BLooD, BloWJoBs AnD RadIatIoN: or, A RaTHeR InTeReStinG LonG WeeKEnD
It was a typical
fall day in Russia; gray, around freezing, raining off and on, mud everywhere.
I went to work at about 4:00pm, as always. The beginning of a three-day holiday
weekend.
I went into the office, and was told that classes were cancelled because there
had been a nuclear accident in another region about 5 hours away, and a cloud of
radioactive fallout was heading directly for us.
“JESUS CHRIST!” I yelled. “Should we evacuate? What the hell?”
English Teacher E was in the office and was talking to her gay friends on the
mobile phone. “My friends say it’s a closed city. If you go out you can’t get
back in.”
Christ! Like RESIDENT EVIL 2! “Well that’s okay by me!” I said.
“Now look, who says this is even happening? Where did you hear about it? What
exactly happened? Is it on the news?”
“Everybody is talking about it. We haven’t heard anything on the news yet,” said
the women in the office.
“Well maybe it’s a bunch of crap,” I suggested. “I remember last year on
Hitler’s birthday, when 20,000 skinheads were supposed to be coming here for a
rally. . . or that gang of Satan worshippers who were supposedly bashing
hundreds of old women’s heads in with pipes.”
I called English Teacher R’s wife. She said she’d seen it on the news, and that
while the news was saying there was no particular danger, that’s what they’d
said about Chernyobl, also. Some of her wealthier friends were planning to go to
Moscow.
I sent an SMS to the Mormons. I figured if anybody would be up on the latest
dangers, it would be them; missionary networks are well-connected and they take
care of their people. Unlike language schools.
The Mormons confirmed it – there had been a minor release of radioactive steam
at a nuclear plant about five hours away. The church elders were recommending
staying off the streets until seven thirty pm or so, but it was generally
nothing serious.
“Well fuck,” I said.
English Teacher R arrived, and we decided to go out and get some beer and get
drunk. We were making lots of mutation jokes. I wondered if the people in
Chernyobl were making jokes before they died.
“And we’ll buy some iodine,” said English Teacher R. “Seven drops in a cup of
water, I heard.”
All the pharmacies were out of iodine. So we just got some beer. We got drunk
in a downstairs classroom and then around ten decided it must be safe out on the
streets.
“Hell, I can’t see any radiation!” I yelled.
“Don’t smell anything, either,” said English Teacher R.
We went to a café near McDonalds, while English Teacher E went to meet her
girlfriend at another restaurant a few tram stops away.
We had our dinner and then went outside to find English Teacher E weeping in the
street.
Turns out she’d gone to get her girlfriend at the restaurant, and the girlfriend
had said she’d be on her way in ten minutes, and told English Teacher E to go
ahead. She called English Teacher E ten minutes later to say she was getting a
car.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t arrived twenty minutes later, and every time English
Teacher E called her girlfriend’s phone, a man answered and said the girlfriend
was asleep.
This had English Teacher E horrified, believing her girlfriend had been
abducted. If someone had just stolen her phone, why would he keep answering it?
It was some psychotic rapist, obviously.
We paced around and gnashed our teeth for a while, and then went and drank some
more beer at a sports bar.
Around
12:30am, English Teacher E’s
girlfriend called and said she’d been robbed of her bag and phone and pushed
around, but not otherwise harmed. She’d managed to walk back to the restaurant
and use a friend’s telephone.
English Teacher R realized he’d promised four hours ago to be home in thirty
minutes with some diapers for his daughter – he managed to make it home by
1:45am or so.
Naturally, we then decided to go to a gay bar.
The gay bar in question is called the Rossia – a former Soviet-era theater, it
actually had a kind of cool, dilapidated, smoke-filled ambiance that a lot of
hipster bars in New York go to great pains to recreate. This place, however, is
AUTHENTICALLY disgusting, dirty, dilapidated and smoke-filled.
I was going there because the Insane Bisexual had invited me.
I’d met the Insane Bisexual about five weeks before – she’d come on to me and
after some small talk gobbled my penis in the entrance foyer at The Degenerate
Bar while telling me how big my cock was.
“It’s not so big,” was my brilliant reply.
I managed to locate her soon enough at the Rossia – she was making out with her
little red haired girlfriend, wearing a black short skirt, black tights, 5-inch
spike heels and a flowered blouse with no bra.
English Teacher E said she had a mean hatchet-face and I’d be wise to stay away
from her.
“No doubt,” I said, and went up to dance with her.
The Insane Bisexual said, “I really want to fuck you. Do you want to fuck me?” I
suppose she must have learned English from porno films.
“Sure.”
“I want to suck your cock.”
“Okay.”
We danced for a while and then went downstairs. We repaired to a corner, where
she almost immediately unzipped my fly and got my dick out. I stuck my hand up
her shirt.
“When can we fuck?” she asked.
“Whenever you like. Right now, if you want. I live alone.”
She giggled.
“It was a big joke,” she said, and suddenly ran back upstairs.
I went up and got myself an absinthe. I was neither surprised nor perturbed by
this “big joke”; I’ve been around Insane chicks most of my life, and insane
Russian chicks for several years now.
I sat and talked to English Teacher E and her girlfriend for a while.
Eventually the Insane Bisexual came over again and danced in front of me. I
smiled and waved at her. She kept waving me over.
Finally I got up to dance with her again.
“Sorry about my joke.”
“That’s okay.”
“I’m a little bitch.”
I smiled. “I imagine so.”
“You have a reputation for fucking many women at The Degenerate Bar.”
“Do I? And you?”
She laughed.
“I want to fuck you.”
“Again? Okay. Well, when?”
“Next Monday. Are you free on Monday?”
“Sure.”
Eventually she said, “Come downstairs with me and I’ll suck your cock.”
I went down with her to a room to the side of the women’s bathroom, some kind of
storage area cluttered with lumber and old broken chairs. She immediately
squatted and slurped down my penis, then licked my balls, then suddenly stood up
and said, “ See you on Monday, my angel,” and ran back up to the dance floor.
It was three am,
and I decided that was about enough. I went outside and bought a beer at a kiosk
and walked home in the rain, wondering what level of radioactivity it had.
I was only peripherally aroused – I’d started thinking she was
probably more diseased than the little monkey in OUTBREAK. Airborne hemmoraghic
gonorrhea of something.
Happy to get in bed before 5am, I slept like a baby.
The next day I got up and went to the disc market, and then met English Groupie
J for lunch, she being the former professional ballroom dancer and possessor of
two of the larger breasts in Vodkaberg.
She was quick to reassure me that her father had spent the afternoon with some
friends who had a geiger counter, and it had registered nothing unusual in the
radiation levels of Vodkaberg. Nontheless, her mother had forced her to drink 20
drops of iodine, which had made her vomit copiously.
We had a few drinks at a yuppie microbrewery place, then went to her place to
meet with her roommate and her Turkish boyfriend.
His name was Ehmet; he was a SCUBA diving instructor from Antalya.
He probably wasn’t quite as bad as the words “Turkish SCUBA diving instructor”
might make you think. We smoked apple and rose tobacco from the Turkish calyan
water pipe he had brought as a gift for his girlfriend.
At around
midnight, English Groupie J and I
went to a Richie-Rich type club I’d never been to before. (In point of fact it
turned out to be only a little bit more expensive than most of the others -- $8
to get in, about $1.75 for a beer) The disco was a glitzy enough place, but more
interesting was the “Barsooki” (which means “Bar of bitches”) portion of the
club.
This turned out to be a Russian version of the “Coyote Ugly” type bar. There
were about six dancers on top of the bar at all times – they occasionally got
their tops off but mostly just danced in skimpy costumes – and the barmen would
occasionally set the bartop on fire with cheap vodka.
It had a good atmosphere – all kinds of drunk chicks and dudes were getting up
on the bar and stripping at various points
Nothing like a talented amateur.
We got home at the eminently reasonable hour of
4:00am or so.
The next day was Sunday Bloody Sunday. I do regret that I am partially
responsible for English Teacher R severing a major artery. . .
On Sunday ETR’s wife and English Teacher R moved into a new flat,
and they decided to invite everyone over for a house warming. This was a
slightly standoffish gathering where the foreigners were on one side and ETR’s
wife’s friends were on another. A few games of Twister were played, a lot of
Ukrainian pepper vodka was drunk, and things lightened up considerably.
Except of course for English Teacher R. As usual he crash-landed his spaceship
on the Blackedout side of the moon, and become belligerent. I’m not sure what he
was arguing with his wife about – but he apparently decided he was going to
leave at one point. I think he said something about getting on the next train.
ETR’s wife hid one of his shoes so he couldn’t go, so he flew into a rage and
ordered everyone out of his house at once.
It was after
2:00am
at this point so I was happy to go; I’ve had more than enough English Teacher R
v. his wife deathmatches to last me a lifetime.
“You too, you simple bitch! Get out!” he roared at his wife. “But not you,” he
said to African Student S. “You stay.”
I was lacing my shoes up and said something idly to ETR’s wife along the lines
of “You ought to pepper spray him when he gets like that,”
I was joking. I saw her eyes light up and she rushed to the other room.
Somehow I thought she’d just threaten him.
I rushed out with English Groupie K close behind – I saw them all on the balcony
crying, but had no intention of sticking around to see how it played out.
“Too bad,” said English Groupie K. “It was a nice evening before that.”
“They always do that, don’t worry.” I said.
The next day English Teacher M called me and asked if English Teacher R was all
right.
“I assume so. Why?”
“I heard glass breaking when I was going out. He looked to be punching his way
out of the balcony.”
“Uh oh.”
I called English Teacher R and said, “Hey what’s up?”
“You ASSHOLE! Why did you leave? I ALMOST DIED!”
“Well, I didn’t know you were going to die. I left because you told me to leave.
What happened?”
“I severed an artery in my arm and almost died! The paramedics said another ten
minutes and I would have been dead! I passed out from blood loss! I had to be
resuscitated.”
“Oh dear. Did your wife pepper-spray you?”
“Yeah, and I fell into the window! Jesus Christ, you’ve never seen so much
blood. It was fucking. . . just fucking EVERYWHERE.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard severed arteries are pretty spectacular. Okay now?”
“No I’m not okay! I have ten stitches in my arm! It looks like a dinosaur bit
me!”
“You fell into a window? Or you punched it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“What are you doing now.”
“Getting drunk. Today is my wife’s birthday.”
Monday was rather quiet -- I went to the gym with English Teacher A, and then went home to watch DVD's.
I got a call later from ETR and his wife. In the evening, they came over hand in hand to borrow some DVDs to watch. Surprisingly they chose EVIL DEAD 2.
"Crap, you'd think you too would have seen enough blood this weekend," I offered.
ETR shrugged. They were as placid and calm as if they’d
spent the previous day at the flea market shopping for antique spoons.
Must be love, eh?
Oh, and the Insane Bisexual didn't reply to my SMS invitation to come over and
have sex with me on Monday. Not too surprising really.
It was a good three weeks later before she did. . . Russian women: always late.