two. We have to do it again.« After that I get a kiss from both of them and the taxi drives away. "Fuck me," I think and walk to the Glazur's entrance. Then I'll just keep drinking here, there will be a girl who wants to go home with me. Or rather not? Actually, I'm well through, and when I go to the Glazur, I don't get home until around noon. In the evening I already have two dates with other girls. Maybe it's better if I just go home and have a lie-in so I'll be fit again in the evening. So U-turn and back to the street. The bouncer looks at me in surprise, because just as I'm standing in front of him, I turn 180 degrees and slowly walk away without a word. When I get home, I put my DJ stuff in the cloakroom and go for a walk with my dog Muhackl. It's getting light outside. What a night! The fresh air is good and I'm glad Just as we have finished our walk, my phone rings. I'm surprised to see that Pasha's girlfriend is on the other end. After all, it's now eight o'clock in the morning. "It's good that you're still awake," she says. 'I can't reach Pasha and I don't have my keys with me. We're on our way to you." I go into his room and see him lying in bed. He's still wearing his jacket and shoes. Typical Pasha! He really kicks himself up every couple of weeks, then drinks through Friday through Sunday night. This is normal for many Russians. They call it zapoi, I call it going on a bender. It also happened that Pascha wasn't alone in his bed, or wasn't even at home at that time, so I wanted to check things out before I allowed his girlfriend to come by. "Hm, Pasha isn't that fit anymore," I tell her. 'You know him. He's really done it again." 'Anyway, we're coming over now. don't go to sleep I have two other friends with me and they want sex.« After that I hear loud laughter in the background and she hangs up. What? As? I don't even know her like that. She's actually a good girl from the suburbs. No, none of those who live in the prefabricated buildings. Your parents have money. Lot of money. Ten minutes later the doorbell rings. I open the door and she comes in with her friends. All three are in a good mood and quite drunk. They walk straight into our living room in their high-heeled shoes. One of them waves a plastic bag back and forth in front of me: "We brought beer!" I don't know if I can have anything else to drink, and beer at this time? It is already daylight outside. Pasha's girlfriend goes into his room, but comes back a short time later and laughs. "He's totally screwed," she says. "Do you have any more comfortable clothes for the girls?" I shrug. "T shirts?" I'll get the smallest ones I have. Her friends are in their early twenties and are both good looking. They can't compete with the models before, but at this time it doesn't matter. They have nice legs and great bums, which are now sticking out from under the T-shirts. I wonder if that was just a joke or if they really want to have fun. Both are blonde. Their names are Nastia and Katja. The latter is married to the son of an animal feed entrepreneur. I know him because he's learning German and occasionally needs help with his homework. As payment I always get a few bags of dog food for my little fox terrier. "Do you have anything left to smoke?" asks Nastia. "Naturally. You know us,' is my reply as I pick up the box of smokes and start rolling a joint. Nastia grins. The girls talk while I play music for them. You keep making lewd remarks. "Do you have a big cock?" asks Katja. "You're married." "So what? I like big cocks, too,” she flirts. I am shocked. Then I go to Pasha. I try to wake him up. "Hey dude! I have three wild girls sitting in the living room and it seems like all three want to fuck. At least take your girlfriend off my shoulders so I can enjoy it in peace." Pasha only growls drunk and turns to the other side. When I come back into the living room, the girls are drawing tattoos on their bodies with a black sharpie. Nastia gets a vagina painted on her arm. Katja's thigh is stylishly decorated with a large penis. I go back to my DJ table and put on the next track. "Now it's your turn," calls Katja and grins. She is standing in front of me in a tight black thong, my T-shirt is too big for her. One of her small firm breasts hangs out of the V-neckline. Katja comes up to me and pushes my t-shirt up. Then she paints me two big tits on my stomach. I resign myself to my fate and open another can of beer. It's getting later and I'm getting tired. The sun is already shining outside and it's high time to go to bed. "I go to bed now. You can carry on,« I say to the three of them. "No. Stay here. Weren't you listening earlier? I meant it on the phone." "OK, then I'll stay a little longer." But I tell her to go to Pasha's room. After all, she's my best friend's girlfriend. "Sorry. Nothing can happen between us, and you're not allowed to watch either. No matter how drunk you are.” "What? I'm supposed to go to bed with the stinker?' "Yes, you should. And there are no arguments!" "OK later. Yes?" So we sit together for another two hours. Talk, flirt and drink the remaining beers. Then she finally disappears into Pasha's room and I go to the toilet for a moment. When I come back, Nastia and Masha are lying next to each other on the couch and pretend they're already asleep. I was only gone for three minutes. “OK,” I think, “so they got scared. Okay, let's leave that." I go to my room but leave the living room door open in case either of them decides to have sex with me. I secretly hope it's Katja, because I like her best and she's been particularly flirtatious all morning. Then I lie in bed and wait. Nothing happens. Damn. chance missed. Maybe I should have taken the first step after all. Just lie down on the couch with them. But it's so small. The three of us had a lot more space in my bed. Doesn't matter. I decide to try it. In the worst case, they kick me out and then I can still sleep. So I go over to the two of them. Nastia is still awake and grins at me as I lay down with them. There is no room on the couch, and Nastia only allows me to lie down in front of her. We kiss eachother, and I'm fondling her. She doesn't seem to really want to, because whenever I want to go between her legs, she squeezes them tightly together so that I can't go any further. After a while I finally reach my goal and to my surprise I find an intimate piercing between Nastia's legs. Not bad for a twenty-two year old. She seems to be enjoying it now. Katja lies next to us and still pretends to be asleep. Then Nastia suddenly gets up and goes to the toilet. I take the opportunity to take care of Katja. She enjoys it at first, but then pushes my hand away when I want to go under her thong. Somehow I feel like a fourteen year old trying his first fumble. Then Nastia comes back and she doesn't think it's good that I'm messing around with Katja in the meantime. Katja is pretending to be asleep again, so it looks like I'm trying to grope her while she's sleeping. Nastia lies down with us, but no longer allows me to touch her. Now I'm lying between the two girls and don't know what to do. So the flirting and the snide remarks were just a game after all. Or the psychology between the three of us just broke it. I don't know, but think about the causes for a while and wait for one of the two to turn around and take the next step. After ten minutes I've had enough. I get up, kiss both girls on the forehead and wish them good night. Subliminally, I apologize for my misjudgment of the situation. Then, disappointed, I move off to my room, but leave the door open again. Did I misunderstand something? Before I fall asleep, all sorts of thoughts go through my head. What an evening. What a night and what a morning. But apparently I did something wrong, because I didn't succeed in turning the fantasies of the two girls into reality, even though we were all drunk and open enough by the end. Oh well. You can't always have everything, and actually the evening was good enough and full of surprises. I decide to be happy about it and fall asleep with a grin. Then suddenly I wake up. Nastia is sitting on the edge of my bed. "Let's smoke another one," she says. "And then?" "We'll see," is her reply. After smoking, I try to pull Nastia into bed, but she wants to stay on the edge of the bed. Uff. Those young chickens. They really don't know what they want. Actually I'm already too tired for these games at this time. Incidentally, the first hangover headache slowly sets in. I would like to just go back to sleep now. Let her sit there and think about what she wants. On the other hand, I started earlier. So I should finish the whole thing properly. I get up, sit down behind Nastia and start caressing her neck. She seems to enjoy it and we kiss. After that, my hand finds its way back into her lap, but the same thing awaits me there as before. Access. Okay, so let's just kiss for a while. It takes a full half hour until Nastia is finally lying in bed next to me, but then everything happens very quickly. She's suddenly naked and I can get a close look at her piercing. I find it very pleasant that most Russian women are shaved. I like the shape and look of the vagina. At least, most of the time. Nastia is bold. She keeps pushing me away and I feel like I'm doing something she doesn't want me to do. So I limit myself to the things she allows me to do. Then at some point I think that it can't be that and take it a step further. Only to be put back in her place by Nastia. Nonetheless, I enjoy my time with her. And this despite the fact that my headaches are getting worse and worse. I decide to take a short break to take a painkiller. After that we continue. It doesn't take long before I'm running too hot. The alcohol and the painkillers, plus the stimulation from Nastia, who now also works on me and participates. I want sex and push myself over her. But Nastia doesn't want to. "Hey! No problem!« I say as Nastia pushes me back down. "No fear. I have condoms.« I pull one out of the shelf next to the bed and want to open the package, but Nastia shakes her head. So I go back downstairs and play with her femininity. It's fun for me, and maybe I can still get them around that way. But when it doesn't work after the third attempt, I decide to give up. The painkillers have made me groggy, but the headache is getting worse and worse. Now I feel like someone is beating my skull with a sledgehammer. "Fuck that teenage attitude," I think. “The woman doesn't know what she wants. Why did she even come into my room if she doesn't want to fuck? Anyway, I've had my fun so far, and if she doesn't want to anymore, then I have to accept that." It's now midday and I've had enough and need some sleep. Who knows, maybe she'll change her mind later when we've slept a bit. I turn on my side and pull Nastia tightly to me. "Sorry. I have a terrible headache and I need a break. OK?” I ask. I lay her head on my shoulder and kiss her gently on the forehead. But Nastia wants more. She suddenly sits down on me and starts playing with me. My headaches are now unbearable and I wonder how I can still have an erection. Then Nastia suddenly sits down on me. "Disc! Again without a condom,' I think, but I start to move rhythmically because I don't care anymore. Nastia stops. she looks at me Then she pushes her pelvis down deep so that I penetrate deeply into her. Then she stops again. I keep trying to apply my thrusting movements, but it's not easy because Nastia has a tight grip on me. It's clear she wants to be in control. So I stop so she can call the shots. Then Nastia slaps me. I get the full force of her hand on the right side of my face. This is immediately followed by the left and then the right again. I'm surprised. At first I wonder what I did wrong. Probably everything. At least that's how it feels today. Then Nastia moves rhythmically again. she fucks me That can not be true! It was just like one of the Californication episodes. The one where Hank fucks his ex's stepdaughter, not knowing she's only sixteen. I don't know if Nastia watches too much TV or if it's coincidence, but I do know that the beatings weren't good for my headache. The pain becomes unbearable and I stop the whole process because while Nastia rides on me, I keep getting slaps in the face. It's a very strange way to have sex, and when I think about it, it occurs to me that I've never had such a dominant woman until now. And to be honest: I don't like this kind of sex at all. Nastia is on my shoulder again, because I pulled her down to me and laid her on her side. "Sorry. I can't take it anymore, my headache is killing me. Why don't you wait a bit for the pill to take effect and we'll get on with it,' I say apologetically. Nastia strokes my chest and says succinctly: »Boobs!« "What?" »Boobs! You have tits like a girl." I just shake my head and decide not to say anything more. Yes, my chest is not particularly flat. Even at school, when I was fourteen, I was teased about it by the alpha males in class in physical education and suffered a lot from it. After that I trained. My breasts are still protruding but are firm and hard. I haven't heard that accusation since I was fourteen. Nastia has hit the bull's eye and has now completely unsettled me. Outside in the living room I can hear Pasha and Julia. Then Pasha is already in my room. "Class. Well done!” he says to me. If he knew what I suffered in the last two hours. Nastia gets dressed and joins the others in the living room. I look at the clock. It's two o'clock in the afternoon and I'm closing the door to get at least some sleep. I wake up around six. Pasha and the three girls are sitting next door in the living room. He's been hanging up and drinking since the afternoon. He's in a good mood. I still have a heavy head and drag myself past people to the bathroom. Nastia doesn't look at me. Katja sits next to her and grins at me. I'm ashamed and a little uncomfortable with the situation. Then I walk the dog for an hour. When I come home again, I find the same situation: all four are sitting in the living room and celebrating. I'm still uncomfortable with what happened last night. That I messed around with Katja and also how Nastia abused me. Yes yes, abused is of course an exaggeration, but seriously: you don't hit on a man for hours and then treat him like he's the last straw. Something isn't right there, and I didn't want to know what experiences Nastia must have had to be so broken at twenty-two. I go back to my room and sleep for a few more hours. I wake up around eight o'clock and go to the bathroom. The girls have made themselves at home. You stay one more night. I'm slowly getting fit again, but Pascha is all the more drunk. He's standing at the DJ table and can hardly stand up straight, but he's still drinking white wine from the bottle. It's a good French one, but I'm sure Pascha doesn't care. I sit down with the girls. My headache is finally gone and I'm enjoying my first beer, it's cool and fresh. Max joined in the meantime. Katja tells him about last night. Her tone is a bit reproachful. She tells how she wakes up and someone is touching her. At first she thought it was Nastia, then, opening her eyes, she saw me. I blush Right now I can't even say anything back because she's telling the truth. However, leave it out that she teased me the whole time before and even offered me a blowjob. Now I'm the bloke. Doesn't matter. At some point Pascha is too drunk and goes to bed with his girlfriend. Max and the two girls are still here. Now I'm back at the DJ table while Max diligently rolls joints. Nastia and Katja are lying on the couch. Nastia sleeps while Katja talks to us. Then she too nods away. Max decides to leave around one o'clock and I retreat to my room. This time I close the door. Two hours later Katja crawls under the covers next to me. I wake up still groggy as her hand slides into my shorts. Now that's not true, is it? What a weekend. I can't believe it myself. I pull Katja close to me and kiss her. She has a wonderful body and her lips are so tight. In general, everything about her is fixed. I enjoy touching her. Katja disappears under the covers and gives me the blowjob she still owes me. She's pretty good at that and again I wonder where the little twenty-two year olds get their experience from. No wait. That's not true. Katja is only twenty-one. The next three hours are the Insanity. Katja is a very loving person, but with a lot of energy. She brings the last out of me. The sheets are completely wet when we end up hugging each other sweating. After that she stays for a while, we talk and smoke. Then she gets up and goes back to her couch in the living room. "I'm married, you know?" she says before leaving. I lie alone in bed and listen to some music before falling asleep. Great weekend. A bit weird at times, but overall very cool. Then on Sunday everyone acts as if nothing had happened. Pascha is still drunk, but at least he can stand up again. When I get up, his girlfriend is cooking lunch in the kitchen while the other two girls clear the decks. They even vacuum. Nastia looks at me a little reproachfully, while Katja completely avoids my eyes. I am a little confused. Everything could have been so simple and uncomplicated. But no, it had to end like this. One of the cell phones on the table rings. Katja answers and I understand that her husband is on the other end and will be coming to pick her up. I stay in my room a little longer to avoid them, because it seems like neither of them can handle the situation. Then I decide to walk the dog for an hour. When I get home, everyone is gathered in the kitchen. Katja's husband is also there and stands next to her. They hold hands. "We're going now," says Katja. "OK Nice to meet you guys. It was fun hanging out with you guys.” Pasha's girlfriend looks at me in horror and has to hold back her laughter. I can't shake the feeling that she had the most fun of all of this. "Good. Come visit again soon.” Then I say goodbye to Katja's husband and go to my room. Oh man, this Katja. What a body. I'm curious if and when she'll stop by for a visit again. number three Six o'clock in the morning. Michael and I just finished our clubs-we-don't-know-yet-tour and are dead drunk in one of the worst flophouses in Moscow. There are still a few girls from the suburbs on the dance floor. You can tell by looking at them: the cheap clothes, always a size too small and very provocative. A blonde is standing next to me at the bar and we quickly strike up a conversation. After that, it doesn't take long before we sit down at a table and make out. Michael has decided to go home. I don't know if he went alone or found a girl too. I'm way too drunk for that. Not much later we drive to my place. Tatiana hardly speaks English, but we don't have to talk much anymore anyway. Tatiana goes off like a grenade in bed. But somehow it's always the same. The next morning I even wonder why I didn't go home alone much earlier. Around noon Tatiana leaves and I'm glad to be rid of her. She's a good girl and we had fun, but that's about it. "Can I have your number?" she asks on her way to the door. "Sure, of course. Here it is,” I reply, punching my number into her phone. Tuesday afternoon. It's been over a week since I dated Tatiana and now she's texting me. "Shall we see each other tonight?" she asks. “I still have two meetings. After that I want to eat something for dinner. Maybe you want to come with me?” I send back. It'll take a while before I get an answer. I'm sitting in my meeting, bored with the usual business talk. Then it vibrates in my pocket and I'm surprised when I check. “No, I don't want to have dinner with you. I want to fuck! When will you be at home? Let me know and I'll see you later." This is unusual for Moscow. The girls from the suburbs in particular never miss an opportunity to scrounge up dinner in a good restaurant. "I'll be home at ten," I text back. "OK, see you at your place," comes the prompt reply. This is all strange and I'm starting to worry. So I'm going to dinner alone. When I'm finally home, it takes less than fifteen minutes and Tatiana is at my door. She is wearing a short dress and high heels. “Leave it on. They're sexy,' I say, because it's customary in Russia to take off your shoes indoors. After that we sit on my couch and drink red wine. "But now I have to ask you why you were so direct and didn't have dinner with me?" “You know,” she replies, “I'm 25. I have a 52-year-old boyfriend. He takes care of me and pays for everything, but I don't love him. Then I have a 30 year old friend. I love him and he's great. But both push the three-minute number in bed. Then they don't care about me. They only care about themselves and their orgasm. You took care of me and it was important to you that I have fun too. And that even though you were pretty drunk. I enjoyed it very much with you and I want more of it.« "So I'm your number three now? The man for the sex?” I ask. "Yes, it is," she replies confidently. "I'll be fine," I say, slipping my hand under her skirt. After that we go to bed. I'm taking even more time and trying to give Tatiana as much as I can because she seems to need it. "Slow down, slow down!" she moans as she climaxes. It won't be the last. I like being number three. Long legs It's summer and we're organizing a pool party at a hotel outside of Moscow. A few of our guests are frolicking in the water. Late in the afternoon, after my DJ set, I jump in and play water polo with the other guys. When the ball flies out of the pool again, I swim to the edge to get it. In front of me are two ultra-long legs. Natascha wears high heels and jeans hot pants. She has the ball in her hands, grins and bends down to me. "Well, long time no see," she says and gives me the ball. I met Natascha a year ago at the Didu Bar's cocktail tasting. After the tasting we all went to my house to keep partying and even then there was this special vibe between Natascha and me. We even lay in my bed for a moment and kissed, but nothing else happened. The next day I flew to Sochi and we lost touch. "I am happy to see you. Great that you came to our party, too,” I say. Natascha is here with two friends and their youngest daughter. We keep playing water polo and the girls are lying in the sun by the pool. Natascha often looks over at me and flirts with me. Later she comes into the water with her daughter. The water polo game is over and I have time to spend with the little one. She is brave and follows me with her swim wings into the deep water to get to the water polo. We both have a lot of fun together while Natasha sits by the pool and watches. "She likes you," she tells me later. "She doesn't usually swim that deep, but she seems to trust you." "That makes me happy. I think they're great too. She has so much energy and is so sweet.« Natascha laughs: "She can do things differently when she's bitchy." “I have to go and do the sound check for the night party. I hope to see you later." "Sure, that's why we came," says Natascha. I am very happy because Natascha is a classy woman. I would also like her for a longer relationship, although she already has two daughters. After the sound check I have lunch with my team and then I go back to the indoor pool to organize the party and DJ later. Unfortunately, we were only allowed to use the outdoor pool until 10 p.m., because there are other guests in the design hotel besides us, and they want to be left alone. Nothing is going on in the indoor pool when I arrive. The warm-up DJ plays his songs. Every now and then a few people come, but after a short time they leave and we are alone. We have a total of two hundred people in the hotel and I wonder where they are all staying. After all, they only came for our party. A few of them have already behaved so much in the afternoon that they are now drunk in their hotel beds. Others celebrate in their rooms, I heard. The complex consists of two hotels. One of them is very chic and a boutique hotel, the other one is more normal. There are also a number of cottages and houses on the site that are also rented out. Last winter they were hotspots for the after-hours parties after our Playboy party in the indoor pool. Around midnight I give up and the technicians start dismantling the material. I'm disappointed. We spent a ton of money renting the equipment and having it shipped over here to the country. In the last two hours I've seen maybe thirty people in the pool, nothing more. Not many of my own people showed up either. I even miss two of my DJs. But I'm even more disappointed that Natascha didn't come. I was so looking forward to her and hoping Around one everything is dismantled and stowed in the car. The lifeguard closes the indoor pool behind me, and I trudge to ours, disappointed A house. On the way I see that there is a private party going on in each of the cottages. Many of our guests move from house to house and celebrate with us. In front of almost every bungalow people are sitting next to the grill, drinking and having fun. They greeted me politely as I trotted past, but that doesn't cheer me up either. After all, I have lost about 2000 euros so far. "The concept of having different little parties in the huts isn't bad," I think. Unfortunately it killed our big party in the indoor pool. But honestly, who wants to sit in an indoor pool on a warm summer night. planning error! Anyway, now I'll open another beer and then I'll go to bed, even though it's only half past one. Just as I have arrived at our bungalow at the end of the long walk, Natascha is standing in front of me. "Where have you been?" she asks me, already a bit drunk. "Hanged up at the indoor pool," I reply sullenly. "Were there many people there?" "Nah, could have been more." "It doesn't matter, you're here now and we're celebrating," says Natascha happily. Then she takes my arm and pulls me back up the path with its countless steps to a neighboring house. 'This is ours. I've got another bottle of champagne." There is a small party in the living room of the house. Natasha's friends are here. Next to them are two Germans from Russia who I know well. You work for an Otto Versand start-up and you often come to my parties. They drink vodka with three super young students. These are guys from my production manager's group, whom I didn't see after the sound check either. 'Hm,' I think, 'three girls and six boys. It's not a good relationship, but the atmosphere is good.« I sit down and roll a joint while Natascha gets the bottle of champagne out of the fridge. There is laughter and fun. The students are already wide. One of them can hardly keep his eyes open but still peeks at Natasha's tits. He doesn't seem to mind. The door keeps opening and new people come. others go. The two Russian Germans stay. They are also targeting Natascha. But she only has eyes for me. She dances with me and we have fun. "Sorry guys," I say, when Natascha goes to the toilet, "It's mine." But that doesn't bother anyone present. They're all well drunk and don't want to give up. When Natascha comes back, she takes my hand and pulls me into the bathroom. We close the door and kiss. Natascha is super sexy. She's still wearing those denim hot pants, which are a size too small for her. One has the feeling that the seams could burst at any moment. She wears a white t-shirt on top and nothing underneath. I can see her stiff nipples through the shirt. And then those incredibly long legs. They end up in high heels, but Natascha can move very safely in them despite a few drinks. After a while we go back out to the others. We drink and Natasha dances on the table, still in her heels. Her bottom is firm and moves back and forth to the rhythm. I'm not the only one who is speechless and enjoys the attention. Later we sit outside in front of the house on the terrace. It's getting light and we're sipping the last of our champagne. Natascha and I kiss and flirt with each other, but the other boys are sitting next to us. They are now very drunk and never let Natascha out of their sight. I hear one of the students say: "What does she want with the stupid German? She's Russian, and they're ours. She should go with a Russian and not the German." They are now very drunk and never let Natascha out of their sight. I hear one of the students say: "What does she want with the stupid German? She's Russian, and they're ours. She should go with a Russian and not the German." They are now very drunk and never let Natascha out of their sight. I hear one of the students say: "What does she want with the stupid German? She's Russian, and they're ours. She should go with a Russian and not the German." He thinks I won't understand him, or he just doesn't care anymore. I glare at him. "You might want to go home," I say confidently. "Otherwise you might get slapped by the German." Natascha hears that, pulls me back into the house and closes the door. »Relax. I'm yours," she says, adding, "If you want me." "And whether!" Then we lie on the couch and exchange tenderness. I have the opportunity to explore Natascha's long legs and more. When I reach between her legs, I notice that she is very wet. Then the others come in. Natascha has a short chat with her friends and arranges for them to check on their little one. One of them is already sleeping with her daughter. She took on the role of babysitter early on so that Natascha could enjoy the evening. "Are we going over there?" she asks. "We'll have our peace there." Natasha took him by the hand and drove her to my house. However, there are two strange boys in my room. "Hey!" I wake her roughly. 'This is my bed and I need it now. piss off downstairs There is also a sofa bed in the living room.« It's occupied, I saw that when I came in, but I don't care. After a while I finally manage to get the boys out of the room. And then I lock the door - so they don't come back. Natascha is already half naked on my bed and looks at me seductively. "Shall I leave my shoes on?" she asks. “For now yes. We can take them off later,” I answer and laugh. What a woman. I'm in seventh heaven. Natascha is so incredible, even during sex. She says goodbye in the morning. She has to go back to her daughter and her friends. When we're packing up to go back to Moscow in the afternoon, she comes over again. 'Was that a one night stand? Or are we going to do this more often from now on?” she asks innocently. “Of course, let's do this more often. I'll call you next week." I see Natascha very often over the next few weeks. I still like her very much and am considering starting a serious relationship with her. She lives in the country with her mother, who also looks after the two daughters when Natascha stays with me. After the fifth date we're at my house on the couch and we're talking about everything. I lit some candles to make it romantic and hold Natasha tight. “You know,” she says out of context, “I need a man to take care of me. Financially I mean. I would also like to have a third child.« Oh la la. This is going a bit too fast for me now. Just a few days ago I overheard Natascha bullying one of her two ex-husbands on the phone. It was about money. After the phone call, she was really proud of herself. Natascha must be working out that I'm the next man to pay for her later. I was wondering anyway that she can afford not to work. After that night, I don't call her as often, and I don't always answer the phone when it's her turn. But this is also due to the fact that my smartphone has recently had dropouts and turns itself off every now and then. It's Tuesday evening. Natascha calls me: “I'm at the Didu with friends. Do you have something to smoke? Can we come by your place later? I would then spend the night with you, too, if you don't mind." "No problem. Just drop by later when you're ready." After that I didn't hear from her for two hours. When I look back at my phone to check the time, I find that it has turned itself off once again. After the reboot I get a lot of messages. Natascha is angry because she was standing in front of my door with her friends and I didn't open it. I call her back: "That was really bad luck," I try to explain, but Natascha angrily hangs up. "Stupid," I think. I had been working on a mix and didn't hear my very soft bell. Unfortunately, the phone also switched off. I pick up the lighter, light a joint and think. Maybe it was better that way. Life was probably kind to me. It's not just about good sex and long legs. I didn't hear from Natascha for the next few months. A year later I meet her at a party. "Let's go out again," I say kindly. "Maybe. Why not,« Natascha replies, but I sense that she has now lost interest in me. alternative service It's a boring day at the office. There's enough to do, but somehow it's always the same and I can't really motivate myself to work. So I'm wasting my time on vKontakte, the Russian Facebook. There I look at the pictures of my female contacts and am amazed at how revealing the girls are. Suddenly my phone rings. It's Florian. "What are you doing?" 'It's afternoon. During the week. What am I going to do? To work. And you?" Florian is a manager at a large German company and is usually under constant stress. But since the story with the slave I also know that Florian leads a double life and spends part of his time in the S&M and swingers scene in Moscow. "Would you like to have sex?" asks Florian. I laugh out loud: "What? Now? With you?" "Yes, now, with me," Florian replies seriously, because he didn't understand my joke. "Didn't know you were bi," I reply. "No. I mean with me and a woman. A threesome.' "Yes / Yes. It's clear. I'm just teasing you. When and where?” I ask, expecting “next Saturday evening.” "Now. I'll pick you up and we'll go out into the country. I organized something there.« I'm surprised by Florian's spontaneity and go through my appointments and work in my head. "How much should it cost?" I ask pro forma. "Have you ever had to pay me anything?" "No." "So what. We have to buy a nice bunch of flowers and that's it.' An hour later I'm in Florian's car and we're driving out of town. "Now what's the story?" I ask. »I made a post in a Russian forum and asked who was interested in a German gangbang. A few couples answered, and that has now become concrete. They live in the suburbs and are waiting for us. I've seen pictures of the woman and she looks pretty good." 'And her husband? How does he look like? Does he want to join too?” "No. He just wants to watch.” "Is that possible?" »Yes, they are so-called cuckolds. They get so horny when they're allowed to watch their wife being fucked,' Florian replies dryly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “We'll just go there now and see what's in store for us. If we don't like it, then we can go back home. Relax yourself." That's easier said than done. I've had a few threesomes, but I'm usually pretty drunk by then and I don't care if other people stand by and watch. Anyway, now I'm in the car with Florian and we're on our way to an adventure in the Moscow suburbs. On the way we stop at a flower shop and buy two beautiful bouquets. That would be the norm, explains Florian. Arrived in the suburbs, we are standing in front of a six-storey apartment building in a good area. We go inside and go to the top floor. Nina, the lady of the house, awaits us there. She is blonde, has a pretty face and is standing in front of us in high heels and a black negligee. "Come into the kitchen, my husband is waiting there," she says. We go into the apartment and take off our shoes. Nina is happy about the flowers she brought with her. She checked us out when we came in and she seems to like us. She struts down the aisle in front of us into the kitchen. There sits a man in his mid-forties in a wheelchair. I'm shocked. Florian isn't as cool as usual either. We sit down at the cake table and drink tea with the two of them. It's about getting to know each other. Nina's husband tells us that he was a colonel in the local police force and was hit by a car two years ago. Since then he has been in a wheelchair and paralyzed. We don't dare ask how it happened, but I think of mafia relationships that somehow went wrong. "I haven't had anything going on since the accident," he says. “After a while I realized that my wife needed sex and started looking for men for her. I love my wife and I want her to have fun. In the beginning I didn't want to be there, but now it's very exciting for me. It's sex in the head,” he explains. Florian and I are still shocked, but we understand the situation and want to try to participate. In addition, the two are very likeable. I think Florian also expected something else. He must be thinking of S&M or something equally wicked. After a while, Nina asks me if we want to take a quick shower. First thing I do is go to the bathroom and shower. All sorts of thoughts are running through my head there. This is a very strange situation and I don't know how to deal with it. At best, I just try to turn my head off and enjoy. Let's see how Nina is feeling. At least she looks good. When I come out of the shower, she takes my hand and leads me into the very small living room. In general, the apartment is quite cramped and small. I wonder, how her husband gets through here in a wheelchair. We sit down on the couch, which apparently also serves as a bed for the two of them. Nina starts and blows me one while the other two are still talking in the kitchen. Then I hear Florian taking a shower. Her husband stays in the kitchen and only comes to us when Florian is with him. His wheelchair is in the doorway and he watches while Nina acts out a porn movie with us. She seems to be enjoying it. I don't know what it is, if Nina's good technique or something else, but she excites me a lot. Her husband stays in the kitchen and only comes to us when Florian is with him. His wheelchair is in the doorway and he watches while Nina acts out a porn movie with us. She seems to be enjoying it. I don't know what it is, if Nina's good technique or something else, but she excites me a lot. Her husband stays in the kitchen and only comes to us when Florian is with him. His wheelchair is in the doorway and he watches while Nina acts out a porn movie with us. She seems to be enjoying it. I don't know what it is, if Nina's good technique or something else, but she excites me a lot. "She likes it when you cum in her face," says her husband, while Florian takes her from behind and she blows me. It doesn't take long for me to cum and she really seems to be enjoying it. Whatever I think. That's no problem. I take a short break, sit down next to her and watch Florian take care of her. He has to pull himself together not to fall into his S&M act too badly because it's obviously out of place here. Nina pulls me back in and I get aroused again, but we only have a little fun together before I go limp again. I just can't put my head down now. Her husband notices this and offers me another cup of tea in the kitchen. There we sit and talk while there's a lot of moaning in the living room. "She likes you," he says. 'I like to see her so excited. Actually, that was my idea with the foreigners. We used to always have Russians, but I wanted to try something different and found Florian's ad. You are doing really well!« "Thanks. I'm glad about that,' I reply shyly. After that I try to change the subject. I tell him that I used to be a policeman too. It's difficult to keep a conversation going because I don't know him and I don't want to give him too much information about us. It takes another half hour until Florian and Nina are finally done and come into the kitchen. "I am totally exhausted. Seems like I'm out of practice,' says Nina. Her husband had previously told me that they have a solid base of lovers for Nina and it is rare for her to have sex with more than one man at the same time. We drink one last cup of tea. As we leave the house and get into our car, it's getting dark outside. Nina hugged and kissed us as we said goodbye. "Come back soon. I loved it." Florian and I are silent for a while on the drive home. Our experience was nice, but also very depressing. “Are we going to do that again?” I ask Florian. "Don't know? Do you want to?” he asks back. "It's a bit far out, this suburb." 'Yes, next time she'll have to come into town. I guess she works there anyway.” After that we are silent again. Strange Russian pop music comes on the radio and I look at the hookers on the side of the road. They always stand on the arterial roads at night and wait for customers, mostly truck drivers. "What a shitty life," I think, and I'm glad I'm fine. Florian stays in touch with the two of them, and so I find out later that Nina has taken an apartment in the city. She hosts wild sex parties there on the weekends with several men who have to pay to attend. "She makes around a thousand euros per evening," says Florian. Nina has now even given up her job. "Shall we join in? She says we could for free...«, says Florian. "No thanks!" I interrupt him. "It's not my thing." Shit night! My phone is ringing. It's still early in the morning and I'm pretty exhausted. Last night I DJed at a company party. It was a difficult crowd and I couldn't get people dancing to the end despite the high vodka consumption. That happens every now and then. You just got booked for the wrong party. It would have been better if they had picked a Russian who plays 90's Russian pop hits. Although I went home early after the evening, I still had a few drinks at home with my roommates and the customer. After the customer left, a few joints made the rounds and I ended up lying motionless on the couch. It was only after a while that I was able to pull myself together and walk the dog before I fell into bed exhausted. No, that wasn't a good start to the weekend, and the fact that my cell phone is ringing again before ten doesn't make me any happier. My eyes are heavy and I can still taste the vodka in my mouth when I say a soft, "Hello?" Who is disturbing you at this time?” coughed into the phone. "Young! Had a rough night?” It's Michael, an old friend. He is with Anna and they have two children. I think that's also the reason why Michael is so alert so early. Honey, he's used to getting up at seven and has already gotten through the first five hours of his day while I'm still struggling for words. 'Let's not talk about it. Was shit!« “Anna is in Germany with the kids right now. Shall we do something together tonight?” "Clear. Let's call again in the evening. I have to hang up from midnight to two o'clock, but you can come with me." Michael is also a party boy. We are good friends and I also know his wife very well. Whenever Anna is in Germany, Michael calls me and we go out. Then we go through the clubs, drink and have fun. Oddly enough, Michael doesn't mean hitting on one girl at a time like most of my male friends do. He has a different kind of fun. I think he's one of the few men I know who doesn't run after every skirt. Especially if you've been married for a while and your wife is away. Michael is different. He can have fun without the sex and foreplay. I really like that about him, because it always makes the evening very relaxed, and yet it never gets boring. And as always, I still get my share of the women's world. I'm still drunk, so I put the phone down and let my heavy head fall back on the pillow to sleep off my intoxication. After that I take the dog to the park for a few hours. He loves the long walks and it clears my head. The day flies by and then I have Michael on the phone again. An hour later he's sitting on the couch with me. We smoke our first joint and drink Red Bull vodka while I warm up. Pasha and his girlfriend are sitting with us and drinking wine. Tonight's party doesn't sound very promising. It's Easter and most people are staying at home or going to church. Besides, the bar isn't very well known. We are there at eleven and nothing is going on. Gaping emptiness. There are no more than ten people in the whole bar. From midnight I hang up and at the beginning of the session I have technical problems. The bartenders are in a bad mood, the owner is also sitting in the corner in a grumpy mood. The manager is arguing with a guest about their bill. It can still be fun. At least Michael isn't alone. He's sitting with Daniel, an American friend who also works in nightlife and wanted to come over, even though I told him it was probably going to be shit here. After an hour, my DJ set is already over because the last guests are leaving and the manager wants to close. Michael and Daniel have moved on to the Boom Boom Room and are waiting for me there. The last two guests are sitting next to me on the couch. Two girls I don't know but apparently they know me and came to say hello during my DJ set. I sit down with them to at least relax a bit. The bartender doesn't want to give me any more beer, but then lets himself be persuaded. One of the girls jokes nonchalantly: "This is probably the quietest place in Moscow at the moment." She's right about that, because it's not even two o'clock and that's usually party prime time. Somehow I have no desire to go anywhere else. Through the flower, one of the two has offered to go to her house and continue there with Rum Cola. Maybe something could come of it, but I've got Michael on my cheek. He sends me text message after text: “Where are you staying?”, “Come on. It's good here!« SHIT! And I don't feel like it at all anymore. Yes, a bit of cuddling with the girl across the street, that would be nice. She has long legs, wears high-heeled, knee-high boots, black tights underneath and black shorts that are actually way too tight. The face could be prettier, but the figure is OK Then the next SMS comes. I'm trying to connect the two things My friends from Pacha are standing at the door of the club and do security and admittance. That makes things easier because I have a huge backpack full of DJ stuff with me. We go to the fifth floor and I can already hear people laughing in the elevator. Apparently something is really going on here. That bothers me because we used to have regular parties here ourselves up until three weeks ago and only one out of five weekends was good. I've been watching our successors' recent parties on Facebook and judging by the photos it was just as lame as ours. But now the store is raging. As the elevator opens, we run into a horde of dancing people. I'm pissed off right away and now I'm in a bad mood. Actually I just want to go home. Fuck the girls. smoke one at home then sleep and forget this shitty weekend as soon as possible. But Michael wants to stay. He orders me a drink. My girl lost her interest in me. You can't blame her either, because I'm not exactly a party animal at the moment. Her Ukrainian blonde friend takes the chance to hit on me. "At least something," I think. The style of the blonde leaves a lot to be desired. It seems she bought the tight black dress with the long silver zip down the back sometime in the mid 90's and her boots aren't exactly sexy either. In general, everything about her is boring. As drab and tasteless as the gum I've been chewing on for a few hours. In fact, she's not that ugly. She could do much more with herself. But Michael wants to stay. He orders me a drink. My girl lost her interest in me. You can't blame her either, because I'm not exactly a party animal at the moment. Her Ukrainian blonde friend takes the chance to hit on me. "At least something," I think. The style of the blonde leaves a lot to be desired. It seems she bought the tight black dress with the long silver zip down the back sometime in the mid 90's and her boots aren't exactly sexy either. In general, everything about her is boring. As drab and tasteless as the gum I've been chewing on for a few hours. In fact, she's not that ugly. She could do much more with herself. But Michael wants to stay. He orders me a drink. My girl lost her interest in me. You can't blame her either, because I'm not exactly a party animal at the moment. Her Ukrainian blonde friend takes the chance to hit on me. "At least something," I think. The style of the blonde leaves a lot to be desired. It seems she bought the tight black dress with the long silver zip down the back sometime in the mid 90's and her boots aren't exactly sexy either. In general, everything about her is boring. As drab and tasteless as the gum I've been chewing on for a few hours. In fact, she's not that ugly. She could do much more with herself. You can't blame her either, because I'm not exactly a party animal at the moment. Her Ukrainian blonde friend takes the chance to hit on me. "At least something," I think. The style of the blonde leaves a lot to be desired. It seems she bought the tight black dress with the long silver zip down the back sometime in the mid 90's and her boots aren't exactly sexy either. In general, everything about her is boring. As drab and tasteless as the gum I've been chewing on for a few hours. In fact, she's not that ugly. She could do much more with herself. You can't blame her either, because I'm not exactly a party animal at the moment. Her Ukrainian blonde friend takes the chance to hit on me. "At least something," I think. The style of the blonde leaves a lot to be desired. It seems she bought the tight black dress with the long silver zip down the back sometime in the mid 90's and her boots aren't exactly sexy either. In general, everything about her is boring. As drab and tasteless as the gum I've been chewing on for a few hours. In fact, she's not that ugly. She could do much more with herself. like she bought the tight black dress with the long silver zip down the back sometime in the mid-nineties, and her boots aren't exactly sexy either. In general, everything about her is boring. As drab and tasteless as the gum I've been chewing on for a few hours. In fact, she's not that ugly. She could do much more with herself. like she bought the tight black dress with the long silver zip down the back sometime in the mid-nineties, and her boots aren't exactly sexy either. In general, everything about her is boring. As drab and tasteless as the gum I've been chewing on for a few hours. In fact, she's not that ugly. She could do much more with herself. “Looks aren't everything. Maybe she's good in bed,' I think, but when she starts babbling to me and won't stop, I quickly lose interest. She thinks she has me firmly in her pocket. It's amazing how differently two people can perceive the same moment. And I'm still quite fit. I light a cigarette and take a quick sip of my drink to think about what to do next tonight. But then the blonde turns at the wrong moment and one leg touches my lit cigarette. She screams briefly and then turns into Fury. No, she is not injured. I just burned a hole in her pantyhose, and it certainly wasn't on purpose. "You buy me a new one!" she snaps at me. I did the last three rounds of drinks for her and her friend, but that's forgotten now. Despite some apologies, she won't calm down, so I go to the bathroom. When I come back, the blonde is talking to her friend and ignoring me. Michael dances drunk with Daniel. He in turn stares at the tits of a young Russian woman. He later tells me that she's in the entourage of a billionaire's son. A small petite Asian guy with glasses who looks like a nerd but pretends to be a gangster. Inside I have to laugh. Vika suddenly stands behind me. She is my competition and today the organizer of the party. I don't let it show and congratulate her on the successful evening. "And how was your day today?" she asks. I decide to be honest: "Shit! And that wasn't the first bad party lately." "Sorry," Vika says understandingly, and I'm surprised at her reaction. "Come on!" she says, "let's have a drink. Or two. relax.« Then we stand together and talk. It's noisy in the bar and I often have to be very close to her ear so that she can hear me. She winces and has to laugh. Then I see her goosebumps on her shoulder. "Your beard tickles." So I repeat the whole thing just to make her laugh again. Vika is actually quite cute. No, she's not a supermodel, but she still has a killer figure for her thirty years. She comes from Ufa, a city in southern Russia. She's been partying in Moscow for a few years and until now we rarely got in each other's way because she works with a different audience. Unfortunately, Vika is now bustling about in my segment, like so many other Russian promoters. The market has become much more difficult as a result. At some point, Vika no longer flinches when I speak in her ear, but now makes a movement in my direction to feel me even more. She seeks my closeness and I enjoy it. I'd love to kiss her right away, but I'll leave it at rubbing my cheek against her and kissing her gently on the neck. She winces again and gets goosebumps. The Ukrainian sees that, and suddenly I'm interesting to her again. She's trying to get my attention, but I only have eyes for Vika. As I turn to order another round of drinks, the Ukrainian speaks to me again. 'Bad selection, my dear. Bad choice!' she says so loudly that Vika has to hear it too, but she simply ignores it. "Sure baby," I think. "And you're the better one, aren't you?" I say nothing, nod politely and turn back to Vika. We play cat and mouse together, but in a very nice way. No bitching and no dislike. But when I come back from the toilets, she is suddenly right in front of me. She pulls me towards her and kisses me passionately. Then she wants to go to the toilet. I want to follow her, but she just grins and closes the door before I can follow her. I have to laugh. Well staged. At the bar I'm a bit reserved again. Not to play, but to protect Vika. This is her party, and I don't want people gossiping. On the other hand, it's a cool thing between us. We're supposed to be competitors, but we're standing at the bar and flirting. And it's not the hardcore pick-up number That's how it goes for a while. We flirt and chat. I would like to go home with Vika. It could also become more. But today it's going to be difficult, because Michael will probably sleep on my couch so that he doesn't have to go drunk to the suburbs where he lives. "Come. We'll go up to the strip club and see the chicks,' says Michael. In the same building there is a strip club, the entrance to it is even in the same stairwell. I have to laugh because that doesn't really suit him at all. 'No, I'm not interested. You know me." That's my standard answer when it comes to strip clubs. I still don't understand the point of these clubs to this day. You go and watch girls undress. And? That doesn't do me any good. If you want, you pay a little money and one of the dancers does a lap dance on my lap. It feels better then, and in Russia you can also touch the girls. But what for? After a song, the little girl moves on to the guy over there at the next table, who is now touching her with his sweaty hands, and I get sick just thinking about it. Michael persuades me anyway. He's like a little boy standing in front of a merry-go-round at the fairground. "No, Michael. You've driven enough. That's enough for today,« goes through my head, but in the end I give in and nod in agreement. Vika is a bit disappointed when we go upstairs. Maybe she'll still be there when we come down? On the other hand, it was actually just enough the way it was. I don't want any more, and this intimacy and tenderness simply spared me this miserable evening. It's already empty upstairs in the strip club. Just as we have our drink in hand, the lights come on and a security guard motions for us to piss off. This is unfortunately so common in many bars and clubs. Drinks are sold to the end without warning, and as soon as you hold your long drink in your hand, the light goes on and a security guard rudely asks you to leave. It doesn't matter how much money you just shelled out for the long drink. I try to explain that to our security guard, but he just snarls, "It's not my problem. Either you drink up straight away or you leave the drink.” This kind of customer service infuriates me, but after having a huge fight with the goalkeepers at another club over the same incident three years ago, I'm more cautious. When we check below to make things right, it's over here too. Vika is already gone, and now I'm a bit disappointed. "Anyway, let's go home and have a nightcap there," I say to Michael. We pack my DJ stuff and hit the streets. There I negotiate the price with a private driver, but it is too expensive. Behind it is a black VW Tuareg waiting for the taxi to drive on. When the Tuareg stands next to us and the windows go down, we are quite surprised. At the wheel sits a dark blonde in a short dress with fuck-me boots, next to her is a blonde, also with long hair and a very pretty face. Both are in their late twenties. “Where are you going?” asks the driver. “Sukharevskaya. Are two hundred OK?” For a moment I think we might be dealing with whores, so I throw in another "ruble!" - not that we end up shelling out dollars. The little one behind the wheel has to laugh. 'Get in the back. We'll drive you home." "But you're not taxi drivers?" "No, we've just come out of the Imperia Lounge and are going to drive around a bit," I get the answer in English. I'm really surprised. Two good looking girls in their late twenties come from one of the most elite clubs in town and stop to give us a ride home. Normally this was something to worry about. After all, we're in Moscow, and a shit ending would also go well with my shit night. But somehow I trust the Madels. We're not sitting in a Lada either, but a 60,000 euro car. Anyway, I wonder how the girls can afford it. On the way we make a short stop. The passenger gets out, she has to go upstairs to get something else. Now would be the moment. We're standing in a backyard, and if anyone followed us, they could now strike without a problem. But nothing happens. Shortly thereafter, the passenger gets back into the car and the journey continues. I also have to wonder about the girls. OK, we are German, but still. I hadn't left my girlfriend alone in the car with two strangers. Who knows what thoughts the two boys will come up with. Especially when she's so provocatively dressed and sitting alone in our car. We do a little small talk. When we get to my place, I ask again what we owe. "Nothing," laughs the driver. She is likeable and I am considering whether I should invite them both upstairs. What can happen? All you can do is decline anyway, and that's it. But I say goodbye politely and walk to the door with Michael. The girls honk their horns again and wave out of the window before speeding off. “What was that now?” Michael asks in amazement. "No idea. There's no use thinking about it." "But they weren't taxi drivers." "No. They didn't want any money either." Maybe I should have invited her, but Michael has a wife and child. While he would enjoy talking to the girls, he would end up doing nothing. So I had two wives - and that was definitely one too many. Also, I'm fairly certain the girls expected a better apartment. Add some coke and maybe a bottle of champagne. That would have been more her style. Still, it was a nice ride, and it seems like life is about to kick in just before bedtime to say, "See? Isn't everything as bad as it sometimes seems«. A perfectly normal evening Tuesday evening. I'm on my way to the nearby pond to walk my dog when the phone rings. Anna, a millionaire's daughter, is on the other end: "I hope you haven't forgotten our dinner today?" she asks. "Shit! Yes I have. When did we meet?” "I knew it," says Anna kindly. “Don't worry, we won't meet until ten o'clock at Revoljutsija. So you still have time.' Shit, actually I wanted to have a beer at home tonight. Anna had invited me a few weeks ago and I forgot to make a note of the date. She arranged a meeting with a wealthy gallery and restaurant owner who wants to meet me. He wanted me to organize parties for him. I didn't take Anna seriously at first. She had this simple concierge job at the hotel. She also organized dancers for the Moscow Pacha Club. And in general, Anna is not my type, even if she is cool and nice. Only later did I casually find out that she actually comes from a good family with a lot of money. That's often the case in Moscow: you misjudge people and only find out years later that they're dealing with very large calibers. I usually don't care anyway. Money doesn't make a better person. I try to be open with everyone and judge people by how they treat me. It doesn't help to know which families they come from, because otherwise you quickly get complexes or act a little strange. A lot of other people are still sitting at the long table in the restaurant, and the waiters are already bringing the first course when I show up at nine sharp. Anna has brought her friends from Les Clefs D'Or. This is a global association of 5-star hotel concierges. The gallery and restaurant owner wants us to be comfortable, and the wait staff bring only the best from the menu. We are sitting outside in the courtyard of an old house from the days of the Tsars. The current owner bought it from the oligarch Abramovich a few years ago. The house used to be his residence, now it is a mixture of gallery and restaurant. The style is a bit odd. Most rooms are still classically Russian and ostentatious, but modern art by painters such as Damien Hirst hangs on the walls. I wonder how they secured the artwork when the owner later leads us through the rooms. On the toilet of Revoljutsija there are photos of his biggest critics and of people whom he personally dislikes. Cool idea and a completely different way to vent your frustration. Dinner is endless, and new dishes are always coming to the table. "I'm about to burst!" I joke to Anna, who is already looking at me with pity. »Coming from a gourmet family, I'm used to eating a lot, but today it's more than enough for me. Come on, let's have a digestive schnapps,« she says and grins. I'm not sure if she wants something from me or just thinks I'm nice. "Man! Not every woman is automatically into you,” says the little devil on one shoulder. "But there are a lot of them, and then you have a problem," says the angel on the other. Anyway, I'll keep my distance and be nice without obligation. At the end of the evening, Anna asks me if I can accompany her to another bar, but I politely decline and point out that it's late and I have to work the next day. "What do you think? I have to get up early tomorrow, too,” Anna replies. 'I'd rather go home anyway. It's only Tuesday and I know how that ends up getting drunk somewhere." Anna grins and says goodbye with a kiss on the cheek. Shortly afterwards I organize a taxi. My driver is from the Caucasus, more precisely from the crisis region of Dagestan. There are constant fights between the government, mafia groups and Islamists. He begins the usual taxi small talk: 'You're not from Moscow, are you? Where are you from?' 'Germany,' I answer briefly and to the point, because I'm not in the mood for conversation. 'Ah, Germany. My brother lives in the Ruhr area. My name is Shamil, by the way,” says my driver. »What are you doing in Moscow? Other than driving a taxi,” I ask Shamil, who doesn't look like a typical Caucasian at all. He's around thirty, small, friendly and has a well-groomed beard. "I'm trying to earn some money to learn English and Arabic." Our conversation is interrupted. We'd been working our way through a traffic jam on the 12-lane Moscow ring road for the last few minutes. Traffic jams are actually quite unusual after midnight. Suddenly our Lada is right in front of a dead man. It's twisted on the street just a few yards in front of us. A couple of police officers stand next to him and look at him, in front of him a couple of safety hats and behind the dead man an ambulance. He's in the middle of the street. Far and wide I don't see a broken car or anything like that. Like everyone else, we dodge to the side and drive past the scene of the accident. Only then do I see more police and a car parked on the right-hand side of the road. Fifty yards further, a motorbike is lying to one side. Shamil is silent. "It happens too often," I say. "Because they all drive like maniacs," he says. It is not uncommon for a motorcyclist to shoot around the other cars at over a hundred km/h. Just last week I saw a gang of bikers darting through the slow-moving traffic. The first had casually folded in the mirrors of the cars next to him as he drove past, so that the others could later get through the maximum one meter wide gap faster. People don't seem to realize that the slightest mistake can cost them their lives. But that's how the Russians are. The future doesn't pay. What matters is the here and now. It's already past midnight when I finally get home. I'm pretty much done. Last weekend consisted of parties and lots of alcohol. Today I actually wanted to take it easy, and now I've downed a few beers again. Anyway, now all I have to do is take the dog for a quick walk, and then I can hit the ground running. My pooch is looking forward to the midnight walk. We do this every night before we go to bed, but every time I open the door, he's as happy as if it were his first time. The elevator door opens and Muhackel sprints towards the front door when my neighbor comes around the corner. He's in his early thirties and a nice guy. He often sits outside in the aisle and smokes. I think this is a kind of time off for him to get away from his family a bit. He staggers a bit and I can tell immediately that he's been drinking. This is quite unusual for him. He's happy to see me. "Are you walking the dog?" he asks. I nod. "Do you mind if I come with you for a bit?" "No, that's OK. I'm always pretty bored anyway." As we leave the house, he asks if I want to have a beer with him on the way. "Why not," I reply. "How many?" he asks, entering the supermarket while I wait outside with the dog. "One is enough, I think." 'Oh come on. Two, three maybe? And cigarettes?' "No no, one is really enough," I say firmly, and he disappears into the supermarket. But it doesn't take long for him to come back. In his hand he holds two bottles of beer. "Come on," I say, "let's go home. We can have a beer there if you want.” "You celebrated today?" I ask. 'No, just a little drunk. My family is on vacation and I am home alone. I can let it all out there.« "You're not going on vacation?" I ask. »No, the money is not enough. I had to borrow the coal for this holiday from a friend. Haven't been on vacation in four years,' he says. Later he sits on my couch and we talk a little. There are two cold beers on the table in front of us. "You're a DJ, aren't you?" he asks. “I always see you with so many women. One prettier than the other. What a life!" »Not only DJ. I work in an advertising agency during the week.« In doing so, I deliberately conceal the fact that I am the owner of the agency. However, he ignores my last sentence and asks me about my DJ life. He wants to know how it is in Moscow clubs. I find out that he himself works in an import-export agency and earns around 1000 euros a month. 'I'll leave all the money at home. There are five of us living in our apartment and I'm the only one making money. My wife doesn't work. I have two small children. My mother-in-law and brother-in-law live with us. You don't work either." Wow. 1000 euros for five people in Moscow. That is hard. I hope he doesn't ask me what I earn from DJing. Last week I DJed one night at Krysha Mira, one of the hottest clubs in Moscow, and made as much in one night as my neighbor does in a month. It puts my life in a completely different perspective. We say goodbye around two in the morning and he goes over to his apartment. »Next time we do a DJ session at our house, come over and join us. I'm sure it'll be good,« I say in farewell. But I know that in the future we will only greet each other in the corridor. He'll have a cigarette in his hand and we'll make some small talk while I wait for the elevator, that'll be it. Our lives are just too far apart. bitter end Today I'm a DJ at Paparazzi. We've been having our party there every Friday for a few months. Sometimes things go well, sometimes bad. So-so today. A few people are dancing in front of my DJ box. I'm a little bored because it's the same every weekend. So I light a cigarette and drink some Cranberry Vodka. The bartender likes me, that's why the mix is tough, she does half and half. It's my second today and I'm starting to feel the alcohol, which usually works well on my DJ set. Or maybe I'm just thinking that because I can't tell when I'm drunk. On the dance floor, two girls wave at me and grin from ear to ear. It's very dark in the club, so I can't see if they're pretty or not. After I'm done, I hand over to the next DJ and head to the bar for a nightcap before heading home. But there they are again, my two fans, and it turns out they're very young and pretty drunk too. I'll take the girls out for a drink and we'll talk a little. I quite like one of them, but she's really too young. She looks under 18 and I wonder how they got past the club's doorman. Whatever I think. She'll be of age, and then I'll be fine. "Would you like to go to Soljanka with you?" I ask, hoping that the doorman will squint and let me in with them. "Sure, of course! Let's keep partying," says Julie, one of the two. Michael is standing at the door of Soljanka. We know each other. I'm often here and we have mutual friends. I push past the line of people waiting with the two girls and say hello to him. He's impressed by my companionship: "You've got a nice one with you," he says, pointing to Sasha, the girl I like better too. I nod and thank you for letting me in. We keep drinking upstairs in the club, although the girls have had enough for a long time and I'm slowly reaching my limits. We dance and Sasha flirts with me, at least I think so. "I think you should go with Julie because it's her birthday," she then says, and I'm a little disappointed that she seems to want to get rid of me. "Certainly not!" I reply resolutely. »I like you and only want you.« Sasha grins and gives me the first kiss. She's not a top model, but she's very pretty in her own way. With her big eyes and big pout, she looks like a doll. Her face still has something very childlike and naïve about it. Normally I like mature women, but this time it's different and I don't know why. "How old are you?" I ask Sasha, secretly hoping she's 24 or 25 and just looks so damn young. "Nineteen," Sasha replies. "And you?" This is the moment when I want to run away. Man, I'm 21 years older than her! That is not how it works. What did I get myself into this time? “Too old!” I answer firmly and in a misleading way. “How old?” Sasha demands an answer. "Forty," I reply, embarrassed. “That's OK I like you. No matter how old you are. You're cool." Then we dance again. I'm speechless, because I have to digest the whole thing first. Sasha pulls me closer and we kiss again. "You're my dream man," she whispers in my ear afterwards. "We are getting married." OK, now it's really time to go. If I don't scratch the curve now, I'll have a girlfriend tomorrow, and I really don't want that. Never another Russian, I swore to myself. But Sasha won't let me go. She hugs me tight and wants more. That becomes clear to me at the latest when her hand wanders around my trousers, looking for an entrance. “OK I'm tired. Let's go home,' I say, all I really want to do is put Sasha in the cab and send her home. "Fine, we'll go to you. Where do you live?" The matter-of-factness with which she says that unsettles me. "You know," she says, "you're my future husband." Suddenly I have no more worries. I don't know why either, but now I don't care. The little one is super cute and has a killer body. If that's what she wants, then she should have it. Shit. Thirty minutes later we're in bed and the pangs of conscience are back. I'm not sure what it is. The age difference or not wanting a girlfriend? "Actually, I'm very tired," I say. “We can just sleep. What do you think?" "No! I want to fuck,” is Sasha's firm reply. A wild night follows. Although Sasha is naive in bed and seems to have little experience, she is a lot of fun with her. Before we fall asleep, I ask myself what will happen when I wake up tomorrow. It's raining outside. My eyes are still closed, but I hear the drops on the corrugated iron of the garages in the courtyard below. My head is heavy and I'm not feeling well. You'd think that after so much partying you'd get used to drinking, but the next day is just as bad as the first time. I open my eyes and see Sasha lying next to me. She is still sleeping. It's easy to see that the girl from last night is still pretty the morning after. I've woken up too many times and been unpleasantly surprised at how much the alcohol has clouded my vision. You don't get a routine with it either. Sasha stirs. She wakes up. Then her eyes widen. No, the whole thing doesn't happen slowly and comfortably, but jerkily. Sasha first looks at the ceiling, then left and right and finds me next to her in bed. She grimaces and seems shocked. "Well, I've never had that before," I think and I'm disappointed with her reaction, but I don't really know how to act now either. "So just wait and see," I think. 'How do I get here? What happened?" I am speechless and just look at her. Then Sasha jumps up and gathers her things. "I have to go," she says, distraught. I've finally found the right words. "What's that about? Like you can't remember last night? That's probably a stupid tour. You have to take responsibility for your actions, even if you were drunk.” I can't think of anything better. Do I really look that old? Well, maybe in the morning after so many drinks. I really should drink a little less. "See you. Eventually,” Sasha says as she storms out of our apartment. She doesn't wait for an answer from me. Out on the stairwell, she is in such a hurry that she prefers to take the stairs to wait for the elevator. I am disappointed and shocked. Although this reaction is certainly better than what I expected. But they couldn't have been more different. yes i am sick I don't feel like forty, we feel like eighty-five. It's my own fault. What am I getting myself into with such young hens? The next day my phone rings. It's Sasha. "What else does she want now?" I think. Miss me another one? Well, it can't get any worse. I'm still suffering “Hello, I just wanted to get in touch because I must have left my sweater with you. I miss my earrings and a bracelet too.« I look at the shelf by the bed. 'Yes, your earrings and bracelet are here. When do we want to see each other? I could invite you to dinner." What the hell got into me? OK, I can meet up with her and return her things, but why am I asking her out for dinner? After the escape yesterday? I guess my brain is still not working properly. "We will see. I don't have time this week anyway. Let's make a phone call for the weekend,” Sasha replies. The whole thing, however, in such a negative tone that I understand that she really only wants her things. Over the next few days, I find myself thinking about Sasha several times. The rebuff still bothers me. On the other hand, I kinda like her. Yes, yes, she is nineteen and the age difference is far too big. What do I actually want? At first I was afraid that she would fall in love with me and want to be my girlfriend. Now exactly the opposite has happened, but I don't seem to like that either. Is it vanity? Or have I developed feelings? Maybe what's appealing to me is that she doesn't want me and I'm actually not allowed to have her either. From a purely social point of view. Then I dismiss those thoughts because I just can't allow myself to think about them. It's all stupid anyway. On Thursday, I text Sasha, "Now what about your stuff? I have a party tomorrow near you. Come by and pick her up there.” I secretly hope that she will stay a little longer and drink with me again. The answer is a long time coming. "Can I bring friends?" "Of course," I text back. "See you tomorrow, then." It's Friday and we're having a private party at a gym. Max and I carry two heavy loudspeakers, a projector and all the DJ stuff. First by subway, later on the street, because there are traffic jams everywhere and it's not worth taking a taxi. We're way too late now anyway. When we arrive we are both totally sweaty and out of breath. At that moment, I get a text message from Sasha: "Sorry, can't make it to your party. I have to go somewhere else. Can we meet at the metro in twenty minutes?' Damn, I've just come from the metro station! Nevertheless, I throw on my army jacket and go back into the pre-winter cold. Sasha is standing in front of the entrance to the metro and is already waiting for me. She greets me warmly but reservedly. I immediately hand over her things because I feel out of place. "Where are you going today?" she asks. "We're having a Halloween party at friends' house." "And you're at this party all night?" 'No, only until eleven. Then I hang up again at the paparazzi. Like last week.' 'If you still want to come by,' I think, but don't dare say it. She must know what she is doing and also what she wants. "Unfortunately I couldn't find your sweater," I say. "It must be at your house somewhere," she replies, almost as if I kept it on purpose. "What nonsense," I think. "I'll keep it as pledge, won't I, a relic?" In the afternoon I had searched every nook and cranny of our apartment and couldn't find him. 'Sorry, I've looked everywhere and can't find him. What am I supposed to do with a girl's sweater? They're much too small for me.« Stupid answer. But I just couldn't think of anything better. 'Fine, I have to go. Report if you find him. OK?". "Sure," I say, giving her a gentle peck on the cheek, surprising her. "Ciao!" she says and runs away. Good, that's it. I guess I just have to book this as a one-night stand. I idiot, what was I thinking? Disappointed, I walk back to the party and get myself a Red Bull vodka to get in the mood again. It's like every weekend at the Paparazzi. Katja, one of my former lovers, is here. She came in male company, but looks over at me the whole time. She comes with other men more often because she wants to show me that she's independent, even though I know she has a crush on me. That's why I decided half a year ago not to see her anymore. Because the rules of the game were clear from the start: I don't want a girlfriend and we're just having fun. Unfortunately I got weak a few weeks ago. Once again I was drunk after hanging up, and Katja had also given herself the edge. In the end we went home together and slept together. That wasn't so bad, but I better control myself because I don't want to hurt anyone. Nina is sitting at the other table. She is from Ukraine and one of my customers. During the week we do business because my agency advertises their company. Nina looks hot today. She's wearing those skintight black vinyl leggings that I find so sexy. Anyway, I have to worry about the next track. As it starts up, I light a fag and take another long sip of my cranberry vodka. Then I check the tables and the dance floor. I still secretly hope Sasha shows up even though my DJ set is over in ten minutes. Maybe it's a good thing she's not there, because I'm pretty drunk now. During the week we do business because my agency advertises their company. Nina looks hot today. She's wearing those skintight black vinyl leggings that I find so sexy. Anyway, I have to worry about the next track. As it starts up, I light a fag and take another long sip of my cranberry vodka. Then I check the tables and the dance floor. I still secretly hope Sasha shows up even though my DJ set is over in ten minutes. Maybe it's a good thing she's not there, because I'm pretty drunk now. During the week we do business because my agency advertises their company. Nina looks hot today. She's wearing those skintight black vinyl leggings that I find so sexy. Anyway, I have to worry about the next track. As it starts up, I light a fag and take another long sip of my cranberry vodka. Then I check the tables and the dance floor. I still secretly hope Sasha shows up even though my DJ set is over in ten minutes. Maybe it's a good thing she's not there, because I'm pretty drunk now. I light a fag and take another long sip of my cranberry vodka. Then I check the tables and the dance floor. I still secretly hope Sasha shows up even though my DJ set is over in ten minutes. Maybe it's a good thing she's not there, because I'm pretty drunk now. I light a fag and take another long sip of my cranberry vodka. Then I check the tables and the dance floor. I still secretly hope Sasha shows up even though my DJ set is over in ten minutes. Maybe it's a good thing she's not there, because I'm pretty drunk now. After I've finished my set and packed my things, I go to Nina's. She flirts heavily with me and I just can't take my eyes off the high heels and vinyl leggings. Katja is watching from the next table and I feel I have to go over to explain myself or at least say hello. "Are you going somewhere else?" she asks. “Yes, we'll probably go to the Soljanka. But I have to take Nina with me. This is a customer of mine and I need to take care of her To take care of." I hope that Katja understands the situation and goes somewhere else with her companion. But she puts a spoke in my wheel. “OK, I just have to get rid of my acquaintance. Then I'll come with you," she says. Well, that can be fun. An hour later I'm standing at the bar in Soljanka and ordering drinks for Katja and Nina. I ask myself which of the two I should take home with me and decide on Nina because of the leggings. Two drinks later, Nina is sitting on my lap and I let my hands wander up her thighs. Katja sits opposite and talks to a guy, but is visibly annoyed. I wonder why she's doing this to herself. Why doesn't she just go home? Yes, I know I'm the asshole right now, but given my high drinking and disappointment with Sasha, I've thrown all morals overboard. I just want to have fun now. Nina probably sees it the same way. Only Katja sits next to her like a stubborn child and just doesn't want to give up. “Nina, I want to sleep with you. You're so sexy,' I slur in her ear. "No. No,” she replies. 'It won't work. I have a boyfriend and I love him. You're sexy and I've been wanting you. If it wasn't for my boyfriend we'd already have fucked, but I'm in love and I'm trying to pull myself together." "Bla blah blah," I reply, not believing her. she flirts with me She sits on my lap and allows me to stroke her thighs and I'm already way up there. You really can't go much further than that. Earlier, when we were standing next to each other at the bar, I had my hand on her tight bottom. These vinyl leggings are unique. They're so thin you almost think you've got your hands on your skin, only it feels different. Also, I think Nina isn't wearing any underwear. At least I can't feel anything of the sort. "No. You're mine tonight,' I say, feeling myself getting an erection. Nina does not answer. She just grins and sips hers Drink. But she doesn't get up either, and now my erection is so strong that she has to feel it and cannot misinterpret this sign of my desire. "There you go," I think. "It's only a matter of time before she softens and comes with me." Then it suddenly vibrates in my pants. ScheiBe!, a phone call. Nina jumps up. I don't know if she's taking the opportunity to free herself or if she wants to help me get my cell phone. There's no time to think about it either, because when I look at the ad, I see that Sasha is calling me. I still have an erection in my pants and I walk across the club to the anteroom with it. "Where are you?" Sasha asks. “In the solyanka. come over I'll take you in,' I answer and regret it at the same time, because I remember too late that I've already been here with two women and Sasha probably wouldn't like it. Let alone the other two. "No," says Sasha. "I'm already at home. But maybe you would like to come to me. I would like to see you." Bingo! Killed two birds with one stone. "Of course, I'm coming. Send me the address, please, and I'll be on my way." Then I go back to Nina and Katja. 'Sorry, I have to go home. I don't feel well,' I say to both of them. Katja only nods in disappointment, while Nina absolutely wants to come along. "Let's take a cab together and I'll kick you out," she says, following me to the exit. Outside I tell Nina the truth. "Alright, then I'll take you to your 19-year-old girl," says Nina and laughs. "Nina is really cool," I think and get into the taxi. During the drive I tell her about Sasha and I feel like a little boy in love. I'm still so surprised that Sasha called me. In front of Sasha's house, Nina wishes me a lot of fun and takes a taxi away. She meant it and I still can't believe how cool she was about it and how easygoing she is. Doesn't matter. I ring the bell and take the elevator up to Sasha's on the fourth floor. She's already standing in the doorway and throws her arms around my neck, grinning. Suddenly it's a completely different person. She must be drunk. I hope I'm as drunk as I am, because I'm already at the end of my rope. We kiss, the clothes fly in all directions, and shortly thereafter we are naked in bed. A few wild hours follow, and when she finally lies exhausted in my arms, I wonder what tomorrow's awakening will be like. After all, I'm with her in the apartment. So there's no running away this time. "She'll have to kick me out," I think. Then I hug Sasha tightly and give her one last kiss. "Somehow I'm in love," are my last thoughts before I fall asleep. And of course I realize that this isn't going to be a good thing. It's around noon when we wake up. Sasha looks at me and grins. I pull her to me and give her a big kiss. "Thank God there's no drama this time," I think to myself. Then we spend another hour in bed. Sasha takes care of my morning erection and then we talk. It's the first time we've talked without being drunk and it feels good. I don't dare talk about the last morning after because I'm glad she called me again and we spent the night together. But I feel that the status of our relationship needs to be addressed. "I like you," I begin. "You too. I didn't call you otherwise." "You were drunk and that's why you dared," I reply. "No. Maybe a little drunk, but I wanted to see you and I just couldn't control my feelings anymore." "And now?" I ask. "No idea. I want to see you again, but of course the age difference is a problem. My mother is only a year older than you. I don't know how to explain it to her or my friends." "Why don't we take it easy?" I reply. 'You don't have to tell anyone. We'll meet when we want to and see where this story takes us. I give you your freedom and you give me mine. Would that be possible?" "That's fine. But I want you to know that I'm very jealous.' 'OK, I get it.' "Friends?" she asks, confusing me. "Friends with Benefits," I reply, even though I want more from Sasha. After that we'll talk for a while. I'm amazed at how serene and mature she is. At nineteen I wasn't quite there yet. I would like to stay. Preferably the whole day and even longer, but at home my dog is waiting. My roommate took him for a walk last night, but it's about time for a walk again. "When will I see you again?" I ask. “I don't have time during the week. I have to work and then to university.« 'So next weekend. That fits, because I'm flying to Siberia tonight and staying until Wednesday,' I say. "We'll see," Sasha says, slowly sinking back into her usual coolness. To say goodbye, however, she kisses me for a long time and I hug her tightly. I'm happy in the taxi, but also somehow unsure. In the end, Sasha was again very hypothermic. It wasn't as bad as last time, but it was weird. 'Probably,' I think, 'she lets herself go and opens up when she's drunk. When she sobers up, she regrets what she did and distances herself. Well, my mother always said: 'Drunks and children tell the truth'. If so, there is still hope.« I spend the next few days in Krasnoyarsk in Siberia. I was invited to give a talk there in front of students and the dean. "Do you want to fly home immediately after the lecture or stay another day to see the city," the organizers asked me at the time asked Sommer when I accepted the invitation. Since the trip is fully paid for, I was quite happy to be offered an extra day to explore the city. But at the time I hadn't thought about the fact that it's already very cold in Siberia at the end of October. At departure in Moscow it was +5°C. Upon arrival in Krasnoyarsk the next morning, temperatures are well below zero and snowing. My hotel is in the middle of the city, but when it's snowing heavily I just can't motivate myself to explore the area. Today is my day off. It's Sunday. We arrived in the morning and I slept until the afternoon. In the evening I am invited to dinner by the organizers. However, that is already over at seven, after that I sit bored in my hotel room. I had picked out a couple of dates on a popular Russian dating site two weeks ago. But now I kind of don't want to meet these girls because in my mind there is only Sasha. So I work on my speech, then I get a beer and watch several episodes of Breaking Bad on my notebook. My lecture the next day is a success. After that I spend the rest of the day at the university in workshops with the students. It's good to turn your back on Moscow and experience Russia in a completely different way. The students in particular have very fresh, sometimes naïve ideas, and I'm learning a lot about the mentality of the people who live outside of Moscow. In the evening I am back in the hotel and alone again. It's terribly cold outside and it's snowing again. After a Franziskaner Weissbier, I text Sasha: “Hello from Krasnoyarsk. I'm terribly bored. Would be glad if you were with me and we could have fun. Miss you. Chris." It wasn't until two episodes of Breaking Bad later that I got an answer: "Hey, we're just friends. Can you remember? Hope the boredom isn't too bad.' OK, now I'm not only bored, I'm also depressed. Unfortunately I can't sleep yet because of the time difference of four hours. So I go to the bar to get another beer. Somehow I was hoping that someone, someone, would be sitting there and being just as bored as I was, but the bar is empty. So I'll take my beer up to the room. I go through the contacts on my dating site again and write to a few girls. There might be a chat. Maybe more. After an hour of no response I give up and watch all the remaining episodes of Breaking Bad until 5am. Back in Moscow I decide not to contact Sasha anymore after that stupid text message. If she wants something from me, let her get in touch. I haven't heard anything for two weeks. In the meantime I find my way back to my old self and my lovers. But somehow it's no longer fun with them. I decide to take a break from everything and break up with two of my girls. I just don't get in touch with the others. Then I accidentally find Sasha's sweater behind the couch. Hm, what do I do with this thing now? I don't want to call her anymore. I put the sweater on the closet. Should he gather dust there? I do not care. But for the next week I find myself thinking about Sasha all the time. Maybe I should call her after all? After all, she's the first woman I've had strong feelings for in a long time. no D rather not. Again I think of the age difference. Also, she's acting weird. I don't want to blow my face and I've had enough strange experiences and negative feelings with her. Whatever, fuck it. Lets see what happens. I plan to call her at the weekend and tell her I found her sweater. Maybe she wants to see me and could we go out together. After all, it's already mid-December and this would be the last opportunity before I'll be in Germany for four weeks. Just as I'm pondering whether I should really do this, my phone rings. “Hey, this is Sasha. I wanted to get in touch again." "That's good," I say. “I was just thinking about you because I found your sweater. Shall we meet?" »Yes, that's why I'm calling. I wanted to know if we can see each other. How about tomorrow night?' "Great. Dinner? I'll invite you and you can choose the restaurant,' I say and immediately regret this sentence. I'm an idiot. It's an unspoken law among foreigners that Russian women shouldn't be given the choice of restaurants. Usually you end up in a posh shack and are then 300 euros poorer. Regardless, said is said. “I'll call you tomorrow and tell you where we're going. Shall we say at six?' "Okay, let's do it this way. Until then. You. I'm so glad you called me,' I say. "See you tomorrow," Sasha replies with her usual coldness. The next day we go to dinner. Sasha has chosen a sushi restaurant around the corner from her, and it's super cheap. We eat, drink tea and talk until midnight. After that I take Sasha home and I take a taxi to my place. We made an appointment to dance on Friday. It was nice talking to her. She is so natural and completely different from the other Russian women I have met. She wasn't cold at all this time, but very open. In the end we talked about everything. Also about us and the first evening. "You know," says Sasha, "I wasn't shocked because of you, it was because of me. I haven't been this drunk in a long time. I knew full well that I had made the choices I made last night, and I was shocked at myself for that. I felt ashamed of you. But I also remembered that you always gave me a choice, and that's how I know you're a good guy." 'Well,' I think, 'if she knew. I'm not that kind of an angel either.« Friday we meet to dance. We're both sober and it's hard for us to relate to each other and relax. We decide to get drunk together. Things get better after a few drinks in a bar. Then Toby calls. He and Marina are at Soljanka, will we come? "Shall we go?" I ask Sasha. She nods and grins. "I have to go to the toilet for a second," she says, and disappears while I line up to get the jackets. Next to me is Natalie, with whom I had an affair some time ago. She must have been in the bar too. I hadn't even seen her. We give each other cash and exchange phrases. Then Sasha stands next to me, grinning. Natalie is shocked because Sasha looks so young. She immediately puts me in the "he's cracked up" category and flees. It's not even enough for a decent farewell. Toby and his wife Marina are already waiting at Soljanka. "Who's that?" Toby asks. He's used to me showing up with new girls all the time. "Sasha. She has Frau Helmbrecht potential,” I add. I'm already slightly drunk, so I have a loose tongue. "She's still damn young, isn't she?" Toby says. "Nineteen," I answer succinctly. "Gosh, Chris! That won't work. The age difference is way too big,” Toby lectures me. “Man, I know that myself. But what am I supposed to do? Sasha is the best girl I've met in years. Should I just ignore that just because the age difference is too big? I've decided to just give it a try and see how it turns out. And all without stress. I'll try to control my urges so I don't end up falling flat on my face and suffering too much." "You have to know what you're doing," Toby says. Danach tanzen wir. Toby und Marina ignorieren Sasha mit Absicht. Beide mogen meine Exfreundin sehr gerne und denken, es ware am besten fur mich, wenn wir wieder zusammenkamen. Doch das wird nicht passieren. Wir sind einfach zu verschieden. Ein paar Drinks spater nimmt Toby mich zur Seite, um mit mir uber meine Ex zu reden. Marina steht daneben und nickt. Sasha hat irgendwie genug und beschlieBt, sich noch einen Drink zu holen. Als Toby endlich fertig ist und ich nach Sasha sehe, steht die neben einem Typen an der Bar und redet mit ihm. Das passt mir nicht, aber ich hatte ja gesagt, dass wir beide unsere Freiheiten haben. Also lasse ich sie machen. Ich rede wieder mit Toby und Marina und erwarte Sasha jeden Augenblick zuruck, doch die kommt nicht. Als ich wieder nach ihr sehe, sind Sasha und ihr Gesprachspartner verschwunden. "And? Where's your wife Helmbrecht?' Toby asks provocatively. "No idea. She must be in the loo,' I reply. After half an hour it is clear that Sasha is not on the toilet and my mood is at zero. "Shall we go to my place for a nightcap? I've got this new DJ controller I can show you around.« Toby nods and we head for the exit. “I'll check on my little one again. Maybe I can still find her somewhere. Go to the cloakroom. We meet there." After that, I walk the entire club, but don't see Sasha anywhere. Just as I'm about to walk to the stairs, I see her standing at the bar in the second room. With the guy from before. Close to each other. I am going to her. 'We're going home to my place for a nightcap. Do you want to come with me?” I ask, expecting a resounding yes! But Sasha just shrugs, looks at her new acquaintance and says, “No. I stay here." I turn around without a word and leave. Toby and Marina are waiting at the cloakroom. "Did you find her?" Toby asks. "Yes. She's upstairs at the bar with the other guy. Arm-in-arm. And she says she wants to stay." Toby doesn't know what to say. "Don't say anything! It's okay I'll survive. fucking bitch! Shit Moscow!” Moscow "I have a boyfriend now," says Natascha. "Ah yes? For real? It's a pity." We sit at the table in a dark corner. Natascha sometimes works here, in one of the oldest clubs in Moscow. We lost touch after our little tete-a-tete in the summer and I spontaneously decided to visit her at her club today. Natascha gets me another beer and orders a warm cake. She grins at me and flirts. I don't notice much that she now has a boyfriend. But one thing is for sure, I won't end up in bed with her tonight. It's the usual. She wanted more and I just wanted fun. I've been honest with her. Eventually she lost interest and moved on. I can't blame her. Natascha is very open. She tells me about her new boyfriend. Sometimes I don't know if she wants to make me jealous or if she's really that open and naive. After 30 minutes Natascha has to go back to work and I make my way home. It's windy outside and much too warm for the time of year. It's just after midnight and I decide to walk home. This week is strange. Somehow things just don't work out with women. I grin anyway. I feel freer than I have in a long time. The pavement is littered with small puddles. The Russians will never get the hang of building decent roads and sidewalks. After the rain, the water stands in potholes and puddles for days. You have to be very careful and walk around it to avoid getting wet. That's not so easy during the day because someone is always coming towards you. Even when it's dry, there's not enough space on the sidewalk. There really isn't enough space in this city. Yesterday, a bitterly cold polar wind blew in my face from the north, but today the wind is coming from the south, bringing not only lots of red dust but also warm air from the Caucasus. The city is dirty. There should have been snow by now and temperatures should be well below zero, but this year General Winter, as the Russians call him after defeating Napoleon and later the Germans, is taking his time. global warming? I should be fine. The winter will be long enough. I walk up the street and look at the shop windows. The Christmas decorations are slowly moving in here, too, although the Russians celebrate much later than we do. "Am I at home in Moscow now?" I ask myself. Moscow is actually a shitty city, and yet I've lived here for so long. "Of course, you're at home here!" she calls out to me. "Just accept it." It's the city speaking up. Apparently she's had enough of my constant vice. The next thing I expect is, "If you don't like it here, pack your bags and go somewhere else!" but she says nothing. Moskau ist typisch fur mein Leben. Ich hatte immer schon ein Faible fur die nicht perfekten Frauen. Die mit der dicken Nase oder den zu kurzen Beinen. Irgendwie war es naturlich auch immer leichter, eine von diesen aufzureiBen. Im Vergleich zu den Topmodels oder den Rich Kids hat man mit den Nicht-Perfekten eigentlich viel mehr SpaB. Anscheinend geht es mir mit Moskau genauso. "I'm not that ugly," the town whispers to me. “If you look closely, you can see my beauty. It's the people you don't like and who spoil your desire for me. It's also the people who bother me. I'm the biggest city in Europe and just look at what they make of me. That lunatic, Stalin, for example. That was a really bad relationship. He couldn't accept me as I am and always wanted to tinker with me. One cosmetic surgery after the other. We know how that ends. Well, he was successful sometimes, but overall, he made me uglier. My naturalness was lost. It's the people, I tell you. Sometimes I wish I was born somewhere else. Maybe in France, Italy or Spain. Oh yes, that would be something. Then I would be like Paris or Rome.« "Don't worry," I reply. “I like you just the way you are. True, often you are ugly. Your prefabricated buildings, the potholes, the traffic jams, the crowds and all the neon lights. Nevertheless, I like you, and you also have your beautiful sides. Especially in winter, when it's snowing and everything looks clean and magical. I like your rhythm, your energy and your sex. You can be pretty sexy too, you know that?' I ask. She purrs contentedly like a cat. "But let's not misunderstand each other," I add matter-of-factly. "I do not love you. There will be no relationship between us. I won't stay with you forever. This is just for fun. i live in the moment Here and now. At some point I have to move on. You have to understand that. This relationship isn't forever.” She falls silent. Two dark Caucasian boys are blocking my way. They look at me scrutinizingly. "A foreigner alone," they think. “He must have a lot of money, an expensive phone, maybe even a camera with him. Maybe he's drunk, that makes it even easier to rob him." I walk purposefully towards them, take turns looking deep into the eyes of both of them and steer towards the middle between the two. "Don't fuck with me!" I think. At the last moment, the two turn to the side. I still touch the shoulder of one. No, I don't turn around, I don't show fear and I keep walking. "C'mon baby, you don't have to be upset," I whisper softly. “I do like you, but this isn't love between us. What should I do if I don't feel them. I could pretend I love you, but where do we end up? no This is sex and fun. Incredible fun. Let's leave it at that. why do you want more Why do we even have to talk about it? let's live in the moment Let's just enjoy life.« The warm wind caresses my hair. The side street to my house is empty, and now the city is showing its most beautiful side. She seems to accept my suggestion. for now. That's how they are, women. Eventually she will lose interest in me. Or I'm interested in her, then it's time to leave Moscow and move on. sponsored bywww.boox.to

Template:Appendix 2

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Preliminary remark

Departure

Victor and Victoria

At the garage club

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