Chapter One. Russian Banya NYC.
I pay at the usual cramped, untidy little office. Maria takes my money and smiles. Never much chat. I head into the locker area. Tuesdays are 'women only' in this East Village bath house where you leave your modesty behind. The owners could throw a lick of paint at the crumbling facade and inside isn't much better. The changing rooms are spartan and incredibly tiny.
As usual, I leave my clothes in a locker and off I go - ready to sweat. This is the best $30 I spend in the week. There are no frills in this banya but that's the attraction for me. A couple of women in their 50s say 'hello' politely as they squeeze past me naked to retrieve their clothes from their lockers. It can become comical when you have more than four in this very tight space.
The large Russian room is my favorite, always incredibly hot with buckets of cold water you can dump over yourself. I always head there first. I sit and work up a sweat and think about my menu tonight. Too much fish? Fuck it. I've got all the ingredients now. Even though nerdy@foodielover.com has asked me a dozen questions online about how I'm cooking the hake, I'm confident it will be fine. It always is. That's the thing wth hosting supper clubs. You sure meet some weird people.
I've been here for at least an hour when I see a woman that looks familiar walk into the Russian room. She's mid 20s and toned. The sweat is gushing out of me. This room is fucking hot and suddenly feels like it has got even hotter. I smile and say hello and start to ponder where I know her from. I can tell she is thinking the same from her glance. Then it clicks.
My eyes travel over her every time we lose eye contact. Her tits are firm and pert and she has that cute, dark landing strip between her thighs that drives men wild. And me.
"Prawn risotto, baked cod, followed by pavlola" she remembers with gusto. She looks suitably pleased with herself. "Did I meet you at a supper club in Brooklyn one night?" I ask. "Yeah, that's where I knew you from" she replies. I was about to tell her I didn't recognise her without her clothes but caught myself on just in time.
"You know, I think you're right. And what a pavlova!" I tell her. It was a small gathering that night but great company. One that ended up with me drinking too much pinot grigio for a change, passing out and puking in the hallway. Not before I had dragged the 56 year old host, James, into the bathroom and sucked him till he erupted in my mouth. Actually, make that devour his dick. And what a dick. Thick, circumcised, veiny and hairy. That's one thing I should tell you about myself. I never forget a prick, no matter how drunk I get.
Just when I was remembering about what a heavy cummer he was and just how much of that stuff he actually produced to even surprise me, my bathhouse friend, whose name still escaped me, giggles "You made quite an impression on James that night from what I remember". We both laugh loudly. "Oh Christ" I reply. "He was a bit creepy but sure...". We laugh again.
I'm already thinking about how I enjoyed her company that night and whether I can get another fillet of hake and if she can make it tonight. Maybe I'm racing ahead I think. I'm starting to feel like i might pass out but I'm in no hurry to end this chat or the view.
