Andrei and the Prostitutes
This story has to do with a bus and some whores.

It's 1994 and I'm on a school trip to Russia. Being a school trip, we have a bus and driver to ferry us around. We're only a small party, so the bus is nowhere near full; the back is curtained off, and that's where Andrei, the driver, sleeps. (We get hotels, obviously.)

We have a free afternoon and are accordingly driven to the centre of Moscow and told to fuck off and do our own thing for a few hours. The rendezvous was set for Arbatskoe Morya at whatever-o'clock in the afternoon. Amazingly, we all make it. The bus is there too, and the door is open... but Andrei is not to be seen.

Undaunted, we board. There's a shuffling from the curtained-off part of the bus. Andrei emerges. Somehow, he manages to look both sheepish and triumphant - like a triumphant sheep, if you will. He's followed by two women, each of whom is wearing more make-up than skirt. Andrei reaches into the compartment above the driver's seat, retrieves a cash box, and gives each a handful of notes before nonchalantly taking his place behind the wheel and gunning the engine.
"They're... um... his sisters," says our teacher, pleadingly. We grin.
"His sisters. Yes. We understand," we echo.

The next day, we have to get the train to St Petersburg. We are a bit late; Andrei takes a few liberties with the traffic control measures to get us to the station on time. It would appear that there are some red lights that he's happy to ignore after all...



(What is it with me and stories about foreign tarts?)
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 30 May 2008, 9:23, 5 replies)

and what is it about you, foreign whores,
and someone called "Andrei", or a "friend", or a brothel that you "didn't know" was a brothel? Suspicious... you're fooling no one.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 30 May 2008, 9:28, closed)

I think God is trying to tell you, you should have been a pimp.
Or a whore.
( girlinthehole, Fri 30 May 2008, 10:35, closed)

Now, now
It's quite easy to walk into a brothel without knowing what it is. So I've heard. Apparently.
(Bazongaloid, Fri 30 May 2008, 10:49, closed)

^ only if
You're Enzyme.
He's had more hookers than you've had hot meals.

I've heard the whorehouses all start to look the same after a while.
( Cawl, Fri 30 May 2008, 10:53, closed)

^ actually, I unknowingly went into a bordello once......
It's a story for another qotw, but here's a summary:

I was living on Kos and had finally wangled a date with one of the locals for whom I'd held a torch for some time. Twas way back in the days before the village bouzouki bar opened (enabling tourist-free drinking into the small hours).

I was utterly spakkad and insisting I must find another drinking establishment with Greek music so I could continue my *special* Greek dancing.
"Theleis akoma na chorepseis Katerina?"
The only place I knew of that was still open was the god-awful nightclub for tourists. Nichos knew of somewhere, he said....
He spooned me on the back of his bike and drove far out of the village. To a place full of very friendly local women, all of whom preceded to simultaneously drape themselves around my "date". "What canny lasses", I thought. They filled me with even more whiskey and turned the music up. I was having a brilliant night, dancing on tables, smashing plates.....

I told my only English friend (the one who's now Vice Consul for the island) of my wonderful evening. She was doubled over, pissing herself laughing for ages before she could speak.....

"He took you to the fecking brothel, mate!"
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Fri 30 May 2008, 12:22, closed)