Russian London and the ‘golden children’ generation

I never resisted temptation because I have found that things that are bad for me do not temp me.

George Bernard Shaw

I adore visiting London. It is the city where contemporaneity blends in with old-fashioned traditions of five o’clock tea and aristocratic manners. There is no other place on earth where people could observe all the best of the booming economy of modern times and ancient history of kings and queens. There is so much to see and to do in this wonderful city and I love it with all my heart. London is a city of history, old customs, yet a modern business centre and trendsetter for fashion and the latest fads. Old architecture, ancient cathedrals, museums and galleries sit alongside fancy boutiques, swish restaurants, theatres and an endless number of beautiful green parks. When I am in London, I try to visit as many art exhibitions and museums as possible and have dinner at one of the many restaurants that are among the best you can find anywhere in the world. Any Russian coming to London feels at first a fascination with distinguished exotically old traditions that were kept for generations, indicating the power, wisdom and stunning beauty of the British Empire. It is a combination of urban mix and royal dynastic history, a splash of first-class gourmet cuisine, and large amount of entertainment. It is a place bubbling with exciting life and city energy.

London nightlife has a huge variety of events and venues to choose from. It can satisfy anybody’s needs and meet the expectations of even the most spoilt and picky person. With numerous pubs providing traditional strong English ale, wine bars and trendy spots with cocktails and expensive champagne as a starting point for the evening, London’s social life extends on into the night with aristocratic parties, rave clubs and glamorous dance venues. London has everything that any person could desire. It is the city of high living standards and offers one a sophisticated lifestyle. No wonder many wealthy Russians choose London as their second home. New Russian oligarchs and other wealthy individuals have helped real estate prices soar and caused designer clothing and jewellery boutiques to increase stock levels. In the wake of a resurgent economy Russians have come to old London town’s establishment like a storm, with generous spending and buying of businesses including sports clubs like Chelsea football club. Rich Russian families invest in their offspring by sending them to the best English schools, buying them expensive cars, and giving them large expense accounts which allow them the freedom to express themselves in an extravagant manner. Such ‘golden children’ are lucky, but many are spoilt brats and they have turned into an arrogant and worthless generation who have everything but a drive for life and ambition. Their parents’ wealth has taken away the strength and eagerness to fight and achieve from them. I had the chance to closely observe these ‘golden children’s’ lifestyle when I went to London for a two-week business trip.

I met Maxim on an airplane when I accidently ended up in business class on my flight to London. I thought that I was finally lucky to have a cute travelling companion, as usually I end up on aeroplanes next to old men or crying children. I learned that Max was a twenty-eight-year-old student who was working on his MBA degree in London. He had a GQ cover style, nice manicure and slick haircut. I could not help noticing his designer coat from the latest collection and the most popular style of sneakers, Louis Vuitton travel bag and Swiss watch. Maxim represented modern Russian success wrapped up in the latest fashions.

Nothing makes the time to go faster on an aeroplane than exciting conversation and a good-looking travel companion next to you. We had an interesting discussion the entire flight about the differences and similarities between London and Moscow. Maxim had spent the last eight years living in London studying and spending his father’s money on entertainment and hobbies. I learned later that his father was a famous oil tycoon who was notorious for scandals and often appeared in Moscow tabloids and yellow press. Maxim proudly announced that he is a great example of an ‘everlasting student’. He didn’t care about work and studying was a good cover for not committing to any job or career. Surprisingly Maxim wasn’t snotty or capricious; rather he was very pleasant and engaging. When he offered to meet me one evening in London I was happy to accept the invitation to his ‘theatre party’. As we were landing I discovered that Maxim had a pocket mirror and a nail file. That man definitely paid a lot of attention to his looks. I’ve always been open-minded about the fashion scene and its new trends including the whole unisex movement thing, but I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions and assume Max was gay. There are plenty of men, like the English footballer David Beckham and many Hollywood actors, who spend a lot of time and invest a lot of money into their looks and style. They have manicures and facials; follow the latest designer collections and fashion trends, and keep up with or make the latest gossip and publicity. Such ‘metrosexuals’ are special men; distinct twenty-first century breeds who like spas, body treatments, shopping and glamour. These unisex men combine the best bits of the two genders, using their femininity to look better but still managing to stay masculine. Maxim reminded me of a typical metrosexual type and I stayed open-minded to his beauty obsession.

A few days later I met Maxim at his theatre party in a St Martin’s Lane hotel. Maxim introduced me to some of his friends and other people who were involved in the theatre business. I was excited about my first bohemian party in London and I enjoyed the trendy hotel atmosphere and wanted to discover more about the golden child. The hotel had one of the best bars in town and I tried to taste different masterpieces from one of the best bartenders in London. I discovered that Maxim did PR and party promotion and that he organised this get-together for one of his actor friends. It was one of Maxim’s hobbies to manage fancy events for rich Russians. He knew how to impress and he had good taste. Guests had a chance to snack on caviar, lobsters and other exotic appetisers washing down the food with Krug champagne.

After a few generous martinis I felt like flirting with Maxim, who looked gorgeous in his slim jeans and unbuttoned white shirt. He looked manly and feminine at the same time, smiling like an innocent child but speaking in a serious low tone. Once again he was acting like a male model, playfully raising his eyebrows and gently rubbing lip-gloss with the tip of his finger. Maxim was giving me attention and I was thrilled at the anticipation of a new dating experience. However, when I was chatting to one of Maxim’s friends, he mentioned an interesting detail about him. He was bisexual and had dated half of the men at the party. It should have been no surprise for a woman who lives in Moscow, a city of liberal sex, but I was lost for a moment and unable to react. I certainly liked Maxim and wanted to spend more time with him but I was feeling awkward thinking that my competition could be any one of his male friends. Still it was tempting to get to know Maxim better. I had nothing to lose expect a chance to experience a new type of relationship with a bisexual metrosexual. I thought that the best thing to do would be to go with the flow and not interfere with the natural course of events.

The next day Maxim invited me again to go out with his friends. We had dinner in the fancy Nobu restaurant and we all headed back to his apartment afterwards for a nightcap. Max’s place was in a fancy neighbourhood Kensington where he had a beautiful modern stylish flat: a gift from a generous loving father. While Maxim poured me a drink I reflected on the evening and looked around at his friends. Most of Maxim’s friends were the same: ‘everlasting students’ who didn’t really care about degrees and diplomas. Their future had been decided for them and they had enough spending money to enjoy life to the fullest. Many conversations were about new cars, recent trips to exotic destinations, latest D&G collections and rumours about their celebrity friends. I had a feeling that I was living somebody else’s life.

I had nothing in common with people whose world revolved around material things that they even didn’t have to earn money to pay for. I enjoyed their jokes and relaxed attitude, but it was a different world to mine where young people had everything and didn’t have to work like me for a living. They worshipped fashion, wasted time on partying and didn’t have to worry about saving the world. I didn’t judge them for being spoiled by their parents. Of course I questioned myself: how would I have turned out if I had all this money growing up? Would I ever have become a fighter or go-getter if I had a brand-new Mercedes delivered at my door for my sixteenth birthday? I guess everyone has a choice to become different in spite of a poor or rich background, because at the end of the day, surroundings make us what we are, but to discover our true self takes strength. Maxim was part of the golden child society but he seemed a more down-to-earth type of guy who was sensitive and more vulnerable than the others. He didn’t seem to have an emotion-proof thick skin. Since I had to work in the morning, I left the nightcap party earlier than anybody else. Maxim went downstairs with me to help hail a cab. Before I got into the car he kissed me and I responded to his kiss with tenderness. I wrapped my arms around his neck and devoted my emotions to the moment. We both left some unsaid words in the air and a magnetic tension that promised further romance.

Maxim made sure that we spent time alone the following night. We held hands and in a cozy twilight corner of Chapriani’s restaurant whispered words of affection to each other.

‘I really like you. You are so normal,’ said Maxim kissing me. I guess to be called normal was a compliment since his friends were from a different planet where the word ‘job’ didn’t exist.

‘I feel comfortable with you. I feel like I can tell you anything,’ Maxim whispered and played with my hair. His eyes were full of sincerity; they were full of warmth and gentleness. Maxim told me about his childhood, his dominant and demanding parents, his luxurious life in London and meaningless years of studying. I was now trusting Maxim and I felt comfortable telling him about my difficult beginning in Moscow and desperate attempts to find a job. Our life stories were completely different but we were attracted to each other.

We continued our discussion in his apartment on a couch in front of the fireplace. There was unexplainable connection between us mixing warm feelings of friendship and romantic cravings. I spent the night at his place and on my way to work the next morning, I tried imagining a future relationship with Max. Maxim had been a gentle and romantic lover last night. We spent hours watching the fire, kissing and drinking Baileys before he started to unbutton my shirt. I could feel that Maxim would not be direct. He preferred affection, foreplay and slow erotic touching. I assumed that his bisexual experiences affected his sexual behaviour. This new sexual experience brought new feelings to me and opened delicate senses within my inner self. Maxim taught me to listen to your partner’s breathing, be slow and make smooth caressing movements and learn the tenderness of kissing.

I enjoyed my time with Maxim. He showed me a different London, which I hadn’t seen before. It was a Russian London where the power of money played a big role. We spent the next few days going out to football matches, auctions, special parties and bar openings where Russians could show off their wealth and status. We both felt that our unobtrusive friendship grew into something more and stronger than our sexual attraction. I knew that Maxim would never leave this world of careless golden youth and he realised that I would never stop being a life-survivor. We mutually respected each other’s choices and enjoyed the moments of our acquaintance.

When I went back to Moscow I knew it was only a matter of time before we eventually stopped communicating. We were both busy with our usual routines, Maxim had to help his friends organise fancy parties and I had to write a business plan for one of my projects. It seemed like there was a dividing line between golden children and the life-fighters, keeping the balance of diversity.

6. Romance and AIDS

Every human being is the author of his own health or disease.

Buddha

Unfortunately, in the twenty-first century beautiful romantic words like passion and love exist next to ugly and scary words: chlamydia and HIV. The price of a broken heart could be a lot higher than some people think, for example it could be a much shorter life than expected. If people found a cure for syphilis in twentieth century, it might take another century to find a cure for AIDS.

Statistics are scary but as with any truth, sooner or later everybody has to face it and recognise it. The numbers of HIV-infected people are horrendous and the outlook of Russia’s future isn’t bright with this deadly disease quickly spreading. Russia has become a new epicentre in the global HIV/AIDS pandemic with the highest rates of new infection in large cities like Moscow and St Petersburg. If, at the end of 2005, it was reported that almost one million people were living with HIV, then the real number could be anything up to twice as much. Government officials finally came out and stated that ‘the growth of AIDS has gone beyond a medical problem, and has become an issue of strategic, social and economic security of the country’, but still the numbers of new infection are rising. Epidemiologists warn that up to 8 million Russians – over 10 percent of the adult population – could be infected by 2010, in worst-case scenarios. HIV transmission in Russia has been concentrated within a number of high-risk populations, among which there is considerable overlap: injecting drug-users, sex workers, prisoners, homosexuals and migrant workers, especially those from central Asia. And the future of Russia's HIV/AIDS epidemic depends on the degree to which these high-risk groups serve as ‘bridge populations’ for transmitting the virus to the heterosexual, non-drug-using population. Notable indicators that this shift is already underway include the rapid rise in curable sexually transmitted infections in the general population and the growing rate of new HIV infections among women over the last two years. In light of the dramatic rate of increase of HIV in recent years, the prognosis for the future development of the epidemic is grim. The total number of people living with HIV in Russia will certainly continue to increase for several years – even if effective prevention programmes were implemented today.

It always seemed to me that foreign organisations that fight against HIV infection are more concerned about Russia’s pandemic than Russians themselves. There is simply no education or enough precaution about consequences of unsafe sex. And of course there is a typical Russian behaviour, ‘avos’, which means ‘it will hopefully pass by me’. People are not scared of HIV because they don’t know about it. The government has never recognised that the catastrophe already has happened. If there is no problem, nobody needs a solution.

I was always responsible and thought about unwanted pregnancy and the possibility of contracting a sexually transmitted infection way before I decided to lose my virginity. I had conducted extensive research about birth control and the consequences of contracting an STI. The last thing any girl wants is the record of a past sexual experience leading to infertility or other health problems. And how do sterile, uncomfortable discussions about responsible sex fit in with romance? Every woman dreams of a perfect evening of pure love with her man. But should that perfect picture have a condom lying by the romantic candlelight? Why many people in the heat of the moment forget about such an important thing is bizarre? Perhaps people believe in the power of sexual chemistry and luck, but at the end of the day it leaves unprotected sex on the same level as gambling with their lives.

I have been desperately searching to find a balance between taking the right precautions and protecting my health since becoming sexually active. For me, one of the options to be able to have unprotected sex was for both partners to undergo a medical test. I didn’t want to throw my life away because of a physical attraction and surging hormones.

Sex comes with responsibilities. I know that I live in the century of challenged romance because all a sudden, sex is associated with danger. I remember one experience from a wild night out at a summer club party outside the city, a few months after I moved to Moscow. I had made new friends who shared a mutual passion for adventure and a partying lifestyle. We had come to this party to relax, to dance, to drink fancy cocktails and celebrate our youth with crazy moments. Flashing decorations, a fancy decorated bar, delicious cocktails and many good-looking men were waiting for us.

At some point in life everybody has to go through the party phase, usually in their early 20s. It becomes almost mandatory to explore all the opportunities of that nightlife can offer: dancing till 5 a.m, kissing strangers in dark corners and getting drunk in the company of like-minded fiends. And at twenty-one I was up there enjoying my ‘party time’.

I remember how the summer pool party on Rublevskoe Shosse turned into great dance spin. The night was young and I gave my body away to the music, dissolving in the lyrics of warm summer tunes. I heard that the guy who had thrown the party was a spoiled brat who had invited half of Moscow to show off with Cristal champagne and lobster snacks just to celebrate his graduation from Oxford. People were cheering to the drunken atmosphere of the night, snuggling and kissing in public, throwing up on each other and peeing in the pool. It was the madness of teenager-hood in a non-stop Russian-style royal ball, showing how manners mean nothing and money was everything.

I was in a perfect state of mind, surrounded by laughing friends, a crowd of stylish people and laser rays of disco lights. Suddenly, in the buzz of my spinning world I saw a young man dancing next to me. I saw him reaching for me, gently touching my waist and pulled me towards him. He was a handsome brunette with sparkling eyes and sensitive full lips. Later I realised that it was the spoiled brat, the famous host of the party, the successful Oxford graduate. I could feel his hot breath on my neck and immediately found myself responding to him. We didn’t need words. The music was saying everything for us. Our bodies naturally kept flowing to the rhythm of the night and I knew that my new dance partner could easily be upgraded to a lover. Three cocktails and two hours of dancing later, my sexy acquaintance pushed all the right buttons to get me into bed. He was an excellent kisser and a natural born player who knew how to make a girl horny. He teased me by gently stroking my body and kissing the erogenous area around my neck. Loud music infused with our romantic mood and he led me to a corner of a bathroom where my passion kept rising to boiling level. My new friend and lover-to-be was as young and as crazy as I was. We were perfect because in this moment we wanted the same thing. We slid up against the cold marble wall, covering each other with hot kisses and coming to the point when we both were ready to go all the way. I’d never had sex in the bathroom and in a way I was eager to explore this new territory. It added spice to the situation and I was ready to experience such passion with my hot body pressed against cold bathroom walls.

When my sexy man went to third base by pulling down my underwear, I suddenly realised that he wasn’t going to put a condom on and I panicked. I shouted at him, although he showed no sign of understanding: ‘Where is the protection?’ He replied with calm and sweet tone: ‘Don’t worry baby, I will pull it out just before I come.’ My level of passion suddenly cooled: ‘No, no, no. It’s crazy and absolutely irresponsible. We have to have protection.’ Neither of us had a condom, nor were there condom-dispensing machines in the bathroom.

It left us with two choices: to go on stage and announce that we needed a condom, and ask if anybody had one with them, or to go on and have unprotected sex. I chose a completely different option. Instead, I left my unsuccessful lover disappointed in the bathroom with his pants down. My subconscious mind told me that the few minutes of quick sex could ruin things for a much longer time.

This party had a happy ending. I knew that I was safe. I kept asking myself: how far would I go for a few minutes of passion? In that moment, I realized: not far at all. I wouldn’t go anywhere without a condom.

12. Material girl

If you want to feel rich, just count the things you have that money can't buy.

Proverb

When it comes to talking about money and luxury, I always for some reason associate it with the word ‘Moscow’. It is in many ways a typical city with both a spoiled rich crowd and homeless people, unlimited choices of luxurious things and entertainment, and dirty streets filled with prostitutes; and many other contrasts on top of other contrasts. Beautiful and ugly, expensive and cheap coexist on the streets of Moscow and deals with everyday craziness in its restaurants, traffic jams and society events. When people visit or move from other Russian towns and villages to Moscow, they go through a long adaptation period trying to understand why and how they missed all the dramatic changes that had happened to their glamorous Russian capital. The city turned almost overnight into the ‘it’ spot of eastern Europe where Moët et Chandon champagne is not a luxury any more. Moscow’s centre could impress anybody: fancy designer boutiques, gourmet restaurants, newly built hotels with world-known names, Ferraris and Lamborghinis cruising around the Garden Ring.

When I moved to Moscow, as would with any other woman who didn’t have access to luxury from childhood and didn’t know how to spell Prada, I couldn’t resist the temptations of visiting every shopping mall in the city. I would walk by expensive boutiques and stare at the window of Sergio Rossi’s for as long as I could without appearing weird to the salespeople in a shop. I would buy Vogue and read it from cover to cover dreaming about owning designer dresses and stylish handbags. I guess I was a material girl who loved chic shoes, stylish skirts and gorgeous fabrics with famous labels all over them. I knew that one day I would make enough money to afford such things but for now I was relegated to enjoying magazines showing off the latest collections. People are right when they say that if you try something once – something better than what you are used to – then it is hard to go back to old things. And it so happened to me when I bought my first pair of Dior shoes. I spent almost all my salary on the shoes and barely had enough to pay for my rent leaving me with no spending money for a month. I survived because Dior kept me happier than anything. My obsession with material things was my motivation for making more money and accelerating my career. I knew what I wanted and I couldn’t wait to get it. Once I almost went the wrong way looking for a shortcut to luxury. On one of my shopping trips to a mall I met a handsome photographer, Boris. He came up to me when I was standing by a Gucci shop window hypnotised by a stunning designer dress. I worshipped Tom Ford and his latest collection was fabulous, leaving me speechless and breathless. I didn’t hear Boris’s comment when he politely tried to make conversation with me. I only saw him when I suddenly noticed his reflection in the window. ‘You really like that dress?’ I gave him a look like he was stupid. ‘What do you think? It is a work of art!’ He smiled and it was a genuinely nice smile. I warmed towards this stranger who had just interrupted my Saturday ritual of looking at flowing gowns and shining diamond necklaces. We made easy conversation about the latest Gucci trends and ended up in a coffee shop chatting about photographers and photographs. Soon I learned that Boris had spotted me in the mall and he was interested in offering me a professional photo shoot for my private collection. Boris had just opened up a studio and his business hadn’t taken off as he had expected. He promised to give me a huge discount and work with all his heart on my portfolio. I have to admit that I’ve always wanted to be in the spotlight, see camera flashes, and feel famous like a model for a few hours. I was easily persuaded to participate in a little photo-shooting adventure.

Boris’s studio was filled with professional lights, computers and decorations for background scenery changes. It was a dream experience to be able to transform into a photograph and appear as a prettier, more sophisticated, more confident woman. I had a glass of cheap wine since Boris saw how nervous and tense I was and insisted that alcohol does help all models feel braver and more relaxed at the same time. I had another glass of wine and I could feel the adrenaline rush as I struck the first pose. After a few hours I was exhausted. The stylist kept changing my make up and hair; Boris was demanding to get the right angle of light and shadow and I was just about ready to give up. Finally, I could appreciate a model’s job. It is not that easy to be a frozen statue for hours without breathing or being allowed to blink your eyes. When it was over I knew that I would never do it again. Standing under hot lamps all day long and sitting there without saying a thing wasn’t for me.

But my hard work paid off when I picked up the photographs a week later and a pleasant shock went through my proud body. Boris was a fantastic photographer with great talent and potential. I looked better than Kate Moss in my white bikini. ‘Wow!’ I couldn’t say anything else. I didn’t realise before that I was that photogenic. Boris seemed to read my mind: ‘You are very photogenic, you know. You look amazing in these pictures. Well, you are more beautiful in real life.’

‘This is the line to pick up any girl. Are you flirting with me Boris?’

‘No, actually I have a proposal for you.’

‘I hope it’s not a multi-million dollar contract from a modelling agency.’ I smiled at him with irony. ‘Because, you know, it’s not for me. It is exhausting to be a model.’

Boris pulled me closer and said it seriously without joking tone in his voice: ‘I know many rich men who will pay you a lot of money for just a short amount of private time with them.’ I stood there without any immediate response trying to digest what he just said.

‘Private time?’ was all I could blurt out.

‘Yeah, you know. Pleasant time.’

‘Are you a pimp?’ I asked him with rising anger. Boris grabbed my shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes.

‘You are young and beautiful. It is easy money. Lots of money. My clients are very respectable businessmen; they don’t have time for romances and dates. They need short breaks, pleasant breaks… in bed. They could pay up to $10k in hour if they really like you. You would be stupid not at least try it once. Believe me, all the girls I have offered this to have already bought cars; I am not talking only about Gucci dresses.’

I couldn’t believe that Boris was trying to recruit me to become a prostitute. Now it became clear to me what he was doing in the mall. He was scouting for girls like me who were obsessed with luxurious things but couldn’t afford to buy them. Boris kept trying to convince me by showing me some photographs of other girls he had recruited. ‘Look, they don’t have what you have. You have charisma and sexuality bursting out of you. I know you would be very popular.’ My adventure had gone from modelling to élite prostitution. Boris was a professional brainwasher; he glorified the prostitute’s job and threw impressive numbers at my face. I could see dollar signs in his eyes brighter than his camera flash.

I thought for a brief moment about Boris’s offer. It was more than tempting because money is money, and I’ve never had easy money. But than I remembered an old Russian saying: ‘There is no free cheese in a mouse trap.’ I’ve heard before about élite prostitution, special closed clubs and private mansions for expensive sex breaks for Russian oligarchs. But I would never ever sell my body for sex. For a few days after my conversation with Boris I had a real battle going on inside of me where my pride and morals were on the verge of collapse against greed and curiosity for such easy money. I decided to test myself to see if I could become a prostitute. I knew what I was doing and I wanted to see how material I was. Did I want that Gucci dress so badly that I could sleep with a guy who maybe is not even my type, who would use me just like an object, pay me money and leave? How far could I go to compromise my pride? I had respected myself all my life because I never did anything against my morals.

I agreed to meet one of Boris’s clients in a restaurant. When I saw a handsome young man appear of about thirty years of age, I was surprised that this man was having to pay for sex. We greeted each other and I ordered a drink. I couldn’t relax; my arms and legs were shaking. I kept looking at the man across from me trying to imagine how he would pay me after sex. Under other circumstances – if we had met at a party and liked each other – I would definitely have had sex with him for free. He was charming and a bit shy but I could tell he was interesting and intelligent. He kept answering his five cell phones the whole time I was having my drink. Maybe that was why he couldn’t have a normal relationship – because he already had a relationship with his phones. I smiled at my own thought. I got up and I left because I was absolutely sure that this was not the way for me to make money. No matter how material I was I would never step all over my pride. The Gucci dress could wait. I knew that eventually I would buy it but I would keep the most precious things of all, my pride and morals, intact. I would decide who I would sleep with.

4. How I ended up in Moscow

Happiness is not to be found in knowledge, but in the acquisition of knowledge.

Edgar Allen Poe

Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened to me if I hadn’t come to Moscow after the 1998 debt crisis. I doubt if my life would have been as exciting and filled with adventures as it was. But Moscow was love at first sight for me. I felt Moscow take away an aching pain and fill a hunger inside of me. It became my home, my shelter, my friend and my source of inspiration. I have never regretted that I chose Moscow over staying in the USA.

I grew up in eastern Siberia in a small suburban town near the city of Irkutsk, just a few kilometres away from Lake Baikal, known for being the deepest freshwater lake in the world. Apart from the beautiful natural surroundings, a few Soviet industrial sites, and the family summer gardening trips I remember well, there was nothing special or different to keep me in my hometown. My parents were ordinary people who worked at ordinary local factories and they tried to provide my younger sister and me with the best that they could. I was a happy child and have no complaints about my childhood, other than the times when I was taken to the forest to pick mushrooms and wild berries. I didn’t like gardening and hated spending hot summer days cultivating potatoes or harvesting vegetables; I preferred studying and reading. I liked the arts and anything that fed my creative imagination. I wrote silly poems and fairytales, drawing and painting, trying to express my young ideas but always craving more knowledge that would disclose the mysteries of life to me. I was obsessed with travel books, pictures of different cities and foreign languages. When I was about ten years of age I knew that my hometown was too small for me. I wanted to travel and explore the world.

In my early teens I remember I was not like most of my school friends, spending time sneaking out of the house and dating guys. I used to go out from time to time to a local disco but other than that I wasn’t interested in the usual teenage boy things. I was a member of a local theatre society and a poetry club, and was responsible for the high school newspaper and a charity fund. I participated in all imaginable contests and scholastic meetings, hoping that it could help me to grow and be able to move to another yet-unknown place to study after high school. My efforts paid off: I won a one-year student exchange trip and college scholarship to the USA, where I spent four years all together.

I still consider my American experience as the foundation of my independence, courage and strength. I went alone to a new country and was away from home for the first time, at the age of sixteen. I had to face a culture shock, a different style of life, new people and all its challenges. My host family in the USA was not exactly the best representative of American society either. I ended up in North Carolina on a small farm with a family that took in exchange students purely for financial reasons. My attempts to change the family were not successful and I had to spend a year with people who didn’t care about me as a person. In a strange home I had to accept that these experiences were good lessons for me; the language barrier, a feeling of being lost and forgotten, emptiness, and feelings of loneliness forced me to search for solutions. It helped me to become stronger, more adaptable to stressful situations and cold-blooded to emotional breakdowns. As a seventeen-year-old I learned a lesson that taught me how to understand people’s indifference, narrow-mindedness, ignorance and to find a way to deal with it without getting depressed or upset. It also showed me how to appreciate kindness and care. You can truly appreciate something only when you can compare. I’ve also met the kindest and nicest people in North Carolina who were hospitable, caring and supportive. I still remember those families who helped me to go through a difficult cultural adaptation period. They made a big difference in my life by helping me to get to know the American culture and traditions. I learned to love America despite the hard times the first year put me through as an exchange student.

I received two scholarships for my drawing skills and – believe it or not – dancing on a cheerleading squad in a nearby college. When I look back it is some contrast but I suppose that is what America is all about. I picked a practical major, however, and studied marketing. My college days were really fun and I have only good memories of that time. I made many friends, who I could proudly call ‘lifetime’ friends, and when I graduated in 1998, I had to make a very important decision and answer the question – what to do next?

I was under pressure from my parents who wanted me to stay in America and get a green card. Russia was just slowly starting to recover from the 1998 financial default and my future in my parents’ eyes wasn’t going to be too bright in Russia. After college, I spent a month at a friend’s house trying to figure out what my work options would be in America, should I stay. I had to get a special work permit before I could look for any jobs. In the meantime, I tried to make a few extra dollars by cleaning neighbours’ houses and washing cars. Of course, as any girl would be who keeps neatly manicured nails, reads fashion magazines, and dreams about a successful career, I was devastated to be simply picking up laundry for a retired couple. But then an option to come back to my hometown near Irkutsk wasn’t on my list either.

Time was passing by and after a month of dithering and seeing no great plan materialise that would make me an example of the great American dream, I bought a ticket home. I felt that if I reunited with my family and got in touch with my roots, I might be able to paint a better picture of my future.

My parents’ home was a place that I could always count on for comfort and love. My parents always supported my ideas and hobbies and were happy to help me to go to the states. But sometimes their advice would be narrowly based on their experiences and they would suggest things I wasn’t interested in or I didn’t feel right about. This time was a difficult moment in my life. My parents wanted me to go back to America, but I wanted to do what would be best for me, not what my parents thought would be best for them. I always appreciated their advice and life experience but I had to listen to my own heart and choose my own road, even if that road would be longer and harder. I was very confused back then and couldn’t concentrate on making any future plans. Everything was mixed into a big pile of options and advice from parents, relatives and friends.

One morning I got up and said to my parents that I was going to Moscow and would try finding a job there. Nobody supported the idea but I was stubborn and I knew that I would go there no matter what. At that time Moscow seemed to me a distant, grey giant city with a lot of challenges but with interesting opportunities. Something deep inside was telling me to go there and give it a chance. I was now twenty years old and bubbling with energy and naïve ideas. And I had to learn the hard way that it isn’t easy to start a life in Moscow if you go there with no money in your pocket, no connections or job offers. I had $300 to find an apartment, to buy clothes for the coming long winter and to survive the first months without a job.

If anybody has started life in a city of contrasts like Moscow as I did, they will know how angry and cruel the city can be. Moscow does not welcome newcomers. It does everything to scare them away, to make them dislike the city and hate the people who live there. When I decided to stay in Moscow I had no idea how hard it would be to fight for my right to exist in the Russian capital, even as a Russian.

Moscow doesn’t like provincial, small-town mentality and if you don’t have a Moscow registration stamp in your passport you will be treated like a second-class citizen in your own country. Moscow authorities take every step they can to protect the capital from a growing illegal immigrant population and crime. But they don’t protect people from discrimination, sexism, humiliation or harassment.

In the late fall of 1998 I went through a number of job interviews and I had to face many rejections, refusals and interview failures because of my Siberian background. I didn’t have any work experience but even if I was qualified for a job and my registration didn’t matter, I was still rejected because I was either female or because I didn’t have blonde hair and long legs. But I wasn’t ready to give up after two months of rejection. I knew that the city was testing me. I had to earn its trust and show my strength. I could feel that if I loved the city with all my heart it will love me back. Then suddenly I got a temporary job as a sales manager at IT communications company, before I got a ‘real’ job offer to work as an interpreter at the NTV channel. I rented my first apartment in a southern part of Moscow in what is a typical drab concrete building, on the eleventh floor. This became my home for the next four years. I didn’t mind living there because I knew I had to start somewhere.

Around that time, I started dating Andrey. I met him just a few days before I moved into my new apartment; new friends at a party introduced us. Andrey doesn’t deserve a separate chapter but he certainly was my first official boyfriend in Moscow and I remember how kind and sweet he was to me. He was a guy who could provide calm stability and a plain and peaceful dating experience. Andrey was a bit older than me but he didn’t have any ambitions. I knew Andrey was way below my league because he didn’t like to dream, to fight for better life or to aspire. We both new that he was an intermediate step in my life, a man who was there for me when I was alone in a huge city, and a little bit scared at starting this new grown-up life. I appreciated his support.

We were both relatively inexperienced lovers; the sex kept us together until we naturally drifted apart. This is when I first realised that it doesn’t matter how good the sex is, if your partner is not satisfying you on an intellectual level then a relationship doesn’t stand a chance. We had good chemistry in bed and one thing about his body turned me on in particular: his big, round, perfectly shaped balls. I liked the way they looked and felt in my hands. I also enjoyed it when during sex they brushed up against me creating additional excitement to my sensitive parts. However, we were both quite modest and shy with each other in our unpractised way.

The upcoming new year of 1999 brought me more confidence and energy. In a renewed burst I felt as if nothing could stop me from achieving my dreams, not even my mother’s lingering disbelief in my success and her assumptions about how I would never be able to build a life in Moscow. She came to visit me for a few days after the new year and the minute she saw me she burst into tears. I couldn’t afford decent clothing or shoes and definitely didn’t have extra money to take her out. My apartment was half-empty and the old furniture made the place look dull. She begged me to come back home with her and promised to help me with a job and housing. I couldn’t take my mother’s offer even if I was interested. I had fallen in love with Moscow and I knew that one day I would be loved in return. It was the place where I could have freedom and enough space to realise my ambitions. There was nothing that could change my mind.

I broke up with Andrey when I found another job as a temporary assistant at MovieTechno. It happened naturally because we both realised that besides reasonably good sex, we didn’t have anything in common. Andrey was a down-to-earth person who wanted to spend weekends with his friends drinking vodka in the kitchen and fishing on a lake during vacations. I was more outgoing and I had different standards and expectations. I was looking for new opportunities, trying not only to find a better-paid job but a company where I could learn more commercial aspects of business. I felt that I would be good in any area that required good communications, business development or marketing. It was with these thoughts that I ended up in a company that supplied movie theatre equipment.

When I started this new job, Andrey and I were spending less and less time together. I had enrolled into the Moscow Economics University, which took me further away from Andrey. I wanted to learn more about Russian economics and the business world. I saw education as a crucial factor in success and a necessity if I was to get better job offers. My whole life so far had been a continuous education and I perceived knowledge as a source of power and a weapon for survival. It turned out to be one of the best investments I ever made to increase my value.

My first year in Moscow had gone quickly. I started dating Dmitry shortly after Andrey, and after these first two relationships, I decided to stay single for a while and got to know Moscow more. Although I spent a lot of my time concentrating on work and studying I still managed to find a balance where I could enjoy the city. The rhythm of the city was fast moving and it sometimes felt like high-voltage charged air was pushing me to keep discovering what the city had to offer: exhibitions, fairs, art galleries, old cathedrals, cinemas. I was a little dot in the ocean of an urban landscape making my way through ups and downs, obstacles and new fortunes that opened and closed in front of me. I found new ways of surviving in this city of contrasts. I inhaled Moscow life with contagious love for new adventures and had now learned and accepted the rules the city had set. I had started to unveil my sexuality at the same time as I had tried to gain the city’s devotion. I spent time dreaming, wishing and masturbating to the beat of Moscow’s challenges.

3. Moscow is the city of contrasts

The universe is change; our life is what out thoughts makes it.

Marcus Aurelius Antonius

Moscow is the capital city of Russia, but it is not ‘Russia’. It is a mixture of the wild west, European urban glamour combining new trends with fast economic growth, and old Russian traditions. Many Russians call Moscow ‘another planet’ or ‘the centre of all’. ‘Moscow is not merely Russia’s capital. It is a treasure chest. The city is home to four-fifths of the country’s national wealth. It boasts more billionaires than New York or London. Everything and everyone is here: banks, businesses, trade’ (Newsweek International Edition, 2005). The city has changed dramatically starting with Yeltsin’s regime, which moved Moscow from its past bleak, dark image with heavy, massive Soviet architecture, to a fast-growing city leading Russia’s future with rising skyscrapers in the new business district and élite fashionable houses in the centre. Bureaucracy and corruption walk in parallel with poverty, changing reforms, rapidly opening fancy restaurants, fashion stores and high inflation.

The city is set in four rings: the outer MKAD, the inner Garden Ring, the middle ring road (known as the Third Ring) and the central Boulevard Ring. The rings emphasise the lines between poor neighbourhoods and the new generation of successful and rich Russians. The best known, the Garden Ring, goes around the inner centre of Moscow where the most expensive real estate prices in the world coexist with ancient brick alleys, heritage museums, the Bolshoi Theatre, and homeless men and women in subways.

Heading west of Moscow, from its outer MKAD, is Rublevskoe Shosse. This road crosses the so-called Russian Beverly Hills and is set in beautiful countryside. It represents power to Russians and a new wave of luxury living. It is a far cry from the ‘sleeping areas’ of the desperate Middle Ring neighbourhoods where the jungle of high-storey concrete buildings and dismantled old houses are sadly reflected in brown muddy puddles. Any picture of Moscow would not be complete without a Red Square tour, the Pushkin restaurant with its sophisticated Russian cuisine, and – of course – the prostitutes that line up in dark corners in the old centre. Gasprom commercials are splashed around the city, among the posh nightlife and very expensive hotels. Moscow is a wild and ambitious business arena offering many opportunities. It is the cultural centre, political battlefield and also the financial brain of Russia. People who come here to visit or to live have only two choices: to fall in love with the city or to hate it. There is no compromise and Moscow doesn’t accept everybody. You have to play by the city’s rules to become a part of it. Moscow is a monster with a carrot and a stick, which constantly tests you, your strength and abilities, before it gives you its love and permits you to stay. It is a city of extreme contrasts, a cruel, sophisticated place with a new generation of businessmen and the headquarters of rising Russia. Moscow is a place of change with lots of promising developments and potential in art, business and commerce.

Moscow’s ‘sign’ on a map has not changed since ancient times. It is still marked as a red star representing a Russian capital in eastern Europe and Moscow still cherishes its long history since its founding in 1147. But today’s Moscow plays an important role in international affairs and the trading world in supplying a global economy with natural resources. Nothing, it seems, can stop the city from becoming a powerful business and political centre: not the 1917 revolution, not the seventy years of brainwashing and attempting to build communism, not the ‘perestroika’ or unstable political situation of the 90s. Instead, Moscow seems to have absorbed all the good and bad from its history and is now sucking up new, innovative and progressive ideas from developed countries like a sponge, as fast as possible. The leftovers of the slowly disappearing attempt to build socialism, alongside dynamic capitalist growth, makes the city a unique place for observing modern Moscow.

The big global demand for natural resources has created a new generation of wealthy and ambitious people who have contributed to Moscow’s current extravagant image and Russian political and cultural influence in the world. Moscow residents demonstrate knowledge of Pomerol wines, present MBA degrees from the best universities in Europe and travel to distinguished destinations. Talented Russian artists are conquering world-famous opera and ballet stages; tennis players are in the spotlight, winning championships around the world; entrepreneur businessmen are buying football clubs overseas; and scientists are once again being recognised at international level. Capricious behaviour, exotic cravings and unusual passions for everything expensive, custom-made and luxurious, have forced the city to open designer boutiques, Ferrari and Lamborghini dealerships, fancy casinos, extravagant new restaurants and cutting-edge movie theatres.

There are a number of common coffee spots and simple chain restaurants often situated next to limited-edition gourmet eateries. According to newspapers, the owner of the Turandot restaurant spent $50 million on designing and decorating a mini-version of the Palace of Versailles in the centre of Moscow. Magnificence and splendour are manifest in antique chandeliers, tapestries, golden decorations, and an endless number of details make the place an unforgettable restaurant/museum/gallery to visit. Foreign media are fascinated with the Russian boom: ‘Russia’s rich have been out in force doing what they do best – spending money conspicuously. Some of the world’s most luxurious brands and services worth $600 million were sold at Moscow’s Millionaire Fair over a single weekend.... Extravagance is in Russian blood…. People who were nobody a few years ago were buying diamond mobile phones for over a million dollars at the festival of luxury propaganda’ (The Times, 2006).

The parking lot near GQ Bar and Galleria restaurant, which are known for being the trendiest spots in Moscow’s nightlife, contains more fancy cars than the parking lot at Jimmy’z in Monte Carlo. Moscow never sleeps and people go to gyms, beauty salons and do business at every time of the day. ‘It’s 3 a.m. and people are awake. Some are getting groceries, others root canals. The economy has boomed -- and so have the 24-hour stores’ (Los Angeles Times, 2006). New Russians appreciate quality and style and present an eager and open market for imported expensive goods and services. The wealth has pushed the number of BMWs and Mercedes in Moscow to more than that in the whole of Germany, while the aspiring middle class moved from Russian-made constantly breaking-down Zhigulis to more practical and affordable Korean and Japanese cars. Expensive, modish Lamborghinis gleam and stand out in heavy traffic among the European and American cars, forcing out the Russian veterans. The road system is not able to handle the rapidly growing number of vehicles creating a terrible traffic scenario for busy urban residents. There are many reasons for the huge never-ending traffic jams in the city ranging from cracked and fractured surfaces with gaping holes caused by anything from Russia’s extreme climate, to poor construction and design, to temporary road closure caused by traffic police because of government officials’ passing by.

‘Russians don't do things by halves. In the mid-1990s Russia's nouveaux riches gained a reputation for their fascination with diamonds, logos and head-to-toe “total-look” designer dressing. Fast forward a decade: sick and tired of its vulgar reputation, Russia's elite wants a makeover’ (Guardian, 2007). People watched as new shops, new designers, new luxury style emerged, and also competition between Russian oligarchs as to who would build the biggest yacht and who could buy first a new Airbus A380. Every designer wants to be in Moscow; luxury congresses are held in recently opened Ritz Carlton, and it will only be a matter of a short time before Moscow becomes the centre of the fashion world. Moscow blossomed in its wealth and extravagance proving to the rest of the world that it could easily become the next super power.

Real estate prices in Moscow exceeded all imaginable increases and levels when the oil money influx supported growth of wealth and spending. Central Moscow’s best properties now compete at the same prices as Knightsbridge in London or Fifth Avenue apartments in New York. The difference is in Moscow’s poor and old infrastructure, which manifests itself in broken roads, corrupt housing authorities and unreliable drainage systems. But there are no signs of a repeat of the painful 1998 debt default in this city of shining new wealth and middle-class boom. People live with head-spinning contrasts dealing every day with reckless real estate schemes, bureaucratic and undeveloped official regulations and laws, with no guarantees or insurance that they will be protected by fair judgment or saved from harassment or discrimination.

Unofficial Moscow ‘law’ states that money can buy everything and connections are the most important attribute, a state of affairs that allows as-yet unrecognised talents and poor orphans to become billionaires. Russia has adapted the American ‘can-do’ dream model for adventurous and pushy people which can turn them into rich and famous oligarchs overnight. Anything is possible in Moscow. A clerk can climb the corporate ladder to the VP position in a city minute if he has a good mix of ambition, management support and connections. On the other hand, a billionaire could serve time on a wooden plank bed for violating tax payments and government rules. That’s why business is highly recommended to stay out of politics. Politics and businesses can coexist in Moscow in harmony when both have mutual interests and don’t step on each other’s toes. Moscow is a city of many business opportunities, a rapidly growing job market, and a place where a person can achieve their wildest dreams and desires. The city respects and rewards hardworking people, risk-takers and gamblers alike.

Moscow is a great place to be single. A new era of wealth and luxury attracts young and beautiful women from all over Russia to this money-making centre. While Russian men have made a fortune in the stockmarkets and other business acquisitions, pretty girls come to Moscow to pursue a modelling career, to find a beneficial marriage or a rich sugar daddy. ‘Many young Russian girls dream of becoming socialites, oligarchs' wives or fashion designers…. There is a huge demographic crisis in Russia: 10 million more women in the population than men’ (Guardian, 2007).

Female competitiveness in Moscow is different from other major capital cities. The way I see it, majority of western European women and Americans build careers, fight for independence and become self-sufficient by the time they are ready to settle down for a family. Moscow has similar tendencies but the majority of new-generation women fall into other categories such as trophy wives, oligarchs’ mistresses, party socialites and the ones who want to become either one of them – so-called ‘vultures’. And that’s why Moscow is famous for beautiful girls and wild parties. There are young women representing a new generation of material and pragmatic ‘vultures’ and off-limit fun-lovers or, as men would say, ‘easy girls’. Vultures are sophisticated and spoiled with men’s attention. They know that their biggest sale is their perfect looks and slim bodies and they try to get the highest price for this advantage. It doesn’t mean that all of them are élite prostitutes or oligarchs’ mistresses. They know what they want and use men to get it. These pragmatic vultures can be smart and organised in their goals and sometimes become actresses, singers or models.

The second group of fun-lovers brings available, easy sex. These women are open-minded and have few principles or values, and a free-thinking mentality about sex. There are thousands of horny women in Moscow bars and clubs who would approach men for no limit of fun. Moscow’s new sexual revolution broke all the taboos and established a new morality for discovering male and female sexuality. Modern relationships and love affairs show the brighter side of Moscow’s human relationships, mirroring Moscow’s capitalism. Elegant women with reptile-like hearts pet fat old wealthy men while young students enter wet T-shirt contest in night clubs with no sexual restrictions. Muscovite men have no choice but to be exposed to what the city has to offer. But Moscow wouldn’t be a city of contrasts if there weren’t a generation of young talented women artists, business managers, well-respected lawyers, entrepreneurs and athletes who are more famous for their achievements than love affairs. And Moscow can be proud of its daughters who rise and shine on the international arena of business, sports and arts.

Moscow is undoubtedly glamorous, but look closely and Moscow still has its dowdy communist inheritance. Muddy and slushy streets with poor drainage systems cover Moscow in a slippery crust and filthy puddles in winter. Moscow has the most overcrowded subway in the world where people traffic exceeds the recommended limit of travellers by five times. The beautiful stations from the communist era cannot accommodate the millions of sweaty angry people in its stuffy and cramped spaces. There are starving pensioners who are waiting and praying for death, organised crime gangs, drugs and prostitution that balance the growing city’s glamour. Moscow is a place where contract killers are hired to shoot journalists and businessmen; where radical nationalists spread seeds of growing discrimination; where corrupt militia authorities rule the streets; where the laws are on the side of the rich and powerful. Moscow is another mega-city with the eternal dilemma of white and black, good and bad, crimes, unfairness and injustice in politics, the economy and routine life.

People make the city what it is and there is a place for everybody in Moscow. For money-hunters and romantic dreamers, for Uzbekh man selling vegetables in a market, for ambitious young Harvard graduates and for me, a girl who wanted to find a place in life by choosing the right career, and by experiencing and exploring her sexuality. I was drawn to the pulsating energy of this fantastic city and I wanted to be a part of its incredible changes and improvements.

The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvellous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity.

Albert Einstein

Spring breezed into Moscow with all its flowering beauty and old-fashioned magical romance. I was walking around small brick alleys near Old Arbat among blooming lilac trees, inhaling the fresh spring air and enjoying a lazy Saturday afternoon. Sunrays shone through the blossoming trees. I turned my face in to the light wind and looked at the bright blue sky wishing for a miracle. Beautiful days like this can bring an unexpected turn in events and cheer up a lonely soul like mine, which was hungry for a change. I had no particular destination in mind, no errands, no boyfriend waiting for me, and nothing that could hold me back. It was my day, and I could dedicate myself to thinking about my life and its opportunities, and figuring out what to do next. In a few weeks I would turn thirty and, as any other Russian woman, I felt that it was a major milestone in my life. It was time to evaluate what I had done in my career, how I had succeeded in my love affairs and what I had achieved in general. I sat down on a bench under an old poplar tree hiding in the shade of my own mind. I took out a powder mirror from a purse and looked at myself critically. I have been always happy with my looks and my body shape. But when a woman approaches that first significant thirty-year age boundary, it becomes scary. It seems that ‘invisible line’ between youth and maturity is crossed and paranoia begins to creep in about how she looks.

And here I was, all alone with myself and all my personal criticisms. My eyes were staring to the deepest part of my soul. Greyish-green eyes still had their sparkle and I was happy to discover no sign of wrinkles. My cheekbones were set high; I had long brown hair and defined full lips. Typically Slavic, but with a blend of Asian and Scandinavian features, my skin was pale but had a real Matryoshka blush. This was quite a common occurrence since Russian blood had come from a mixture of many nations over the centuries. Ancient Russia started developing through the synthesis of the Byzantine Empire and Kievan Rus where the east Slavs formed the core of the Russian population. Later, in medieval times, the territory was under the Tatar-Mongolian iron heel for almost three hundred years; during Peter the Great’s rule in the seventeenth century, the country gained a strong European influence as the Emperor tried to westernise ‘savage’ Russia. A further fifteen eastern European and central Asian republics came under control of the USSR union in the twentieth century. This is when people lost their identity and became equal in every aspect of communist life. And, as most of the people in Soviet Union, my family had no history or past, no family tree, no heritage or religion, but I had quite a mix of blood running in my veins and the spirit of a survivor. I wasn’t tall or skinny enough to be a model, but I had a voluptuous curvy shape and large beautiful natural breasts I could be proud of. I could describe myself as an attractive hard-working, confident businesswoman who liked cooking, reading gossip magazines and watching CNN, was crazy about Emilio Pucci designs and dreamed of finding her prince. I can’t think of a better time to introduce myself – Aleksandra or Sasha as my friends call me, a typical Muscovite with Siberian roots. I am a single woman who holds life’s normal fears and fairytale dreams. I am an enduring optimist with a positive and realistic attitude.

Midnight Moscow 

By Aleksandra Orlova 

Sexual pleasure is a passion to which all others are subordinate but in which they all unite.

Marquis de Sade

Whether admiring the details of erotic escapades or musing on the nature of sex and relationships in post-communist Russia, Aleksandra Orlova exults in the physical and the philosophical in her new novel, Midnight Moscow (Published by Authorhouse).

While Midnight Moscow is fictional, it is based on Orlova’s own experiences from 1998 to 2008. When she came to Moscow as a 21-year-old, the censorship of communist Russia – no sex talk, no sex education, no erotic publications – had vanished. “Russian women were finally able to enjoy sex and were not ashamed to talk about it,” she writes. During the day Orlova climbed the corporate ladder. At night she explored her ripe sexuality, luxuriating in passions, fantasies, and men – so many men.

With titles such as “Masturbation, virginity and old underwear”, “Moscow clubs and a fake prince story”, “The risks of falling in love with a married man”, and “Italians!”, each of the book’s 30 chapters stand alone as a separate adventure. Taken together, they present a first-hand account of the raw, wild, and delicious exploits of a young professional woman in modern Moscow.

Traditional dating, Internet dating, being stalked, size (does it matter?), orgasms, the search for Mr. Right – Orlova’s stories cover it all. Excitedly recalling a New Year’s Eve spent with a “most rousing and fulfilling” Irishman, she has this to say on the subject of one-night stands:

“Admittedly a one-night stand is only a temporary substitute for love, but it can provide a wonderful moment of explosive feelings. I like the thrill of meeting somebody for the first time and feeling the magnetic sexual attraction that exudes from a handsome stranger. … There are no obligations, follow-ups, break-ups and phone numbers after a night of sex. People don’t have time to make emotional attachments, wild promises and even sometimes don’t even bother to exchange names. … It sounds cold and pragmatic but busy people have created a world of precise values and orders in Moscow’s hectic life.”

Cast off your inhibitions and join an unrepentant Orlova as she reveals the dirty little secrets of Midnight Moscow.

A couple months ago it was a program on RTV where it was said that Moscow is a very sexy capital. And that’s why Midnight Moscow story has two messages: Moscow/Russia is not what people see from CNN or BBC reports, and the second message is about women’s sexuality, about freedom to express it and discuss it. Foreign media often portraits Russia in gloomy colors and usually it’s the propaganda of anti Russian policy. There is not enough Russians telling the real story in the Western World. My book is not about politics and its not the attempt to glorify Russian life. I am a woman, just like any other woman in any other part of the world. I have fears, I have dreams, I have been in love, I am looking and hoping for my happy ending.

Women of Moscow, share with me your Sex & The City stories for MY SECOND BOOK


 

Midnight Moscow Book is based on true stories and on real time events which happened in Moscow from 1998-2008. The book is about modern Moscow and its life, events, people, different characters and personalities, sex and adventures in this city of contrasts. The main character is a young woman who wants to have a successful career in Moscow and at the same time sets out to discover her sexuality. It is a dramatic, thrilling story which gives explicit insights in to the raw, wild but delicious Moscow life of its inhabitants and what it takes for a modern woman to live and survive there. It’s a story about the changing Russia, where Moscow becomes a sexual and liberal capital of a totally different generation.