Miss X and a gun

I went to meet a new student last week. It was my first paid work since losing fat boy and child X (see related stories below). I was given the usual Russian directions and told to take the middle wagon (carriage) and to turn left at the platform, go up the steps and turn left and wait outside for a black Mercedes. The reality was slightly different to the directions.

I arrived at the platform, turned left, went up the steps only to be given the option of taking a tunnel in three different directions. I went up to the street and waited, knowing I was probably on the wrong side of the road.

Prepositions are always a major issue for non native speakers of English and even for some native speakers of English. No sign of Miss X, my new English student. Snow began to fall and I was worried I would be late so I called her. She asked me where I was, I told her I was waiting in front of a restaurant that had a yellow neon bank sign on the roof, choose a bank before you eat, sometimes it's as crazy as America here with advertising. The problem with Moscow metro exits, is that they often have at least two exit steps and once at the top of these steps from the trains, you have often have a choice of tunnels that go off in different directions. The roads here are huge and metro stations have many exits, which makes finding your way to a street a hard challenge and even harder in another language not so unlike Klingon.

Flash back to before I arrived to meet Miss X. I had booked a babysitter for 3.00 pm  for a lesson that would begin at 4.30 pm. I arrived early at the station to meet Miss X, so I just waited in the warm until it was time. When you start a new lesson you can never be sure how long it will take to get there by metro. If you try to work as a teacher here and have your own kids at home, you have to pay for a babysitter while you work. You must charge enough money for the lesson and make enough money to pay the babysitter and make a healthy profit for yourself or it's a waste of time and money. The prices I charge, often result in no reply to an advert. Miss X did answer my advert and accepted my price, which surprised me as most people want something for nothing these days, especially when it comes to English lessons. Schools in Moscow are the worst for this and usually expect the world but give very little. Freelance is often the best path to follow, if you can get enough students to make a living here. This can take time and be hard to do, many foreigners combine an English school with private work to survive. I am fortunate in that I don't need to totally depend on paid work in my SAHD dad capacity but still need the green back to help with living expenses, we are not the "standard" all inclusive dream expatriate family. My situation is not so easy as I must pay someone when I work to look after my kid.

Miss X arrived at the station with a tall skinny boy. I asked her who he was and she said he was a friend. I thought nothing of it, as it's always sensible for any girl that meets a man she does not know, to take a friend with her, if I had a daughter I would tell her to do exactly the same thing. I followed them to her Mercedes and got in the back of the car. It was a two seat sports Mercedes. She drove and the skinny boy sat in the front seat and said nothing. We drove a short distance to her flat. I made conversation but skinny boy spoke no English, Miss X spoke fairly good English. Miss X was pretty, with plump breasts, that were squeezed together far too tightly in a bra to make them look bigger than they were, she was in her early twenties and despite her enslaved bouncy cleavage, she looked fairly innocent.

We arrived at her typical dank, tired Russian flat built in the early circa 1970's. I got out of the back of her sports car like a contortionist from a shoe box. Skinny boy got out and I noticed he had a gun sticking out the back of his baggy trousers (pants). This shocked me as being a Brit from a different generation, I am not used to seeing ordinary people carry hand guns, except in the movies. As we walked, I asked her why he had a gun? She said, he carried it sometimes and continued to walk to her flat entrance door as if it was totally a normal thing to do. Skinny boy left us and swaggered off down the road with a grin on his face and we went up to her flat. She said he was a bit "crazy", I asked her if he had a license for the gun? She said yes he did and I am a monkey's uncle. (A note dear reader), in Russia, if a person has a license for X, Y or Z it does not really mean very much as that license could have been bought, stolen or forged. The gun made me nervous and I wanted to leave.

We went into her flat and her mother welcomed me in the hallway while three small dogs ran up to me barking and licking me, she asked me to follow her into her bedroom. My male brain to cock light went on, if only for a moment and then faded to a dull flicker and went off. I am a married man and dating girls and going into young girls bedrooms, is a distant memory for me. We sat down on her bed and we chatted about her English and her experience of English and travels abroad to the United Kingdom. Her enslaved breasts wobbled up and down crying to be freed from their chains but not by me. The room was hot and airless. I began to gently sweat as I nodded to her talking to show her I was still awake. As I sweated while she spoke about her time on a course in London, her phone rang into life and it was skinny boy checking she was OK, she looked embarrassed by his call, a possessive boy fighting his jealousy perhaps? Thankfully the hour was soon up, we went into the kitchen and I felt relived I had not been shot by skinny boy or licked to death by her three dogs.

I can only come to the conclusion that the boy would like to be her boyfriend and saw himself as a mafia gangster, for all I know, the gun could have been a fake from a toy shop but I would not be at all surprised if it was real, borrowed from dad, got from a fat man at a market or stolen. Perhaps the way to a young girls heart or to her bed, is to a carry a gun in your trousers? Flowers, romance, looks and charm are no longer the accepted currency of love or lust these days or maybe not in Russia? Miss X was sweet and seemed a decent person, she should dump the dick head. When we finished the lesson, I met her father, brother and mother in the kitchen and they were very welcoming to me. She paid me my money and I left in a hurry to walk back to the metro station, it was good to breath the not so fresh Moscow air and to be alive.

I'm not sure I will go back there in case skinny boy is there with his gun down his trousers, still sniffing at her lamppost. I will think about it carefully before I go back to Miss X, I wish to live and don't want to associate with people who carry guns. Life is never dull in Moscow or it certainly isn't for me, despite my domestic SAHD chains.

Related stories see: Replaced by a personal trainer, A wind up a toy in a wind up toy,

© All Rights Reserved.