Chapter 4: Mother Russia
Before I die alone, I will have vengeance.
Zack Hemsey - Vengeance
March 1st, 2016.
The Soviet communists killed religion. They turned Churches into free public libraries — which ain’t so bad. Entire generations were born in a community that kicked God out.
I settled in my AirBnB at 11 p.m., but I had no food at home. Google pointed out an open Burger King which was ten minutes away. I ordered whatever I could decipher on the Russian menu, and I ate alone on a table with a view on the street. Then, a blonde woman and her brunette friend showed up at my table.
“Why are you alone? Can we join?” they said and sat before I had time to answer.
“Sure…” I said cautiously.
“So?” the blonde asked.
“Why are you alone?”
“Listen, ladies. My Russian is not very good...”
“Do you wanna go for a walk?” She asked.
“Why not,” I said.
What was this about?
We when on a walk in the cold street and I asked them, “so what do you guys do in life?”
“What kind of business?”
“I don’t know you enough to tell you.”
“Do you like dancing?” The brunette asked.
“Let’s go in here,” they said pointing at a door on the side of the street. We walked past two bouncers. It looked like they wanted party company. But, what if they wanted to hurt me? Do they want my money?
They took off their coats, but I didn’t.
“I just landed, and I’m super tired,” I told the blonde the truth, “I’m gonna head back home. But, tell you what, give me your number, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
She agreed, and I left. She never answered my messages, but I knew I was off for a hell of a fantastic start.
Wednesday, March 2.
I got around 30 Tinder matches in the first 24 hours. That’s how the Tinder algorithm works. It’s a social app, so it’ll throw a party to welcome newcomers, and it’ll invite the whole fucking town. That’s why swiping right will result in 80% successful matches.
On the second day, I worked at Starbucks where I noticed people reading books. In Lebanon, book aren’t popular. Maybe people are too horny to bother reading? Later in the afternoon, I had my first Russian Tinder date with Liza. She is from Siberia and looks Asian. Her face was beautiful, and she was taller than me, but I didn’t see any breasts. I experimented with using my Russian, but often reverted to English, a language she did not master.
We grabbed dinner, and when the bill came, I faced a dilemma: who pays the bill?
“Normally,” she said, “it’s the guy who pays.”
“Fine,” I said and paid, but only because I liked her and because maybe… just maybe… I wanted to fuck her?
At 10 p.m. we walked back to the metro station. I dreaded that moment because I didn’t know what I wanted or what I should be doing next. At the very last second, I said, “Well, I was thinking… umm… maybe you can come home with me?”
“To your apartment?”
“Hmmm… do you live far?”
“I’m…” I cleared my throat, “I’m five minutes away from here.”
I tried to hide my nervousness by carefully inspecting random elements of the gray wintery-Moscow.
She thought for a few seconds then said, “Ok, let’s go.”
In the apartment, we sat on the couch, and I talked about all sorts of random topics while she remained silent. I hesitated to do what I wanted to do until I ran out of ideas. So, I looked at her and said, “Can… can I kiss you?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because, I like asking, at least this way the girl…”
Oh shut the fuck up you fucktard bastard, I thought, grabbed her head, and kissed her.
It was a horrible kiss, as you should expect from a 20-year-old girl and an inexperienced person like myself. I only remember our teeth hitting each other. My hand ran down her body, but there were no boobs to block the way.
She stopped me as soon as I got close to her waist and asked, “Do you want me to stay?”
“Yeah, I guess… I mean, why not!”
“Ok,” she said, and she pulled up her phone. “I’ll tell my friends that I’m not going back to the apartment.”
Her friends? What friends? My mind was more concerned about my personal security than it was about getting laid. I feared my passport and money are not in a safe place.
She wanted me to spank her, bite her nipples and slap her face. We tried having sex, but after a few failed attempts, I gave up, and I don’t remember us having intercourse. In the morning, I walked her to the metro station.
“See you later?” she asked.
“Sure,” I lied.
I never saw her again.
One plus one equals two
Thursday, March 3.
Masha was next on the menu. We agreed to meet at the metro station called “Chistye Prudy” (Clean Ponds). This was my first metro ride, so I arrived late which gave me time to stalk her before talking to her. She stood next to the wall while reading a book. Her breasts were bigger than Liza’s. We had lunch at a local restaurant.
“I was planning to go work at a library,” she said when we paid the bill. “Wanna join?”
Free public libraries with free wifi are abundant in Russia. But, they are absent in the Arab world and Thailand (At least in Chiang Mai). Is there a correlation between reading on the one hand, and societal / economical advancement on the other?
She worked on her laptop while I read a book called, The Art of Thinking Clearly.
“I’m tired,” I said two hours later, “I’ll head home.”
“Ok,” she said, hesitating. “I’ll go to the bathroom first.”
When she came back, her face was red. “You want me to walk with you?” She asked.
“Sure!” I answered confidently. Was I feeding on her hesitation? Had my previous day’s victory bolstered my confidence?
We walked for about an hour, then we each went our way. I didn’t think of inviting her home because I had dinner schedule with Tasha, another Tinder match. With Tasha, I had, for once, an interesting life conversation. She had a corporate life. But, folks who work in large enterprises with a ‘stable’ job tend to get stuck in a loop which is hard to break. According to the Sunk Cost Fallacy, the more time you invest into something or someone, the harder it becomes to drop the investment because you ‘already invested in it.’
I believe that university education is, at least for a couple of majors, a horrible case of this fallacy. Students spend three to four years studying something unrelated to what real jobs require. When they realize they hate their major, they won’t change because they ‘only have’ another year to go.’
Students don’t have the balls to solve the real problem of finding what it is that they really want to do in their life. Did you ever meet a fresh grad who knew exactly what the fuck he/she wants to do in life? Most don’t. That’s why they spend another two years as a graduate program prostitute, or as corporate job slave. And with time passing, it becomes harder to get out of the loop because we are creatures of habit and we fear change.
Around midnight, we headed back to the metro station. I wouldn’t mind getting laid, and I thought of inviting her home, but I hesitated. I hunted for signs from her telling me she wanted me. But, I got no sign, so I made no move. She took the metro, and I walked home alone in the cold.
Friday, March 4.
At 9 p.m. I met Masha at a pub.
“Did you ever try Absinthe?” I asked her.
“What! You must try it! I’m going to buy you one.”
Was it really a must? Or was I trying to get her drunk fast? We hopped to the other pub, and I bought her another Absinthe shot.
“Do you want to dance?” she asked.
“I’d love to!”
“Ok, follow me!”
She took me to a club that had a spacious dance floor. I had another Absinthe shot while she had a beer. The DJ played 80’s music which normally is not my cup of tea, but I had enough drinks to move on anything. We danced, but looked like two virgin pussies who wanted but did not dare to touch each other. I bought a pint of beer, drank half of it, removed my glasses, and got back to the dance floor. At this very moment, I lost vision, and I blacked out. My world fell in a wonderful abyss of drunkenness.
I have no idea how much time passed. What I do know is that when I sobered up, Masha and I were exchanging a passionate kiss. I felt happy. We kissed over and over again while dirty dancing.
“I’m exhausted,” I said.
“Me too,” she said, “let’s go home. You live near Arbat, right?”
“Ok, I know the way.”
“That’s sweet of you to drop me home.”
It was only after we grabbed our coats that it hit me: “Wait… are you staying?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Oh! Yes, please.”
I landed in Russia four days ago, and here I was walking the streets of Moscow, drunk, talking in a mix of Russian and English, holding onto a girl I was going to fuck. My apartment was warm. I don’t remember who undressed who, and it’s not like it matters.
She had big boobs — I like that.
But they were extremely sensitive — I don’t like that.
I mean, three bites later she insisted I stopped because “it hurts.” Fine, let’s have sex then! The good thing about being drunk is that your brains shuts the fuck up. I forgot the self-speech of “I am bad at sex” which I used to tell myself. So, I wore a condom and rode. Oh no wait, can I ride her? Or she has to ride me? Jesus, I was quite confused.
Hey, have you ever wondered why people scream ‘Oh my God’ when having sex? If sex was such a Godly business, why doesn’t it happen in Church?
We were kissing, biting, sliding, grinding, humping. Whatever! You know what sex looks like. She came fast, at least, faster than me. I was sweating which turned me off. I crashed on the bed, exhausted. My genitals were sleepy, but Masha grabbed an oil bottle from her bag. She stroke me for half an hour until I orgasmed. Whoah! Do some women enjoy making a man cum? I’m used to girls back home worrying too much about their virgin pussy. However, giving to the other does not seem to be on their agenda. They receive but never give in return. Maybe out of fear of being hurt? Then they wonder why frustrated men are aggressive. Anyway, the next day, we had breakfast together, but I wanted her to leave.
For once, I wasn’t horny.