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| Viktoria Australian comes to Kiev on romantic tour to find a life partner and had acquired a new potency
But curiously almost none of these regular tourists made it to Kiev, the "mother of Russian cities", with its gilded domes of churches and monasteries, lying on the peaceful green banks of the Dnepr. There was something about the whole set up, the visa regulations and the obscurity of the country, which put off all but the most hardened of tourist travellers. A Russian visa was challenging enough. Once they had succeeded in getting a Russian visa, they couldn't face the idea of doing it all over again for newly independent Ukraine, a country they knew nothing about and could find almost nothing written about in tourist guides. Of course there were business and professional visitors, who came and checked out the country. There were the expatriates living in the city constantly escaping from and returning to their pressure-cooker existence in Kiev. But some of the so-called tourists who arrived in Kiev were men of a certain age who seemed to have lost their way in life and were floating on an uncertain sea. They came for a reason, not connected with the art or architecture or the scenery. They came to find an answer to a fundamental problem that life posed to them - their need for a partner. The flotsam and jetsam of western life washed up on the shores of Ukraine drawn by an attraction that outweighed all others - the women. ***** John was an example of one of these creatures that had drifted rather aimlessly towards the flower of Ukrainian womanhood. He was a computer technician in a provincial university somewhere in Australia. John was Australian of Italian origin. The words that could most be used to describe him were 'nondescript and ordinary'. He had brownish, slightly curly hair that was neither long nor short. He had slightly furtive brown eyes and a small nose. He dressed in the regimental jeans and sneakers and t-shirt. He wasn't overweight but he wasn't skinny either. He didn't look strong or capable. He was just ordinary looking. One of those men who in their late thirties no longer have any means of attracting attention from women. He had lived for too long within the stultifying atmosphere of his little university town. John had come to Kiev to visit a girl called Viktoria. Deneil knew Viktoria. He had met her late one night in the Caribbean club. She was a waitress in a restaurant somewhere in the city centre. He couldn't remember where. She'd been friendly with him and given him her mobile number and they had met again for coffee one afternoon. Soon after that she had called Deneil to ask if he could come and provide some company for her 'new' Australian boyfriend, who had just arrived and was ill after eating something that didn't agree with him. Viktoria was small and lazy-eyed, with long dark hair and a pale complexion. She had a neat, attractive figure but a slightly decadent, sleepy look about her. She was half Armenian and half Russian. When she wasn't working as a waitress she played piano for a living. The summer before she had worked in Greece, playing Beatles covers and the latest pop songs with a small group, in a five star hotel. Occasionally she was allowed to show off her classical training with a quick rendition of Chopin or Schubert but mostly it was just background music for the holiday makers to drink and eat to. She explained to Deneil that John had met her whilst on holiday in Greece and decided to come and visit her. It seemed plausible and very romantic but Deneil had a strong inkling that it wasn't true. Since coming to this part of the world he had discovered a vast underground industry, exporting girls to the west through marriages agencies on the Internet. This charade was usually played out in the name of love and finding the perfect partner. On the whole though, it was clear that older, lonely western men would benefit from the undivided attentions of charming, younger women who could in turn profit by getting their hands on a western passport, their entry to an affluent, comfortable society. In general the women of Ukraine knew very little about the west, which to them seemed like a fairy tale enchanted land where men were kind and gentle and attractive and life was easy. They took it for granted that western men were soft and didn't understand what it was like to be without money. In most cases they were right. So there was a certain type of 'tourist' who arrived in the city to meet his 'girlfriend' and John seemed to fit the category of man crouched anxiously at the computer, surfing the Internet rather than a healthy, outgoing personality who had met Viktoria at a Greek holiday resort. John and Viktoria were staying together in a flat in the centre of
the city, which they had rented for a three-week period. Deneil was
living round the corner and they invited him to visit them a number
of times. Viktoria seemed fond of John in an abstracted sort of way,
although Deneil couldn't see how he could compare with her previous
boyfriend, a musician she had met whilst waiting tables in her restaurant.
Deneil had watched him play jazz piano in Dynamo Lux nightclub. It was
a sparkling performance and he exuded vitality and potency. John was
a pale shadow of this man. However John offered two things her former
boyfriend could not compete with. Financial security and a passport
to the west. Little Viktoria, who had been badly hurt by a man in her
past, was hard inside, with a self-centred selfishness that was singularly
unattractive. After ten days or so Viktoria was openly calling John
her fiancé and Deneil understood from their conversations that
they were soon to get married. Then she would emigrate to Australia,
become an Australian national, and the poverty of her home country would
be a distasteful memory to be pushed aside. 'Where's the romance in
that?' Deneil thought unhappily. Neither John nor Viktoria seemed to
set much store by romance. Viktoria was prepared to put up with the odder side of John's character to get her ticket to the west. She was a small woman with a high sex drive. John's weakness frustrated her. She was becoming increasingly restless. Their relationship was absolutely without sex. They slept in different beds in different rooms. John came up with an excuse that he didn't want to respect her less and that they should wait until they got married. In reality he seemed to be terrified of the prospect of sex. Viktoria didn't give a damn about waiting to get married. One evening she tried to seduce John. She succeeded in reaching under his pants and putting her hand on his male member. It was small and flaccid and it did not come to life under her caresses. John turned away almost in panic Viktoria gradually realised that John had neither a psychological nor physical interest in sex. To all intents and purposes he was impotent. Why. She didn't know or care. He had explained that he had been very hurt by a relationship in the past. But Viktoria was not concerned about the past, only about the future. She decided she needed to return to her hometown for a few days rest from this irritating situation before they set out to Australia together. ***** John was left on his own and to pass the time whilst Viktoria was away he walked around the streets. It was mid July and the weather was beautifully hot and the air was clear. There was something about the atmosphere of the city that was suggestive of sex. Something about the women. A constant message of expectation and consent. More than any other city, this was one of infinite sexual possibilities. The girls looked at men, especially foreigners, in a more longing way. Even very beautiful girls with wonderful figures seemed unaware of the value they possessed, perhaps precisely because they didn't possess value in their country. During the hot summer days when John was walking around at a loose end, he stared at these exotic, foreign girls. And what a mélange they were. Russian, Ukrainian, blonde Scandinavian types, Jewish, Greek, Tartar, Armenian - all the representatives of the old Russian empire for him to admire. They mostly wore short skirts and (a Kiev speciality) see-through muslin blouses over skimpy black bras out of which spilled generous, white, soft breasts. Lipstick was painted on their mouths in a great smudge of deep red, in stark contrast to their pale faces. There was something about the intensity of these girls that was highly disturbing. It was a constant temptation for any healthy, red-blooded male and John, walking around began to be affected by this visual feast. One Saturday, mingling with the early evening shopping crowds he realised he was having an erection. The blood had quite literally come back into his loins. Some thirty minutes later he bumped into Deneil. They strolled together
along Khreschatyk, the wide central boulevard lined with chestnut trees.
On Saturdays after one o'clock the street was closed to traffic and
became a huge, bustling pedestrian mall. They walked past the ponderous
blocks of huge pseudo-classical buildings, the Soviet style reconstruction
of the old Khreschatyk destroyed during the war. They went past the
makeshift stores doing a roaring trade in pirated videos and software
CD ROMs, past the busy outdoor cafes. They could feel the excitement
in the air. Everyone was gearing up for Saturday night entertainment.
Deneil and John went downstairs like lambs to the slaughter but the slaughter was sweet. Once inside the blast of music and the hot, perspiring air melted their senses. The Cowboy Bar was modeled on a Wild West saloon with a long, wooden bar and swinging saloon doors. In fact it was the wild east in all its glory. When they arrived it was already bursting at the seams. It was a popular place with the expatriate community. It was also the place to pick up girls. What a crowd there was. Bankers, diplomats, the advertising crowd, millionaire company directors in town for a few days to recruit software specialists, antique traders, cigarette smugglers and girls, girls, girls! Nice girls, beautiful girls, ugly girls, amateur prostitutes and full time pros. No one minded and everyone had a good time. The place was heaving. Everybody was dancing. As they moved through the crush, Deneil greeted someone he knew, a middle-aged English banker who had recently arrived in the city. He looked like a little cherry. He was small, bright and cheerful. 'The bank wants me back in London,' he shouted to Deneil. 'How can
I go back to England,' he said, 'when I've got this,' and he gestured
at the mass of dancing, female bodies in front of them. 'I can't keep
away from this place. It's just marvelous.' He didn't contradict her. She smiled at him again and her smile was
so frank and suggestive that he felt almost weak at the knees. They moved to the very middle of the small dancing area surrounded
by anonymous bodies in the darkness. They came together and the closeness
of the girl excited him even more and when he looked in her eyes he
knew she understood exactly what he was experiencing and was enjoying
the sensation. He moved closer to her she responded by gently pushing
against him. He edged even closer until they were bonded together and
she slowly rubbed her body against his - until suddenly he knew that
his defences were about to give way. All that paranoia, all that fear,
the months of depression, of lowered self-esteem, everything that had
destroyed his capacity for sex - was brushed aside. His mind was closing
down and pure animal instincts, dormant for so long, were taking over.
He stiffened and groaned and clutched the girl and they rocked back
and forth for a few seconds in blind ecstasy - and then suddenly he
jerked back and blundered clumsily away from her through the crowded
dance floor and back to the bar. His mind was swimming. There was not
enough air. He had to get out. ***** Meanwhile Viktoria was relaxing in her hometown. She had met her former musician boyfriend again and willingly submitted to his demands. They made explosive love together. After her enforced period of abstinence she needed this physical attention so badly. In the quiet minutes after their passion was spent, Viktoria realised that John was in fact a monumental bore. She could hardly summon up the interest to return to Kiev. She had no physical attachment to him and hardly any emotional attachment. Was it all worth it? She came back to Kiev anyway. The lure of the Australian passport was
very strong. When she entered the flat John was waiting for her with
an odd grin on his face. Her heart sank when she saw him but she steeled
herself to be patient and friendly. He drew her hand down and placed it on his male member. It was flaccid
but it was stirring and getting harder. One week before, Viktoria might
have welcomed this as evidence that John was at least normal and they
would be able to establish some kind of physical life together. Now,
she was repulsed. All her female instincts shrieked out against touching
and being touched by this man. The next day Viktoria packed and left early in the morning. She told
John she was taking the train to her hometown and not coming back. She
didn't explain why. She didn't need to. It was obvious that whatever
there had been between her and John was over. The arrangements they
had made were irrevocably torn asunder. Deneil could see that John was deeply hurt by Viktoria's behaviour.
***** When John got back to Australia he continued much as he had before he had left. He lived in the same town, worked at the same job and met up with the same people. But something profound had changed in his physiological make-up. He could not help dreaming of the sensual girls he had so admired in the streets of Kiev and every time he thought of those exquisite minutes dancing in the darkness of the Cowboy Bar he smiled to himself and if he was alone, he even laughed out loud. He understood that he had acquired a new potency; a new strength and this gave him renewed confidence in life. Some five months later Deneil received an e-mail from John.
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There
were visitors to the glorious but elusive city of Kiev of the type you
didn't seem to find elsewhere in the region. Central European capitals
in summer usually sprouted masses of students, backpackers, couples,
families, groups of pensioners - people from all nations admiring the
culture, art and architecture. Floods of tourists descended on Prague
and Budapest and then made their way further east to cities like Krakow
or Warsaw or Kosice. Travelling to Russia entailed a greater psychological
leap and required more planning and usually more money, but the number
of individual tourists to Moscow and in particular to the showcase city,
St Petersburg rose sharply during the nineties.