Friday, April 25, 2008

Whom a girl pays for, he... oops her.

By Natalia Nevskaya.

I do not know what about others, but my mother taught me in childhood that it is indecent to accept the gifts (especially expensive) of little known men. Too generous signs of attention
- it does not cost nothing and you will have to pay. "Remember, Natasha, free cheese is in the mouse-trap only!"

Converted ungainly teenager into a luxurious blond I honestly followed mom's testament: always paid for myself in clubs, restaurants and taxis, refused the expensive gifts and in general, perceived the men's purse as a threat to my freedom. Freud, halloo! The only thing I allowed to my ill-starred fans was to give me something on March 8, or bouquet of moderate price on a birthday. To waive flowers was above my forces.

To say that my cavaliers were flowing into the stupor of such behavior - that's nothing to say. Every time they explained that nothing required in return from me, that not being allowed to pay for their girl and to give her gifts, they cease to feel men. How to care then? To serve a coat, kiss hands and no more left? But I was unwavering. Eventually, I can afford to pay myself for my whims. And will never be obliged to anyone!

It would continue till now, unless the story.

Three years ago, I have been taking off on the dizzying career ladder. I started to earn very decent money and, of course, immediately acquired the bourgeois habits. Every weekend my girlfriend and I went to play around to St. Petersburg, because Moscow clubs and parties were studied along and across long ago.

To travel between the two capitals the most convenient way was (and remains today) the corporate train R-200. Only 4.5 hours and you already are on the Nevsky Prospectus. Alas, like all the good, the tickets to this train shorted too quickly on Fridays. But we solved the problem with the help of a conductor Vasya. At that time the total inspections for free-riders were not in fashion, and for immoderate huge fee, kind Vasya allowed us without a ticket. We quickly fled to the wagon-restaurant and during whole the trip were sitting at the table, drinking "Mojito". Already on Friday evening we took off the train in St. Petersburg and went elated to a further party.

By the way, there were advantages in a such "restaurant" journey - you could easily make interesting acquaintances, that we were doing. Now, I do not remember, it was the third or fourth trip, in general, it is not important.

Once, Max took a seat at our table. Blue-eyed dark-haired man, an owner of a small design firm in St.Petersburg, witty and gallant - a dream rather than a fellow-traveler. We both at that time had no permanent cavaliers, so Max aroused understandable recovery in our midst. During the whole trip he amused us with anecdotes alternated with compliments, successfully made eyes at us - so that no one did not offend.

By the end of the trip we have not yet managed to decide who of us likes him stronger and which has made a greater impression on him. In short, we came to St. Petersburg having one over the eight and in full delight of our satellite. We were lit up enough for another ten people, so that it was instantly decided not to part and go to the club "Purga" to celebrate "New Year". In this beautiful place New Year was celebrated every midnight, filling on a free glass of champagne to all the visitors.

All would be nothing, but it turned out that by the end of our journey Max became out of money. We started strongly to wave at him - we have no finance shackles, OK! We are girls without complex, and can afford to buy a pair of glasses for the satellite. No problem! Max had tried to refuse, said that never in the lives the girls pay for him, and they will never pay - he is a man, but not Alphonse... But what can the only intelligent Petersburger do against two pushing Muscovites which got worked up? We pelted him with compliments, expressed the respect to his unequivocal masculinity, exerted on the sense of responsibility, saying, what if suddenly someone would resentment us in a foreign city, and it was in the bag.

Already an hour later we dashingly danced with zest at a discotheque, regularly heating ourselves with cocktails. Max showed the tricks with burning the strong drinks and danced rock'n'roll professionally both with us simultaneously, so that we just almost quarrel for whom this wonder-man will belong to.

Close to six in the morning the forces left us. We made up our mind to leave to the hotel, but pre-arranged a mini-meeting about who of us will leave Max her phone number. But we could not resolve this vital issue - a nightmare began. Our dear and unobtrusive satellite turned like braked loose. Whether a surplus of alcohol in the blood leaped for joy, or "cockroaches" intensified in the brain, one way or another, he knelt to us and beg that we allowed him to go with us...

First I did not catch what was the beginning of the strife but when I lend an attentive ear to his incoherent babble I got torpor. It turns out that our Chevalier can never forgive himself that he drank at our expense, and now feels obliged and wants to compensate for the costs. Once he had no money, he is ready to give himself up fully into our disposal. He pleadingly looked into our eyes, and seeing our surprise, interpreted it in his own way: "Have no doubt, I am a good lover, I have enough forces for both of you!"

Had he said anything about our unearthly beauty and sexuality,we would understand and perhaps even inspire. But we were forced with sex for money, which were spent just without any greed!

We got sober instantly and found that none of us wants to let in the bed with a beautiful, but, to put it mildly, not quite adequate man who has so strange views on the nature of relationships between people. We were even slightly afraid - it seemed to us that our
wonderful, and absolutely incumbent until this moment satellite went crazy. In short, not engaging in further negotiations, we quickly paid the account, caught the handbags (while Max was in a toilet) and escaped.

The next day, of course, we laugh until one cries remembering yesterday's crazy proposal. The guy was afraid to look an Alphonse, but he acted as a real Alphonse - wanted to pay with sex for money spent on him! And then I reflected. I am something like him... Refusing the expensive favours of men, I also inadvertently promote a fear that it would be required from me to pay with this way. Why am I not taking into account that a person just wants to do me something nice? Just so, with no back thoughts?

Overall, I am, still, "right girl". And I still continue to think that I can pay for myself account or to invite a man for a movie at my own expense. But now I think about it guardedly. And enabling fans to spend money on me. Why not? A men has a pleasure, I am pleased ...

I don't feel obliged myself any longer. One memory of Max is enough to relax, and do not spoil the pleasure nor myself, nor the fans. If it turns out that he did something being awaiting something from me in return - it is his problem. Selfish is bad.

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