Author: Dane Lowell
Submitted by: redadmin

Chapt. 169 – 2159 words
Columns :: Zhorik’s teeth bite back; Sergei gone for good

MOSCOW, October 10, 2005 -- Comments:   Ratings:

Zhorik: It’s final: No touchee!
He flirts with Army
…but Andrei dissuades him
Exit Sergei
Backlash: the flu!
Charlatan promises resurrections for kids



MOSCOW, October 10, 2005 -- Zhorik’s put teeth in his “hands-off” policy. Last Saturday night, when we went to bed, he asked me to massage his back and stomach, as usual. As I was letting my fingers tingle over his lower abdomen, he gave them a push, which I took as a subtle hint that he wanted me to go lower.

So I obliged him, and was soon fondling his dick through his shorts. No reaction. Ah-ha! They were the new boxer shorts I had bought him with lots of leg room. It was a snap to reach from below and take his entire limp cock in my hands. Still no reaction. I began playing and massaging, then jerking. It didn’t get much bigger.

Sergei and Andrei were at the computer with their backs to us. I reached down and put his dick in my mouth. Still nothing. It still didn’t occur to me that he was sound asleep. Andrei and Sergei left, and I reached down, pulled his dick out all the way, and put it fully into my mouth.

Just then they returned, and at the same time Zhorik woke up. “What the…” He turned angrily onto his stomach.

Later in the night, I felt his cock again. This time it was stiff and erecting in my hand. When I tried to pull it out of his shorts, he again woke up and, snorting, “Dane,” again turned onto his stomach.

The next night in our bench session, Zhorik said, “Dane, if what happened last night ever happens again, I’m going to go back home for good.”

Oh, shit! Despite the platonicism, I do love the little turkey. He’s very considerate, sweet, thoughtful, kind, and I like having him around.

“I’m sorry, honey,” I replied. “I really thought it might be fun for you.” What more was there to say?

So my long-standing fantasy of a semi-secret sex-a-due with sweet, loveable little Zhorik is as dead as posse commitatus is about to be in America. Oddly enough, though, we’ve been even closer since. He’s been staying up watching TV or playing on the computer most of the night, but joining me in bed around 4 or 5 a.m. I give him his back rub, and we both go to sleep with my arm around him.

But where does that leave me sex-wise? Zhorik is off limits; Sergei is off premises; Andrei has only had sex once in the last month.

I’m seriously thinking of making a little trip to Max and Vanya in Nizhny Novgorod during the November term break.


On Tuesday night, I asked Zhorik if he wanted to go shopping with me and we’d have another bench session. “Yes, but I have something to tell you that will be a shock,” he warned.

“I’m going to join the Army!” he announced, when we had settled in.

“Why?” I asked incredulously.

Since he hadn’t been able to enroll in a full-time day course at the university as he had planned because of Andrei’s and Sergei’s money shenanigans, he could only enroll in a night course, and that wouldn’t be enough to keep him out of the Army. He also couldn’t get a job or a passport because of the unserved army hitch.

“Isn’t there some other way?”

No, he said. That’s the only option.

He would leave for home in the next couple of days. He’d like to have $ 600 -- $ 300 to repay his father and sisters and $ 300 to have a traditional join-the-army party. “It’s like a wedding. You invite all your friends.”

I did a quick calculation. I can probably do that. The money has been coming in at a pretty good clip this week, and I probably had about $ 600 plus the $ 600 of Igor’s he had given me for safekeeping the week before.

Zhorik said he didn’t want to tell Andrei and Sergei until after he had joined.

After we returned home, Sergei put the straight porn DVD on and he I had sex. Again, I didn’t come. As we finished, we could hear Andrei and Zhorik arguing fiercely in the kitchen. We rushed in to see what was happening. Zhorik had changed his mind and told Andrei about his Army plans, and Andrei was so adamant that couldn’t do that, that they had come to blows. He had actually given Zhorik a black eye.

So Sergei and I separated them, and I went to bed. Everything seemed tranquil and calm.


When I woke up in the middle of the night, to get a drink of water, they were all still in the kitchen.

“I’m not going into the Army,” Zhorik announced.

“Thank god. But you said there was no other alternative. What alternative did you find?”

He and Andrei explained that he’s just going to stay here and basically hide. They have no record of him here, and they will be looking for him in Svetlograd. What the dangers of this are for him, I’m not sure. But it’s the same thing Andrei and Sergei are doing, and it’s worked for them for several years.


When I awoke at 6:40 for my 8 a.m. class with Olga, the apartment was silent. No one was here. I decided I’d count my money. It was gone too!!!

Uh-oh.

Everybody’s gone and so is my money. Did they all decide to go back home and use my money to finance their trip? If so, that was a stupid thing to do. It meant the end of the relationship for us all. They couldn’t steal from me and expect me to still be their lover, pal, and sugar daddy.

But they were brothers after all, all for one and one for all. Anything’s possible.

I was in shock and despair.

I tried to call Andrei on his new mobile phone. No answer.

There was nothing to do but get ready and go to my 8:00 class. Much to my relief, it happened to be the start of our next ten lessons, so the first thing Olga did was plopp down $ 300.

At least I’m not broke, and I’ve probably got about $ 300 in my two bank accounts.

During the class, my mobile phone rang. Andrei: “Is Sergei nearby?”

“No, I’m at a lesson. Listen, did you take my money?”

“No. We’ll be home soon.”

So, quick re-think: They’re not all together. Andrei is coming home with Zhorik. If they’re coming home, they almost certainly didn’t take the money. The missing Sergei. Again! How many times! But after the St. Peterburg caper, I thought this was all over. He and I would live together; he would be my main squeeze. I would take care of him, we would live a normal life together, and be happy. And now this!

As I was getting ready to leave for my School #69 classes, Sergei arrived. “Where’s my money?” I demanded.

“I’ll have it for you later today.”

“When?”

“This afternoon.”

“Why don’t you have it now?”

He was searching frantically for a notebook.

“It’s in the south,” he said.

“What do you mean, in the south?”

“South of Moscow.”

He called somebody for directions to an apartment.

“Is that where my money is?”

“That’s where I’ll get it.”

“Why don’t you have it?” I demanded.

“It’s drugs,” he said.

“Sergei, are you crazy?”

“Yes.”

“Do you realize that you’re not only putting yourself at risk, but me, and Zhorik, and Andrei?”

“That’s why I can’t live with you anymore.”

We rode together as far as Novokuznetskaya on the green line.

“Sergei, why are you throwing your life away like this?”

He replied in a fit of anger. Unfortunately, at that moment, the train was roaring into the station and I didn’t hear a word he said.

“Sergei, I didn’t hear you. But I want you to explain when we see each other later today.”

On the metro I looked at him: He was gaunt, haggard, worn, resigned, hopeless, frightened. Suddenly he looked like a very old man who had reached the end of his rope, with nothing left to live for.

Everything had been so right, so good, the night before: We had had sex, we were the peacemakers between Andrei and Zhorik; everything was rosy pink. What had happened?

“Don’t worry about Andrei and Zhorik,” Sergei said at one point. They’re not like me. They’re good.”

At Novokuznetksaya, he exited to the street, and I switched to the orange line. We said goodby. I haven’t seen him since.

In Russia, two things happen to dealers and druggies: They either go to jail or the cemetery. My profound anger and sense of betrayal has turned to profound sadness.

I never expect to see that angry, tortured, self-destructive little child again. Certainly he can’t live here ever again.

It was me or drugs.

He chose drugs.


That night at our bench session, Zhorik said that Andrei had sworn that when Sergei turned up again, he would take him captive, take him to Stavropol, and lock him up in the basement.

“Honey, he’ll never see Sergei again,” and I told him about our conversation.

“Zhorik,” I continued. “Did something happen between you and Andrei and Sergei last night?”

“No,” he said. “Andrei and I had a fight. Then we made up and he called his friend Valera and he came and got us and we went to his place and drank vodka.”

“Did you invite Sergei?”

“No. It was Andrei and I who had made up. We wanted to celebrate. He wanted to come with us, but we said no.”

So that’s it. Sergei’s fragile ego had been trampled. They had abandoned him. So we would show them he didn’t need them. He would take my money and leave and go someplace without them.

So the door is permanently closed on Sergei.

I firmly believe in the link between emotional health and physical health, and I’m certain that the reason I’m suffering the first cold of the season is because I’m depressed over the whole thing. But I’m feeling much better. I buried myself in warm clothes and blankets and doused myself good with hot pepper Ukrainian vodka, then slept off and on till noon today, so I think I’ll be normal again by tomorrow.

The money has started rolling in: First was the $ 300 from Olga, then $ 300 from British Forum, then $ 100 from English Exchange, then nearly $ 1,000 from School #69 plus my normal private students, and this evening, Ivan is bringing the $ 400 I loaned him back in September.

Andrei, Zhorik, and I planned to take Valerian Dmitrovich $ 500 over the weekend to get the ball rolling on satisfying the judgment against Tioufline. But I’ve been too ill. I also cancelled my School #69 classes today and my 9 p.m. class with Andrey of DHL. But I think I’ll be back in the saddle tomorrow.


I’m not making this up! After the ghastly terrorist attack on Beslan school children a little over a year ago, in which 331 hostages were killed including more than 100 children in what is generally considered to be a botched FSB (KGB) rescue attempt, a 40-year-old “parapsychologist” is offering to resurrect the dead children for a fee of a little over $ 1,000 apiece.

Law enforcement officials say they haven’t acted because no one has complained.

A least two of the mothers are coughing up the bucks, and Grigory Grabavoi is promising to bring them back to life this month.

However, guess what! He doesn’t take responsibility for failures. Although he promises to resurrect them, they might simply refuse to come back to life or they might wind up somewhere else in the world – maybe Iraq or Zimbabwe – or even in another person’s body. So don’t ask for your money back if they don’t come marching back to their trundle beds on time.

It is generally being deplored as one of the most heinous hoaxes of modern times. In their delirious state of loss, the grief-stricken Beslan mothers are simply ready to try anything.

The father of one murdered girl has confided that a way has been invented to pass between the worlds of the living and the dead, but the government is hiding it from the people.

More sophisticated observers see the amount of press the flim-flam game is getting as a way for the Kremlin to discredit the Beslan mothers, who have been persistent and dedicated in trying to get to the truth of what really happened. This will make it easier for the Putin gang to simply push them aside as a bunch of hand-wringing crazies.

They can once again assure the world: “Hey, man, we didn’t do nuttin’ wrong.”