The Disaster That Was Christmas Eve

“Hold Me  Thrill Me  Kiss Me  Kill Me” by ultramaryna

Wednesday Evening, Christmas Eve, December 24, 2008:

Anastasa had invited Seneca to spend Christmas Eve with her, her live-in boyfriend Gintas, and other Russians.  It was to be a well-dressed evening with good liquor and wonderful food!  Russian parties tend to be elegant and fun.  The gracious and beautiful host, Anastasia, extended the offer to Reena and Vicky when informed they had nowhere to go.

The day started out poorly, with Vicky late on preparing her food contribution to the party.  Worse, she was out of Oxy, and demanded that substance be re-supplied to her before she could once again function as a human being.  She was up partying on Oxy all the previous night with Kris. 

Seneca had come to realize that, as cute and fiery as Vicky is, she may not be the best choice as a date.

The official name of Oxy is OxyContin, but on the street it’s often called ”oxycotton”. 

When taken in pill form, as intended, OxyContin is a slow-release narcotic prescribed for pain caused by cancer, severe arthritis, sickle cell disease, and nerve damage. The active ingredient in the drug is a morphine derivative, the same as that also found in Percodan. 

But when bought on the street, oxycotton is crushed and snorted to deliver a powerful and fast high that many users say is better than heroin.

Depending on the quality of heroin available to an addict, Oxy can be more powerful!

Three hours are lost acquiring product to return Sandy to functionality (getting her off dope-sickness).  Her value is not soaring in the eyes of Seneca.

Vicky gets a late start preparing the food, and they are two-and-a-half hours late arriving to the party.

Seneca is extremely embarrassed.

Arriving home for a quick change of clothes just before arrival at the party, Seneca finds Sandy sitting alone.  Her plans with the black addicts in Maywood fell through.  He throws her in the car and takes her to the party.

Seneca and Gintas, Anastasia’s live-in boyfriend, have become good friends.  Gintas is tall, masculine, laidback, and charming.  His specialty is being able to get the normally non-drinking Seneca to consume copious quantities of alcohol.

When drunk, the gorgeous Reena is willing to have sex with anything that moves.  When sober, she feels terrible about what she’s done.  She asked Seneca and Sandy to protect her from her drunkenness, and stop her from any stupid moves she would later regret.  On the day after Thanksgiving, she asked them to be her protector.

But Sandy wants to take advantage of her.

You don’t mess with Seneca’s adapted daughter!

“Dying” by ultramaryna

At the party, Seneca is sitting in the middle of the couch, Gintas on his right, Reena on his left.  Very near Reena, sitting on a dining-room chair, is Sandy, drunk and and high on heroin.

Sandy begins making-out with the drunk Reena.

Seneca is livid over Sandy’s violation of the trust placed by Reena in them.

Seneca grabs Reena and throws her over himself so she’s sitting between himself and Gintas.  Sitting between these two, no one will mess with Seneca’s adapted daughter.

Seneca vows mentally to get Sandy out of his life as soon as possible.  Seneca cannot believe he brought Sandy to this party of civilized people, and is embarrassed.

Reena is very jealous of Seneca’s entrancement with Vicky over the past two weeks, and begins calling Vicky names.  Seneca strongly orders Reena to shut-up several times, and finally she does.

Vicky was supposed to spend the night in Seneca’s bed, and she changes her mind because of Reena’s conduct.  Reena is successfully sabotaging the relationship.

A Russian, Sasha, asks Sandy if she’d like to go outside for a cigarette.  Sandy agrees, but fails to move.  Sasha asks again, Sandy agrees again, whereupon the Russian helps Sandy out of her chair and takes her into a bedroom, closing the door.

All evening, Vicky has been flirting intensely with a black guy, Nelson.  Seneca cannot blame Nelson, for Sandy is a hot blonde and Nelson doesn’t know that Vicky is with Seneca.  Vicky has chosen to avoid Seneca all night.  Nelson is actually a pretty good guy.

Forty-five minutes later, Sandy is still in the bedroom getting diddled silly by the Russian.  

Vicky and Nelson are talking about sex pheromones, believing that each are releasing chemosignals affecting the endocrine balance of the other, causing intense sexual attraction between the two.  They can go fuck themselves. 

Reena is asleep between Gintas and Seneca. 

 Anastasia and Gintas are staring into space with a dazed look, wondering what hurricane hit their home.

Seneca stands up, asks the black dude to drive Vicky home (his dream came true!), apologizes to Anastasia and Gintas, and throws Reena into the car, headed home.  Sandy is left in the bedroom with the Russian.

The Russian takes Sandy to his home.  The two stay in bed another day.  On December 26, Seneca asks Sandy to move out of his home.

Sandy goes on a three-day heroin binge with the black addicts in Maywood, then returns to Seneca, requesting food and shelter till she can get into rehab.  Seneca agrees.

In Seneca’s mind, the relationship with Vicky is over.

It indeed turns out to be over.

Both Nelson and Vicky claim nothing happened on the way home.

Nelson, you can have her!

Sasha continues to whine that Sandy will not call him.

Sasha, Sandy normally does not date white guys.  You got lucky.

Reena blames herself for the Vicky/Seneca break-up, and works hard for a reconciliation.

Reena fails.

Anastasia and Gintas remain good friends with Seneca.

Reena and Seneca remain close.

Sandy’s waiting for a bed in rehab.

The Journey continues.

“Miss Black” by ultramaryna

Anastasia and Russian Stripper-Girls

.lion. by TakeMyWorldApart

Friday Evening, November 21, 2008:

Returning from his date with the incredible Zoe, he thinks about what she offers compared to the joys of a financial arrangement with a Russian stripper-girl, such as his close friend Anastasia and his once very close friend Katherine.

Seneca has long admired the Russians.  He is in awe of their defeat of Hitler and Napoleon. 

Not a real ballet fan himself, he is overwhelmed by Russian ballet, recently seeing the Kirov three times in one weekend. 

The Russians were first in space, and he notes the Russians excel at anything they so choose.

Perhaps they produce the finest women on the planet!

The two Russian stripper-girls he knows very well, Anastasia and Katherine, are real women and are available for the right guy at a cost similar to what Zoe demands.  Unlike Zoe, they will attempt to act like a real girlfriend, as if it’s a real affair.  Although it is a paid-for and unfulfilling friendship, the Russians offer an elegance and style not offered by Zoe.

Russian women are highly educated.  He remembers discussing the character “Gerasim” in “The Death of Ivan Ilych” with Anastasia, only to find that she understood the character better than he does.

With sculpted bodies manufactured at “The East Bank Club” and at “Lifetime Fitness”, they can compete with Zoe on raw sexuality, but choose not to dress in such a revealing manner as does Zoe.

As he has done for years, he calls Anastasia from the car after his date, this time with Zoe.  Her musical accent greets him, and she admonishes him for chasing such young girls.  She tells him how wonderful he is and that any girl would be lucky to have him.  (Yeah, sure.)  She insists that he come over for a drink.

Wanting to get home, he does not accept her invitation.  She then asks that he bring a date to Thankgiving dinner at her home.  He doesn’t have a date, as his bedmate Sandy will be with her friends, not with him.  She insists he must come alone.

He feels odd going alone.  The dinner will be of Russian and Lithuanian couples, all speaking Russian.  They will be elegantly dressed and beautiful, and he would be there without woman.  Without a date, without speaking Russian, he does not fit in.  He declines.

Also, Gintas will be there as Anastasia’s date.  In March of 2007, the Russian Eifman Ballet was in town.  In February, Anastasia asked him to take her, and he gladly agreed.  Two weeks later, Anastasia calls on the phone:

Anastasia:  “Mishenka, do you want me to be happy?”

Seneca wonders what load of bull is coming!

Seneca:  “What do you mean, honey?”

Anastasia:  “I want to go to the Eifman with my new boyfriend instead of you!”

Seneca explodes, and the two don’t talk for four months.

The new boyfriend is Gintas.

bliss 4 by p3t3r kurt3n groupi3

Seneca goes to the ballet alone.  At intermission, he sees Anastasia walking in the aisle just two rows in front of him, looking stunningly beautiful.  Behind her is Gintas.

Seneca’s jaw drops.

Gintas is 6′3″, broad-shouldered and deep-chested.  Not pretty at all, he is rugged and masculine.  He looks like a man’s man.  

With guys like Gintas around,

Seneca knows he will never get another date

with a woman again!

Seneca finally comes to his senses!  There is only one Gintas.  There are millions of available women.  There is some hope after all!

Seneca notices the graceful Anastasia stumbling into her seat.  Gintas is wearing wrap-around sunglasses.

Months later he finds out that Anastasia had a broken leg and both of Gintas’ eyes were black!  The injuries were suffered in a brawl at a Russian restaurant!

Gintas and Anastasia were eating at this restaurant, and liquor was flowing freely.  A nearby table of Russians found themselves in admiration of Anastasia.  When she rose to go to the rest room, a Russian jumped up and hugged her.  Gintas stood and pulled the Russian off his woman.  Fists started flying, and the table of Russians had Gintas on the ground beating the hell out of him.

Anastasia waded in to save her man, and her leg was broken when she too was knocked down.

bliss 1 by p3t3r kurt3n groupi3

While Seneca has given up hope for a second love affair with Anastasia, he still is not fond of seeing her with another man.  That’s part of the reason for not accepting the Thanksgiving dinner invitation.

Seneca has the highest respect for Russian women!

Searching for Sonya

 

Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of Anastasia herself.

Written June 28, 2005

Sonya had won every amateur strip contest she had ever entered. Coincidentally, so had Anastasia, but I’m ahead of myself!

Her dance was not the athletic, energetic dance that strippers sometimes perform, but a slower, intense dance with “I’m so sexy” movements. Her dance just knocked everyone out!

Clients would spend two hours in the Champagne Room with her, and be promptly relieved of $2,000. They thought “I’m different!!! She really likes me!!!”

Her speech is intense and soft. Her natural incredible C’s are covered only with clear pasties. What’s a mother to do???

I tell her of my love of Aristotle and Plato, and of the classes I am then taking. She seems fascinated!

She tells me of her need for a new apartment, and she needs it now!!! Fate has thrown us together! What luck!!!

We agree to meet at the club the next night to discuss plans for the apartment. I show up with a noticeable bulge in my pants. No, not there! From the wad of cash in my pocket! (I do know how to look good at a strip club!)

She doesn’t show!!!

Very pissed, I don’t go back. Finally, after six months, I return. Having forgotten her stage name, I ask for the Russian brunette from Moscow. I ask everyone. No one knows her. Worse, the Russian girls claim there’s never been a brunette Russian from Moscow working there. Was I dreaming?

For the next four years, I keep asking about her at the club, getting the same answer. I even ask Russians not associated with the club. I liked this one!

Soooo, in February of 2005, I’m having dinner with the exquisite blonde Russian Anastasia from Yekaterinburg.

As we discuss her needs, her ever increasing divorce/child custody legal bills, her DUI legal bills, her obstruction of justice legal bills, and her immigration attorney legal bills, I yearn for the simpler moments with the lovely Sonya. All Sonya needed was an apartment!

I ask the beautiful and blonde Anastasia if she knows of a brunette Russian from Moscow that worked at the club four years earlier. Anastasia replies that she’s sure such a woman does not exist, as she worked there then, and knew all the Russians. Dammit, I just can’t believe this!

Then she tells me of a guy she liked and met four years ago at the club. She’s always wondered what happened to him. The guy loved Plato and Aristotle and was taking classes!!!

OMIGOD!!! IT’S MY HONEY!!!

It turns out that she changed her hair color to blonde and lied to all clients about where she was from. It was just too much trouble to explain to customers where Yekaterinburg is, so she said she was from Moscow.

She was known as the blonde from Yekaterinburg. I was asking for the brunette from Moscow!!!

Anastasia on a Sunday Night

 

Photo is from Flickr.com and is not a photo of Anastasia herself.

Written August 22, 2005

She calls in the early hours of the morning. She’s at a dance club with her girlfriends, she’s drunk as hell, and can I get her out of there?

She’s a dream woman, the dancer Anastasia, met four years earlier.

Blasting over to the north side, I arrive to see her briskly walking, wobbling a little, headed towards my car. She looks f’n incredible. Poured into her black slacks, natural 32 C’s filling out a tight black top, thick, blonde hair falling past her shoulder blades, angelic blue eyes, lips from Angelina Jolie, she is every man’s dream.

Pouring herself into the car, she is funny and cuddly. We head toward her place.

Except she’s gotta go, and gotta go bad!!!

I find a dark area near a tree. Guys and dogs want trees, so girls want trees too, right?

The tree is on a very steep slope, and she climbs the slope barefooted. Her slacks are off, and her panties consist of a simple small triangle of a piece of cloth, also quickly removed.

Squatting, her incredible long, toned legs displaying her muscles and her magnificent beauty, she’s laughing and yelling something in Russian. She quickly translates and I am warned to get out of the way of the flood headed my way!!!

Now laughing uncontrollably, she stands, wobbles, falls, and stands again, making her way to the car.

Climbing again into the car, we take off. She puts her feet on the dash. Unlike the last chick who put her feet on my dash, this chick can put her feet anywhere, I don’t care. She spreads her legs, and asks me to play with her pu$$y.

Quickly pushing my hand aside, she says she’ll show me how to do it. Her fingers in the right spot, she looks at me and just smiles and smiles.

Damn, don’t we love these wild women!!!

Anastasia Stops In!

 

Photo is from  Flickr.com and is not a photo of Anastasia herself.

Written September 9, 2006

Calling at 11:00 AM this Saturday, she wants to stop over and pickup some cash, as I am paying for her therapy (AS IF EITHER ONE OF US NEEDS THERAPY!!!)

Over the phone, I fill her in on the possibly close upcoming relationship with Mika, and assure her that I will continue to pay for her therapy.

Now threatened that someone is moving in on her property, she takes the offensive.  She tells me to be sure that I wash “down there”, as she’s coming over to take care of me.

Yeah, right!  I’ve been there with her before.  All BS!  I’ve even had a very expensive four-month relationship with her.

She arrives and is actually concerned about my new status. 

As I can’t find my cash, she immediately finds it on my bedroom dresser.  How did she do that?

Sensing both cash and a mark in the same room, her instincts propel her into stripper mode.  She demands another hundred just because she is so cute!  I refuse.  But she is cute!

It is no longer about cash.  It is now about her pride in being a stripper and her abundant skills in relieving a man from his money without delivering anything (the very essence of stripperhood)!

Her hands are all over me, going to places forbidden by society.  But, as an experienced purchaser of stripper services, I know what this is about.  As soon as one accepts any implied offer, the cash is gone, and you’re left wondering what the hell happened!

Finally, she gets the “no more money” message and settles down, even in the face of my masculine charms.

She wants fresh coffee, so I pull out my “guest coffee”, $40 per pound Jamaican Blue Mountain, upper elevation, of course.

Doesn’t everyone buy coffee by elevation level?

She presses and presses to find out just how much I spent on Mika’s birthday gifts.  As I finally relent and tell her, she grabs her head, claims she is having an anxiety attack, and pretends to call her therapist, the one I pay for!

Then she charges out the door, leaving me with 32 oz. of fresh coffee and no one to share it with.

Her own birthday is in two weeks.

In spite of some issues, we’ve become very close after five years.

I Love Myself Sooo Much!!!

Photo is from  Flickr.com and is not a photo of Anastasia herself. 

Written November 18, 2006 

“I love myself sooo much!” Anastasia says as she slides her cute little tush onto my passenger seat, just two days after surgery.

Anastasia’s got new boobs!!!

She looks at me, smiles, and says:

“I don’t talk anymore!  My boobs do the talkin’!”

And she smiles!

On a Monday morning in early October, I drop her off at the Northwestern University surgical center on Lake Shore Drive.  The lake is beautiful, the day is beautiful, and Anastasia is excited!

At 3:30 PM, the surgeon herself wheels Anastasia to my car.  The surgeon is a skinny blonde French national in her early forties.  She sports a wicked, well-formed tush and man-made breasts.  She’s HOT!

We had been ordered to spend the night in a nearby hotel so Anastasia can be checked first thing in the morning.  I receive my orders; namely, make sure she rests, eats, and takes her pills.  Although simple, I know the rules are important.

In the room, having taken her pills, she’s in some pain and just wants to sleep.  It ’s been twenty-three hours since she’s eaten, and I don’t know what to do.

Fortunately, I remember her favorite sushi restaurant isn’t that far away, and I mention it to her.   She lights up and sends me on my way!

Take-out dinner for one, because of the “godzilla rolls” ordered,  is $55 at Sushi Wabi.  I hate sushi, and get nothing for myself.

In the room, I get the sushi down her along with bottled tea, all from from Sushi Wabi.  Her little tummy is full, the pills are kicking in, and she dozes while watching TV.

At 10:00 PM, she’s sleeping, illuminated by the light of the flickering TV.  She’s propped up on three pillows.  Her long blonde hair cuddles her pretty face, and I think of how close we’ve become after five years.  I feel honored that I’ve been chosen to be with her tonight.

She awakens and, as I sit on my bed in my pajamas, she says over and over again how hot I look.

I know she doesn’t mean that.  I know she is telling me how much she appreciates my being with her.  It feels good.

In the morning, the surgeon comes to our hotel (I couldn’t believe it either!), declares Anastasia fit, and orders a shower. 

Inspecting herself in the mirror, Anastasia asks my opinion.

I had discouraged the surgery.  She had been stunning with her natural 32 C’s.  With a push-up bra cradling those puppies, the soft flesh spilled out everywhere!  The cleavage was perfect!

“Honey, DON’T get a boob job!”

“But they droop!”

“Honey, with that push-up bra, you’re incredible!  Who sees you without a bra anyway?”

“Everyone!  I’m a dancer!”

“You know that you ought to get a real job instead!”

Didn’t work!  She got the boob job!

On the morning after the surgery, in front of the mirror, her new ta ta’s are unveiled.

One first notices the stitches, huge wire loops attaching the nipples to the skin of her breast, and probably to the flesh underneath. 

Her nipples had been removed, allowing each of the two gel bags to be inserted through the openings made by the removal of the nipples.  The gel bags were placed under the muscle.  No incisions are visible, as the only cuts made were around the edge of each nipple. 

One then notices the unchanging form of the breasts.  They don’t move.  They just stand up.  A natural breast would droop, with more of a teardrop shape.  To me, the cleavage is too wide. 

But she loves them!!!

She is now a 32 D instead of a 32 C.

 

Returning to our conversation which occurred two days after surgery, she says:

“They’re like Katyuska’s, aren’t they?”

I am just floored!  What young American girl knows what weapons her country used in War?  But a daughter of the Russian Revolution does!!!

Katyusha multiple rocket launchers are typically seen with their rockets straight and aimed directly away from their support.  I ask her if she means that her tits now stand up?  She replies:

“That’s part of it!” 

So I look up Katyuska’s to see what she’s talking about!  Their description just might be applied to her new ta ta’s!

“able to deliver a devastating impact in a short period of time”

“able to deliver a blow and then move on quickly”

“extremely effective in devastating an area (or perhaps a strip club?) and feared by the enemy (or other dancers?)”

“create a shock effect”

Yup!  She’s gotta set of Katyuska’s!

There is even a romantic component to the name of this weapon.

Red Army troops adopted the nickname from Mikhail Isakovsky’s popular wartime song, “Katyusha”, about a girl longing for her absent beloved, who is away performing military service

Also, Katyusha (Катюша) is the Russian equivalent of “Katie”, an endearing diminutive form of the name Katherine. 

Katherine is the name of the first Russian dancer who devastated me.  I was with her two years.  It is still hard to write any stories about her.

Katherine called me Mishenka.  I loved it.  I believe it means something like “her little boy Mike whom she loves”.

At least I hope that’s what it meant.

Anastasia is locked in a bitter child custody battle with her ex-husband.  She now is allowed to visit her daughter only for three hours on Saturday afternoons.

She’s been pretty much off her feet the week after surgery.  Three hours on her feet chasing her young daughter Saturday afternoon wears her down.  The antibiotics and pain killers are compounding her fatigue.

She calls and wants me to take care of her Saturday evening.  I can’t.  I’m spending the evening with Mika.

Unfortunately, just five days after surgery, that Saturday evening,  she collapses in her home from the pain killers kicking in and from exhaustion, injuring her jaw and right breast.  I feel guilty for not being with her.

She awakens in a pool of her own blood and is taken to the emergency room.  She is stitched up, but emergency plastic surgery must be scheduled for two days later. 

That surgery involves re-doing all the stitches in both breasts, and knocks the hell out of her, as does the unexpected second bill.

Just before the second surgery (the emergency surgery), she tells the surgeon that she wants to look like a “virgin”.  Both the surgeon and I wonder what the hell she’s talking about.  Anastasia is so hot that the ”virgin” look must have left her a number of years ago! 

It turns out that she wants her nipples to be smaller, so the surgeon does agree to decrease their diameter.  She thinks virgins have smaller nipples, as she claims that nipples increase in size due to breastfeeding.

A month after the second surgery, a stitch pokes through the skin of one breast, leading her to fear a third surgery.  After a weekend of her worrying, the plastic surgeon is able to pull it out without surgery.

The verdict?

She loves them!

She feels she may need surgery in a year to correct the left breast hanging a little too much to the left and pointing a little to the left. 

She feels she needs some sort of cosmetic surgery to correct the marks left by the stitches on both nipples.

Yes, she thinks she needs two more surgeries.  Neither were anticipated when she made the decision to buy new ta ta’s.

She hasn’t been dating for a few months, as she was uncomfortable removing her bra for romance with a new partner.  Her new self-confidence allows her to now date a great deal, even though romance seems to be out of question for a few more weeks.

In her bikini, she feels she now causes quite a stir in her health club’s swimming pool and sauna. 

Before the surgery, I thought she was always stunning and always caused a stir wherever she went.  My friends thought she was a 10!

My verdict?

To me, with a bra on, she was better BEFORE the surgery.  There was nothing as beautiful as those huge natural ta ta’s spilling out of a push-up bra.  They moved!  They were alive!  They were mesmerizing!  You could touch them!

With the bra off, her breasts no longer droop, or move in any way.  The things do look man-made and not natural.

I never tell her that.  I just tell her how beautiful she is.

Anastasia

Photo is “More of Liz” from universalphoto on Flickr.com

Written March 23, 2007 

Anastasia has a beautiful, melodious voice, with a feminine, romantic Russian accent. What she lacks in spoken English is quickly forgotten when her body does the talking. However, her written English needs some improvement.

I prepare her written statements to the Judge in her never-ending child custody case, as she now represents herself without benefit of attorney.

For some reason, she thinks a child custody case is like a murder trial. She must be shown to be guilty beyond a reasonable doubt; otherwise, she gets to keep the kid.

She lies to her own lawyer (when she had one) and to the Judge. When questioned by her ex-husband’s attorneys, she lies even more, and digs herself in deeper. She refuses to admit that she is a dancer, a legal profession in Illinois, and refuses to tell the Court anything about how she earns her living, except a pack of lies.

As the Court couldn’t believe a word she said, they awarded custody to her scumbag of an ex-husband. She’s hurt and shocked and is still fighting for the kid, in spite of her allergy to the truth.

As she’s sitting across from me, I am translating into written English her new charges against her ex-husband. I am dating Mika at the time, and I sense she is upset that I stopped financial aid to herself some time ago, but appear to be helping Mika.

Anastasia is looking stunning, and her new, store-bought ta ta’s fill out her blouse nicely.

She looks at her left breast and, with her right hand, pulls it out of her bra and states:

“Why do men never notice the scar?”

She’s referring to the scar across her nipple left by a stitch. She’s staring at the nipple in order to direct my gaze to it.

I realize she is trying to control the situation, and I refuse to look. I say:

“How many guys have seen that scar?”

“Two” is the reply.

She knows that pisses me off even though we no longer date. I feel like a client in a strip club and she’s trying to get control. I thought we finished that relationship long ago.

Coming back from the rest room, she has pulled her pants up, but not yet zipped them.

“Mishka, do you like my new underwear from Victoria Secret?”

Trying to stay focused on the presentation to the Judge so as not to give her control, I take just a quick glance and see that she is wearing a black, lacy thong. I tell her that it’s nice. I am pleased that the view didn’t affect me.

With a big smile, she says she wants me to take her to Europe. I admit that I do like that idea. She’s fun to travel with. I took her to Florida a year ago and had a great time.  Russian girls are smart and love Europe.  Anywhere she picks will be great!

Well, almost anywhere.

“Where in Europe do you want to go, honey?”

With a big smile, she replies:

“Vilnius. I want to go to Vilnius!”

“Dammit!!! You just want me to take you to see Iges!!!” Iges is her Lithuanian boyfriend.

“But Mishka, I’ll only be with him a couple of days, and the rest of the time I’ll travel with you! And the Lithuanian girls will love you!!!”

Yeah! Right!

What is this about? Does she really want to go to Vilnius? Is she just trying to gain control? Is she just trying to piss me off?

I believe the answer is “yes” to all three questions.

We will not be traveling together this year.

As she departs, she insists that I take her to see the Eifman Ballet on March 25. I love the idea, as Russian ballet is possibly the most beautiful thing on this planet.

The Eifman Ballet of Saint-Petersburg

In the meantime, she meets a new Lithuanian. She describes him as a young hardbody without a brain and with little income. He’s only average in bed, but she loves to just look at him. At age 29, he’s six years younger than she is.

I don’t mind.  I happen to understand her entrancement with a physically perfect specimen of the opposite sex.  None of these poor guys last very long with her anyway and, when they do leave her, they leave broke.  Sometimes, even their spirits are broken.

Weeks pass, and we maintain our normal phone relationship.  Then she calls.

“Mishka, do you want me to be happy?”

Dammit, I wonder what BS is coming next.

“I want to go to the Eifman with the new Mr. Wonderful instead of with you.”

I fill with rage.  I remember all the Sunday afternoons she’s blown me off.  I remember her cancelling Thanksgiving dinner just the day before Thanksgiving.  I wanna kill. 

I explode, tell her she cannot break dates when something better comes along, and tell her to “Go F__k Yourself”.

She continues to call about once a week and I still refuse to take the call.  I’m still pissed.

The Eifman is this Sunday. I may go alone. I’m taking Jill and Gia to the Goodman Theater Saturday evening. Perhaps I’ll take Jill to the Eifman on Sunday. Let’s see how Saturday goes.  (See “Comments” below for the events of Saturday evening.)

I do wonder about continuing the Anastasia relationship. She is fabulous fun when we do go out, but the disrespect is getting to me. 

I must confess that, after a breakup of seven weeks, I really miss Mika.  She touched me to my core, but it obviously wasn’t mutual. 

The Eifman Ballet of Saint-Petersburg