Olga in Siberia, and 'Street Theater' from Svetlana Chuloshnikova and Allan Primrose
I remember an evening in Siberia, the city Kemerovo.
We had a new Finance director, his name Allan. His predeccesor, Chuck, a tall and very smart Texan whom I liked very much had quit. He quit claiming that Millicom had not honored his contract. It struck me strange then though not now. How could such a smart and apparently well connected guy leave jumping from this good job with nothing to which to jump?
I understand now and remain quiet on that matter.
Allan, the newby, Svetlana and I went out to a local club. We all drank. A lot. This was summer 1997, now 20 years back. Allan was and remains a well schooled Scot though with a US passport.
Beautiful Russian girls around at most of the tables. Sveta and Allan proceeded to get snockered. I drank less; one girl, her name Olga. Supposedly dad was a colonel in the local FSB. How I came to learn that I do not recall. Her shirt one of those glimmery see through things her bra and young breasts eye catching as the good lord intended them to be. Her hair past her shoulder, a light brown with some waves. Very very pretty. Still Svetlana prettier by far.
She caught my eye. I caught hers. Allan and Sveta nearly passed out at the bar. I excused myself and went to the rest room. There of these was only one. Why I left the door unlocked I don't recall. Intuition? A feeling perhaps? I don't know. Doesn't matter. This story now 20 years old. As I finished my business and was about to zip up she was there and had locked the door. She knelt down and one might imagine the scene. I recall her bright red lipstick, just the same hue as my own blood which would spew all over our kitchen, in twenty years time, that kitchen not Olga's and mine; Sveta's and mine.
Time passed as it does. I left first as a gang of boys came to find Olga knocking at the door. I bulled through them all having zipped up. I left Olga, smeared lipstick, hair a mess just as self in a somewhat excited state. Boy oh boy. Bathroom fun. Being blown in a bathroom is a lot more fun than being stabbed in a kitchen, I can tell you.
I grabbed Sveta and Allan and we departed the scene. Years later I would learn from Sveta that of course she knew. That was the idea. Her drunkeness with Allan a ploy, and like Olga and her fellatio a distraction from what was really going on.
We had a new Finance director, his name Allan. His predeccesor, Chuck, a tall and very smart Texan whom I liked very much had quit. He quit claiming that Millicom had not honored his contract. It struck me strange then though not now. How could such a smart and apparently well connected guy leave jumping from this good job with nothing to which to jump?
I understand now and remain quiet on that matter.
Allan, the newby, Svetlana and I went out to a local club. We all drank. A lot. This was summer 1997, now 20 years back. Allan was and remains a well schooled Scot though with a US passport.
Beautiful Russian girls around at most of the tables. Sveta and Allan proceeded to get snockered. I drank less; one girl, her name Olga. Supposedly dad was a colonel in the local FSB. How I came to learn that I do not recall. Her shirt one of those glimmery see through things her bra and young breasts eye catching as the good lord intended them to be. Her hair past her shoulder, a light brown with some waves. Very very pretty. Still Svetlana prettier by far.
She caught my eye. I caught hers. Allan and Sveta nearly passed out at the bar. I excused myself and went to the rest room. There of these was only one. Why I left the door unlocked I don't recall. Intuition? A feeling perhaps? I don't know. Doesn't matter. This story now 20 years old. As I finished my business and was about to zip up she was there and had locked the door. She knelt down and one might imagine the scene. I recall her bright red lipstick, just the same hue as my own blood which would spew all over our kitchen, in twenty years time, that kitchen not Olga's and mine; Sveta's and mine.
Time passed as it does. I left first as a gang of boys came to find Olga knocking at the door. I bulled through them all having zipped up. I left Olga, smeared lipstick, hair a mess just as self in a somewhat excited state. Boy oh boy. Bathroom fun. Being blown in a bathroom is a lot more fun than being stabbed in a kitchen, I can tell you.
I grabbed Sveta and Allan and we departed the scene. Years later I would learn from Sveta that of course she knew. That was the idea. Her drunkeness with Allan a ploy, and like Olga and her fellatio a distraction from what was really going on.
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