This time I made sure to go solo (a.k.a. without Rudnitsky) and bring my French crush. Notice how I'm not calling him out by name. That's supposed to be a hint that I'm actually into this guy. No, I'm not talking about love, I don't believe in it. I'm talking about a romantic interest that spans more then the twelve hours it takes to hook up and fuck. Just thinking of those limp alcohol-soaked dicks guys keep trying to put in me gives me a gag reflex. Hey, I'm just looking out for my sexual wellbeing.
Anyway, the director of LENINGRAD had been bothering me for about a month to come out and review her club. But I had a bad feeling about the place. Its location wasn't central, the name seemed dated and their claim of being a clean version of Studio 54 was downright hilarious.
I was gonna blow her off, but then I was out with -- let's call him Jacque -- and it was a particularly dead night. We had dinner and were just strolling around Tverskaya. We were definitely tipsy. The heat put us on track for a Pina Colada binger. But still, we had nothing to do and were getting a bit bored of each other's company. And then bam, guess who calls?
The director from Leningrad practically pleaded me to come and check it out that night. As she told me before, they are a disco club, supposedly the only pure disco club in Moscow. That particular night was special, they were having some sort of amateur disco contest. Hmmm, interesting. "Could I join in," I asked.
She was surprised. "Yes, of course, if you'd like, but it's couples only..."
"Oh that won't be a problem," I assured her.
We had some trouble finding the way, even though Jacques has a driver. For some reason, the club was tucked deep inside a dvor that zigzagged like a snake. I started having my doubts about my decision.
Anyway, we slipped in past the 300RUB cover and were whisked to the club. It was circular and had a lit up disco dance floor right in the center! The only thing missing were polyester suits. Talk about cheese.
The contest didn't start yet so we had nothing to do but drink the most expensive champagne they had. I didn't even look at the price. I just told the waiter to bring the best they had. Hey, halyava is halyava...
The club was about 70% full and the people didn't seem to be enjoying themselves. The women were provincial looking, approaching thirty and the men seemed of an older sovok type. They looked pitiful trying to do a John Travolta dance impersonation.
We were starting on our second bottle of champagne when the competition started. The four pairs were all decked out in neon dance competition suits, dancing shoes -- the entire get up. There was no way I was drunk enough for this. No fucking way.
I was getting plastered watching them dance , but my fun levels were dropping at an alarming rate. So we finished off the chamagne and took off.
At the door, the okhraniki were trying to kick a drunken woman out. But she kept stabbing at them with her stiletto heels. How miserable. It really got me down.
I need an orgasm boost on the double, dear Jacque. But he behaved as the usual drunken male. He was too tired and way too limp. Thank god that Viagra is sold over the counter here.
Come to think of it, the stuff comes in handy so often, I should keep it stocked in my purse.
Leningradsky Prospekt 24a