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Club Review May 19, 2006
RawKatz Live
By Hannah Katz Browse author

When the eXile's designer Valera invited me to see his rockabilly band RawCats'88 at the BLACK & WHITE CLUB, I thought, "Hell yes!" Finally, I'll get out of Moscow's lame-ass elitny club circuit, let my hair down and have some real fun American-rock style, without all those cheesy Russian sluts with their makeup. I made sure Valera put me on the guest list. Hey, perks of the trade. And I made sure to go solo this time -- but to leave the club with a boy toy.

Black and White is a weird club. Valera says that they usually play R&B, but have been trying to expand their repertoire. Personally, I didn't think that the rockabilly style fit into B&W's standard dance club interior. But I was told that Red Elvises are playing there this Friday, so I guess it's working.

It didn't take me long to spot a lone American boy sitting all by himself, stealing glances at me. It kind of warmed my heart and made me feel sorry for him and all American boys, who are such poor shy geeks compared to Russian guys.

His name was Todd. He was a country boy from Iowa in Moscow for a semester abroad. He told me his friend hadn't showed up, but I think a girl stood him up. This was my chance to play rebound-chick.

Todd was kind of shocked that I write for eXile. I wanted to completely control this boy. What better way than to flaunt my connections? And to make him nervous.

To fuck with his little Iowa mind even more, I went over and flirted with Valera's band. They were swigging whiskey from the bottle and were really drunk, stinking of manly BO and sporting tats. They thought it was cool that an American chick took the bottle of Four Roses out of the drummer's hand and hit it. The cutest of the bunch with a thickly sculpted pompadour grabbed me around my waist and started groping my ass. My type.

And admittedly I was getting off knowing that poor Todd was eyeing us from across the room. My plan was working perfectly. He was going to cum in his pants when I finally went back to the poor little country boy.

After the show, I suggested to Todd that we go back to my place. "Really," he said. He was scared and I loved it. My frankness made him nervous. Ha!

I hailed a cab. "God, do I have to do all the work," I sneered at him. In the car, I teased him some more by placing his hand on my crotch. He just let it lie there. I actually laughed again out loud. But I felt sorry for him too.

I won't keep you in suspense any longer here: yeah, the sex was pretty lame. I'll just say I had to do all the sweating. And before that, I was the one who had to go into the apteka and buy a pack of LifeStyles while Todd waited in the taxi. So when we got home, I pushed him on the bed, pulled off his jeans and rode him. At least he didn't cum quickly, all the booze he drank that night to calm his nerves went in my favor. I had in two orgasms before Todd came.

Fifteen minutes later, just as I was telling him about a documentary I'm planning to make, Todd said that he had to go. He apologized a dozen times. He said that he had trouble falling asleep next to a stranger. Fine by me. He even turned around so that I wouldn't see his dick when he was putting on his underwear.

Poor Todd. I wonder if he'll ever recover from this shock of a lifetime.


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Save The eXile: The War Nerd Calls Mayday
The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

Scanning Moscow’s Traffic Cops
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We’re happy to introduce a new column in which we publish Moscow’s raw radio communications, courtesy of a Russian amateur radio enthusiast. This issue, eXile readers are given a peek into the secret conversations of Moscow’s traffic police, the notorious "GAIshniki."

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Russia's freedom-loving free market martyr Mikhail Khodorkovsky answers some of this week's letters, and he's got nothing but praise for President Medvedev.

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eXile club reviewer Babooshka takes a trip through time with the ghost of Moscow clubbing past, present and future, and true to form, gets laid in the process.

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Jared comes out with yet another roundup of upcoming bardak sessions.

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Everybody complains about celebrities, but nobody does anything about them. People, it’s time to stop fretting about whether we’re a celebrity-obsessed culture—we are, we have been, we’re going to be—and instead take practical steps to clean up the celebrity-obsessed culture we’ve got...


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