Contents

Chapter 1.

Sex as an impossible dream.

I was a virgin until I was 32. Was I frigid, ugly, insecure, and ugly? Definitely not. Why did the life of a beautiful, young, sociable, and sensitive girl turn out so that until she was 32, she didn’t like anyone enough to agree to sleep with them? A question I know the answer to. I didn’t like anyone enough to run after them and ask them to take my annoying virginity. And there simply wasn’t anyone who would run after me and be pleasant to me, so that I would agree to play sex games with them.

You’ll say I worked as a librarian? Ha!

I had to work as a paramedic at a factory among men. I saw so many naked male asses when I was a virgin, so many male dicks during my internship at the medical school, that not every girl of easy virtue saw them in such quantities as I did. The first aid station was located on the territory of the coke and chemical production of the metallurgical plant. The total number of employees of the plant was about 2500 people. Every day from 100 to 200 patients came to the first aid station, 90% of whom were young men. I hated medicine. The choice of profession was accidental. I ended up as a paramedic by a twist of fate. I did not get into the Polytechnic Institute, which I did not particularly want to get into, and in order not to go to a vocational school, at the insistent request of my mother, I tried to get into a medical school. To my surprise, I got in without any problems. But studying was hard labor for me, because I was not interested in medicine. My passion and calling were foreign languages, access to which was blocked at that time. Anyone who worked in a hated job, to which the soul does not lie, will understand me.

The work of a paramedic is boring and monotonous. Nothing happens for years. Exhausting daily shifts in a hazardous industry quickly deprive you of youth, beauty, attractiveness.

You can’t earn money in this profession. Changing professions is very expensive, and my soul lay only in languages. Gritting my teeth, I gave injections, vaccinations, provided first aid, conducted pre-shift alcohol testing, and my soul suffered and bled. It wanted foreign culture, literature and foreign languages. There is reason to develop depression.

And also with my personal life a complete failure. The workers perceived me as not of this world. Or rather, as a berry not of their field. We were from different stuff, we had different interests, different goals and different origins. As one American movie says:

«Different species of animals do not interbreed, even if they are threatened with extinction.»

The men among whom I was forced to work did not attract me at all as men. I did not perceive them as men. And they did not perceive me as a woman. The problem is not in them and not in me. It is all an insurmountable species barrier, with which nothing can be done. The only way out is to change the environment, and this was a big problem. There was no money to change education. It turned out to be a vicious circle, the way out of which I did not see. So I had to live for years by inertia, hoping for a miracle.

I was not distinguished by a low libido. With a low libido, it would have been easier for me to lead the life of algae on coke. I experienced my first orgasm before my period. It was precisely because I knew what sexual satisfaction was like that I was in no hurry to let just anyone into my bed. I could satisfy myself when I felt like it. I wanted feelings, love, passions and wings on my back from a man.

I would not settle for anything less.

At that time, I had no idea that an orgasm achieved through masturbation was much brighter than an orgasm with a man. But it would never come close to the orgasm I was lucky enough to experience with my beloved man.

Sexual satisfaction with a beloved man cannot be compared to any drug in the world. It cannot be achieved with substances, suggestion and other psychedelics. For this mind-blowing sensation, you need an object of love and nothing else. Mutual. Unreciprocated love is pain that cannot be compared in terms of pain.

That was the whole problem with my prolonged virginity. I could have an orgasm myself every day, but I was not going to have sex of unknown quality with a man who was disgusting to me, and, in addition, be exposed to the risk of an unplanned pregnancy or STDs (sexually transmitted diseases) for any amount of money. Many thanks to my education as a paramedic-obstetrician and many months of practice in maternity hospitals and hospitals in my hometown. I saw enough of the consequences of sexual intercourse. Thank you. You have never seen so many abortions and removed uteruses as I have seen, even in your nightmares.

By the way, about money. Paramedics were paid little. Insignificantly little. Because it was the 90s. The money was only enough to pay for utilities and for meager food. It was good that the family had a garden plot. My mother and I were engaged in agricultural work 7 months a year. We gathered a noble harvest. The garden is my mother’s favorite hobby.

In winter we took a break from summer work.

And youth and young adulthood passed us by… I felt like a robbery every aimlessly lived day. My wonderful life, my hopes, my dreams flowed away with the sun beyond the horizon, never to return. I didn’t want to live. At all.

Depression… Do you know what depression is like in a young girl with a sexy appearance that makes men go crazy and a high libido? It’s better for you not to know.

The result of depression is the study of almost all methods of suicide. Especially since an epidemic of suicides was raging around the plant. A bad example is contagious.

Some committed suicide right at the plant. They did it, mainly, in the showers. They hanged themselves. Such cases were rare and thundered throughout the plant. Some voluntarily took their own lives at home.

One girl, 27 years old. She worked as a paramedic. One day she asked for a vacation, but she was refused. Soon she jumped out of the window.

Another girl, 35, worked as a worker. After her shift, she hanged herself in the shower with a rope she brought from home.

There was another guy, 20, who also hanged himself in the shower because of unrequited love several years earlier.

One of our heads of the medical center had a husband who suspected her of infidelity. He took out a hunting rifle and blew his brains out. The head was very angry that he had damaged her wall and she had to spend money on repairs.

Another man decided that retirement was not for him. He came to the dacha, made a noose and hanged himself in the basement.

One of my colleagues had an affair with a married man named Nikolai. He had three children.

I had just started working. I was 20 years old. When I came to work, I saw a colleague swollen from tears and crying bitterly. To my question: «What happened?»

She answered with a question:

— Do you know Kolya?

— Yes.

— So Kolya is gone! — the colleague burst into tears and went home.

Her lover was found hanged in a sitting position. They say that the father of three children suddenly decided to take his own life without explanation.

About 10 years later, another colleague of mine was also mourning her lover. He was 7 years younger than her. He did not marry her, and a month after the wedding he was found suffocated by exhaust fumes in his own car. During his life, he told his colleague that his father had passed away in the same way and at the same age…

There are many such sad stories.

I often thought about death in those years. Well, why did a young and beautiful girl have to live in the 90s? To lie down with a bandit who is disgusting with his brutal insides?

To lie down (well, okay, to get married, damn it) with a simple and primitive factory guy who will hate my delicate mental organization and will shorten me according to his inner world? What profit do I get from this? Just don’t say this: «I should have had a child for myself!»

There was no one to give birth to — that’s one.

Two — a child is shackles on your legs and three — you just need money for it. A child needs a lot of money. And he also needs a happy, fulfilled mother, happy with herself and her life. I’m not even talking about a loving dad for the child. A loving dad, a beloved and loving husband in my picture of the world is a strictly obligatory value. Because that’s exactly the kind of dad I had. And in general, besides my dad, I have many brothers, sisters, uncles and aunts with sons-in-law.

I didn’t grow up in a same-sex family, you know. And I never wanted to suffer in a mono-female brew. After all, a woman is a potential competitor to a woman. It’s rare to meet a bosom friend, chum, acquaintance. Girlfriends are bosom friends in order to adopt each other’s life experience, to share their own. It is especially good to complain to your girlfriends about unrequited love and a broken heart. They will listen, support, sympathize. Well, happiness, mutual love, prosperity, achievements are no longer of interest to them. Moreover, it is advisable to hide or downplay all the good things from your girlfriends and acquaintances. People do not like other people’s happiness. And sometimes they take offense at it. Therefore, they make friends either by inertia or with their fellow sufferers. This makes it easier to come to terms with your own dissatisfaction.

In those few years when I was especially zealously studying different methods of suicide, there was nowhere to go. Wherever you look, there is a wedge. It was impossible to change jobs. No profession. To leave the paramedics for a commercial kiosk? To even worse conditions? What’s the point? To leave as a worker at a factory to kill yourself with backbreaking physical labor among coal and chemicals? I did not even consider this perverted and protracted form of suicide.

If you go to a disco, bandits will catch you and rape you. At that time, the Internet had not yet appeared and porn was only on video cassettes or in photos. The terrible porn of those times made me, a virgin, gag. The guys of my youth were sexually active testosterone-fueled and at every opportunity tried to drag a girl into bed. They offered wild sex. According to the scheme: stick it in, pull it out and go, not caring about the feelings of the partner.

Some of my friends managed to achieve orgasm with this form of sexual contact. But they paid too high a price for it. Abortions. Rejection. Contempt. Depression. It wasn’t worth it.

Of course, I could have gotten married. But who? The guys I knew and liked couldn’t offer me a human relationship.

Either they irritated me with their shyness and shaking hands when talking to me. (Well, it’s clear that they wanted me so much that they were shaking). Or they were pushy boors, trying to force me into sex.

I didn’t know then that it could be any different. That a man can freely tell a woman how beautiful she is and how much he likes her. But the most important thing is that the look of a man in love speaks for itself. A man in love doesn’t need any compliments. All the admiration in the world is written on his face. Even if he scolds his woman, his look will give away his feelings completely.

For the sake of a man in love’s look, you can sacrifice a lot. Just to see that look again and again.

Chapter 2.

Underlover #1. Sasha the Entrepreneur.

Sasha was a small shopkeeper. And he had a goal to become a big shopkeeper. Or a store director. Or a chain owner. As it goes. The bigger, the better, as they say.

He had his own outlet in the store. He sold electronics and spare parts for household appliances. A profitable business. It had to be. But the rent for the outlet in the store ate up the lion’s share of his earnings. Sasha lived in a dormitory. He climbed to prosperity with all his might. On his own, without the support of his rich parents.

When the profit was not enough to pay the rent for the store, Sasha went to sell on the street. He would spread out a rug, as was the custom at the time, and display his wares on it near the checkpoint in front of passing metalworkers.

I would feel awkward when I saw him selling from a rug on the street.

At that time, I considered trading something shameful, low-prestige, close to begging. I had no idea about the profitability of business. It seemed to me that selling like that from a rug on the street was terribly humiliating.

Many people got rich this way, selling whatever they could from a rug or from their hands. Then they got some money and bought apartments on the first floors of Khrushchev-era buildings for stores. Some got really high.

To do this, you need to go against the flow and learn to pick up money from the floor, like Sasha did.

He was a good guy. He had few opportunities, but chose the path to prosperity through trading. Others his age chose the bottle, crime, drugs. It is better to sell from a rug than to drive yourself to the grave with substances and booze. Having saved up some money, I bought myself a tape recorder, which I had long dreamed of. All my friends had one, but I didn’t. A Japanese Panasonic tape recorder. A real one. Made in China. The radio on it only picked up short waves. To listen to Russian radio, I needed to buy an adapter, and I asked my friend to go to the store with me.

I was unsure of myself and was afraid to interact with strangers. In those days, people were rude to each other, and I was afraid of rudeness and boorishness.

My friend was married, had a daughter, and could talk to anyone. She didn’t have my complexes.

We bought an adapter from Sasha and Olya noticed how he looked at me. I noticed it too, but I was afraid to talk to him. Because I didn’t know how to behave with a man who liked me and whom I didn’t know at all. At 21, I had no such experience.

Sasha started talking to Olya. And I stood aside and waited for them to finish. When we left the store, Olya said:

— Didn’t you see how he looked at you?

I was surprised. — Olya, he was talking to you, what does that have to do with me?

— You don’t understand! He was looking at you so-o-o-o… You need to be friends. He’s like Syutkin!

— Olya, he’s short! — I clarified.

— So what? Albano and Ramino Power are also different heights.

— I can’t walk in heels with him. — I inserted my trump card.

— You’ll be like an Italian couple! — Olya admired.

It seems she’s already decided everything for us.

One April evening, I was returning from Olya’s on the bus.

As I was walking along the alley to my house, a guy suddenly ran into me.

— Girl, I’ll walk you home! You can’t go home alone late!

I recognized Sasha right away and thought that he had been following me and had arranged our meeting.

That’s why I wasn’t scared by his impudent behavior.

— Take me there. — I said.

It turned out that it was easy for me with Sasha. Because I could be cheeky to him and he wouldn’t get offended. It encouraged him.

We sat down on a bench near my entrance. Sasha in his expensive raincoat reminded me of Darkwing Duck from the Disney cartoon.

— And what would you say if I said that I like your eyes, your nose and your hair?!

After that, Sasha hugged me around the neck with his thin hand with a small palm and short fingers and slobberingly kissed me on the ear. Because I dodged a kiss on the lips in time.

— Take your hands away. — I broke free.

Sasha obeyed. Sasha’s drunken confession about the extraordinary beauty of my eyes and nose did not impress me.

Sasha understood this from my skeptical look and decided to make a knight’s move.

— Do you want all the money in my pockets to be yours? All 300 dollars will be yours?!

300 dollars is my salary as a paramedic for 3 months.

Is he offering to sleep with me, I thought?

— I don’t need your money. I know you and you know me. I’m Tanya, who bought the adapter from you and you know my friend Olya well. Your zodiac sign is Capricorn and your name is Sasha.

Sasha was stunned. Or pretended to be stunned. He walked in circles in front of the bench and periodically exclaimed: — My mother is a woman!

I still didn’t understand whether he was joking or was genuinely surprised by such a coincidence.

We chatted a little more and I got ready to go home. Sasha almost followed me up the floor, but I didn’t invite him. I was ashamed. My mother and I lived poorly.

How silly I was then. When you are 21, all your wealth is you, not a luxurious setting. Youth and beauty are the biggest capital that many do not value and throw away. In vain.

A few days later, Sasha called me at the first aid station. He asked Olya for my phone number and she gave it to him without informing me.

— Hi! — Sasha said. — I want to see you.

— To give me 300 dollars? — I quipped.

— Sorry. I didn’t behave very well then.

— You treated me like a prostitute then.

— Let’s see each other? I promise I’ll behave decently.

— I don’t want to see you. — I insisted.

Actually, I wasn’t refusing him, I was being coy. I wanted to understand how interested he was in me. If he was persistent, then we would see each other. That meant he really liked me. If I agree right away, I thought, then he will think that I like him and will be impudent with me.

— But why? — Sasha was surprised. — I will behave well.

— No. — I stuck to my guns. And I was smiling.

In fact, I was afraid of the date. If Sasha pounced on me with kisses on our first meeting, then what would he allow himself to do if I agreed to a second?

— Do you understand that the phone in my hand is red-hot? — Sasha was furious.

— And what does it matter to me? — I laughed. And I thought that he was also unsure of himself, just like me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have tried to influence me with some phone. What does it matter to me that it’s red-hot? I myself feel uncomfortable in this conversation.

— Fine. — Sasha was seething. — I like it when a girl doesn’t agree with me! Let’s see each other!

Sasha’s persistence and desire to get his way began to tire me.

— No. Bye. — I said and hung up. I smiled, plea