Pre-Fairy tells - Gulag Ep.2
July 26, 2007
Is there a light at the end of the tunnel?
A month has passed and for the first time in my life I now understand what Madonna means because time goes by so slowly. Up until I reached Limbo, I always dreaded looking at my watch, being each and every time shocked by how quickly minutes flew by before disappearing into oblivion. Now, I want them to go faster. A month. A tiny little month in this Hell hole! How can it be?
On landing, 26 days ago, with nothing more in my bag than confidence and a grin on my face, I was ready to take on the world! After all, I had made it in London, dazzled in New York City and blown everybody’s mind in Ecuador (What do you mean I’m being pretentious? I’m French! What else do you expect?). But my smile has faded away, my confidence has gone down the toilet and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to make it out in one piece – if I somehow make it out of here!
Spending my days sweating like a pig (Russian summer not being what one would expect), sitting on my bed, I desperately try to occupy myself and most of all fail at convincing myself that leaving Ecuador was the right thing to do.
It was the worst of times. I kept hoping that the best of times would eventually show up. Charles (Dickens) couldn’t have been that wrong. Turns out, he wasn’t! Out of the blue, the unexpected happened.
It was Saturday night and some work mates of mine invited me along for a night of dancing and drinking. How could I refuse? I mean I know they’re lesbians but I’m at the end of my rope here. So after a long walk through a deserted district of Moscow, passed a deserted complex, left under a bridge, right after an abandoned factory and up a few sets of stairs, I found myself in a lesbian club. It wasn’t Heaven but I wasn’t Hell either. I ordered vodka, what else?
Surrounded by girls that looked like boys, I got my hopes crushed every time I realised that the guy I’d been eyeing for the last half an hour had boobs! Tiny boobs maybe, but boobs nonetheless. Over and over again, I fell for it. By the end of the night, I thought I had turned straight. I even visualised what it would be like to have sex with them. Maybe if I closed my eyes… The fantasy didn’t go very far, I soon felt sick. I downed my vodka and got back on the dance-floor, just in time to be told that I had to go back to my seat. Time for the show!
Strippers! I’ve never been a big fan of strippers or go-go dancers for that matter but sex deprived and still waiting for my internet connection to be installed, I was gagging to see some meat! The strippers were female (Damn it!). Three of them (Damn it!). One at a time, they hit the stage, wriggling their behind to some Russian pop. They removed their clothes, slowly and finally showed us their boobs. YAY! You can easily imagine how thrilled I was. When the last one left, I breathed a sigh of relief. Time to get some more vodka. I was wrong, the show was not over and the worst was to come. The first one came back on.
Boob showing was only part one of this so called show, now we were in for a real treat. Once on stage, she spotted me (easily enough, I was the only guy there!) and decided that I was the perfect victim. She dragged me with her to the stage and made me stand there while she was moving around me in, I’m guessing, what she thought to be a sexy, arousing manner. I wasn’t aroused and I wasn’t pleased. I just wanted it to be over. Time goes by so slowly. Unfortunately, the lap dance I was getting had a twist. The twist was that I, too, had to remove my clothes! (What the Fuck? Is all I could mouth to my friends, pissing themselves with laughter at our table – fucking lesbians!). I quickly ended up topless in the middle of a dance floor surrounded by god knows how many lesbians, all cheering me on. Boobs were being rubbed in my face. I don’t mind boobs that much. They’re fun, especially if you make them bounce at irregular intervals with your fingers. There is nothing funnier. But it’s a whole different ball game when they are being rubbed in your face. All it did was convince me one and for all that I was not straight (as if that was needed!). But the piece de resistance was to come. She ripped apart her knickers and showed me her pussy. I almost threw up right then and there. She was so proud of herself. I wanted to run. Then she took off my belt. I was already topless - what was she going to do next? I seriously feared that I would have to get my dick out. Instead, she wrapped the belt around my neck and walked me off the stage like a little dog.
A few vodkas and another couple of crushes on girls that looked like boys later, we left, exhilarated by a brilliant night out (even if a tiny bit traumatising) and waiting for the metro to open. I felt like my old self again and found myself thinking that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to survive the next nine month if Gloria gives me a hand:
First I was afraid, I was petrified… I WILL SURVIVE!
