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Club Review April 7, 2006
 
Ballets Russes
By Hannah Katz Browse author
 
 

I'm sick of hearing that Moscow is a guy's town. If you've got half a brain, Moscow is every bit a chick's town too. You've just got to know how to use your body, and your boys. I'd say it's even easier to operate here than back in the US, where most guys are pathetic PC-whipped dorks who wouldn't know a slut's proposition if my nipple poked them in the face. Believe me, I poke them in the face a lot, they just don't have the balls to bite it. Instead they get that stupid laugh, which usually kills it for me.

I have a couple of strategies for keeping myself happy in this town. One is to prey on Russian dudes, whom I adore because they'll blow their cash on you. The other is to prey on expat guys, who have all been burned by dyevs. That's when they're most vulnerable, and easiest to use.

Last weekend, for my first club review, I was in the early stages of strategy number two. His name is "Steven," a Brit with a Land Rover. Call me shallow, but I want my guy to drive me around in comfort.

Steven's typical. Married, wife and two kids all back in England, and can't keep his dick in his pants. I met him at one of the last Albion parties. He was easy prey All I did was feed him drinks and keep him laughing. Also, I made him hold my drinks and even my purse. Humiliating him like that brought him back to earth. Then I asked him to drive me home.

Steve and I hooked up twice last week for some killer commitment-free boning. When I heard him tell someone he had VIP invites for a party at DIAGHILEV Friday night, I barely needed to twist his balls to get him to agree to take me. Great, my first review will be at Moscow's most elite club!

But then he turned asshole on me. He calls me at 11pm telling me that he can't take me to the club because a couple of his colleagues from England are with him. Wife, kids, bla bla bla. Whatever. But he apologized about 20 times and agreed to meet me in front of the club gates at 1am -- all this without me even uttering a word. Silence always breaks these soft types.

I get there a few minutes early, and wind up waiting and waiting while everyone's staring at me.

Steve finally came at around 1:45. I was about to chew his ear off, but I saw that he was with his mates. And some dyevushki too, one for each of them. Although Steven assured me that the girls were in a group and he wasn't with any of them, we had to act like we were just friends who met in front of the club. Steven tells me he'll get his group inside then come back for me. Then he goes inside. I couldn't believe he actually fucking did that to me.

The bastard never came out again. He switched his phone off after my first SMS. Finally at around 3am I tried to get inside on my own, but apparently I'm not anorexic and vacant-enough looking to get past their oh-so-cool face control.

So I'm sorry to say that I didn't see the club. Well, I guess I'm not cool enough. As if I even care.

Diaghilev

Fri.-Sat. 0.00-6.00

790 74 00, Karetnyi Ryad 3,

Sad Hermitage

Metro Pushkinskaya

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