[i]Beauty is only skin deep. But ugly goes clean to the bone.
- Dorthy Parker[/i]
Thursday - 00:30 - Real McCoy. Crowd was simply pathetic: dorky expats, dorkier locals, fatties, uglies and grandmas. I only spotted a single girl worth pursuing, and no surprise... every other guy in the place noticed her as well. At the time, I wasn't sure if lack of competition was artificially enhancing her beauty, but she really [i]did[/i] look stunning - 177cm (as I would later find out), big brown doe eyes, high cheekbones, a body like a swan's neck, and a tight black dress which left little to the imagination. There was virtually a queue of guys waiting to talk to her. Nearby was evidently her girlfriend - an equally tall mid-20s girl in business attire who appeared to have a nice, thin body. But with a face... well, let's just say it wasn't anything to write home about. With a 3:2 guy:girl ratio and lots of big, drunk dudes in the mood to start something, I figured it wasn't worth my time talking to this girl and headed off to that old standby - Che.
As expected on a Thursday night, Che was fucking PACKED, albeit with lots of dudes. Girls, however, were much better looking than in RM, with well over a dozen (by my estimation) worth getting to know better. Also, the girls were very friendly. I had a few (including a couple cuties) come up to me and start chatting themselves. After a mojito or two, I glanced towards the entrance and saw the two girls from RM appear. They made a beeline for the bar and a moment later they were doing tequila shots with the barman. Nice - my type of girls! I was chatting up some cutie from the lower Volga river valley when her male friend (BF?) abruptly showed up. She apologized but said that she needed to leave right then. Oh well. As the saying goes, there are other fish in the sea. I turned my sights on the Supermodel and her Plain Jane friend.
Jane was dancing up a storm and appeared to be having an altogether great time. Supermodel, on the other hand, was in full defensive position, shooting down one guy after the next. I mulled over my options. After a liter of Long Islands at RM and even more mojitos at Che, I figured I was too wasted to be witty. The faux-arrogant, cocky-funny thing is usually deadly with Russian girls, but I just wasn't up for it mentally. So I decided to go for the classic Misdirection Approach. I sidled up to Jane, who was dancing about an arm's reach from SM and asked:
"So I guess Real McCoy is dead by now, huh?"
"What?" she replied.
"Real McCoy... is it dead now?"
She looked even more confused. Now, I know my Russian isn't the best, but usually people can understand me perfectly. No sweat, I thought, the ice had already been broken.
"You want a drink?"
"Sure!"
We stepped over to SM, who was sitting at the bar and I ordered 3 shots of tequila. SM intro'd herself and we exchanged pleasantries. I recall licking both their hands before they applied the salt and with no objections. I guess that's my privilege if I'm "calling the shots". :) SM told me that her friend (Jane) is simply the best girl ever, blah blah blah, and that I should know how lucky I am to meet her. I was thinking I'd feel even luckier if I were taking off SM's dress right now. But that was going to have to wait. That said, I'd gotten further than any other guy in RM or Che, and was having a nice, friendly conversation with the two girls.
A little later, Jane and I were dancing up a storm, with my teaching her basic salsa and jive moves. No question, Jane was digging me big time, and I have to admit that she was growing on me too with her cheerful (if not so beautiful) face and bubbly anything-goes attitude. Not sure who kissed whom first, but before long we were swapping spit as if our lives depended on it.
Around 5am, Jane announced that she and SM had had enough of Che and were headed to Etazh for coffee and kalyan (hookah). I told her that I needed to work the next (actually current) day, and politely declined. Thanking her for a nice evening, I gave her one last kiss before saying goodbye. Given that I had not yet asked for her phone number, Jane looked crestfallen as she walked towards the coat check. I scanned the club. A couple decent girls left, but in any case I was too tired to move on them. So I decided to leave as well and found SM and Jane collecting their coats.
"Hey there, I reconsidered. Mind if I join you two at Etazh?"
"NOT AT ALL!" Jane responded.
As we're nearly at the summer solstice, the streets were already flooded with bright sunshine. How depressing. Somehow I like clubbing in winter much more than in summer. Leaving a club at 6am when it's pitch black outside is so much more... civilized. At least it feels less depraved. And to make things worse, the harsh sunlight was not doing Jane any favors. Much of her base and concealer had been swept away by sweat, or more likely by my own face, leaving noticeable blotches and blemishes. SM, on the other hand, looked positively radiant, as if she had just emerged from a massage in her ocean-side cabana in Bali.
We arrived at Etazh drunk off our asses. The girls were visibly weaving as I followed them to the entrance. The doormen noticed this as well, and inquired, "How are you feeling, girls?"
"We're fine."
"You're sure you haven't had too much to drink?"
"No, we're fine. Really."
"Well, okay. Go ahead."
I swear if SM hadn't been with us, that we wouldn't have gotten in. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time that a drunk friend got me faced at Etazh. Clearly they have little tolerance for people puking in their toilets. As you would expect on a Friday morning at 6am, the trendy 24/7 cafe at Pushkin Square was virtually empty. Two other tables had similar post-party groups, but it was mostly just the cleaning crew in attendance. Jane sat next to me in the booth, hand in hand, with SM across from us. I couldn't help but stare - admiring each aspect of her vibrant visage. Our conversation was nice, but nothing particularly memorable. Work, travel, language, relationships and so on. Towards the end, I had my hand between Jane's legs and was slowly rubbing her pubic mound through her silk skirt. She made no motions of protest, and kept her knees a good 20cm apart, but on the other hand she didn't acknowledge I was doing anything there at all. I suspect that she didn't want SM to know what I was doing, lest she be labeled as easy. Truth be told, Jane is a very nice, intelligent, interesting and professional girl. And she's a great kisser. I'm just not that attracted to her physically. SM, by contrast, didn't seem that smart or interesting, but she's fucking hot. And judging from the conversation we shared, she'd probably go out on a date with me if Jane weren't in the picture. On that note, Jane made a very concerted effort to keep me from spending even a second alone with SM, lest I ask her for her number. Like I said... smart girl.
It was approaching 8am and the traffic on Tverskaya was reaching its rush-hour peak. I probably could have coerced Jane to come home with me without too much effort, but all I wanted to do was sleep. We each caught separate taxis and headed to our respective flats. Which leads me to my questions. What should I do? Am I doomed to always chase the hottest girls, irrespective of their intellectual and emotional capabilities? Am I really that shallow? Might dating a less attractive girl actually pay off with higher dividends? I mean, they should have lower expectations, and thus be lower maintenance, right? Or should I just do whatever I can to get SM's digits and see how fast I can get between those long long legs?