A slacker in St. Petersburg
This year, I was returning from Finland through St. Petersburg. I had three hours before my train, so I went for a walk along Nevsky Prospekt. It's amazing how Moscow differs from St. Petersburg in terms of sexual services! On Nevsky, every 100 meters, they hand out brochures and flyers offering various kinds of services—you know what I mean. In Moscow, there's nothing like that at all!
I took one flyer and asked: is this establishment (a strip club) far?
They answered—three steps, and they led me right there. The time was evening, around 8:00 PM.
A bright neon sign: "Heartbreakers!"—great!
We go in, a light "pat-down" at the entrance, we go down to the basement. Two poles, girls slowly milling around them, not a soul besides me. I sit down at a table in the corner, the manageress approaches.
Anyway, if anyone hasn't figured it out yet—this is a story about a letdown. And the first letdown right away: she can't break my large bills into smaller ones, only one thousand at a time. The question is, what will I give the girls? A letdown.
Well, okay, I ordered a drink (1,500 rubles for a Long Island Iced Tea, though!). The dances begin.
The first one to approach me is simply a stunning beauty, dark-skinned, slender, large, well-shaped breasts, a pleasant face.
She rubbed against me as expected—starts a conversation. Invites me upstairs, they have rooms with jacuzzis there, but! No sex, only a massage with a happy ending, you know what I mean. Playing hard to get for appearances, I ask: Is payment by card possible? Turns out it is!
Grabbing a card reader, the dark-skinned girl leads me up a dimly lit staircase. A second one joins along the way. Both are half-naked, both are enchanting. In the room, there's indeed a jacuzzi, a pole, a bed, a sofa. We start discussing the details of the deal.
They offer, for a fabulous sum (oh, don't even ask how much), a massage, a dance, and a certain "gift" from two beauties. I agree, pay by card, the beauties in the dance strip completely. We move to the bed. They start caressing me from both sides. One simulates a blowjob: jerks with her hands and moves her head up and down. From the side—it's a blowjob as is.
The second one strokes and laughs. About ten minutes pass like this. Just as I was about to come—the promised gift arrives: a tall, skinny blonde with a tray. On the tray, a small decanter and shot glasses, a lemon.
The girls (now three of them) start pouring shot after shot, offering me to drink and lick the lemon off their bodies: from their breasts, from their butts. A good game, I like it. (Specially for .org— ) Another 20 minutes pass like this, I'm ready to come again. But then the older beauty announces that my time is up, and now I need to pay for extra time.
Apparently, it's a standard scam, because I'm already drunk (8–10 shots drunk). And who, not having come, being drunk and with money, would refuse? And the girls are terribly beautiful, really, I haven't seen such anywhere, and I, you know, am an experienced strip club goer. I can proudly say I've been to similar establishments on all continents except the southernmost one.
But this greed, the scam, the lack of principles—it pisses me off.
I resolutely refuse. I don't give in to persuasion.
The girls instantly lose interest, get dressed, talk among themselves about unrelated things, as if I'm not there.
I get dressed, leave. I feel—getting drunk... At least they didn't poison me!