The following story was taken from my memories of a time long ago, with little need for embellishment. Despite having found it difficult to convey all of the images and emotions that had collected my head, even in my native language, nevertheless I hope those of you English-speaking readers can find something interesting with the following recollection and the atmosphere that was prevalent among students during the period of stagnation that followed the collapse of the former USSR.
I hope that this English adaptation, done by Alpha Lyon, is able to convey the universal themes that are characteristic not only in Western culture, but among young people in relationships around the world.
Any comments, good or bad, are highly appreciated, and thank you for your patience while reading.
Keep in mind that there are quite a few erotic scenes in the story, so don't say I didn't warn you.
Your ochenrad
***
The first time I saw her was on the trolleybus as it traveled along Kutuzov Avenue. From the moment she stepped on and took a seat at the front, I could do nothing but stare from the back as my breath caught in my throat. Her beauty left me speechless. My legs betrayed me, leaving me affixed in my seat, when the only thing I wanted was to move to the empty spot beside to her. All I could do was stare, caressing her with my eyes, taking in every part and committing it to memory, lest this be the only time I would ever be blessed to be so close to her. I was dumbfounded. She stared back at me, or so it seemed she did, but neither of us had the courage to approach the other. When she exited at her stop, she looked back at me once last time. It tore at me from the inside, and in a last minute burst of determination, I rushed to the exit.
But the doors had already slammed shut. The trolleybus continued along the route. All I could do was watch from the window as she slowly disappeared from sight.
I was not myself for the rest of the day. There was nowhere I could run, no task I could undertake, not a thing I could do that would evict her from my mind. She was all I could think about. And yet I knew that it was all in vain, for what hope is there be for a man like me to find her in this metropolis we called Moscow?
Part 1. The Game
The country was in the peak of its stagnation, but a wonderful time for me. I had recently turned eighteen and was studying at the Moscow Power Engineering Institute where my future seemed bright. My parents worked abroad, and unlike most of my peers, I was fortunate to have them send me foreign clothes, drinks, and the latest gadgets. My favorite of their gifts was "The White Album" by The Beatles, complete with four postcards featuring each of The Beatles and a meter-long poster with the lyrics to all of the songs on it. The album had gone out of circulation years ago, but somehow they were still able to find a copy. It was this album that would later become the reason for what would happen.
***
I have always been the youngest in my class, as my mother was a kindergarten teacher and put me in school a year ahead of time. This did not stop me from being at the top of my class or making friends.
By the time I went to college, there were several Muscovites in our group, many of whom had parents with high positions in the Soviet government as well as in various district and regional committees of the Communist Party. The three I was closest with were Anatoly "Tolik" Lukyanov, Volodya "Vovchik" Gurevich, and Larisa "Lara" Markova. They dressed and behaved differently, carrying themselves with a certain laissez faire. They were fond of jazz and of reading books inaccessible to others, such as "The Master and Margarita", "Jean-Green Untouchable", and even, it was rumored, "GULAG Archipelago". They often gathered with boys and girls from other educational institutions, including the University, and called themselves "The Hangout".
I don't know why they included me beyond the original fact that I was the one to help them with their studies. But more and more, they began to include me in trips to the movies, to dances, or just to sit and listen to records of Presley, Dassin, and Goodman among others. I would get lost in the "exotic" books we shared with each other, so much so that I almost failed my exams one semester when I was swept away in The Count of Monte Cristo and its tale of revenge.
They often mocked my age, but I didn't mind. The jokes were never cruel and they treated me like a little brother, even going so far as to always make sure there was wine at our parties since vodka was too stiff of a drink for me. Their attention made me feel more mature, like I was someone important. But to them, I was harmless. One time, the girls in our study group chose lyrics for each guy that represented his very essence. When it came to me, they took these words from a popular song: "I am a fluffy white kitten, I never catch mice".
I proudly showed off my copy of "The White Album" to the group during a break between classes. Their eyes lit up immediately as they called out dibs on borrowing it.
"Guys, let's bring him to 'Daisy'!" Larisa said. She was of medium height, had dyed-blonde hair, and a good figure. She was also the girlfriend of Tolik.
The guys gave each other strange looks at this suggestion.
"Do you even talk to girls? And what prize would you even wager?"
I didn't know what he meant, but before I could ask him, the break had ended and we hurried into the classroom.
***
I was confused, but I didn't press the issue; no need for me to seem even lamer to them on things they found so obvious. A week later, though, I got my answers.
Friday afternoon, we gathered again at Vovchik's flat to prepare a term paper. When we had finished our work, the owner of the apartment building invited us to his play for a drink. He had Tokaj wine; my favorite as it was reminiscent of brandy. Nobody refused, and the conversation soon turned to the discussion of my album that had already been listened to by everybody.
"By the way, are you going to Daisy?" Volodya suddenly asked me. "If I understood correctly you're invited."
"Yes. Us girls talked and we agreed that he should come," Larisa confirmed.
"What do you actually mean by 'Daisy'?" I was seriously interested at this point.
Everyone laughed for a reason I did not know, and then Anatoly asked sarcastically, "How are you doing with mice? Have you caught one?"
Knowing what was meant by this reference to the song, I didn't even take offense, muttering, "What's that got to do with it?"
"Didn't think so." The guys laughed again.
"Well, he'll have enough time to catch them tomorrow?" Larisa said with a smile.
"I was actually going to the cinema tomorrow," I replied. "They are showing 'Romance about Lovers', which I heard was sensational."
"Come on, the movie won't go anywhere, and here's your one chance to be a part of Daisy," Vovchik objected.
"Come with us. You won't regret it," Tolik supported him, "but you'll have to take the disks with you as a wager."
"What kind of discs?" I did not understand. Did they mean my copy of the "White Album"? And how could that be related to a daisy?
"Okay, I'll explain," Anatoly took pity on me and began to explain.
***
It turns out that "Daisy" was the name of this party of theirs where the most liberated guys and girls from gathered and practiced "catching mice". There were rules. The guys had to bring something of value to wager, such as super-scarce gifts of rare records, collection cognac, foreign vintage wines, or anything that was very difficult to get. These were not gifts, but bets for which the girls still had to compete.
The game took place in one of the large apartments of the nobility, where carpets were not a luxury, but an ordinary household item. The girls, naked below the waist, would lie down on the carpet on their backs in a circle, head to the center, forming the "petals" of a human "daisy". They would spread their legs, offering the "bumblebees" (the boys) to
