MOSCOW, August 6, 2006 – The worsening day-to-day living conditions for the average Russian are so pervasive and illogical that there is only one explanation for it, say a growing number of Russian people: Putin is doing this on purpose as a tool of George Bush!
Nothing else makes sense, they say!
The United States is trying to break Russia apart as a world power and Gorbachev, Yeltsin – and now Putin – have been secretly working as American stooges.
Basil, the Red Queen administrator, tried to explain this theory, which is being propounded by many dissatisfied Russian people – including many ex-soviet officers -- who are watching their living standards erode at the hands of the Putin government.
Inflation has destroyed their pensions. Veterans and others have lost the perks they had under communism (Chapt. 105) – particularly free transportation at the same time that metro fares have tripled. Pensioners still ride free, but instead of being waved through the metro turnstiles as before, they are issued magnetic cards that just make jams worse at the metro entrance and further complicate the lives of the average Russian.
They have seen their monthly utility bills double and triple as government subsidies have ended. Free education and many traditionally free medical services are becoming a thing of the past.
These are all measures that Western advisors have recommended in order for Russia to become a competitive capitalist country, lending credence to the whole thing as a Western plot.
As in America, while the poor become poorer, the super-rich grow more and more obviously super rich. Luxurious foreign cars – not only Mercedes, Lexus, and BMWs, but Maybachs, Maseratis, Lamberghinis, Porsches, Aston-Martins etc., are now common sights. Black limousines with tinted windows bearing nouveau riche businessmen followed closely by ominous-looking SUVs loaded with armed body guards weave through traffic watched by pensioners rummaging through trash cans for beer bottles.
In the meantime, it is becoming more and more difficult for poor Russians to continue to even exist as inflation continues to outpace income. They are reaching the point where the two ends are simply no longer going to meet.
What is going to happen at that point?
Many of them are already being forced out of Moscow because they can’t afford to live here. Mayor Luzhkov has undertaken an intentional effort to throw many more of them out of their legal apartments under condemnation proceedings because he wants the old buildings to be torn down and replaced with expensive high rises.
This is further stoking the anger of the average Russian in Moscow.
[“But this is Luzhkov, not Putin,” I objected, to which Basil replied: “Luzhkov is Putin.”]
This is all part of the plot, say the conspiracy theorists, noting that very early on Putin ominously announced that “we’re going to put in action new laws, new order, that won’t be so popular among the people.”
Why would he do such a thing?
The answer is clear, they say: Gorbachev began it when he scuttled the Communist government; then Yeltsin, with his give-away of natural resources, continued it; and now Putin is carrying on the tradition.
Why?
They have all been bought by the West to bring down Russia. They are purposely making life so difficult that there is nothing for the poor Russian to do but to rise up in protest – maybe in arms – and riot.
When that happens, the West will be asked to come in with peacekeeping forces and finish the job of splitting up Russia.
Everything points to it: The gay pride parade, a cancelled Eric Clapton concert, a massive switch in holidays. For decades, Muscovites enjoyed a 10-day holiday from May 1 to Victory Day, during which they would go to the dacha to do the spring planting in their subsistence gardens.
Suddenly two years ago, that holiday was cancelled and shifted to New Years, so now Muscovites spend the 10 days simply prolonging their New Year’s vodka binge – for no apparent reason except to simply make people more frustrated, more unhappy, more angry, to bring them closer to the much-talked-about Russian boiling point.
Even sports: Since the collapse of communism, Russia has fallen from its once commanding heights to – over the past eight years -- not even being a competitor, as in the recent World Football (soccer) Cup.
In explaining the growing unrest, Basil noted that Russia has hired Netherlands Coach Gus Hiddink at $ 3 million a year to bring the Russian football team back into the competitor’s circle.
“But it will take more than that,” Basil notes. Professional players in Russia are poorly paid, and when games are held and the cameras pan the stands, there’s nobody in them. People can’t afford to buy tickets, and anyway, don’t want to watch Russia’s second-rate players.
“We need to start from the beginning, in school,” Basil said. “We can’t afford to teach kids how to play well in school because of the education reforms that have taken money from the schools.
“It’s breaking down pride and patriotism among the Russian people.”
He said last month when a friend was helping him renovate his apartment, they had to go to the building supply market to buy some things for the bathroom.
“We got a man with a Volga station wagon to deliver it for us. He started talking. He is a former teacher or medical guy who couldn’t support his family on what the state was paying him, so now he’s essentially a truck driver.
“’Why do others have so much money, and I don’t have anything?’ he asked rhetorically. He started talking about Putin, about the people. ‘Putin is a tool for people who have money,’ he said. ‘People will tolerate it up to a point.
“’Then they start robbing, start killing. There’s a general mood of anger and protest…’”
And a large segment of the population is convinced that it’s a deliberate ploy to force the people to riot and justify bringing in Western troops to keep peace. It’s so illogical that there’s simply no logical explanation.
Putin – a dupe of the Bushwhacker? American soldiers keeping peace in Russia? The idea is so preposterous I could only gape in disbelief.
But when a people loses its trust in the government, there’s no limit to what the imagination can come up with to explain the otherwise inexplicable.
In America, we used to trust the government. We don’t anymore. A new Scripps Howard/Ohio University poll shows that a-third of the American population now believe the Bush Administration either helped plot the 9/11 Twin Tower attack or stood by and let it happen to justify war in the middle east!
And 54% say they’re more angry at the U.S. government than they used to be.
What’s coming next?
I’m living in your future.
Another tool to get rid of opposition voices is now in the Kremlin’s arsenal under the new “anti-extremism” legislation that Putin signed into law last Friday.
Why Friday? Newspaper practices are quite different in Russia than in America. They don’t usually publish on weekends. So anything that happens Friday doesn’t get covered till Monday, when it has to compete for headlines with everything that’s happened over the weekend.
So the adoption of the new law has received very little publicity in Moscow. When Basil came last Monday to help me with some computer problems, even he hadn’t heard about it. Probably most Muscovites haven’t.
And even if they’ve heard about it, they probably haven’t heard about why it was really passed.
Its sponsors asserted that it would give the state the tools to more effectively combat racism and extremism. That’s what television news would report. But what it really does is give the state the tools to more effectively eliminate Kremlin opposition.
For instance, one of its definitions of extremist activity is “public slander” of a government official related to his duties. So it makes it nearly impossible for an opposition candidate to criticize an incumbent and the job he’s doing.
You can now also be prosecuted for “extremism” if you “publicly justify or excuse” terrorism.
Does that mean Solzhenitsyn will be arrested and prosecuted for saying that the beating and killing by skinheads of dark-skinned people of the caucuses is understandable – if not justified -- because in doing so, ethnic Russians are simply trying to overcome the feelings of bitterness and resentment that have built up in their consciousness over the past decades as a result of the official Soviet policy – initiated by Lenin and continued by Stalin – of favoring other Russian nationalities?
Probably not.
But does it mean that you will be arrested and prosecuted for excusing the National Bolshevik Party’s (NPB) breaking into Putin’s administrative office and hanging signs out the window demanding his resignation, as a harmless political prank?
You can bet on it.
“Almost any sort of political activity could be construed to fit the expanded definition of extremism, as was the case with ‘Trostskyism’ and ‘anti-Soviet activity’ in the Soviet era,” Leonid Gozman, deputy chairman of one of the liberal parties (Union of Right Forces) told the Moscow Times. He said he is convinced that the new law is to restrict opposition activity, not to combat extremism.
“It’s obviously a crack-down,” agreed Dmitry Oreshkin, head of the Mercator think tank in Moscow, who told the MT that “the new laws will be triggered as necessary. It’s a gentle form of coercion designed to restrict the rights of dangerous political opponents.”
For instance, former Prime Minister Mikhail Kasyanov has declared his intention to run against Putin in 2008 (Chapt. 160), but at the anti-Putin “A Different Russia” pre-G8 summit last month (Chapt. 208), Kasyanov was rubbing elbows with NBP leader Edouard Limonov and Victor Anpilov, head of the Working Russia Party, “both of whom could well fall under the new definition of ‘extremism,’” Oreshkin said.
If the new law is interpreted as extremist-by-association – which it certainly could be – Kasyanov could be labeled and prosecuted as an extremist and kicked out of the race, since the new law provides that if one or more members of a political party is convicted of extremism, the entire party can be barred from an election.
The slander provisions of the law, meaning that public criticism of an official’s performance in office could be interpreted as slander and punished as extremism, will make campaigning difficult and newspaper coverage of it both difficult and dangerous, Oreshkin said.
And it will certainly increase the self-censorship that already pervades the press here. I had a discussion several months ago with the editor of Passport, a give-away mag for expats, who said that self-censorship was a very conscious policy for his publication, and that he had talked with editors of the Moscow Times, who acknowledged that they, too, were governed by self-censorship.
So the Kremlin doesn’t have to close a publication down. If Putin simply expresses displeasure, the word spreads quickly, they lose advertising because no advertiser wants to antagonize the Kremlin, and likely they soon go broke. So if covering a controversial issue might threaten their survival, they don’t cover it.
I can’t remember the last time, for instance, that I read something in the Moscow Times about Russian atrocities in Chechen.
So the “anti-extremism” law is a threat, but you ain’t seen nothin’ till you’ve looked at what that fab pop group, the Bushwhacker and the Neocons, is cooking up for you in the U.S. of B.
After the Supreme Court last month ruled that the Pentagon could not prosecute military detainees in Guantanamo and other extra-U.S. prisons using secret tribunals established soon after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks because Congress hadn’t authorized them, the neocons got to work.
Congress hasn’t authorized them? Well, we’ll just have our lapdog Congress do that thang.
They have submitted a 32-page draft to Congress that would enable U.S. citizens suspected of terror ties to be detained indefinitely and barred from access to civilian courts. The military would be allowed to detain "enemy combatants" until hostilities cease – which the Neocons have already declared could be decades away.
http://www.forbes.com/business/feeds/ap/2006/07/28/ap2912810.html
Like Putin’s anti-extremist law, legal experts say the language is dangerously broad and could authorize the military to detain indefinitely U.S. citizens with only tenuous ties to terror networks like al Qaeda.
The big question is “who can be detained," Martin Lederman, a law professor at Georgetown University, told the Associated Press (AP).
According to the AP, the neocon proposal would shit-can several traditional legal rights common in civilian and military courts, “including barring hearsay evidence, guaranteeing ‘speedy trials’ and granting a defendant access to evidence. The proposal also would allow defendants to be barred from their own trial and likely allow the submission of coerced testimony.”
Senate hearings are scheduled for September.
My, my, isn’t it terrible what that awful Russia is doing to its own people? Better take a look at your own country, Joe Sixpack! They’re lookin’ more and more alike!
I’m living in your future.
The Internet gay meeting board, “Facelink,” on which I met the ill-fated “buy me a new pair of shoes” Dima (Chapt. 209), has been generally unproductive. I’ve had maybe a dozen expressions of mild interest, one of whom was him (yeah, I know it should be “he” – predicate nominative; but it sounds so nerdy).
So I had decided to hell with it! I wouldn’t even check it any more. But Sunday night I was sitting at the computer with nothing to do. I had just sent off Chapt. 211 and was caught up with my work.
“What the hell, I’ll check it just for fun!” and lo and behold, there was a message from “Romantik” posted on Tuesday, just a few days earlier: “Glad to write you,” he said. “I am back! Sorry that I did not write you,…If you are interested in our meeting, I will phone you.”
Ah, yes, Romantik, “21 years old, no body hair, seeking 21-30-year old girl.” Girl? Why had he even bothered to contact me, then? Maybe under the “Tiddly-winks-young-man-get-a-girl-if-you-can;-if-you-can’t-get -a-girl-get-a-clean-old-man” doctrine.
We had first exchanged Internet greetings back in June. Yes, he spoke English, and had agreed to meet, but we had never gotten around to it, and the last time I had heard from him had been June 28 – over a month ago -- when he had promised, “I will phone you.” But he never had.
I had shrugged him off as just another dead end.
But here he was! I immediately answered, “I'm glad to hear from you again. Yes, I would like very much to meet you. Please call me when you have time and let's get together and chat. :-)”
About 11 p.m. Monday night, he called -- young, exuberant. “Let’s meet tomorrow at 12:00.” So we arranged to meet on the platform of Belarusskaya Metro Station near the escalator.
“By the way,” I said, “I’m older than I said I was.”
When I had registered on Facelink with Yegor’s help, I had assumed that this wasn’t real, I could say anything I wanted. It was kind of stupid, but for “age,” I put 45, thinking, “what the hell, nobody’s going to see me anyway, and who would contact a 72-year-old man?” But wasn’t the whole purpose of this to meet people? REALLY stupid!
I decided to go to the metro a little early on Tuesday and do as I had done with Dima – sit on the bench and wait till he went and stood near the escalator and see if he was a “keeper.”
It was about 11:50 when I sat down on a bench not far from the escalator. I looked around. There were three young guys on nearby benches. Had he decided to do the same thing? I looked at the one on the bench nearest me: about the right age, looking nervous, slightly red-haired and self-consciously awkward. At exactly 12 I called him on the mobile phone and watched as it rang. He made no move to answer it. Suddenly I heard Romantik’s voice…”and I’ll be about 5 minutes late…”
“Okay.”
So, not him. I continued to wait, but saw nobody hesitate near the escalator. At 12:05, I spotted three or four nice enough looking kids that looked as if they might be candidates, but they continued up the escalator without a pause.
At 12:06 my phone rang: He had gone up the escalator and was waiting for me on the street.
I hurried up. Nobody at the head of the escalator, so I proceeded out of the exit and looked around; didn’t spot any likely candidates. Called. He answered, and as I talked I looked around and spotted a really handsome young guy in a black suit with a lime green shirt talking on his mobile: “Okay, I see you.” We nodded at each other. I walked toward him.
Much more handsome than I could ever have imagined! Is this for me?
“Romantik?” I smiled.
“Hello.”
I took a good look at him. He wasn’t just handsome, he was beautiful, as stunningly beautiful as any young man I’ve ever seen in my life: A little taller than I – 6 ft. plus – 150 lb., blonde hair, smooth bronzed face, intelligent, clear eyes, cultured, good breeding, slightly receding chin with an adorable smile, braces – meaning he’s from a family who can afford them; in short, the kind of guy a girl – or a guy -- or a 73-year-old queen – would go ape over.
He looked a little shocked.
“I told you I was older than I said I was,” I said. “I’m sorry. Are you very disappointed?”
“I don’t know,” he replied in very good English. “I need to get to know you better.”
“Would you like a beer?” I asked. “I have some at home.”
“Actually, I don’t drink beer. Do you have something else?”
Recalling Andrei Sh.’s visit two weeks, ago, I asked, “How ‘bout some Georgian vodka?”
“I don’t drink vodka, either,” he smiled apologetically.
I steered him toward a nearby kiosk. “How ’bout cocktails. Do you like cocktails? My favorite is something called ‘Street.’ Have you heard of it?”
“I’ve heard of it.” We arrived at the kiosk and looked over the display of cans.
“Oh, I know,” he said. “What about Martini?”
“Okay.” I took his arm. “There’s a ‘Crystal’ booze shop just across the street. Let’s go over there.”
Martini, I think I’ve explained, doesn’t mean the same thing here that it does in America. In Russia it’s not a cocktail glass full of gin with a twist of lemon and a drop of Martini mixer. It’s a bottle of the mixer itself – usually clear. And they drink it with juice.
“Your English is really good,” I said, dodging traffic as we crossed the street. “Where did you learn it?”
“At school. But I don’t get much practice, and every day it gets worse.”
“No, I think it’s really, really good.”
By this time we were in the booze shop. We bought some orange juice to drink the Martini with and began the short trek home.
We continued to chat. I looked at him repeatedly, hoping I wasn’t gaping, and thinking, “I’ll never see the south side of that belly button!”
I warned him that the apartment was old and unrenovated. “But big,” he observed, as we entered.
“Yes, and very convenient for my students, which is the important thing.”
“What should I call you?” I asked, as we took off our shoes.
“My real name is Artyom.”
I told him my real name.
We sat in the kitchen and continued chatting. He was born in Moscow, he just finished his third year at the Economic Management University, he’s majoring in economics, but would like to prepare for a second career – maybe languages, English and German.
“Have you studied German at all?”
“No.”
I told him about my studying German and using it when I was a boy soldier in Germany “many, many, many years ago.”
He was growing relaxed, and the vibes were good. We talked about travel and languages.
“Can I see the rest of the apartment?” he asked.
“Sure.”
I showed him my room, which was in reasonably good shape – bed made, clean floor. I told him about Igor, who would be leaving soon to go to the army. Then I showed him the other room, which was an unsightly mess, and told him about my other two apartment mates who would also be leaving soon.
He picked up the “Sex pack,” a DVD collection of “9 hours, best gay hardcore” that was lying near the computer, lent to Yegor by a friend of his.
“That belongs to one of them,” I said. “Actually, I have a favorite. A gay porn video. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes.”
I went into my bedroom and unplugged the TV cable and plugged in the video cassette player. I came back to where he was still sitting. “It’s in the other bedroom,” I said.
He followed me in and we sat on the edge of the bed while I started playing my favorite – and only – gay porn.
“This is made by a group called ‘Bel Ami,’ which is French meaning beautiful friend; they’re all Russian and East European guys, really beautiful,” though none as beautiful as you are, I thought to myself.
I realized our knees were touching. He was making no attempt to move away.
I looked at him:
“Do you know the word ‘seduce’?”
“No.”
“It’s sort of what they’re doing.” I paused. “I’d like to seduce you, can I?”
He sort of imperceptibly nodded.
I put a pillow behind him and lay him back gently on the pillow. He looked a little nervous. I started unbuttoning his shirt. No T-shirt underneath. Smooth, bronzed, hairless stomach and chest. I pulled him up and he finished taking off his shirt. His hands were trembling – from excitement, I hoped. I started to unbuckle his trou. He reached down to help me, hands still trembling, and then lifted his butt as I pulled them down and started to pull them off.
“No, not all the way,” he said.
“I leaned over him and kissed him. He returned it. I stroked his chest, his stomach, and let my elbow glide over his shorts. I could feel his rock hard cock. I started pulling down his shorts. Again he helped me and lifted his ass off the bed.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. His dick was uncut, beautiful, and huge – one of the biggest hunks of meat I’ve seen in my life – bigger than Alex’s. It was already beginning to ooze a little pre-cum. Was this from “Bel Ami?” or from anticipation of being seduced? I rubbed and stroked it gently, then let my lips glide down to it as it repeatedly erected toward my mouth.
My god, it was gorgeous! He was gorgeous. As I stroked his inner thighs, I let his massive cock slide down my throat, as far as it would go, which, at that angle, wasn’t all the way.
“Let me change positions a little,” I said, and helped him re-arrange himself on the bed. He finished pulling his pants and shorts all the way off. He was now completely naked. His body was perfect. Deep tanned except for the alabaster white patch from his belt line to the bottom line of his briefs.
I came at it from below, in the “missionary” cock-sucking position, but I still couldn’t get it all the way down. I shifted again, approaching from above and the left, where it was pointing, meaning he must be right handed. Aha: At last. I let it slide all the way down. He began hunching slightly as my throat stroked it gently.
But as he got more animated, my gag reflex was kicking in; I had to pull back while I stroked his tumescent rod in and out of my lips, then let it slide back down my throat again. He was already close. I felt his hands push down on my head, and felt him surge, and surge again, and again. His cum was flowing down my throat!
I lifted my head and looked at his gorgeous cock, glistening with the sheen of fresh cum.
I kissed his stomach and chest and face, just brushing his lips.
“I’d like to jerk myself off,” I said. “Do you mind?”
“No,” then added with a smile. “But I want to smoke.” I had already introduced him to the toilet as the smoking room.
“Don’t bother to put your pants on,” I said.
“I can’t….” he didn’t finish, but it was obvious that he was too shy to walk around naked – even in an empty apartment after I had just given him what I hope was the best blow job of his young life.
When he returned, the two of us pulled his pants and shorts down again and I stroked his by-now flaccid dick while my eyes ran over every inch of his flawless skin and I shot all over my stomach.
“I can get you something if you want,” he offered.
“Okay, toilet paper.”
We chatted a little as he put his clothes back on. “I’d really like to spend more time with you,” I said. “Maybe we could go to the theater together. I know you’re in a money crunch right now, so I could pay for it, and we could go together. Or somewhere else.”
“Okay. We’ll see.”
“I have to go,” he said. “I have sort of a job interview.”
“Okay. I’d like to take your picture.”
“No, later,” he insisted.
“Shall I accompany you to the station?”
“No, you don’t need to. I know the way.”
“I really, really like you,” I said, hugging and kissing him goodbye. “I hope we will see each other again. We have each other’s phone numbers. I’ll send you an SMS with my e-mail address,” I said.
“I don’t like e-mail,” he replied. “There’s too much spam. We can continue to communicate on the site.”
“Is it absolutely private?” I asked.
“Yes. Nobody can read it but us.”
“Okay.”
By now he was ready. I held him tight and we kissed each other. I told him goodbye again as he headed down the steps, then returned weak-kneed and unbelieving to the kitchen.
He is the most beautiful creature I have ever held in my arms, and his cock ranks as one of the biggest of my life – certainly that ever caressed my throat – except for maybe Long Seryozh. I can only wonder if he will ever darken my doorway again.
I think he had a good time.
“Have you had sex with many guys?” I asked.
“No. I’m not really gay. I’m bi-.” Oh yes, “seek 21-30 YO girl…”
“Have you met many guys through the Internet?” I asked.
“No.”
“This is the first time I’ve met anyone through the Internet,” I said, conveniently forgetting Dima.
“It’s the first time for me, too.”
I sent him a message immediately on the Facelink site, telling him how happy I was to meet him and suggesting that we get together again – as often as he’d like – to study his English. I also asked him to send me a photo on the Internet. I want to look at him often, and remember that magic August afternoon. I fervently hope and pray to all gods everywhere that it won’t be the last.
But I’m scared to death it will.
But as a consolation prize, there’s Alex. He called on Thursday and came over. I wrestled his big cock – which didn’t seem so gigantic anymore. We both came, then went for a bike ride/walk.
Last week when we were walking, we had passed an ice cream vendor near the Perekrestok supermarket. Rather cute, very young, shy, and we had both commented about him after I had bought an Eskimo pie from him.
While I tended my bike on one side of Bolshaya Gruzinskaya St., Alex crossed to the other side to buy a beer, and “just happened” to stop and say hello to our little cutie pie (CP).
When he came back, he had it all planned: He would meet CP at the end of his work day on Friday, about 7:30 p.m., and they would go somewhere and talk. “He’s bi-,” Alex announced confidently. “I’m a personnel manager and I can often tell about people just by looking.”
This is one of the reasons he gets on my nerves: He knows everything, which tells a lot about the real state of his brain.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“I forgot to ask. But I think it’s Maxim. I can often tell people’s names just by looking at them.”
Uh-huh.
Anyway, he was to meet the kid, they would talk, and if things went well, “I will introduce him to you.”
Okay, that’s a good idea.
So after my long drought, things are looking up.
But it gets better! Friday, I was working on this column when my phone unexpectedly rang. “Victor,” the screen announced.
I only know one Victor, my other Hong Kong Harry legacy with whom I had given up getting in touch with after one initial telephone call (Chapt. 200, 201).
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Nothing at the moment.”
Can you come over now?”
“I can be there in 20 minutes.”
So we made the usual arrangements and I went to the metro. Harry had shown me a picture of him, and I would certainly recognize the blond, curly – almost frizzy – hair.
But when he arrived I was swept off my feet. Gone was the frizzy hair. Instead I was looking at a blond, crew cut, 5 ft. 10 extremely handsome athlete.
My luck is just too good this week!
We chatted amiably and picked up a couple of beers on the way home. “Are you hungry?” I asked.
“A little.” Fortunately, I still had half of the tuna fish salad I had fixed for beautiful Artyom, so I fixed him some tuna fish sandwiches, which he loved.
“Do you like gay porn?” I asked when we had finished.
“Actually, I prefer straight porn.”
Oh? And then I remembered. Harry said he was a hustler and had been in porn movies.
It took me a while to find one of Yuri’s old straight porn videos.
“Shall we take off our clothes?” he asked.
I nodded.
We bedded down together naked. So-so piska -- but let’s face it, after Artyom’s anything’s gonna be so-so. It was rather long, nicely shaped, with adequate, not redundant, foreskin.
We immediately started French kissing. I can’t remember the last time I French kissed with a sex partner. Maybe twin Sergei? Anyway, it was wonderful, and I immediately started getting a boner. So did he.
He was very loving, very accommodating, tactile, and didn’t object to my French kissing a lot. After I sucked his cock, he finished himself off, but held his cock while he came so I couldn’t deep throat it, but could feel the gism squirting against the roof of my mouth. Very nice.
Then I jerked off, then he came again. We lay for a few minutes quietly, just holding and kissing. It was a totally rewarding experience, the kind I like best.
I felt really drawn to him. I knew just a little that Harry had told me – that his parents had been sent to a Siberian prison under Brezhnev, where he had been born. That they had both died, and now he was a 20-something orphan, that he is very nice, nice enough, in fact, that Harry said I might even want to consider living with him.
And very, very handsome.
We chatted in the kitchen for another hour. It turns out Monday, August 7, is his 23rd birthday, so he’s another Leo. I invited him to the nearby Correa’s American restaurant to celebrate. He’s living with a former colleague who doesn’t know he’s gay. He has no job at present.
I told him I’d like for us to spend a lot of time together, and that if we really liked each other, maybe we’d consider living together. “Would you be interested in that?”
“Yes.”
So, all in all, it’s been a very good week. Even Igor is being very loving. He’s slept with me four times this week, and playing with his nearly stiff boner, I even managed to prevent some more prostate cancer Friday night – five orgasms this week, counting the solo I performed with Bel Ami on Monday.
Igor’s been exceptionally loving when he leaves and comes home from work. I still long for a meaningful relationship with him, but after Artyom, Alex, and Victor, I think I’ll survive without it.
All in all, the first week of August has been very good to me. I recall that I’ve met many of my boyfriends in August – Maxim, Anton, Yegor – and maybe, just maybe, I’ve just met another one? 
I finally heard from Zhorik. He called on the mobile phone Monday evening. I said only a few words and then turned the phone over to Igor, who told me after the conversation ended that Zhorik wants me to buy and send him a Nokia N-70 mobile phone – a nearly $ 500 toy!
I immediately wrote him a letter saying “No” for several reasons: It’s too expensive; I don’t trust the Russian post office; DHL is too expensive; you’d probably soon lose, sell, hock or give it away like you did all the others; and finally:
“I’m not going to give you or send you anything more until you have explained to me what you did with the $ 2300 I gave you to bribe your way out of the army. Obviously, you didn’t bribe your way out of the army. What did you do with it? Why? And why did you repeatedly lie to me about it?
“You and I had a loving, sincere, and trusting relationship. How can I ever trust you again?”
I’ll be very surprised if I ever get an answer. I suspect that he’s out of my life for good. But with the likes of Artyom and Victor in the wings, do I really care?
This day years ago:
2005-8-6: Chapt. #154 - Hiroshima: Are we victims too?
