Chapter 4

Time went on – or rather, flew. I transferred to Ivan Ivanovich’s department and settled into the new job pretty quickly. I finished college. Lately, I barely showed up there, so I had to shell out a bit, but not too badly – way less than I expected, since my thesis turned out really solid. But with all that hustle, I totally missed the part where they were about to kick me out of the dorm. Which meant I’d have to rent an apartment somewhere, goodbye to most of my salary! I still hadn’t decided what to do next. There was zero motivation to stay in Moscow – except to wait for the yearly bonus. With a limp dick, there’s just no drive to aim for anything. Okay, I’ll find a place to crash for a few months, get the bonus, and head back home with some decent cash (by Omsk city standards).

I was packing my few belongings, getting ready to move to some hole outside the Moscow Ring Road. In a shoebox tucked in the far corner of my closet lay crumpled clothes: a white women’s tank top that barely covered the stomach and a red plaid mini-skirt. Something like a cheerleader outfit or a role-play set from a sex shop. Anna’s things–I’d even forgotten about them! But then I smelled them, and memories came rushing back:

Second year of college. I wasn’t working anywhere yet, just studying. No money, no girlfriend, no chance of getting either. Then luck struck: I met Anna, an amazing nurse from the nearby clinic. We fucked like rabbits. At her place or in her car, because nowhere else–my dorm room was shared with another nerdy guy like me. Later he got his own one-room apartment in the next building and moved out, but back then we had an arrangement: if one of us brought a girl home, the other bugged out and slept wherever, even on the street. So far, the score was 3:0 in his favor. I often stayed at Anna’s, but this was a matter of principle, so I suggested she spend the night at my dorm. We agreed to have a little picnic with my friends on the beach first, then head back to my place.

On the beach, we ate sausages, drank wine, and lounged on wooden deck chairs. Nobody dared to get into the dirty water, plus swimming was prohibited. Anna rocked the outfit described above, stunning everyone, including me. This was my triumph: none of my classmates had a girlfriend as hot as this, not even close! At the same time, the outfit was way too revealing! At least there were lots of people around, so the local thugs probably wouldn’t dare mess with us. Afterwards, my girlfriend changed into normal clothes, and we all went back to the dorm. There, Anna told me that back when she was studying at the medical academy, she sometimes worked as a “promo girl” in that uniform at exhibitions and other entertainment events. You know, handing out flyers and stuff.

The next morning, getting ready to leave, she mentioned the tank top and skirt: “Throw them out! Or wash them if you want me to ever wear this again outdoors with you!”

“Why the fuck should I wash women’s clothes?” I thought, but didn’t dare toss them–just tossed them into the far corner of the closet. Maybe Anna was joking? She had a weird sense of humor...

You know the rest from Chapter 1. In short: Anna lied about being a promo girl. Besides being a nurse, she was an escort. Maybe she still is, who knows. After that revelation, we broke up for good.

Breathing in Anna’s scent, I suddenly got a proper hard-on–something that hadn’t happened in a long, long time. And then I did what, in my situation back then, felt like a holiday: I jerked off. Then I carefully folded Anna’s clothes to take them with me–might come in handy...

– “Ivan Ivanovich, I’ve decided to quit!” I told my boss the next morning.

– “Really? Come on, let’s step outside, talk without extra ears!”

We went out.

– “Why quit now? Wait for the bonus!”

– “Not exactly now! They’re taking my dorm room. I’ll never save enough to rent an apartment in Moscow. Paying a million-year mortgage? Fuck that. Renting for insane prices? Double fuck that. Nothing here keeps me–no wife, no kids, no girlfriend. I’ve decided to go back home. Family, house, friends. As people say: ‘don’t try to leave Omsk!’”

– “So you’ve got nowhere to live? Well, I have a free apartment, a two-room place. You can stay there.”

– “Kinda awkward ... thanks, though...”

– “Might as well keep an eye on it–it’d be empty otherwise.”

– “Why not rent it out?”

– “My time’s worth more than that hassle.”

– “But there are people who manage properties for a small fee, right?”

– “It’s a matter of trust,” he said after a pause, “I don’t want to deal with scammers. Money likes silence, you know. You think this is my only real estate investment? All my relatives are taken care of. Not just close ones. Fewer relatives than properties, that’s why I offer it to you. Good people deserve help, Mikhaylych!” – sometimes he called me by my patronymic, which was pretty weird given our age difference – “Pay utilities on time, keep it clean and in working order, and don’t bullshit about where you live, especially at work. That’s all I ask!”