This is the fourth instalment in a series that could actually keep going indefinitely. There's as much sex in here as I'm having in real life. Send questions, feedback and advice to firstname.lastname@example.org
Thursday came and went and Friday loomed. We had that day off university because there was a Chinese studies exhibition in the city, which the university guys thought we might find interesting. I woke up earlier than usual, had a shower, shaved and tried to fix my hair. I hate washing my hair because it goes all foofed out and dumb looking. But I'm always wearing a warm cap here so it ends up stupid anyway. Other guys seem to like it, but being guys, we aren't always thinking about hair when they say nice things.
I had my day all planned out -- meet Anton, maybe drink coffee, stare lovingly into each others' eyes, see film, go to exhibition with him, introduce him to my friends, hold hands, etc... but this was not to be.
His phone was out of credit and I couldn't get in touch (in Russia they don't let you call people who haven't prepaid). I decided to head into the city anyway, and wait around for him. Let me just tell you now, I would never do this back home. Back home if someone told me we had a meeting Friday then didn't follow it up, I'd toss them into the 'oh well' basket and move on. But this guy makes me crazy. I can't help it. I had burned a CD for him with the song he liked, and some photos of us together, just for the hell of giving him something.
I went to a western-style Starbucks type place and waited around, drinking ice coffees and eating French fries. These places are growing in popularity amongst ordinary Russians here (although only my gay friends go here) and they are just about the only places where you can get truly friendly service here. The service experience at many Russian places to eat consists of:
Service person: "Speak!" - that's actually what they say.
Me: "Could I have some french fries please?"
Me: "Ummm. Why?"
SP (condescending look): "They are off today."
Me: "OK. Well just a coffee then."
SP: (says nothing, snatches menu away, disappears).
I waited and waited. 3pm, 4pm, 5pm came and went. I finally tried calling him at home. He picked up and said he would be in the city later and would meet me at the café. Didn't say when though. So I waited some more, getting pretty jittery from the coffee, and pretty bored of staring out the window at the same view. I was shifting in my seat constantly and started fantasising about climbing up the window, so I decided more coffee was a bad idea, and ordered a pot of tea. Then another. And another.
He finally called and said he'd meet me at a sushi restaurant a block away (I silently groaned) with his housemate Kofa (groan again). I was pretty pissed off after 5 hours in that café. It was 5pm and there was no chance of a film or exhibition now. I got to the restaurant, though, and just couldn't stay annoyed at him. His eyes were so beautiful, his face, his body. He was wearing just a white t-shirt with jeans, but when you're as hot as him, you don't need trendy clothes. He pressed his thigh up against mine the whole time we ate and took the CD with a joyful look you see when you give balloon animals to little kids.
I just wanted to spend more time with him, and we walked around Lenin Square, chatting to each other about how busy he was at university. We walked past the opera theatre and I said I wanted a drink of water. He said he wanted to kiss me. I said that was OK. He said he couldn't stay with me any more time that night, that he had to study, as exams were coming up soon. But, he said, we would spend Christmas together, and New Years 2006, and his birthday a couple of days after that, and Kofa's birthday. All this sounded good to me. I invited him to a party the next night, and he said they would come. But he couldn't stay the night with me. He said he'd call me.
"You'll really call me?", I said, laughing. "'Cos you're not so good at that, y'know." He got serious. "Look into my eyes", he said. "I will call you tomorrow." He disappeared into the metro station. I didn't know it then, but the next time I saw him would be the last, and would drive me to tears of anguish and despair.
As I was riding back to the university -- only 9 days ago as I write this, but it seems like an eternity -- this amazing boy sent me SMSes.
"I think I can't to read books... I only think about you." And later, "So I can't... all my thoughts about you."
I gotta admit that I was feeling much the same way. We'd only met twice but it was damn hard to be away from him. Still, I was happy that I'd see him and his friendly housemate the next night. Maybe he'd stay over.
Saturday was a clear, fine day. It wasn't exactly warm, I mean, -15C is pretty cold, but I woke up early and went out with my best friend to help her shop for her housewarming party. I told her all about my night, and what he'd said, how he'd acted. It was all wonderful. I knew he'd call me. I knew he felt the same way. (I bet you're expecting what comes next.)
We set up her cool new apartment for the party, we even bought real foreign alcohol. I went home, telling my friend that I'd show up when Anton came. All this time I waited for him to call. 7:30pm came and went, and still no call. I was watching pirated movies off the university network -- this place is crazy, they've got practically every movie ever made, and every single Simpsons, too -- but as entertaining as sitting at home is, I had a party to go to.
I called his mobile but he didn't answer. He sent me an SMS saying "We can't come wed went to visit Kofa's sister. I'll call you later because she near by me." I hit the roof. Friday was bad enough, this was just ridiculous. I'm not a clingy guy but I expect a basic level of respect. He could've told me earlier. I sent an angry SMS back, in Russian.
"Anton, in future, if you say you've got plans with me, you have to tell me if something changes. OK?"
He wrote back "OK...it's my folk..."
I went to the party and resolved to get as drunk as possible. I was doing a pretty good job with that, and hardly noticed a reasonably hot guy sitting next to me and talking to me. His name was Rem and he'd been to my country a couple of times, so he spoke English with my accent, the first I'd heard in the 3 months I've been here.
It didn't take much gaydar to figure out he was coming onto me heavily, and when he led me into a bedroom, closed the door and kissed me, I wasn't surprised, but I did look at him properly for the first time. He had light brown hair and an interesting, gentle face, with brilliant blue eyes that I kept catching watching me. He looked younger than 22. He had beautiful lips and was fairly thin. He was not really my type but good looking in a Harry Potter kind of way (no, I don't find Harry Potter attractive).
I'd downed a lot of beer and gone on to vodka, and was pretty wasted, and it was easy sex, but my heart wasn't in it. I was sitting on the bed, he'd pulled my hard-on out of my fly, spat on it, and pulled his pants down. He was guiding me in and really wanted it. But I just couldn't do it. If you're thinking about someone else than whoever you're having sex with, you're not being fair to either guy. I pulled away, did up my fly, said something nice -- I'm always nice -- and got his number and left. I'd put him in the "follow up later" basket.
I fell into a deep sleep and dreamt I was in a river, calling to Anton on the shore. He wouldn't answer, and the water swept me away. I woke up, sweating, and couldn't get back to sleep. I watched the dawn sun rise through the wisping clouds and gently falling snow.
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