Above : the advertising for the "Teatr Opereti", which is an Eastern thing kinda like what you'd call a musical, I guess.
Below : the Kiev market ; not quite as expansive as Minsk's, and arguably not as well supplied -- though I did find some absolutely excellent salmon, salmon roe, well ripe tomatoes etc. You won't starve here, that's for sure. You'll just get so fucking furious it'll require CPR ; but you won't actually die.
Below : this bar/club thing the sluts spotted as possible point of interest inside this "Arena Citi" mall/club-complex thingi. We ended up trying it (in between the wanna-be strip club and the... other wanna-be strip club, both located in the... construction around it) ; and ditching it within three minutes because a) the music was way too loud and b) it... smelled weird. (Incidentally, I've been doing more ditching of places because of odor-related reasons in this one week of Kiev than in the entire fifteen years since I last visited Cairo.)
Above : they're seriously advertising this. I have no fucking idea what they're thinking either, though in fairness the natural body form of the local girly hounds does closely approximate a little boy. "If they're that flat might as well roll them in goretex", I guess ?
Below : Indian food at the one place voted most-likely-to-be-the-best by a large cross-section of the locals, in the company of a bunch of loud and obnoxious American-Indian dudes with cheap rollexes on one arm and cheap local dollies on the other arm, yet somehow still going slackjawed when I come in -- who knew females don't work any better as amulets than clockwork mechanisms. Easily the worst Indian food I've ever had -- though in fairness I only go to the better sort of Indian restaurant. I wouldn't say it was terrible or anything ; but the "best in Kiev" claim will remain undisputed, I'm not trying another one.
Above & below : meanwhile moved into the luxurious penthouse, I have the entire floor to myselfii, have some views!
Below : a bidet. 'Muff said.
Above : very nice khachapuri place. We ordered their entire menu, something that evidently never occured to them. Portions pictured with spurious titexposing dress (something else that evidently never occured in Kiev ever before). Fun times.
Below : slut in slutstore. We were evidently their only custom in a while, and they got so excited about our buying the whole warehouse antics they kept offering things, and generally having a jolly good old time -- especially this one chick, absolutely incredible Holstein fucking tits (sadly backed by a very motherly waistline, because otherwise she'd be coming with us to Poland). In bimbo's words "if you come back tomorrow she'll probably have her daughter lined up in there". I believe it is possible ; but in any case the Brazerie store on Velyka Vasylkivska (like two blocks down from the Olympic whatever) is more of a party scene than the specialist "gentlemen's clubs" downtown. This is a fact (and yes, the occasional fatties straggling in with their momsters to sorta-maybe-notrly try things were very bothered by us and cleared the fuck out ; good riddance).
Above : the "this stately, three level, decaying brick building" mentioned in despatches. Seriously, would you not go to a BDSM party organized by squatters in there ? I totally fucking would.
Below : Stagnant water in schoolyard. I kid you not. Now tell me again local 15yo would be worse off licking my girls between the legs than going to school. Hm ?
Above & below : recently belted bimbo ballet. She's not allowed to rest her heels on the floor.
Above : on way out to partay!
Below : trying out the hotel's own strip club (spuriously called "cabaret" and other various things in that vein). Honestly... it's not that bad, in a very narrow sense : there's no better to be had anywhere, for hundreds of miles around. The frontgirls know the price (700 grivna, about the most such a thing can cost here) but they wanna show you the place, they want you to have a good timeiv, they're trying to work, they'd love to do a good job. They're broadly unprepared for what the fuck the job may be, however, and bereft of any experience worth the mention. In one representative incident, the tall, pretty, dumb blonde working reception ran off to get our things from the wardrobe, because she wanted to have some measure of interaction with the strange alien beings of pure energy and finally worked up the courage on our way out -- exactly like her grandmother might've rushed to wave in the wake of the departing tsar's procession, so it won't be the case she missed it entirely. But she simply couldn't locate my stick ; the sharper brunette that originally made the sale kept telling her, "the stick, it's a shiny black stick" while blondy kept producing outward umbrellas and inner fluster. There wasn't going to be such a thing as a gentleman's silver capped walking stick in the world, by her lights, what! Not a possible object. She didn't even believe it once the other walked over and produced the object for me ; I've no doubt she still didn't believe it well after I had already walked off.
The place is remarkably tiny : two poles total, one stage, no satellites. There's also a Dali lipcouch in the middle there that they never really usev. The serving girls are on the button, however the cocktails are pretty terrible (and we kinda suspect they have to run off to the bar 8 floors below to get them, which is kinda... well, typical of the place, I guess).
The dancers... well... they're local girls, so nice slender legs, no ass to speak of, 12 yo tits (with the exception of one in the nine girl line-up that had modestly sized but prettily shaped fakes bolted on -- she was the only one with some kind of figure at all, and doubtless not from here). They all do the exact same thing, which consists of mostly walking about, maybe the occasional hold-bar-firmly-with-both-hands-lift-feet-off-ground-briefly, land on other side a second later sorta deal. They do topless only, there's no cunt, there's not even the concept of cunt (so much so that they'll wear body suits and simply take the tits out, in a most domestic configuration of a lactating mother, and "dance" while their straps dangle confused about their midsection).
In a word, I dunno who would want to be there, which might explain why there was absolutely nobody else there at all. Nine girls, stuck living off my four thousand grivna for the night, because they can't, on their own strength, pull in the custom to justify a decent burial.vi
Above : she has but one mouth and she must scream!
Below : bimbo with an attitude, fellows that were in the mood... don't just stand there, let's get to it, strike a pose, there's nothing to it. Vogue!
Above : we're going down below, where a Kievan scared slut shall be asked to take our picture, do so and then run away.
Below : Bitch, I'm Dodona.
Above : do we look scary, would you say ?
Above : there's a foreshadow in this pic, you just don't know what it is.
Above : Moved on to "Bad Girls" party, over at some "Carribean" club thingee ; though honestly I brought the only bad bitches in the joint, everyone else's The Milquetoast Maids.
Below : I got drinks... they're mult-plyin', an' I'm looosin' controo-ool...
Hence the expression, to multi-ply someone with alcohol.
Above : this derpy chick (the one with the nice ass, in white) was there with some older woman dressed in a granny caftan. They were kissing and shit, yet we never could quite figure out if she's working the granny (ie, the granny hired her, making the granny the punter) or if she's working for the granny (ie, the granny hires her out, making the granny the pimp). A complete absence of the many and varied other clues besides fucking kissing entirely precluded some sort of romatic relationship ; then the girls reported that at some point she lifted her skirt all the way up to show herself to this... weird dude watching from across the floor. "Wait, so you saw her snatch ?!" "Oh, no, she was wearing panties. A pity, too." Of fucking course. Finally, she kept crowding my shots, every time I got the camera up she'd move into the frame, but not ever make eye contact, or you know, come over and kneel like a normal fucking woman that's sane in the head.
Below : the very derpy local chicks universally gave my sluts a wide berth. Phemale Phear, I could smell it from the table. What can you do ? God forbid you come over and kneel like a normal fucking woman that's sane in the head, oh no, not that, anything but that. Dorks.
Above : Little did I know the rather boring "two overdressed dudes pretending to be gay dudes pretending to be dancing" act was about to get way the fuck better.
Below : Aforementioned act getting better and better.
Above : Who's got the pleasers ? Answer me that, smart guy, who's got the pleasers ?
Below : two dorky chicks tryina be hot in pantsuits. It doesn't work.
Above : wanna-be sluts in "NC-17" format. They literally ran off once my professional sluts engaged them. Too much pressure, I'm sure, they didn't sign up for this etcetera. Basically, the world consists of fakers tryna fake it 'till they've faked it.
Above : The Lipsyncing Blondy act. She wasn't obnoxious principally through not being overloud ; it was also kinda cute to watch her fluster every time the hussies hollered "take it off" and "drop the pants" and "show your tits" and whatnot else at her. Seriously, what's the big deal, take your clothes off. Jiiz.
Below : Naughty little girl.
Above : personally, I think the visibly filthy heel makes it all the better.
Below : "bad kittens" act or some shit, by then we had utterly stopped giving a shit.
Above : seriously, this is a thing here, two dollar perfume dose in the dude's bathroom -- the chicks have no such thing. Because absolutely, what one wants in the wee hours of the morning is the olfactory assault of drunken impulse choice.
Below : I dunno, envy & haet ? Moet & Chandon ? I was gonna do a sum-up, but then I drunked it. Or perhaps I rolled it up and smokered it. The kittens ated it ? In any case -- it's gone.
- It's sadly impossible to use anything but ad-hoc labels when one tries to describe things here because the things one encounters in Kiev are entirely dissimilar to entrenched practice in the civilised world. Frankly, it all looks made up. [↩]
- So if I want to take the nude whores out for a "exposure risk" walk I gotta use the elevator! [↩]
- Speaking of which : my agent just exchanged Bitcoin for in excess of ten thousand dollars, in cash, without presenting any form of ID, without pre-arrangement of any kind, with one of numerous agents involved in this specific trade. Walk-in, off the street, you understand me ? A good number of the local exchange houses will provide this service ; as far as I currently know you can, as a factual matter, walk into any one of these and walk out with a suitcasefull of benjis any time (between 10 am and 6 pm) you feel like. So much for that theory, huh. [↩]
- "So can you take our picture ?"
"Oh, no, no pictures here. Can not take pictures."
"Not even of us ?"
This gives her a pause. "Ok, but please, you have to be careful."
"No, I mean, you take a picture of us" I hand her the camera. Because I'm not fucking interested in photographing the local hounds, tyvm, did that enough for twelve lifetimes.
"Oh, no, no, I can't do that." she recoils in horror.
She thought I'm "not even of us" in the self-obvious sense of, "what, you expect such a thing as a rule attaches to my group", not in the incidental sense of, "we're to be the object of the shot".
Funny, huh. Funny how ? [↩]
- Pro tip : the couch is for girls to safely interact without practicing. It's generally hard for dancers to touch each other while dancing without hurting each other unless they practice the moves specifically in advance ; but on a couch it can be done okay because a fixed point of mutual reference is present. [↩]
- Pro tip : when the soiled dove aka Pearl de Vere died suddenly, a "secret admirer" sent the people of Cripple Creek a check for a thousand dollars so she could be buried in her extremely valuable gown, rather than having it sold to pay for the funeral. Think on that for a bit if you will. [↩]